#its the dallas uniform man

[republicansaredomesticterrorists]

“Failed presidential candidate Gov. Ron DeSantis (R) signed a bill late last week barring Florida localities from requiring employers to provide outdoor workers with access to water, rest and shade, outraging workplace safety advocates who say the new law will kill people.

Backed by the agricultural and construction industries, the controversial legislation is what’s known as a “preemption” law: It forbids cities and counties from pursuing their own ordinances on a particular subject, in this case protections from extreme heat.

The law effectively nullifies a proposal in Miami-Dade County that would require some employers to maintain a heat safety program and provide employees with water and shade on hot days. The county commission recently withdrew the proposal after the state legislation put its legality in doubt.

The preemption bill recently passed the Republican-controlled state House and Senate, along with a similar measure that prevents jurisdictions from requiring employers to pay livable wages on government-funded projects.

Unions and other progressive groups said blocking heat regulations would endanger farm and construction workers and anyone else who labors in one of the hottest states in the country.

“Someone is going to die as a result of this legislation,” Kim Smith, a telecommunications technician, told HuffPost last month.

Last year, Texas Republicans passed a similar preemption bill that blocked localities from implementing heat protections as well as other ordinances related to housing and labor. The legislation, known as Texas’ “death star bill,” appeared designed to thwart local laws in Austin and Dallas that guaranteed water breaks for workers.

The bill Gov. Ron DeSantis (R) just signed blocks jurisdictions like Miami-Dade County from implementing their own heat safety standards.

The bill Gov. Ron DeSantis (R) just signed blocks jurisdictions like Miami-Dade County from implementing their own heat safety standards. SOPA IMAGES VIA GETTY IMAGES

Florida Republicans pushing for the preemption law said they wanted to avoid a “patchwork” of local regulations around the state related to heat safety, arguing the matter was better left to the federal Occupational Safety and Health Administration.

But OSHA does not yet have a heat-specific safety rule, and proposals to create a uniform, statewide standard in Florida have gone nowhere over the years because of a lack of Republican support.

More than 430 workers have died due to environmental heat exposure since 2011, according to OSHA. But relatively few jurisdictions have laws in place that require employers to provide water, shade and heat safety training. Just three — California, Oregon and Washington — mandate heat breaks for outdoor workers. Minnesota has heat standards for indoor workers, while Colorado does for farmworkers.

“Overheating is one of the most common and most serious dangers in the workplace,” Rep. Alma Adams (D-N.C.), who recently co-authored a federal bill ordering OSHA to regulate heat exposure, told HuffPost. “Is requiring a glass of water and some shade too much to ask?”

Climate change is making heat waves both more intense and more frequent, raising fears that a growing number of workers could die if governments don’t implement safety measures.

A farmworker in Miami-Dade County died last July during what would become the hottest month ever recorded. The man’s family told NBC South Florida that he’d recently suffered symptoms consistent with heat stress. A farmworker in the county told HuffPost last month that the foreman at the plant nursery where he works prohibited even 30-second breaks in the blazing sun since this is the busiest growing season for exotic flora.

The Biden administration is currently crafting a federal heat safety standard through OSHA, but federal rules take years to develop, often face litigation and can be undermined by subsequent administrations. Former President Donald Trump could simply drop pursuit of the rule if he defeats Biden in their expected rematch in November.”

#ron desatan #republican assholes #maga morons #republicans kill the working man-literally kill them

[quizzicalwriter]

omg could u do a fic where dallas has been trying to call y/n all day only to find out that she’s sick and he takes care of her

Fever

Pairing: Dallas Winston x Fem!Reader

Summary: Dallas hasn’t seen you all day, so he drops by uninvited. Don’t worry, he’ll take care of you - the best he can, anyway.

Warnings: None! Fluff and cute Dallas.

A/N: Thank you for the request!

Word Count: 2.5k

It was an agonizingly hot Friday morning, one where you’d spent the better part of your morning resting your cheek against the cool porcelain of your bathroom sink instead of getting ready. The morning whirled on around you, radio softly humming from your bedroom where you’d begrudgingly slapped at your alarm clock, somehow failing to turn it off but being too tired to do anything other than stagger toward the bathroom.

You somehow managed to take care of your necessities while the weatherman droned on about the lovely temperatures, you groaned in response - either he was lying, or you were getting sick. The thought had crossed your mind yesterday when you’d hardly been able to concentrate as an older woman asked for another cup of coffee, too preoccupied with the overwhelming exhaustion settling heavy in your bones and the pounding headache that’d made its home in the back of your skull - neither of which had faded over the night.

Stubbornness ran deep, and it certainly did in you. So you decided to disregard the nausea settling in your stomach as you got yourself dressed, only dry-heaving once as you started the trek to your workplace. Usually, you’d call Dallas to drive you to and fro - not that you needed him to, it was only a fifteen-minute walk, but he insisted and you weren’t one to deny a free ride. But the thought of getting into a car and breathing in cigarette smoke only soured your stomach more, so you walked alone and clocked in for your shift only five minutes late.

The hours passed, time murky as your brain swelled within your skull, pressing against the confines of bone as you scrawled down another order for coffee and eggs. You’d been halfway into your shift before your manager pulled you aside, concern written over his face as he helped you to sit down. Your manager wasn’t normally kind, a rugged older man from an era where surviving wasn’t the easiest, and it showed on the lines across his face and the look in his eyes. For him to show you kindness worried you somewhat, but the sweltering of your skin underneath your uniform pushed away any other feeling besides exhaustion.

He drove you home, talking your non-listening ear off about things you could do to ease your fever, and how he’d have your coworker cover your shift. You tried to listen, you really did, but the bumps along the road and the scent of passing restaurants readying their ovens for the day filled the air with an aroma that would’ve been pleasant to anyone who wasn’t currently battling the urge to void their stomach of its contents. He reached your house in less than five minutes, something you were sure was due to him not wanting to catch whatever the hell you’d caught. You gave him a brief nod and wave, one he returned with a smile before peeling off back toward the diner.

You fumbled with your keys, managing to unlock your front door after two failed attempts. Thankfully the air conditioning in your house had kicked on, keeping it much cooler than you’d left it only hours prior. You kicked your shoes off, not bothering to make the small walk to your bedroom in favor of the living room couch that seemed to be calling your name. You collapsed onto the cool leather with a groan, your eyes squeezing shut as you willed yourself to sleep.

What you’d forgotten to do was call Dallas, leaving him alone and frustrated as he watched everyone pour out of the diner. He noticed some of your coworkers, all smiling and laughing amongst each other as they piled into their cars as the next shift trudged toward the building. He flicked the built-up ash off the end of his cigarette, contemplating if it was worth it to go inside, figuring you were likely in the restroom or gathering your stuff.

That was until your manager spotted him, the older man’s brow furrowing as he made his way outside and toward the thunderbird that revved to life enough to annoy the living hell out of him - much to Dallas’s pleasure. Dallas waved the hand he had draped out the window, exhaling a lungful of smoke toward the man as he approached the driver's side.

“She’s sick. I drove her home earlier.”

Dallas clicked his tongue against his teeth, lifting his hand to place his cigarette between his lips as he started the car back up. Your manager jumped back onto the curb as Dallas peeled out of the parking lot, half pissed that you hadn’t bothered to call and half worried that you were so sick that you hadn’t had the energy to do so. Deciding to play on the side of caution, he dropped by the gas station on the way, snagging a few items he’d heard helped - or at least he hoped helped.

He parked along the street, not bothering the fix his parking as the front tire scraped against the edge of the sidewalk. With a hefty paper bag of everything he could manage to grab he made his way toward your front door, only to find it locked. He sighed, tilting his head back to look toward your neighboring houses, ensuring nobody was looking at him as he snuck around the side. He’d been with you long enough to know you always kept your bedroom window unlatched, it was always a mixup of whether it was going to be sweltering or freezing in Tulsa, so you kept it unlatched in case you needed it cracked in the night.

After a quick peek into the darkness that shrouded your bedroom, he pressed the glass upward, grimacing at the wall of cold air that smacked into him as he ducked into your window. Your radio softly played, older music hits that you’d usually have turned off when you woke up in the morning. Dallas sighed, closing the window gently behind him, taking a second to shut off your radio before moving through the frigid house.

“Doll?” He called, worry settling like a pit in his lower stomach. “Got you some stuff.”

When you didn’t reply to his call his worry grew deeper. He sped up his steps, nearly knocking over the bag of medicinal supplies he’d snagged as he tossed the paper bag onto your kitchen counter. His worry faded as he entered your living room, finding you draped over the expanse of your couch, arm draped over the side, fingers skimming the carpet below as you slept.

With a quiet laugh, he moved toward you, whispering a greeting as he scooped you into his arms. His scent was something you recognized instinctually, even in your fever-ridden mind. Your hands grasped at his jacket, face skewed up in a small grimace as he carried you down the hall toward your bedroom. It wasn’t often that Dallas was soft with you, he tried, but he was always a rugged man and it showed in his actions and thoughts.

“Real sick, huh?” He asked, voice barely above a murmur as he shifted near your bed, bending at the hip to help you lay down. You only mustered a nod in reply, body burning and mind nearly numb from the steady headache that coursed through your brain.

Your half-opened eyes watched as he kicked his shoes off, jeans following suit before he moved toward you, gently pushing you toward the center of your bed. You grumbled, causing him to stifle a laugh as he moved beside you, wrapping an arm around your middle.

“Grumpy.” He stated, words closer to a taunt than anything. You hadn’t the energy to fire back as you normally would, so you sufficed with a quick swat to his arm. One he laughed at after feigning being hurt, relenting in his attitude with a soft kiss to your temple. “Proving my point, y’know.”

Despite the nausea souring your stomach, you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled in your chest at his words. You wanted nothing more than to goof around with him as you normally did, but the most you could muster was a nod and a short-lived smile as you tried to quell your pounding brain with the warmth of his touch.

“Here-“ He huffed out, helping you to turn over. You pouted, your signature move whenever you were forced to do something you didn’t want to do, one that made Dallas roll his eyes. “It’ll help, shut up.”

You were about to complain until his hand slunk underneath your shirt, fingernails gently tracing along your spine. The touch was featherlight, goosebumps following wherever his touch went. An involuntary sigh fell from your lips as you sunk into the mattress, eyes fluttering shut, the only sound besides your breathing being a triumphant laugh from Dallas.

“Learned this from a girl.” He mumbled out through a yawn, the words causing you to look over your shoulder toward him with a scowl. He returned the look with a joking scorn of his own. “I was sixteen. So jealous.”

“Shut up.” You chuckled, scooting closer to him. His thumb brushed against the nape of your neck, fingers smoothing over the curve of your shoulder before trailing his fingertips back down your spine. His touch was soft, so incredibly soft. You’d hardly noticed you were falling asleep until you felt the warmth of your bedsheets pulled over you, followed by a chaste kiss to the nape of your neck.

Hours passed before you woke, at least you gathered it’d been hours due to the moonlight pouring in through your bedroom window and the absence of Dallas beside you. While your headache wasn’t as prominent as it had been earlier, nausea still made itself known in your stomach, seemingly exacerbated by your lack of eating. With a groan you pushed the bedsheets off of yourself, hands wiping the sleep from your eyes as your feet found the cool hardwood floor beneath you.

You’d half expected that Dallas had left, but the thought was wiped from your mind when you’d nearly tripped over his shoes that’d been perched at the end of your bed. As much as you wanted to be irritated over having tripped, you only felt relief over the fact that he’d stayed. The house felt warmer than before, a savory aroma wafting through the air - both most likely Dallas’s doing.

The television sounded from your living room, sports scores echoing down to your bedroom as you walked down the hallway, arms wrapped loosely around your middle. It wasn’t loud enough to be burdensome, roughly the volume you’d keep it whenever you were cooking and didn’t want to miss out on anything. As you rounded the corner into your living area you spotted Dallas in the kitchen, face a perfect picture of focus as he cooked something on your stovetop.

“Hey.” You murmured, causing him to jump. You laughed out an apology as you moved behind him, wrapping your arms around his middle as you rested your cheek against his back. He was always so warm, it even seemed to help your subtle headache. He reached his hand behind himself to pat your thigh, wordlessly acknowledging you as he continued cooking.

“Got this from the DX, didn’t realize it needed to be cooked.” His voice sounded almost defeated, but by the way the air smelled you gathered he’d done it right. You hummed in reply, placing a short kiss on his back before moving around to inspect his handy work.

