i feel like a knob for tagging

Do I Wanna Know?

Hello!! So this is a Negan/You super short thing I wanted to write for quite a while now, basically since I found out Negan was a cheater.

Summary: Pre-ZA, a call from Negan’s wife stirs up trouble. Angst galore. No smut(I know, I can’t believe it either). Also, this takes place long before Lucille’s cancer diagnosis.

Warnings: strong language, cheating, Negan being an asshole.

Word count: 927

Negan rolled off you with a satisfied groan, a sheen of sweat glistening on his toned body. You struggled to catch your breath. “Wow, that was…”

“Fan-fucking-tastic, I know,” he bellowed. “I’m gonna take a shower, wanna join me for round number fucking two?” he asked with a mischievous grin, sitting up on the four-poster bed.

Keep reading

Stir Crazy

Anon: Please can you write a fanfic about an overprotective Castiel or Gabriel , they are protecting Dean and Sam’s little sister the universal prophet

Okay, this is heavily influenced by the facts that 1) I was watching Moana clips last night and 2) I live where it’s very cold and I don’t like cold that much. So, to the Nonnie who asked, I hope that this works for you! Like always, feel free to send me any suggestions, tagging requests, and whatnot.

Summary: Reader, the Winchester’s sister, is a prophetess who is still learning from the angels charged with protecting her: Castiel and Gabriel. She is going absolutely mad from cabin fever.

Warnings: Fluff (NOTE: I tried to make the relationship between the reader and Gabriel platonic, not romantic.)

Tags: @winchesters-favorite-girl @the-third-winchester-warrior @jensen-jarpad @sister-winchester-imagines

An ancient television set in the corner of the room flickers to life as you mess around with the knobs. For the three-billionth time. You pace around the motel room, bored completely out of your mind. The research books that Cas had provided supplied nothing for your curious mind and you couldn’t catch any type of signal on the black and white tv. Your phone and anything electronic was currently off limits in case anyone tried to trace the signal back to you. Could you understand why the ‘house arrest’ was necessary? Yes. Could you deal with it? Not in a thousand apocalypses.

You sigh as you lie back down on a rickety bed and kick off your boots. The springs squeak gently as you lower yourself onto it. Cas promised that he wouldn’t be gone for long. Just enough to make sure that everything was okay with your brothers Sam and Dean. You look at your watch. Well, apparently over an hour qualified for the ‘long enough’ category. You pick up a mythology book and stare at the text. You the open book fall on your face.

“Why me?” you say exasperatedly. Course, with the pages on your face, it probably sounded like, “Fmrhmph mphhhh!”

You hear a flutter of wings; your adrenaline spikes. Under the musty pillow, your fingers curl around the knife you hid. You take the book off your face, almost welcoming a battle to happen. As soon as you see who has entered your room though, you disappointedly let the knife go.

“I have returned, Y/N.”

“Yeah, I can see that Cas. How’s life at the bunker?”

“Sam and Dean are fine. They are actually doing some work on a vampire case in Tennessee currently.”

You jump off the bed. “So what are we waiting for? Let’s go chop some heads and let blood fly!”

Cas looks at you with a mixture of concern and disgust. “Why would you get excited at the prospect of decapitation?”

“My bros need me. You know it’s not safe if they go take care of stuff on their own! C’mon Cas! Please let me go with them! Just this once?”

The angel shakes his head. “Allowing you to go on a dangerous hunt would be violating protocol.” You throw your hands up in the air and begin to pace the room. Again. Cas tries to console you. “If anything happen to you, your brothers would kill me. I have been charged with protecting you.”

“You’re not the only one who’s supposed to be watching our girl.” A sly voice pops into the conversation. You hide a small smile from Castiel as your buddy the archangel appears in the room. “Afterall, it’s not like she’s jonesing around doing all kinds of immoral stuff, right?” Gabriel winks at you.

“Shut up, Gabe,” you smirk.

He puts his hands to his heart sarcastically. “I am offended! Here I am, coming to bestow upon you a treasure for which I have searched far and wide to discover and you treat me like a simple peasant!”

“What treasure? Tell me!”

Gabriel makes a zipping motion across his lips. “Mmh-mm.”

“C’mon! Please!”

Cas sighs in the corner. “Theatrics…” he mutters disdainfully.

“Is that the way this is going to be? Fine then.” You grin as you get into medieval character. “My most humble apologies to the guardian of my honor, a knight of the highest chivalry, the protector of-”

“All right, all right. You’re milking it now.” He grins and tosses something to you.

“Finally! Something besides rabbit food!” You crack a real smile as you tear vigorously shred the wrapper off a Three Musketeers bar. “Cas over here doesn’t seem to understand the importance of chocolate in a daily diet,” you gesture to the sullen angel in the corner with your prize.

“I promised your brothers to keep you safe and in good health. There is nothing healthy at all about candy.”

