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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years

Text

kiss me in the d-a-r-k .epilogue iii.

after hours

masterlist

Warnings: dub con sex (oral, intercourse)

This is dark!(dad)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: The reader is surprised.

Note: Fic daddy here. Please tell me to stop calling myself that. I’m here, writing this still and this part is 🔥🔥🔥 I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply!

...

Sunday morning. You woke up in a foreign bed with a foreign feeling of someone laying next to you. Steve's hand was on the blanket along your stomach.

You barely remembered falling asleep. He was too tipsy to drive and didn't trust your own state on the subway. So you relented and stayed, only too eager to sleep. Now you wished you'd left as you peeked over at him.

He laid on his side, his arm stretched across you. He was peaceful. He looked older. Well, he acted younger than he was. You rubbed your forehead and slipped out from beneath the covers.

You grabbed the white robe hanging from the closet door and wrapped it around yourself. You went to the floor length windows that overlooked the city and stared out at the early morning traffic. You yawned and lost yourself in the distant lights and muffled cacophony of the streets.

You sensed movement behind you. You didn't look back as you focused on the colours and people below. What were you doing? Why had you done it again?

You just couldn't help yourself. He had this power over you. The ability to pull your guiltiest urges to the surface. To make you forget all qualms and surrender entirely.

"Coffee?" His voice was still thick with sleep. "There's a machine here."

"No, I think I'll get one on my way out. I gotta study. I've got my first midterm this week." You turned slowly to him as he neared. Naked.

"You got your bag. You can study here." He coaxed as he pulled you into his arms. "I have some running around to do so I won't bother you...until I get back."

"Thanks, but I can't." You ran your hand along his chest.

"Fine," He shrugged, "Will you at least leave me with a little something to distract me?"

Your brows knitted as you considered him. He was insatiable. "Again?"

"It's a new day," His hand dipped down and squeezed your ass. "Let’s end the weekend on a high note."

You sighed and brought your arms up along his shoulders. "I suppose you've got a point."

Monday you had class until one and then the workshop at three. You expected it to last a couple hours and you’d be ready to settle down and study until you fell asleep. A full day to start a full week.

Wednesday was your midterm and you spent every empty minute going over your notes, even at the expense of your other classes. Next week, you’d deal with those as you crammed for three exams in as many days.

Your morning classes were slow. The first lecturer was a small old lady who refused to use a mic so every student hunched over their desk to hear her. Your second was a younger man, a new hire all too eager to enrich the minds of those only a few years behind him. You diligently recorded your notes and ignored the buzzing of your bag. Steve was as relentless in text as he was in person.

In the hours between, you grabbed lunch and checked your messages. Kylie wanted a study night as she crammed for the exam she’d forgotten about and Steve wanted what he wanted. You told both you’d see what happened. Neither was happy. The Rogers’ were rapacious.

You were early to the workshop as you were early to everything. The door was open and you peeked inside to find only Professor Barnes inside. He was fiddling with the projector remote and you shyly stepped inside. Since your night of beer with the two older men and you little conversation with Steve, your nerves had grown more frantic when thinking of him.

“Um, hey,” You alerted him to your presence as you entered. “Looks like I’m early.”

“Or just in time,” He flipped the projector on and tossed aside the remote. “You wanna help set up?”

“Um, sure.” You set your bag down along the front table and crossed to him. “What can I do.”

“Just have some packets that need to be distributed. We have about twenty people. You can space ‘em out.” He pulled out a stack and dropped it on the table along the front. “Oh, and another favour…”

“Yeah,” You looked up at him as you pulled the pile over to you.

“Don’t mention our little beer night to anyone.” He lowered his voice. “I just don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”

“Oh, of course,” You agreed with a nervous chuckle. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Thanks,” He smiled and turned back to dig around in his bag.

You went along the tables and doled out the packets. You glanced over at the professor now and then and wondered. Had Steve been wrong? He surely didn’t want to fuck you. Steve just liked to flatter you. He was good at that. Liked to tease you over your stupid little crush. You shook your head as you came to the end of the stack and kept the last for yourself.

You sat beside your bag and tapped your fingers on your desk. You picked at the corner of the front page and Bucky cleared his throat. Professor Barnes, you corrected yourself as you looked up. He neared the other side of your table.

“You have class after this?” He asked.

“Nope, only studying for my demise,” You answered.

“Hmm,” He nodded. “Would you be open to discussing your last paper then? Only fifteen minutes or so but I thought you’d rather that than stay behind on Friday.”