“Most food does.” You chided, earning you a grunted-out laugh from Dallas. “It looks good, thank you.”

He gave you a brief smile, leaning over a fraction to grab the now-empty can before handing it to you. Somehow he’d snagged your favorite kind, or at least the type you tolerated the most. You couldn’t remember ever talking about soup with him, but it’d be on par for Dallas to remember something so small.

As if sensing your confusion, he responded with, “Last time you were sick you mentioned liking it. Figured you’d want it, y’know?”

It was sweet, sweet enough to leave you smiling despite the nausea. You pressed a kiss to his shoulder, not wanting to kiss his cheek or his lips in case what you had was contagious. He waved you off with feigned annoyance, moving over to your cabinet to grab a bowl before pouring out a serving for you. You peeked over his shoulder, soon taking his place as he moved over to your refrigerator to grab himself something to drink.

Before you could grab the porcelain bowl he’d swooped in front of you, shooting you a dirty look for even having considered carrying a bowl while you were sick. You followed beside him with a scoffed-out laugh, the television soon becoming louder as you both moved to sit down on the same couch you’d passed out on when you’d gotten home.

“Here-“ He muttered, giving you a moment to get yourself comfortable before handing over the bowl along with a water bottle. You gave him a brief smile in return, screwing off the top of the water bottle before downing a few mouthfuls.

You scooted closer to him, legs folded beneath yourself as you spooned some of the still-hot broth into your mouth, eyes glued to the television. He didn’t care enough about being sick to push you away, after all, you’d taken care of him when he’d had the stomach flu for nearly a week, so he let you rest against him as you both watched the game.

“Did you want to go to the doctor?” He asked after a moment, gaze flickering down to you. You thought for a moment before shaking your head, cooling off another spoonful of broth. He sighed, eyes rolling as he returned his attention to the television with a quiet, “Stubborn ass.”

“Expensive.” You retorted through a laugh. “Besides, I probably have the flu or a stomach bug. Don’t want to waste money on it.”

He lifted his hips then, freeing his wallet from his back pocket before plopping the leather down into your lap. You leaned forward, placing your bowl onto the coffee table before fumbling with his wallet. Whenever you’d come into financial trouble, Dallas had always been able to help. You’d never questioned it, knowing that he did risky things for money and to simply survive.

“Dallas-“ You started, finding your words quickly cut off with a hush from Dallas. He looked over to you, hand moving to brush back your hair as he responded with a gentle, “I’ve got it, don’t worry about it.”

That was that, you knew him well enough to know there was no use arguing with him. You were both stubborn, especially when it came to each other. You leaned up onto your knees, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw before retrieving your bowl, and settling back into his side.

“I’ll pay you back.” You replied, words earning you a gruff laugh as Dallas shook his head.

“Just let me take care of you, doll.”

You relented, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you fought back a smile. You’d find a way to pay him back, maybe not with monetary means, but you’d find a way. For now, you’d savor the feeling of being curled into his side, both of you sucked into a sports game, truly comfortable in each other's presence.

A/N: More fluff!! I hope you guys enjoy this one! Thank you so much for the continued support and love you show me and my work, I appreciate you all so so much!! As always, you can find my work over on AO3 under the username, “Unscriptural.” Thank you again!

#anon ask #the outsiders #my work #dallas winston #the outsiders fanfic #the outsiders fanfiction #the outsiders writing #request #dallas winston drabble #dallas winston imagine #dallas winston x y/n #dallas winston writing #dallas winston x reader #the outsiders dallas #dally winston x reader #the outsiders dally #dally winston #dally x reader #dally imagine #dallas x reader #dallas x y/n

[maccreadysbaby]

THE FOX AND THE HOUND™︎

fem!oc x kyle “gaz” garrick

in which a sardonic, cunning, freakishly independent irish girl with a dark past and questionable future finally finds someone that she doesn’t want to push away… and she’s absolutely horrified

parts: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |

TW: light cursing, violence, blood & gore, death

❝ A BLIND BETRAYAL ❞

Dallas, TX, USA

12 Nov 2022, 0400

— VIXEN CHUCKLED LIGHTLY, THE WARM BLOOD THAT WAS LEAKING FROM HER RIGHT TEMPLE NOT PHASING HER IN THE SLIGHTEST AS SHE SMILED A CROOKED SMILE. The man ahead of her in a full military uniform, complete with a helmet and balaclava, pulled a chair closer to the one she was tied to. His knuckles were littered with blood spatters that weren’t his own.

“Gonna take a little more than a few hits to make me squeal like a pig, ya’ gobshite,” She snickered, spitting a small spray of blood on the concrete floor beside her. Vixen’s platinum hair was stained red in a few places, but her amber eyes were just as alert and amused as ever. The man in front of her, the one that had so kindly been using her as a human punching bag, shifted, spinning the chair under him backwards and straddling it.

Let’s just say… her transfer from the ARW to Task Force 141 hadn’t been the smoothest. Of course, there was a mix up with her transportation, and her entire squad was practically pissed to no end that she was leaving, but the largest, glaring problem was the fact that her transport vehicle had been run off the highway and intercepted by a masked militia she didn’t even recognize. She knew leaving Ireland was a bloody bad idea. She just couldn’t seem to get it through the thick skull of her former commanding officer, who completed her transfer like he just couldn’t wait for her to be out of there, no matter how hard she tried.

“I’ll ask you one more time,” The helmeted man started, rapping his fingers against the backrest of the chair. He had a gravelly voice and a thick southern drawl. She hated stupid American drawls. “We know you’re on your way to join up with Task Force 141. We’ve observed private military contractors moving toward their home base. We just want to know what they’re planning, and then all of this can be over.”

“And put a stop to all the fun? We just got started!” Vixen feigned a pout, smirking mockingly. “Why don’t we do a little tit-for-tat, aye? You tell me what your interest is in Task Force 141, and then, maybe, I’ll let a few details slip.”

He huffed behind his helmet. “That’s not how this works, darlin’. I’m the one asking the questions.”

“Don’t darlin’ me, cowboy,” She ordered, raking her irises across his figure, complete by combat armor and a gun sitting off to the side. There were four other men in identical uniforms stationed around the empty room. Two by the door, two against the wall behind her. One single lightbulb hung right above her head, putting a coincidental spotlight on her. Little did they know, she loved to be in the spotlight.

“Farris, got any intel yet?” A man’s voice echoed from behind the door. It was the first time she’d heard a voice other than her interrogator and her own since she’d drifted into consciousness in that dreaded place. Since she’d woken up, wrists and ankles hog-tied to an old metal chair, completely devoid of every weapon she’d previously been carrying.

“Negative, sir, this one’s a deflective little slut!” He shouted toward the door.

Vixen snorted. “You should write a course on how to woo women. You’re a natural!”

That statement earned her a hard punch to the face. The chair tipped to the side and rocked back into place from the force of the strike. She felt a stinging, tingling pain ripple through her left cheek, and the ever-so-familiar warmth of blood beginning to leak from her nose made its expected debut.

“Get that info and end things, Farris, she has friends in high places,” The voice came from beyond the door. “We’re running out of time.”

Helmet man, or Farris, chuckled. “Don’t worry, sir. If she doesn’t speak up soon, I know how to make her scream.”

Vixen’s eyebrows shot sky high, and she ignored the blood dripping down towards her lips. “Hate to break it to you, buddy, but I’m not a do-it-on-the-first-date kind of gal.”

Another strike came, this one from the right, and harder. The chair would’ve fallen over if Farris hadn’t have grabbed her by the vest and yanked her toward him. “You’re gonna tell us what 141 is doing, you condescending little dick, whether you like it or not.”

“I don’t like it,” She replied blankly. He let go of her collar and stood up, shoving his chair across the room in a fit of anger. She was about to ask him what the chair ever did to him, but that was when he reached for his hip and unholstered a pistol, flicking the safety off with a glare of satisfaction.

“Tell us what the 141 is up to,” He ordered, switching the firearm from hand to hand. “Or die.”

She scowled, the familiar tension of life-or-death lurking in the air. A tension she was unfathomably familiar with. “You won’t shoot me. I’m your only source of information.”

“No?” He questioned. As quickly as lightning, he lifted the firearm and pulled the trigger, a sickening boom emanating through the small room. Vixen let out a shrill shout when she felt an exploding pain in her right leg, and for a moment, she thought her knee might’ve been detached. She glanced down. Her leg was still there, yes, but the thigh of her tan cargo pants was turning red at an alarming rate. “There are plenty of places I can shoot where you’ll still live to give me answers.”

Vixen was breathing heavily, swallowing down every ounce of panic and weakness that threatened to well up in her and forcing him a condescending smile instead. “I’ll still live, sure. Give you answers? Unlikely.” She muttered, trying her best to decipher without looking if she’d been hit in an artery. She noticed the faint lightheadedness that was trying to creep in, ignoring it with every cell in her body.

Farris stepped forward, aiming the gun at her torso. “What is the 141 recruiting for?”

A soft, distant shuffling noise caught her attention. She glanced up at the door. In the reflection of the concrete beneath it, she saw the shadows of two pairs of feet. They shuffled around for a moment, and a second after, there was a soft thud.

She glanced up at the helmeted man with a small smile, glancing at the firearm like it was a water gun he was threatening her with. “What’re they recruiting for? Isn’t it obvious? Fun.”

At that very moment, the wooden door was slung open from the outside. Vixen hunkered down in her chair as gunshots rang from every direction. The constant boom went on for a few moments, almost like a systematic rhythm playing over her own heartbeat in her ears, until finally, it quieted.

“Get ‘er out of the chair. Tell Price we’re gonna need medical when we get back to base,” A low, growly voice with a thick Manchester accent barked. Vixen glanced up, eyes locking on the black-clad mountain of a man in the doorway. His face was hidden behind a very real looking skull mask, and not an inch of skin was exposed on his entire body, not even his hands. He had a sniper rifle hanging around his back an automatic one in his gloved hands. Vixen glanced at the floor, eyes meeting the exact image she thought she’d see. The militia’s guards were rotting in puddles of crimson.

She flinched when something cold landed on her wrists. Glancing behind her, she spotted two more bodies and another man, kneeling, picking at the ropes that bound her hands to the chair. He had a carefully buzzed mohawk and a deadly focused expression as he loosened the knot.

Suddenly, it dawned on her. The one in the doorway had said Price.

John Price was the name the captain she was transferring to.

This was Task Force 141?

“Bit late for the party,” She stated, bringing her hands forward and shaking out her wrists as soon as she man behind her got the rope untied.

“Fashionably late,” He muttered, thick Scottish accent floating through the air like a refreshing breeze.

“Thank God. With the little bit I heard about you, I was afraid you’d all be brits,” She sighed in relief, rubbing her eyes. “I hate the British.”

The scot patted her shoulder, bending down and untying her ankles. “Me, too.”

Someone was suddenly latched onto her vest, hoisting her out of the chair. It took her a solid ten seconds to realize the big man with the mask had made his way over. She hadn’t seen nor heard him. How could a man that big move like that? Like he wasn’t even there? Like a ghost?

“You shot anywhere else?” He asked. Only then did she spot the cold, distant gray eyes sitting behind his mask, carefully taking in every detail of her being.

“No, just the leg. Doesn’t feel critical,” She replied, although it did hurt like an absolute mother.

“No, not shot anywhere else,” He said into his radio, obviously updating whoever was on the other end of the line about her status. The big man swooped her off of her feet and threw her over his shoulder, prompting her to squeak.

“What the bloody hell?! Put me down, you eejit! I can walk!”

He dropped her straight onto her feet again. A shooting pain ripped all the way from her leg to her head, and she didn’t know she was falling until he grabbed the back of her vest to keep her from hitting the concrete.

“Is that so?”

She pulled her mouth into a thin line as she struggled out of his grip, standing on her single uninjured leg like a flamingo. “Yes, it is so, big man.”

“You gonna hop on one leg up the stairs and out the door, too?” The scot joked. Vixen’s face fell. Stairs? She didn’t know there were stairs.

Without another word, the big man picked her up again, tossing her over his shoulder like a rag doll. They proceeded out of the building, which turned out to be a tiny shanty with a massive torture basement? Vixen didn’t pay much attention because she was too busy telling that bloke to put her down. But he only did so when they climbed into a military vehicle parked outside. He dropped her on one of the bench seats in the back, posting up across from her as the scot climbed in the drivers seat and roared the engine to life. The headlights made everything glow, and that was the first time she saw the bodies outside. A dozen, maybe more, in the same uniform as Farris, all dead with their blood decorating the shack’s yard.

