#Official certificate design

[giftingproducts]

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[interpreterhongkong]

Ever wondered how a certified translation in Singapore works? This infographic breaks down the entire process—from understanding when you need a certified translation to the factors that influence its cost. Don't miss out on these key insights that can save you time and money!

[reality-detective]

Something To Think About 👇

UNDERSTANDING: "THE WIZARD OF OZ"

"The Wizard of Oz = The Crown Temple. This is not a mere child's story written by L. Frank Baum.

What symbol does "Oz" stand for?

Ounces... Gold.

What is the yellow brick road?

Bricks or ingot bars of gold.

The character known as the Straw Man represents that fictitious ALL CAPS legal fiction a PERSON - the Government created with the same spelling as your Christian birth name.

Remember what the Straw Man wanted from the Wizard of Oz? A brain! No legal fiction has a brain because they have no breath of life!

What did he get in place of a brain? A Certificate. A Birth Certificate for a new legal creation. He was proud of his new legal status, plus all the other legalisms he was granted. Now he becomes the true epitome of the brainless sack of straw who was given a Certificate in place of a brain of common sense.

What about the Tin Man?

Does Taxpayer Identification Number (TIN) mean anything to you?

The poor TIN Man just stood there mindlessly doing his work until his body literally froze up and stopped functioning. He worked himself to death because he had no heart nor soul. He's the heartless and emotionless creature robotically carrying out his daily task as if he was already dead. He's the ox pulling the plough and the mule toiling under the yoke. His masters keep him cold on the outside and heartless on the inside in order to control any emotions or heart he may get a hold of.

The pitiful Cowardly Lion was always too frightened to stand up for himself.

Of course, he was a bully and a big mouth when it came to picking on those smaller than he was. They act as if they have great courage, but they really have none at all. All roar with no teeth of authority to back them up. When push came to shove, the Cowardly Lion always buckled under and whimpered when anyone of any size or stature challenged him. He wanted courage from the Grand Wizard, so he was awarded a medal of "official" recognition. Now, regardless of how much of a coward he still was, his official status made him a bully with officially recognized authority. He's just like the Attorneys who hide behind the Middle Courts of the Temple Bar.

What about the trip through the field of poppies? They weren't real people, so drugs had no effect on them.

The Wizard of Oz was written at the turn of the century, so how could the author have known America was going to be drugged? The Crown has been playing the drug cartel game for centuries. Just look up the history of Hong Kong and the Opium Wars. The Crown already had valuable experience conquering all of China with drugs, so why not the rest of the world?

Who finally exposed the Wizard for what he really was?

Toto, the ugly (or cute, depending on your perspective) and somewhat annoying little dog. Toto means "in total, all together; Latin in toto." Notice how Toto was not scared of the Great Wizard's theatrics, yet he was so small in size compared to the Wizard, no-one seemed to notice him. The smoke, flames and hologram images were designed to frighten people into doing as the Great Wizard of Oz commanded. Toto simply went over, looked behind the curtain - the court - (see the definition for curtain above), saw it was a scam, and started barking until others paid attention to him and came to see what all the barking was about.

Just an ordinary person controlling the levers that created the illusions of the Great Wizard's power and authority. The veil hiding the corporate legal fiction and its false courts were removed. The Wizard's game was up.

It's too bad that people don't realize just how loud a bark from a little dog is. What about your bark? No matter how small your bark is - it can be heard.

Do you just remain silent and wait to be given whatever food and recognition, IF any, your legal slave master gives you?

Are you going to continue to follow the script by what they command of you? You are NOT a puppet so when they pull the levers to create their False Flags/Black Swan Events...

Ask: "Where is YOUR bark?" 🤔

What scares them? A "Pack of Dogs" removing the veil and all barking together, then the evil cowards will back down. They definitely do NOT want ALL of US standing TOGETHER barking.

[crowboy-bebop]

U.S.-based friends! For no particular reason, I'm compiling a list of resources that might be helpful to people in the coming four-ish years or so.

Medical Resources

Medical Information Removed By The Trump Administration

Jessica Valenti's Substack - a collection of the pages removed from the CDC's website. Includes documents on contraception and reproductive rights, sexual health, and intimate partner violence.

HRT

Trans Harm Reduction - website for HRT information, such as source testing, information on safe injection practices and disposal, and resources for sourcing injection suppplies. They also share links to healthcare resources.

DIY HRT: Everything I Can Legally Tell You by Lily Alexandre - information on self-medicating without a prescription. If this is unavailable, PLEASE let me know.

Reproductive

Plan C - an online database of telehealth providers, community networks, and websites that provide abortion pills by mail

Legit.Clinic - an easy way to check if a clinic is actually a crisis pregnancy center; uses Reproaction's database listed below

Crisis Pregnancy Centers

These are anti-choice organizations, usually run by or in connection to churches, who use misleading tactics and fearmongering to scare people out of seeking abortions. They often advertise things like "abortion counseling" (which is really just talking people out of abortion), and abortion pill "reversal." Their main purpose is to either scare you out of seeking an abortion, or to stall you long enough that the process to get an abortion is more difficult.

Reproaction's Anti-Abortion Pregnancy Center Database - an online database of anti-abortion "crisis pregnancy centers" that rely on misleading information to talk pregnant people out of getting an abortion

Expose Fake Clinics - an online resource for leaving reviews of crisis pregnancy centers and their misleading claims

Name and Gender Changes

Federal

SSA Sex Designation Change Questionnaire (archived) - as of Jan 26th 2025, this page has been taken down on the official Social Security website. That does NOT mean you cannot change your gender marker, it is just being purposefully obscured. One thing to note; even before the current administration, there was no option for an unspecified gender designation, so X will not be an option unfortunately.

Social Security Card Replacement - this is the form you will need to fill out in order to change your name or gender designation.

State

A4TE's ID Documents Center - state-specific information on how to change your name and gender marker on ID documents like birth certificates, driver's licenses, etc. Also has information on passports, but that is unfortunately outdated as of January 26 2025. (thanks, @wannabeast13!)

Miscellaneous

r/DataHoarder - a subreddit dedicated to archiving digital information. They've been heavily focused on documenting information that has been removed due to the Trump administration.

This is by no means an exhaustive list. I'm compiling resources as I find them. If you have anything you think should be added, send me a message!

Lastly,

It's Okay To Take A Step Back

Don't let the continuous onslaught of bad news send you into a doom spiral! Take a deep breath. Get some water. Log off, get together with friends, join or start local communities. The world isn't all bad, even if it feels like it is. The most important thing right now is that we stay together and not let the bad overwhelm us into apathy.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Crossroad Blues | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: canon gore, canon violence, imposter syndrome, discussing grief and parental death

Word Count: 4935

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

You sighed heavily as you pulled up a photo of Dean’s mugshot from the St. Louis Police Department. “Well, you’ve got a warrant out in St. Louis, and now, you're officially in the feds’ database.”

Dean grinned at you across the diner table. “Dude, I'm like Dillinger or something.”

“Dean, it’s not funny,” you scolded. “We’re fucked if we’re not careful.”

“Well, what do they got on you two?” Dean looked between you and Sam.

Sam muttered, “I'm sure they just haven't posted it yet.”

“No accessory? Nothing?” Dean chuckled.

“Shut up,” Sam grumbled.

The older brother laughed. “You're jealous.”

“Why the fuck would he be jealous, Dean?” you hissed.

Dean seemed caught off-guard. “Whoa, sweetheart, relax—”

“No, this is serious, man,” you replied, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. “Dee, I was completely off the grid before I met you. Now, we all got arrested— thankfully, Diana’s getting our mugshots and prints wiped from Baltimore— but I’m undocumented! My mom told me she gave birth to me in a motel room. This was after my parents had already been ‘missing’ for years. My brother and I have no birth certificates, I don’t have social security, I don’t have insurance, I don’t have a real driver’s license— they can book me for that reason alone. I’m fucked. You didn’t kill anyone. They actually have legitimate reason to book me.”

Dean’s plucky attitude dropped, and he turned around, slightly angry. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t exactly plan on getting arrested. And I’m sorry it screwed you over, okay? Chill out.”

You glared at him. “ ‘Chill out’?” You chuckled coldly. “ ‘Chill out,’ he says. I wouldn’t be as angry if you weren’t making stupid jokes.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop, okay? Jeez.”

Sam huffed. “Okay!” He slid papers between you and Dean who were scowling at each other. “Architect Sean Boyden plummeted to his death from the roof of his home, a condominium he designed.”

Dean looked away from you and down at the paper, but you kept your eyes trained on him. “Hmm. Build a high-rise and jump off the top of it. That's classy. When did he call animal control?” Dean questioned.

“Two days earlier,” answered Sam.

“Did he actually say Black Dog?”