“My paper?” Your voice quavered without your consent.

“Oh, it’s nothing bad,” He assured you. “Don’t worry so much. So, does that work for you?”

“Sure, yeah,” You shrugged. “I haven’t got anything else to keep me.”

“Great,” He smiled and backed away.

He glanced up as voices echoed down the hall and grew nearer. Other students began to trickle in and you pulled out your phone. You sent the same message to Steve and Kylie. ‘Appointment tonight. Dunno when done. Sorry.’

The workshop went relatively quick. Barnes reviewed the schedule and the basics of journalism and publishing. The ten-week program would include visits to magazines and editors all over the city and culminate in the chance to have an article published by one. It was exciting and you wondered what kind of strings the professor had to pull to set it all up.

When he dismissed the class, chairs scraped and voices filled the silence quickly. You packed up and checked your phone. Kylie had sent a sad face and Steve was much less affected; ‘no problem ;)’. As you slipped your phone away, Barnes looked up from his bag.

“Hey, you didn’t forget already, did you?” He kidded.

“Of course not,” You grabbed your jacket and bag. “Just in here?”

“Nah, there’s a class coming soon, we’ll have to head to my office but it’s just a few floors up.” He hooked his bag over his shoulder and waited at the end of your table. “Elevator’s under service right now though. You’ll get a decent work out in.”

You giggled and followed him out of the room. You hated how dumb you sounded when he was around. How you must have seemed like some little girl. You weren’t, not anymore. The summer had made you a woman and you were tired of being treated otherwise.

When you reached his office, you were out of breath. You needed to start walking as much as you read. He unlocked the door and ushered you inside with a wave of his arm. You entered first and were surprised when he closed the door behind him. Most professors made a point of leaving their offices open.

“I don’t wanna keep you all night,” He put his bag on his desk and threw the flap open. “We’ll just go over a few things.”

He sifted through the papers within and pulled out a stapled bunch. You neared the chair opposite his desk and set down your bag and jacket. he was beside you before you could sit.

“I’ve underlined all the errors, as few as they were. Comments in the margin.” He handed you your paper. “Again, minimal, but helpful. We learn something new every day.”

“Uh, yeah,” You took it and thumbed through it. “Thanks.”

“You make all the corrections and it’s perfect.” He praised. “Ready for submission.”

“Submission?” You turned and looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a contest in Media Scope Journal. I think you’ve got a good chance of winning and I’d hate for you to miss the opportunity.” He explained. “A second year, published in a scholarly journal is a hell of a thing to have on your CV.”

“You--you really think I could get in?” You marveled up at him. “I--” You looked down and let the title page fall flat. “Thanks. I’ll make the changes and get it back to you.”

“Great,” He patted your arm but his hand lingered. “You’re a smart girl. You could go very far.”

You looked at his hand and then up at him. His blue eyes gleamed and his silver-laced beard defined the natural angles of his jaw. You smiled back at him and your cheeks burned. He squeezed your arm and slowly his fingers brushed along your sleeve.

Without a second thought, you stood on your toes and pecked his lips. The tickle of his beard and the smoothness of his lips broke you from your trance at once. You backed away and slapped your hand over your mouth as the paper threatened to slip from your grasp. He blinked but was calm as ever.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” You pressed your palm to your hot cheek. “I didn’t--I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have--” You turned and grabbed your bag and shoved the paper inside. “I should just go work on this.”

“Wait,” He followed closely, his hand planted on the back of the chair to block you as you turned to flee. “You don’t have to. It’s...okay.”

“It’s really not,” You cringed. “That was so--so--”

“Right.” He finished for you. “Don’t you feel it? This thing between us.”

You stared back at him stunned. Did you knock your head and pass out? What was going on?

“It’s wrong,” You insisted. “You’re my professor.”

“So,” He countered. “It shouldn’t matter. I mean, I’ve never...with a student. Never felt like this but…”

“Professor--”

“Bucky,” He corrected breathily, his hand on your shoulder again. “Call me Bucky.”

“I...I...I…” You stuttered.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” His hand came up to cradle your face. “You’re young. You have the whole world ahead of you. What’s one little lapse.”

You searched his face. His finely lined eyes, his cheekbones still perfectly chiseled, his soft lips just beneath his thick beard. He was a handsome man, despite his age. The time only seemed to have complemented his looks. He leaned in and all your reticence slipped away. As his lips met yours, the tension snapped and you were swept up in the rush. You dropped your bag and jacket to the floor.