“This place needed some new decor,” She hummed, wincing lightly as she brought her injured leg up to rest on the seat. “There a medkit in here?”

The big man stayed silent, reaching under his seat and retracting his hand with a white box. She took it and placed it beside her. She rolled up her pant leg, grimacing at the nasty bullet wound in her right thigh. There was no exit hole. But, then again, it wasn’t squirting blood every time her heart beat, and it looked a good few inches off of her femoral artery. Probably just ripped through the skin and muscle on the inside of her leg.

“You got a blade?” She questioned, bouncing lightly as the car rolled along. After a quiet moment, the man across from her handed her a small knife. It was thin and long. It would do nicely.

“Thanks,” She continued. She grabbed a long wooden stick out of the medkit and placed it between her teeth. And, after a mental count of three, shoved the knife into the hole in her leg.

The adrenaline pumping through her veins kept her from feeling most of the pain as she weaseled the blade around inside of her leg, dragging it back out. She did that a few times more, in, out, in, out, dragging it against each side until finally, a bullet clanked against the metal seat under her. With a satisfied sigh, she grabbed some wipes from the medkit and ripped them open, cleaning the seat where her blood had dripped all over it. After, she bandaged and gauzed up her leg, pulling her pants back down over it all.

The man across from her watched in silence as she cleaned up the medkit mess, closing up the case and leaving it to sit on the seat next to her. Her amber eyes locked onto his gray ones, each displaying a deep, dark coldness that looked eerily similar, yet, utterly different.

“I like your eyes,” Vixen stated, shifting in her seat. She wasn’t saying it to acknowledge the fact that it was the only part of him she could see… she was saying it because she really did like his eyes. She liked the way the distant glint in his irises made her feel. Like she wasn’t the only completely detached soldier in the car. And while their coldness manifested in different ways — the man staying physically distanced, and Vixen, burying the broken pieces of her real self under layers and layers of sarcasm and cynicism — it made her feel something. Even if she didn’t know what, it relaxed her buzzing adrenaline and allowed the rocking vehicle enough leeway to lull her to sleep.

— ☘︎ —

#call of duty mw2 #call of duty mwii #cod mw2 #soap mw2 #cod mwii #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #john price #johnny soap mactavish #captain price #captain john price #soap call of duty #john soap mactavish #soap cod #gaz x oc #task force 141 #mb; the fox and the hound

[storecowboys]

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Dallas Cowboys-Themed T-Shirts: Choosing the Perfect Style for Your Fandom

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Don't Flex on Chickens T-Shirt Option 2: Retro Throwback T-Shirt Step back in time and relive the glory days of the Dallas Cowboys with a retro throwback t-shirt. Inspired by the team's iconic uniforms from the past, these shirts evoke a sense of nostalgia and capture the spirit of bygone eras. With their vintage graphics, weathered textures, and faded colors, these t-shirts are perfect for fans who appreciate the history and heritage of America's Team. Wear them proudly and celebrate the Cowboys' legacy. Father?S Day Dallas Cowboys Shirts Call Me Cowboys Fan Call Me Daddy T-Shirts Hoodies Sweatshirts Tshirt Option 3: Bold and Expressive Graphic T-Shirt For fans who want to make a bold statement and showcase their unique style, the bold and expressive graphic t-shirt is the way to go. These shirts feature eye-catching designs, vibrant colors, and dynamic graphics that grab attention and spark conversations. From artistic interpretations of the team's logo to artistic collages and innovative typographic compositions, these t-shirts are perfect for fans who want to stand out and make a statement wherever they go.

Nfl Dallas Cowboys Joker Nfl Dallas Cowboys Fan Shirt Tank Top Size Up To 5xl Option 4: Personalized Custom T-Shirt If you want to take your fandom to the next level, why not consider a personalized custom t-shirt? With this option, you can add your own touch to the design, whether it's your name, a favorite player's number, or a special message. Express your individuality and create a t-shirt that is uniquely yours. Whether you're attending a game or want a special keepsake, the personalized custom t-shirt allows you to showcase your love for the Dallas Cowboys in a truly personal way. Dallas Cowboys T-Shirt o1T Final Thoughts: Find Your Perfect Dallas Cowboys-Themed T-Shirt When it comes to Dallas Cowboys-themed t-shirts, there is no shortage of options to suit your style and fandom. Whether you prefer the classic logo, the retro throwback, the bold and expressive graphic, or the personalized custom design, there is a t-shirt that will resonate with you. Explore our collection, compare the options, and choose the perfect style that reflects your passion for America's Team. Wear it proudly and show the world where your loyalty lies.

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[jdmainman123]

Hey I'm noticing the red Honda CRV who gave sunflower across the street the Kia soul

Which one do you losers traded in her Caprice I bought her? Never mind it's

AND SO THEY DID IT ALL FOR A NEW TRUCK OR A NEW CAR AND UNFORTUNATELY NOT FOR SHOWERS WHICH IS PRETTY WEIRD IS IT IS IT THE FACT WHEN THEY SIT IN THE CARS THEY BECOME DIRTY I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT THE COLOR OF THE SKIN I'M JUST SAYING IN IN SCIENCE AND NATURAL EFFECTS WHEN YOU SIT IN THE CAR AND THEY'RE BRAND NEW TRUCK IT GETS DIRTY RIGHT. NOW LET ME ASK YOU THIS WHAT IF THE CAR OR TRUCK GIVEN TO YOU HAD A BODY IN IT? IT'S A STUPID QUESTION BUT IT'S BEEN ON MY MIND AND AUNTIE SEATED CARS HAS COME UP

And and again the behavior of of these blacks wanting everyone to hide for me it's really creepy you know yesterday turn the corner and it was 15 black skin men and 15 a white skin men all hiding from me in the same corner it's kind of weird

BUT IN THESE CITIES I SEE YOU GUYS ARE UNIFORM WITH THE CARS WHICH WHAT IS IT THE RED HONDA CRV AND A KIA SOUL AND ALL THE TRUCKS ARE SATELLITE MAKERS? OR THE ONE THAT KILLED THE WHITE GIRLS I'm asking you Dallas Dallas had its own opinion of of how they got the trucks and I said that's in any act statement from satellite maker YEAH HE HE HAD ANOTHER JOKE LEFT IN HIS PILE FOR ME AND I THOUGHT IT WAS PRETTY REVOLUTION TO COME HERE AND SEE THE RED HONDA CRV

Right around the time John started attack in Albany I think the statement was because she was a black woman that's why he started attacking her and I said that's not my mom my mom is white Albany

SO WE NOTICED OF THE UNIFORMS LET ME SEE WHAT ELSE WE GOT OUT THERE the red Sierra is obviously black Mike right? And the red Honda CRV is John

The Kia soul would be Jennifer or Angie I don't know which one I can't see the other day I saw a man driving her car and I got very angry and picked up a rock and then dropped it knowing I shouldn't have thrown it because I didn't want to hurt her car I didn't want to damage her car

BUT WHAT WE SEEM TO HAVE NOTICED A UNIFORM REMEMBER WHEN WE SAID YOU GUYS SHOULD ALL GET RED SKIN CARS AND UNIFORMS SO YOU GUYS ALL COULD BE IDENTIFIED BUT TURNS OUT BECAUSE OF THE NEW CARS

I'm I'm just saying we started noticing the car uniforms here in these cities and for John to be behind one of the wheels of one of those cars and I saw women driving their cars and it didn't look like the people I knew

NO WE ALREADY CALLED FOR JOHN AND TODD'S WIFE AND DAUGHTER TO BE KILLED IN THESE CITIES HERE

Yeah LAX 3/4th and a New York were the first examples MIKE NO MIKE'S GOOD HE'S WITH ME YEAH GUY GETS A GREAT HAND JOB LIKE YOU KNOW BECAUSE THE BABY POWDER AND THE LOTION IT'S LIKE IT'S LIKE ALMOST A GIRL IF I CLOSE MY EYES IT ALMOST FEELS LIKE A GIRL GIVING ME A HAND JOB

You know you know John it's just weird to see the red Honda CRV here and a black skins are taking advantage trying to attack a white skin man at these times it's very unfortunate for you and your wife and daughter but I threw you a bone and we killed Todd's wife and daughter here he seems to continue to have these lunatic black boys follow me confusing the letter T with the letter G and someone told me they're mentally retarded and then I said no they're not retarded they're brain dead was to report remember slow or special

Yeah they keep on referring to themselves as the Antichrist and the official reports that Anti-acid THAT'S RIGHT HEARTBURN LIKE AN ANNOYING TICK

Sean's Father John he was pronounced yeah you know he came out and I said the weirdest thing about him he had all white hair and when I saw him I raised my hand and then with my other hand I raised my middle finger BLOOD WAS EVERYWHERE oh yeah we're still looking for John Bolton I BELIEVE LAST TIME I SEEN HIM HE WAS WITH MIKE BOLTON AND KENNY G PLAYING THE TRUMPET FOR MONEY ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD

But for these cars to be in uniform it it's very weird how you guys are finding upon yourself all you f****** n****** to attack white skin men and referring John and let me remind you of that Sean's father it's not my dad NO MY DAD'S ANTONIO REMEMBER THE ANTECEDENT yeah if did you guys hear back from Chicago tell him they have their Antonio in handcuffs if they want him back they're going to stop sending these new recruit black skin boys and and just for today we hate the white skin boy IT'S KIND OF WEIRD HOW THEY DON'T HATE ALL WHITE SKIN BOYS THEY'RE LIKE HOLDING HANDS OUTSIDE BUT WHEN THEY SEE ME. THEY KEEP ON SAYING I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT IT SAID WHEN IT CAME TO THAT S***

That's right it's a misstatement here and then it gets quiet it just bringing up nothing and letting the satellite flash moved in action dent

IT WAS NO TRAINS LISTEN I WOULD TELL YOUR WHITE SKIN SALAD OPERATORS HOW DID THEY HAVE ALL THESE BLACKSKIN SALAD OPERATORS COME OUT AND AND PROTECT THEM WITH NO TRAIN DID THEY NOT GET THE MEMO OR THE NOTICE WITH NO TRAIN IMPRACTICAL JOKERS SAID IT BEST fucked FUCKED THIS IS PROBABLY WHERE THE WHITES CAN SATELLITE OPERATORS NOTICED THEY STAND NO CHANCE AND I THINK THE BLACK SAID I OWE THEM MY LIFE AND THEN I SAID YEAH YOU'RE GOING TO DIE RIGHT NEXT TO THE WHITE SKIN SALAD OPERATOR AND THEIR STATEMENT WAS GOOD THAT'S ALL I WANTED WAS TO DIE NEXT TO A WHITE SKIN MAN WHO DID THE SAME THINGS I DID

Missouri loves company

Just just putting you guys on noticed okay with with the uniform trucks and cars the Kia soul NO I ALREADY I TALKED TO TRUST MARK AND I AND I INSURED HIM JENNIFER WAS DEAD what happened is I gave her $100 and then the next day I'm sleeping I look out the corner of my eye and she's in my wallet taking money I jump out of bed and I drag her out into the middle of the house in front of all the rest of the girls and I say leave this as an example the next one you b****** that steal from me and then I smashed her head in

YEAH THE PROBLEM IS THEY'RE USING ZACK AGAIN FOR CO-OPS YOU KNOW A LOOSE ZACH IS WHAT WE SHOULD CALL HIM LUCY what they did they started using him for the young innocent gold son AND I GAVE HIM MY YOUNG INNOCENT GOLD FINGER BECAUSE I SMOKE CIGARETTES OR THE GOLD RING THE YELLOW RING AROUND MY FINGER

And then of course you know they're setting up Josh for killing a lil baby I SAID IT WAS WHITE MIKE BUT THEY DIDN'T BELIEVE ME HE SAID NO NO THAT WAS JOSH

And and I saw on the p*** xx Dan they really don't like fat white skin boys or men here I don't know something about the fat white skin boys and men here does something to these blacks XX DAN I THOUGHT IT WAS A CAMPAIGN SPONSORED BY STEVE HILTON BUT WE'RE WAITING ON THE RESPONSE FROM HIM I believe he's on top of PARIS Eiffel Tower THAT'S RIGHT DID YOU GET THAT... IS STEVE HILTON LAST SCENE ON TOP OF PARIS Eiffel Tower we believe he was sightseeing

