#Medal Rally

[queen0funova]

When you start HRT or get a gender-affirming surgery, Mr. Medal WILL find you and give you a medal

[macbeth-s]

they were wild for this xxx [tags by @atleastistillhaveyou]

[pelipper]

Forever frustrated how the NPCs in the Battle Subway have Simisears/pours/sages that can out-speed my fully EV trained Haxorus. 🫠

[stylized-corpse]

To me this song represents the whole Medal of Honor franchise. I wish the series would go back to being about WW2 covert operations behind enemy lines instead of putting you in the major battles of the era.

Michael Giacchino - "Manor House Rally" Medal of Honor: Frontline OST 2005 Orchestral Electronic Arts Music Los Angeles, California, USA

[determinate-negation]

genuine question: why do you say that zionists engage in holocaust revisionism and denial? I've seen a few posts of yours talking about this but I don't think I fully understand what you mean. Thanks in advance

so much of the history american politicians are obliquely referencing when they compare palestinians to nazis is COMPLETELY incorrect and they are obscuring americas enthusiastic support for the nazis and apathy towards the jews, both before they entered the war, during, and after the war. before 1941 there was a lot of support from american politicians for nazis. they were reported on very favorably for years, major american industrialists and businessmen worked with nazis, people were unsure what side of the war the us would join on, the american public in fact generally blamed jews for antisemitic persecution and didnt want to allow in jewish refugees. there were pro nazi rallies in madison square garden with thousands of people. henry ford got a medal from hitler. during the war americans didnt believe a genocide was taking place, 'reputable news sources' questioned jewish eyewitnesses and death tolls. during the war american companies made millions off of the holocaust. after the war the us government protected high ranking nazi officials and put them in the american government. american politicians historically love nazis, they protected nazi war criminals, and they fund european neo nazis today. jewish holocaust surivors lived in displaced persons camps for years mistreated by american troops after the war. the holocaust was not even in public consciousness until decades afterwards, this entire culture of responsibility or whatever is completely superimposed retrospectively. every time that they try to invoke some memory of the holocaust to justify what they are doing in gaza its a shameful and cynical lie because america never cared, they love nazis and they have always allowed genocide to happen. ken burns did a documentary on this called the us and the holocaust thats really good

also the book Hitlers American Friends and this book

and zionists continue to make the insane claim that hitler didnt want to kill all the jews until palestinians convinced him even though this is just softcore holocaust denial about germanys central role in it. also this is not my main point, but the allied bombing of german civilians in dresden was in fact a controversial action, so the way that senate guy is talking about it is historically crazy. and bombing an industrialized fascist nation with a modern army like nazi germany is not remotely comparable to bombing a literal ghetto like gaza which can only fight using asymmetrical guerrilla warfare

[bugbashir]

If you haven’t seen my “what would you be doing as an ensign” poll about mishaps, here!

[aidaronan]

Valentine's Day at the bar is always a bit chaotic. There are the couples who'd prefer something simplistic. There are the singles and groups who'd rather get fucked up than think about how no matter how emotionally evolved they feel the other 11 months of the year, February always tears down the walls and leaves them feeling raw.

Eddie gets it. He pours a little heavy for those ones even though he knows he'll probably have to clean up something unholy in one of the bathrooms later.

It takes him a while to notice the guy tucked away in one of the back booths. He'd seen him earlier when he came in, a white rose in his hand when he ordered a beer.

Eddie had registered him as cute, all pouty lips and perfect hair, with brown eyes that sometimes caught the light and bled green. But Eddie hadn't thought much about him after that. He'd written him off after seeing the flower, and there had been so so many drinks to pour.

"It's your turn." Chrissy tosses a damp rag at him, washes her hands, and goes back to mixing long islands at a breakneck pace.

Eddie bangs his hip on the corner of the bar, swearing on his way to clear and wipe down sticky tables. He finds rose guy nursing the same beer he'd sold him hours ago, the flower sitting in the middle of the table.

"Oh, sorry," Eddie says. "Thought this one was empty."

"It's fine. I should probably..." The guy drains the last dregs of room temperature beer. "You know what they say. Stand me up once, shame on you. Stand me up twice... Or whatever." He gives Eddie a smile that's more of a cringe, like he wishes he could take the words back the second he says them.

"Her loss." Eddie means it. If he had a guy like that, he'd be insufferable about him.