He turned you and pushed you against the desk so that you were caught between him and the wood. He was strong but gentle, his hand tickled your neck as he kissed you deeply. He was fervent, determined, as if he has been thinking of this as long as you had.

His hands traveled along your arms and gripped your hips. They slipped around and he lifted you onto the edge of the desk as he slouched to keep his lips on yours. He pulled at the hem of your knit sweater as he pushed between your knees.

You raised your arms as he parted to pull the sweater over your head. Your wore the same grey bra beneath and his eyes flared along the top of your breasts. He cupped one and bent to bury his face in your chest.

His beard tickled and you giggled. His teeth surprised you as he nibbled the flesh and you exclaimed. He was rougher than Steve, his touch as decisive but without the same tenderness. Bucky didn't think of you as a girl, you realized, liked Steve did. He treated you like a woman.

His fingers unhooked the button of your fly and pushed the zipper down. He slipped below your panties and you spread your legs wider. You welcomed him as he played with your clit, his lips inch back up you neck and to your mouth.

He rubbed your bud as your breath caught and you pulled away to gasp. He kissed your neck and teased your skin with his teeth as he continued to toy with you. You grinded against his hand and his fingers slid back to your entrance.

He pushed two fingers inside and you moaned in surprised delight. You never expected him to be like this. Straight to the point. He pressed his palm to your clit and curled his fingers. His hand moved steadily and he raised his head to watch your face contort in pleasure.

You pouted and rasped as your nerves started to buzz. His other hand grasped the back of your head as his blue eyes bore into yours. Don't look away. You were ready to burst as you clasped his shoulder and your other hand squeezed his bicep.

"Come on," He bent and whispered in your ear. "Let it go."

The orgasm tore through you like a storm and left your wits scattered. He eased you down from your peak and slowly removed his hand. He held up his glossy finger and licked them. The sight inflamed you.

"Get down." He ran his hand along your thigh. "Turn around."

You stood shakily and obeyed. When your back was to him, he took your hands and placed them flat to the desk. He grabbed your hips and pulled you back so you were slightly bent over.

He tugged your jeans and panties past your ass and the cool air tickled your pussy. He grabbed your ass and squeezed. Then slapped it so hard you squealed. He gave a dark chuckle and drew his hands away. You heard his belt, then his zipper. Your lashes fluttered and you peeked over your shoulder.

He spanked you again. “I didn’t say you could look.”

You bit your lip and faced the wall. A small window behind his chair looked out onto campus below. You had a sudden sense of deja vu. He stepped closer and his cocked poked your ass. He purred as he pressed himself to your back and his hand fiddled around between you. He guided himself to your entrance and pushed inside.

He was thick and stretched your as he got deeper and deeper. Your nails dug into the wood of his desk and he reached around to cover them with his own. He bottomed out and nibbled your ear with a growl.

“Fuck.” He swore and squeezed your hand as his other floated up to your chest. He pushed your bra up and tweaked your nipple. He kneaded your tit and gave a long slow thrust. “You want more? Ask.”

Your tongue slipped out between your lips and you groaned. You pushed back into him and wiggled your ass.

“Ask,” He pinched your nipple again.

“More, please?”

“Please?” He repeated and nuzzled your neck.

“Please, Professor Barnes.”

He snarled and slammed into you. The buttons of his shirt rubbed against you and caught on your bra. You were on tip toes as he crashed into you again and again. You whined as the reverberations rippled through you. Your thighs and back tingled with the mounting pleasure. Steve was firm but never this harsh. Never this savage.

Your hips hit the edge of the desk each time he rocked his hips. Your hands slid across the wood and messed the papers and pens atop his desk. He pounded into you until you were bent over it entirely. His hands went to your shoulders and he pinned you down.

He never wavered. His grunts and groans filled you with pure heat. You gripped the far edge of the desk and panted into the wood. You exclaimed as you came again. This time it was even more intense. Your feet were off the floor as he rutted against you.

He grabbed your hips and fucked you harder. His thrusts grew erratic as his breathing got louder. He pulled out of you all once and growled. You felt warm ribbons spill along your left thigh as he came. His fingers spread across your ass as his other hand stroked him through his climax.

When he was done, he tapped your ass and backed away. You trembled as you pushed yourself up and looked between your legs. His cum was all over your panties. You turned to him as he tucked his cock away. You would’ve been embarrassed if the haze of lust hadn’t blinded you.

“Just take ‘em off,” He said as he smirked at your dirtied panties. “Or keep ‘em on...that’d be kinda hot.”