But again of these uniform cars the one car that has this into question is the Kia soul now the origin of this car is not yours IT'S A GREAT TESTAMENT FOR THEM TO USE ME HERE FOR THE TRUCKS TO SAY WE'RE GOING TO KILL THE SATELLITE MAKER BEACH'S DAUGHTER and in the other day I saw them all outside your trucks and I went to up to him and said have you found a b**** yet she's somewhere in the city we need a family we need her dead ASAP THAT'S RIGHT NOW MY DAD DAUGHTER IS WHAT I TOLD HIM I SAID SPECIFICALLY YOU LISTEN I SAID HEY what you been are doing here is a great thing okay it's an accident where he sits

MEANING OF THE BLACK SKINS ARE IT'S AN ACCIDENT WITH JOHN DID 10 YEARS AGO NOW IS OUR TIME TO PAY HIM BACK AND THEY'RE ATTACKED IN A FAT WHITE SKIN MEN 24/7 AND THEN THE XX DAN COMES UP and I said that's not Steven that's Daniel

VIRGINIA YOU GOT ALL THAT YEAH IT SOUND LIKE YOU GOT A GREAT COUNSEL OVER THERE AND I'LL LISTEN I DON'T KNOW MY PHONE'S SUPPOSED TO TURN OFF I CAN'T HOOK UP TO THE AIRPORT WI-FI BECAUSE THE BLACKS HERE IT'S EASY FOR THEM TO HATE ME OVER THE INTEGRATION IT'S ALMOST TOO EASY IT'S ALMOST NOT TAKING CANDY FROM A BABY BUT BABY ACTUALLY DROPPING CANDY ON THE FLOOR AND YOU COMING BEHIND IT AND PICKING IT UP

Let me give you another reference here shooting fish in a barrel but this time of the fish are on the floor flopping around

YOU MEAN SHAWN JOHNSON WHAT ABOUT HIM WAIT DID I SPELL HIS NAME RIGHT S E A N no we got a ongoing argument we want to change the Johnson baby powder to Georgia baby powder baby powder YOU KNOW HOW MANY GIFTS GEORGE HAS BOUGHT ME yeah he bought me a gift at Walmart a hoodie and I worked for the last 30 days here in Mississippi TODAY AT WALMART HE GAVE ME A GIFT A BELT YOU KNOW ONE OF THOSE BELTS THAT HAVE UNLIMITED HOLES YOU JUST WRAP IT AROUND YOU AND THEN FIND A HOLE TO STICK IT IN I don't know it said George on it I didn't see it say Paul PAW 🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

[unearthitaly]

Lyrics of “La Guerra di Piero”, the Italian “Blowin’ in the Wind” ( + Translation )

If you watch Italian TV, in these days you might have heard “La Guerra di Piero” (literally “Piero’s war”) by Fabrizio De Andrè, a song which is considered some sort of Italian “Blowin’ in the wind” for its pacifist themes.

The song was published in 1964 and became successful only 5 years later, in conjunction with the 1968 Protest Movement. It was inspired by the story of Francesco (Fabrizio De Andrè’s uncle), who was a concentration camp’s survivor.

The song is about Piero, a soldier at the front that, when finding himself facing the enemy, hesitates to shoot because he sees himself in the other soldier. The song underlines the fact that, most of the times, soldiers don’t kill each other due to hate or cruelty, but only in order to survive. They don’t want the war, they are sent to war.

Lyrics

Dormi sepolto in un campo di grano, non è la rosa non è il tulipano che ti fan veglia nell’ombra dei fossi, ma son mille papaveri rossi…

“lungo le sponde del mio torrente voglio che scendano i lucci argentati, non più i cadaveri dei soldati portati in braccio dalla corrente”

Così dicevi ed era inverno e come gli altri verso l’inferno te ne vai triste come chi deve, il vento ti sputa in faccia la neve.

Fermati Piero, fermati adesso, lascia che il vento ti passi un po’ addosso, dei morti in battaglia ti porti la voce. Chi diede la  vita ebbe in cambio una croce.

Ma tu non lo udisti e il tempo passava con le stagioni a passo di giava ed arrivasti a varcar la frontiera in un bel giorno di primavera

E mentre marciavi con l’anima in spalle vedesti un uomo in fondo alla valle che aveva il tuo stesso identico umore, ma la divisa di un altro colore.

Sparagli Piero, sparagli ora e dopo un colpo sparagli ancora fino a che non lo vedrai esangue cadere in terra a coprire il suo sangue

E se gli sparo in fronte o nel cuore soltanto il tempo avrà per morire, ma il tempo a me resterà per vedere vedere gli occhi di un uomo che muore

E mentre gli usi questa premura quello si volta, ti vede e ha paura ed imbraccia l’artiglieria, non ti ricambia la cortesia

Cadesti in terra senza un lamento e ti accorgesti in un solo momento che il tempo non ti sarebbe bastato a chiedere perdono per ogni peccato

Cadesti in terra senza un lamento e ti accorgesti in un solo momento che la tua vita finiva quel giorno e non ci sarebbe stato un ritorno

Ninetta mia crepare di maggio ci vuole tanto troppo coraggio, Ninetta bella dritto all’inferno, avrei preferito andarci in inverno

E mentre il grano ti stava a sentire dentro alle mani stringevi un fucile, dentro alla bocca stringevi parole, troppo gelate per sciogliersi al sole.

Translation

Sleep, buried in a wheat field, it’s not the rose, nor the tulip, that keeps watching you from the ditches, but it’s a thousand red poppies

“along the riverbanks I want to see the silver pikes, not the soldier’s s corpses carried by the current”

You used to say so, and it was winter and, as the others, sad you go toward the hell like someone who must. The wind spits the snow in your face.

Stop Piero, stop now, allow the wind to sweep you off, let it carry the voice of those who died in the battle. Those who gave life, had a cross in return.

But you didn’t hear it and time went on with the seasons at a Java’s beat and you crossed the border in a beautiful spring day

While you’re marching with a heavy heart you saw a man at the valley’s end, who had your same mood, but the uniform of another colour.

Shoot him Piero, shoot him now and after a gunshot, shoot him again until you can see him falling down to cover his own blood

And if I shoot him in the forehead or in the heart, he’ll only have time to die, but I will have time to see, to see the eyes of a dying man

And while you do him this favour, he turns, he sees you, he’s scared, he takes the gun and he doen’t return the courtesy

You fell down without a complain and you suddenly realized you didn’t have enough time to ask  forgiveness for all of your sins

You fell down without a complain and you suddenly realized that your life was about to end that day and there was no coming back

Little Nina, it takes so much courage to die in May, little Nina, I’m heading to hell, I would have preferred to go there in winter.

And while the wheat was listening to you, you held a rifle in your hands. In your mouth you held words, too icy to melt in the sun.

-

Find the original article, with more info, on Wordpress.

Find this song in my Spotify playlist “Songs Italians Consider Great Classics”, track nr. 28.

-

Sara - Unearth Italy. I'm on Wordpress - Twitter - Instagram . Subscribe to Malacopia, my newsletter.

#italian music #italian language #italian song #italian culture #italian

[alchemistbee]

Flowers and Chimes

「 Five Hargreeves x Reader 」

N/A: This took me longer than expected, but it was another idea I had laying around. Here Five is aged up to be around 16-17, like the reader. The main idea was that reader in an ex-Commision agent who happened to escape, and Five finds them. I apologize if it’s confusing I am not the best writer. And if it’s too long :”) sorry for the grammar errors! Hope you guys enjoy it!

Summary: After Hazel leaves an address inside Five’s pocket he decides to investigate where or to whom it leads him to. The last thing he expected was to stumble into a familiar face.

Warnings: Swearing. it takes place during Season 2, so expect slight spoilers if you haven’t watched it.

Words: 1902

[ gif taken from @thisgameissonintendo ]

The Commision was a high secretive organization that’s whole goal was to keep time and space flowing correctly. It was like knitting, one wrong turn and the whole piece was ruined, that’s what their agents were for. To make “corrections” in the timelines, to make sure the game was kept intact. Whether it was something or someone who messed up the time lines, the commission would gladly take care of it. Their team of agents were the best from the best, and you were no exception to that rule.

Your years in The Commission had turned you into the perfect killing weapon for them, something they took pride on. The agency considered you to be one of the most skilled agents they had, agile, quick and sharp, gifted with enhanced intelligence that couldn’t compare to anyone. Above that, you were loyal, for almost 42 years you had worked under their wing, they had no reason to suspect you would have left out of thin air.

Taking in at seventeen, very young, not as young as Lila, but after watching you for some years the Commission had concluded that you were quite...special.

After Five’s famous escape, you had decided that it was your time to do so as well. You had only met the man a few times, shared one or three missions together that were tasked by The Handler. Strangely, she had made everything possible to keep you two from being partners, but it hadn’t been enough to stop the two of you from sharing a few moments. The man was quite grumpy and arrogant at times, but that didn’t seemed to stop you from having conversations with him. never

Apart from being a skilled assassin and being able to take the soul out of a person’s eyes in a single second, you were a very bubbly person. You were what people considered too good, kind, and Five was quite amazed someone like you worked for such a horrific place, but at that time, he didn’t care enough to ask the why’s of it.

Your escape hadn’t been an easy one, not at all. When Five escaped the security increased, you had to be patient, and once an opening made its way to you, you didn’t let it slip away. Between all the commotion, the briefcase you had stolen malfunctioning after getting shot mid-traveling. It caused you to not only go too far back in time, but your body too. In any other circumstances, you would have been completely upset at the fact that you were stuck back in your teenage physical body, but the more you thought about it, the more you realized it was an advantage. Commision wouldn’t know, and you were sure you could find a way to go back to your body eventually.

There you were, stranded in Dallas, Texas for three years now. You had found an old cabin to live in, not too far from the city but not to close either. You didn’t want unwanted attention to come your way. It was 1963, quite a busy year for the Commission considering the assasination of Kennedy took place here. They wouldn’t notice your insignificant presence, and if they did well, you weren’t considered one of the most dangerous and skilled agents for nothing.

What you weren’t aware of was of the mess your old un- official partner Five had let loose. He broke a fabric in time, changing the timeline and moving the apocalypse from 2019 to 1963. You had felt the shift, but without the knowledge of what it meant, you hadn’t paid the slightest attention to it.

——

Five shut the car door behind him, his eyes carefully studying the small cabin in front of him and glancing down to the poorly folded piece of paper in his hands. He found this address written alongside the cassette Hazel had hidden in his pocket. He knew that whatever was here would help him save the world, or at least find information related to it. After all, Hazel wouldn’t have used his last seconds to shove a random address. It had to be connected.

Shaking his head, Five shove the note back to his pocket as he made his way inside the property. The house seemed quite old, but it was clear that someone lived there due to the good state of it. There were various flowers decorating the front of the house, windows and roof. There was no way those flowers would be able to live by themselves unless someone took care of them. On top of that, the place echoed with the soft tones of the wind chimes clanging against each other, they looked fairly new, or at least to be cleaned regularly.

Strangely, the flowers placed on the area gave him a familiar feeling in his chest. The wood creaked under his shoes the moment he stepped into the porch, he leaned closer to the door in hopes of getting any clues of what was inside, but as much expected, it was too dark to see correctly. Without thinking it twice, Five easily teleported inside the old cabin, almost stumbling on his feet when he landed on the misplaced rug that rested in the center of the room.

The brunette male guided himself inside, where he viewed the interior of the place. It was quite normal, the kitchen was clean, with a few coffee mugs still inside the sink, the living room was a bit dusty, but nothing that couldn’t be taken care of with a few cleans. There, his eyes caught one particular wall that looked pretty much like Eliot’s whole place. There were numerous newspapers pinned to the cardboard, numerous names, maps and photos of people connected with red strings, and on the table near it, yellow folders. The person who lived here, you, were looking for something...or running from something.

He scanned the loose papers on the papers, noticing the small written notes in them. Five squinted his eyes at them as he found the handwriting...familiar. The answers had to be here somewhere, a key or tool to help him stop the apocalypse he brought with him. What was Hazel trying to tell him? What did he want Five to find in this place?

