steaming observations

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Sorry I only got this. And that everyone was so talky in the back. I got what I could and I already have a powerful need for a copy of this song.

Edit: I ONLY JUST NOTICED WHO WAS PLAYING BASS HOLY CRAP

candygirl263  asked:

Hi! Just saying, your blog is awesome! You are such a good writer, like all the time! Haha! Can I request something where Jumin mumbles cute things about MC in his sleep (along with random things too) and she overhears them? Thank you!

Aww thank you so much, that’s so sweet!! As for the request, I’d be delighted to do it! Thank you and have a terrific day! 

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Some would say you almost lived at Jumin’s.

You visited him constantly, a mixture of not-so-surprising surprises and him simply wanting to see you.

What exactly that meant, you weren’t entirely sure.

But the fluttering in your heart each time you saw him, gave a hint. 

This, happened to be one of the many times you visited him.

He had asked to see you, drenched in so much work the past few days that even his voice seemed weighed down by cinder blocks.

But as he saw you, it lightened.

“MC…” His words drifted off, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “It’s great to see you.” 

You chuckled, setting a hand on his arm. “It’s good to see you too! I bet you’ve been dying for a chance to rest haven’t you?”

“That is one way to put it yes,” He nodded, his lids heavy. “I suppose a toll is taken after living off espresso shots for the past few days.” 

“You haven’t gotten any sleep?” 

“No, I haven’t-” 

Before he could even finish you were guiding him off to his sofa, snatching a blanket and wrapping it around him, fretting and doting on him as though you were newlyweds. 

Not that the idea bothered you.

Not in the slightest.

“MC,” He stifled a hint of a laugh, looking up to you. “What’re you doing?” 

“You need to rest!” You exclaimed. “Why did you even ask for me to come? You should be asleep!” 

“I…I wanted to see you.” 

You stopped dead in your tracks, a warmth blooming in your chest as though the sun had risen in your heart.

And you melted.

“I-okay…” You sighed. “Just stay where you are, I’m going to make you some tea to help you get some rest.”

“You don’t have to do that…” He withheld a yawn, covering his mouth.

“I’m not asking for your permission.” 

You made your way to the kitchen, snatching out a kettle from one of the cabinets, pouring in the cold water to boil.

As you waited for the bubbles to brim, you felt Elizabeth 3rd press against your leg, purring as you noticed her. 

“Hello dear,” You snickered, kneeling down, petting her fondly, laying down and curling up against the carpet. 

As you continued making the tea, Elizabeth would vie for your attention, eventually hopping onto the counter curiously as you finally poured the tea into cups, curious of what kept you so distracted. 

You gave her one last stroke as she observed the steam rising from the drinks, taking them in your hands as you backed away.

“These aren’t for you Elizabeth,” You chimed, giving her a dip of your head as you headed off.

“Here, I just got it made-” 

Jumin was asleep.

His head was tipped against the arm of the sofa, his arm sloppily wound about the blanket rested against his side, his breathing soft. 

You sat down beside him, letting out a deep sigh, holding one of the cups in your hand. 

“Least you’re getting sleep somehow….” You looked to his cup, folding your lips. “I’ll go and try and keep this hot for you.” 

But as you moved to head back to the kitchen, you heard a voice, 

His. 

“How…how do I tell her…?”

You twisted back around to him, baffled, peering after him.

“What?” You furrowed your brow. “Are you awake?” 

“How…do you tell someone like that…?” 

“Someone like what?” 

His tone was barely beneath a whisper, murky as he sank into the cushions. 

But nevertheless, you couldn’t have heard his next words any clearer.

“Someone so… amazing, so… wonderful…” He murmured. “How do you tell someone like that… how you feel…?”

“How do you feel?” 

“Love… I love them…” 

“And who’re they?”

Anticipation welled up inside of you like a balloon, knots entangling themselves in your stomach.

You wouldn’t admit it, but a part of you hoped it was you.

And your hopes were met.

“MC…” 

Your breath became caught in your throat, hardly able to muster up a single thing, your face redder than a strawberry. 

Even as he began to mutter off about other things, you could hardly focus, your mind an utter blur as you tried to process it. 

And you grinned, just a bit.

You looked back at him, mumbling incoherently about wine and Elizabeth 3rd, and you stood up, ruffling his curly hair lightly. 

“Hey…guess what?” 

“What…?” 