Gabe raises an eyebrow teasingly. “What are you now, Doctor Dismal? Even the Aztecs knew the importance of chocolate during the day. Let the kid have some fun!”

“She’s more than a child, Gabriel.”

“Yeah, yeah, we all know. The Universal Prophetess Supreme!” He makes jazz hands on the last words. Gabriel turns to address you. “So, what’s all this about still being on house arrest?”

You shrug. “Dean and Sam are on hunt without me and I’m done with these books. Again. I guess I’m just…stir crazy.”

“All right then.” Gabriel turns to his angelic brother. “Cas, I’m taking her out for a one-on-one archangel/prophet training session at the library. I’ll keep in touch.”

You groan on the bed, but Castiel nods. “Very well. You have been here for some time. It would not hurt to take training to another location.”

“Great. More dusty scroll reading! Just what I need!” You gripe sarcastically. Gabe puts a hand on your shoulder before you can protest anything else. You blink as the archangel teleports you away. You expect the little library smells and sounds. Minor talking in the background, turning pages perfuming the air with that “old book” smell, pencils scratching on paper, and creaking of shelves being passed.

Originally posted by suzievibe

Instead, you smell the beautiful combination of dead fish and salt spray. You hear gulls crying and gentle waves slapping against the side of a sandy shore. Your toes sink into petite grains of sand. Sunlight beams down on your face and heavy hunting clothing. The sky is radiantly blue against an even bluer ocean. Tinted sea foam rolls onto the ground next to your feet. You turn around in absolute amazement. While the view you first saw was all blue, behind you is various shades of green so bright and vivid, you pinch yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming.


“Ahem.” Beside you a little ways sits your guardian angel, sipping on a soda can under a cabana umbrella. In a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts. He smiles and points to the waves. “Aren’t you gonna jump in?”

“I-I-I’m not dressed…”

“Psh. That’s what you’re worried about?” He snaps his fingers. No longer in jeans and flannel, you’re in a cherry one piece swimsuit decorated with white dolphins and small hibiscus flower outlines. A simple turquoise wrap skirt is knotted around your waist. “How about now?”

The child inside you leaps for joy. You rush towards water, your bare feet slapping the damp sand. You rush into the salty waves and dive. You shake your wet hair out of your face when you come up. You laugh blissfully, splashing and swimming in the glorious tropical ocean.

“Best! Research! EVER!” You cannot contain your happiness.

Gabriel smiles at your laughter, allowing for some pride to swell in his heart for his young friend. After a while, he pulls out a beach towel from thin air that matches your wrap skirt. You haul your soaking wet self out of the water. You sit down by your friend.

“Does that satisfy your stir craziness, Miss Prophetess?”

You grin and roll your eyes at the teasing name he gave you. “Thanks Gabe. I needed this today, especially after that hideous weekend studying ancient writing forever.”

“Don’t mention it kid,” he states waving his hand dismissively. “You looked like you needed some sunshine.”

“So, where are we then?”

“Some island I found in the Bermuda Triangle. I call this place ‘Gabriel’s Ultimate Island of Food, Happiness, and Hakuna Matata’,” he pauses as you laugh. “But, I think you might enjoy it as somewhere to study. Become a prophetess.”

You stare surprised. “Really? You’re serious?”

Gabriel nods. “There’s a cabin up there on the other side of that bend. Cas and I would come here to help you instead of cooping you up in some ratty motel. Plus, it’s pretty much unapproachable by anything evil ever since I set up the warding line in the reef. And man has yet to invent something to get past this angel power shielding the island.” He raises an eyebrow playfully as you glance everywhere, taking every little detail in. “So. Whadda’ya say?”

“What about my brothers?”

“Dumb and Dumber? Sure, I mean, if you wanted, I could have them come check in. Don’t think their flannel culture would fit in, but, hey, that’s between them and the fish.” He points out a pod of dolphins leaping past in the distance. “Now, this ain’t all fun and games. You’d be working hard, reading texts, doing prophety…things. But would this be better?”

“Anything’s better than that motel in the middle of Iowa,” you readily reply. “I’m in. On one condition”

Gabriel shrugs. “Anything, kid.”

“I get to change the name.”

“Wow. I provide a whole island for you, complete with water slide from the room in your cabin to the ocean, and you want to change the name?”

You laugh. “Picky, aren’t I?”

“Fine, fine, you rascal. Island’s all yours. And what do you plan on calling my awesome island?”

You take a deep breath, inhaling all the tropical and nautical scents. You smile at your best friend. “Filemu.”

anonymous asked:

namkook ;)

Yessss, I was hoping for this one. I like this pairing. I find it adorable how much Jungkook admires Namjoon. 