You glanced up at him in shock. The eloquent professor, the disciplined scholar, was as lewd as any fratboy. You shoved your pants down and swiftly untangled your panties. You pulled your jeans back up and buttoned your fly. You frowned at the wet fabric. You folded them carefully so that the mess was hidden.

“I...should go.” You took your bag and buried your panties at the bottom. You grabbed your sweater from the floor and stood. “Study.”

“Sure,” He neared and his hand traced the curve of your waist. “I need those changes by Thursday. Can you do that, baby?”

You blanched at the nickname. It sent a thrill through you and yet it sent you into a spin. You had fucked your professor. In his fucking office. And he just happened to be buddy buddy with your best friend’s dad. Who you had also fucked.

“Of course,” You smiled and he brought both his hands up to cradle your face.

“Good girl.” He kissed you hungrily, his tongue pushed inside and he didn’t stop until you were breathless. “Go. Study.” He caressed your cheek with his thumb. “I’ll see you around.”

1K notes · View notes

stone-man-warrior · 3 years

Text

February 13, 2021: 3:00 pm:

====================================================

I have a example of Gnosis that was presented to Los Angeles Unified School District students in the early 1970′s.

This Gnosis inclusion in printed required reading material may be possible to find and study further, was a “Life or Death” sort of a COVID Test in the 1970′s where a book report could get a elementary student killed if they say the wrong thing in the report.

The assignment was to read Lord of the Flies by British Author William Golding, then to write a book report about the events that those young stranded people faced while trapped on a deserted island after their airplane crashed there.

I think it’s last final chapter in the book (is) where the Gnosis shows up, and, it could prove to be that entire novel is a work of Gnosis for weeding out non-paratrooper Canadian terror soldiers who landed in great number in San Fernando Valley California in 1970 - 1971.

That last chapter included that at least two people on parachutes had come out of the shy (sky) and landed on the island where Lord of the Flies took place. The parachuting people did not land, but fell, is the way I remember it, and they had gas masks on when the children found them there, as they had hoped some help had come, it was some other thing, not help, and the children spent some time trying to determine who the dead parachuting guests were.

So, the way I did the report, is I read the book twice, then I decided that the part where those people came parachuting out of the sky was a mistake made at the printer, and I approached my book report as if that chapter belonged in a different book, not Lord of the Flies, was a mistake, and that I had somehow managed to pick up a defective book to do the report with. So, my report stopped abruptly at the close of the chapter before the one when those parachute wearing, gas mask donning intruders had come to the island.

The teacher asked about that, why I stopped without including the last part of the book, and my response was that the book was wrong, my book was defective and contained parts of a different book, so, I wrote about the other parts of the book. I got an A on the report. I lived. Others at the school began to vanish, all of my friends were said to have moved away to other places.

Some things to consider about the usefulness of such Gnosis, rely’s on real knowledge, only those who know that thousands of paratrooper terror soldiers landed in Southern California in the 1970′s will understand or be willing to consider why Lord of the Flies is only one of many ways for the terror leadership to reach the terror army that landed there. The paratroopers in Southern California came in tandem, two per parachute, one adult male, and one child on each parachute. The children ranged in age from about 8 years old to about 12 years old. The children started attending Los Angeles Unified School District Schools. Some of the paratroopers did not land safely. Some got hung up on power lines, some of the parachutes failed to open, and some were injured simply because it was dangerous event.

That report assignment based on a book where the premise is about a crashed airplane filled with children on a deserted island where a “Pig” is used as a religious figure head among the stranded group, and so many other details, all serve as fodder for a child terror soldier to say details about their presence, while writing a book report to a terror teacher substitute while the real teachers are away at a educational enrichment “inservice” day somewhere else. That book report gave opportunity to write something about who made it alive, and who did not. If there were injured terror soldiers, that book report was a way to say who and where the injured, or dead ones, were at, and about where parachutes could have been lodged in trees or power lines or other places where they got hung up on the way down.

I once found one of the parachute harnesses, not the chute. That one I found in a remote place at the east end of DeSoto Ave where there is a very old dam structure made of rocks at Browns Canyon Road where the 118 freeway overpass is at, in 1978, about seven years after the paratroopers landed. I’ll describe the harness when I get an interview from US national security personnel.

Think about that Lord of the Flies Gnosis assignment, and all of the simplified details I provided for you here, to see how Gnosis is bad for Freedom, and serves the terror pirates.