You gathered up the words you longed to say, embarrassedly pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I love you too.” 

And as you stepped back you couldn’t help but notice something painting his expression.

Something small, but tender all the same.

A smile. 

Does anyone else find it the least bit problematic that Pearl is only interested in Rusty after he wins the race?

I mean, even if she sings her little love song before she knows that he won, he has already proven himself to be pretty badass. He holds his own against Greaseball and Electra, and he saves her life. She completely blows him off for pretty much the whole show, but after that, WOW, WHAT A HUNK A’ BURNING COAL, AMIRITE?

our unexpected life: p3

right, it is very long- and I mean it. but I can say wholeheartedly that I am proud of this little series so thank you for reading- and to the anon who requested in the first place. 

enjoy!

(and I have got my last 2 days of writing sorted, thank you to those who requested and as I said I’ll be back in July)

p1/ p2 


Sitting down in front of each other, a tea in grasp and blowing lightly against the ripples forming, observing the steam glide towards him and away from me. “There’s plenty of successful couples with big age gaps.” He insisted as he wore a heavy look of confusion between his brows. 

Placing my mug down I keep my hands wrapped around it for warmth as I tuck my legs under each other behind the metallic chair. “Come on, like we are the first ones.” Sarcasm rolled off of my tongue, resulting in a small smile to form on his face momentarily before going back to a harsh look of concentration. 

“Name a couple then.” He retorted and placed his hands around his mug, eyes locking with mine with such intent it was as if I were back in school being asked to answer the question in maths that no one knew. 

Rubbing my lips together I bit my tongue as my mind scanned through every celebrity couple, playing an elimination game. Lingering on one I blurted it out, “Trump and his wife.” 

His eyes dropped along with his shoulders, unable to hold back the disappointed sigh. “Not the best example.” I began to chuckle in response, only triggering him to join in. 

As our laughter faded we went back to the quiet, it no longer being quite so comfortable knowing we had to talk about it sooner or later. This being the latter of the options having suppressed the urge to blurt it out or suggest it as we walk by the beach. “I’m going to go back home the day you go.” I want to mutter it, let it be spoken without the feeling of it hanging in the air heavy. Instead I speak loudly, making him finally here it. 

“No no I get it, it’s your summer break and you have friends back home wondering about you.” He was mumbling, distracting himself, being uncomfortable and avoiding my gaze. 

Leaning across the table I hold my hand out to which he picks it up, drawing invisible triangles into my palm. “It’s not just that Dan, I mean we’ve been together for a year now and this is your biggest part of tour.” The triangles stopped, instead he held it lifelessly. “You’ve got to prepare and all since you’re going in three days.” Sighing I struggle to hide the irritation that itches away at my thoughts, never ceasing as the day grows closer. “And I, I’m nervous.” I mutter the last half, unsure how else to possibly word it.

His grip tightens on mine, “Why’d you be nervous? It’s only four months.” I can’t help but let out a dry laugh to his response. Pulling my hand away from his with some force as he grasps onto my fingertips, not wanting to let go. 

“Do you hear yourself?” I retort to him as his eyes remain blank, “Four months, that is almost half of my course in second year done.” Still, nothing besides him retracting his hands, cupping the mug tightly instead of my hands. “That is four months of me trying to not come across as needy, not wanting to seem desperate in wanting to hear from you.” Sighing I push my hair out of my face, taking a deep breath. 

“And I’ll spend those four months trying to not coddle you from thousands of miles away.” His voice falters as he tries to maintain eye contact, struggling to evidently. “We did it before with two months, we can pull through.” 

My eyes searched his for anything besides optimism as mine held reality, how the two of us would probably feel miserable one month in. We barely scraped out of the last leg of tour, only having dated for six months then. Smiling supportively I reach my hand out to intertwine with his and sip my tea, “We’ll be okay.” I mutter more for myself as opposed to him. 

Waking up knowing what today would bring feels demotivating. It makes my chest heavy, as if I can’t move out of his arms and want to treasure every minute we have together as if it were our last. Turning around to face him I tried to take internal snapshots of his sleepy form, how his brows creased together leaving small lines like those on his suit shirt. The way he wore a small smile as I shuffled closer into him and subconsciously his grip tightened around me and rested his head in the crook of my neck, mumbling nonsense. 

