#notdirty

[dirtygrimyfursuits]

I think they put it in the dryer.. -anon

nope! actually, that’s just mongolian yak fur! it’s supposed to look like that!! super cute! -milkmod

[inkyphalangies]

Thumbnailing. Wrote the phrase, "Play w/ finger pocket." In context it is not dirty at all. . . . #comics #inprogress #thumbnail #notdirty https://www.instagram.com/p/BsytO9yButK/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=rcewua163kso

[carolijnlovesmagazines]

For cleaning services Java Airport, Indonesia. #cleaning #java #notdirty #airport #services

[ashleybuchert]

Find out how clean or how dirty your cosmetics or personal care products really are.

[wintersoldiersmissionreport-blog]

Winter Soldier Mission Report, November 1951

Entry #1 My name…….I don’t know my name. They call me The Winter Soldier, so I guess that’s who I am. The last thing I remember is being stabbed with a needle by….Zola….Arnim Zola….and being shoved into a chamber big enough for one man. I started to see ice crystals forming on the glass in front of me. The next thing I remember is being awoken from my Cryo-sleep, restrained on a table, with bright lights over head and a cold chill that told me that I shouldn’t have been there. I tried to break the restraints, but I felt like my strength had been sapped from my body. A man in a white lab coat came up to me and read these words from a red book with a black star on it. He was speaking in what sounded like Russian…..and I could understand it perfectly:

“<Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight car.>”

With the last word, I felt my last bit of will power fade away, along with my strength returning, but I could not control what I was doing. They released my restraints, and as I stood up, the man said,

“<Hello, soldier. Are you ready to begin?>”

And in response, I said,

“<Ready to comply>”

He closed the book and threw it on the desk next to him. He turned to the men behind him. Some were dressed in military garb while others were dressed in similar white lab coats. I stood, waiting for my orders. The man in the lab coat said,

“<Gentlemen, it has been six years since we began the Winter Soldier Project. Our first problem was that we could not find a specimen who would survive the process. For months, things were beginning to look bleak, until Dr. Arnim Zola had found one promising subject: a man from a captured battalion from the Allied U.S. forces: the man you see here before you today. Things would have moved along much quicker if that simpleton, Captain America hadn’t have ‘set him free.’ But, no matter. In the attack on Zola’s train, which ended with his capture, the Allies had thought they lost their comrade, who fell from the mountainside and into a deep ravine below. However this man had not died. No, he had merely lost his left arm in the fall, but survived. After we sent this soldier through the process, and had replaced his left arm, we wiped his memory. All he knows is that he is a man who must comply with what we say.>”

I was hearing all of this, but for some reason, I did not care. I didn’t know who the “Captain America” fellow was, nor do I remember a mountain or a train. I don’t remember training or a process or losing my arm or anything. The only name I remember is Zola, and the only event I remember is being put into Cryo-sleep. The man in the white coat turned to me and said,

“<Soldier. Pick up that gun and shoot those three targets in the direct center of the bullseye, now.>”

Immediately, I complied. I picked up the handgun that had been placed on the table next to me, turned around, and without even thinking, shot the three targets that were placed several yards away. The men watching were in awe. Then one man, a military man, spoke up.

“<Yelchin, you promised results, not some parlor trick. So he can shoot well. Big deal. How do we know this man fought with the Captain? Or that anything you say is true?>”

Then, the man in the white coat, Yelchin, I think his name was, snapped his fingers. They dragged out a beaten man, who had a face that looked familiar. They threw him on his knees, and Yelchin said,

“<The man you see before you is an old friend of this soldier. An old war comrade of his. They were captured together, and he is one of the few soldiers that Captain America failed to liberate.>”

The man on the ground slowly lifted his eyes to meet mine. I felt like I once knew this man….as a close friend. I was confused and didn’t know what to do until Yelchin said,

“<Soldier, kill him.>”

Without hesitation, I raised my gun to the man’s forehead. The last thing he said was,

“Buc-”

And then the floor was splattered with his blood.