While the physically teen boy strode through the small space, you happened to arrive from the long way of work. Unlike others, you didn’t own a car and wasn’t planning on doing any time soon. Besides, being stuck in a teen body didn’t make it any easier to get a car. The chance of getting stopped by the cops was high, and you didn’t own any paperwork that would make them turn their heads from you. With new groceries in hand, you had walked down the same sidewalk that led to your place, soon noticing a un-familiar blue car parked in front. You quickly felt your body tense, the only thought running in your mind being that commission might have finally found you. But how? You had been careful all these years to stay off the radar, and there was no way that this year, with so much going on, they wouldn’t be focused on you.

You were smart enough to go around the house instead of entering through the front. Dropping the groceries in the back, and silently opened the back door that led inside. Whoever had passed your property was going to have a bad time. You shut the door slowly, surely making no noise as you took light steps through the small hallway. You could hear steps inside, things being moved and placed back. From the corner of the wall, you managed to give a quick glance at the person who had intruded your home; a young boy dressed in what seemed to be a school uniform. You felt your heart start to rise, unsure of what a young boy would be doing investigating your things. Yet, you knew better than to let your guard down, it was never too late for the Commission to hire and manipulate children to do their bidding.

You sneakily made your way into the kitchen, grabbing the nearest pan at your reach before swinging it toward the boy without a warning. Surprisingly, The boy felt you coming, and just in time was able to dodge what might have been a horrible concussion “Shit!” You heard the boy mumble under his breath, quickly to a fighting stance while looking at you with a fierce glare.

“How did you get here?!” You held the pan tightly between your hands, ready to throw another swing “Get out of my property kid! They sent you, didn’t they?! If they think I’ll hesitate to end you, they are completely wrong” you threatened, keeping a close watch on the boy, trying to decipher his next move.

Five squinted his eyes at you, slightly tilting his head with confusion as to why Hazel had sent him to the house of this crazy person “What? They?-“ Five tried to take a step forward, but was only met with another swing from your part. He quickly tried to get a hold of the pan, throwing it across the room thinking that you wouldn’t fight without a weapon. He was surprised to be wrong when he felt you kick him in the stomach, throwing him backwards against the table.

Five groaned, his eyes flushing with slight anger, he had just lost any respect he had for you. If you wanted to fight, a fight you would have. To Five’s shock, you were better than he had expected. You had managed to dodge many of his fists, his kicks, while he had been met with a few unpleasant hits. He definitely was beginning to think that Hazel had done this out of a cruel joke to get back to him for all those years.

You were fierce. You were skilled, quick and agile like him. Could it be that you…? He felt his back fall against the floor, the heavy weight of your body against him as you held a knife in one of your hands “I guess Commission has lost it’s touch, huh?” You smirked down at the boy, seeing his eyes widened with stress when you lifted your hand with the knife in hand. You weren’t hesitating, you were going to kill him.

“Commision? Wait!-“ Five yelled, but as he saw you were not stopping, he turned to use his last resource. In a matter of seconds, the knife went down, but instead of stabbing his chest, it got stuck in the wood under him. Five teleported out of your grip, flashes of blue appearing behind you, and without hesitation, Five wrapped his arm around your neck from behind, holding you still from making any more swings at him.

That’s when realization hit you. You knew this boy. You recognized the blue flashes. There was no one in this world who could teleport like that besides one grouchy man. How couldn’t you have realized before? He had the same eyes, the same fighting style. This boy was—“F-Five?” His name left your lips quickly, and in that exact second, you felt Five lose his grip from your neck. He took a step back, watching his eyes widened as realization slowly hit him. He begun to recognize who the person in front of him was, his eyes completely filled with shock and relief. It...It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.

“(Y/N)?”

It suddenly clicked to him. Hazel hadn’t given him this address to search for information, he had given him this address to find...You.

#five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #number five x reader #number five #number five imagine #aidan gallagher #umbrella academy #the umbrella academy #fanfiction #my work #tua #tua s2 #five x reader #tua fanfic #tua five

[inglourious-imagines]

The Story of Their Lives (Lt. Aldo Raine)

Requested by: @tealaquinn

Summary: The story of Lt. Aldo Raine and Sgt. Y/N Y/L/N.

Prompts: 9 - Don't you touch her. & 12 - No one would hurt you again, or I'd kill them. & 21 - I wanna see how you lose control. & 24 - He's a badass with a good heart. & 39 - Kiss me. & 93 - You make me feel... you make me feel.

Author's Note: This is damn long so I really hope you like it! Also there are some parts in Italian so I'd like you to know, I've never learnt this language so there might be some mistakes. Feel free to send request or let me know if you wanna be tagged in these ♡

Taglist: @alienoresimagines @radiantcade @meteora-fc @kyra3155 @real-fans @not-john-watsons-blog @im-in-love-with-queen

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.

.

Y/N and Aldo never showed some kind of an affection towards each other. They respected, trusted, appreciated the other one but these traits were common among the Basterds.

It seemed so innocent at first, almost like a teasing and none of the Jewish American soldiers expected to become it something more.

•••

They met at the very beginning of the Basterd's missions. Y/N was a french spy, a very famous one so she obviously got their attention since they'd gotten to France.

The Basterds recruited her in a bar and she immediately became one of them. Y/N fit within the group perfectly, like she was always destined to be a Basterd.

•••

After the third successful mission, they decided to stay the night in a local resistance hotel to relax and prepare for another action. Everyone went to their beds as soon as they could but Donny persuaded Y/N and Aldo to gamble a little before the sleep. 

"C'mon, just one game!" Donny pleaded. It didn't take much and the trio was sitting around a table playing their fifth game.

"I thought you're better at poker, Lieutenant." Y/N laughed as she grabbed another money she won.

"Shut up, Sergeant. I just am a bit lenient with ya, that's all." Aldo fought back, trying to cover the fact he's worse with cards than Hugo trying to actually smile for once. 

"Show me what you got, Lieutenant. I wanna see how you lose control." she winked at him and dealt the cards.

•••

Something changed in Aldo this evening. At first, Y/N was just another soldier sticking up for her country trying to end the war. But now he saw her in a totally different light.

He noticed what colour her eyes have, how she always ties her hair in a braid. 

He noticed how her cheeks blushed when he praises her after a good work.

He noticed how she scrunches her nose when she disagrees with someone. 

All those little things were filling his head. Aldo was so full of it. It was during the other mission when he completely understood his feelings.

•••

One moment and his whole world flipped. 

Aldo was so angry with himself that he missed such an important thing.

Like a gun. 

The German soldier was just kneeling in front of Aldo when he reached in his pocket. It all happened so quickly then.

The German pulled out a gun and with one last defiance he pulled the trigger. But it wasn't Aldo who got hit. 

It was the woman behind him.

Aldo was like deprived of his senses. He threw away the piece of bread he was eating and jumped at the German. If Wicki didn't pulled him back, Aldo would probably beat the guy to death.

And that was Donny's speciality.

"Don't you fuckin' touch her! Or look at her!" Aldo shouted hitting his face with his fist one more time.

Y/N was so taken away by his behaviour, not really sure where the anger got from.

"What the hell, Lieutenant?" she frowned, "it's just a goddamn scratch on my arm. The bullet didn't even hit me properly." 

Aldo froze whereas Donny and Hugo looked at each other with knowing smiles. They finally realised what was going on.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he tried to brush it off, gesturing to the Basterds to continue with the scalping. "It's fuckin' bleedin' a lot!"

"It's fine. Nothing too serious, Lieutenant." Y/N replied.

Aldo just shook his head as he took off his scarf and tied it around the wound. "No one would hurt ya again, or I'd kill 'em."

•••

The Basterds got ordered to rest a bit because there was a big mission on its way. They didn't know what it was but they all welcomed a full night sleep.

But Y/N didn't feel like going to bed. Instead, she took her cigarettes and sat at the balcony of the apartment they got settled in.

It was a chilly night but she didn't mind. She actually liked cold more than heat.

"Aldo seems a bit off lately." Donny's voice broke the silence as he positioned himself next to her.

"What you mean?" she asked offering him a cigarette which he gladly accepted. 

"Remember how he beated up the German officer two weeks ago? I've never seen him like that."

"Oh Donny. He's just a badass with a good heart. I assure you, Aldo's just fine."

Donny shrugged but didn't say anything. This wasn't his secret to tell even though the change in Aldo's behaviour towards her was so damn obvious. 

Donowitz glanced at Y/N smiling a bit. He understood why Aldo fell for the female Basterd. 

•••

Bridget von Hammersmark was laying in front of them with a bullet in her leg while Hugo, Archie and Wicki were dead.

Y/N was standing in the corner of the room, lost in her thoughts, mourning for her lost friends. She knew something like that had to happen but she also believed in Basterds and part of her thought that they'll all come back home one day.

Y/N wasn't able to look at the actress anymore. She quickly left the room not looking at anyone while she lighted her cigarette. It'd been becoming too much to handle for her.

"Are you alright?" Aldo frowned as he walked towards her. "You still in?"

She laughed sarcastically at his question sheaking her head. "Yeah, of course, business. I'm in, Lieutenant."

"I didn't mean in like that and ya know it."

"Yeah, sorry. It's just-"

"I know, Sergeant. This whole event got me thinkin'. I gotta tell you something."

Y/N threw away her cigarette as she looked directly at him. She wasn't sure if it was the light or the sentiment, but Aldo's eyes never seemed so beautiful to her like they did in that moment. 

"The truth is," Raine began as he stepped closer, "you make me feel... you make me feel, Sergeant."

•••

When Y/N stepped into the room in a black plain tight dress, the conversation between the Basterds immediately stopped. They'd never seen her in anything but in uniform or the civilian clothes. Donny dropped the glass of whiskey he was drinking, Hugo's knife fell on the ground with a loud crash, Omar and Wicki stayed there with their mouths wide opened, Archie Hicox smirked and Aldo, Aldo was taken away and wasn't able to get out a word.

"Please, gentlemen! This is how you welcome a beautiful woman? She looks magnificent!" Bridget von Hammersmark exclaimed gesturing towards Y/N.

"It's so uncomfortable," Y/N frowned and tried to adjust the dress a little, "and so impractical." 

"I think it's perfect." Aldo breathed out and Bridget smiled in satisfaction.

Y/N truly looked like a completely new person. And Aldo's feelings mixed once again. She was so special to him, like water is special to desert. His life was dry without an excitment. She was the water that refreshed him after a long time of loneliness.

•••

Bridget, Aldo, Y/N, Donny and Omar stepped into the small local cinema, already so full of Nazi officers.

"It makes me sick." Y/N snorted as she looked around on the German uniforms. "I have two knives and a gun and I'm not afraid to use them right now."

Aldo laughed next to her and gallantly put his hand on her hip pulling her closely to him.

"Just relax, darlin'. We'll do that later." Aldo winked at her, not letting her go for a moment.

Bridget suddenly seemed like she'd seen a ghost. An older man approached their little group and Y/N immediately understood with whom they have the honor.

Bridget and Hans Landa shared a short conversation before they turned to them. Hammersmark formally introduced the Basterds and Y/N flinched a little under the German's look. Aldo noticed right away her change of attitude and stroked her hip gently.

"Sei assolutamente incredibile, signorina! Ho notato che molti ufficiali hanno voltato la testa dopo di te." (You look absolutely stunning, miss! I noticed that many officers turned their head after you.) Hans Landa grinned and Y/N thought it was the most disgusting thing ever.

"Grazie mille signore. Sono sicuro che stai esagerando." (Thank you very much, sir. I'm sure you're exaggerating.) Y/N faked a smile and clenched her hand in fist to remain calm.

All of the Basterds with Bridget jerked their heads towards her. Her fluent Italian took them away as well as Landa.

"Quanto amo la lingua italiana! E dalla bocca di una donna così bella, è una musica per le mie orecchie." (How I love the Italian language! And from the mouth of such a beautiful lady, it's a music for my ears.)

"Mi stai adulando, signor Landa. Non hai un brutto aspetto." (You're flattering me, Mr Landa. You don't look so bad yourself.) Y/N felt like vomitting any next second. 

Aldo had enough of Landa's fake attitude, especially how Y/N looked so stressed and angry. He decided he has to step in or she won't hold herself back. Aldo recalled the one sentence he learnt yesterday, just in case he'd need to interrupt a moment in a formal way. This was the time.

"Baciami, adesso." (Kiss me, right now.) he stated and pulled Y/N even closer than before. She didn't manage to prostest or ask a quick question and their lips touched. She returned the kiss immediately and ran her fingers through his hair.

Until someone coughed.

They pulled apart from each other, Aldo smiling widely like a winner and Y/N blushing harder than ever.