Smoothing his hair back I refused to let the tears fall, to allow the emotion to creep in. For the time being I have to be strong, defiant. I refuse to be weak, but deep down he knows I’m crumbling. Last time I saw him off for tour I was excited for him, enthusiastic to see his adventures when he got home but the second I saw him depart I broke down. I remember having him come up to me, tap my shoulder and hold me tightly in his arms, kissing me one last time and wiping my tears as his eyes watered. 

It’s not easy, saying goodbye to those you love. Four months can seem like nothing or everything. Neither of us are sure which yet. 

The two of us began to get ready in silence, neither of us able to commit to a conversation as all I could do was focus on the suitcases we had laid out before us. Going down the stairs I got a single message from Will, ‘how are you?’ a fair few responses came to mind as I looked at the message. Physically, able. Emotionally, struggling. Mentally, close to breaking. 

I’ll be alright, always am.’ I typed back and placed my phone away as Dan came down the stairs, his eyes gloomy like the London weather outside despite the early hour it is. “Tea, coffee?” Breaking the silence it sounds too forced despite me standing by the kettle. He shrugs in response and sits down, looking at his phone with an unreadable expression, refusing to shift his focus away from the brightly lit screen. “Look Dan, how does this help either of us?” I clench my teeth, unable to hold it back. 

The silent treatment on the day we both leave, I go back home, he goes around America. “What’d you mean?” He asked as his eyes remained on his phone. 

“I mean, you sitting on your phone. Me trying to not get upset about someone I love so much ignoring me in the last hours we have together before you leave.” Sighing I turn my back to him, waiting for the kettle to boil. 

The chair scrapes across the floor as I hear him huff, “Now who is acting like a child?” Quick to retort I turn around, glaring at him as my eyes blur with tears. 

Blinking I shake my head to him, the anger melting from his eyes as he realises what he’s done. For months I put up with his friends teasing me, I dealt with the comments online, I tried my best to keep it lowkey at Uni but somehow I couldn’t. Someone called me naive, that I had no idea what I was doing. That was the start of it all, the turmoil that followed through. Whatever I did I was called names, a ‘sugar baby’ a ‘hoe’, ‘slut’, ‘user’, ‘bitch’, ‘desperate’, ‘fake’, ‘kiddy’, ‘pathetic’ and so many more worse names. 

He knew how much hurt I went through, not that he didn’t get out of it with a clean slate but those fans adore him too much to hurt him, so they hurt me instead. Muttering my name as I ran past him up the stairs he held back, he knew his mistake. Picking my phone up I ring the first number I see on my phone, “I’ll be in touch soon, I’m sorry in advance.” I gush to him as he follows with various questions, completely caught off guard. “Just listen Will, I don’t think you’ll be seeing much of me anymore. But thank you, thank you for the friendship and constant kindness.” 

Hanging up I grab ahold of my suitcase, passing the photos of the two of us and the others on nights out, on our trip to Rome that I always dreamt of. As I reach the top of the stairs he hovers at the bottom, eyes cast over and hiding the blue sky, the sunlight I could use. He notices the suitcase in my hand and sadly shakes his head. “Please don’t go, not like this.” He whimpers and sniffs loudly as I pass him. 

Grabbing a hold of my arm and I turn to face him. His face is tinted pink at the cheeks but consumes his eyes, the once fluffy white clouds surrounding the stormy blue darkens, as if the rain is soon to come. “I can’t do this Dan,” Sighing I pull my arm away. “I’m sorry. I just don’t think we can make it through like last time.” Placing my cold hand against his warm cheek I catch a tear as it falls and feel it weave through my fingers. 

Removing my hand before he had the opportunity to hold it one last time I pick my bags up, ignoring the rings of my phone and walk out of the door. Hearing it shut slowly and lock I can feel it rising in my chest, the pain, the regret and the instant heartache as tears fall silently, no sound to be heard. 

Tapping my pen I rest against the fabric chair, staring at the title of my essay unsure how to begin. ‘How does Plato use the world of forms effectively to create an image for society and does this reflect in modern day?’ It was too wordy, bloody Plato and his world of forms. Sighing I put my pen down as I reach for my phone, a month of radio silence from him but a phone call every other day from Will. The day I left I phoned him on the train, the anger I’d never heard from the one with the soft voice. It took me a while to ease into conversation, then one night we FaceTimed. Immediately he pointed out how much of a mess I looked, in the background I could hear that laugh I subconsciously craved. 

