#whoever john smith is... who is john smith?

[winchesterwild78]

By Your Side

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader (together), Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Tessa-Reaper

Warnings: mention of death, coma, out of body experience, angst, fluff, language

A/N: I was tagged by @jackles010378 to write a short story about Season 2 Episode 1. The reader is Dean’s girlfriend and while Dean is “dead” he sees her not leaving his side and when he wakes he finally says the words she’s longed to hear him say.

This is my own work, please do not take it or copy it without my permission. It’s based on characters and an episode from Supernatural, but doesn’t follow the timeline completely. I wrote it fast and edited it fast. Please overlook any errors. 

Minors DNI 18+

You had stayed back at the hotel while Dean, John, and Sam were on a hunt. You weren’t feeling well, the flu, you think. So you stayed while they left. You’d been hunting with John and Dean for a few years now, and Dean’s girlfriend for just as long. 

John was against your relationship at first. He said Dean didn’t need the distraction and you didn’t need the heartbreak. However, you and Dean stood your ground and became a couple. You fought side by side, protecting each other and falling deeper in love.

As the hours ticked on, you started to get worried. Neither of them were answering their phones and they weren’t back yet. Where the hell are they?! They should have been back by now. Just then your phone rang startling you out of your thoughts.

“Hello?” “Hello, is this Miss Y/L/N?” “It is, who’s this?” “Miss. Y/L/N, this is April from Mercy Hospital. You are listed as an emergency contact for Dean Smith. He was involved in an accident and is in the hospital.” “Oh my god! Is he okay? What about his Dad and brother?!?” “They are fine, his brother is about to be discharged, if you’re able to, you really should come to the hospital.” “Please, tell me, is he alive?” “Ma’am, I think it’s best if you come up here.” “Just fucking tell me! Is he alive or not!!! It’s not that damn difficult!” You screamed into the phone. “He’s alive, but barely.” “I’m on my way.”

You grabbed your stuff as tears fell. On the way to the hospital you prayed to whoever or whatever would listen. “Don’t you fucking die on me, Dean Winchester! Don’t you do it. I can’t live without you.” You were sobbing and had to pull over briefly because you felt like you were going to get sick. Once you were sure you were done you headed towards the hospital again. 

You parked and ran towards the entrance. “Dean Smith, what room is he in?” You yelled at the woman at the desk. She told you what room and you bolted down the hallway. When you got in the room you weren’t prepared for what you saw. There he was, laying so still. He was bruised and banged up, with a tube down his throat. You pulled a chair to his side and grabbed his hand. 

“Dean, I’m here baby. You’re going to be okay. You can’t leave me, not now. Please baby, open your eyes.” You softly kissed his hand and laid your head down on his bed. Silent tears fell. Your phone rang and you saw it was Sam. “Hey Sam.” “Hey, Y/N, are you okay?” “No, Sam. I’m at the hospital in Dean’s room.” “I’m on my way to you.” 

Sam walked in and hugged you. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was going to call you as soon as I could. They must have beat me to it.” “It’s okay, Sam. I’m glad you and your dad are okay.” 

You turned your attention back to Dean. Slowly rubbing his hand. “I can’t lose him, Sam. I can’t, we can’t.” Sam placed his hand on your back, “I know.” Just then John appeared at the door and tipped his head to you. “How are you feeling John?” “Sore, but I’m okay. Thanks for coming.” “This is my place, right by his side. I know you don’t approve of our relationship, but I love him, John. My place is right here by his side.” 

John sighed and sat on the opposite side. The only sound in the room was the beeping of the heart monitor. You placed your head down on the bed again, silently praying and begging for Dean to wake up, when you heard an alarm go off. You looked up and saw Dean’s heart rate was flat. The nurses and doctor ran in with a crash cart and told everyone to step back. You stood and took a step back, mouth on the ground. Everything was a blur and the sounds muffled. Your focus was on Dean, everyone else faded away.

The doctor grabbed the paddles and yelled “clear” as he shocked Dean’s chest. Dean’s body jumped and you gasped. Sam grabbed you and tried to pull you out of the room. You pushed him off, “No! We have to stay here with him. We aren’t leaving!” 

Unbeknownst to you, Sam and John, but Dean was there. He was standing beside his bed looking at you and hearing every plea and seeing every tear. He walked over to you, brushed your cheek with his hand, “I’m here baby.” Dean looked up and saw a woman who looked right at him. He followed her out and finally caught up to her. “Who are you, and why can you see me?” “My name is Tessa, and I’m just like you. In the inbetween.” Dean followed her around the hospital and asked her how he could get back to you. She always answered in vague ways and it started to frustrate Dean. So he went back to his room.

The doctors and nurses were gone, his heart was beating again and there you were. Sitting next to him, holding his hand. “I love you Dean, we love you. Please don’t leave us.” You cried and held his hand tight. He wished he could feel you holding his hand and wipe your tears away. 

Sam walked in the room and saw you still sitting next to Dean. “Hey, Y/N, why don’t you stretch, grab some food and just take a break. I promise I’ll call you if anything changes.” Dean stood to the side watching his baby brother trying to convince you to leave his side. He grinned, “Good luck, Sammy. She’s a stubborn one.” “Sam, I love you, but right now I need you to leave me alone. We’re NOT leaving his side. I love him and my place is right here.” “Y/N, we aren’t leaving him, but we need to be strong for him. That means eating something and taking care of yourself too. 

Sam didn’t notice it, but Dean swears he saw you lightly brush your hand to your belly. Dean’s eyes went wide. “We love you, we’re not leaving him, we can’t lose him.” Oh my god, you’d been sick for a few weeks, Dean thought to himself. He bolted from the room. “Tessa! Where are you?! I need to know how to get back in my body! I can’t leave her, not now. I need to tell her how I feel about her.” Tessa appeared next to Dean. “Dean, I don’t know if it’s possible. It’s your time to go.” “What? How do you know that?” Dean’s face searched for answers in Tessa’s. “Dean, I’m not a ghost, I’m a reaper. I’ve come to take you away.” “The fuck you are! I’m not leaving her.” “Dean, it doesn’t work that way. When it’s your time, you have to go.” 

Dean went back to you and placed his hand on your shoulder. He leaned down and kissed your cheek. “I know baby, I’m trying to get back to you.” John came back into the room to check on Dean. He saw you still sitting beside Dean. “Y/N, you have to eat something. You have to stay healthy and keep up your strength. If not for you, think about the baby, please.” “Why do you care? You didn’t even want Dean and I together. Why do you care about the baby?” “It’s still my grandchild and I see how much you love my son. Don’t worry. I’m going to fix this. Just promise me to love him even on the tough days.” “John, you know I will.” He placed a soft kiss on your head and walked out of the room. 

Dean stood dumbfounded. His father knew you were pregnant and didn’t say anything. Dean tried for what seemed like hours to jump back into his body and nothing worked. He left the room and went to find John. He was confused to see John in the basement of the hospital. “Dad! Don’t do it!.” Dean saw his dad standing in front of the yellow eyed demon making a deal. Before Dean could see anything else, he was zapped back into his body. 

When you realized he was awake you called for the nurse. They removed the tube and he sat up. You threw your arms around him. “Oh my god, Dean. We almost lost you. I love you so much. Please don’t do that again.” Dean wrapped his arms around you and held you. “Thank you sweetheart, thank you for never leaving my side. I love you.” You pulled back with tears in your eyes. Dean had never said those 3 words to you. “What? How did you know I didn’t leave your side, and Dean you love me?” 

“I saw you sweetheart, I saw it all. I’ve been so stupid. I have loved you from the moment I met you. I knew you were it for me. I love you, all of you and anyone else that comes along.” Dean placed his hand on your belly. “Dean, how did you know? I was going to tell you after this hunt. I had taken a test when I started to get sicker and your dad walked in the bathroom as I found out. We both agreed to tell you after the hunt. He wanted your head to be clear, and I wanted to make sure you all were safe. I knew if I told you I was pregnant, you wouldn’t have gone on the hunt.” “Oh sweetheart, I love you so much.” He kissed your lips gently. 

John walked in the room and saw Dean was awake. He leaned down to hug Dean and whispered something in his ear. Dean’s eyes went wide and he looked over at you. As John stood up he walked over to you, “Take care of him and that baby. For the record, I think you’re perfect for him. Take care of each other.” John hugged you and gave you a kiss on your forehead. Something felt off. 

John left the room and went back to his. Sam came back in and went to check on John. When he walked in the room he found John dead. Sam screamed for help but it was too late. 

When you and Dean were told, he realized John had made a deal with the demon to switch places. Dean remembered what Tessa told him, that it was his time to go. Then he woke up. You held Dean as he sobbed at the loss of his father. Your heart broke for him. 

“I’m so sorry, Dean. He loved you and Sam so much.” Dean looked up at you, “He made a deal, Y/N. He took my place.” “What?! How do you know?” Dean told you about his experiences while he was in a coma, and what Tessa had told him. You cupped his face, “Oh Dean, he sacrificed himself for you, for our baby.” 

You and John never really saw eye to eye, but you would forever be in his debt. He saved the love of your life so your child could grow up with their father. You started to cry when the magnitude of his sacrifice hit you. 

“Sweetheart, I love you and our baby. I will always be thankful my dad put us and our baby before him. I can’t wait to live the rest of my life proving I’m a man worthy of that sacrifice.” “Dean, you’re already that man. You’re the love of my life, the father of my unborn child, an amazing brother and son. You protect with every fiber of your being, even people you don’t know. You, Dean Winchester, are the most worthy man on Earth.”

Dean took you in his arms, “I’ve been a fool. I should have told you what you meant to me before. I shouldn’t have let myself almost die to tell you what you mean to me. I love you, Y/N. Yesterday, today, forever. Seeing you by my side, refusing to leave showed me how much you mean to me. You’re my best friend, my confidant, my lover, the mother of my child, you’re my biggest cheerleader, and I love you!” 

Dean placed his hand on your belly, “I love you too, little one. I will be there to protect you and teach you how to be strong and love and fight for the things and people you love.” You placed your hand on his and smiled. He placed a soft kiss on your lips, “I love you, Y/N, so much.” 

Tags:  @nescaveckdaily  @kr804573 @k-slla @jackles010378 @jawritter

@xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @roseblue373 @cheynovak @jassackles  @chriszgirl92

@suckitands33 @arcannaa @n-o-p-e-never @ladysparkles78 @smoothdogsgirl

@hobby27 @manicjk @stoneyggirl2 @multifandoms-saidwhat

[cowboyfromh3ll]

Charles smith is usually a very quiet, reserved man. But when he hears Micah insult fem!reader (Whom charles is sweet on) for rejecting his advances, the reader pushes him away, which he responded with slapping her hard enough for her to fall down.

Charles couldn't help himself, and he tackled Micah and would have beat him to death if Arthur and John didn't pull him on.