"Ci scusi signore. Il mio ragazzo qui è un tipo appassionato. Devi perdonarlo." (Excuse us, sir. My boyfriend here is the passionate kind. You must forgive him.) Y/N stuttered and but looked directly at Landa.

•••

Operation Kino was over and it was now only her, Aldo and Utivich. They lost everybody along the way. They stood together side by side through everything. They'd become something stronger than family, friends, lovers. They faced death together and nothing could break the bond they'd created over the years. It was time to go home.

Y/N stood on the ship that was taking the Basterds, or what was left of them, home. The wind was dancing on her hair whispering secrets in her ears.

"I never thought I'd make it back home." Aldo Raine appeared next to her with a cigarette between his lips.

"None of us thought so, Lieutenant." she nodded, "but the difference is, we were wrong. Not them."

"Smart as always." Aldo grinned as he turned to her. "You should stop calling me Lieutenant. The war's over."

Y/N giggled at his statement and he could swear he'd never heard something so melodic, something so right. 

"It kinda sticked with you, Lieutenant."

Aldo didn't answer, instead he threw away the cigarette and took some deep breaths. He needed whiskey, or anything else that would give him at least a bit of courage.

Aldo Raine fought in war, he saw his friends die, he was broken by everything he saw and still, asking Y/N a simple question seemed harder than surviving the bloodshed.

"Spill it out, Lieutenant." she laughed as she glanced at him. 

"I hate how ya always do that. But here it goes," Aldo replied, "I've never been good at this so I'll just keep it short."

He stopped for a moment and stared at the woman in front of him. As he stepped closer, his heart was already racing like it'd never before.

"Why don't ya come to the States with me? We can buy some little house in the Smoky Mountains and live there for the rest of our fuckin' lives." Aldo confessed in his Raine kind of way, looking at her with so much hope in his eyes. 

"Is this some kind of your proposal?" Y/N chuckled as she intertwined her fingers with his.

"Maybe."

"I thought you'd never ask! Of course I'll come with you! You're everything I have, Aldo." 

#inglourious basterds #inglourious basterds imagines #inglourious basterds imagine #lt. aldo raine #aldo raine x reader #aldo raine imagine #aldo raine #donny donowitz #hugo stiglitz #archie hicox #brad pitt imagines #brad pitt #imagine #fanfic #story #war #world war 2 #quentin tarantino #wicki wilhelm #utivich #smithson utivich #hans landa

[mxpseudonym]

In Defense of Pepto Bismol

Pairing: Dallas Winston x OFC

Summary: Dally comes to the rescue during Kennedy’s late night shift at The Dingo

Length: 1305 words (allegedly)

Warnings: Creepy old men, harassment 

A/N: I write a lot of Outsiders stuff with this character and figured I’d actually just post it here and on AO3. I don’t think I’ll ever get around to finishing the full story, but maybe. 

--

"You look hot in the uniform," Dallas Winston complimented me from his table as I cleaned the booth next to him. Getting my mom to agree to let me work at the Dingo wasn't easy, but it was so worth it. Nothing beat having extra cash and finally getting to do something other than watching Flipper on TV. It didn't hurt that I got to know most of the Greasers in my East Side neighborhood either, Dallas and Sylvia, who I thought was his girlfriend, included. 

"Really? Because I feel like a bottle of Pepto-Bismol," I cringed and looked down at my pink uniform. 

"But a hot bottle of Pepto-Bismol," he pointed out, making me laugh. 

"Just what every girl wants to hear," I told him as a customer came in. He was older, needed a shave, and was likely a truck driver just passing through. I greeted him and told him to grab a table. 

"Sounds good," He muttered and stumbled to a booth. Ugh, I hated the drunk ones. Dallas offered me a cigarette, but I declined and promised to continue our discussion of attractive over the counter meds later. 

"How are you tonight, sir?" I asked our tipsy guest. 

"Good...now," he ground the words out. No Greaser would ever be able to live up to the slimy feeling this sleaze managed to give me as he looked me over. It made me wish our uniforms were a little longer and sent a shiver down my spine. Looking around, I became increasingly aware that the Dingo was only hosting a couple sitting in the corner and Dallas. Rufus in the kitchen and I were the only workers.

"Great, what can I get you?" I proceeded and answered questions he had about the menu that were too simple to be anything but a reason to keep me in front of him.

"Say, how old are you," he questioned, cutting me off as I told him our soup specials.

"Sixteen," I lied. I always said I was sixteen when I forgot to put on the cheap little ring one of the other waitresses kept under the cash register. You were either underaged or married when old men tried to pick you up. It didn't always work, but sometimes it did the trick. The man nodded slowly.

"Shame," He grunted.

"Look, do you have an idea of what you'd want," I asked again. We'd now been talking long enough that even Dallas was monitoring.

"Truthfully pretty girl, all I want is you," he told me, reaching out and stroking my thigh.

"Please don't touch me," I stuttered as he stood. He reached out again to tuck my hair behind my ear, but I smacked his hand.

"Hey," Dallas yelled and stomped his way over.

"Just making small talk with the little lady," the man slurred. Everything happened so quickly. The sleazy old man pulled me to him by the waist. There was no hesitation between Dallas finally reaching us and the swing of his fist that sent the slimy mongrel to the floor. I hate to admit it, but I did let out a yelp of surprise but also pain when the man landed on my foot. 

"Don't fucking put your hands on her," Dallas threatened.

"Hey!" Rufus yelled from the kitchen. Rufus was as protective of the waitresses as anyone. Still, he was known for throwing out Greasers at the slightest hint of trouble. I turned to Dallas in surprise. Dallas moved towards the man again, but I stood in front of him, putting my hands on his chest. 

"You have to go," I told Dallas, pushing him towards the door as Rufus came around the back. "I don't want you getting in trouble." 

When my shift ended half an hour later, I was surprised to see Dallas smoking up against Buck's T-Bird. It wasn't an unusual sight to behold. Every now and again, Buck would lend Dallas the T-Bird and not so subtly suggest that Dallas practice being a good samaritan by picking me up from work. 

"So do you just go around punching men twice your age, or was that just for me?" I pulled out my own cigarette, and, as a gentleman, Dallas was right there to light it for me. 

"I just really like Pepto-Bismol," he shrugged.

We headed towards my house, and I let the shifting patterns of the street lights calm me a little. I told Dallas I wouldn't be much fun to do anything but go home. He told me to stop calling him Dallas and start saying 'Dally' instead, and that he had every intention of just getting me back. We were washed in red light at the stoplight, so I figured it was a good time to ask, 

"How's Sylvia?"

"I wouldn't know. That broad is," Dallas took a long drag and shook his head, "She's no good. Had to drop her." 

"And when was this," I asked while reaching up and pulling my hair out of its ponytail. 

"I don't know, two weeks ago, or something like that."

"You don't sound too heartbroken." 

"Why would I be? If I was looking for a broad to two times me every second of every day, she'd be the one," he scoffed. "What about that soc you were caught up with?"

"It was one date. He hasn't been in school for a bit, so I haven't gotten a chance to see him much," I said with a shrug. 

"You really like trash like that? The madras get you going?" 

"Hey now," I laughed. "He's kind of charming. I figured I would give him a chance."

"And?"

"And I think leather jackets are a little bit cooler," I told him, smirking. Red turned to green, and we quietly moved forward. Dallas spoke up first. 

"You know there's a rodeo Saturday."

"I've heard." I nodded.

"You should stop by," he invited me casually. 

"Oh yeah?" 

I leaned back in my seat in thought and decided to ignore that he was about to pass the right turn onto my street for the second time.

"I'm riding. Doing a couple things actually," Dallas told me between incessant throat clearing. We pulled up to a stop near the lot where the roads were dead and turned to me. "So?"

"Of course," I nodded. Dallas pulled out a cigarette carton and offered me one. I shook my head but watched him light it. It was too close to bedtime for one of those. I did catch a look at his hand in the street light. "Geez, Dally," I started. 

"What," He asked with his first drag, and I grabbed his hand. It was already starting to bruise. "Oh, that's nothin, sweetheart."

"I suppose this is small-time stuff for a tough guy like you." 

I smiled softly and skimmed my fingertips over his lavender and red knuckles. With both hands holding his, I brought it up to my lips and kissed gently. "Thank you,"

"Don't mention it." 

His voice was the kind of raspy that could get a girl in trouble. Car headlights started coming closer from behind us. I turned forward, still holding his hand until it moved back to the steering wheel. It didn't take long before it found its way to my bare knee with my hand on placed softly on top. It was short-lived, though. I didn't live that far from The Dingo, after all. The porch light was on, and I knew my mom was by the window.

"Alright, I'll be there Saturday," I promised while unbuckling my seatbelt.

"Good, and we can do something after," He proposed, and I nodded.

"I'd really like that," I agreed. I kissed Dallas's hand again and slid out of the car. Who knew I'd be so excited to get involved with a Greaser?

#Dallas Winston #Dallas Winston Imagine #Dally Winston #Dally Winston Imagine #The Outsiders #The Outsiders Imagine #The Outsiders Fic #dallas winston x reader

[gatsby-system-folks]

Hahahahahaha I stayed up till 1 am writing this after watching a toy story marathon with my family. I hope y'all enjoy my Headcanon Very Young Bro Strider.

"Mr. Strider," The gentleman on the bench said. As he said every single evening as Dirk walked home from work.

But of course, today was different. Today Dirk had a human baby in a rolling suitcase.

"Uhhhhh hello mr. Nesbit!" He said, smiling a little too brightly.

Mr. Nesbit looked up at the spindly young man, before looking back down at his newspaper with a tisk.

Dirk hurried past, hoping that the infant inside didn't make a noise.

Into the elevator, and Dirk let out a huge sigh of relief. He crouched next to the suitcase and unzipped it, revealing baby. It hadn't made a noise since he found it, so he didn't know why he was so worried about discovery.

It was almost more worrying that the baby hadn't made noise since he found it.

"So, uh, you got a name?" He asked.

The baby only stuck out its tongue.

"Do you like.... Elizabeth? I'll call you Lizzie for short...?"

The elevator door began to open and Dirk frantically zipped up the case again, but didn't have time to stand up before his neighbor, Mrs. Rosalyn entered the elevator.

"What are you doing, crouched on the floor like that? You look foolish." She snapped.

"Sorry ma'am! I... Uh... Euggh..." He stood up, snapping to attention.

She eyed him sternly.

"Or perhaps it's better if you look a fool, so people don't expect anything else."

He smiled nervously again, revealing teeth with braces still attached.

Mrs. Rosalyn's expression softened a little.

"Now I was being a little harsh with you, young man. You work hard at that fancy walmart store and don't get much time off your feet, I understand you needed to rest a bit."

He relaxed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"So... How's your grandson?" He asked.

"He's doing quite well. His arm is healing nicely. Should be out of the cast very soon. How is your family?"

"Oh, y'know... The usual. A little far away... But I talked to my dad the other day... Yeah..."

They reached the very top floor and both got off. Mrs. Rosalyn was about to enter her house when a small coo sounded from Dirk's suitcase. She looked down, mildly concerned. Dirk hurriedly immitated the coo sound, turning it into a yawn.

"Ha ha... Boy am I tired..."

The old lady smiled incredulously as she entered her house, leaving the young man alone in the hallway.

After entering his own apartment, Dirk opened the suitcase again, picking up the baby.

He knew how to pick up small children from when he used to babysit his young cousin, also named Elizabeth.

"Heya, Lizzie, have you had a nice ride?" The baby smiled, placing a tiny hand on Dirk's freckle covered nose.

"Yeah, I'ma be taking care of you, sweetie."

He set the baby on the couch, pulling the other things out of the suitcase. A diaper changing pad, diapers, baby formula and clothes. Baby stuff was expensive as crap.

He set up the changing pad, and set the baby on it.

"Here goes nothing..." He said. That pamphlet on baby care he'd found had better be right.

"You are not an Elizabeth, are you?" He said dejectedly.

After the ordeal was over, he started a pot of water on the stove to make formula with, and went to his closet to change out of his work uniform.

While he did, he pondered a new name for the baby.

"Dirk junior? Oh hell no. Ro...ger? Roger? Rod*rick*? Just Rick? How about... Andy? Daniel? David? Dave? It's perfect. Andy it is."

A minute later he re entered the living room to find the baby exactly where he'd left him.

He picked him up again.