  • Who’s more dominant: Most days it’s a toss-up. Namjoon isn’t very dominant to begin with, but Jungkook is generally so submissive that he becomes the dominant one in the pair by default.
  • Who’s the cuddler: Jungkook all about the snuggle time.
  • Who’s the big spoon/little spoon: Jungkook is almost always the little spoon. He’s kind of a baby, and he loves it.
  • What’s their favorite non-sexual activity: Listening to music or–even better–going to live shows. Namjoon knows all the cool underground acts.
  • Who uses all the hot water: Jungkook does. Namjoon is a ten-minutes-in-and-out kind of guy.
  • Most trivial thing they fight over: Whose t-shirt it is; between the two of them, they own waaaaaay too many plain t-shirts to tell.
  • Who does most of the cleaning: Jungkook has A-level neuroses about things being organized, so he does most of the cleaning. Namjoon can get a little stuck in his head, so he survives by creating a system which then becomes habit, otherwise he can go weeks without noticing a mess piling up around him.
  • Who has a season pass on their DVR/Who controls the Netflix queue: Jungkook does because he likes to marathon shows, but sometimes he settles in for a Deep Artsy Film™ with Namjoon.  
  • Who calls up the super/landlord when the heat’s not working: Namjoon. 
  • Who leaves their stuff around: Namjoon.
  • Who remembers to buy the milk: Jungkook.
  • Who remembers anniversaries: Jungkook, but they haven’t been dating long enough to celebrate one yet. Kook thinks it’s a little excessive when couples celebrate “four month anniversaries” and stuff. Years are worth marking. He may have some plans in the works for a couple months from now, something dealing with a trip to the beach. Joon loves collecting crabs even though he’s hella allergic.
  • Who cooks normally: Neither one of them is big on cooking. They prefer going out. Jungkook may be asking Jin for lessons though.
  • How often do they fight: Jungkook still isn’t sure just how much he can push Namjoon, so they bicker more than they fight as he tests out those boundaries. After all, before they got together, Namjoon was just a hyung, and Jungkook was bound by age to behave a certain way. He kind of thinks the whole buttsechs thing gives them some room to renegotiate that.
  • What do they do when they’re away from each other: Namjoon is smart enough to realize that Jungkook rarely checks his phone during the day, so he doesn’t send too many messages, just the occasional “what up?” or pictures of stuff he finds cool or interesting; sometimes he’ll send links to music.
  • Nicknames for each other: Jungkook still calls Namjoon “hyung” most of the time, but lately he’s been testing out Joon’s responsiveness to other nicknames. Namjoon goes with the classics: Jungkook-ah or Kookie. In bed, it tends to be “baby” or “sweetheart.”
  • Who is more likely to pay for dinner: Namjoon is the hyung, after all…and Jungkook is broke.
  • Who steals the covers at night: Neither. They both have a habit of kicking the covers off.
  • What would they get each other for gifts: Namjoon buys Jungkook a lot of music and art supplies, since he uses them up so fast. Jungkook likes practical gifts, stuff that he’ll actually use, so that’s what Namjoon tries to go for even though his romantic heart says “buy him flowers, couple rings, write out sappy poems on parchment and frame them…” It’s a struggle. Jungkook, as mentioned before, is pretty broke and what little money he does have he’s saving up for their anniversary and knows that the stuff Namjoon needs the most, he can’t afford: new recording equipment, instruments, etc. He hasn’t bought Namjoon too many gifts for that reason. There was the time he found a Ryan plushie that Namjoon didn’t already own, a cool necklace Jungkook found at the thrift shop, and a well-intentioned gag gift.
  • Who kissed who first: Jungkook.
  • Who made the first move: Jungkook did. By kissing him.
  • Who remembers things: It depends on what kind of things. Jungkook remembers the day to day stuff better than Namjoon.
  • Who started the relationship: Jungkook is the bravest motherfucker ever when he makes a move on his hyung; his hyung who he’s respected for years, who he’s worshipped from afar, who’s given him advice about school, girls boys when he figured out he liked them too, life… But this crush, god, it’s grown so heavy with the years, weighing him down until it hurts, and he feels like if he doesn’t just let it out somehow, he’s going to burst. It’s New Years Eve, and everyone is tipsy at the sunshine line’s annual Happy Birthday, Earth! bash (yes, you have to include the exclamation mark every time, Taehyung has emphasized). Jungkook’s no different; he’s also had his share, and he’s hot, and horny, and Namjoon looks amazing with his long legs encased in soft black denim and his pink hair falling just a little in his eyes. He looks flushed from alcohol, his lips are cherry red, and it’s fucking New Years; Jungkook is not letting this opportunity pass. He takes one last shot of tequila at ten minutes to midnight. “Hyung!” he shouts, parting the sea of people largely by force. “Hyung!” As Namjoon turns, he grabs the taller man by his biceps, and