“Yeah. A vicious, wild, black dog. The authorities couldn't find it, no one else saw it; in fact, the authorities are a little confused as to how a wild dog could get past the doorman, take the elevator up and start roaming the halls of the cushiest joint in town. After that, no more calls, he doesn't show up for work, two days later he takes a swan dive.”

“Do you think we're dealing with an actual Black Dog?” the older brother asked.

“Well, maybe,” Sam shrugged.

“What's the lore on it?”

The brunet slid another page over to Dean. “It's all pretty vague. I mean, there are spectral black dogs all over the world, but some say they're animal spirits, others say death omens. But anyways, whatever they are, they're big; nasty.”

“Yeah, I bet they could hump the crap outta your leg,; ook at that one, huh?” He held up a picture and smirked at his brother. 

Sam glared at him.

Dean’s smirk slipped. “What? They could.”

Sam got up from the table and began heading out of the door. You followed Sam quickly. Dean grabbed your arm and spun you back around.

“What, Dean?” you snapped.

He shrank under your glare. “Look, I— I’m sorry, okay?”

You dropped the tension in your shoulders. “Yeah, me, too. I just— I worry about you. And you guys completely turned my life upside-down when you walked into it. And everything’s changing so fast; it’s kinda scary.”

Dean nodded as he started walking. “I get it. If it makes you feel any better, you’re changing my life, too.”

You looked over at him and smiled softly. He couldn’t quite meet your eyes after that admission.

***

You and the brothers interviewed the deceased’s former business partner, and the man seemed a little bitter. Apparently, Sean Boyden was a terrible architect around ten years ago. Then, suddenly, he was in Architectural Digest. A piece of information he gave you, though, aside from his bitterness, was that Boyden used to bartend at Lloyd’s before his overnight success.

Then, you went to the animal protection agency to gather information on complaints or phone calls about a Black Dog. You were the one who went in to gather intel because you weren’t willing to take the chance of Dean being recognized from the St. Louis APB. You got back in the car and explained to the brothers what you’d found out. You held up the complaints list you’d gotten from the secretary. “Every complaint called in this week about anything big, black, and dog-like. There's nineteen calls; all from Dr. Sylvia Pearlman.”

You headed to the woman’s home to interrogate her, only to find that the woman had disappeared two days ago.

“Hi, we’re Animal Control,” you told the woman who opened the door. “We’re looking for Dr. Sylvia Pearlman?”

“The Doctor— well, she— I don't know exactly when she'll be back, she left two days ago,” she said.

“Okay, and you are…?” Sam asked.

“I'm Ms. Pearlman's maid,” she introduced. “I’m not sure where she went. She just packed and left; she didn't say where. That stray dog: did you find it finally?” 

“Oh, not yet. You know, you didn't ever happen to see the dog yourself, did you?” Sam questioned.

She shook her head. “Well, no. I never even heard it.”

There were pictures on the wall of a brunette woman appearing in all of the photographs who you deduced was Dr. Pearlman. A picture that caught your attention was the woman at a bar with two friends. You turned back to the maid. “Hey, you know I read she was chief surgeon at the hospital. She's gotta be what, forty-two, forty-three? That's pretty young for that job.”

“Youngest in the history of the place. She got the position... ten years ago?” the maid thought aloud.

“Huh, an overnight success. Ten years ago,” Sam nodded.

“Yeah, we know a guy like that.” Dean clicked his tongue.

“Oh, look at this,” you said. You flipped the photo from the wall over to show the writing on the back. “Lloyd’s bar.”

*** The bar was your next stop. It was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, and you and the boys parked close to the gravel intersection.

Dean noticed something on the side of the road, and called to you and Sam, “Hey,” to get your attention.

“Yeah?” Sam questioned.

He nodded in the direction of yellow flowers growing around the edges of the crossroads. “That's weird. Think someone planted these?”

“Middle of all these weeds?” Sam questioned.

“These are, uh, what do you call 'em—” Dean snapped his fingers, trying to think.

“Yarrow flowers,” you noted.

“Yeah,” the older brother nodded. “Used for certain rituals, aren't they?”

“Yeah, actually,” Sam commented. “Summoning rituals.”

You tsked. “So, two people become sudden successes about ten years ago. Right around the time they were hanging out here at Lloyd's. Where there just so happens to be a crossroads.”

“You think?” Sam turned to you.

“Let's find out,” Dean said and started toward the center of the road. He bent over and looked up at you. “This seem about the dead center to you?”

You looked around a few moments before looking back at him and nodding. 

Dean dug a few inches into the hard soil with his hands and hit something solid. 

“Yahtzee.” He found an old Altoid tin and opened it to reveal several occult objects and a picture of an older man you hadn’t seen thus far on this hunt. 

“Holy shit, that’s graveyard dirt and a black cat bone. That’s… crazy Hoodoo spellwork,” you breathed out. “Used to summon a demon.”

“Not just summon one. Crossroads are where pacts are made. These people are actually making deals with the damn thing. You know, 'cause that always ends good,” Dean deadpanned.

“They're seeing dogs, alright,” Sam added. “But not Black Dogs, they're seeing Hellhounds. Demonic pit bulls.”

“You guys ever come across this stuff before? I’ve only read about it,” you said, looking between the boys.

“No, never,” Dean replied. “Whoever this demon is, it's back, and it's collecting. And that doctor lady? Wherever she's running? She ain't running fast enough.”

“So, it's just like the Robert Johnson legend, right? I mean, selling your soul at the crossroads, kind of deal?” questioned Sam.

“Yeah, except that wasn't a legend. I mean, you know his music,” you nodded.

Sam shrugged.

Dean looked at his brother, stunned. “You don't know Robert Johnson's songs? Sam, there's- there's occult references all over his lyrics, I mean, 'Crossroad Blues'? 'Me and the Devil Blues'?”

“ 'Hellhound on My Trail'?” you added.

Sam frowned, and Dean rolled his eyes. “The story goes, he died choking on his own blood. He was hallucinating and muttering about big, evil dogs.”

“And now it's happening all over again,” Sam said. “We've gotta figure out if anyone else struck any bargains around here.”

Dean groaned. “Great. So we've gotta clean up these peoples' mess for 'em? I mean, they're not exactly squeaky clean. Nobody put a gun to their head and forced 'em to play ‘Let's Make A Deal’.”

“So, what, we should just leave them to die?” scoffed the younger brother.

“Somebody goes over Niagara in a barrel, you gonna jump in and try to save 'em?” the older one deadpanned.

“Dean,” you scolded gently.

“Fine,” he murmured. “Rituals like this, you've got to put your own photo into the mix, right? So this guy probably summoned this thing; let's go and see if anyone inside knows him. If he's still alive.”

***

The man’s name turned out to be George Darrow. He was the first person to summon the demon to Lloyd’s. Unfortunately for him, all he asked for was artistic talent; he had forgotten to ask for the recognition for it. His small studio apartment was littered with paintings; some half-finished and some completed. They were incredible. 

“Was it worth it?” you asked him.

“Hell no. I'm still broke and lonely. Just now I got this pile of paintings don't nobody want. But that wasn't the worst.”

Your heart broke a little for him. 

“Go on,” encouraged Sam.

“Demon didn't leave. I never counted on that,” he muttered. “After our deal was done, the damn thing stayed at Lloyd's for a week. Just chattin'. Makin' more deals. I tried to warn folks, but I mean, who's goin' to listen to an old drunk?”

“How many others are there?” questioned Sam.

“Uh, the architect, that doctor lady— I kept up with them, they've been in the papers. Least they got famous,” George scoffed. “One more. Uh, nice guy, too. Hudson. Evan, I think. I don't know what he asked for. Don't matter now. We done for.”

Sam shook his head. “No. No, there's gotta be a way.”

“You don't get it! I don't want a way!” George suddenly yelled. “I called that thing! I brought it on myself. I brought it on them. I'm going to hell, one way or another. All I want is to finish my last painting. Day or two, I'm done. I'm just trying to hold them off 'till then. Buy a little time." He sighed. "Okay, kids. Time you went, go help somebody that wants help.”

You and the brothers hesitated.

“Get out! I got work to do.”

“Mr. Darrow, could I—?” you started.

“What?! What do you want,” he spat.

“I just wanted to know if I could buy one of your paintings,” you said. “That little one over there.” You pointed to a small canvas, no bigger than a piece of printer paper. It was of a skull on a nun’s body with what looked like ectoplasm dripping from her eyes. The linework and blending of the oil paint was incredible. You were truly in love with it and had been eyeing it since you walked into the room.

“I don’t want your pity money, kid. But thanks,” he told you.

“I’m serious, I really do want it. I don’t wanna buy it off you out of pity,” you protested.

He considered, before nodding. “Just take it, kid.”

“Mr. Darrow—”

He couldn’t look at you as he spoke. “Take it. It’s payment enough that someone wants one of my paintings.”

Your heart broke for him even more, and you hugged the painting to your chest when he handed it to you. 