"His. I'm bi."

"Oh." Eddie glances back at Chrissy, her eyes already searching for him. "I have to get back before they go full Helm's Deep on the bar, but I tell you what. Next one's on me. Alliance of the lonely queers and all that." Eddie gives the guy a pat on his shoulder.

He doesn't really expect the guy to stick around, but he does. He takes Eddie's generous offer in the form of the cheapest beer on the menu, and he moves from the back booth to a seat at the bar.

When Eddie fucks up making a drink because he couldn't hear the order, he slides it next to the guy's Natty Light. "Please stop forcing yourself to drink that. It's painful to watch."

"It's fine. Brings back memories." "Of what? Vomiting outside of someone's shitty house party?"

Eddie can hear him laugh even over the noise. It's the best tip he's gotten all night. (Though he does notice the $5 the guy slips into the tip jar when he thinks Eddie's too busy theatrically mixing a mojito.)

"Alright bitches!" Chrissy hops up onto the bar with all the grace of someone who has a box full of old cheerleading medals in her closet. Eddie cuts the music, and her voice carries like she's leading a pep rally. "Last call!" She points at the crowd of drunks, most of them familiar enough with the bar to play along.

"For alcohol!" they finish for her, some of them rushing up to the ordering stations even while they holler.

The call and response goes on for a solid 30 seconds or so. Mid-pour, Eddie catches the stranger's eyes and gets a smile for it that almost knocks him on his ass. Eddie shakes spilled whiskey off his fingers.

"One more time," Chrissy yells. "Last call!"

"For alcohol!"

"As always drive safe and fuck safe." Chrissy pretends to curtsy in her jeans. "Cab numbers and condoms next to the payphones. Tip your bartenders or we'll find you." She hops down off the bar and starts taking final orders as the bar starts to empty.

Even after they shut down the register, the guy doesn't leave.

"Who's the dreamboat making eyes at you?" Chrissy asks, scrubbing glasses so fast Eddie's surprised she doesn't sprain her wrist.

"He is kind of a dreamboat, huh?"

She sighs. "I'll give you five minutes to secure a date, and then I need you to help me close so I can go home and take a hot bath. God, I want to cut off my feet."

"I want to replace my lower back with Terminator parts, so I get it. Thanks Chris." Eddie grabs a bar rag and makes his way down to the end. The stranger sits up straighter on his bar stool.

"Hey." An awkward scrub of the back of his neck. "Sorry if I misread anything. I can go if you aren't..." He fiddles with the now-limp rose, thumbing gently over one of the thorns. "Like I know you're working so you might have just been being-"

"Relax," Eddie says. "You didn't misread anything, dude." Eddie smiles at him and wipes drink rings off the countertop.

"Oh." A breath of relief. "Thank God for that because you...you're..." He shakes his head.

"Because I'm what? I will fish for a compliment for hours, man. Don't test me."

"And I will ruin shit by talking too much."

"Try me."

The guy sighs. "Because you're nice. Don't get me wrong, you're hot too. With the hair and the ripped jeans. Plus I've been making bets with myself all night about how many tattoos you have. But I don't need hot. I need nice. And you're nice."

"Oh." A beat. Eddie chews on his lip. "I don't know actually. How many tattoos I have, I mean." Ugh. "Like, I do try to be nice obviously, to everyone and especially to pretty guys. But if I got five different tattoos and then I connected them all into one piece, is that still five tattoos or is it one tattoo?" Seriously, Eddie has thought about this topic so much. Too much. "So depending on how you do tattoo math, I have anywhere from seventeen to twenty-nine tattoos. What's your name?"

"Steve. I'm Steve. Harrington."

"Oh, we're doing full names?" Eddie realizes he's been wiping the same part of the bar over and over again and stops. "I'm Eddie. Munson. So..." God, it's incredible that Eddie's still nervous given the situation, and yet. "So there's a 24-hour diner two blocks from here, Steve Harrington. Meet you when we're done closing up?"

"I question you referring to a Waffle House as a '24-hour diner,' but that sounds..." Steve laughs softly and ducks his head. "Nice. It sounds nice."

Eddie returns his soft smile and watches him leave, dropping the battered rose into the trash on the way out.

He and Chrissy close the bar in record time, and he sees her onto her bus with a kiss on the cheek.