I have a lot to say about my youth in Southern California, but no one to say it to.

===========================================

4:03 pm:

Do a Bing search for “Map of Quebec”:

It brings up this image:

Wait about three to five seconds, and the internet terror pirates put an overlay on top of the map you want to look at, the overlay erases the word “Quebec” and it happens live, as you are looking at it.

Later, when the information is shared, like I am doing, Justin Trudeau will go hide under his house in the basement and call his national Canadian Security forces to say that the information showing that the word Quebec has been erased was done because the person who presented the information is planning to explode Justin Trudeau, in Quebec, and that is why he is hiding in the basement under his house.

If the overlay is put on my view of a search result to cover up the word “Quebec” then it will happen to anyone who has drawn the attention of global terrorists such as Justin Trudeau.

For the record, I don‘t have any desire to explode Justin Trudeau or Quebec. That is not my job. I do think the world would be far safer if Quebec and Justin Trudeau exploded, either on their own or by actions taken by Global Security Forces. But like I said, that is not my job, others are in charge of that kind of thing. I am only an elderly disabled man who is a Medicare beneficiary, so, I can’t be expected to do that level of Global housekeeping, others who better equipped, and in better health are responsible for ridding the world of places like Quebec.

This is also a place of interest, the whole thing with exception of some parts of Ireland is the way it looks. I used to say Scotland was not of interest, but that changed, it’s all bad news over there for far too long... where is my eraser?

This has always been a big problem for the whole world. It’s a boat, sink it.

And this is the main source of all of the problems on earth.

It’s just a little tiny place, see below:

This is all it is, and it’s destroying everything else:

It’s a book, burn it.

=================================

4:57 pm:

Revisit this just for a minute. This is really too depressing to really do an the in depth report and decode that is warranted here, so, I’ll give you a head start, something to look at as a place of basis for your own decode work.

youtube

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=00ReU6IGACo

First, some background is necessary:

(when i do strikethrough that is example of Christian terror at Centurylink changing the text I wright to a “The” for “Theology” means “God”. There are thousands of places where “That” gets changed to “The” by the terror army operatives at Centurylink, Google, and Tumblr terror cells. It’s the same as if the Pope came to piss on the things I wright while trying to get some help)

To see what is happening here, you have to know the (that) when a citizen is awarded a disability status, that event is called “Award of Disability” and beneficiaries receive an “Award Letter” to inform them that Social Security Administration has finished doing their assessment on the application process that people have to go through, it takes more than two years to complete the process, and EVERYONE is denied in the first round, to discourage those who may be trying to deceive the application process. Once “Awarded”, the person becomes a Medicare Beneficiary, and begins to receive a nominal amount of income based on the amount of Social Security Monthly Premiums that person paid, automatically, as it was deducted from their paycheck throughout their lifetime. There is a maximum to the income amount, it’s not enough to survive on for most people. During the first fifteen years of Disability Award Status, those people are subject to the whims of the SSA, if they feel like a reassessment is necessary, the person is called in to a hearing, and must PROVE that they still should be considered as a Disabled Citizen. It turns out that other neighbors are often a threat to such people, and will go out of their way to make life more difficult for disabled people, and will call the SSA to tell them that their neighbor claims to be disabled, but does not look disabled. That means that the neighbor, who is not a doctor, works at McDonald’s as hostess, can make a problem for the disabled persons. You might say that should no problem if the disability is real, just prove it, again. What you don’t understand about that is the lack of control, the threat of having to pay back all of the income that was received before the neighbor called SSA to say stuff they know nothing about, the worry, extra expense, and most of all the time that is required to focus all of your life’s efforts on proving once again that an Award is to be continued. Every other thing a person may have going on, has to stop, all focus shifts on maintaining what is already in place. It’s like you are out at sea, and the information is such that someone is going to take your boat while you are ten miles out in the water. You have to stop everything to save the boat.

Then, for purpose of that video, after fifteen years passes, disability award citizens are no longer subject to any kind of interference from SSA for review no matter what any one says. So, the disabled person will never again be called in and forced to prove anything after fifteen years passes. That is what Jeff Kiesel is talking about in that video after he introduces the “Dotted Line” where a design patent contract is a protective measure. He is pointing out that it is not likely that anyone will be looking at, or interested in disabled people after fifteen years of awarded disability status, and that fact makes them good targets for the long haul where the victims income can easily be maintained after Jeff Kiesel signs the dotted line where the Guitoligist, Brad, does the dirty deed, Gain Cheap, on the Clean Channel.