Sam paused before speaking again. “You don't really want to die.”

George turned back to you one last time. “I don't? I'm... I'm tired.”

You bit the inside of your lip to keep yourself from crying as you left the man painting in his room.

You stored the painting in your bag when you returned to the Impala, and you couldn’t bring yourself to talk as you drove to the Hudsons’ house to find the last crossroads victim.

***

You and the Winchesters rolled to a stop in front of a very nice house. You knocked on the door to reveal Evan Hudson moments later. “Yes?�� he said, seeming shaken.

“You ever been to a bar called Lloyd's? Would have been about ten years ago.” Dean cut straight to the chase.

Evan startled and slammed the door in your faces. You heard the latch click in place.

“Come on, we're not demons!” Dean called.

“Any other bright ideas?” Sam deadpanned. 

Dean stepped back, set himself, then kicked the door in in one go. Your breath hitched in your throat at the sight, and you mentally scolded yourself. ‘You sick fuck, we’re on a case.’

You followed the brothers into the home and began searching through the rooms for Evan. You found a door closed at the end of the hallway, and Dean went to kick it in again. You stopped him by catching his leg. You turned the handle and pushed the door open gently. The room was completely silent as you entered. “Evan?” you called.

Evan jumped out from behind a bookcase, holding his hands up. “Please! Don't hurt me.”

Sam attempted to pacify him. “We're not going to hurt you, alright? We're here to help you.”

“We know all about the genius deal you made,” Dean gruffly said. 

Evan looked frantically between the three of you. “What? How?”

“Doesn't matter. All that matters is, we're trying to stop it,” Sam replied.

The man flicked his eyes between you and the brothers nervously. “How do I know you're not lying?”

Dean clicked his tongue. “Well, you don't, but you're kinda running low on options there, buddy-boy.”

Evan swallowed harshly and started pacing. “Can you stop it?”

“Don't know,” you said earnestly. “We'll try.”

“I don’t wanna die,” he muttered, beginning to well up with tears.

Dean’s tone was almost mocking. “Of course, you don't, not now.”

You gently grabbed Dean’s wrist. “Dean, stop.”

He continued, ignoring you. “What'd you ask for anyway, Evan? Huh? Never need Viagra? Bowl a perfect game? What?”

“My wife.”

The older brother laughed coldly. “Right. Gettin' the girl. Well, that's worth a trip to hell for.”

“Dean!” you and Sam chided, more firmly this time.

“No. He's right, I made the deal,” Evan sniffed. “Nobody twisted my arm, that… woman, or whatever she was, at the bar? She said I could have anything I wanted. I thought she was nuts at first, but— I don't know how to— I was desperate.”

“Desperate?” Sam questioned.

“Julie was dying,” he lamented.

Dean suddenly softened. “You did it to save her?”

Evan nodded. “She had cancer, they'd stopped treatment, they were moving her into hospice, they kept saying… a matter of days. So yeah, I made the deal. And I'd do it again. I'd have died for her on the spot.”

“Did you ever think about her in all this?” Dean questioned.

“I did this for her,” Evan protested.

Dean advanced on him, ripping his arm out of your hand. “You sure about that? I think you did it for yourself. So you wouldn't have to live without her. But guess what? She's going to have to live without you now. But what if she knew how much it cost? What if she knew it cost your soul? How do you think she'd feel?”

You put a hand on Dean’s chest and pushed him backward. “Knock it off,” you told him, giving him a sharp look.

Sam turned to Evan. “You just sit tight, alright? We're going to figure this out.”

You followed Dean out into the hallway. “What is your deal, man? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn't I be? Hey, I got an idea.” He pulled out the goofer dust you’d gotten from George Darrow. “You and Sam throw George's hoodoo at that Hellhound, keep it away from Evan as long as you can. I'm gonna go to the crossroads and summon the demon.”

“Wait, summon?! Are you nuts?!” you protested. “I’m coming with you.”

“No,” he said firmly. “You can’t. I won’t let you, okay? I can’t handle this properly if I’m worried about you.”

You looked up at him with sad eyes.

He put his hands on either side of your shoulders. “(Y/N), I can trap it. I can exorcise it, and I can buy us time to figure out something more permanent.”

Sam walked up behind you. “Yeah, but how much time?”

“I don't know, a while. I mean, it's not easy for those suckers to claw their way back from hell and into the sunshine,” Dean chuckled.

“Dean, you can forget it, alright?” Sam argued. “I'm not letting you summon that demon.”

“Why not?” Dean grumbled.

“Because I don't like where your head is at right now, that's why not.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean scoffed.

“You know, you've been on edge ever since we found that crossroads, Dean, and I think I know why,” Sam noted.

Dean turned around. “We don't have time for this.” 

Sam was able to stop him with a single word. “Dad. You think maybe Dad made one of these deals, huh? Hell. I've been thinking it. I'm sure you've been thinking it, too.”

Dean didn’t turn back to face you and his brother, but quietly said, “It fits, doesn't it? I'm alive, Dad's dead. The yellow-eyed demon was involved. What if he did? What if he struck a deal? My life for his soul?”

Evan called back from inside the room behind you. “It’s outside!”

“Just keep him alive, okay?” Dean instructed. 

“Dean!” you called.

“Go!”

You steeled yourself and turned back to the office Evan was in. You took a bag of Goofer dust from Sam and began covering the window sills and doors. Sam made a circle around Evan while you worked.

“What is that stuff?” Evan asked.

“Goofer dust,” Sam replied.

“You serious?” he scoffed.

“Yeah. 'Fraid so. Look. Believe me, don't believe me, whatever you want. Just whatever you do, stay inside the circle, alright?”

You looked back to see Evan nodding. He began to hug himself, standing in the middle of the circle just as you and Sam finished coating the room.

Sam shook his bag out. “That’s the last of it.”

You paced around the room, Bowie knife in hand, as Sam tried to comfort Evan. All you could think about was Dean with the crossroads demon, and you prayed to a god you didn’t believe in that he wouldn’t make any stupid deals.

You knew how much his dad’s death was tearing him apart. You knew that even in that moment with him after he’d just woken up next to you in the apartment back in Philadelphia, his heart wasn’t fully there. You wished you could take away that pain for him. 

“(Y/N), are you trying to increase your step-count or something?” Sam asked you.

You barely registered his snarky question. “What?”

“You’re pacing. Like, a lot.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” you said.

“God, you and Dean were made for each other.” Sam shook his head, chuckling slightly.

You deadpanned at him. “Shut up.”

Evan whirled around at something you couldn’t hear or see.

“What?” Sam asked him.

“You hear that?” Evan asked. 

“Hear what?” you questioned. “Where is it?”

“Right outside the door,” Evan said quietly.

Suddenly, the doors began to rattle violently. Sam stepped inside the circle of goofer dust, but you stayed outside of it, gripping your bowie knife tightly.

“Just don't move, alright?” Sam told Evan. “Stay where you are.”

The rattling droned on for several minutes before it stopped suddenly.

“Do you still hear it?” Sam asked.

“No. Is it over?” Evan breathed out.

You whipped around to the sound of rumbling from a grate nailed to the wall. You stared it down until it burst off the wall, kicking dust from the vent into the room.

“It's here!” Evan exclaimed.

Deep claw marks gouged into the floor up to the circle, and they stopped just before the edge. The hellhounds had apparently completely ignored you, but you tempted fate by pissing them off. You dug your bowie knife into where you thought the back of one of the creatures was.

“(Y/N), what the fuck are you doing?!” Sam yelled. 

You cried out in pain as an invisible force slashed at your leg. Deep claw marks appeared on your thigh, ripping through your jeans. 

“(Y/N), no!” Sam screamed.

You slashed at your leg with your knife and hit something solid. 

“(Y/N), get inside the circle, you maniac!” Sam chided.

“Trying!” you replied, pulling the knife out of the solid thing you’d hit. Nothing seemed to work on the hellhounds, though, and your knife only stalled them momentarily. You crawled, scrambling over to the circle, careful not to disrupt it as the hounds got one last lash in at your leg. You sat back against Sam’s legs, holding your leg and breathing through your teeth.

“Jesus, (Y/N/N), are you okay?” Sam asked.

“Sammy, do I look okay?” you groaned, trying to keep still on the floor despite the pain in your right thigh and left calf.

He paused for a moment. “Fair point.”

The windows flew open, disrupting the Goofer dust that had been laid on the window sill and slowly beginning to blow the dust away from around you, Sam, and Evan.

“Circle's broken. Come on!” Sam pulled you and Evan.

“Sam, take him! Go!” You threw your knife at him and stayed in the slowly breaking circle, and Sam obliged. You stayed on the ground, praying that the hellhounds would leave you alone. Thankfully, they did, and you tried to recollect the dust and build the particles up around yourself. Sam had long since sprinted out of the room with Evan in tow, and the scratches on the floor led out of the room and down the hall. 