Afterwards, after his adrenaline seems to wear off, he starts to feel pain in his knuckles. The reader pulls him aside to set his broken knuckle back into place and to wrap his hand up. She thanks him with a kiss :) fluffy, angsty, the works <3

Million Dollar Man

(Charles Smith x Fem!Reader)

This was so cute. I love my followers' reqs. Also I have a near identical request after this which is kinda freaky but they are literally asking for the exact same thing and idk how to do a different spin on this so this will be for both of y'all anons whoever you are.

Warnings: Man on woman violence, then man on man

There was something about the vulgarity of a man that made you all the more appalled with them. Often when Micah would be near you, you’d have to swallow hard in fear that you might abruptly throw up on your shoes. There was nothing appealing about the man. Whenever he spoke to you, you would’ve liked to wring his neck for disturbing your peace. And his tepid attempts at flirting were described as otherwise laughable. His initial advances were turned down politely, not something you wanted to make a big deal out of. But he was consistent, so much so that your patience began to wear down with him. 

You once giggled and waved your hand dismissively, repeating reluctant no’s over and over until Micah finally got tired and left you alone. It seemed to be a ticking time bomb though, because the next time he approached you his advances would increase tenfold. Walking around freely in camp felt like walking on eggshells, and you’d often have to duck behind someone anytime you heard the familiar raspy, drawl of Micah. Your polite refusals slowly transformed into you demanding he leave you alone, hoping and praying that one of the men in camp would come over and help you get rid of him. Occasionally it’d get as bad as Micah calling you a whore, before throwing a flurry of other insults at you and storming off angrily. It was times like these you wished you were a man, so you could possess the same mass as one to hopefully beat the hell out of Micah. But your limber body provided no such abilities. 

“C’mon sweetheart, just let me take you on one date.” He invited himself over to your tent, leaning on the wagon situated behind it with crossed arms, eyeing you uncomfortably. You were sitting there with Mary-Beth, who was just as uncomfortable, and frankly scared, as you were. She offered you a sympathetic look, mouthing a “sorry” to you before averting her gaze back to her sewing. 

“Micah, for the last time, leave me alone already. I said no.” You were firm in your inflection, your body rigid and shaking out of irritation and fear. As much as you hated the man, he also intimidated you. You knew how violent he could get, and the fact remained in the back of your mind always. 

“You don’t know what you’re missing out on.” He insisted, chuckling afterwards in a way that made you swallow a gag of disgust. His attempts at having a sugar sweet laugh that could seduce you were fruitless, sounding instead like the metallic screech of a train braking. 

“I could show you a real good time…” He added.

You stood at once, gathering your things to move elsewhere in camp and bidding Mary-Beth a silent farewell. You bunched your fabrics and sewing materials against your lap, moving to walk away until you felt Micah clamp his hand down on your upper arm. You tried to push him off but he was using all his strength. 

“You ain’t going nowhere.”

“Micah, you're hurting me.” You warned him, your voice inflected with actual fear. It wasn’t so much the pain but the act of him holding onto you that felt so awful, the knowledge that he was the one in control of the situation. You weren’t sure, despite his violent streak, if he’d actually hit you right now. But he definitely wasn’t opposed to using applied force.

“This is the last time you say no to me, you hear?!” He yanked you towards him by the arm, looking to Mary-Beth, who had already gone up and left to retrieve someone for help. When your chest met his, you dropped your materials and instinctively put up your arm between the two of you, your elbow acting as a protective barrier. You shoved as hard as you could, just barely managing to push him off of you. 

“Let me go you fucking creep!”

Before you could even register him stepping forward, he delivered a heavy slap to your face. Your body jerked to one side from the force of the slap causing you to fall on your hip. You raised your elbow once again to protect yourself from the fall, promptly moving to cup your stinging cheek. You were seething at this point. 

“What the fuck?!” Your voice trembled in your rage, squeezing your eyes hard with each blink so as to not allow tears to escape. You dare not look up at him again in fear, only staring at the ground beneath you. You hoped to god people from around camp had noticed by now. 

God himself seemed to have answered your prayers, because not a second later you turned to see Micah tackled by Charles. With a guttural yell, he pinned Micah down to the floor, swinging his fists at him with his full force. You weren’t sure of the force intended by Charles, but the impact of his fists alone caused Micah’s flesh to lacerate, forming raw gashes that began to bleed in seconds. Charles’ anger was near animalistic, seeing red and blinded by rage as he continued to strike Micah’s face, who was helplessly clawing at him in an attempt to get him off. You’re sure he would’ve killed him, if not for the fact that Arthur and John had to pry him off. You hadn’t even registered the horrified screams of people around camp, some even clicking their tongues and slyly commenting that Micah was asking for it.

You felt two gentle hands lift you up, presumably Miss Grimshaw, who was frantically asking you if you were alright. You whispered out a yes, the stinging of your cheek reduced to a throbbing warmth. No one offered Micah any help in getting up; everyone was far too focused on getting Charles’ to calm down so he wouldn’t charge him again. 

Once the dust settled, you insisted you were fine and walked past Miss Grimshaw, approaching Charles who still seemed to be grappling with his anger and keeping it in check. In unison, the two of you looked at eachother and asked, “Are you okay?”

The two of you stared at each other, and you felt a small laugh bubble up in you at the coincidence, Though your amusement was replaced by horror when you looked down at Charles’ left fist, which was swollen and bruised. 

“Oh my god!” You cried, moving to cradle his hand but promptly retracting your own when you heard him hiss. “Your hand! It’s broken!” You looked back up at him in concern, feeling the heavy weight of guilt settle within you like a boulder thrown into a lake before sinking to the waterbed. He shook his head, wincing as the pain became more prominent as his adrenaline wore off. 

“Don’t worry about me. Are you okay? Micah hit you pretty hard… I…” Charles pursed his lips at the very mention of his name, having to suck in a deep breath before he looked back at you. You shook your head, grabbing Charles’ arm and leading him to your tent. 

“I’m fine! But we need to tend to your hand asap.” You sat him on a crate just outside your tent, briefly venturing inside before remerging with some bandages you had sourced from your satchel. You sat before him on your knees, taking his massive hand into your own. You felt your heart swell in tenderness for him, wanting to throw yourself on him as an embrace to thank him for the valiant act. 

“You didn’t have to do that…” You began carefully coiling the bandages around his knuckles, looking back up at his face occasionally to spot any signs of pain you might be causing. 

“He had it coming anyways. It was bound to happen. But I’m sorry it had to happen this way.” He motioned to your cheek once again, which was still a flush red. You were sure it would bruise, but you tried not to think about it. As you tightened the bandages around his fist, he hissed, his body jerking slightly. 

“I’m sorry…” You stilled your ministrations, looking up at him with a pout. 

“No it’s okay… Thank you. This means a lot. And it was worth it to defend you from the scum bag Micah.” He smiled warmly at you in a way that made you giddy.

“Well.. thank you for that. It was actually quite satisfying to see.” You admitted with a sly smile, breaking into laughter. 

“Anytime, I mean it. Anytime.” 

You finished wrapping his knuckle up, planting a gentle kiss on it to finish your care off; a bold act that left you internally panicking. But he found it rather cute, and continued to hold your hand as he moved to stand.

The final act of your boldness would be you leaning forward and landing a kiss on Charles’ lips, leaving him standing there in bewilderment and pleasant surprise. 

“Thank you, again.” You cooed, your face burning up and blending in with the shade of your already red cheek. In the morning, your cheek would ache with the memory of the pain inflicted on you, but your heart would swell in remembrance of your salvation.

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Million Dollar Man - Lana Del Rey

[helloliriels]

Speaking of The Goes Wrong Show ...

S4 has to be my favourite season ...

(Guess who just started watching this show? Omg, my ribs hurt from laughing so hard, ty to whoever rec The Pilot Episode (not the pilot episode)) this week! Ofc Cabbage Rosie had to be included for @barachiki 🪄 (happy birthday)

(ps. water is a b*tch to make. I'm never doing it again 😂) @johnlocky @chinike @rhasima @fluffbyday-smutbynight @whatnext2020 @masterofhounds @missdeliadili @mutedsilence @meetinginsamarra @chriscalledmesweetie @arwamachine @discordantwords @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @youcouldcallmegus @safedistancefrombeingsmart @dragonnan @solarmama @bertytravelsfar @sarahthecoat @7-percent @a-victorian-girl @gregorovitchworld @demonicangeling @marta-bee @janetm74 @sgam76 @impalaparkedat221b @colourfulwatson @glows-n-the-dark @ninasnakie @kettykika78 @khorazir @raina-at @topsyturvy-turtely @13monkton @sabsi221b @ohnoesnotagain @pocketwatchofmycroft @egregiously-chuffed @keirgreeneyes @deelaundry @jobooksncoffee @anyway-kindness @iamjustreading @johnlockismyreligion @lisbeth-kk @john-smiths-jawline @i-call-me-clarence

I have phone wallpaper format of this, should anyone want it 📱

[lara635kookie]

I didn't even watch "WISH" yet because in my country it will only be available at january, but people are saying it's a bad cliche so I probably won't watch at the cinema.

The thing is, even though I am a hopeless romantic, not everything has to have romance. There are princess who are perfectly fine without a prince, like Mirabel, Elsa, Merida, Moana and Raya(I do kinda like the idea of Raya with a girl, just not Namaari). But we were so robbed of seeing Asha and the star boy(he is literally a staR so I don't doubt Disney would call him StaN or something like that, so his name is Stan from now on, I am gonna call him like that, is easier than star boy). Asha and Stan had the potential to be the next Tianaveen and Rapunzel&Eugene (I don't know their ship name). The concept arts are the cutest thing I have ever seen. Also "At All Costs" (bop) would have been a love song between the two!!! Them singing it man. The pain I will feel when I don't see them passionately sing it, very "I see the light" coded, in the actual movie. Somehow, now is not feminist for a strong female character to have a male partner by her side. Like...This doesn't make sense! You can be a strong female character and have a man at the same time! Have y'all forgotten Mulan and Shang? Anna and Kristoff? Ariel and Eric? Jasmine and Aladdin? (There are more examples and I could go on all day, but you got what I meant already) I hate Disney for throwing good ideas at the trash and playing safe just for money(like Hobie Brown/Spider-Punk said "it's a metaphor for capitalism"). And as the guy looked blonde with blue/green eyes in the arts I have seen, and Asha is a black latina, they lost the opportunity of having a biracial couple ACTUALLY DONE RIGHT (Pocahontas and John Smith don't count, he is a collonizer with the most common name in the world, she deserves so much better). Like, if the thing is show how inclusive you are by having a black latina female protagonist for little girls to see and feel represented in a good way, you could have increased that feeling by making someone fall in love for her. Little girls would feel like they are beautiful and desired/desireable in a positive way and that they worthy of being loved and love and be with whoever they want to be with, even someone who has a different skin color.