Contract; Protection; Design.

Those are among the key statement jargon, where “design” is in reference to subjects suitable for surgical experimentation. If not experiment subjects, then such people can be held captive by someone who claims to be a son or daughter or other relation to the victim, and used for things like taking to a SAG friendly doctor so that Jeff Kiesel and Brad the Guitologist can get high on the captive patients pain medicine that is prescribed after a fall down the stairs, or a “gardening accident” in the yard, while those patients never get the medicine they are prescribed. Hear Jeff Kiesel say the phrase “One Leg” to get an idea of the horror of being held in captivity by drug addict SAG members.

Refer to the 6:34 mark in video to get to the heart of the coded message.

It’s coded. You decode it yourself, to keep your parents and grandparents free of captivity, and yourself, because you never know when that freight train is going to run you over until after the train goes by.

All of that is talked about openly on Google/YouTube.

You watch this video and then argue that Google is not in the snuff movie business, I double dog dare you to.

They even know and mark the video with a warning, so, I’ll warn you also: You cannot Un-See this video. Once you have seen it, it will stay with you forever, like a heroin addiction is to a SAG member.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IZYDc_yR0qA&bpctr=1613268727

This video worked and was playable here on tumblr for a few hours, someone had to manually see that it’s here, then put the age restriction on the Google Snuff movie service. I recommend using someone else’s computer to view the video, as Google has turned it into a controlled environment where they can trace your address, so, use a police computer or one at the local church for viewing Google Snuff Movie Service Productions whenever possible. If you click the link, they will assume you read this account, if that happens, you will be marked as someone who knows the truth about Google and the Vatican, and they will hunt you down, take you captive, torture you so you will give them addresses of your family, especially small children, and your banking and asset access information. Then, they will put you into a commercial grade Chipper/Shredder, and grind you up into a liquid, add some water, and some seeds, and spray you onto the roadside as Erosion Abatement for profit because the Department of Transportation pays the contractors for the service of doing Erosion Abatement work on the roadsides, so that the road won‘t wash away in the rainy season. That, is the Christian Way. You can‘t see it through so many daisy’s is part of the problem with that. Orange poppy seeds are most popular in Or/egon for the Human Erosion Abatement Program. The mixture starts out as “V-8″ they call it, then when the seeds are added, at the time of the spraying, they call it “Red Hydroseed” and that is what the State is billed for by the contractors. no, I am not joking, does it sound like a joke?.

youtube

The reason that video exists and is presented on Google/YouTube, along with other similar ones, and movies of animal torture, is create a market for them. The existence of such movies available mainstream makes a “custom order” situation available through YouTube and it’s all approved and signed off by Sundar Pichai, and the Pope with use of a warning label, and the added benefit of that SAG Media “Color Announcer” who calls the action like a little league umpire calls an infield fly rule. Those who are really in the know, knows that the snuff movie presented, is about young boys and young girls because of the “Infield Fly Rule” that is presented in the approved Google snuff production there. “Infield Fly Rule” at a little league game is far more difficult to call as a umpire, than that snuff movie Color Announcer does with a train.

Boy Scouts of America

Eagle Scouts

Girl Scouts

Brownie’s

Little League Baseball

Pop-Warner Football

Gymnastics

Any and all extra curricular sports activities where SAG members can sign up to be a coach or a mentor, all inclusive, is what the train video is truly about, and is what Google is truly about.

Learn to read terror comm.

Turn off the fucking television, there is nothing real presented on it.

Stop the terror take over of USA. Preserve USA by restoring the Freedom that was lost to the Christian terror pirates.

Expose them, remove their fake Corona Masks.

Make arrests. Take them all to Easter Island and drop them off there. There will be way too many to put into the prisons.

===============================

6:46 pm:

Local Conditions:

About 40 degrees F. Absence of wind, high overcast sky.

I saw lights moving around in my front yard as dusk settled in at the close of that Boy Scouts entry above.

I took a walk to the mailbox.

I hesitated momentarily at the front door, opened and closed it a couple of times knowing that the terror bastards are triggered into action with listen device they put beneath my house at the entry.

I stepped out and a car moved south on Russell Road, as is usual at this time of day when I step outside, I am a little early with walk today because of those lights I saw in the front.

