please excuse my profanity

so for the last couple of months i’ve been having what some would call “prophetic dreams”… i basically have dreams that come true. The first time it happened was a year ago, when i dreamt of my cousin giving birth and after telling her, she went into labour the same day. i thought  it was pretty awesome… 

but for the last couple of months, about 6 months or so i’ve been having death dreams that have been coming true about specific people, and it scares the living sh*t out of me.

the first time i had a death dream, i told my mother who then told me i shouldnt say my dreams out loud, and then the next day that person (her aunty) passed away Allah Yarhamha. i never spoke of my death dreams after that but its happened with four other people, both friends and family 

So recently i had a dream about a party a person i don’t like was having and she was in a red dress, and someone died on her street, and there was ambulances and police outside. I was talking to a friend of mine who went to this party and what she described to me was EXACTLY WHAT I SAW IN MY DREAM.  

all i could do is cry because i was in utter shock, these dreams are getting more and more vivid everytime. 

i am literally scared to sleep. 

I feel like That Rebecca Black video just insulted my intelligence...

Bitch, I know what days are in the week.

Ummmm, why are you trying to decide which seat to sit in the car, when theres obviously only 1 left….


You are 12 years old. Why you take your momma’s keys and go for a joy ride??? Because yall are clearly too young to drive. -___-

And why are you singing about partying on a friday night for?!?! You’re 12! You know what I did on friday nights when I was 12? Go to bed at 8:30. -___-

What the actual fuck….

Confession: I’m so tired of white people, like honestly. Why the fuck do so many white people feel like it is their place to give their perspective on black issues and racism? More importantly, why do so many of them feel like only their perspectives are valid? Why do they like to derail our problems by claiming “white people experience it too” or by bringing up irrelevant bullshit like the recycled black crime statistics they’ve been pulling out of their asses for years? Why do they continue to tell us to get over the things that we deal with? Why is it so hard to talk to them about racism and oppression? Like I’m honestly so tired of their shit, I’m tired of trying to defend myself, and I’m tired of trying to get them to understand my feelings as a WOC. Talking about the racism I experience and how it has affected me in my life is not “pulling the race card” or “playing victim”, it’s called talking about the reality that so many POC face on a daily basis. Just because we aren’t in chains anymore or sitting in the back of the bus doesn’t mean that shit has changed. Having a black president doesn’t mean a damn thing either. Unless you are black please refrain from interfering or giving your crusty ass two cents in our plight. Please excuse my profanity😁


“Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”

Word Count: 607

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Request: None! It was my choice!

 A/N: I don’t have any excuses for why I was gone for so long, but please do know that I love ya’ll!! EVEN ALL OF YOU WHO STUCK AROUND, ESPECIALLY YOU GUYS!! Now, because I’m a shit writer (excuse my profanity), please enjoy this drabble :)  xoxo - Your Writer

           “I swear! It’s like he hates me!” You exclaimed angrily as Sam helped you wash the dishes in the bunker. He was on washing duty and you were drying all of the dishes.

           Sam handed you a wet plate. “Y/N, I don’t think he hates you—”

           “Sam, he hasn’t said more than two words to me ever since you guys took me in.”

           Sam held the soapy sponge in his hand and gave you an indistinguishable look. You finished drying off the plate he had gave you, and when you realized he stopped, you looked up at him. You looked like an exasperated mess and by the way Sam was looking at you, you figured you were overreacting.

           You sighed, “I’m sorry. Let’s just get the dishes done.”

           You, Sam, and Dean were all seated at the library table after Sam decided to bust out the old movie reel. You and Sam were seated on one side of the table, while Dean was on the other side. It was an old silent movie that was boring you, but for Sam’s sake, you stayed to watch.

           Dean took a sip from his beer and Sam ate a handful of popcorn. Sam’s cellphone began ringing on the table and all of you jumped. Sam set his bowl of popcorn on the table, then snatched his phone up, “Crap, it’s the dry cleaners. I have to grab our stuff.”

           Sam got up and quickly walked down the steps into the main room that led out of the bunker. Dean returned back to watching the movie and shouted, “Make sure they didn’t wrinkle my shirt again!”

           Sam chuckled and yelled back, “Don’t worry, I will.” Then, he left.

           The tension in the room after Sam left was thick, and Dean cleared his throat. You sat for another minute in silence, before you decided to break the silence, “I’m sorry, Sam. This is really boring.”

           You looked over at Dean to see him trying to hide a smile as he sipped on his beer. Your jaw dropped and you couldn’t help but have a note of sarcasm hint your voice, “Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”

           Dean met your gaze and the smile vanished, “Don’t get your hopes up, Kid.”

           “Come on! Admit it!” You teased, “I’m not all that bad..”

           “At this rate, you’re going to be ten times worse.”

           You laughed and turned around in your chair, grabbing a handful of popcorn that was beginning to get cold. You stuffed the handful in your mouth and Dean snorted, “Easy up there, Wilbur.” He then reached across the table and grabbed a handful of popcorn, stuffing the whole thing in his mouth.

           “Don-me-namen-me-afer-a-pig-Winchefer!” You mumbled around the mouthful of popcorn. You swallowed and pointed a finger at the chipmunk-looking man, “Especially from Charlotte’s Web.”

           Dean just rolled his eyes and after you two settled back into a comfortable silence, you were almost quite proud that you had somewhat started this quirky relationship with the Winchester. After twenty minutes of the both of you devouring the rest of Sam’s popcorn, the movie ended.

           Dean got up and downed the rest of his beer, before saying, “You aren’t so bad after all, Wilbur.” He then began walking down the hall towards the rooms. “Tell Sam I went to bed!”

           You gazed after him, knowing the stupid nickname was never going to die off.

           “How am I supposed to tell Sam about what happened to the popcorn?”

A/N: I’m only taking one more request!