You sat like that for a while, crying and in pain. You knew you needed to stop the bleeding on your thigh as it was bleeding way more profusely than your calf. You took your button-down off and wrapped it around your leg tightly. You threw your head back, chest heaving, at the pressure around the wound. You pulled your sock up around your calf to try and collect the bleeding there.

You could hear rattling from down the hall, and wished you could do something more to help. Suddenly, the pounding stopped.

“Sam?!” you called.

“(Y/N)! You okay?”

“Yeah, are you?”

“Yeah!”

“Is it over?” 

You considered for a moment before calling back, “I don’t know! I fucking hope so!”

You could hear Sam laughing getting louder and the sound of a door creaking. You assumed he was hesitantly checking the hallway out to see if he could make it back to you. “I think we’re good,” he called.

“Thank god,” you breathed out. You tried to stand, only to fall back on the ground almost immediately. “Fuck.”

Sam entered the office. “Shit, you’re bleeding a lot… uh—” He pulled out his phone. “Dean, Dean, is it over?... Yeah, yeah, he’s fine. It’s (Y/N) I’m worried about… No, no, she’s okay— for now, at least.”

“Hey!” you called. “I’m fine, Sam, really.”

“Oh, yeah? Try standing up, then,” he deadpanned at you.

You went to move but reconsidered at the throbbing in your leg. 

“That’s what I thought.” He turned back to his phone. “She tried to take on a hellhound… Yeah, yeah, okay. Just… get here. As fast as you can. And bring her bag. I know she’s got the first aid stuff in there.”

Evan reentered the room as Sam hung up the phone. “Holy shit!” Evan cried worriedly. “Is she—? Does she need a doctor? Hold on, I’ll call 911—”

“Don’t you dare, Evan,” you protested firmly, glare pinning him to the spot. “I’ll be fine. I just need to stitch myself up, ‘s all.”

***

When Dean arrived about fifteen minutes later, he was furious. “(Y/N), what the hell were you thinking?” He stormed into the room with your duffel bag in his hand. 

“Dean, I’m fine. Gimme the damn bag—”

He slammed it roughly on the ground, sitting next to you. “Let me see.”

You hesitated but unwrapped your leg upon Dean giving you a harsh look. 

He cursed under his breath when he saw your leg. “Fuck, (Y/N)...”

“Just let me stitch it up, I’ll be fine—”

“No,” he gruffly stated. “I’ve got it.”

Sam looked between you and Dean before taking Evan out of the room to calm him down. 

Dean began threading the needle. You sucked in air through your teeth. “Tell me what happened. How’d you stop it?” You were asking him to distract you.

He looked up at you, still angry, but complied anyway. “I cornered the bitch and made her let him out of his deal.” 

You paused, waiting for more. “And?”

He said, “And nothing.” And began to work on your leg.

“Dean,” you pleaded, grabbing his wrist. “Talk to me, please. Talk me through this.”

He seemed to soften when he saw how much pain you were in. He took a deep breath as he tried his best to stitch you up gently. “She, um, she said my dad’s in hell. And… And he did make a deal. And she told me—” he paused, eyes welling with tears, “She told me she knows how torn up I am about it all. She told me she could bring him back, (Y/N/N).”

Your breath caught in your throat, no longer focused on the needle piercing your skin. “What?”

“Yeah.”

“Dean, don’t tell me—” Tears welled in your eyes. 

“No. But…” he paused, tying off one stitch before moving to start the other one. 

“But?” you pressed.

“I sure as hell thought about it.”

Your stomach dropped. “Don’t you fucking do that to me, Dean. Dee, look at me.” You grabbed his face and forced him to look at you. “You cannot fucking give up. I won’t let you.” 

He turned his attention back to your wounds, moving to the last claw mark on your thigh. 

“I know you’re hurting,” you sniffed. “I know his death is killing you. It kills me to see you like this. But I’m not— ah!” You cried out when one of his stitches accidentally went too deep into your thigh. He looked at you apologetically as you continued to talk. “I’m not gonna let you trade places with your dad. You’re here for a reason. Your dad loved you enough to keep you here. And what you told Evan earlier? Have you even considered how much it would kill me if you were gone?! And Sam? Both of us would be crushed. You matter, Dean. Sam needs you.”

“(Y/N)—” he tried to stop your admissions as he finished wrapping your leg.

“No, dude. You need to hear this. I need to tell you this. I need you here, Dean. You’re my best friend. How do you think I’d feel if you were gone?”

He faced you. “I can’t— I can’t keep living like this.”

“And you won’t,” you said. “I know it’s cheesy, but it gets better. You won’t always dread waking up every day. You won’t always blame yourself. That’s just today.”

He shook his head. “How do you know that?”

You sighed. “Listen, both of us blame ourselves as the reason our dads are dead. And no matter how much I tell you that’s wrong, you’ll never believe me. Same way I’ll never believe you. And it hurts. I won’t lie to you. It fucking hurts for a while. But then… it gets better. Time and… the people in your life… make it better.”

He stared at you with sad eyes, unsure of what to say.

“And I know you don’t believe me right now, but… please, please, just trust me,” you begged.

Dean continued to stare at you, not saying anything, before standing up from the floor next to you. “C’mon, we gotta get back on the road.”

You sighed, trying to stand from the floor.

“Oh, fuck, I forgot,” he chuckled awkwardly, making you giggle. He swept you up in his arms and looked down at you with a gaze you couldn’t quite read. Dean then stared out ahead as he effortlessly carried you the rest of the way to the car. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[guiltyasdave]

say you'll see me again

epilogue • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

word count: 789 (it's a smol one)

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, somewhat unhealthy relationship dynamics (in the past), daddy issues (reader’s dad sucks big time), able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, angst, but also... nice things :)

a/n: co-written with my angel @joelscurls, i love you <3

this is me officially saying goodbye to these two babies and i'm extremely emotional about it. i loooooved writing this story, it has brought me so much joy, it's my favorite thing that i've created and they really mean the world to me.

this story has received so much love and i'm beyond grateful for everyone who has read, liked, commented or reblogged <3 i hope you like this ending as much as i do.

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for updates and find jess’ masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

No one’s there to cheer you on at your graduation ceremony, no one to sit in the audience and clap when your name is being called and you walk across the stage. You didn’t invite anyone. 

A small part of you, the part that still feels like the 12 year old girl who thought that her father would love her if she only tried hard enough, had hoped that somehow he would know anyway. Would show up to surprise you. 

It’s less of a surprise that he didn’t. 

When you accept the certificate with your name on it, it gives you a grim sense of satisfaction. You’ve done it on your own. On your own terms, with your own money.

Your father had all but thrown you out of the house after seeing you leave on the security camera footage mere hours after he’d declared that you were grounded. It’s been a challenge, adjusting to the lack of his financial aid, getting by entirely on your own. It also felt like freedom, like you were finally able to breathe. 

You swallow down the bitterness that stings in your chest and rises up your throat when you watch your classmates, your friends, surrounded by their families. Proud smiles, hands on shoulders, long hugs. Fueling a longing that’s been there for as long as you can remember. It wouldn’t have been like that with your father anyway. 

You’re better off like this, with the person who, despite his insistent claims, is the one who actually brought you to this moment: Yourself. 

The buildings of the town you were raised in are surrounding you, a familiar backdrop as you make your way down the street. You don’t know why you felt the need to come here. Maybe you had to visit one last time, after leaving in a panicked rush, too hurt to dare to look back. Maybe you can say goodbye now, and your mind will stop torturing you with questions of what could have been, daydreams of scenarios that you wished had turned out differently. Maybe you can clear out the remains of the battlefield that it turned into, and finally make peace with it. 

You had wished to be able to hate David. Hate him for not wanting you, hate him for pushing you away. Hate him for the way he changed you, for showing you a connection that you haven’t been able to feel with anyone else. But you never could. 

It’s not hard to understand in hindsight, why making you leave seemed like the right thing to do for him. Looking back, you think that it actually was. Though that never made losing him hurt any less. 

If anything, you wish you could hate him because the fact that he did the right thing makes you want him more. 

The door shuts behind you and your eyes adjust to the dim light of the bar. Your shoes are sticky against the ground. It’s a far cry from the country club you used to go to. But you’re also a far cry from the girl who used to go there. No black little designer dress on your body, no expensive heels clicking against the floor. And no fear. No fear of being ignored, no fear of being talked down to, no fear of having to make yourself small. 

You’re free to be yourself, now. 

You walk towards the counter, hop up on one of the stools. It scratches against the wooden floor, mixing with the faint sound of rock music playing from a speaker in the corner. 

There’s movement beside you, the silhouette of a man caught in the corner of your eye. The drum of his fingertips against the counter. 

“Evening.” 