plants one on him. It tastes of tequila and heat, a little bit of salt from Namjoon’s lips. Jungkook presses closer, alcohol making him bold, aggressive. Namjoon’s hands cup his elbows. Jungkook swipes his tongue over the older boy’s lips, and when they part, he goes deep, not giving him a chance to protest. When he finally comes up for air, people are clapping. Yoongi, a little red in the cheeks, mutters into his red Solo cup, “Finally.” Jungkook looks around him, bewildered. People are staring. Oh, shit, people are staring. “It’s 11:55,” Yoongi comments idly. Shit. Shit. It’s not even midnight yet. No wonder people are staring. They’re still waiting for the countdown; they have nothing better to do. But then Namjoon looks at Jungkook, and it’s soft and lovely and everything that makes Jungkook’s heart soar in his chest. He smiles, and Jungkook grins back. “Hyung,” he laughs. In response, Namjoon kisses him back. By the time the New Year happens for real, they’ve stumbled into the back hall where their coats are piled up. Happy Birthday, Earth! gets celebrated with some hardcore making out.
  • Who cusses more: They’re both bad, and it only gets exponentially worse when they’re together.
  • What would they do if the other one was hurt: Jungkook and Namjoon don’t like people fussing over them when they’re hurt, so beyond helping each other out with practicalities, they don’t mention it much. Besides, Namjoon is always fucking something up, and Jungkook is a rowdy boy, so he’s almost always bruised and a little battered.
  • Who is the dirty talker: Namjoon.
  • A head canon: It’s Namjoon’s birthday, and Jungkook’s been worrying for weeks what to get him. Snooping via Namjoon’s roommate, Yoongi, had only resulted in an unsatisfactory, not to mention unaffordable, list of suggestions. For his birthday, Namjoon had splurged and restocked his paint kit, even picking up a few of the nicer brushes he’d seen Jungkook eyeing with envy at the art supply store. Then he bought Jungkook canvasses; not just cheap canvasses, but the nice, big ones that never went on sale. He almost cried. But he didn’t. Because he’s not a baby anymore, dammit, and he can survive the squishiness that is Kim Namjoon he can’t, he really can’t, goddammit, he’s so weak. Finally, Jungkook thinks he’s got it. It’ll be cute and funny and practical, and Namjoon will give him that fond smile he does like whenever Jungkook’s being a good boy. It’s an awkward present, tentatively wrapped in cheap red paper plastered with conical birthday hats, a huge box with the sides plastered in tape. Namjoon stares at it, more than a little puzzled, then begins to peel it apart. When he figures out that the paper tears easily, he pokes a finger through and rips it off the top, revealing that the box is hollow. Inside of it there’s a package of toothbrushes, the floss that he prefers, and a miniature bottle of his orange mouthwash. Nestled in next to that are some soft rolls of cotton that, upon further inspection, reveal themselves to be new socks, underwear, and two plain white t-shirts folded neatly. Namjoon pulls them out, eyeing them for any sort of gag. The only thing he can spot is that the tags are labeled with Sharpie. Each one has his name on it. “Ah,” Jungkook clears his throat, looking anxious, “You, um, you keep running off with my t-shirts when you leave. I figured maybe you should just have some. At my place. Like…to keep there. Yeah.” Namjoon feels a suspicious tickle in his throat. He picks at the paper some more, peels it down the front to reveal a knob. He knows this wood. He knows this drawer. This is–his throat closes up, and his eyes go watery. “Why are you crying? Oh, god, is it bad? You hate it?” Jungkook babbles, “I should have just gotten you a gift card for iTunes. I–” “It’s perfect,” Namjoon blurts out, tugging Jungkook into his arms, practically into his lap, and pressing his lips against the other boy’s temple. Jungkook’s given him a drawer. He’s given up a drawer in his dresser, and he’s packed it with an overnight kit, and Namjoon feels so soft and in love. They kiss, and it’s salty and wet, and Namjoon laughs as he sniffles. “Thank you, baby. Thank you.”

Send Me A Ship

For people to like to make fun of diabetes or make food jokes and relate it to diabetes ex: #foodporn #diabetes on a picture of cake

My infusion set was ripped out of my stomach earlier because I got close to a door knob (this happens often, trust me). And I was not in the mood to replace it. 

So here I am a few hours without insulin because I didn’t feel like sticking a needle in my stomach. 

I feel sick. I have a headache. I feel extremely dehydrated. I’m going to the bathroom every ten minutes. I’m really tired but I know I can’t go to sleep yet because I might end up in a coma if I do. This is just three hours without insulin. 

And yet people have the fucking audicity to continue posting pictures of food and tagging it #diabetes as if it’s a joke. 

I’m sorry if the chance of me being in a coma is appealing to you. Because that’s what diabetes is actually, not a piece of cake. Not that large pizza. Not that bowl of skittles. Okay? 

5 years of this shit and people still remain ignorant around me.