built for work


I know you’re upset about AIDA. I’m in a strange position. I don’t want to intrude on you while you’re… processing.

You stood leaned against the building as you stared at Dean’s thick arms and broad shoulders as he bent over the hood of baby. You couldn’t help but appreciate the way the shirt was perfectly stretched taught across his back as he stood to reach for the hood, a wrench and oil rag in one hand, his regular cup of coffee in the other.

Your eyes wandered freely, noticing the dirt and grim that had built up from working on the Impala. You bit your lip at the thought of the feeling of his calloused, just worked hands running along the expanse of your soft, supple skin. It sent a tingling ripple throughout your body just thinking about the way his fingertips would dig into your thighs as he hoisted you onto baby’s hood, pressing into you with every inch of his hard, firm body.

You could just imagine the way his hair would feel between your fingers, soft and pliant. The fact that even though he had gotten completely covered in dirt from working on the car, his hair was still perfectly in place turned you on in ways you couldn’t describe. You were always the one to mess that up, and you had to squeeze your legs together at the thought of just how you could make that happen and soon. Your mind ran wild with the possibilities.

Dean turned and made eye contact with you, smiling as he caught you staring at him from across the parking lot. You pushed away from the wall, sauntering toward him, your hips swaying dangerously. It was his turn to bite his lip, his brow furrowing as you watched him swallow hard as he watched you cross the lot like a predator stalking his prey.

“Hey sweetheart,“he said, wiping his hands and tossing the rag before reaching out for your hips and pulling you roughly against his chest. The pads of his fingertips dug into your hips as he turned you and pressed you into baby, his lips connecting with yours.

When you finally caught your breath, you inhaled deeply taking in Dean’s scent. He smelled of grease, soap, and coffee. You threaded you fingers through his hair looking into his eyes. “I love watching you work on baby. In another life, I would have been satisfied watching you work on cars all damn day,” you sighed. Dean cocked an eyebrow at you in question. “Not that I’m not happy with our life. I’m just saying. I like this,” you said, running your hands across his chest and over his shoulders, slowly trailing down his arms.

His hands slid to the small of your back, pulling you close. “Well I like this,” he growled and dipped his head to nip at your neck. You tossed your head back against baby with a soft thud to allow him better access, moaning softly at the feel of his warm, wet lips on your heated skin.

“Dean,” you gasped, as you felt his hand move south and slip into your shorts, grazing over your soaked folds, briefly slipping his fingers between them. “Not here. It’s the middle of the day,” you moaned as you tugged at his wrist, but almost not wanting him to stop. “We’re a block away from a school,” you whined, as he sucked a mark into your neck as you dug your nails into his arm. He let a low moan from his throat before pulling away.

“Lucky for you our room is right there,” he said, pulling his head backward toward the motel door. He threaded his fingers with yours, dragging you behind him, causing you to have to jog to keep up. “Maybe you can help me get cleaned up,” Dean suggested as he unlocked the door.

“Gotta make me a dirty girl first,” you begged, kissing him roughly, pushing him into the room and kicking the door closed.

“That can definitely be arranged,” Dean agreed, ripping your shirt over your head. “You’re my dirty girl,” Dean said, his voice low and lust filled as he helped you undress, his lips trailing kisses of fire everywhere they went.

You loved every minute with Dean and if that was what it meant to be dirty, you never wanted to be Fucking clean again. Dean could be your mechanic any damn day of the week.

@thing-you-do-with-that-thing now look what you made me do.

i just infodumped how the middle ages were post apocalyptic because the romans and the greeks were the center stage for learning and money in those ages and when it fell people didn’t know what to do so they gathered in small groups, built a fort, and worked on the land around the fort to feed themselves

and this is like a textbook definition of post apocalyptic books (not including the zombies and such but there were other things such as plagues and barbaric invaders from the north to deal with which is like the same thing)

and the Renaissance period was when they were digging up the old knowledge of the Greeks and Romans and applying it to new technology and art and laws and it was great

and you tend to see this cycle in history sometimes, just not on such a grand scale like the Middle Ages

what i’m implying is that the middle ages are those post apocalyptic YA books and i need book of a middle aged peasant girl who discovers the knowledge of the fallen romans and uses it to her advantage to defeat a tyrant king

Dick: Bruce, why are you mad at Uncle Clark?

Bruce: *Growls*

Dick: *Puts his hands on his hips and taps his foot*

Bruce:…Fine. Clarks body temperature is significantly higher than a humans. He is always hot. He keeps the League thermostat turned down to 63. Do you know how cold that is, Richard? I want to wear four jackets. I want to line my cape in fur. My hands and feet are numb constantly. Instead of listening to briefings I fantasize about having a super power that would allow me to climb inside of a burning fire place, and survive it.

Dick: *Pulls his phone out from his back pocket* Did ya get all that Uncle Clark?

Clark: *Barrels in through the door* WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?! I FEEL SO AWFUL! *Hugs Bruce*

Bruce: Don’t let go. I can almost feel my fingers again.

The song is out we love the song what’s next for you guys…? Do you plan to do more songs together?