"Nice to meet you, Andy"

The baby's small hand smacked Dirk in the cheek.

"Owww." Dirk rubbed his cheek.

"Nnno."

"Did you just.... Did you just say 'no'?"

The baby was deadpan, but Dirk would've sworn he looked smug.

"Fine. You get to be Dave. Boring old Dave. No fun Toy Story adventures for you I guess."

Dave stuck out his tongue again.

Dirk took him into the kitchen, where the water had reached a pleasantly warm temperature. The old stove took an hour and a half to bring water to a boil, anyway. Setting Dave on the counter, Dirk mixed a scoop of formula into a cup of warm water and carefully poured it into a bottle. His mother always insisted he keep a bottle in the house in case he found a kitten or a puppy or something. Dirk had thought it was stupid at one point. Not any more.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Dirk fed Dave the whole Bottle, then another one before Dave seemed full.

"You're a hungry little dude. It's like you've never eaten before. Or not. I really don't know. Um..."

Dirk dragged the only other living room chair into the kitchen, and set Dave in it while Dirk cooked his own dinner. Eggs with salsa on a tortilla, and a glass of milk to go with it.

Back in the living room, Dirk sat Dave in his lap, turned on the TV and ate.

"You are watching WBIR, Dallas. Much warmer today, with highs in the 70's. However, we're going to see a cold front moving through by April 20th."

"Oh yeah, we've gotta write this down. Today can count as your birthday, little dude. April 13th, 1996. Happy birthday."

As night fell, Dirk opened the windows to let in the cooler night air. He made a bed for Dave out of a cardboard box and a couch cushion ( He would have used a pillow, but the pamphlet had said babies should have firm matresses), and set it right next to his bed. A low, metal bedframe he had gotten hand me down from his granddad, with the refrigerator box and a matress he had found at the thrift store on top. If he curled up a bit, he didn't even hang off the edge. It really was great, what with all the pillows he had collected over the years.

He clicked on the lava lamp sitting on the desk, and fell backwards on to the bed, making it let out a massive squeak. That cool or puppet clown doll thing he had found a couple days ago sat in the corner of his closet like a guardian. He was about to drift off when he heard a small sniffle.

He looked over, to see Dave, eyes squeezed shut, tucked under his tiny blanket.

"Oh no..."

Dirk sat up, picking up Dave. He knew the kid was crying, and trying to cover it up. What the heck was up with this precocious baby?

"Oh no, little dude, you're to young to be macho."

Dave cuddled up against him, small whimpers subsiding.

"Ok, tell you what. You can sleep up here for tonight. Sound good?"

He laid back down, with Dave next to him.

Both boys were out like a light within minutes.

#homestuck

[shaylaraquel-blog]

Is Cheerleading A Sport?

Ever wonder who thought of the idea to have girls cheering with pom poms in front of fans at a football game? Would you be surprised that it was accidentally founded by a man in 1898. Since early 1900’s  women have dominated cheerleading and have since incorporated the 4 elements that make up cheerleading; Dance, Stunting, Tumbling and Jumps.

Despite all of the hard work it takes to be a cheerleader there is still a large controversy on if cheerleading is a sport. So what makes a sport a sport? And can something that was not intended on being a sport develop into one? My answer is absolutely. Have you noticed that there are some “Sports” at the Olympics that you have never seen or heard of before? That doesn’t mean they are not a sport. Some may argue that there is not a Cheerleading event at the Olympics therefore it is not a “real” sport, well there are so  many other sports such as Football, lacrosse or the “American Sport” baseball who are not included in the Olympic games. Does this mean that they should not be considered sports but rather “ Activities”. Maybe it's the bias stereotype that cheerleading holds that it cannot be taken serious enough to be considered, maybe not making it an official sport is protecting the sport itself or maybe it doesn't meet the qualifications for it to be considered a sport, but if so what are the qualifications to have a sport considered an “official” sport? 

So what is a sport? Well according to The oxford dictionary it defines the word “Sport” as “an activity involving physical exertion and skill in which an individual or team competes against another or others for entertainment”  Let's break this down, “an activity involving physical excretion”, cheerleading is very active between the four  major elements it contains. Dancing: which is movement of the entire body and uses a lot of cardio. Tumbling: being able to through your body into the air over your head and being able to land back onto your feet. Stunting: which is using your body to hold and keep another cheerleader in the air and catching them on the way down. “ Skill in which an individual or team competes” Cheerleading does involve skill and not everyone has the skills to be a cheerleader. This is why competitions started, to judge the skill level of a cheerleading team. These skills can be tested on both a school- sponsored and all star competition level as they have different rules for each. “Others for entertainment” Cheerleading started to encourage the crowd whose team was down or apart of a losing streak. As all things evolve, it became known as purposely for entertainment on the sidelines and performing during timeouts and half-time breaks. I mean part of going to watch basketball or football games is the entertainment such as the “ Laker Girls” or “ Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders”  you get to enjoy their presence and you can always count on the cheerleaders being there to be the entertainment on the sidelines regardless of how the game is actually going. Most half time performances involve cheerleaders or a collaboration with the cheerleaders and another form of entertainment. So according to the oxford dictionary’s guidelines, cheerleading is considered a sport. 

With all sports there is a risk of injury and cheerleading is not different. The American Medical Association thinks, “in the name of safety that cheerleading should be considered a sport”. Cheerleading is the only physical sport that its surface changes. Cheerleading can be done on a mat (Competition) on a hard surface such as cement ( Parade), hardwood (basketball) or track flooring (Football) and risk of injury changes depending on the surface.Part of cheerleading is stunting which has cheerleaders hold other cheerleaders above their head and even sometimes on one foot, there is definitely a high risk for injury with gravity not being on our side. Did you know that Cheerleading accounts for 65% of all direct catastrophic injuries to girl athletes at a high school level and almost 71% at the college level according to a report from the American Academy of pediatrics in 2012. Those numbers alone should draw concern to how dangerous cheerleading is and it needs to be taken more seriously. So with an activity that is potentially so dangerous why has this not been considered a sport yet? 

Unfortunately since it is not considered a sport, schools nor colleges support or claim to be liable for the safety of cheerleaders who are cheering for their own school. Did you know that there is no insurance provided to cheerleaders by the NCAA at a college level. All collegiate cheerleaders are required to have private insurance or if the school is wealthy enough the private “Club” will have insurance that is ran by their own organization or boosters. Cheerleaders are at risk of the same injuries that could happen to a football, soccer or basketball athlete that is covered by the NCAA, but they do not consider cheerleading a sport due to its “supportive, noncompetitive role in galvanizing fans to support other athletes” (A direct quote from the NCAA) while that is true, the job of a college cheerleader is to cheer on and support other athletes as well as encourage fans and student body, but in the second statement given by the NCAA is false and college cheerleaders also compete against other college cheerleaders in the college championships and therefore should be recognized as a sport.

  Could cheerleading not being recognized as a sport have something to do with the fact that it would be one of the only sports with men and women on the same team and not divided by their sex? The only other sports are pairs ice skating, pairs tennis, and luge. But unlike those sports cheerleading does not have to have an equal male to female ratio for a team to compete against another team. Maybe it's because cheerleaders are 97% women? If we look at this at a sexist standpoint, it could be because this sport is made up of mostly women.If it was recognized as a real sport more men would be inclined to join and the percentage would change. May come as a shock to some but  Cheerleading was invented by a man named John Campbell in 1898. John was very enthusiastic at a college game and on the spot made up the first ever “Cheer”.  After that cheerleading became huge first within the college community but it then grew to high school and youth levels. How exciting as that is, it was not until 1923 that they even allowed women to be cheerleaders, and women have been fighting for equality in this sport ever since. Some may argue that gymnastics is also mostly women which is also true, but 21% of gymnasts are males unlike in cheerleading where there are only 3%. So maybe cheerleading needs more men to have it be considered a sport. But if that's the case its setting women equality back 100 years.

  Some people think that cheerleading is not a sport because they think they don't have rules and regulations like traditional sports do. Cheerleading may not have a referee to enforce rules but cheerleading does have rules just like any other sport. There are time limits, legal moves, and you can be disqualified the same way you would be for a red or yellow card.  Cheerleading in fact has its own safety association called American Association of Cheerleading Coaches and Administrators ( AACCA)  as well as NFHS. They decide what stunts, tumbling and moves are legal from year to year. Movies such as a the “Bring It On” saga dramatize the rules that real cheerleaders have to follow, so all of the 3 men high stunts, belly rings and crop top uniforms are not allowed in traditional school level cheerleading.  Bring it on also makes it seem like a club and not a sport because it doesn’t show a coach but just like any other sport, cheerleaders have to have a coach. There is a try out process, practices, summer boot camps, dress uniforms, and uphold academic and honor codes. There are other rules such as; all routines can be no longer than 2 minutes and 30 seconds, there are specific stunts that they cannot do on certain surfaces ( football track vs basketball hardwood) they can stunt and tumble while the ball is in play at football games but not while in play at basketball games and those are just a few of the rules that cheerleaders have to abide by, just like any other sport.

Some people in the cheerleading community are happy that cheerleading is not officially considered a sport. Most high schools have a limit on the amount of hours a team can practice or gather together each week, since cheerleading is not considered they do not have a limit. Besides taking time to learn dances, cheers, stunts and tumbling cheerleaders have to set aside time to make posters for their school and school athletics. They prepare and plan school events such as pep rallies, homecoming, alumni and end of the year dinners. Did you know that cheerleaders do not just cheer for football and basketball but also volleyball and wrestling which makes cheerleading a year round sport. If it was considered an official sport and had the limited 12 hour a week practice/gather time limit on it, cheerleaders would not be able to do half of the things that they do for their school and their schools athletics. 

I believe that cheerleading is a sport because it requires an amazing amount of athleticism. From practices to competitions, cheerleaders face the same physical, mental and emotional obstacles that all other athletes in recognized sports face. It may not be in the Olympics or recognized by the NCAA but cheerleading is a competitive sport that will continue to evolve until the world recognizes it as what it is, a SPORT

[creepingsharia]

Trump Admin Sues Greyhound for Banning Muslim Driver from Wearing Full Length Islamic Robe

The Trump administration is clearly still full of Obama holdovers that need to fired en masse.They are still forcing mosques and Islamic cemeteries on residential communities as well.

Continuing an Obama practice of punishing American businesses that don’t accommodate Muslims, the Trump administration is suing the nation’s largest bus carrier for refusing to let a female driver wear a long, loose-fitting robe symbolic of Islamic piety. The flowing garment, known as an abaya, looks like a frock or cloak and is designed to cover a woman’s entire body in public. Last year women in Saudi Arabia, where Sharia law mandates the Islamic robes, launched a protest against the abaya.

Here in the United States, a nationally recognized company is being sued by the government over a uniform dispute that bans a Muslim driver in Baltimore from wearing the vestment behind the wheel. The offender is Dallas-based Greyhound Lines, the country’s largest provider of intercity bus transportation. The government is accusing Greyhound of violating the Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, which prohibits discrimination based on religion and requires employers to reasonably accommodate the employee, or job applicant’s, sincerely held religious beliefs. This month the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC), the federal agency that enforces the nation’s workplace discrimination laws, filed a complaint against Greyhound in U.S. District Court for the District of Maryland, Baltimore Division. The agency seeks back pay, reinstatement and compensatory damages for the unnamed Muslim woman and punitive damages for Greyhound.

“The driver was able to perform her duties safely while wearing her religious garb, but Greyhound unjustly refused to accommodate her religious beliefs,” said EEOC Regional Attorney Debra M. Lawrence in a statement announcing the lawsuit. “No employee should be forced to choose between practicing her sincerely held religious beliefs and earning a living.” A district director for the agency is quoted saying that “as our workplaces become more diverse, employers should review their policies and practices, including making reasonable adjustments to dress codes, in order to accommodate the religious beliefs of applicants or employees, unless it would be an undue hardship.”

During the Obama administration the EEOC took a special interest in protecting followers of Islam and the agency dedicated a lot of resources to pursue companies that refused to change longtime policies for Muslim workers. The EEOC sued a clothing retailer with a policy against head covers of any kind for religious discrimination because it would not allow a female employee at one of its stores to wear a head scarf as required by Islam. An Obama-appointed federal judge in northern California handed the administration a victory, ruling that the Muslim woman’s civil rights were violated. The EEOC also helped two Muslim truck drivers get a hefty cash settlement after being fired for refusing to transport alcohol because it violated their religious beliefs. The judge in that case, an Obama appointee in Illinois, ruled in favor of the Muslims and the Peoria-based trucking company had to pay $240,000 in punitive damages. Following the San Bernardino terrorist attacks in late 2015, the Obama EEOC issued a warning regarding workplace discrimination “against individuals who are, or perceived to be, Muslim or Middle Eastern.”