I am also mad because we could have seen Disney's first evil villain COUPLE with King Magnifico and his wife, the queen(still don't know her name, sorry). Can't you guys imagine the HITS, THE FIRST PLACE OF BILLBOARD HOT 100 WORTHY songs, they would proportionate us? Even if only one song, it would be enough for me. But someone thought having a female villain would be anti-feminist and they discarded an original and authentic idea, which is what Disney built its empire on the first place. Come on Disney minorities don't want to be portrayed as those unrealistic superior beings, they want to be portrayed as real human beings with emotions, struggles, qualities and flaws. Having an iconic female villain like you guys always had(like Maleficent, Cruella De Vil, Ursula, Mother Gothel, Lady Tremaine, etc) and set her up with an iconic male villain(like Gaston, Doctor Facilier, Shan Yu, Jafar, Hans, etc) it would have been top notch, god tier. King Magnifico and the queen could have been like the Gomez and Morticia of evil. You could address so many topics by it. Like the kingdom being ruled by evil would have been a great social critic of some politicians out there, for example. And we could have had an iconic final boss battle between Asha and Stan VS Magnifico and the queen.

Anyway, what I mean by this is that if someone has fanarts or just ANY CONTENT, of Asha and Stan, tag me, reblog this or comment, I don't care, just warn me, because they are my new obsession. I will also write a fanfic about this movie with these ideas, but only after I have watched the movie so until them, please feed my hyperfixation in Stasha (Star boy/Stan×Asha), I'm begging y'all

[natequarter]

you know how human nature plays the doctor's (human) romantic interests for tragedy? i think it should be played for comedy as well. human dr. who is in love with... let's say rose, who is travelling with him. rose has a photo of her and the ninth doctor on what appears to be a date. john smith is insanely jealous of whoever this guy she refuses to tell him about is and then when he becomes human again she has to hit him with "dude that's you"

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Supreme Court Overturns DOJ's Use of Key J6 Felony Court

"Today's decision means Attorney General Merrick Garland and federal judges in Washington wrongfully prosecuted roughly 350 J6ers with the post-Enron felony"

JULIE KELLY

JUN 28, 2024 In a devastating but well-deserved blow to the Department of Justice’s criminal prosecution of January 6 protesters, the U.S. Supreme Court today overturned the DOJ’s use of 18 USC 1512(c)(2), the most prevalent felony in J6 cases.

The statute, commonly referred to as “obstruction of an official proceeding,” has been applied in roughly 350 J6 cases; it also represents two of four counts in Special Counsel Jack Smith’s J6-related criminal indictment of Donald Trump in Washington. 

In a 6-3 decision, Chief Justice John Roberts wrote that the “c2” subsection is tethered to the “c1” subsection that addresses tampering with a record, document, or “object.”

From the opinion:

Roberts was joined by Justices Clarence Thomas, Samuel Alito, Neil Gorsuch, Brett Kavanaugh, and Ketanji Brown Jackson. Justice Amy Coney Barrett authored the dissent (!) joined by Elena Kagan and Sonia Sotomayor.

Today’s decision means hundreds of Americans have been wrongfully prosecuted by Attorney General Merrick Garland as he insists his department is dedicated to upholding the “rule of law” and pursuing justice “without fear or favor.”

An Irreversible Black Eye for DOJ and Federal Courts in Washington

The matter originated in the case of Joseph Fischer, a Pennsylvania man who attended Trump’s speech and later went to the Capitol. According to court documents, Fischer briefly entered the building around 3:25 p.m., nearly an hour after the joint session of Congress to certify the electoral college votes had recessed. He exited about four minutes later.

In March 2021, a D.C. grand jury indicted Fischer on numerous counts including 1512(c)(2). The statute reads:

Whoever corruptly— 

(1) alters, destroys, mutilates, or conceals a record, document, or other object, or attempts to do so, with the intent to impair the object’s integrity or availability for use in an official proceeding; or 

(2) otherwise obstructs, influences, or impedes any official proceeding, or attempts to do so.

It is punishable by up to 20 years in prison.

Fischer, in addition to many J6ers facing the count, asked his judge to dismiss the charge. Judge Carl Nichols, appointed by Trump, dismissed the count against Fischer and two other defendants by finding the language in the post-Enron/Arthur Anderson statute covered tampering with records or documents not interrupting a meeting of Congress. The DOJ appealed Nichols’ decision.

In December, SCOTUS granted Fischer’s petition to grant cert seeking to reverse the appellate court’s mandate. Oral arguments were held on April 16.

Nichols is the only judge to have dismissed the count; 18 district and circuit court judges in Washington refused to dismiss the count. The judges essentially enabled the Biden DOJ’s unlawful pursuit of Americans who protested Biden’s election that day.

The List of Shame:

Judge Beryl Howell (Obama, former chief judge)

Judge James Boasberg (Obama, current chief judge)

Judge Rudolph Contreras (Obama)

Judge Trevor McFadden (Trump)

Judge John Bates (GW Bush)

Judge Amit Mehta (Obama)

Judge Dabny Friedrich (Trump)

Judge Royce Lamberth (Reagan)

Judge Richard Leon (GW Bush)

Judge Colleen Kollar-Kotelly (Clinton)

Judge Amy Berman Jackson (Obama)

Judge Timothy Kelly (Trump)

Judge Randolph Moss (Clinton)

Judge Paul Friedman (Clinton)

Judge Christopher Cooper (Obama)

D.C. Circuit Court Judge Florence Pan (Biden)—Pan wrote both appellate court decisions upholding 1512c2

D.C. Circuit Court Judge Justin Walker (Trump)

D.C. Circuit Court Judge Cornelia Pillard

There Goes Your Summer, Your Honor

The federal courthouse in Washington has been bracing for a flood of motions post-Fischer; a few judges have released individuals from prison in anticipation of a reversal. Roughly 110 J6ers have been sentenced to prison on 1512(c)(2) convictions; several J6ers were held under pretrial detention for being charged with the nonviolent obstruction count alone.

But despite the law’s legal limbo over the past year, U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia Matthew Graves, a Biden appointee, continued to indict J6ers on 1512(c)(2) while some judges continued to sentence those convicted to lengthy prison terms. Last month, Beryl Howell, the former chief judge who upheld the 1512(c)(2) charges for defendants in her courtroom, sentenced a Missouri man to 60 months in prison for the 1512 conviction and assault on police.

In January 2022, Howell gave the green light for her colleagues to support the DOJ’s use of the obstruction count. Here is what she said in denying a motion to dismiss filed by two J6ers:

“For over 200 years, the peaceful transition of power from one presidential administration to another has been marked with Congress's certification of the Electoral College vote; and this event has been respectfully observed by American citizens, but not on January 6, 2021. And I start with this historical fact because what happened on January 6th was a chilling new type of criminal conduct to which our criminal laws have never before had to be applied. Application of criminal laws to conduct never before seen, like what occurred on January 6, 2021, appropriately generates the kind of legal questions the defendants raise here about whether the criminal law fits the charged criminal conduct.”

The first judge to uphold the obstruction charge in J6 cases was Trump-appointee Dabny Friedrich. In 2021, she agreed that interrupting a meeting of Congress met the definition of “official proceeding” and that the statute’s broad language did not require the government to prove the conduct involved tampering with records or documents.

Ironically—or not—Friedrich is married to Matthew Friedrich, a former DOJ official who worked on the Enron Task Force alongside Andrew Weissman and current deputy attorney general Lisa Monaco. The 1512(c)(2) statute was a product of the Enron/Arthur Anderson investigation; Weissmann, as the lead prosecutor for Special Counsel Robert Mueller in the bogus Russiagate probe, pushed the DOJ to charge Trump with 1512(c)(2) while in office.

Retired judge Thomas Hogan recently warned how a SCOTUS’s reversal of 1512(c)(2) would affect the DC courthouse. Here is Hogan, who upheld the statute in J6 prosecutions, with former DOJ official and FISAgate mastermind Mary McCord:

Reacting to the SCOTUS decision, Geri Perna, aunt of Matthew Perna, told me this by email:

“When Matthew was unexpectedly charged with the felony of Obstruction of an Official Proceeding—after initially facing only misdemeanors—his world collapsed. The weight of a potential lengthy prison sentence bore down on him, filling his days with insurmountable worry and anxiety. At that time, there was no glimmer of hope that this severe charge would be dropped.

Matthew has now been dead for 28 months. In the wake of his passing, the Supreme Court of the United States is finally set to rule on whether the Department of Justice wrongfully applied 1512(c)(2) in January 6 cases. As much as I am hopeful for a just ruling in favor of the January 6 defendants, I am consumed by a profound sense of loss and anger. My nephew's death was both avoidable and senseless.

I feel cheated, and if that sounds selfish, then so be it. The pain of losing Matthew under such circumstances is a burden I carry every day. I fervently hope that those responsible for wielding this charge erroneously will be held accountable in a court of law. However, I am not holding my breath.”

[sleeplesssmoll]

Vertin's Bookshelf (Real Life References)

I'm only including real world references in this post. Some were too blurry for me to see so I only included the ones I can confirm. I tried to find pics of the original cover art too. Anything indented was copied from somewhere and I included all sources. I only did the searching and squinting!

VICTORIAN LONDON STREET LIFE in Historic Photographs

These rare historical photographs were taken from 1873 to 1877 and are part of Street Life in London, a book that was one of the first examples of social documentary photography. The authors, photographer John Thomson and journalist Adolphe Smith, aimed to reveal by the innovative use of photography and essays the conditions of a life of poverty in London. (source)

Die Verwandlung ( The Metamorphosis) by Frankz Kafa

(Note: Seems like Vertin has this book in its original German instead of translated into English)

Metamorphosis (German: Die Verwandlung) is a novella written by Franz Kafka and first published in 1915. One of Kafka's best-known works, Metamorphosis tells the story of salesman Gregor Samsa, who wakes one morning to find himself inexplicably transformed into a huge insect (German: ungeheueres Ungeziefer, lit. "monstrous vermin") and subsequently struggles to adjust to this new condition. The novella has been widely discussed among literary critics, who have offered varied interpretations. (source)

CURRUS TRIUMPHALIS ANTIMONIO (Triumphant Chariot of Antimony) : alchemy book published in 1646

From what I've gathered its focused on ancient medicine and hermetic philosophy? It's pretty old and the information around it is sparse. However, the supposed author has an interesting story:

Basil Valentine is the Anglicized version of the name Basilius Valentinus, ostensibly a 15th-century alchemist, possibly Canon of the Benedictine Priory of Saint Peter in Erfurt, Germany but more likely a pseudonym used by one or several 16th-century German authors. According to John Maxson Stillman, who wrote on the history of chemistry, there is no evidence of such a name on the rolls in Germany or Rome and no mention of this name before 1600. His putative history, like his imaginary portrait, appears to be of later creation than the writings themselves. Whoever he was, Basil Valentine had considerable knowledge of chemistry. He demonstrated that ammonia could be obtained by the action of alkali on sal-ammoniac (ammonium chloride), described the production of hydrochloric acid by acidifying brine of common salt (sodium chloride), and created ethyl chloride and oil of vitriol (sulfuric acid), among other achievements. (source)

There's a Beethoven vinyl record that I can't make out but it has the word "violoncello" in it? I tried sharpening it but still can't figure out the rest. I couldn't find the art either.