The wave of a memory builds up in your mind within moments, flooding your every thought. The smooth rumble of his voice. The shape of his face when you turn towards him. The strong nose, the hard line of his jaw, the permanent pout on his lips that you can still feel against yours when you try really hard to remember. The deep brown shade of his eyes that still means safety to you. 

When thinking about him, you had always pictured him somewhere new, somewhere you couldn’t reach him. It seems silly, now that he’s right here, like a piece falling into place. Of course he’s here.

Your lips pull up into a smile. No shyness, no worries of doing something that you shouldn’t. 

“Hi.”

“I’ve never seen you around here before,” he echoes back the first words you’ve ever spoken to him. He remembers, just like you. Just like he said he would. Your smile grows wider. 

You’re free to be yourself, now. 

...i'm trying really hard not to cry right now. if you enjoyed this, please consider letting me know <3

[skettibun]

SUBJECT "008" : ROGUE 0970

Subject "008" is one of the many captured sentient robotic humanoids deemed too dangerous to be left independent in the eyes of the Citadel. The Citadel has funded the organization The ROGUE Project. This organization is tasked with the dangerous task of searching and capturing rogue robots and keeping them within a highly secure and extremely adaptive facility designed for diverse ranges of dangerous weaponized machines, both within the safety of the city's walls and the radioactive rubble outside.

Whether one of the DAI systems carrying dangerous potential and risk is inside or outside of our beloved city, they will be contained for the safety of the people.

[These are summarized snippets of information that can be provided about subject 008. More details cannot be shared.]

If you or a loved one has encountered a robotic being without the official certification symbol and design approved of by the Citadel, please contact The ROGUE Project Organization immediately. All cell phones will have the emergency contact easily-accessible through the push of a single button. Please, if encountering a rogue machine, follow standard safety procedure.

- - - - - - - - - -

IM SO SORRY I CAVED BADJSJJD I HAD TO DO IT I LOVE LORE!!!!!1!!!! It probably doesn't make TOO much sense but this all came to me in a dream so it's kinda confusing when it's not all laid out haha

plus I'm a bad writer!!! Whoopsies

[terkmc]

HACS, the Harrison Armory Combat System

The Harrison Armory Combat System, HACS for short, is a relatively new system of martial art developed by Harrison Armory. Designed to integrate with standard Armory doctrine, HACS is a modernized and modified version of traditional weapon-based martial art, mathematically optimized with aggregate combat data harvesting and extensive simulations in order to best suit the Armory’s propensity for energy and plasma based weapons.

The non-physical nature of an energy blade allows it to be able to pass through another physical blade, thus making strikes with an energy weapon almost impossible to block or parry; but also conversely makes it unable to block an attack from another weapon from simply passing through it. Thus, HACS is defined by its aggressive structure based on the principles of seizing the initiative and staying on the offense, direct footwork and economy of action, range control, and violence of action.

HACS fighters will typically stay out of range to formulate a plan of attack and maneuver into advantageous positioning, then explode into a short series of decisive strikes to force the enemy to defend. If the initial series of strikes do not kill or incapacitate, HACS fighters will then try to establish distance once again and return to neutral, preferably with follow up unarmed strike to push the enemy back and maintain initiative, though simply back-stepping is also an option if further aggression is ill-advised. HACS footwork is characteristically direct, moving back and forth in a straight line from the user to their opponent and eschewing complex footwork often seen in more traditional arts.

HACS encompass most forms of traditional melee weapons such as swords, axes, halberds and more, but befitting of a modern constructed martial art systems, HACS also accounts for modern modification and new designs, such variable emission setting allowing user to change the length of a blade mid-fight or even mid swing. HACS official training and certification requires a demonstration of mastery of the system's two basic disciplines, Energy on Blade (EB), the use of energy weapons against physical weapons, and Energy on Energy (EE), the use of energy weapons against each other. For most standard users and legionnaires, these two are enough, though further advanced disciplines are available for training, such as Energy and Shield (ES), incorporating the usage of personal shielding system into the martial art, both in conjunction with and against energy weapons.

Designed for vertical integration, HACS-M (Harrison Armory Combat System – Mechanized) is a sub-discipline of HACS for usage with mech combat. Formulated for ease of transition between systems, HACS-M employs much of the same principles and moves as HACS, maintaining its core direct aggression. The added durability of a mech and its comparatively lesser agility means HACS-M incorporate “Double Strike” in place of some defensive maneuver. “Double Strike” is an umbrella term for techniques where the user intentionally takes an attack in order to counter attack the opponent, using computer-mapped positioning to maximize armor placement and avoid damage to critical systems. Though designed for chassis class 1 to 3 and obviously ill-advised to unarmored personal combat, HACS-M has also been adapted for personal combat by heavily armored fighters, typically hard suit or power armor users.

As with most theories when put into practice, HACS and HACS-M has also splintered into countless variations over the years. While a centralized system still exists within the Armory’s standard armed force training, various other subsystems have popped up either through further independent modification, local adaptation, or syncretism with other martial arts. Of note are:

Valkyrie, an adaptation for aerial combat

Stinging Blade, a highly unorthodox and controversial syncretism with Jager Kunst pioneered by Sparri diaspora on Ras Sharma

DeSys, a school that emphasizes the destruction of enemy weapons instead.

[uwmspeccoll]

Decorative Sunday

Today we present all the chapter-head designs from Paraphs by Hermann Püterschein, printed in an edition of 540 copies at the Plimpton Press in Norwood, Connecticut, and published in New York by Alfred A. Knopf in 1928. It was the first (and the only) production of the Publications of the Society of Calligraphers.

The Society was an entirely fictitious organization promulgated by the American book and type designer, and popularizer of the term "graphic design," W. A. Dwiggins (1880-1956). Dwiggins had "founded" the Society in 1919 as a vehicle to promote his ideas about design and to promote himself as a designer of books rather than as the advertising designer with which he began his career. Dwiggins was the secretary of the Society and his alter ego Hermann Püterschein was its president; it had no other official members, although many were in on the ruse.

The Society produced three other publications (not part of the stated "Publications of the Society of Calligraphers") before Paraphs (1919, 1924, 1925), and a plethora of printed ephemera, letterheads, envelopes, documents, certificates, etc., to legitimize its official status. Dwiggins goals appear to have been successful as he soon became sought after by book publishers and type foundries, and Paraphs was the last Society publication.

The chapter-head illustrations for Paraphs are typical Dwiggins designs. Our copy is another donation from the estate of our friend Dennis Bayuzick.

View more posts related to W. A. Dwiggins.

View more Decorative Sunday posts.

[bisexualmcqueen]

I'm sorry if you already posted this, but this is about the details of the first cars movie, what was the car Pixar used for Lightning McQueen's sounds, bc I cannot for the life of me remember

ONE OF MY FAVORITEST TOPICS!!!!!!!!!!

so lightning, being a 2006 model/cars being in production in the early aughts, is based off of a gen4 NASCAR build. specifically a chevy monte-carlo of the early aughts, as seen in some of his early designwork:

[jogen klubein, 2000]

[bob pauley, 2002] [the art of cars]

some stats:

(from some sketchy assed 2000 website i wont link it but i do have it written down)

i used to swear up and down that there was a special feature that showed a few of the guys from skywalker sound recording one of the g4s (maybe a blue and white dodge??) at skywalker ranch in california (or at the airstrip with the other cars). it may have been an old interview or its on a blu-ray special feature somewhere, but i havent been able to find it. i either dreamt it up or its been lost?? no idea.

but what i have been able to find is some of the stock audio used in Cars. Supposedly this is work done by Ben Burtt at skywalker sound [lucasfilm] in the late 70's??: [link]

For NASCAR purposes, as far as i could tell their engines didnt change drastically from the 70s-2000's, so its not wholly inaccurate to use older clips.

a thing in my notes:

[mixonline. photo dead from link rot]

and now some examples of real-life mcqueens (an excuse to show you cool old stock cars) :

and a few various other references:

(note the flywheel sound we also hear in Cars!)

^video ive only skimmed so far but seems very informative.

and a few canon refs while im here:

[image mine, circa 2020. official 1:18 scale BANDAI replica with certificate of authenticity, approved by jay ward]

[time travel mater] (his carbon fiber cowl induction cover is very funny to me)

SO. to answer the question: its a mix of custom sound design and stock audio. its based in reality heavily, but i believe its also tuned for fiction/per character personality. i forget which interview said that it might be the mixonline one mentioned above or this old autoweek one. he's got something along the lines of partly SB2.2 and an R07. this does not mean pixar recorded specifically these motors, but prooobably something close.

and cars 3 pisses me off because they very clearly did not use any audio off of the g4s, which had a more specific screaming sound to them at high RPMs. COTR actually portrays his exhaust note more accurately than cars 3. Cars 2 is decent also, but the first film is chefs kiss.

i have more various unorganized lmq references but this ask is long enough now and probably doesnt make much sense because i am literally so amped about this topic. please note that this research is partly accurate and partly speculative/opinion. rejoice, mcqueens be upon ye.