"Have fun," she says.

"Enjoy your bath."

"God, I so will."

Eddie's halfway to the Waffle House when he runs into a street vendor closing up a little booth of bouquets meant for Valentine's Day stragglers. He finds himself thinking about that sad white rose, wondering if anyone's bought Steve flowers lately. Or ever.

"I'll take those yellow daisies," Eddie says, forking over a bit of cash. He second-guesses himself three or four times before he slides into the booth across from Steve and watches his face light up.

"My favorite color," Steve tells him. "And daisies are my favorite. My great-grandma always had them in her window when I was a kid. When my parents left town, we'd play card games in her living room and eat homemade fudge."

Silently, Eddie vows to get Steve Harrington yellow daisies as long as Steve will have him around.

"Mine would always drag me to bingo," Eddie says. "I loved it."

By the time they've both finished a stack of pancakes, Eddie has Steve's number scrawled in the blank space between 2-5 tattoos. Steve has Eddie's written on a napkin along with plans for their next date.

They talk on the phone every day until Eddie meets Steve for dinner, handing him a bouquet of happy yellow daisies, accepting a handful of deep purple calla lilies in return.

It's nice.

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Prompthagoreum Theorum. Cheers to ya'll for still following along despite it being, you know, June.]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) 23: apology (24)

At first, partially because it's 6am, neither of them recognise what Rosie is actually saying. But it's clearly directed at Sherlock, who looks at John from the table with an eyebrow raised.

John shrugs. 'What was that, sweetheart?'

She helpfully points at Sherlock. 'Say sorry!'

'Oh ba--balderdash,' John says. 'There was an episode of that Australian programme about apologising, I didn't think--'

'Be sorry, Sherlock!'

Sherlock looks merely amused. 'What for, Miss Rosamund?'

She moves her pointer finger to John, but her accusatory gaze stays on Sherlock. 'You ate banana.'

'I… ate your father's banana without asking?'

She nods decisively. 'Say sorry.'

'I'm very sorry, John. I shall ask next time before doing anything nefarious with your banana.'

How they manage to keep straight faces, John has no idea, but they deserve an Olympic sodding medal in parenting for it.

'She's not even old enough to really get the concept of apologising,' he says as it occurs to him. 'I can't--'

'Nonsense, she's brilliant. Aren't you?' This last is to Rosie, obviously, as he clears away her cereal bowl.

John rolls his eyes. 'Oh, so now you're in favour of emotional intelligence.'

'When it applies to my--' He smothers a wince, John is certain of it, but rallies immediately. '--my young flatmate, here, absolutely.'

He stands before John can say anything else. 'Time to be off, yes?'

'Sherlock,' he starts a few minutes later, but they're halfway out the door and he knows he's being cowardly.

Sure enough, Sherlock waves it off. 'You're for pickup today, correct?' John nods. 'Good. I've that case, have to go make several witnesses cry.'

John hides a grin, in case his newly-pious daughter is paying attention. 'Try not to get arrested, yeah?'

'I make no promises,' Sherlock calls back as he heads off down the pavement.

---

'John,' Sherlock says that night, once he's changed clothes and washed the distinct aroma of back alley rubbish off himself while John put Rosie to bed. 'You could take a turn from your daughter about the apologising. Be a good example.' His voice is light, but careful. Only a little bit mocking.

John, who is standing in the kitchen making coffee and around whom Sherlock has just reached to avail himself of the biscuits, is certain he didn't hear correctly. 'I beg your pardon.'

'No, you don't.'

John stares at him, mouth a little open. 'This? Coming from you?'

'Who knows you better?'

'No, I mean-- You never apologise.'

'Implying you yourself are a model for showing regret?'

John can practically hear the 'zing' of the direct hit, and it irks him. 'Fine, I apologise for nothing!' He stops. 'No, that's not true, I apologise for some things. A few things. Several things. I apologise for about half of the things!'

'That doesn't even make sense, you realise.'

'Shut up.' He pulls Sherlock to him. 'Shut up, you absolute wanker.' He drags their mouths together for a surprisingly filthy kiss considering how tired they both ought to be.

John has a suspicion, though, and he breaks the kiss. 'What's this really about?'

'Don't know what you mean,' Sherlock says against the skin of John's jaw.

'Sherlock…' He swallows, considers pulling back but isn't sure he'd be able to get through this if eye contact is involved. 'You know she's yours, right?'