I regret shutting down after that, the look I gave Will of fear and ended our call. He tells me somedays how Dan seems brighter then other days all he wants is to talk to me but doesn’t know how. ‘Do you still have feelings for him?’ Something he tries to ask every week, some way to make me express the truth about it all. It is undeniable, I hear a split second of his voice on someones phone and dwell over it all day, the heartache that is etched into my soul that increases with each passing day. 

Would you want to see him again?’ Today’s question, courtesy of Woody as opposed to Will. Pondering the thought I glance back to my essay and write the introduction then flick back to my phone. 

Yes. No. I’m unsure. I hate him. I love him. My heart can’t take the toying. My mind can’t cope with the abuse. My self can’t deal without him. 

Thinking through all of my options I pick my text books up and leave, wander towards the one place I can get clarity. As I see it in sight my heart twists, it feels as if my intestines have wrapped around my heart, squeezing at the nostalgia of distance flutters I had when I first met him. The smell of salt and dry seaweed, ‘fresh’ fish and chips, seagulls squawking at any who interrupt their required meals. 

All followed by the memory of our conversation, of the first time he spoke to me. The awkward stranger and the comfortable girl. Who’d of expected it, who’d of thought I’d return over a year later alone; me. Sitting down I hold onto my phone as I glance down to Woody’s message, I can’t imagine a life when I don’t hear his laugh or see that smile aimed at me. The way he’d listen to my thoughts like no one else would. How we’d dance when he was jetlagged, the glint in his eyes when I laugh or play the keyboard.

I’m afraid.’ Sending it I know it’s true, the apprehension that lies deep inside of my thoughts about the rejection, being unwanted by the one I want more than anything else. 

Closing my eyes I can almost feel him here now, sat next to me admiring my photography. The two of us walking along here, exchanging names and pleasantries like it was nothing. Neither of us knew we’d get this deep, we were naive in it all. 

If I’d been warned falling in love was this dangerous would I have backed out? No. As if I stayed clear I wouldn’t have lived, the memories I’ve made and the things I never thought I’d experience have happened. Someone I didn’t expect to love has left a hole in my soul unable to be fixed nor filled with anything sufficient besides his love. 

Opening my eyes I text Will, the first thing I can think of that’ll make any apparent sense. ‘I will always love Dan, and have done since our fourth date. He’ll know why.’ Smiling as I sent it I walked by the old coffee shop, even today I remember all of the orders and take a trip inside. 

Ordering myself a tea I sit down near our spot, I can picture us there now. Date number four, though we never called them dates as we were too nervous to title it so soon with something so official, serious. We continued to discuss paintings, my little knowledge and his combined into something else. Our conversations only got deeper, until he told me about the one night where he just stared at the sky and felt something else. He convinced me he was sober but I thought otherwise as he wore that mischievous smile. The more he talked the more comfortable he became around me, all barriers were down and we were fully exposed. There was almost a vulnerability about it that I’d never witnessed but loved. His eyes lighting up as we drank tea and laughed. 

That was when I knew I loved him, and wished for it to never end. 

Leaving the nostalgia behind me I went home, back to my flat and noticed a newly framed photo, one I’d never noticed. Suspicious I called out, yet there was no response. Letting out a hesitant sigh of relief I wandered through to my room, dumping my stuff but heard my phone ring. 

“Hey Will.” I place my phone on loud speaker as I tie my hair up, a wave of tiredness hitting me hard like the water does to the battered pier I love dearly. “I’m at my flat, why?”

“Just wondered, you available to talk for a bit- face to face?” He suggests and I agree as normal. “Just open up your door then.” 

Pausing I stare straight at my door, imagining my dear friend on the other side I hadn’t seen in months able to talk to me without fear of judgement or barriers. For once I didn’t have to wipe tears away and he’d be unaware, I could face him and laugh like old times. “Are you at my door?” Mumbling I edge closer to it, wishing I had a peep hole. 

“Open it and find out.” He chuckles in response. 

Gripping onto the door handle I speak up loudly, knowing he’ll hear it on the other side through the thin panels of wood. “If this is how I die then I will not be happy.” Opening the door I stutter on my words, unable to speak nor close my mouth. 

“Have fun.” Will cautions and hangs up, leaving me alone. 