[ordinaryschmuck]

Full Family AU Part 44

Camila paced nervously in the kitchen while Eda got to work on the dining table. She had inks, pens, different stamps, and even a quill, just in case, laid out in front of her as she got to work on forging a birth certificate. With Luz's birth certificate as a resource, Eda got to work forging an official document on a blank sheet of paper. So far, Eda seemed to perfectly match the design of a certificate, adding in the blue squiggles that surround its border and adding the lines and text that match the official standard.

"What last name do you want the kid to have?" Eda eventually asked, shaking Camila out of her panicked pacing for a bit.

"H-Huh?"

"Well, she can't be called 'Vee Noceda,'" Eda explained. "What would Vee stand for? Better yet, how could she have your last name?"

"I...didn't think of that...Should I have?"

"Only if you want this forgery to be perfect."

Camila whined, continuing her pacing some more. "I don't know, I don't know! What's a good fake name?"

"One that's believable?"

"Come on, help me out here, bruja! I'm not good at this type of thing! With the lying and the forgery and the--Oh, no, I'm going to be sick..."

"Okay, fine, I'll think of one myself. Hm..." Eda tapped the end of her pen against her chin in thought. "How about...Velma Valina?"

"...What?"

"I mean, Vee's clearly gonna be a nickname, right? What would you call someone who's initials are basically V and V?"

"...Vee?"

"Bingo." Eda got to writing 'Velma Valina" on the document, matching the cursive that spelled Luz's name on her certificate. "Now, how old is the kid?"

"I think...no older than Luz is?"

"That's not giving me a lot to work with."

"Well, I don't...really know. I don't think she does either." Camila rubbed the back of her head. "How do you ask a child how old they were forced into existence?"

Eda blinked at that response and then put her pen aside for the moment to give Camila a confused stare. "Come again."

"Well, it's what she said," Camila explained. "She was...created by these weird men who forced her to grow up in a cage, do these...things that they wanted, and eat rats or something. It was horrific to hear and...And the poor baby probably doesn't even know how long she's been doing this for."

"...Where did you say this kid came from?"

"Your world, apparently."

"Wow..." Eda looked down at the document, running a hand through her hair. "And I thought I had issues..."

"Being a criminal isn't all it's cracked up to be?"

"Eh, it's more than that. Still, poor kid...How about I say she's two months younger than that Luz girl? That should be fine, right?"

"I guess? I don't know..." Camila finally sits in a chair across from Eda, leaning forward and pressing her palms against her temples out of stress. "I just want to give her a good home. Why can't that be easy? Why can't I just say, 'This is my daughter now,' and be done with it? Just skip this legal nonsense altogether and get right to the happy ending..."

"Well, doing the right thing always seems hard," Eda told her, going back to her forgery. "You want to do right by others you care about, but also know that doing it means making sacrifices. Whether it's not getting in their way or...staying away from them so they don't get hurt..."

"...Sounds like you do have issues."

Eda huffs out a laugh. "A few..."

"...Thank you," Camila said. "For...all of this."

"Thank me for giving me a couch to sleep on. And not killing me for doing something annoying."

"Don't know if I can promise that last part."

Eda let out a louder chortle, getting herself under control to finish up the rest of the certificate."

[giftingproducts]

Personalized Award Certificates – Celebrate Achievements with Class

Acknowledge great achievement with custom award certificates: they can be used for a corporation event, to celebrate an academic or personal achiever.

The customized award certificates turn out high-quality, professional presentations. Flexibility in customization ensures that these stylish, meaningful certificates offer just the right honor to individuals for their work and achievements.

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We print every custom award certificate on 300GSM matte paper to ensure durability and feel luxurious. This high-quality material is premium, making the certificate presentable both formally and informally. The certificates have an attractive, sleek look since they have a matte finish.

Perfect size for standard presentation

Our certificates are in A4 size, which is standard for framing or posting. This easy handling and storage do not compromise on space for key details, like name, achievement, and every little detail of the event. It is large enough that everything can fit there without feeling crowded or overwhelming.

Crunchy and Vibrant Printing

We print each personalized appreciation certificate with precision in order to allow for clarity in output. The high-resolution printing gives a sharp appearance; every detail from logos to textual personalization pops and shines through. Professional print quality gives each certificate a sophisticated, finished look suitable for any occasion.

Layout Options are customizable

Portrait or landscape orientation: You choose. Blank, customizable award certificates designed with both vertical and horizontal options to allow for either traditional awards in the vertical, portrait format or wider certificates on horizontal, landscape format paper. Easily match your certificates to the events theme and style.

[darkmaga-returns]

A graphic designer has sparked controversy by using design software to analyze and debunk the authenticity of Barack Obama’s official White House birth certificate.

In a shocking video demonstration, the designer downloaded the official document directly from the White House website and proceeded to dissect its layers in Adobe Illustrator.

The designer claims that the birth certificate, which was publicly released during Obama’s presidency to quell speculation about his birthplace, is not a single, cohesive document. Instead, he alleges it is made up of multiple separate boxes that were poorly assembled in what he described as a “terrible Photoshop job.”

As he manipulated the file in Illustrator, the designer pointed out inconsistencies he says indicate the document was digitally altered, such as mismatched text layers, inconsistent fonts, and alignment issues.

“No legitimate document would ever look like this,” he declared, explaining that official certificates are typically scanned as a single, uneditable file. Watch:

[dragoneyes618]

Romania was already fervently antisemitic even before Hitler’s rise to power. The new government elected in 1937 not only sanctioned official antisemitic laws, but also acquiesced to widespread antisemitic violence in the country, particularly during the interwar period, and antisemitism on the eve of WWII was about as rampant in Romania as in Germany. On September 6, 1940, King Carol abdicated, and the passionate antisemite Ion Antonescu, who had been minister of defense in the previous government, came to power. His police were organized with the help of the Nazis and the S.S. and an ensuing period of antisemitic terrorism began with the confiscation of Jewish-owned shops and went on to arresting and torturing Jewish leaders and the mass murder of Jews.

However, the Struma, a small iron-hulled ship only 148.4 feet long, had been built in 1867 as a steam-powered luxury yacht. Restructured with an undependable second-hand diesel engine, it was carrying cattle on the Danube River under the Panamanian flag in the 1930s when the Mossad LeAliyah Bet first considered using it as a refugee ship. That plan was abandoned when the Germans entered Bulgaria, but the manifestly unseaworthy vessel was ultimately commissioned by the Revisionist Zionist organizations in Romania, particularly Betar, to carry 769 passengers fleeing Axis-allied Romania to Eretz Yisrael under the British Mandate during World War II.

The Russian submarine Shch 213

Originally designed for about 150 passengers, the Struma was retrofitted to carry almost 800 people, such that its sleeping quarters lacked space for the passengers to even sit up. The ancient engine had been recovered from a wreck on the bottom of the Danube River and the vessel was little more than a pile of junk. As such, it could not have come as a monumental surprise that when the Struma set sail from the port of Constanta on the Black Sea on December 12, 1941 – as the last vessel to leave Europe to escape the Holocaust – her diesel engine died several times before her arrival in Istanbul, including a failure on the very day she set sail. A tugboat had to tow her out of Constanta and, since the waters off the coast were mined, a Romanian ship shepherded her clear of the minefield before abandoning her to her fate, as she drifted overnight while the crew tried, but failed, to start her engine.

The Struma broadcasted distress signals but, when the Romania tugboat returned the next day, its crew refused to repair her engines without payment. After a superficial examination of the engine, the mechanic declared that he was prepared to fix it for three million leu, an extortionate and unimaginable sum, particularly given that most the refugees on board had been robbed blind by customs officers and spent their last penny buying their way out of Romania and paying an exorbitant fee just to secure passage on the Struma.

He finally agreed to accept 250 gold wedding rings and other family heirlooms in lieu of cash but, on December 15, 1941, only three days later, the engine died again near the shores of Turkey, so the Struma was towed into the quarantine section of Istanbul harbor – where she sat anchored and isolated for more than two months. There, the refugees learned for the first time that a reprehensible fraud had been perpetrated upon them and that the immigration certificates into Eretz Yisrael that had been promised to them never actually existed.

In a particularly heinous act which earned him everlasting infamy – and which led the Jews to refer to him as “Haman” – Sir Harold MacMichael, the British High Commissioner of Palestine, not only refused entry to the Struma, but also urged the Turks not to permit the Jewish refugees to disembark. Consistent with their hateful White Paper (1939), the British remained determined to eliminate Jewish immigration to Eretz Yisrael; the Romanians did not want to take the Jews back; and the Turks, still neutral at the time, carefully walked the line so as not to risk alienating any country – particularly since most of the passengers bore Romanian, Hungarian, or Bulgarian passports, all countries hostile to Great Britain during the war whom the British claimed might be Nazi agents. The entire world left “the floating coffin” to sit rotting in the water during one of the coldest winters in decades and with its starving and freezing passengers abandoned. The situation became even worse for the Jewish refugees aboard the Struma, sailing under a Panamanian flag, when Panama declared war against Germany in January 1942.