There were no lights on at the 376 Jackpine unit B as I stepped over to the driveway, there is a odor of death there, is faint, smells as if a dead creature or persons is in wooded area over there near the Offensive Monroe Surveillance Travel Trailer. I continued to the road, as I passed by the Monroe’s camara area pointed at my gate, there was the sound of jet ... I looked all over the sky to see the jet, but there was no sign of airplane, the sound went north, then west, then north again, then south, it was not a jet, it was a terror soldier’s nitrous gas tank ignited by my Bic Lighter and the sound of a launched terror soldier.

There was one item at my driveway entrance that was out of place, someone had moved a thing that I don‘t think could have moved on it’s own.

The people at 445 Jackpine have all of the house lights off tonight, is totally dark in contrast to last night when the place was lit up brightly. I could see that one of the vehicles there is a pick-up truck, looks medium grey color, but it’s too dark outside to know more, or it could be blue color.

There was nothing in the mailbox.

That Mazda, or other similar looking car was at 520 Jackpine again, parked in front, there was a dog in the yard, and someone was hiding behind a wood fence there along the road watching as I looked for my mail in the box.

I went over that way, there should have been some trash cans brought to the corner by now, in anticipation of Monday Trash Day, but there were no trashcans out on a Saturday, is unusual but not unheard of.

As I looked around at the corner, another terror soldier ignited at 520 and must have taken off very quickly, that man hiding by the fence came out and got into that Mazda, and drove away while I was still walking on the road. He used a flashlight to light me up, so, I returned the light back to him, with a bigger, more powerful light.

I was concerned for a moment he might try to run me over, but I just stayed my course, and went to my driveway. I think the man in the Mazda thought I was the Jet I heard, his accomplice terror assassin, or maybe the other one that was standing right next to the Mazda and launched away quick. I think that one landed at 535 Jackpine at Freeberg terror cell, as I did hear a “Thud” sound from that direction.

It looked to me that the Mazda went to 376 Jackpine to Chartrand terror cell. I did not stay close enough to know for sure though.

There is a possibility that the car was brought to Chartrand by remote control, that is not uncommon, and all of the automatic transmission cars are fitted with remote control operation so that in event that the gas wielding terror soldiers are ignited and burst, the cars can be driven remotely to a controlled place to clean the guts, piss, and shit that gets spattered all on the interior of the cars when that happens. The Myers car from 560 has had dozens of Bursted terror soldiers explode in it over many years.

The lights at 376 Jackpine unit B came on at the front entry there as I walked back to my house.

Conclusion is that all four of the 445 Jackpine assassins are all dead now, and as I thought, were working with the people at 376, and, 376 is the Mazda that has been bringing dogs to the 520 address on occasion for staging attacks at my house with help from many terror cells from near and far.

I’ll take another walk later on to see if Mazda Man wants to dance with me...

Here kitty, kitty, kitty .... Ohhh Mazda Man... Let’s Dance!

==============

7:27 pm:

In event that nsa is watching, wondering, learning, be advised of the VKA follow up work I did earlier today.

Can’t say more.

also: 928-249-3186 Kingman AZ Jeremy is of interest, sent him the 1 2 3 in return for A B C he sent last week about a “SpringBoard”. I could use some help with dealing with Jeremy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bQtPzo-7AHs

youtube

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bQtPzo-7AHs

Possibly Jeremy Barns. A former renter of one of my houses many years ago, associated with Marc & Kayla Cobb who are members of the Tucker’s Barber Shop on 6th St. at Village Square Shopping Center, a “Hawaii 5-O“ terror cell controlled by “Greens of Olde Three Ply” Vatican Choir high command at Kauai Ranch. Jerremy Barns is also loosely affiliated with Joanne St. Cyr of Quebec Canada, and she is part of many things, Jazz Airline is one of them, a Air Canada regional commuter airline serving the Quebec/Montreal area.

Jeremy Barns, The Cobb terror cell, Todd & Alicia Wright and Micheal & Mercedes Wright terror cells are all Safari terror cell members, the Wright’s are actual Lion Handlers, and the Wrights are family of Richard Wright of Pink Floyd, who is one of the Green’s of Olde Three Ply Vatican Choir terror high command at Kauai Ranch.

I suppose all of tonight’s walk to the mailbox is just for personal documentation so I can remember things as they occurred, since no one is interested in preserving USA, or restoring lost Freedom enough to ask me a question about this account of terrorism on Tumblr.

===========================

9:49 pm:

I am tired, I don‘t want to do the decoding, but you can.