Leaning against the door frame I tuck my phone into my back pocket, feeling as if I’m back to square one. His eyes remain focused on his feet, the same black converse and denim jacket as always. “Hi.” He mutters to me and slowly lifts his head. 

As his eyes lock with mine the tightness in my chest eases, the warmth that thawed out the pain inside increased as I felt myself smile slightly, slightly. Analysing the other details of his face I can’t help but sigh, the bags under his eyes have darkened, the stubble forming a ginger beard that I always liked. “Hi.” 

It’s as if we are on our first ‘date’ again, neither of us knowing where to begin. “Can I come in?” He politely asks and I move aside, holding the door back as he walks in, hiding his hands. “Before I explain everything I wanted you to have this.” Placing a thick book down on my small coffee table it is a simple black book, stuffed full and neatly tied with a black ribbon. “Go on, please.” His eyes widened with hope so sitting down on the sofa I took the deceivingly heavy book and untied the ribbon. 

My cheeks instantly heated and a smile unexpectedly formed. Flicking through each page I heard a chuckle escape my lips and glanced up to him, the similar look reflected that I wore. Each page of covered in candids of me, of us that I had never seen. Little slips of paper and tickets or leaflets included to remember the day for what it was. “When, when-” 

“The day I left.” He knelt down in front of me, holding my hands in his. “I knew I’d made a mistake in letting you go. I, I was afraid of losing you.” 

Staring at him intently everything returned, the laughter echoed through the rooms, our late nights captured in these photos. Everything that I’d forgotten represented in this, tied up nicely with a bow- maybe even too nicely. “I, I love you Dan but I’m scared of getting hurt again.” This time I didn’t avoid his gaze, I kept a clear focus on it. 

“One more thing,” Reaching into his back pocket he pulled out a folded up photo, making me laugh lightly as I held onto it. 

The first photo I ever took of him, well the blur that he was in the photo. Smiling at it I opened up the book, placing it on page one. “It belongs there, as that’s where it all starts right?” I raise an eyebrow and he nods, a sweet smile forming, the one unique to any I’d seen since I wandered the campus. 

“They’ve known this whole time haven’t they?” Asking him he merely smiles, the glint in his eyes returning. “And yet here we are, oblivious to it all until it was too late.” 

“Sometimes those who are meant to be can’t see it. It is so unexpected that it is too good to be true.” Standing up he lifts me with him, wrapping my arms around his neck I move closer to him, “But then there are those who get lucky.” Smiling down to me I lean in, and it was true. 

We were the lucky ones after all. 