When the Turkish deadline for some international resolution of the “Struma problem” passed with no action being taken, Turkish Prime Minister Refik Saydam sent a small party of police to board the ship on February 23, 1942, but the refugees repelled them. A force of some 80 police followed soon thereafter and, surrounding the ship with motorboats, forcefully overcame passenger resistance, boarded the Struma, and attached her to a tug, which towed her through the Bosporus and out into the Black Sea, where the Turkish authorities abandoned the ship without food, water, or fuel. As the vessel was being towed, passengers enthusiastically began singing Hatikvah and signs were hung over the sides and visible on the banks of the water that read “Save Us.”

On the morning of February 24, 1942, the Russian commander of the submarine Shch-213, who had standing orders from Stalin to sink all neutral ships in the Black Sea to prevent supplies from reaching Germany, torpedoed the Struma. The ship – which had no life vests and was equipped with only two small decrepit lifeboats – quickly sunk, killing 768 men, women and children, making it the largest exclusively civilian naval disaster of World War II. More than 100 passengers actually survived the original bombing, as they clung to pieces of wreckage in the icy water, but no rescue came and all but one of them died from drowning or hypothermia. The lone survivor was 19-year-old David Stoliar, who hung on in the frozen waters for over 24 hours before a Turkish fishing boat appeared and picked him up. Unbelievably, after a week in an Istanbul hospital, he was transferred to a Turkish jail and was held for 71 days for being in Turkey “illegally.”

The Yishuv mourned the drowned refugees and felt anger towards the British, due to their policy of closing the gates of Palestine to Jewish refugees. Following the sinking of the Struma the Jewish National Council (the Vaad HaLeumi) declared a day of mourning, and an internal curfew. Shown here is a flyer distributed throughout Eretz Yisrael in the wake of the sinking of the Struma:

With the frightening news we have received of the sinking of the Struma and the refugees on it, the National Committee has decided to declare a general work stoppage and internal curfew throughout the land, today, Thursday, the 9th of Adar [February 26,1942]: All agriculture, industry, and trade work – from noon; and all transportation from 1:00 p.m. The following workers shall continue to work: army camps, health services, electric company, post office, telegraph, and train system. The Jews shall be confined to their homes and shall not go out to the street from 1:00 p.m. to 7:00 p.m. No work until midnight. On this day, the Yishuv expresses its heavy mourning for the hundreds of sacrifices of our immigrant brothers who drowned at sea, and our strong bitterness at the hardening of the heart and disinterest from the higher Jewish institutions in Jerusalem and London, who were warned of the expected dangers to those Jewish refugees who successfully escaped from the claws of the Nazis; and (expresses) our strong demand to all the nations with whom the Jewish nation together stands in the war against the evil government of Hitler and his partners, to recognize their duty to extend a saving hand to the escapees and to facilitate the reception of the refugees into the Jewish Yishuv.

The Yishuv’s Petition

We are calling upon the people of Britain, their elected officials, and their government:

Provide refuge to Israel’s migrants and its refugees in their national home and their homeland.

Let the fate of those fleeing Nazi persecution not be like the fate of the people of the “Salvador” and the “Struma” – drowning at sea.

The story of the disaster must be investigated before a parliamentary committee.

Liberty must be declared for the people of the “Darien” and homecoming and redemption be provided to all the survivors.

My voice, along with the voice of my brothers, that are calling for refuge.

The Rock of Refuge

For months, the sinking of the Struma became a rallying cry for Jews worldwide and it generated protests, a general strike in Eretz Yisrael, death threats against British officials, and responses by Turkey and Britain that voiced regrets but denied responsibility. The British government eventually decided to grant an exception and to permit Stoliar to make aliyah – over the strenuous objections of the loathsome MacMichael, who argued that permitting the entry of the sole survivor of the Struma would somehow open the “floodgates” to Jewish immigration. In a public response to the tragedy, MacMichael stated: “The fate of these people was tragic, but the fact remains that they were nationals of a country at war with Britain, proceeding direct from enemy territory. Palestine was under no obligations towards them.” MacMichael had also been responsible for the deaths of 260 people on the Patria, who were killed by a mine in Haifa harbor after he denied them entry. The Struma sinking, along with the Patria disaster which had preceded it, became a rallying point for the Irgun and LEHI Jewish underground movements, encouraging their violent revolt against the British presence in Eretz Yisrael.

Stoliar (1922-2014) was born in Kishinev, Romania, to Yaakov, a textile manufacturer, and Bella (née Leichiman); the two divorced when he was ten. He moved with his mother to France and returned to Romania in 1937 at age 15 to live with his father. After graduating from high school, he studied for a year at the Polytechnic Institute before being expelled because he was Jewish. In the summer of 1941, the Romanian authorities sent him and other young Jewish men to a forced labor camp at Poligon on the outskirts of Bucharest and, after several months at hard labor, his father paid a bribe to secure his release and purchased a ticket for him to sail on the Struma to Eretz Yisrael.

On January 21, 1941, the Iron Guard had launched a pogrom against Bucharest Jews, looting and burning Jewish homes and synagogues and some 200 Jews were rounded up, tortured, and murdered in a slaughterhouse; others were hanged like cattle from the slaughterhouse iron hooks, tagged with signs reading “kosher meat,” and were chopped up while still alive. The sole survivor remaining after the Romanian mass murder of at least 13,266 Jews was Rav Zvi Gutman, the Rabbi of Bucharest. On the day that Stoliar left Bucharest for passage aboard the Struma, his father took him to visit Rav Gutman, who cried when he was asked for a beracha. As Stoliar tells the story (his testimony is preserved in the archives of Yad Vashem in Jerusalem):

He blessed me to the effect that I would reach Eretz Yisrael safely. I was very moved by this encounter. When I left the provisional synagogue that the Rabbi had established, I didn’t say a word to my father, but we both felt that we had fulfilled a sacred duty to G-d… Something within me changed. Courage filled me, and my belief that I would indeed reach Eretz Yisrael strengthened.

Stoliar’s identity papers and belongings were punctiliously checked before he could join the other “illegal” immigrants on the train from Bucharest to the port of Constanța on the Black Sea. As he later described it:

Sometimes, the inspector would wickedly take something out of the backpack and turn to his friend, asking, “Perhaps you have some newspaper to wrap up these shoes? I just got them as a present.” People didn’t protest, and let themselves be humiliated… It wasn’t important. At that moment, they were leaving the firetrap of Satan, whose reach had spread over all of Europe… They boarded the trains… The cries of those parting from them – Write as soon as you arrive! Take care that you don’t catch cold on the ship! Be well! – were swallowed up in the rattling of the wheels. Almost 800 people were leaving the land of their birth, their homes, their childhood and adolescent dreams, to escape the chilling threat of death. The passengers underwent further inspections at Constanța. The security police checked their names in the joint passport, and they had to hand in their Romanian documents. Only one man, whose name had been removed by mistake from the list, was turned away. In vain he cried and begged them to let him travel, but the border personnel didn’t give in – he received his life back as a gift! The passengers’ luggage was examined again by the tax officers, who confiscated many items, and by clerks from the Romanian National Bank, who appropriated money and jewelry. The passengers were undressed, and painstakingly examined. There was a ban on taking precious metals out of Romania, and they were only allowed to take their wedding rings with them. The amount of money permitted to take out of the country was also confiscated.

As Stoliar describes the journey to Istanbul, the passengers were instructed to try to keep the vessel in balance and not to move, lest too many people on one side of the deck endanger the ship. As such, there was no way for them to wash themselves or to clean up, with the situation getting increasingly worse as time went on. When the ship reached Turkey, the authorities refused to permit the passengers to disembark, leaving them on board in dire conditions for ten weeks. According to Stoliar, the passengers began to get used to the misery, dirt, overcrowding, lack of food and the cold, and they would remove bugs from their shirts with a knife or razor because they no longer had any change of clothing. Thanks to Dr. Hora Löbel, whose pregnant wife stayed behind and planned to join him in Eretz Yisrael after their child was born, a group of thirty doctors and nurses was organized that provided all the sick passengers’ needs, as far as was possible in light of the lack of basic medical materials, but the diabetics’ plight became particularly dire because the Turkish authorities forbade anyone to bring insulin to them.

The Turks permitted nine passengers to disembark, eight of whom had entry permits to Eretz Yisrael and, after much pleading, one female passenger who started to severely hemorrhage was taken off the ship and brought to a hospital.