The last one is another Vinyl Record: Johann Sebastian Bach, Enrico Mainardi – Suiten Für Violoncello Solo Nr.1-6. I tried to find the closing looking image to the one used in the game. The record I found was actually remastered in Japan (2016) but its very close!

[rapier-roach]

Highway to The Angel's Heaven

or

How W.D. Gaster=Michael Landon.

I think it'd be pretty funny if Gaster, or whoever is screwing with the Secret Bosses, isn't actually messing with them on Purpose, and is just going around genuinely attempting to help these fellas, but accidentally worsening their lives.

How does this link to the Popular Mid-to-Late 80's Family Drama Show, Highway to Heaven? Well, I'll tell ya.

The Premise of the show, is that a Probationary Angel known as "John Smith", (Real Creative, huh?) wanders the Country to work on assignments from "The Boss", along with a Human he meets in the first episode, Mark Gordon. These Assignments are usually to resolve an unfortunate situation that has arisen in a Person's life, usually when someone is caught in a hopeless situation. When he and Mark have finished assisting, they head off to the next person who'll need their help.

(There was a second show very similar to it in the 90s, called Touched by an Angel, but that's entirely unrelated to this.)

Anyway, the way I like to imagine it, is that Gaster is being thrown between worlds, finds himself working strange jobs in the Dark World, like a Financial Advice Hotline, or a Motivational Speaker for Clowns. Eventually he gets to a point where he's pretty sure whoever he's "helped" can figure out the rest for themselves, so he leaves. However, unlike John and Mark, he exposes his Assignments to Knowledge they were never supposed to know.

I wonder who Gaster's Mark Gordon is?

I think The Vessel could work. Much like Mark Gordon, the Vessel is rendered without a Purpose on its first Appearance.

Thank you.

[trials-of-apollo-my-beloved]

Door Three-Thirty-Six

These are the first three chapters of my Apollo gets therapy fic

Apollo finds his way into a therapy session. And despite telling himself not to, keeps showing up.

Chapter 1

There hadn't been a specific moment that led me to seek out therapy. I hadn't had some revelation, I didn't realize my need for help in a moment of desperation. Honestly calling it a need is a bit of stretch. I knew plenty of people that needed therapy. Nico D'angelo for example, or really just about every demigod I’ve ever met.

Honestly , I tapped my foot at a nervous six eight tempo on the waiting room floor, I probably shouldn't have come at all. Healthcare professionals are already so bogged down with work nowadays. All I'm probably going to accomplish by doing this is take up the space of someone more deserving of the help. I narrowed my eyes at the door number. I swore the email had said I was supposed to go to  room three-thirty-six by 9:30 AM! It was at least 9:45 now, shouldn't the door have opened at some point?

Maybe I had gotten mixed up and it was actually 9:30 PM instead. Maybe I should have chosen a therapist in Europe instead. Their measurements of time are so much more manageable. I speak enough European languages that I could have pulled that off.

A creak emitted from door three-thirty-six and for some unknown reason, my breath caught in my throat. Whoever was on the other side seemed to have stopped in their tracks right before they opened the door. I could see the bottoms of the shoes. They looked fancy, but worn. The owner was probably middle class if the generic store brand tag sticking up from the back of their shoes was anything to go by.

The door opened and I yelped. A middle aged woman looked at me questioningly. Mayhaps wondering what I was doing hovering outside her door. A sentiment that the longer I forced myself to see this through, the more I sympathized with.

"Uhm, hello!" I attempted a polite wave.

The woman blinked at me. "Hi there. Are you Apollo?" She had a wonderful voice, deep for a woman and undeniably pleasant. I could see how she had become a healthcare professional. A soothing voice has always helped me with bedside manner.

"Yes, that's me! Apollo..." I stuttered trying to remember the alias I had created for this. Yes, I had to create an alias entirely for going to therapy. Apparently mortals need to exist before they're allowed to sign up, and I couldn't just get this service on Olympus. The closest thing Olympus had to mental health services was some Dionysus enchanted ambrosia. Also called alcohol in some circles.

"Apollo John Smith." I don't know what you're talking about, I very much did not google the most common last name in *insert place here* to come up with my alias! That'd be stupid and incredibly transparent.

"Right, Apollo." The woman, who I assumed was Delilah Burch, my therapist to be, smiled inexplicably at me. She couldn't have possibly already realized I was lying about my name could she?

"Sorry for the wait. I had a client online that needed some extra time. Please come in." Burch's office wasn't decorated like most medical facilities I have been in. In fact, with the couch in the center of the room laden with handmade quilts, it reminded most of the infirmary at camp half blood. The room looked designed to have a homely feel. Even the dents in the wall next to the couch,  told a story of perseverance. I don't know why, it was completely ridiculous, but I felt like the hole was taunting me.  

Like it was saying, "I've withstood too much to be felled by you." Wow, I was in a weird mood today.

“May I?” I gestured to the couch. Delilah smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling in a way that reminded me fondly of my son Austin.

“Of course. Please.” I practically sunk into the couch. Even if I got nothing out of this visit, like I suspected would be the case, the journey would be worth it for this wonderful couch.

“What is this made of?”

Delilah chuckled, “I don’t know, but I’ve been told it’s something that starts with a p.”

“Well I’m going to have to look this couch up.” I didn’t say it outloud, but this couch had to be better than even Hephaestus’s laboratory couch. While my half brother was quite the inventor he was very facetious with comfort.

“If you find it, let me know. There’s quite a few people who have been asking me for it.” Delilah sat in a swivel chair across from, her long dark hair disappearing into black chair.

“Now,” she trailed a digit down her clipboard, “Since this is our first session, Apollo, it’s always good to start with an introduction.”

I nodded. Being a medical professional myself I was familiar with the more routine aspects of psychological treatment. Beyond the rubric though, I will admit I am rather clueless.

Delilah set the clipboard down on her lap, and I had to constrain myself from peering down at it. “I’ll go first. My name’s Delilah Burch, as you know. I am thirty-six years old. I have two siblings and I live with my dog bailey.” She pointed her pen at me, probably indicating it was my turn.

“Hello…” I trailed off, suddenly realizing I had no clue how to introduce myself. Usually I just say, “Hi I’m Apollo,” and people fill in the rest. I couldn’t do that now, obviously.

It wasn’t the best idea to start therapy based on a lie, but Olympus already had enough blackmail on me without finding my therapist.

I’ll just follow the template Delilah had laid out for me, “My name’s Apollo. I have…” My plan to follow her template fell apart as I realized I had no clue how many siblings I had.

“Well depending on how you define siblings I have a sister. I am…” Oh goodness. Another roadblock. How old was my identity again. I think I went with forty. Purely on the fact that I couldn’t gush about my teenage kids without getting weird questions.

I am not very familiar with the topics that come up in therapy, but if I had chosen my age simply off of how I appeared to mortals, I feel that being a teenage father would surely come up.

“Forty, I am forty-years-old. And I live alone. With my horses if we’re counting pets.” Delilah’s eyebrows lifted at my age, but hopefully that wasn’t because she had caught onto my lies. She was hopefully just contemplating how amazing I looked for my age. I get that a lot. Even in Olympus, which is always slightly less flattering because the people complimenting my looks there are mostly just trying to call me old without getting vaporized. (Ahem, Hermes and Dionysus.)

Delilah looked at me contemplatively. “If you don’t mind me asking, how do you define your siblings Apollo?”

Well that wasn’t what I was expecting. She had deviated from the first day rubric. I was lost. I opened my mouth, but I had no idea how to answer that question. I could go with full, biological siblings. That generally is the definition for siblings in my family, though even then that familial bond was sometimes ignored when my father, well…

My father’s… everything, probably wasn’t the topic to bring up on my first session with a new therapist. I didn’t know much about Delilah, but she didn’t seem like the type who was seeking a challenge. I guess I’d just stick with Artemis, even if I did consider a certain McCaffrey a little sister as well.

“I was counting full siblings. Of which I only have one.” Delilah leaned in like she was genuinely interested in what I had to say. I admired her for that. I for one was never able to pull off, “genuinely interested” when my patients told me about their personal lives. I’m sorry, but I do not care about your new shrine on Crete! I just don’t.

“That’s nice. Could you tell me her name?” She flashed her clipboard at me, “I like to make a diagram of relationships patients have so I have something to look at incase I forget.”

I blinked. A diagram. Well that was fancy. I knew that mental health practice had improved quite a bit over time, but a diagram was a stroke of ingenious. Back in medieval Europe Dionysus used to tell me stories about forgetting the names of people seeking his aid and how he would just cut a hole in their skull to get out of admitting he had forgotten. Which yes, was standard mental health treatment at the time.

“Well, that is handy.”

Delilah smirked, “Definitely. So what’s your sister’s name?”

“Oh, right.” I paled, realizing I hadn’t come up with aliases for any of my siblings. That was maybe something I should have considered before coming here.

“Artemis.”

“Oh I see.” Delilah scribbled on her diagram. “Apollo and Artemis, like the Greek gods! Are you two twins?”

I laughed nervously, “Very much like that. Yes we are twins. By the way, your last name, Burch. Are you perhaps related to Caroline Burch?” Confused Delilah looked at me. “The poet. And an excellent one at that.” I hinted at her, but Delilah’s face remained foggy.

“Well that’s disappointing.” I’d been a fan of Caroline Burch’s work for a long while and her stellar portfolio of poetry. Honestly her works deserved to be put in schools. I curse the person who somewhere along the line decided that Bill and Dante were the only poets doomed to be taught in American highschools.

“Sorry to disappoint. I’d say I’m about as related to her as you are to the real Apollo, but you know, you never know.” She said. I contained a laugh, you never did know.

“So do you have any other people in your life that I should know of? A parent? Friends? Kids?” Oh dear, I would have to come up with some aliases on the spot, wouldn’t I?

Start with the easy one, “I have a friend named Meg. She’s a little like my younger sister.” There, no harm in that. There’s plenty of Megs walking around. Her name wouldn’t incriminate me as one of the twelve olympians.

Now, onto my other relations. My mind raced through all my father’s titles. I would rather not discuss him ever, but considering this was therapy, and he was my abuser, if I did continue on with this charade he would no doubt come up.

“My father’s name is Bob and my mother’s name is Leto. I also have a lot of half siblings since my father’s a doner.” I winced as my poetic sense came up with a more truthful rhyme to that cover. Sometimes my talent is a curse.

