#i did a whole research paper on rudolph

[azira-fucking-phale]

"He's just like me fr" he died 134 years ago

[spookyclooky]

Connor and Hank on Christmas (ft. Sumo)

Date:

December 19th, 2038

Time:

PM 05:22 06

As Hank pulled his leather jacket closer around himself to fight the bitter cold of Michigan’s winter, Connor knelt next to a particularly mutilated body. The body of someone named Michael Parkins who had been brutally murdered earlier that morning. Connor touched his blood covered fingers to analyze the corpse’s blood, having taken some of the crimson liquid from one of the multiple blood puddles surrounding the man’s body.

“This must be like some kinda Christmas to you, huh, Connor?” Hank grumbled, watching the android do his work.

Connor’s ears instinctively perked up when a word he had little to no knowledge of passed his audio processors.

“Lieutenant, I don’t understand….What is Christmas?”

Hank’s eyes widened to nearly half their size, even though he probably shouldn’t even be surprised that Connor didn’t know about this human tradition. He was like a child in that aspect, he had only become deviant less than a month ago. He cleared his throat lowly before continuing.

“Well, uhh...Christmas is a day when humans give each other presents as a way to celebrate uhh….love and peace on earth or some crap. I’m not really sure of the whole damn backstory anymore, I haven’t celebrated it for years…” Hank explained, and before Connor could speak, he piped up again with something he’d suddenly remembered,

“--and another thing about Christmas that I forgot to mention is that there’s a..” he trailed off, wondering if he should make it seem like Santa was real for the sake of Connor’s innocence, or give him the full story to quench his curiosity. When he looked back up from the ground to glance at Connor’s face, he couldn’t bear to tell him the truth. Between the tilt of his head and his soulful yet puppy like eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to tell him the truth

“There’s this guy called Santa that flies through the air in this...this magic sled pulled by reindeer to deliver presents all over the world...kids leave out milk and cookies for him, it’s a whole big deal, I guess. That’s why there’s Christmas Eve before Christmas, to give Santa time to get shit done.” The lieutenant explained in an almost exasperated tone. That’s when Connor’s brow furrowed in what seemed like confusion.

“Hank, everything you have just said just raises more questions…”

“Well then do your own fuckin’ research then! Don’t ask me!” The police lieutenant yelled, throwing his hands up in aggravation. Little did Hank know, Connor would take this to heart and do just that. Not that Hank should be at all surprised by this point.

Date:

December 25th, 2038

Time:

AM 3:37 23

Since Connor had no real need for sleep, after Hank had gone to bed, he went straight to work on decorating the house (with a bit of help from Sumo, of course) as well as putting the finishing touches on Hank’s presents. He had no idea if his eccentric, hard-boiled partner would actually like the little gifts, but he had a feeling somewhere in his biocomponents that there was a chance he would.

When Hank shuffled into the living room that morning, he stumbled upon something he definitely hadn’t expected. Connor was casually sitting on his couch beside Sumo, watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer with a large fully decorated tree that had somehow appeared in the corner of the room along with a couple of perfectly wrapped presents nestled underneath it. Hank took a moment to simply admire all the decorations that presumably his android partner had set up. There was a strand of paper snowflakes strewn around the perimeter of the ceiling along with colorful lights and cutouts of snowmen and snowflakes hanging down from above. While he was silently standing there, Connor finally noticed his presence and perked up, hopping off the couch with a santa hat atop his head.

“Merry Christmas, Hank!” he exclaimed, plopping a similar hat onto the man’s head.

Hank couldn’t help but chuckle at his enthusiasm, following the other across the room.

“I have a present for you” he nearly yelled, grabbing the small objects wrapped with newspaper and tape and thrusting them toward Hank. Even if Connor couldn’t exactly identify all of his new emotions yet, the one that he seemed to feel the most was excitement. Well, that and confusion, of course. The police lieutenant’s face contorted in bewilderment as he took the presents from the other’s hands. Connor sat on the floor in front of him which made Sumo hop down and join him, his head dropping into the android’s lap as he laid down. Hank hesitated for a few moments before opening the first present, which ended up being a book on coin tricks called ‘coin flips for dummies’. If it had been given to him by anyone else, he probably would’ve shot them, but he knew Connor hadn’t meant the book to be an insult so he simply smirked and moved it aside. When he tore open the next gift, he couldn’t believe his eyes. He held the frame carefully covered in macaroni, glue, and glitter in front of him to admire it.