Describing his personal experience on the Struma, he says:

We were eight km from the Turkish coast… Shortly before 9:00 a.m. we heard the thunder of bombardment and saw flames coming from the Turkish coast, and a second later, everyone on deck saw a torpedo speeding towards us. A deafening explosion ripped through the ship… I only remember that a superhuman force lifted me into the air; after a few moments I fell back down and landed in the water. From the moment of impact, no more than a minute passed before the vessel disappeared without a trace. It was literally swallowed up by the waves in the blink of an eye… Just a few planks of wood floating on the surface remained of the Struma… There were a few dozen people in the water, men and women who tried to save themselves, but the screams and cries for help dissipated and vanished amidst the vast expanse of the sea… The waves were cold as ice, and my limbs lost all feeling… I managed to lay my hands on a large piece of driftwood and to climb up onto it… Not even four hours had passed before I comprehended that I was the only one who remained.

Spotting a floating piece of the ship some 40 yards away from him, he exerted the last vestiges of his strength to reach it. When night fell, he found the ship’s second officer, Bulgarian Lazar Ivanof Dikof, floating near him in the water, and he lifted him up onto the float:

[Lazar] says that the only way we can survive is really by us shouting all the time so that we don’t fall asleep, because if we fall asleep we will never wake up. So we were sitting back to back and yelling all night. And as the day came along, we were already exhausted of yelling. And then we stopped, and then I felt that he is not any longer on my back. I turned around and his head was in the water, like on his belly. In other words, he could not possibly breathe any longer. He was dead… but he was very close to me, but just a corpse.

Left alone and desperate, Stoliar tried to commit suicide by slitting his wrists but, lucky for him, his fingers were too numb to release the blade from his jackknife. After some 24 hours in the freezing water, he was spotted by a Turkish boat – Stoliar maintains that they waited until they could be reasonably certain that all of the Struma passengers were dead and he specifically remembers that the sailors seemed amazed to find a survivor – and taken to a small fishing village, where he was wrapped in blankets. Following two days in which he teetered between life and death, he was interrogated by Turkish policemen, during the course of which he fainted and was taken to a hospital by ambulance:

I was in hospital for 14 days. On the first day, I was visited by Mr. Simon Brod, President of the Istanbul Jewish community, who had received special permission to come and see me. [Brod was deeply involved in locating Jewish refugees, rescuing and caring from them, and working to gain their entrance into Eretz Yisrael.] He visited me every day, sometimes twice a day… Two days later he came with a Jewish doctor, who immediately gave the order to bandage my fingers and toes with camphor dressings and to change them several times a day. Thanks to the prompt and dedicated treatment I received, my fingers and toes were spared gangrene and amputation.

Stoliar was incarcerated in a small cell, where he was held as a political prisoner for 48 days and interrogated daily until he was finally released on April 23, 1942, when Brod informed him that all his papers were ready, including the British permit; thus, of the 770 permits that would have had to be issued were it not for the disaster, one permit was issued. Stoliar departed the next day under Turkish guard for the Syrian border, and Brod helped to transport him to Eretz Yisrael, organizing a train to Aleppo, Syria and a car from there to Tel Aviv. A few months later, on September 1942, Stoliar’s mother, Bella, was deported from France to Auschwitz, where she was murdered.

Original Palestine emergency document issued in 1946 to Stoliar after his release from duty in the British Army during WWII.

In 1943, approximately a year after he reached Eretz Yisrael, Stoliar, who was fluent in eight languages, enlisted in the Jewish Brigade of the British Army and fought as part of the Eighth Army of the British Army on the North African front, serving in Egypt and Libya. In 1945, he married Adria Nachmias, a Jewess born in Alexandria (1924), in the synagogue in Cairo and, upon his release from the British army in 1946, he and his wife came to Israel, where he lived in Haifa, joined the Haganah, and fought in Israel’s War of Independence as a machine gunner on the northern front. After the war, he worked for the Esso oil company (now Exxon) and helped his father, who had survived the Holocaust, and his stepmother to make aliyah. Following Esso’s closing shop in Israel, he became vice president of the Japanese Mitsubishi Shoji, an import-export firm, living in Japan for 18 years and, after the death of his wife and his remarriage, they founded a shoe manufacturing company (that, in its early years, dominated a new show company called Nike) and opened a bakery and baking school in Oregon.

The story of the Struma has, sadly, been largely forgotten. MGM considered making a film about the story, but decided against it when Stoliar, the sole survivor, declined to participate. However, after years of silence, he told his story in an interview with the New York Times in 2000; he appeared in a 2001 documentary about the Struma by Canadian director Simcha Jacobovici; and reluctantly provided critical assistance to Douglas Frantz and Catherine Collins in their reconstruction of the Struma tragedy in their book, Death on the Black Sea (2003). His second wife, Marda, reported that every time her husband reluctantly agreed to be interviewed about the Struma Affair, he would spend the following week plagued by nightmares that kept him screaming in his sleep.

Struma memorial in Israel: Ashdod.

Interest in the Struma was revived in 2000, when Greg Buxton, a Briton whose grandparents had died on board the ship, organized a successful search for the vessel, although others question whether this was actually the Struma. On September 3, 2000, a ceremony was held at the site to commemorate the tragedy, with attendees including 60 relatives of Struma victims, representatives of the Turkish Jewish community, the Israeli ambassador and prime minister’s envoy, and various British and American delegates. (Stoliar could not attend because he was suffering from cancer – although he fought hard against the disease and lived for another 14 years.) Not surprisingly, there were no delegates from the former Soviet Union. Today, there are several streets in Israel named for the Struma, as well as a synagogue in Beer Sheva which bears the ship’s name.

[eretzyisrael]

by Richard Goldberg

Anti-Semitism is spreading in K–12 school districts. Even in primary and secondary education, Jews are often viewed as privileged whites and oppressors, with Israel branded as an egregious example of “settler colonialism” and oppression of “indigenous people.” “Liberated ethnic studies” curricula, like the one mandated by California, have created a distinct variant of critical theory aimed at Jews for being Zionist colonial oppressors.

Teachers’ unions are the leading purveyors of this approach. Two years ago, the United Educators of San Francisco adopted a resolution calling for a boycott of Israel. The Chicago Teachers Union instigated pro-Hamas demonstrations in the Windy City after October 7. The union persuaded Chicago mayor Brandon Johnson (a former CTU lobbyist) to condemn Israel in the city council, and it organized a student and faculty “walkout” to show solidarity with Hamas—a city-authorized event that left Jewish students and teachers feeling intimidated. In suburban Seattle, kids as young as seven were recently encouraged to condemn Israel and join in anti-Semitic chants. Oakland Unified School District faces a federal investigation after 30 Jewish families removed their kids from school due to rampant anti-Semitism. And at a high school in New York City, hundreds of students hunted down a female teacher they saw on social media holding a sign supporting Israel.

Marxist ideology is the primary culprit influencing this mind-set, but not the only one. Qatar, a tiny Persian Gulf country that supports Hamas, is funding anti-Semitic “scholarship” not only in American universities but also in K–12 schools. Qatar Foundation International gave $1 million to the New York City Department of Education between 2019 and 2022 for a program featuring a map of the Middle East that erases the Jewish state. The same story played out at a public charter school in Irving, Texas. What other districts in the country might be taking money directly or indirectly from a chief Hamas sponsor? Brown University’s Choices Program, used by more than 1 million high school students nationwide, exhibits a clear anti-Israel bias. According to Brown, the Qataris “purchased and distributed a selection of existing Choices curriculum units to 75 teachers whose districts didn’t have funding to buy them.”

Tools to fight back, however, are available. Governors and state legislatures can begin by blocking “ethnic studies” from the K–12 curriculum and by imposing new teacher-certification requirements. To curb foreign meddling, states should ban school funding or in-kind donations from entities connected with countries that harbor U.S.-designated terrorist organizations. School districts and state boards of education should use the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance’s working definition of anti-Semitism to root out conduct meeting its standard. Several groups sued the Santa Ana, California, school district in state court for failing to notify parents before approving ethnic studies courses that contain anti-Jewish bias and for harassing Jewish parents at school board meetings.

At the federal level, parents could file formal complaints with the Department of Education for discrimination under Title VI of the Civil Rights Act. Such complaints are increasingly common against colleges and universities, but any school that receives federal funding must comply with Title VI. The House Committee on Education and the Workforce should consider holding a hearing on anti-Semitism in K–12 schools, putting the national spotlight on anti-Jewish administrators and school board leaders.

Local, state, and federal officials have played meaningful roles in fighting back against critical race theory in the classroom. They need to fight equally hard to stop anti-Semitism masquerading as Middle East or ethnic studies.

[aquiescentmoon]

Dearth

Designated name as ‘unknown’ in birth certificate

Even the officials gave her one, unlike the birth.

A unnamed girl child stuck as wall of mirrors.

Reeling under decisive laughs at church square,

That someone would see her as thrift store find,

How precious to see your own child as antique?

[I wrote this poem based on this quote,

"Every child deserves parents, but not all parents deserve children"]