Sherlock stills, his cheek brushing John's, and John feels him close his eyes. 'John, you mustn't say things that aren't true.'

'Oh for--' John does pull back, then, pulling on the back of Sherlock's neck and keeping him in check so he can't escape. He waits until Sherlock's focused on his face, on his nose today. 'Here's the thing: You're right. Beyond, you know, the big-- Beyond what we've worked out in therapy, I'm shit at apologising. I'll work on it for Rosie, and for you. Starting with--' He takes a deep breath. 'I'm really bloody sorry I ever gave you the impression I didn't want you as Rosie's father.' He sees and feels Sherlock's sharp inhale. 'I just thought you knew that you already are.' 

'John.' The air leaves Sherlock's body in a stream, warm and damp on John's skin. 'You're serious?' he asks, doubt small but lingering in his voice. 

John clears his throat, breaking their gaze to look down at Sherlock's collar. 'I asked-- Well, the papers have been drawn up, and I owe your brother now which will only come back to bite us in the arse, but--' 

Sherlock's mouth captures his in a desperate kiss, and John finds himself held so tightly he actually feels his heels parting from the lino.

'Sherlock,' John manages when they break briefly for air.

'Sorry, right,' Sherlock says, very near sheepishly, and loosens his grip.

'Don't be sorry, just, you know.' He tilts his head to indicate the hallway. 'Come to bed with me?'

Sherlock's eyes darken with a combination of lust and merriment. 'Where I can do nefarious things to your banana?'

John groans, then turns away and starts down the hall. 'Oh God, dad jokes now? I have so many regrets.'

'No, you don't.'

John smirks and holds the bedroom door open. 'No, I really, really don't.'

[ <3 ]

[deadpresidents]

Brigadier General Theodore Roosevelt Jr. -- the eldest son of the 26th President of the United States -- was the only Allied general to land on the beaches of Normandy with the first wave of soldiers during the D-Day invasion on June 6, 1944.

Crippled by arthritis, hobbled by old combat wounds from the First World War, and forced to use a cane as he landed on Utah Beach with the U.S. Army's 4th Infantry Division on D-Day, General Roosevelt was the oldest man to take part in the opening stage of the invasion. He had made three requests to personally lead the assault on Utah Beach before finally being given command despite concerns about his health. During the confusion and chaos of the largest seaborne assault in human history, Roosevelt realized that tidal currents had carried nearly two dozen of the initial landing craft to the wrong location and was said to have announced, "We'll start the war from right here!"

For his actions on D-Day, General Roosevelt would be awarded the country's highest military decoration, the Congressional Medal of Honor, on September 21, 1944:

For gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty of 6 June 1944, in France. After two verbal requests to accompany the leading assault elements in the Normandy invasion had been denied, Brig. Gen. Roosevelt's written request for this mission was approved and he landed with the first wave of the forces assaulting the enemy-held beaches. He repeatedly led groups from the beach, over the seawall and established them inland. His valor, courage, and presence in the very front of the attack and his complete unconcern at being under heavy fire inspired the troops to heights of enthusiasm and self-sacrifice. Although the enemy had the beach under constant direct fire, Brig. Gen. Roosevelt moved from one locality to another, rallying men around him, directed and personally led them against the enemy. Under his seasoned, precise, calm, and unfaltering leadership, assault troops reduced beach strong points and rapidly moved inland with minimum casualties. He thus contributed substantially to the successful establishment of the beachhead in France.

However, the Medal of Honor would be awarded to Theodore Roosevelt Jr. posthumously. On July 12, 1944, thirty-six days after landing in Normandy on D-Day, General Roosevelt died in his sleep at the age of 56 after suffering a heart attack. In a letter to his wife, General George S. Patton would write, "Teddy R[oosevelt] died in his sleep last night. He had made three landings with the leading wave -- such is fate...He was one of the bravest men I ever knew." General Patton would join General Omar Bradley and numerous other generals as honorary pallbearers at Roosevelt's funeral. Roosevelt was buried at the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial along with thousands of his fellow American soldiers who died in Europe during World War II. He is buried next to his youngest brother, Quentin Roosevelt, who was killed in action in 1918 after being shot down over France during World War I.