“I read in my research that gifts that are made are more special to the person you are giving them to so I tried to--”

Connor’s sentence was cut short as Hank pulled him up and into a tight hug.

“Thank you..This means more to me than you probably think.” Hank mumbled, trying not to get too emotional. This specific frame reminded him of the only one his son had ever made him before the accident.

Later that night, Connor had insisted that they go caroling, wanting to experience all of Christmas. After a long hour of Connor explaining why they should go, Hank finally gave in and walked around with the android as well as his dog around the neighborhood, singing traditional Christmas songs.

For Connor’s sake, he tried not to hate it too much. Or at least, that’s what he’d say if anyone questioned him.

                                                   THE END

A/N: Thank you for reading this! It was my first attempt at writing a fanfic for DBH and I hope that I did well. Hope you enjoyed! More will be coming soon!

[magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics]

Cold - Request

Requested by anon:  Hi, I was wondering if you would write a request, in which Dean and Reader are together, but she doesn't hunt (researching though), and one day when the boys are on a hunt she gets terribly sick but tries to hide it from the boys so they won't worry? Obviously with loads of fluff and worried and caring Dean in the end! ^-^ Thank you!

Summary: (Y/N) is sick and trying to hide it from the boys, of course Dean notices and his mommy side rises from the ashes.

Pairing: Dean x reader.

Warnings: None.

Word count: 1,878

A/N: I got sick recently, and this is my own vision of what I would like Dean to react like... Hope it is your too.

Enjoy!

It was usual for people to get the flu during winter, what it wasn’t usual was to get it while living at an underground bunker. Of course, (Y/N) went out to buy groceries every so often, but even so it was almost impossible that she could’ve gotten sick just by that. Then again, it was the millionth time she blew her nose and she still couldn’t breathe.

Sam and Dean were out hunting one last case before going back home. According to Dean’s messages, none of them were sick. (Y/N) hadn’t told him she was sick, she didn’t want Dean to worry and drag Sam back without finishing the case.

She wasn’t a huntress, but even so, unfinished cases were her nightmare. Not only because of the many victims that would continue to die, but also because of the moral weight of being part of that community. She was an investigator, the modern version of the Men of Letters but without the fancy bunkers.

Investigators were born after Abbadon appeared. They would research for money, and would often give a place for the hunters to crash. Ash, Bobby, Garth… The brothers had met many investigators, but only a few went by the name.

(Y/N) belonged to a family of investigators. Her great-grandfather had been a Man of Letters, and after Abaddon the rest of the legacy continued as a low-key source of information for any hunter that needed them. And that’s how she met Dean.

It was supposed to be a strictly-business kind of thing, but once the green-eyed hunter laid eyes on her… he just couldn’t let her go. And, of course, only a fool would say no to Dean Winchester, so they ended up dating and, when the boys found the bunker, (Y/N) was asked to move with them – turning their distance-romance into a serious relationship.

Dean was the most caring, over protective and funny boyfriend and (Y/N) knew he wouldn’t rest until she was healthy again – in case he found out – therefore, she sat there, at her bed with her laptop right beside her. She would drink all kinds of weird teas and loads of chicken soup. However, none of it seemed to matter, because she was still a red-nose mess and Dean would eventually find out and overreact.

Of course, she hid it from the boys as much as she could. Whether it was by trying to speak normally when Dean called (or claiming that she had been binge watching on chick-flicks as a justification for her clogged nose) and just generally keeping her pain behind the curtains.

Sam and Dean came back, and though her flu was starting to get a bit better, she had to cover her nose in concealer to hide the redness, as well as using tint on her lips and a bit of blush on her cheeks to look healthy. The boys bought it.

They were tired from the hunt, so (Y/N) didn’t really blame them for not noticing the caked layer of makeup she had on, less to say, for them to ignore the little sneezes and those times she had to blow her nose.

“It’s an allergy.” She said, “Maybe one of you rolled over flowers or something and now the pollen is doing this.” There was no further talk. The brothers sensed something was off, but it had been such a rough hunt they couldn’t think of it for much longer after (Y/N) gave them a perfectly reasonable explanation.

They went to bed early.

Since Dean wanted to enjoy every second with his girl, he was technically glued to her, which led (Y/N) to go to bed with her makeup on. Unable to remove it because Dean would’ve noticed.

They were spooning, with Dean as the big spoon, which made it even harder to sneak to the bathroom to blow her nose – it was either that or sniffling everything back to her lungs and making a lot of noise; even more noise than the one she did while blowing her nose. But, after a few times of getting up, Dean noticed.