“Go-Anywhere” Rubber-Wheeled, Steam-Powered Locomotive

External image
Bob Grimm is one of those guys who likes to work on projects that are unique and BIG. In 2007, he started building a working replica of a steam locomotive. The finished outfit measures 40 ft. long, 8 ft. wide, 12 ft. tall and weighs more than 10 tons. Grimm’s machine rides on rubber tires instead of rails so he can drive it on the road in local parades so people experience railroad history in an entirely new way.
  “I thought about making it smaller at first, but the more I penciled stuff out the more it made sense to make it almost full size, just like a real locomotive,” Grimm says. He’s had a fascination with steam engines since he was a kid. “I grew up on a farm and the train track ran nearby. I remember locomotives chugging by with the steam pouring out, the whistle blowing and the sound of wheels on the rails. It was a real thrill to watch them.”
  Grimm drew up his plans based on pictures of a Baldwin steam locomotive. His son, who’s the equipment manager at the Black Hills Central Railroad in Rapid City helped him with several details. “I wanted to make the engine look as realistic as possible,” Bob says, “so I took my time and did a lot of research before getting started.”
  Grimm’s locomotive is built on the same principle as an old time steam engine. It has a boiler mounted on a large chassis with four large driven wheels and two sets of smaller wheels in the front. Wood is burned in a firing chamber to heat water and produce steam. The steam flows into a high pressure slide valve that drives two pistons. The piston control rod is hooked to the cross head, which is connected to the drive rod and coupling rods that drive the wheels. The valve can be rotated to power the machine forward or backward. Exhaust steam leaves the piston chamber in a loud “choo” sound and blows white puffs as it billows up the stack and out the top. The faster the piston moves, the quicker the exhaust billows and the faster the locomotive moves.
  Grimm built the chassis for his rig from the frame of an old tandem axle semi tractor. He removed the front wheels and axle, then made a special frame that sits below and outside the main frame to mount four steerable wheels. He converted the rear tandem axles to extra large single wheels fitted with 42-in. tires. The rear wheels have large reciprocal plates connected together with a 2-in. thick metal rod. “There’s a piston on each side, so the wheels are timed and pull in unison,” Grimm says. The front of the frame has two steerable wheels that let him turn the locomotive in a wide arc around corners.
  Steam is generated by a wood-fired Ellsworth boiler. He located pistons from an old steam pile driver and built all of the components that connect the steam power system to the wheels. “I was able to machine some parts on my lathe, but the large and difficult ones I had done by a local machine shop. I fabricated most of the other metal work myself and had the shop do some of the more difficult cuts,” Bob says. Even the lubrication is similar to a real locomotive, with the crank pin and crosshead bearings holding small cup-shaped reservoirs for oil.
  Included in the overall design is a fully functional engineer’s cabin that has wood sides, a metal roof and scroll-cut windows. The engineer steers the front wheels with a 2-ft. dia. steering wheel and tends the steam boiler by observing functional gauges and regulating the pressure with hand valves. A large bell and steam whistle are mounted on top of the boiler. Grimm built a replica cow catcher on the front of the locomotive and also mounted a large headlight in the middle in front of the boiler. A trailing axle supports a tender on the back of the locomotive that holds the 500-gal. water tank and wood supply to feed the boiler. “It looks and sounds like a real locomotive,” Bob says, “and that’s exactly what I was trying to achieve.”
  After he finished building the steam components he tested the system with an air compressor and the power transfer worked fine. He fired the boiler and set the relief valves at 100 lbs. to guard against too much pressure. Bob says the “street speed” for his locomotive is maximum 5 mph. Frequent stops during a parade aren’t a problem because the locomotive has a special brake system and the wheel drive mechanism easily disconnects from the transmission.
  Grimm says that even though building his locomotive took more than 7 years and well over 2,000 hours of labor, he never lost interest and always knew he’d get it done. “It was a huge undertaking,” Bob says with modesty, “something that I hope people will appreciate for a long time.”
  Contact: FARM SHOW Followup, Bob Grimm, 128 St. Francis St., Rapid City, S. Dak. 57701 (ph 605 342-1976 or cell 605 389-1426).

Imagine hurting your arm on a hunt, and needing Castiel's help getting undressed so that you can shower.

Human!Cas, Based off of this imagine


You groaned in frustration as you tried to pull your shirt over your head, but that just wasn’t going to happen when one of your arms was broken and useless inside of a sling at the moment. The last hunt hadn’t gone exactly as it had been planned, and even though you were glad this was the worst injury that had been sustained between you and the boys, you couldn’t help but sarcastically thank your horrible luck.

There was abruptly a knock on the bathroom door, and you fumbled to get what little of your shirt that you had managed to pull up back down in order to cover your stomach.

“Come in,” you called hoping your irritable tone wasn’t too noticeable. You were surprised when Cas walked in, observing the steam building up on the mirror due to the shower running without you in it for so long and your annoyed expression.

“I heard your distress from the other room,” he told you, azure eyes and gravelly voice concerned. “Are you having trouble with something?”

You gestured to your idle arm. “Just a little bit.”

“I apologize,” He touched it gingerly, wishing that the power that used to rush through him was right now. “If I had my grace, you wouldn’t have to go through this.”

“It’s absolutely fine, Cas,” you persuaded him. “This is just human life; it never is perfect.”

“I believe you when you say that; now, how may I help?”

You blushed, and the angel, even though he was bewildered that you were, admired how the soft pink expanded across your cheeks.

“I need help…undressing,” you admitted hesitantly, and he then understood why you were so embarrassed. He had only been without his grace for a short amount of time, but it was enough to realize what certain things were uncomfortable for humans. What made it worse were the foreign desires that came along with mortal emotions, and he was still having a hard time at getting used to them.

“Are you sure that you would like me to aid you?” he questioned warily, trying not to acknowledge the way his heart rate had suddenly leaped up.

“Well, you’re the only one here right now,” you explained, for the Winchesters were out on a supply run. “If you don’t feel comfortable, though, you don’t have to; I can wait for Sam and Dean to get back.”

He shook his head, avoiding looking nervous. “You do not need to go through such trouble to do that; I am glad to assist in any way I can.”