[yeoldehetalian]

@hetalia-rarepairweek

Hetalia Rarepair Week 2023 Day 5: Historical - America and Lithuania 1992 was a historic year for Olympic basketball for both Lithuania and America!

I've been wanting to try out make some shrinky dink standees recently so this was the perfect excuse :)

More info and images below:

1992?! Historical? Hopefully that counts. Anyway, in 1992 two things happened in the world of Olympic basketball:

Lithuania's story is way more compelling so we will go with America's first. 1992 was the first year that NBA players were sent to the Olympics, rather than more amateur players. This team was called the "Dream Team" and given how stacked they were they did go on to win the gold! By the way, at the previous Olympics in '88, the Americans were beaten by the USSR team which included several Lithuanian players...

As for Lithuania, this would be the first time that Lithuanian basketball players would be able to represent their own nation in Olympic basketball instead of playing under USSR, which was a huge thing! There were economic troubles at the time and it wasn't certain the nation would be able to send a team due to the cost of doing so, but they rallied the nation and other organizations/entities and came up with the funds. They went on to win the bronze, pretty impressive! You can find lots of articles and such about this online, or check out "The Other Dream Team" documentary/movie, etc. I think the NBA even put out a Lithuania-focused mini-doc recently.

But wait, there's more. One of the "entities" that helped fund the Lithuanian team was...the Grateful Dead. Yes, an American band gave them $$$. Yeah, we've reached the even more AmeLiet-ish part of the story. Apparently Jerry Garcia appreciated the Lithuanians' struggle for Freedom and Liberty. Also a New York(I think?) sports artist created a skeleton slam-dunking tie-dyed t-shirt that was like...the Grateful Dead meets Lithuanian flag meets basketball, ha ha. These shirts were sold at the Olympics and beyond to raise funds, and you can still buy them today. The shirts were popular at the Olympics and really helped bring even more attention to the Lithuanian team, especially when they wore them while accepting their medals! Check out some pics online, it is AMAZING.

As for the standees, they are wearing their nations' '92 Olympic uniforms. Their numbers are just their independence holiday dates. They are made with the "ruff n' ready" shrinky dink plastic and Prismacolor colored pencils. They were pretty easy to make and I love them. I hope to make them some basketball-court looking stands, but that will be a bit more complicated. Someday...

[queen0funova]

Hey! If you play Pokémon Black and White 2, you should go to Anville Town today (June 12th) amd talk to the guy with the hard hat looking over the turntable.

This is because there is a special train there today that will not be on the table again until October 1st! That's four months from now!

If you talk to the guy about the train, it will help you towards ine of the Medal Rally medals earned by seeing all the trains on the turntable.

Going to Anville Town ten consecutive days in a row will get you the other 10 trains, but this one only appears on February 1st, June 12th, October 1st, October 14th, and December 30th

[reality-detective]

⚠️⚠️⚠️ EXCLUSIVE LAURA LOOMER INVESTIGATION⚠️⚠️⚠️

I have conducted an investigation and I believe that for the sake of National Security, public interest and now my own personal safety I need to immediately release and publish what I have uncovered about the United States Government’s involvement in recruiting violent American Nazis, White Supremacists, and domestic terrorists and turning them into mercenaries and confidential informants in Ukraine to fight against Russians and kill civilians. Upon their return to the US, some of these Nazis are now engaging in perpetuating hate crimes and other felonies in the US, and they appear to be protected by our government from serving prison time, have received delayed prison time, and even reduced prison time. As many of you saw, this weekend I stumbled upon a Nazi rally in Altamonte Springs, Florida where I encountered 50 Swastika flag waving Nazis affiliated with “Blood Tribe” and “Goyim Defense League” (GDL). One of the individuals in attendance who I filmed at this rally on 9/2/23 is a US Citizen and Nazi named Kent “BoneFace” McLellan. At the rally, he was Seig Heiling while screaming SLAVA UKRAINE. His whole entire body and face is covered in tattoos, including many Nazi tattoos. As I have exposed, he is a Nazi who has traveled abroad to Ukraine to fight in the Ukraine-Russia war. He is an American citizen who was recently given Ukraine citizenship. I have overwhelming evidence that Nazis who are being backed by our government have not only murdered civilians overseas, but they have also been engaged in war crimes. In the case of Kent “BoneFace” McLellan, who resides in Florida, he is a Nazi, a domestic terrorist, and a violent felon who was arrested in Florida in 2012 by the FBI. He was put on the US terror watch list, and then in 2014, he was recruited by the CIA, and the DOD reportedly paid for him to travel to Ukraine in 2014 to join “Right Sector”, and then the Nazi Azov Battalion in 2022, which our taxpayer dollars are now unfortunately funding. Upon his return to the US circa 2022, I have discovered via my investigation that McLellan received a US Army Expeditionary Medal for his “services” in Ukraine. My investigation has uncovered Social media posts he posted in which he posed for a picture, in Ukraine while wearing an Azov Battalion uniform, next to the dead body of a civilian. The image, which I sent to a forensic analyst for verification, has been authenticated. Why is the Joe Biden Regime funding Nazi death squads in Ukraine with US taxpayer dollars? I received a phone call from Kent BoneFace McLellan at 1am last night after someone leaked my personal cell phone number to him, and after he was seen saying “we have a visual on Loomer” on a HAM radio he is not licensed to operate. He published that video to his Twitter account and tagged me. During the phone call I had with McLellan last night, he gave me confessions of various crimes. Here is the evidence of what our US government is doing in Ukraine. These are WAR CRIMES. I have a responsibility to share this damning information I have uncovered with the world.