He got up from bed and walked to the bathroom, opening the door slowly not to scare her. (Y/N) was giving her back to him, so she didn’t see him. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah, just… Stupid, pollen.” She turned around to face him and smiled, although half of her face was covered by the Kleenex on her hands. Dean looked to the trash can and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Too much paper balls for an allergy, tell me what’s going on.” He begged. (Y/N) could see how his whole face went from sleepy to worry in just a few seconds.

“Dean, it’s nothing. Go back to bed.” She pleaded.

“You’re wearing makeup, why?” Dean insisted. (Y/N) sighed, blew her nose once more before throwing the paper ball to the trash and gave her back to Dean once more, leaning down to the sink to wash her face.

The cold water made her flu worse, but that wasn’t the issue. Dean had caught her – almost – and (Y/N) had no other choice but to explain to him, and that required physical evidence. Hence, she dried her clean face and turned to look at him, completely aware of the purple bags under her eyes, the red nose, dry lips and the skin so pale it was almost transparent.

“You look terrible.” Dean observed.

“How nice of you.” She replied sassily. Dean chuckled and walked closer to her, wrapping his arms around her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked softly.

“I didn’t want you to worry.” She explained.

“Well, sweetheart, I’m a worried mess right now. You can’t do anything about it.” He said, “Let’s get you back in bed, you need to be warm and floor is cold.”

(Y/N) didn’t argue. She knew Dean wouldn’t allow her to do so anyways, and truth was she wasn’t feeling strong enough to start a fight, so she let him spoil her a bit.

Dean tucked her in bed before walking over to the hallway, where the first aid kit was. He came back with it and sat beside her, over the blankets.

“Let’s check your temperature first.” He said, taking a thermometer out and putting it on her mouth.

“I shecked it.” (Y/N) tried to explain, but having the thermometer on her mouth made it hard, “Is phine, I don’t have phever.” Dean ignored her and checked the result on the crystal stick after a few minutes had passed.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He spoke, “But you, indeed, have fever.”

He showed her the thermometer. It was only a degree up, but to Dean that meant she was burning like Hell itself had settled inside of her tiny body. He was an exaggerated man, after all.

“Which other symptoms do you have?” Dean inquired. (Y/N) smiled flirtingly.

“Are we going to play the doctor?” She asked in a seductive voice.

Dean chuckled and looked down for a few seconds. “I’d love to, but first, you got to get better.”

Of course, Dean would put her well-being over his own needs. It was typical of him, and (Y/N) was both annoyed and thankful for him being like that.

“Stuffy nose, a few sneezes every so often, fever, tiredness… Apparently fever…” (Y/N) muttered, trying to recall everything that Dean would consider a symptom.

“Since when?” He inquired.

“I don’t know, last week maybe.” Dean sighed heavily.

“That’s too much time… It’s probably a virus by now.” Dean explained in full concern as he dug through the kit to see if they had anything helpful.

“It has gotten better, though.” She added, trying to shake some weight out of Dean’s shoulders.

“But you’re still sick.” Dean insisted, “I can’t believe I left you all alone like this.” He whispered.

(Y/N) sat up and pressed her cold hands over his warm cheeks, making him look at her. “Dean…” She mumbled, “I just need some cuddles and I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“But…” (Y/N) shushed him.

“C’mon, hug me.” Dean sighed heavily, putting the kit on the floor and joining her back in bed. “That’s more like it.” She smiled as Dean wrapped her around his arms.

“Wait!” Dean jumped out of bed, taking the room’s trash can closer to (Y/N) as well as a box of tissues for her to blow her nose without leaving the bed. “I can’t let your feet get cold, can I?”

“Such a mom.” (Y/N) joked. Dean blushed and got in bed once more.

“Do you want me to bring you some water?”

“Nope, I’m fine, thanks.”

“What about a pill to get your fever down a bit?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Maybe I could get you some chicken soup… I noticed you saved some on the fridge.”

“Not hungry now, thanks.”

“What if I blow your socks with you hair dryer so that they’re warm?”

“My socks are warm enough under the blankets, D.”

“Okay, but what if…” (Y/N) shushed him once more.

“I’m fine, baby.” She assured, “I just need some rest and cuddles from my boyfriend.”

“Are you sure? Because I could…”

“Dean!” She giggled, “Its fine!”

Dean sighed heavily.  “I don’t like to see you sick, that’s all.” He explained, “You’re my girl, and if I keep you safe from monsters I might as well keep you safe from disease.”

“Then cuddle with me, or you’ll have to see this” she gestured at her nose, “for a while longer.”