Louis: I think um you know like me and Steve said this was our baby and this was our project…I think you know things have gone so well we’ve built up a really good working and personal relationship I think we’ll see where it goes. 



What’s society built on
What’s society built on
What’s society built on
What’s society built on
It’s built on, built on bluff,
Built on bluff, built on trust,
What’s society built on
It’s built on, built on words,
Built on words, built on work

Responsible for what I say
Responsible for what I hush

Something that I can’t get over is that they had a huge fight. Like they were both yelling, their faces were red, veins were popping out of necks and they both started with the hand gesturing. It was an all out fight. But it was a healthy one.

 At no point did either of them go for a low blow. Neither of them hit on an insecurity or tried to intentionally strike a nerve. Robert refused to let Aaron walk out and avoid the argument. He even physically stopped Aaron from leaving but it never got violent. It was just a couple having a fight. 

It was intense and they were both really angry but it never crossed a line the way they probably would have when their relationship was in a different place. 

TF2 Go character selection screen.

No one ever picks Bidwell

When working with a colony, you will often see worker bees on the landing board, facing the entrance. Look closely and you’ll notice that their abdomens are raised in the air with the tip bent down just a bit. This position separates the last two abdominal segments, exposing a bit of the whitish integument below. Located at that spot is the Nasonov gland, which produces Nasonov pheromone. Exposing that gland allows some of the pheromone to waft away. To hep distribute this sweet-smelling chemical, the bee will rapidly beat her wings. She is said to be fanning or scenting. This is intriguing behavior and only workers can do it. Broadly speaking, this is an orientation signal produced to guide disoriented, lost, or following workers back to the hive.

Interesting, when one bee begins fanning, it stimulates nearby bees to do likewise, and those bees that return begin to fan also. Very quickly you’ll see many, many fanning bees on the landing board or the top edge of an open super, guiding their lost nest mates home.
—  the backyard beekeeper, by kim flottum

Pif said he’d probably be home around nine and it’s now ten and I wouldn’t be worried normally except there’s a snowstorm so like I’m afraid he been captured by whatever kind of snow monster alien thing captured Luke that one time and he’s too tall to fit inside a tauntaun carcass

concept: when my friends ask me how I’m doing I don’t answer them based solely off how I feel in the moment and subsequently keep how bad I’ve gotten hidden from them until they get worried when they see my reckless behavior. I am honest and I am able to express myself and I utilize the support system I built for myself and really work to be stable.

The late (or at least severely delayed) Bergholt Stuttley Johnson was generally recognized as the worst inventor in the world, yet in a very specialized sense. Merely bad inventors made things that failed to operate. He wasn’t among these small fry. Any fool could make something that did absolutely nothing when you pressed the button. He scorned such fumble-fingered amateurs. Everything he built worked. It just didn’t do what it said on the box. If you wanted a small ground-to-air missile, you asked Johnson to design an ornamental fountain. It amounted to pretty much the same thing. But this never discouraged him, or the morbid curiosity of his clients. Music, landscape gardening, architecture - there was no start to his talents.

– on B.S. Johnson | Terry Pratchett, Hogfather

Ice ghosts. 

The fate of the Petropavlovsk is finally known, if not her full story. She had been buried in the ice for several seasons, and was only made buoyant again by a runaway reaction in her oxygen plant. The explosion that resulted from this led to her discovery by the American outpost on Attu. What they found in the wreck has never been made public, and the fire which unfortunately followed erased all evidence of what the doomed warship brought back from Mars.

Kismet Clarke’s illustration for the Post does show several interesting features of the wreck, including the loss of her outer impeller to the grinding sea ice. The rather overbuild planetary gear mechanism is partially visible. Also of note is the minimal damage to he heat funnels and relatively lightly built upper works, indicating a landing rather than a crash. Of course, the article did not discuss the dream plague, and even now such things are not discussed in public.

Another illustration for Spacecraft of the First World War. Happy New Year!

when the last episode disappoints you 

Do you ever think that those 5 years before they met, Luci came to LA and built Lux and Chloe worked for LAPD for how many years.

They were in the SAME GODDAMN CITY FOR FIVE YEARS but they haven’t freakin met. If Luci would ever hear the news about a Detective Decker solving a murder case, or Chloe hearing about a new nigtclub that just opened and is the talk of the town but she’s always busy.



Percival Graves - SPOILERS

Okay, but seriously. There is no way that Grindelwald was Graves the whole time. Graves clearly has a history with everyone there. There must be a trust that was built over years of hard work and dedication. He seems to be one of the head investigative Aurors (he clearly knows Tina very well, and has a direct line to the President!). And Grindelwald has been wreaking havoc on the world recently in this movie.

Therefore, I’m hoping that Grindelwald only recently took over Graves’s identity after having the vision about the Obscurus. He picked someone in MACUSA who had a lot of influence and took over their life to lead the investigation and throw everyone off the trail. Obviously, he would need to keep Graves alive to learn about him and ask questions. 

…Or that’s just me hoping that Colin Ferrell will come back for more movies as a badass Auror out for revenge on Grindelwald for squandering the reputation he’s built up his entire life.