You Decide 🤔

[pelipper]

It might be because of my COVID booster shot, the fact that I got up early today to go to Quest, or some undiagnosed c. diff (which is the reason I went to Quest), but oh man I am tired af today. I want to play some video games but I'm also freaking wiped out. 😩

I did manage to go for a Pokémon GO walk, so it's not like I didn't do anything today, but it feels kind of bad to not have the energy to do edits tonight. I might just curl up into bed with my Switch or DS after dinner...

[englishstrawbie]

Ooh. I really like prompts 9, 11, 12, 29, & 51, so whichever most inspires you of those for Marina would be nice to read!

Thank you for the prompts! I took three of these (9, 12 and 29) and combined them into one ficlet. I hope you like it, I'm a little rusty! 😊

>>>>>>>>>>

Carina pauses just inside the door of Joe’s bar, her eyes sweeping the room as she looks for her wife. She is momentarily distracted when she spots Jack and Travis on the far side, arguing over a microphone as they fight to be heard on the karaoke machine. Vic is nearby, her face scrunched up and her hands covering her ears, while Cutler, Larsson and Kline cheer them on.  

Carina bites back a laugh as she resumes her search. She finds Maya at the bar, perched on a stool – her usual spot, the same seat she occupied all those years ago when they first met; the same seat she always gravitates back to subconsciously. Andy sits beside her as they knock back a shot of something Carina knows they will regret in the morning. She resists the pull to go straight to them, holding back as she takes in Maya’s outfit. She is wearing a pair of dark jeans and a simple tee, the already short sleeves slightly rolled to show off the muscles in her arms.

Carina feels a familiar stirring inside of her as her stomach flips – no, not flips. It somersaults, the kind that would win a gold medal at the Olympics.

“DeLuca!”

She turns towards the call of her name to see Ben waving a bottle of wine at her, offering her a glass. She shakes her head at him, her hand instinctively running over her stomach. They haven’t told anyone about the embryo transfer, deciding to keep this one to themselves for now.

When she looks back towards the bar, Maya is grinning at her, calling her closer. Carina moves through the crowds and greets her wife with a kiss. Her lips taste of salty fries and tequila as Carina sweeps her tongue over them.

“What took you so long? I missed you!” Maya says when their lips part, her words a little slurred.

“You’re drunk!”

“And that’s my queue to leave,” Andy says teasingly.

As she stands up, she reaches out and squeezes Carina’s arm gently, her eyes bright and sparkling. It is easy for Carina to guess what they have been talking about.

“You told her,” Carina says as she slips onto the stool that Maya has pulled closer for her.

“It’s Andy,” Maya says with a shrug, “she doesn’t count. And…” She holds up a finger and points it in the direction of her wife. “I am not drunk.”

Carina chuckles, a small shake of her head as she calls the barman over and orders a sparkling water.

“How was work?” Maya asks.

“Busy,” Carina laments. “Two mamas – twin sisters – who wanted to give birth to their babies at the same time. Except one was crowning while the other was only six centimetres dilated.” She sips her drink. “When I give birth...”