Delilah’s smile had slipped at some point and she was writing so intently that I wondered how all those words could fit onto the diagram.

I felt awkward just sitting there and watching her so I continued. “I also do have other friends, but I don’t think you could fit them on your diagram.”

Delilah looked up at me, a challenge in her eyes, “Give me enough time, I could do it.”

“Okay. I also have four daughters, Kayla, Gracie, Emma, and Urania. Four sons, Austin, Will, Jerry, Raphael, and Yan who prefers no labels.” Delilah’s face remained mostly impartial, but her brow did furrow slightly.

“So your kids don’t live with you?”

“Eh heh, no, not typically. I mostly come to stay with them than the other way around.”

Delilah hummed, “Are they from one partner, no partner, multiple?” I leaned back in my chair. This was the trouble with choosing a mortal physiatrist. While the anonymity it allowed was convenient, it also had the downside of coming with mortal judgments on morality and this country's strangely christian prejudices. I hoped Delilah wasn’t the type to slut shame, but well, that’s never something you can tell from looking at a person.

For example; you would think Janus, the god of doorways would be totally down and cool with people having multiple partners over their lifetime, but no, he was a total stickler for ‘one true loves’.

“Multiple partners.” I meant to say it as a statement, but it came out more like a question.

“Alright.” She said, I let out a sigh of relief. This session had already been so awkward without the added tension of conflicting views on monogamy.

“Are you uncomfortable right now Apollo?” Delilah asked me. I froze up, which must’ve answered her question better than even I, with all my poetic wisdom could have done verbally.

“You really don’t have to be. I know all therapists say this, but trust me this is a safe space. Unless you are planning to harm yourself or others everything said in this room is entirely confidential. There is no judgment. Promise.” Her words were kind, and settled my nerves slightly. Though I knew she could not uphold that promise.

In my experience nothing I did was beyond scrutiny. Perhaps the only time in my life where my actions hadn’t been observable by Olympus was when I was hanging off the edge of chaos.

“No judgment? Well that does sound nice.” I smiled weakly. Delilah locked eyes with me, looking almost concerned for my well being. An idea that was completely absurd considering we’d only met around forty minutes ago.

“Yes. I find it quite nice. Once we look at things objectively it tends to shine a light on things we didn’t even try to look at before.” I nodded. Remembering when I sacrificed to my sister Diana at her temple at Camp Jupiter. Looking at mortals making sacrifices to me from above I had always thought they’d see it as an honor. Doing it myself had revealed the menial reality.

I was going to respond -with some mortal friendly revisions of course- my anecdote, but a piercing beeping erupted from Delilah’s pants.

She patted her lap like a dad recovering from a particularly funny joke. She pulled out her phone. “I’m sorry Apollo. It seems like our time together has come to an end.” She adjusted on her chair and pulled out her business card. “When would you be free for another session?”

I tapped my fingers considering. For all my worries today hadn’t been a total disaster. I looked at Delilah, she didn’t appear to be in a hurry to throw me out. Maybe the troubles of Noca county weren’t so terrible that I was taking up the spot of someone who needed more desperately than I?

“Any time is good for me. Most days after the sun sets I’m free.”

“So around eight?”

“Yeah, that, that works.” Delilah scribbled that down on her business card.

“Is next Thursday good for you?”

I mentally sorted through my to-do list for this month. It was depressingly short. One of the downsides of avoiding my godly family is the loss of, “Never a dull moment”.

“Yeah.” I stood up. Mourning the feel of comfortable couch on my tuchus.

Delilah held out her hand. “See you soon Apollo.” I took and we shook.

I found myself smiling, “You too.”

Well, I thought, that went surprisingly alright.

Chapter 2

I grabbed Dr. Burch’s knocker and swung it against her door. I winced. These doors were solid wood alright.

I looked around me subconsciously, hoping I hadn’t accidentally summoned Janus with my doorway abuse. In my defense, I would tell him, Dr. Burch is the one who hung the metal thing on the door in the first place! It’s basically asking me to hit the door!

I considered the simple wall hanging, the black seemed to clash with the yellow-esk wood, which shouldn’t have been possible because every fashion magazine I’ve read has told me that nothing clashes with black. I might have to go back and reconcile some of my style choices from the 1980’s…

The knocker was quite wide as well. Aren’t therapist’s offices not supposed to have things you could hang yourself from? Or are those psych wards? I realize I’m showing my ass on my knowledge of mental health treatment facilities.

I stepped back from my doorknob ogling when I heard voices on the other side of the door. I quickly retreated.

A teenager emerged from the room, looking like they were holding back tears. I tried to look away -I know teenagers can get touchy about getting stared at- but this particular teen reminded me eerily of my Lester Popadopalous form if he'd gotten, well, more sun.

Dr. Burch followed behind them, giving me a side eye that didn’t seem to fit well with her dogma of, “no judgment”. Maybe I shouldn’t have knocked, but then why have the knocker to begin with? Did it just come with the door?

Dr. Burch turned the teen towards them and patted their shoulder. “I can’t promise you everything will be alright Clifton, but remember that while you can’t change the situation you can change-”

“How I react to it? Yeah I heard you and mom the first ten-thousand times thanks.” Clifton shrugged Dr. Burch’s hand off, she dropped her hand and gave them a Chiron quality smile. The type of smile that seemed to be both comforting and condescending in equal measure.

“Have a nice day Clifton.” Clifton did a weak wave and walked off. Glaring at everything that came into their view, including me.

If the passive aggressiveness kept up I might decide that this therapy thing wasn’t worth risking my reputation.

Once Clifton was beyond the corridor Dr. Burch turned to me, suddenly all smiles. “Hello Apollo. It’s good to see you.”

I fought the urge to nervously twirl my hair, “Yes, good to see you too.”

“I must admit after our last meeting I was worried you wouldn’t be coming back.” I was suprised. I thought our last meeting had gone relatively well! At least amongst first impressions with mortals. Was it the last name Smith? I knew that was going to be a give away!

“Really,” I chuckled in a very, totally casual way, “What made you think that?”

Dr. Burch tilted her head, “You just had a very nervous energy. You seemed very uncomfortable here to me. I’m glad you came back.” She held open the door.

Curse this woman and her Sally Jackson perceptiveness! I was nervous. Gods, maybe I should just give up the charade and tell her I’m a god. I feel like that could help me avoid a lot of problems. But, I spotted a photo on the window sill of Delilah, another woman that looked like her, and a small child, it would likely cause more problems than it’d be worth.

I sat down on Delilah’s ungodly comfy couch (as a god I’m aloud to say that) and tried not to give it a Chrissy Amphlet feel up.

“You get the name?”

“What?” I looked up at Dr. Burch sitting across from me. “What name?”

She picked up her clipboard and clicked her pen, “The name of the couch. You said you would look it up?”

I didn’t remember that. Had I said that? To be frank I didn’t remember much of our last encounter. I hadn’t felt like I’d needed to, with how wonderfully mundane things had turned out.

“I’m sorry, I forgot.”

Delilah waved off my apology, “That’s fine. You didn’t have to.” She adjusted in her swivel chair and took a long sip of a large water bottle on her right. “So Apollo, now that it’s your second session I think we can get into the more fun part of this relationship hmm?”

I blinked, not knowing what, “the more fun part” meant in this context. In my experience the more fun part of relationships wasn’t exactly safe for work. I doubted Delilah, with her professional wardrobe and this being her work place meant that .

“What do you mean?”

She smiled warmly, perhaps sensing my discomfort again. “Could you tell me Apollo, why you decided to come here?”

I looked around her office and raised an eyebrow, “Well you let me in so…”

Dr. Burch chuckled like I’d made a particularly funny joke. “No, I meant why did you decide to seek help, Apollo?”

My cheeks went gold. (A wonderful side effect of having ichor instead of blood is that people can’t tell when you’re blushing.) I didn’t know what to say. As I told you at the beginning of this tale dear reader there was no specific reason I decided to seek help. Nope, no reason at all. In fact one could say I had the opposite of a reason, an anti-reason? Yeah, I like how that sounds. I could totally sell that to my buddies at Websters. Good word for poetry, anti-reason.

“Uhm, I guess I just felt like it.” I meant to say it like a statement, but the ‘uhm’ and the way my voice increased in pitch at the end of my sentence pretty thoroughly sabotaged the attempt.

Dr.Burch, bless her heart, -no not literally godly power, you’ve messed up blessings too much for me to use you right now- made no comment on my voice crack but to scribble on her notepad.

“Therapy is all about feelings, so, you’ve got the right idea there. Is there anything else? Anything you’d like to work on?”

I grimaced. There were many things I’d like to work on. My hair, my parenting skills, the sun chariot stereo, but the worry I had held signing up for therapy in the first place held me at bay from saying any of that.

“I… I think that everyone has things they can work on. Ways to be better.” I thought of Reyna’s words after our meeting with Harpocrates. To be a better person I had to change, to work on things and be better .

Delilah gave me an evaluating look and- wow, I was really uncomfortable. More uncomfortable than that time when I’d gone to that modern rap convention and over half the free styles had included the word, “bitch” five times plus. Some of the freestylers had even gone on to rhyme the word with itself. Which, as the expert on rhyming I was fairly certain didn’t count as actually rhyming. The rappers and their possies hadn’t too seemed inclined to take my advice though.

Honestly that’s my issue with modern rap, too many yes men. Sure it feels good to have people patting you on the back for everything you do, but it stifles creativity, and creativity is especially what modern MCs need- what was I talking about again?

“I think that’s a wonderful philosophy.” Dr. Burch cut into my musings, “And, I know I’m supposed to be impartial here, but one I quite agree with. I wish all my patients had that mindset going into therapy. It would be very beneficial for them and me.”

I nodded, the wisdom of Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano was something to behold. “The thing with therapy is that it’s a partnership. It doesn’t work unless both parties are cooperating and willing to work together.”

I nodded again, mentally sliding that information into my lexicon. I would have to speak with Dionysus about that particular piece of information because if he was helping Nico D’angelo with his mental health, and knowing my brother he would need a bit of push to really contribute to a partnership. Or anything really, with all he stalled doing anything you would think he was the god of dragging his heels not wine.

"So is there anything specific you would like to work on Apollo?” Oh goodness, we were back to this question. You know I've never related so much to Meg’s refusal to form coherent sentences before.

I gripped the couch cushion, trying my best to figure out how to proceed without giving the game away, so to speak. What part of my life could I talk about that wouldn’t get me immediately labeled an immortal being?

My kids? I suppose that could work. I did want to become a better person for them as well as myself, so it was even true! Though based on my appearance the fact that I have teenaged children might actually give me away. I suppose I’ll have to look into those ridiculous, mortal, “anti-aging creams” (which, as a doctor I must tell you mortals to stop buying. Truly most of them do more harm than good.) to use as an excuse in case someone Dr. Burch starts asking any questions.