Letting out a flustered breath, you started to instruct him. “I need you to help me take off my shirt; with only one arm, I can’t exactly do that without any problems.”

Cas nodded, then slowly reached for the hemline of your shirt before starting to pull it up. You were way too conscious of his touch as he did so, telling you what to do in order to make it as easy as it possibly could be. His fingertips brushed the skin of your stomach lightly, and you had to hold back the shivers that his touch brought. While he was working, half of his mind was on his contact with you as well; each time that he felt your flesh against his, he had to put twice the effort into concentrating on just peeling the cloth off of your body.

He was soon successful, and you mentally slapped yourself as you realized the next and last obstacle: the bra. You thanked your lucky stars that you could take of your jeans easily enough, for doing anything after this would be beyond awkward.

The angel hadn’t realized that he had been caught up in your beauty until your cleared your throat; fazed, he pretended that his mortal instincts hadn’t gotten there at of him.

“I have one last request,” you said bashfully, and he tried to keep his shyness at bay. “You just have to unhook my bra, and that’s it.”

“Alright,” he mumbled, and could feel heat rush all the way up to his hairline.

Once again, you were too aware of his fingers grazing your bare back as he fumbled with the hook, and giggled at how he was having trouble with it like any other human male.

“There!” he exclaimed as he finally undid it, like it was a great achievement. His diffident grin matched yours, and after a few moments, you started to look pointedly towards the door. “Oh, yes; I am very sorry, Y/N.”

“Thanks, Cas!” He simply nodded as he walked out, shutting the door behind him. He let out a deep breath, and suddenly noticed that Sam and Dean were frozen in front of him.

“I don’t even want to know,” the older Winchester muttered before walking off.

“No, it is not—”

Sam interrupted the angel in distress with a smirk. “Whatever you say, Cas.”

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Henry knows about Captain Swan | Once Upon A Time

It cracks me up that Snow assumes Henry knows about Emma and Hook but Emma denies this only because she and Henry haven’t talked about it yet. In life, there is so much non-verbal communication before a word is ever spoken. Words only confirm or deny what we think we know. If Henry has a superpower, it’s perception. In fact, this strength is what Pan was able to exploit to manipulate Henry since once he perceives something Henry’s “true heart” allows him to fully believe it, unlike most adults, who often see the truth but due to bad experiences doubt themselves and others.

Henry may have brought Emma to Storybrooke to bring back the happy endings but Henry also has shown that he wants to be the one to help Emma find a happy ending of her own. As painful as it was to watch Emma with Walsh, it was huge foreshadowing for Captain Swan of how both Emma and Henry react (as the fandom has previously noted). Emma is in denial that Henry knows because she’s scared of her feelings which have led her to get hurt in the past. Whereas Henry’s superpower of perception clued him into what’s happening and he’s okay with it because he sees it makes Emma happy which is what he wants most for his mom (actually, both his moms). However, there is one big difference between Henry’s relationship with Walsh and Killian. Henry thought Walsh was “okay” but we know from what Emma told both the Charmings and Regina that Henry thinks Hook is “fun” and is the adult he most wants to spend time with after Emma. As a side note, when Henry got his memory back he couldn’t wait to hear about the guy Regina was kissing. The first word out of Henry’s mouth after learning the guy is Robin Hood–“awesome”–and that’s someone he only knew by reputation. Henry went to great lengths to set up a time for Emma and Walsh to hash things out and that was someone he wasn’t crazy about. How much more will Henry do for Emma and Killian when the time comes? This is his new family at stake.

Due to the Captain Swan moments that Henry has witnessed (as evidenced above and discussed below), he knows about Emma and Hook. Charming knows, Snow knows, Tinkerbell knows, even Regina says the whole town knows. Henry didn’t really witness anything in Season 2 or during the Season 3 Peter Pan arc since he was captured and/or body-swapped. So we start with…

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The Sheriff’s Secret Police have opened the hatch of the submarine from Nulogorsk. Onlookers describe a curious crack of pressure, as if peeling back the pop top of a can of old soda, and a smell of something regurgitated.

Wisps of steam were observed to rise from the opened submarine. The Sheriff’s Secret Police drew their daggers and a Junior Secret Detective was encouraged to volunteer to be the first to explore the vessel.

There was silence as she climbed through the hatch.

— 

Welcome to Night Vale

Episode 40 - The Deft Bowman