She stops herself, silently berating herself for getting her hopes up too high. After all, the IUIs didn’t take, she isn’t getting any younger and the knowledge that time is running out for them weighs heavily on her.

“I mean, if…”

“When,” Maya says. She reaches out and takes Carina’s hand, waiting for Carina to look at her. “Hey, it’s okay to be optimistic.”

Carina opens her mouth to object, but Maya interrupts her again.

“When.”

A small smile passes Carina’s lips and she nods, but doesn’t say the word out loud again, doesn’t want to jinx them. Instead, she leans in and kisses Maya, lingering a little longer this time as she feels the day’s tension leave her body.

“How’s the party?”

She looks over her shoulder to where Sullivan and Ross dance, ignorant of the celebrations going on around them, their eyes only on each other. They had kept their engagement secret for several months, fearful of the reaction they might receive, not only from 19 but from the powers that be within Seattle FD. They need not have been worried about their family at 19, though, as the team had rallied around them and insisted that they celebrate at Joe’s after work.

As the happy couple move around the dancefloor lost in their own little world, Carina smiles to herself, knowing that feeling very well as she is transported back to her own wedding day when she couldn’t keep her eyes off Maya. Especially in that dress.

“Better now that you’re here,” Maya says.

Carina can’t help but roll her eyes at the corny line, but she melts at the endearment anyway.

“Do you ever think about doing it again?”

Carina looks at her, lost. “Think about what?”

“Getting married again,” Maya says.

Carina laughs. “You’re more than enough wife for me, Maya,” she says.

“No,” Maya says, “I mean… do you ever think about marrying me again?”

“I think you’ve had too much tequila.”

“No!” Maya says. “I mean, maybe…”

Carina quirks an eyebrow, watching as Maya shifts in her seat, turning her body to face her.

“I’ve been thinking,” Maya says. “We rebuilt our foundations. We had a second first date…”

“Twice,” Carina reminds her.

“… we started over and I… I fell in love with you all over again. Every day, every time I look at you, I think I fall a little more in love.” The corners of Maya’s eyes crinkle as they shine at her, so full of love that Carina’s heart swells. “I promised myself that we’d take it slow, that we’d take our time making sure that our foundations are really strong this time.”

“They are, my love.”

“I know,” Maya says. “But all of a sudden there’s Liam…”

Her smile widens at the mention of their son.

“…and a house, and IVF, and I never got to ask you to marry me again. Because I never asked you the first time, not properly, not the way you deserve; and I wanted us to have a second chance at that, too.”

“Maya,” Carina says, taking Maya’s hands in her own, “I asked you, remember? I got out of that taxi and I asked you to marry me. And yes, it was messy, but I love that it’s part of our story.”

“So do I,” Maya says. “And I’m not trying to rewrite our history. But I never thought I’d be so lucky, especially not in this lifetime, and I want to celebrate that. Me and you and Liam and…” Her eyes drop to Carina’s belly. “…whoever else might come along.”

Carina’s eyes widen as Maya slides off her stool, her face determined. Definitely too much tequila.

“What are you doing?”

“What if I asked you right now? What if I got down on one knee, right here in this bar, and asked you to marry me?”

“I’d think you were crazy!” Carina laughs.

A few curious glances are thrown their way and Carina grabs Maya’s hand, tugging her closer before they draw too much of a crowd.

Maya looks at her stubbornly. “Would you say yes?”

There is a nervous lilt in her voice that doesn’t go unnoticed and Carina softens. The answer is an easy one.

“Bambina, I would say yes every time.”

She smiles as she pulls Maya even closer, their lips crashing together, not caring that they have an audience. She thinks she hears a wolf whistle from across the bar and doesn’t know if it is meant for them, but Carina ignores it anyway, too wrapped up in her wife’s embrace to think about anyone else. They are breathless when they finally break apart, but Carina keeps Maya in her arms, burying her face into her neck and inhaling the lingering scent of her perfume. She wonders how Maya will propose, and whether it will be a big spectacle or somewhere quiet; if she will be surprised when it happens or if she will see it coming. Her heart flutters with excitement and she tells herself to be patient.

“So,” Maya says with a conspiratorial tone, “since you’re feeling so agreeable tonight, do you wanna sing karaoke with me?”

Carina tips her head back and laughs loudly.

“Absolutely not!”