“I would like to learn how to be a better father. I know that’s very broad but,” I trailed off, unsure what to say.

Dr. Burch nodded sympathetically, “It’s fine Apollo. That’s a wonderful goal to have and we have a lot of time to work on it. Though as you said that kind of goal can sound incredibly daunting, so how do you feel-” She clicked her pen and brandished it at me, “about breaking it down with me?”

How I feel, well in general slightly terrified that one of my siblings or shudder my father would burst through the window behind you and start streaming my embarrassment to all of Olympus. How I felt about breaking down a goal, “That sounds fine to me.”

I brought up how I felt that I didn’t spend enough time with my kids. (Leaping and bounding over the topic of the ancient laws) We then discussed my profession and creating slots of time for my kids and by the end of the session Delilah had me sending an email to camp half blood stating I’d be over to take cabin seven to the latest performance at the Sydney opera house.

By the end of the session I felt quite content. I’ve been told that therapy is supposed to make you uncomfortable, but I was starting to feel quite at home in Dr. Burch’s office. Returning to the Sun Palace I quite happily marked down our next meeting in my calendar.

I found I was actually looking forward to my next hour at door three-thirty-six.

Chapter 3

This might be strange to say, but I was having a magnificent day. I’d hung out with Meg at Aeithales and there wasn’t a single monster attack, I spent the previous night on a joyous outing with my kids, and I do believe I finally managed to shed that awkward, “you’re our dad, but we never used to see you so we’re always very mindful of how we act next to you” mindset from Kayla and Austin.

Not to mention the performance itself was outstanding. That drummer, why she was something else. Both in stamina and style. The two S’s of how to be a good performer, and the way she complimented the singer’s sporadic tempo, her technical chops were nothing to scoff at either. I digress, all I’m trying to say is I walked out of the concert with an amazing sense of fulfillment and an amazing musician's number in my back pocket.

And before you get all, “Oh Apollo, but wasn’t this trip about your kids? Why were you flirting?” First off, I can flirt and shower my kids with affection at the same time! That’s not weird! Also my plans with Anastasia aren’t going to be anything like a date. They are going to purely be two musicians with mutual admiration for each other having hour long rockin jam sessions. Nothing romantic about that.

Currently I was flying through the sky in the form of a peregrine falcon, the fastest bird in the world, wind rushing through my fathers, brushing against my skin, the world passing down in sweeping arcs and blurred river roads.  No matter how many times I did this, flying free was alway exhilarating.

I regretted many things about accepting my godhood back from my father, regaining the ability to fly was never one of them.

I swung into a dive plunging down at the speed of one of my arrows. My wings were tucked close to my body and my feathers deflected dust particles like a windshield, air moving out of the way of my descent.

It was glorious. Approaching the ground I pushed out my wings and crashed into a wall of air like a spaceship hitting Earth’s atmosphere. Then I was soaring, flapping my wings to pull me above the ground so I could glide to a stop at my destination.

I drifted to a wire and landed, gently descending onto the ground. I started to waddle through the streets to an alley where I could transform into a more suitable form for counseling. If the residents of Saint Paul Minnesota were at all confused to see a peregrine falcon wadling through their streets like a lost pigeon, none of them took up their grievances with me.

Last second before exiting the alley way I realized that I forgot to put on clothes, and quickly equipped the first thing that came to mind. Which was a chiton, then to be replaced by my usual Lester Papadopoulous mom jeans and T-shirt for modesty reasons.

While my chiton was down right modest back in ancient times nowadays it would be quite a scandalous thing to show up to a mental health facility in. Or at least when you weren’t in LA. Depending on what part of that city you were in, my chiton could still, probably, be considered modest.

It occurred to me as I progressed through Dr. Burch’s building that I looked like father. Of course I always look like a dad in the fact that I am, by a broad definition of the word, a father. But with my worn and aged Lester jeans, the pockets sagging from use- and for some reason I couldn’t fathom my form appeared older than I usually went with- I truly did look like someone’s pops.

I had faint smile lines around my eyes, my posture was laid back, and casual. I looked like a man who was just a day away from going out with his teenage kids to a concert. I felt a weird kind of content, like I had everything in the world right in front of me but was in no hurry to do anything with it.

It was a feeling that was almost entirely foreign. Though I suppose there was no mystery in what spurred on the mood. I’d simply had a good week. Hmm, another foreign thing.

I melted out of my reverie when I met Dr. Burch’s door. Closed again. I suppose I should have expected that. Us physicians were never quite punctual either.

Huh, maybe that’s why there are  chairs in this hallway?

I took a seat when I didn’t hear the conversation going on in room three thirty six winding down. I was mentally playing my favorite songs off of Madonna's album, Madonna when I heard a thump.

I looked around me and saw something had fallen out of my pocket. There was a makeshift doll lying on the floor, its head twisted at an odd angle and droplets of red coating it. That was- that was the doll my maybe-daughter Georgina had made for me. I was sure I lost that ages ago, yet it had just fallen out of my jeans pocket.

My jeans pocket that wasn’t even on the trousers I was really wearing when I first got it. While these jeans appeared like the variety of ones I wore on my trials they were simply a replica. I never would have been able to fit in Lesters' actual trousers. At least not remotely comfortably for me or anyone in my line of sight.

I picked the broken thing up from the synthetic wood floors and turned it in my hand. Now how did you get here my friend? I felt bad for the little doll. I’d completely forgotten about it and now it was all covered in Lester fluids.

A fate I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy- mostly for my own sake.

I looked at the clock, it was getting pretty late. I wondered if I would get punched if I tried knocking again… Whether by Janus or Dr. Bruch I did not know.

As if hearing my slander, the door next to me slammed open, I jumped in my seat, the chair scraping a piercing note into the synthetic wood. Another teenager stormed out of it, not even giving me a second glance.

I smoothed out my t-shirt trying to reassemble my composure. There sure were a lot of angry teenagers here. This is the second one in a row. The youth of today seems to be struggling quite a bit. I should probably do something about that, being the god of youth and all, but I didn’t suppose tracking down teens already getting help and asking what’s wrong would help much.

“Hi Apollo!” Delilah Burch’s lovely contralto met my ears and I looked up to see her smiling broadly at me.

“Oh hello there! Good morning!”

“Yes, it is. Nice and cool. Much better than the summer heat if you ask me.” Dr. Burch chuckled lightly and held open her door for me. I would have disagreed with her and perhaps offered to message her my forty slides long powerpoint on why, actually, summer was the season superior to all others, but I was in such a good mood I didn’t bother. We entered and took our seats.

I cracked a joke about the quality of the couch again, Delilah laughed and then something in the atmosphere shifted. I’m not sure how I could tell something was coming, perhaps it was simple intuition, perhaps it was my on and off buddy Delphi warning me to get out now, while I still could.

The feeling was strange, but I didn’t heed it. I was an Olympian god and Dr. Burch was about as mortal as one could be. Even if a monster were to suddenly burst through a window and destroy the whole building I had full faith in my ability to neutralize it and protect Delilah Burch along with everyone else.

I suppose that was a bit of hubris on my part. Figures what occurred next I must have committed some sort of sin against the fates just wonderful sensibilities.

“You know Apollo, we've had fun our last few meetings.” I narrowed my eyes. If that wasn’t ominous I wasn’t the god of music.

“Yes?”

“And while that’s all well and good, speaking with you has been a delight, I think we’ve come to a point in our relationship where we can start to get into more personal topics. Perhaps dig further into certain issues you think might require immediate attention?”

I blinked, immediate attention wasn’t really how I would describe any of my issues. I was an immortal, when it came to self progression “immediate” was something entirely up to me to decide. Or at least that’s how I used to think. That mentality has acquired some qualifiers recently. For example if one of my friends were in danger, or gods forbid I was the one endangering them, that would require immediate attention.

To my knowledge I wasn’t endangering anyone right now, but… In the past I certainly had. So the first place to start would be there? But how would I discuss that with a mortal? How would I admit to any of my previous behaviors without collapsing in a ball of guilt and having Delilah running out of the room and trying to break her strange knocker off her door and use it to lock me in?

Would all that be worth the chance to be better? Better than I already am trying to be, good enough to deserve those that I wished to protect? I stared at Delilah then turned to look closer at the photo of her sister and that young child on the window cill.

While I wanted desperately to expedite my process towards being a better person, it wasn’t worth the risk. Revealing my status as a god, or even dropping subtle hints in my story could lead to Delilah discovering the truth of the immortal world, which could risk destroying her mind. I couldn’t do that to her. That would make me as bad as I was before. Tossing mortal lives out like candy wrappers.

So where to start, was the question? What about me personally did I not like? Thinking about it, I leaned back on the couch and Dr. Burch graced me with a patient smile.

There was quite a lot about me that I wished I could fix. I wanted to be better in more ways than one, I wanted to be moral yes, I wanted to be strong and resilient, I wanted be clever like Athena so I could wriggle my way out of trouble, I wanted to be free like my sister, I wanted to be brave enough to do more than sit in the golden cage that was Olympus and break out and create change like Meg.

I wasn’t any of those things, especially not brave, but I didn’t know how to ask. Bravery had always been something I envied; seeing it all my life. In Meg, my sister, Don the faun, I watched them stand strong with intention while I fumbled through my decisions like a one hit wonder trying to recreate the success of their first hit.  

I looked at Dr. Burch, really looked at her. I tried to see not just her physically but the room she inhabited, the job she took, and the questions she asked.

Despite her middling age she had the enthusiasm of a young child running into every situation expecting the best. She dealt with children everyday like the young Clifton. Children marching through their existence on this rock in space unsure of how they got here, or how they remain, and she tried to help them make sense of it all.

I only knew Dr. Burch for not even a full four hours, but I could already tell she had faced more trials and come out on top than I ever have.

How to sit in front such a person and ask, answer, with my own flaws pleading for their guidance?

What would they think of me? And would it hurt more if they dismissed me, or if they held a hand?

I found myself staring at the hole in the wall I noticed on my first visit here. There was already spackle filling the cracks surrounding the fist shaped hole.

“I want to be better than who I was, and I want the courage to push through to that.”

Delilah simply marked something down on her clipboard. She looked to me, her eyes were polite, but I felt a pressure to speak nonetheless.

“I want to be brave enough to stay away from my father,” like Meg and my sister Artemis, “I want the courage to look those I have wronged in the eye and promise them that they will be the last to experience the pain I caused them. I want a way to look at my children without all their kindness being unbalanced. I want-” I trailed off.

I broke eye contact with the hole in the wall and hung my head. I didn’t continue. There wasn’t enough time to go on and spill the whole truth of my pitiful existence.

Wow, I’m starting to sound like an edgy teen. It seemed running into that teen earlier was some sort of foreshadowing.

I remained still in the couch seat, frozen, waiting for Dr. Burch to make the first move. The anticipation of seeing her reaction to my confession was killing me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look up and confirm my worst fears.