Dean let out a breathy giggle and cuddled with her, holding her tightly between his arms and making sure to pay attention to her in case she needed anything.

“I missed you, you know?” Dean whispered softly, “Please, let me take care of you.”

“You are taking care of me already, Dean.” She replied with a warm smile lingering on her dry lips.

“But… You know what I mean.” He breathed out. His green eyes were full of worry. “Please?”

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” She whispered.

“I trust you.” Dean sighed, and (Y/N) could tell he wasn’t happy with his own decision.

“Thanks.” She cuddled closer to him, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Rudolph.” Dean joked.

“Rudolph the red-nose reindeer?” She inquired.

“Duh, obviously.” Dean bopped her nose.

(Y/N) punched him playfully as a breathy laugh left her lips. “You’re such an idiot!”

“You love it!” Dean snapped back with a huge grin of his face.

���Can’t deny it, can I?” Dean shook his head.

“Nope, not at all. Everybody knows it already.” Dean chanted.

(Y/N) giggled once more and left a soft peck on his cheek. She didn’t want him to get sick as well, but she needed to prove him she loved him with something other than words.

“I love you too.” Dean said afterwards, fully understanding the message. Then, they both drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

Of course, (Y/N) was right; she just needed a few cuddles from Dean and some well-deserved rest. After a few days, she was kicking again, but even so, Dean made her eat chicken soup for a whole week more just in case the flu decided to come back.

Sometimes Dean was too caring, but (Y/N) wouldn’t have it any other way.

*Requests are ALWAYS open.*

Masterlist.

[dkehoe]

I was trolling through Twitter and noticed a post by my favorite book store Parnassus Books, stating that Greg Iles, author of the best selling Natchez Burning Trilogy and multiple other novels, would be signing his book Mississippi Blood at Salon@615 at the Nashville Public Library downtown. I looked over at my husband who was sipping his morning coffee and asked him if he’d like to go. He’s a big fan, having read a few of Greg Iles books, including Natchez Burning. We looked up the time and purchased our tickets. We have lived in Nashville for a total of 7 years (combined over two moves) and have never been to the Library downtown. I do have my much used Library card though and use it through the Overdrive app to check out ebooks and audio books all the time I’ve just never been in the physical location.

I was kind of excited!  An outing downtown is always kind of fun, and I know Greg Iles writes a great novel and I was interested to hear what he had to say. Before the book signing, Greg Iles spoke in a mini auditorium to a crowd of about 100 fans. He was charming and told some great personal stories, as well as answered questions from the crowd. I took notes, and will try to recreate as much as possible. Please note that I did not record his conversations, so these are recreations from my notes and memory, not exact quotes.

Greg Iles speaking at Salon@615 at the Nashville Public Library on 3/25/17

Mr. Iles started off by telling us about when he was writing Natchez Burning in 2011. He said initially he was writing it to be a stand alone novel. One day, he took a break from writing and went on an errand. On the way home, his car was broadsided by another car going 70 miles an hour. He was in a coma for eight days and lost his leg. When he woke from the coma, he realized his vision for the book had changed. He realized that he couldn’t tell the story he wanted to tell in one book, it was going to take three. It was Natchez Burning that took him to a new level of writing, and that level brought him recognition. He could remember one reviewer’s comment in particular about that book. That reviewer stated that Greg Iles was the William Faulkner for the Breaking Bad generation. Kind of a cool  review, right?

Questions from the audience-

When you played in Frankly Scarlet where did the road fork, and you knew you would become a writer?  We learned that Greg Iles started off in a rock band, and in fact, is still in a band with Stephen King. Wild!  Anyway, that rock band was named Frankly Scarlet.He said that it was one night when he’d gotten in a fight with a band member, he called his wife afterwards. He was tired of traveling for 50 out of 52 weeks and told her he was quitting. He said his wife sighed and asked what he would do and he said that he’d write that book that he’d always wanted to write. He wrote for 18 hours a day on a book about Rudolph Hess in WWII called Spandau Phoenix.

