human confessions

Confession time

I work with a girl who’s a bit older than me. Now I’m not going to diagnose her but I think she’s an alcoholic. Obviously, I’d never say that to her face.

She drinks 4/5 times a week and when we have a drink together she downs a pint in 10-15 minutes and has to always have two at a time. She invites me out all the time and I do with her too. We go out like twice a month.

So last week we went out and where so pissed drunk ! She had a male ring on her hand and I asked if it was her brothers and she said yes and I said aw thats lovely. Her brother committed suicide 3 years ago and the next day she sends me a message not to mention him again.

Today.. I was working on in theatre and she left the room. I left too and was about to go into a room when I overheard her laughing at ME ! Saying that I follow her around etc. And a girl in work who’s on her last chance not to get sacked was agreeing that Im like a dog ??? Anyway. Obviously mortified and upset and she can feic off but my Mum doesn’t want me to go to HR, obviously. Especially cause I’m moving soon too.

But what do I do ? Just do I just ignore and carry on ?

Dean surprises everyone when he hands Cas the iPhone, brand new in its pristine white box. The angel is overwhelmed; he knew his flip phone was outdated but this…

“And wait,” Dean smiles, grabbing another package from the bag. “I haven’t even shown you the best part yet.”

They’re headphones, large ones in a big box and a little plastic container of smaller ear buds. They both have the label Shure on the side, a fact that has Sam’s hazel eyes wide and Castiel blushing under the lavishness of the gifts. “Dean, I don’t need–”

“I know,” Dean says. His smile, though hesitant and shy, is beautiful. “I, uh, I wanted to. ‘Sides, can’t have you listening to shitty tunes on shitty headphones, y'know?”

The phone has already been set up, a fact Castiel is eternally grateful for. The angel watches as Dean explains how the device works, tapping at the screen and plugging in the huge headphones and carefully placing them over Cas’s ears. Castiel flinches in response: “Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Dean replies. His smile is brave and fake, and Cas hates it. He wishes he could relax. He wishes he could stop being anxious and sad. But ever since he expelled Lucifer and killed Amara, things have been—different. Loud noises make him jump, unexpected touches make him cringe and flinch, and he often loses himself in his own thoughts.

“Hey, here, I wanna show you something.” This time, Dean warns him before touching him, his calloused fingers smoothing over his arm as his other hand hovers over the phone. “I’m gonna press play, okay? You’ll like it, I promise.”

With the knowledge that the song will be a surprise, Castiel tenses up, his shoulders almost touching his ears. He nods and bites his lip, almost to the point of blood.

Dean’s green eyes become dull and worried in response, and the hunter gives a little nod of his own. He presses play. Cas flinches pre-emptively.

And then it’s just… alright. Good, even.

In the place of music, the sound of rain filters through his headphones. It’s a little bit of a shock at first, he has to turn the volume down because the bouts of thunder make him jump, but after a while, it becomes—relaxing. The sound is repetitive, soft, the thunder is low and grumbly, and it soothes Cas until he’s comfortable enough to slump in his seat. Dean, who at some point has sat down beside him, easily takes Castiel’s weight against his shoulder. When he wraps an arm around the angel, Cas doesn’t even flinch.

Soon after, the rain changes to the hum of a washing machine, but instead of another ten minutes of blissful white noise, the sound is soon interrupted by something sharper. It’s still a low sound, though, and with how relaxed Castiel is, the angel doesn’t startle.

It’s Dean.

So, uh, hey Cas, it’s me. Ah… Dean.

A smile begins to creep across Cas’s lips.

Shit. Fuck, of course it’s me—um, yep. So, it’s Dean. And I just. I just wanted to talk, I guess. I know it’s been kinda, uh, tough since you got back, and I know we don’t talk about it, but I’m… I’m worried, Cas. And I know I’m a coward. And I know I’m probably bein’ selfish right now, but it’s killin’ me to watch you waste away to nothing, man. I, ah, I love you too much for that. Like, I love you a lot, a-and—fuck. I’m not… doin’ this right.

Look, what I, I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is that… I don’t care why you did it. I don’t. I care about you, Cas. And if you don’t love me back, that’s cool, and if you do, well… A shaky breath. Well, then, we move at your pace. But you’re all I care about. You gotta believe that.

Kay, um, well, I love you.

Okay.

Uh, bye.

Cas doesn’t know he’s crying until Dean is wiping at his cheeks, freckled skin drowning in ruby red warmth as the hunter coos and hushes him. Castiel grasps Dean’s wrists tightly and carefully leans in, his breath shaky and laboured and nervous before he presses the sweetest of chaste kisses upon the other’s lips. Immediately after, Cas buries his face in Dean’s neck and hugs his hunter tightly. “Thank you,” he breathes.

Dean’s small, relieved smile presses against the top of Castiel’s head. “Yeah, god, anytime, Cas,” he breathes. “L-love you.”

It takes a handful of seconds before Cas can gather up the air to answer—before he’s absolutely certain this is real. Fingers twisting in the material of Dean’s shirt, the angel nods, throat clicking with his swallow. His lips part.

“Love you.”

I absolutely adore @thededicatedscientist‘s style of Asgore and had to do some doodles :3 I’m so glad I actually found a style for him that I can draw and make look kinda decent

the crying one looks really bad

Also, I was obsessed with Kingdings before, but now it’s even worse cus dang are they cute

“In all honesty, I don’t hate the different Tamatoa’s humanizations .I admit it I do have my personal favorites and even one I went yup that’s human Tamatoa. What annoys me that there are some Tamatoa fans are being jerks about how the humanizations should look like . Don’t make him too skinny , Don’t make him pretty and how dare you paint him the skin color that you want him to look like. Its attitudes like that that make me nervous about creatin’ my own humanization.”

Months ago I promised myself I will never cry again and I will become a strong and detached person. Now, I’m not sure I like the human being that I am. I haven’t cried since then, I haven’t complained without doing anything but I feel like a machine. I don’t have strong feelings, I don’t have feelings at all sometimes. I force myself to be positive and I am, but something is missing. I am so alike a cold robot that can select what to feel and what to do that is scaring me.
archiveofourown.org
Confessions - agent85 - Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV) [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Rating: G

Words: 3,100

Summary:

There were two times Jeffrey Mace asked about Jemma Simmons’ loyalty to Leopold Fitz: once in the real world, and once in the Framework. But it’s not until she finally gets Fitz out of his virtual trap that she finally gets to explain it to him herself.

“So,” says the director with that troublesome smile, “Fitz is creating a virtual reality device?”

She lets out a sigh, thankful that this is something she actually wants to talk about.

“Yes,” she says, “it’s quite brilliant, actually. It feels so real that you can smell and taste your environment. I’m hoping it can be used to help May train her team.”

“Hmm.” The director inspects his fingernails. “Could it also be used to trap people in a false reality so they divulge sensitive information?”

Jemma furrows her brow. “What? I don’t—”

“If he wanted to,” poses the director, “couldn’t he? To me, or to you, even. Make us think we’re in a safe environment and prompt us to give classified intel?”

“No, sir,” she says. “Fitz wouldn’t do that.”

The director pauses. “That’s not what I asked.”

[Read it on AO3!]

“ Given the outward physical appearance of Stricklander’s Human form and assuming that changelings passing as humans “age” at the same rate as humans, in all likeliness the real Walter Strickler’s parents are either dead or old. Call it a crack theory, but part of me hopes that Jim will adopt stricklander’s familiar as a little brother “