The silence hung in the air like rain clouds. Condensing dark in the sky, lightning sparking through them and my muscles instinctively tensing.

“Are you feeling good Apollo?” Dr. Burch spoke and I raised my head, her eyes crinkled at the corners with concern, and her lovely mahogany eyes were bearing into me.

I was taken aback. She didn’t hate me! Though I suspected that was probably because I spared her all the gory details of my moral failings.

Also, of course I felt good? I was the god of youth and healing, I was likely the healthiest person on the planet! I quickly checked my form for any blemishes, briefly fearing that my acne had returned; that somehow my emotional vulnerability had registered as wrong to my godly body and it decided to course correct by slowly transforming into Lester Papadopoulos.

To my luck that didn’t seem to be the case.

“I didn’t mean physically.” Dr. Burch interjected. I quickly stopped my personal pat down and did my best not to look embarrassed. Curse me and my presumptuousness. I really need to work on my self esteem, this imposter syndrome is starting to leak into my good looks. If my brain kept this up I might accidentally manifest flab onto my perfect form in my sleep.

I don’t hate Lester’s form anymore, but being shoved into it without my waking consent was not an experience I wished to repeat.

“I mean emotionally Apollo. It is truly wonderful that you’re opening up. Truly, but you don’t have to force yourself. We can take things one at a time. I wrote down what you said. Which do you want to talk about?”

She flipped over her clipboard. I rubbed my eyes and squinted to read the sheet.  When had it gotten so dark? In an instant the room lightened and illuminated the list.

The words fell from my lips as I read them, “My father…” I stopped. I had mentioned my father? That seemed like an oversight. I had already resolved to keep my godly side as far away from Dr. Burch as I could, discussing my father wouldn’t bring anything but destruction. I would have to-

“So you want to talk about your father?”

My panic must have been visible. Dr. Burch pursed her lips.

“Is everything alright at home Apollo?” She asked.

I didn’t have an answer.

Chapters will be updated individually from now on. This was just to get the back log of the fic on tumblr!

[zanazirafanfic]

25DCC Chapter 13 "Getting Anxious for Christmas" (Preview)

Hello, all! I promise this fic isn't abandoned, and I am *finally* getting somewhere with this chapter after almost an entire month of the worst writer's block I've had in years! Work has been crazy the last few nights, so I didn't have as much time to finish up as I'd hoped, but I'm planning to have it up tomorrow, 3/19, at the latest!

In the meantime, as an apology, here's a little preview. Enjoy!

*~RDR~*

Lone Wolf Stead, Great Plains, WE - December 13, 1910

"And this man's name was what?" 

"Cú Chulainn of Muirthemne. He was an Irish warrior," Jack answered. He was only half paying attention to the conversation, thoroughly engrossed in his book while he lay stretched out on his stomach in the back of the wagon. "In this chapter he's defending the kingdom of Ulster from Queen Medb of Connacht's army. She's trying to invade and steal King Conchobar mac Nessa's prized bull, Donn Cúailnge, after she put all his other soldiers under a curse so they can't fight."

John blinked, just taking all of that in for a moment. "You... How did you even get all those names outta your mouth in one go?"

Jack shrugged, turning to the next page with a tiny grin. "I dunno. Just... comes easy to me, I guess."

The elder Marston blew out a slow breath and shook his head. "Well you're a helluva lot smarter than me, that's for sure. Maybe you oughta drive the wagon while I read that book of yours for a while - I clearly need to 'broaden my horizons' some more."

"He's smarter than both of us," Abigail said proudly, turning around to look at him.

Jack hunched deeper into his book, his face flushing pink in embarrassment. "That's... I'm not..." He never knew quite how to respond when his parents said things like that, and it usually just got him flustered instead. He suspected that was half of why they did it, actually.

John and Abigail exchanged a fond smile with one another, and John huffed a quiet laugh as he snapped the reins to urge the wagon horses into a faster trot.

The three of them were on their way over to Lone Wolf Stead, planning to pay an impromptu visit to the Morgan-Smiths. John had been out to Blackwater that morning, leaving in the wagon before sunrise with their surplus milk, eggs, and wool loaded in the back to sell. When he arrived back home a couple of hours later, it was with a grin on his face and a pale cream-colored envelope clutched in his hands. There was no return address except to the post office in Annesburg, but the name "Tacitus Kilgore" was written in the upper-left corner in a messy, looping scrawl.

There was only one person - or, rather, one couple - who would still be writing letters to John under that alias after all these years, and as soon as he'd seen his father pull up to the front porch and noticed the name on the letter, Jack was scrambling into the back of the wagon, all but dragging his mother along behind him.

Aforementioned letter now was tucked securely between the back pages of his book, still unopened for the time being (no matter how tempted he was to take a quick peek). Pa and Uncle Arthur had promised each other weeks ago that whoever received word from Dutch and Hosea first would be sure to notify the other immediately, and John said he didn't feel right opening it before his brother got a chance to see it too. Jack didn't mind, though, since it gave them an excuse to visit his uncles again...

@photo1030

[wild-lavender-rose]

Perfect Timing

Pairing: Hawkeye Pierce x reader

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: In a world where soulmates have matching tattoos etched on their wrists, Hawkeye is convinced that he won’t live long enough to find anyone with a tattoo similar to his, let alone matching. However, the day you arrive at the MASH 4077, injured and refusing to accept help, Hawkeye is shocked to discover that your tattoos match. 

Warnings: Description of injuries, blood, gore, war setting, mild language

     “You’re going to be just fine, John. I promise.” You ran your hand through the sweaty locks of a soldier that looked barely enough to hold a gun. “I promise.” 

     “What-whatever you say, d-darlin’.” John tried to smile as if the only thing stopping his insides from spilling out weren’t your hands holding them in place. 

     You looked up at the blur of green and brown and blood as doctors and nurses ran back and forth between the soldiers being unloaded from the bus on stretchers. “Doctor! I need a doctor over here!” 

     “We’re movin’ as fast as we can here.” A tall man dressed in a pink silk dress stopped long enough to acknowledge you. “The docs say that the worst cases go first.” 

     “This is the worst!” 

     “Not by their standards.” 

     Anger flared within you. You’d heard that the 4077th was one of the best units. Clearly it was being populated by a bunch of pansy pediatricians. “Idiots, they’d think a hangnail was the worst case. Get over here!” 

     “But I’ve got to finish unloading the bus.” 

     “Well now you’re a tourniquet.” You nodded down to John’s wounds. “Keep constant pressure on this, even if he screams.” 

     “Oh god,” the man knelt beside her and did as you asked, paling as John gave an anguished moan at the additional pressure. 

     Hands dripping with blood, you stood and made a run for the surgeon’s tent. No one noticed you in the chaos. No one stopped you as you expertly maneuvered your way through the crowd and into the surgeon’s scrub room. 

     There were three men prepping when you shoved the doors open and walked in. “All right, who’s the idiot in charge around here?” 

     The oldest of the three didn’t even bother to stop scrubbing his arms. “Depends. In charge out there or in charge in surgery?” 

     “Whoever has the final say over which patient goes first. I have a man out there who’s insides will become his outsides unless someone can stick him up fast.” 

     “Honestly, I leave you guys for two seconds and you let the riff raff in,” a man with black hair and blue eyes walked in through the door across from you. The door that led into the operating room. He stopped and regarded you over the top of his surgical mask. “You’ve got a complaint, sweetheart?” 

     Your anger bubbled over at the nickname. “I have a man outside that needs help now.” You demanded. “And if you’re too busy in there making bets on which of your patients dies first, then give me a med kit and I’ll do it myself.” 

     “Which kid is it?” The man’s voice had sobered, his expression growing pained. “Is it Lieutenant Smith, the one you were working on when I was out there?” 

     “John.” You didn’t remember seeing him outside, let alone watching you. 

     The man shook his head. “He’s too far gone. I could save four men in the time it would take me to maybe save him.” 

     The truth of his words hit you harder than any bullet, a truth you had been pushing aside the moment you had first found John bleeding out in the trenches. Still you clung on. “No.” You shook your head, throat closing up with the sting of unshed tears. “No! You’ve got to try. He’s got a wife. They just had their first baby.” 

     “Hawkeye, did you see the-” the man in the pink dress burst into the room, stopping beside you. “I guess you found the idiot.” 

     You turned on him. “What are you doing?! You need to be with John!” 

     “There’s no point.” 

     “What do you mean there’s no point!?!” The tears were falling now. Hot, angry tears. You reached up and shoved them away, streaking blood across your face. “I told you to stop the bleeding!” 

     “He’s already dead!” The man yelled back, eyes full of pain. “Houlihan confirmed it. He died a few seconds ago.” 

     It was like you had been hit with an enemy attack all over again. Only instead of the outside in it was from the inside out. 

     The man in the dress gave a nod. “I’m sorry. Truly.” 

     You nodded back. He turned and left. The three other men had finished their scrubbing prep and filed into the operating room. The oldest man, the one who had spoken before, placed a hand on Hawkeye’s shoulder. “You coming?”

     “Yeah, in a second.” Hawkeye was staring at you. 

     You stared back, body feeling numb and unsteady. But his blue eyes grounded you in a way that you had never felt before, a way you never expected to find in the middle of the hell you were living. It was like he knew what you were thinking. That he knew of the nightmares, the dreams, the fears, the experiences. All of it, just by looking. And he hurt for you. More hurt than you thought possible for one man to feel so deeply. 

     “Are you all right?” He asked. 

     “I...I’m sorry.” 

     “Is that all his blood?” Hawkeye’s gaze dropped to your right side and the dark blood stain seeping through your green shirt. 

     “Yeah.” You lied, taking an uncertain step back. “I’ll...I’ll leave you to it. I’m sorry.” 

     You turned and left the room before he had a chance to say anything more, leaving him to stare after you.

Part 2

Fanfic Masterlist

Taglist Request Form

Taglist: @gameplaying-bunny @wool-hat7 @cirillamylove​ 

[blizzardrush]

Who are you? Cobra Bubbles (Lilo & Stitch): 92% John Smith (The Man in the High Castle): 92% The Operative (Firefly + Serenity): 91% Thomas Matthews (Dexter): 89% Preston Burke (Grey's Anatomy): 88%

    Cobra. Bubbles. He is allegedly very similar to someone named Cobra Bubbles.

            .  .  .can he go back to being dead now?

Tagged by @ourladyoflight Tagging whoever wants to do this!

[americangodstalk]

American Gods’ incomplete bibliography (1)

On his website, Neil Gaiman left, in his own words, an “incomplete bibliography” tied to America Gods, listing various books he used during his research and writing process. He does point out that the bibliography is incomplete, put together from memory, and that the books in it range being extremely important to the creation of American Gods to just a way for him to check one or two things while writing, so with each book he lists he adds some commentaries to precise their use. 