She ignores the playful pout on Maya’s face, slipping off her stool and grabbing Maya’s hand.

“But I will dance with you.”

As she walks towards the dancefloor and listens to her wife’s laughter behind her, Carina’s hand rests on her stomach one more time. Maybe, just maybe, all of her dreams are coming true.

[er1chartmann]

Albert Speer's timeline

This is Albert Speer, Hitler's architect, timeline:

1905: he was born in Mannheim

1924: he moved to Munich

1925: He landed at the Berlin Institute of Technology, where he studied under the guidance of the famous architect Heinrich Tessenow.

1927: He became Tessenow's assistant

1928: He married Margarete Weber

1931: His membership in the Nazi Party was officially sealed when Speer joined it

1931: His collaboration with Tessenow ceased

1932: He went to Berlin, shortly before the Reichstag elections, where he was deeply fascinated by Hitler's oratory.

1933: Adolf Hitler became Chancellor of Germany.

1933: He came into contact with Hitler in 1933 with the intercession of Rudolf Hess, by whom the architect was commissioned to design the apparatus for the Nuremberg rally of that year. Despite some initial doubts, the project met with the sympathy of the Führer,.

1934: Upon Troost's death he was chosen as the party's chief architect.

1934: His first son, Albert Speer jr, was born

1936: His daughter, Hilde Schramm, was born

1937: He was appointed Inspector General for Construction of the Reich capital

1937: He was granted a seat in parliament.

1937: He received a gold medal for the German pavilion at the International Exhibition held in Paris.

1939: He finished the New Reich Chancellery in record time

1939: The Second World War began.

1942: Hitler surprisingly appointed Speer, who had no experience in industrial production, as "Minister for Armaments and War Production."

1943: He authorized the sending of material to expand the Birkenau extermination camp.

1943: He learned about what really happened in Auschwitz

1944: He achieved excellent results, reaching the pinnacle of German production

1945: He refused to carry out the «scorched earth» strategy (provided by the Nero decree),

1945: He was arrested by the Allies

1946: He was sentenced to twenty years' imprisonment, to be served in Spandau prison

1946: He was tried in Nuremberg.

1946: He was sentenced to twenty years' imprisonment, to be served in Spandau prison

1966: He was released from prison

1970: His book was released and became a best seller

1981: He died in London.

Sources:

Wikipedia: Albert Speer

I DON'T SUPPORT IN ANY WAY NAZISM, FASCISM OR ZIONISM, THIS IS AN EDUCATIONAL POST

[mensfactory]

Kenneth Paul Block (November 21, 1967 – January 2, 2023)

A Life in Fast-Forward

The loss of Ken Block is inconceivable. He was not just a racer or a TV figure; he changed automotive culture. To skim over his biography is impressive enough. After co-founding the successful skate shoe company DC Shoes, Ken Block decided to try rally racing, inspired by his friend Travis Pastrana. He was almost 40 at the time, and within a year was finishing in the top 10 in his class. He lived life in fast-forward, partnering with winning co-driver Alex Gelsomino, medaling at the X Games, and participating in five different rally series over the next two decades. At the same time, he was appearing on television shows like Top Gear and Stunt Junkies and racing one-off events like One Lap of America.

Perhaps most life-changing, for Block and all of us, was the start of the Gymkhana video series, which began as a marketing exercise for DC. It might be difficult now to remember the days before Block's Gymkhana, when "drift" to the mainstream was something tectonic plates did, and if you drove a Subaru, you wouldn't get out of bed for a Mustang, let alone a lowrider.

Block wasn't alone in blurring the lines between different racing disciplines and automotive cultures, but nobody did it with a larger audience. The Gymkhana videos scrambled car culture for the better, encouraging a mix of interests, and introducing young drivers to rare models, and legendary roads, like Pikes Peak. Block's incredible car control lured us in, but what keeps us coming back is his obvious love and enjoyment, not just of his own cars and skills, but of all the supporting drivers, riders, and those behind the cameras capturing the images. His joy was contagious, and it was clear that he wanted to share it.

Ken Block lived life unbound. He merged skateboarding with rally cars with lowriders. He moved effortlessly between the roles of marketing mogul, serious competitor, and family man. Heck, he didn't even follow the rules of gravity. His influence was needed, and will be missed.

Block is survived by his wife, Lucy Block, and their three children.

Rest in Power !