Bart: Oh, come on, I’ve seen you cry a million times. You cry when you scrape your knee. You cry when they’re out of chocolate milk. You cry when you’re doing long division and you have a remainder left over.
YES, HE DEFINITELY HAD HIS ARM ON HER THIGH AND THEY HELD HANDS TOO.
For some reason I thought they were both his arms on her legs haha which I thought was kind of weird. In slow-motion though all the actions are revealed. I have the raw pics too if anyone wants the stills version?
But here we can see all the action elements in the slow-mo play-by-play.
Exhibit A: J’s right hand - Is behind S and pulls her close to him.
Exhibit B: J’s left hand - Moves over her legs and ends up holding her hand!
I don’t know why TPTB would put this on air! Don’t they know about our slow-mo tools???
You were going through the papers left all over the table when your fingers closed around a small notebook. It wasn’t more than a few inches long and a couple inches wide, but when you opened the cover in curiosity you were greeted by the unmistakeable sight of Cas’ slanting handwriting.
What it said, however, was a mystery. It was all scribbled down in Enochian.
“What are you doing?” Cas’ voice came suddenly and a little stiffly from the doorway. You looked up and met his somewhat wide eyes.
You flipped a couple more pages, again peering down in curiosity at the notebook in your hands. “Cas, what is this?” you asked.
He grabbed it away from you a little suddenly and you gave him a queer look. “It’s–it’s nothing.”
You raised your eyebrows at him in skepticism. “What could you possibly be scribbling down in Enochian that you don’t want me to know about?”
He wouldn’t exactly call it poetry. That notion was far too formalized and overdone for the angel. He never sat down with the intention of writing it as poetry. What it was though, was strings of words and phrases that popped into his head as he thought about you. It was notes of little things you said that he wanted to remember, descriptions of looks you had given him that made him feel warm or flustered or small (in the best way), memories of the way the light had shone in your eyes in a certain wash of grey morning or blue, deep evening. It was things that reminded him of you or that he thought you would like. It was sketches and flashes of you that he never wanted to part with.
“Cas?” you pressed him again, puzzling over the far-off look in his eyes.
“It’s–it’s not that I don’t want you to know about it. It’s just, uhhh, some jokes and–case notes,” he said, stowing the tiny notebook in his trench coat. “My private…thoughts on them.”
You stared at him, more than a little perplexed. “You keep your angel jokes and case notes in the same notebook?”
You gave him a confused and amused half-smile. “Okay, weirdo…” you muttered as you turned back to shift more stacks of paper around.
Cas thought he had dodged your suspicion as you made a mental note to ask Balthazar to steal it and translate it for you when you had a chance…