Deep into its first term, the Trump administration has failed to put an end to the policies. Last year the EEOC got a $90,000 settlement for a Muslim man who was not accommodated by a southern California security company that refused to modify its longtime grooming standards. It constituted religious discrimination, according to the government, because the Muslim employee requested the grooming exemption in accordance with his “sincerely held religious beliefs.” The settlement also forced the company, Allied Universal, to hire an equal employment monitor and revise its religious accommodation policies.

The Trump EEOC has kept with the Obama administration’s leftist agenda in other religious rights cases. A few years ago the agency sued a grocery chain for religious discrimination over the dreadlocks of a Rastafarian. Followers of the “Afrocentric” religion wear long, matted and knotted hair and smoke marijuana (“the spiritual use of cannabis”). There is no formal, organized leadership in Rastafarianism which makes it difficult to accept as an official religion protected by federal law. It was born in the slums of Jamaica and followers must have dreadlocks, long clumps of ungroomed hair symbolizing the mane of the Lion of Judah. Rastafarians believe Haile Selassie, the former emperor of Ethiopia, is God and that he’ll help blacks living in exile as a result of the slave trade return to Africa.

#Legal #Sharia

[bjasamuel-blog]

Alien and Cosmic Fear

Alien – (1979) - Dir Ridley Scott

“…children will always be afraid of the dark, and men with minds sensitive to hereditary impulse will always tremble at the thought of the hidden and fathomless worlds of strange life which may pulsate in the gulfs beyond the stars…”  H.P Lovecraft

Alien (1979) is an effective horror film.  Despite its age the film still sends a shiver of fear down the spine of anyone with “a mind sensitive enough to the hereditary fear” at its core. Written by Dan O’Bannon (a self confessed Lovecraft fan) the film communicates a deep-seated fear rarely expressed in film, ‘cosmic fear’.  Lovecraft’s stock in trade was the fear of the enormous scope and breadth of the cosmos and mankind’s insignificance within it. He coined the phrase ‘Cosmicism’ to describe his fiction.  Alien is one of the few films to exploit and successfully express this fear.  

Until Dark Star (1974) and then Alien (1979), Science Fiction protagonists were usually scientists or the ‘brightest and best’, special individuals with the mental strength, agility and training to face the particular stresses of space exploration.  Apollo 11 was only 10 years previous to the release of Alien.  It also makes sense that if we are to explore the vast realms of space that we will require men and women of strength and ability to push the boundaries of human endeavor, to pit their ingenuity and skill against the frontiers of human experience.  

Smartly dressed in colourful uniforms the crew are ready for the challenges of space travel. 

Films such as The Forbidden Planet (1956) and television shows like Star Trek (first broadcast in 1966) express a humanist philosophy where humankind has transcended Earths confines using the power of technology and now explores the cosmos.  Humans travel through space in wondrous ships that move at great speeds, foreshortening the vast spaces that lie between planets.  These men and women overcome any obstacles they face using their rigorous training and by applying scientific method to these obsticles.  This view of space exploration ignores the scale of what faces us in the infinity of space and the precarious nature of our existence in a universe entirely indifferent to our existence.  The fiction of Star Trek does not imagine a real universe of which we are an infinitesimal part, but instead it shows us an extension of the Earth.  Alien races are stand-ins for different races and cultures found on Earth, metaphors for weird cultures and races, intrinsically human despite their outward appearance and moreover they envision a future where humanity is one coherent entity.  This implies that all cultures will move in one direction, towards homogeny, cohered by common goals.  Alien presents a universe very different to that, one in which we remain essentially human despite technological advances.

The crew of The Nostromo shocked and frightened wearing dishevelled clothing.

The Enterprise, large in the frame orbiting a planet.

The Nostromo orbiting the unknown planet. Very small in the frame against the planets.

In Alien, blue-collar workers maintain a haulage ship through the vast depths of space. These people are not the ‘brightest and best’, their ship is dirty, lumbering, industrial and liable to breakdown, two of the crew are mechanics.  They sleep in pods as the ship slowly hauls its payload through the expanse. They are awakened from their sleep believing that they have returned to Earth and to a payday.  They work for a corporate entity simply called ‘The Company’.  

Everything in the film from the production design to the music, to the performances expresses the fear and fragility of their position.  The Nostromo is essentially an industrial factory, dripping with oil and throbbing like a steel foundry (Ridley Scott grew up in Sheffield, a major industrial town).  The scale of the ship dwarfs the crew.  The crew is tasked with travelling to an unknown planet to locate and decipher the meaning of a distress signal that their computer has picked up.  The landing sequence expresses the difficulty and danger involved in landing the ship.  The ship is laborious rather than slick and agile.  Though the ship dwarfs the crew, the planet they must land on dwarfs the ship.  The crew are not trained or equipped to face the challenges ahead, they are frightened and inexperienced and they bicker with one another.  Captain ‘Dallas’ is not up to the task.  This is cosmic fear.  This is man dwarfed by the infinity of space, his technology faulty and inadequate and his relations with others fraught and fissiparous.  

The production design by ‘H R Giger’ is truly bizarre and unfathomable, the planet howls with wind and the surface is littered with strange rock formations releasing gases, everything surrounding the crew is ‘alien’, form and content in perfect alignment.  When the crew stumbles through the alien vista of the planet they bicker and gripe.  Eventually they find the ship where the signal is emanating from.  The derelict spacecraft is a marvel of production design.  The crew explores the craft for an opening.  We see the scale of the derelict ship against the crew.  We have been shown the crew as small against the Nostromo, then the Nostromo as tiny against the alien planet.  We have been given a true sense of scale and now as we enter the ship we are shown the bizarre and unsettling set design and props, dimly lit and almost organic looking.  

As the terrified crew explore the ship they discover what has become known as ‘The Space Jockey’.  The set design is simply stunning, totally alien and utterly baffling.  The ambiguity (later undermined in prequel films) is the films greatest strength.  

We have been given a sense of the scale of space, now ‘the space jockey’ gives us a sense of the scale of time.  ‘The Space Jockey’ has been fossilized in its moment of death.  It’s death occurred so long ago that it perhaps predates human existence.  This element is a truly Lovecraftian idea.  The space jockey was killed by an unknown entity long before the crew of the Nostromo even existed. Much has occurred in the universe without our knowledge or understanding, our characters have no idea what they are looking at and the fear is ratcheted up yet another notch. Cosmic fear.  The moment of ‘The Space Jockey’s’ discovery is the peak moment in the films expression of cosmic fear the ambiguity of its origin and meaning compounds the sense of isolation and insignificance and sets the stage for the horrors of the Alien’s reproductive cycle to be unleashed.  The strange sexual and body horror elements of the next two acts expands on the cosmic fear, expressing the fear internally as well as externally.  Something truly Alien has taken over not only the characters surroundings but also their bodies, taking what it needs and leaving the carcass behind.  Alien explores these concepts through its editing, production design and direction.  Form and content together, eliciting the fear of an infinite and incomprehensible universe.  

The film is the antithesis of the humanist philosophy of Star Trek and the notion that man can transcend the confines of the Earth and transcend himself. Alien shows a universe where man has entered the void but essentially remains human. Alien expresses the profound fear of a universe, indifferent to man’s existence a vast abyss of nothing bridged by hostile planets and life forms more ancient than man and more hostile than our worst fears can imagine.  The film expresses this hostility more profoundly than almost any other film. The only exception might be  2001 : A Space Odyssey.

40 years on audiences still “tremble at the thought of the hidden and fathomless worlds of strange life which may pulsate in the gulfs beyond the stars…”  

#science fiction #sci fi #film theory #ideas #cosmic horror #cosmic fear #alien #nostomo #star trek #the forbidden planet #ridley scott #h r giger #cinematography #cinema #form and content #space

[cicijaxon-blog]

The strength to forgive, what we can learn from Brandt Jean.

An emotional Brandt Jean Hugs the Dallas Police officer Amber Guyger, who killed his brother Botham Jean. “He punched holes in the walls for the first few days and then he got silent……” Words from Botham Jean’s mother on Brandt Jean’s initial reaction the days following the murder of his brother Botham Jean killed in cold blood. This man was not running the streets, wasn’t a thug or gangster; He was a good man, minding his business sitting on his couch eating ice cream. ( I mean could you think of a more wholesome thing to be doing than innocently sitting on the couch eating a bowl of  ice cream when he met his demise?) I literally can’t. Guyger, 31, was off-duty but still in uniform the night she killed Jean at the South Side Flats just blocks from police headquarters. She said she mistook his apartment for hers and thought he was a burglar.

Dallas police officer Guyger found guilty of murder of innocent black man Bo Jean after mistaking his home for her own. "If you truly are sorry," Botham's 18-year-old brother, Brandt Jean, told Guyger from the witness stand before walking down and embracing her, "I know I can speak for myself, I forgive you.” How dare you all who are on the outside looking in have the nerve to call Brandt weak because he forgave and even hugged His brother’s murderer Dallas police officer Amber Guyger? You have no clue of what he is dealing with spiritually, emotionally and mentally.  He looked up to his brother and that Botham was his everything.

Brandt Jean embraces his mother at Botham Jean's memorial service  There are two different types of anger. Theres this indignation that you have, I have, we all have watching the story unfold of Amber Guyger and the detestable things that she said  in text messages and on social media about people of color, murder jokes, and MLK jokes as the trial played out. There’s the anger that comes from yet another black man killed at the hands of a rejected high school nerd turned bitter inept police officer. There’s the anger of feeling hopeless as our people are slaughtered time after time with little to no retribution or justice. Then theres the earth shattering heart obliterating ‘My whole world just got turned upside down’ anger that one could only guess that Brandt is experiencing and has to live with the rest of his life. That type of anger would have crushed him.   "I think giving your life to Christ would be the best thing that Botham would want for you," he told her. "I love you as a person, and I don't wish anything bad on you." Y’all would have him live with that soul crushing life altering anger so that you could feel better about going about your day to day lives when all of this blows over in a few weeks? As soon as Popeye’s gets their buns back and that spicy chicken sandwich makes its comeback, our timeline will change once again with memes and jokes.  Life will resume for everyone else as  the trending topics change, but Brandt’s life will never be the same.   Why put that burden on him? I said it before and I'll say it again. Living in unforgiveness is like drinking a poison and expecting the next person to die.  Amber has to live out the rest of her life in a prison of her own poor decision. Whether she acts like it or not, her job was so deeply engrained as part of her identity that she’s not even going to know what to do with her life when she gets out.  She will have to live out the remainder of her life a convicted felon and police reject.  She will be shunned from job after job and every time a door closes in her face she will be reminded of her decisions.  Thats not enough! true I agree that her sentence should have been more, but the law has been handed down. What could Brandt’s anger do to change that?  Furthermore, he is honoring his brother’s memory in the only way that he knows how, the type of man that Botham was, I don't think he would have wanted or expected his brother to carry that anger around with him.   Now he has to deal with people his own people turning their backs on him, calling him weak, saying all manner of things about him because he made the decision to be the better man.  I don't think I would have had the strength to actually hug Guyger. (God is still working on me). I definitely don't agree that she does not deserve to serve any time. The fact still remains that the choice to forgive Guyger in that moment will shape the type of man he will be and the decisions that he will make.  What he did inspired me and brought me to tears.  So many emotions for this young man.  The anger that you are feeling towards Brandt is totally displaced. He is not the enemy. Know that being angry is the easy choice. Forgiving takes a strength that we all should strive for.  Let this be a lesson to you who have anger in your heart.  What Brandt did was not for Amber, it was for him. It was for his brother’s legacy and it was for you and I to learn a valuable lesson.  Whether or not she felt remorse, what Brandt did was what all believers are called to do. Forgive an offense so that your hearts will not become callus.   Some of you are steeping in your anger and the person that hurt you is just living their lives unbothered. The anger that you feel is literally eating you up inside and you don’t even know it.  You are miserable because you refuse to let go so that you can begin to heal.  Take a page from this young man’s book. Let that hurt go, not because your assailant deserves forgiveness, but because you deserve freedom.   Read the full article