1) The Richard M. Dorson books

Neil Gaiman explains that the work of Dorson was one of the reasons “American Gods” was even created. The opening quote comes from Dorson’s texts, and Neil Gaiman got the idea (and desire) to put John Chapman/Johnny Appleseed in his novel upon reading Dorson’s account of the figure. Neil Gaiman describe these books as “vigorous, sensible and informative”, and he explains that they greatly helped him understand folklore and learn a lot about it. Neil Gaiman lists four Dorson books:

Bloodstoppers and Bearwalkers: Folk Traditions of the Upper Peninsula

American Folklore

American Folklore and the Historian

Buying the Wind: Regional Folklore in the United States

2) America by the road

Here is a handful of books talking about... let’s say “America by the road”.

Roadside America (1986, Jack Barth, Dough Kirby, Ken Smith and Mike Wilkins)

The New Roadside America (1992, Mike Wilkins, Ken Smith, Doug Kirby)

About these books, Neil Gaiman precises that there is more content in the revised edition, but that the essays of the first edition are longer and it feels less crammed. The second edition has 80 more pages to its account, while the first edition rather presents color photos. He also insists that the books are less fun than the website corresponding to them, (www.roadsideamerica.com) which holds a lot more surprises and wonders. (I haven’t checked if the website is still up)

America Bizarro ; in Neil Gaiman’s own words “strange festivals, state by state”

3) General mythology books

In Neil Gaiman’s own words, “some handy books that may be of use to the casual reader”

Who’s Who in Non-Classical Mythology

Neil Gaiman thought of this book as “genuinely useful”, and it is where he discovered the Slavonic myths (and where his fascination for it started out)

A Dictionary of World Mythology

According to Neil Gaiman, “not unuseful even though it has nothing on the Slavonic myths”. 

Encyclopedia of Gods

Neil Gaiman barely used it, says it basically recycles a lot of things you can find elsewhere, and it has some glaring mistakes, such as describing Sleipnir as “winged”. But, he still included it in the bibliography because it has entries on some deities that other books tend to skip over, such as Coatlicue.

Myths and Legends of All Nations

According to Neil Gaiman, “a fine potted history of about 22 cultures and their gods”. He especially points out that pages 190 and 191 contain info about kobolds that might be extremely interesting to whoever finished reading the novel. Overall, Neil Gaiman judges it “readable and interesting”, even though he points out he only used the book to “check stuff”, not as a main source. 

[thetardisisnotourdivision]

Theory: Claire Brown from Flux is Susan Foreman.

Theory that after the Time War, Susan (having regenerated) realised she was being chased, by the Time Lords, by the Master, whatever. So she used a chameleon arch to disguise herself on Earth.

Evidence:

They have the same vibe. Both Claire and Susan have very similar speaking habits, similar body language, similar personalities. They're both very quiet, very intelligent, fairly awkward, very excitable, both stumble over their words, Susan if I remember correctly used to talk to herself when she was scared, or else would chatter to whoever was nearby, which Claire does, both enthusiastic but seem to try and curb it, same sort of looming darkness, same sense of almost responsibility - which is difficult to explain, but Claire seemed to be trying not to say too much, like she knew things that had to stay secrets. Susan was often similar. 

Second, Claire is knowledgeable about the Doctor - she seems to know a lot, anyway, and as said below seems bemused by the sonic, like she wasn't expecting to see it. 

Only problem so far is that Susan never met the Weeping Angels. BUT, what if Susan-who-lived-in-the-future-with-her-adopted-children-in-the-building-that-was-once-Coal-Hill-School-and-the-diary-that-has-brought-me-to-tears-more-than-once knew about them. Or perhaps they were involved in the Time War (I think this was confirmed? Idk).

What we can gather from Claire's first exchange with the Doctor and Yaz in The Halloween Apocalypse:

Claire, while surprised to see the Doctor again, understands that the Doctor won't know who she is and that they haven't met yet. 

"You don't seem too sure about your past", idk, it feels relevant. Susan never was too sure about her past. Quote: Ping Cho asks where she's from, and she's quiet for a second then says "that's a very difficult question to answer, Ping Cho." Would also be the result of a chameleon arch. 

When the Doctor uses her sonic, Claire looks confused - the First Doctor never had a sonic screwdriver. 

Her speech patterns and behavior are VERY similar to Susan's.  

Her expression upon seeing the Doctor. She's so excited to see her - excited is definitely the right word. Her posture is very similar to Susan's. And when she has to leave, she's almost in tears, staring up at the TARDIS. 

"The long way home, because it's Halloween". Very similar to the quote from An Unearthly Child, 

"No, thank you, Mister Chesterton. I like walking through the dark. It's mysterious."

SHE REFUSES A SHORT CUT AND WALKS HOME THE LONG WAY ROUND BECAUSE IT IS MORE MYSTERIOUS. AND IF HALLOWEEN ISN'T MYSTERIOUS, I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS. "I like walking through the dark, it's mysterious"

It would make a lot of sense contextually. With the Timeless Child reveal, we don't know what the implications are for the Doctor's family - i.e. Susan. Is she part whatever-the-Doctor-really-is? Perhaps she's really the Hybrid? (but that's a whole other theory). 

I just read Adventures in Lockdown and if we count that as canon, i.e. if we count A Fellow Traveller as canon, Claire, if I'm right, has a very good reason to recognise the Doctor in this incarnation. 

Claire draws the TARDIS and an angel, among other things. One: this could be fragments of memories (chameleon arch). Two, the drawings themselves are very interesting. If you look at them properly, they look firstly like John Smith's sketches in Human Nature/Family of Blood, and also a little bit similar in style to Susan's drawing in the original Pilot version of An Unearthly Child. 

Claire says she was having "premonitions" before the angel took hold. These sound very similar to Ten's dreams in Smith and Jones. 

To lead on from that, exactly how is she psychic/a seer? It doesn't make any sense if she's fully human, and Susan was a very powerful telepath. This would explain numerous parts of Claire's character. 

It would be very typical for a villain to take Susan hostage rather than just Random Civilian No. 3. Everyone knows, "if you want to get to the Doctor, you get to [their] friends first". Plus, we all know Chibnall's relationship with subtlety - it is emphasised no less than six times in Village of the Angels that Claire is human. Which almost certainly means she is not. 

 Idk. I'll probably add to this later. What do you guys think? I think it would certainly make sense, especially with the Doctor delving into her past and confronting her demons. 

[infinity2020corner]

9 songs on repeat

Tagged a long time ago (😅) into a couple of Spotify games by @just-two-blokes

I don't use it a lot, but when I do I often listen to your Barris playlists 💙

Fire on Fire - Sam Smith

Skyfall -Adele

Dream a little dream of me - The Mamas and The Papas

Marry you - Bruno Mars

Another love - Tom Odell

Sinners - Lauren Aquilina

Scars to your beautiful - Alessandra Cara

Your song - Elton John

Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A man after midnight) - ABBA

Tagging @junkshop-disco who loves playlists and whoever would like to do it, no pressure

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

This is How I Fight My Battles

Yesterday I wept. Today I pray for you, for the Trump family, for our country and for freedom loving people all over the world.

"The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." John 1:5

Aaron's Blessing Numbers 6

22 The Lord spoke to Moses, saying, 23 “Speak to Aaron and his sons, saying, Thus you shall bless the people of Israel: you shall say to them,

24 The Lord bless you and keep you;

25 the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you;

26 the Lord lift up his countenance[c] upon you and give you peace.

27 “So shall they put my name upon the people of Israel, and I will bless them.”

2 Chronicles 20:17-19

17 You will not fight in this battle. Take your positions, stand, and watch the Lord deliver you, O Judah and Jerusalem. Don’t be afraid and don’t panic![b] Tomorrow march out toward them; the Lord is with you!’”

18 Jehoshaphat bowed down with his face toward the ground, and all the people of Judah and the residents of Jerusalem fell down before the Lord and worshiped him. 19 Then some Levites, from the Kohathites and Korahites, got up and loudly praised the Lord God of Israel.

The Lord Is My Shepherd A Psalm of David 23

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

2 He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters

3 He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

4 Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,I will fear no evil,for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

5 You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.

6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

23 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

3 He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

Way Maker

You are here, You’re moving in our midst

I worship You

I worship You

You are here, You’re working in this place

I worship You

I worship You

Way maker, miracle worker, promise keeper

Light in the darkness, my God

That is who You are

Way maker, miracle worker, promise keeper

Light in the darkness, my God

That is who You are

You are here, touching every heart

I worship You

I worship You

You are here, healing every heart

I worship You

I worship You

You are here, turning lives around

I worship You

I worship You

You are here, mending every heart

I worship You

I worship You

Even when I don’t see it, You’re working

Even when I don’t feel it, You’re working

You never stop, You never stop working

You never stop, You never stop working

Written by Osinachi Okoro

© 2016 Integrity Music Europe (PRS) worldwide at CapitolCMGPublishing.com excluding the UK & Europe which is admin by Integrity Music Europe Songs@integritymusic.com

https://youtu.be/P2L0FmqwpFM

Matthew 6:9-13 ESV

9 Pray then like this:

“Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name.

10 Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

11 Give us this day our daily bread,

12 and forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors.

13 And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

Isaiah 54

15If anyone stirs up strife, it is not from me; whoever stirs up strife with you shall fall because of you.

16Behold, I have created the smith who blows the fire of coals and produces a weapon for its purpose. I have also created the ravager to destroy;

17no weapon that is fashioned against you shall succeed, and you shall refute every tongue that rises against you in judgment. This is the heritage of the servants of the LORD and their vindicatione from me, declares the LORD.”

Psalm 91

1As for you, the one who lives in the shelter of the Most High and resides in the protective shadow of the Sovereign One

2 I say this about the Lord, my shelter and my stronghold, my God in whom I trust—

3 he will certainly rescue you from the snare of the hunter and from the destructive plague.

4 He will shelter you with his wings; you will find safety under his wings. His faithfulness is like a shield or a protective wall.

5 You need not fear the terrors of the night, the arrow that flies by day,

6 the plague that stalks in the darkness,

or the disease that ravages at noon.

7 Though a thousand may fall beside you, and a multitude on your right side, it will not reach you.

8 Certainly you will see it with your very own eyes—you will see the wicked paid back.

9 For you have taken refuge in the Lord,

my shelter, the Most High.

10 No harm will overtake you; no illness will come near your home.

11 For he will order his angels

to protect you in all you do.

12 They will lift you up in their hands,

so you will not slip and fall on a stone.

13 You will subdue a lion and a snake; you will trample underfoot a young lion and a serpent.

14 The Lord says, "Because he is devoted to me, I will deliver him; Iwill protect him because he is loyal to me.

15 When he calls out to me, I will answer him. I will be with him when he is in trouble; I will rescue him and bring him honor.

16 I will satisfy him with long life, and will let him see my salvation.”