He went off topic for a bit after that question, talking about how he got that first book published. It was actually a pretty funny story and I’ll try to remember some of it for you guys. He said it was a much easier process back when he first got published, not that getting published was easy, but that the system was simpler. He had an agent and that agent held an auction for his novel. She said 30 publishers were interested at the start of that auction. In fact, he got his first bid pretty quickly. His agent called him and said his bid was for $10k. He thought that was great! In fact, that was how much he and his wife were living off of, while he wrote that book, so he wanted to take that bid. His agent advised him against it, even though everyone in his family thought he was crazy not to accept that money. He didn’t get another bid for two weeks and he was so nervous! But at two weeks, his second bid came in for $30k. He was ecstatic! His family again told him to take the bid. His agent advised him against it. On the final day of the auction the entire day passed without hearing from his agent. At 5:02pm he got the call from his agent that he had a bid for a two book deal for over $100k. Whew! He said that the publisher got John Grisham, who’d written The Firm, write the blurb for the cover and it meant so much to him that he’d done that. They’ve actually gone on to become good friends.

He told a story about writing another novel that revolved around religion. (I didn’t catch the title, maybe one of you guys know?) When he sent this book to his agent, he was shocked to learn that the publishing house didn’t want to pick it up because they thought it wouldn’t sell. That year, Dan Brown released The Da Vinci Code which was a huge hit. He was so angry that the publishers wouldn’t pick up his book that he was determined to show them they were wrong. He tracked down an editor at Dan Brown’s publishing house and made him promise to send Dan his manuscript. Dan was notorious for not giving blurbs on any book covers, so Greg knew if he could get one from Dan Brown, it would make all the difference. Two weeks went by and he got a call from that editor. He said, wait by your fax machine. He got a one page letter from Dan Brown saying that he’d been moving houses and his life was in boxes, when one day he got this package in the mail. He was curious and opened the box. He picked up the first page and didn’t stop reading for three days! Needless to say, Dan Brown wrote a blurb for that novel, actually a whole paragraph. Greg, called his agent and said “Wait by your fax.” That book was published and became the lead title that year.

2) How do you get all that information in your head and then put it down on paper? Greg (I can call you Greg, right?) said that he’s done the grass roots research approach, but he said that sometimes he also just meets people who help him out. He said he’s found interesting people at book signings before too. He gave a word of advice about doing research for a novel. He said ‘Don’t use but 1% of your research- it’s the kiss of death.’ You just need to write non stop.

3) What is the hardest scene you’ve had to write? Greg said that it’s some of the deaths he’s had to write. He doesn’t really think that hard about killing someone off, but then will get caught by surprise over how attached to these characters some of his fans will get, and they’ll send tons of letters. He did say writing deaths of children is disturbing.

4) How did Mississippi and Ole MIss influence your writing? Greg travels the country constantly. He said most places look the same and feel the same. When you get to Mississippi, it doesn’t feel like anywhere else. He joked about it ranking 50th for everything, including fattest state, but said that Mississippi has great art, Faulkner was from Mississippi, they had Elvis and the Blues was born in Mississippi. There is a lot of suffering in Mississippi. It’s a place of contradiction. The last three years have shown that racism is not just in the south, it’s everywhere in America. Double standards run very deep in this country, with people caring more about white kids missing than black.  One on one, white people and black people get along well. It’s when they’re in groups that things get ugly.(referring to multiple police/race brutality issues in the last couple of years, in the north.)

5) How do you separate the difficult things you write about from your own life? How do you handle it? He chose to write about these things. His books at their core look at the nature of evil and why people do good and bad things.

6) How do you push through when your deadlines loom? He said that writing isn’t sitting there banging out sentences. It’s about telling a story. You’re born with it. You just got to have a gut feeling about it. It’s not postcards on a wall. It’s getting that character to the next thing, and then the next thing.

The last part of Greg Iles conversation really struck a note with me. He said readers are waiting for that epiphany. That moment where you feel it. Everyone learns by suffering and some people only have a limited amount of suffering that they can handle. He said that personal experiences are like gold nuggets. When you are writing you dole those nuggets out one at a time. He referenced one book where he got emails from people all over the world. All of those emails referenced the same moment and page number in the book.  The same page resonated with all of them.

Suffering makes art. Are you willing to do that?

Signed copy of Mississippi Blood and brochure from Salon@615

My husband Derry and Greg Iles.

After he was done speaking, he went out to his table and signed books for everyone interested, my husband and I included. That’s my husband, Derry, with Greg Iles above.  This event was definitely worth my time and I’m looking forward to reading this book.

Until next week!

Deb

Buy Mississippi Blood on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Kobo!

This Chicks Sunday Commentary: Salon@615- Mississippi Blood book signing with Greg Iles #Sundayblogshare I was trolling through Twitter and noticed a post by my favorite book store Parnassus Books, stating that Greg Iles, author of the best selling Natchez Burning Trilogy and multiple other novels, would be signing his book Mississippi Blood at Salon@615 at the Nashville Public Library downtown.