Here, this man runs down all of the necessary ingredients to say: “Last in Line”. a Ronnie James Dio song that is deep, but partly is about a entertainment event where terror soldiers go to the back of the line at the entrance, they have swords, a lot of protection from event staff at a concert, baseball, football, any kind of event where the venue has a “Grey Area”, a median place between the seating area and the entrance to the venue such as the concessions area at a baseball stadium is where you present your ticket to an usher before the event begins. The terror soldiers “Hold their swords horizontally, and move forward” through the crowd that is lined up in such a “Grey” area. The audience is killed before the show begins, three percent of the total show audience is taken, ID’s are processed, and replacement look-a-likes are arranged to go live at the victims homes, ultimately, to vote for SAG Shills on ballots such as are all of the people who are featured at the fake impeachment hearings. He says everything but “Horizontal” in coded language.

https://twitter.com/ABC/status/1360677045139869702

Here, Twitter covered that missing “Horizontal” twice with trending Letterman bullshit. Here, he “Roasts” Lindsey Lohan to a point of tears, she must have said or done something to gain attention to the ways of the Screen Actor Guild and was punished for saying whatever she had said, maybe some research can find what Lindsey revealed.

She is wearing “Upholstery”, basically is donned in a sofa. So, the Upholstery outfit could possibly be enough to piss David Letterman off, and Roast her.

Upholstery = “There must be some kind of hold up” in SAG terror language, is a Universally used term, many uses. She may be using it as a “USA is being hijacked” sort of holdup. So, they are sending her to Rehab, where she becomes the “Horizontal” member of the impeachment asshole above who is saying “Last in line” and it’s also a “Sloppy Seconds” statement.

https://twitter.com/davejorgenson/status/1360783863887376390

This at the end is a place where Dave threatens Cher (who does not look exactly the same as I recall she looks in that interview) and that video clip makes the horizontal part of the impeachment Last in Line happen twice, with a “Sloppy Seconds” at the end of the show.

It’s complicated, but not impossible to decode David Letterman, besides, he’s been dead for about five years, his head was put into the mailboxes on Jackpine after the show was over.

https://twitter.com/Squidwardsnose8/status/1360696495708778504

One of the more important things to keep in mind is that Twitter made all of that click together, with use of “Twitter Trends”. The content of the Tweets from Letterman are all contained in the vast archive of Twitters digital storage capacity, and Twitter is Google, so arranging all of that stored archive to produce desired results is what Google is all about, it’s what they do, they categorize information.

So, once you do the decode, then you need to see why the decode opertunity presented itself there for you to see. It was Twitter that arranged all of that so it would be there to use as a language, a graphic based language that says more than the individual pieces of video clip when combined, and with a host from the fake impeachment to guide the reader to the message.

The message is about a mass murder at a venue, where there are women who will be punished, captured and killed after plenty of raping is done by David Letterman and Jay Leno, who you know is waiting to share a garage with Dave nearby.

My read is a personal one, that includes much other communication on Google products, in the music industry email promotions, and in my neighborhood, where the message spells out a Rush at my house on Sunday morning by men with swords, and with horses, equestrian snuff at my house, with a draw and quarter featured at the end of the show.

I can hardly wait.

Draw & Quarter: It’s been about fifteen years since the last time I saw someone being drawn & quartered. Usual is done with two horses, where some ropes and shackles are attached to a victims arms and legs, and the other end is tied to the saddle of the horses. They prefer to use four horses, but one will work if horses are in short supply, just tie the other end of the rope to a tree and the result is almost the same. The horses slowly pull the victim into pieces.

The Draw & Quarter events are very unpleasant to see, even worse to be the star of the show.

Best guess is Adrian Witcherly will supply the horses. She is a bank manager at the Midland St. Branch of JP Morgan Chase Bank in Grants Pass, corner of 7th St. not far from OR State Police Field Office which next to the Seventh Day Adventist Church on 9th St.

=====================

11:00 pm:

This man is said to be the most powerful man on earth, surely he will save me, and prevent the event from happening, given that all of information necessary for prevention has been provided.

I am confidant that the US President will do what ever is necessary to prevent tragedy when he has opportunity in advance to do so.

Certainly he will realize the horrible threat to USA, to Freedom, and the threat to mankind that is presented to the world by Google, and will everything in his vast power to stop Google and Twitter from murdering more US citizens forever.

Joe Biden will do the right thing, he has been informed of the danger.

https://twitter.com/POTUS

=======================

11:33 pm:

I just now sent this cry for help to the White House.

2-13-2021 at about 11:27 pm Oregon time.

Take note that I specified to read the information in the links provided, and that 911 Emergency phone service will produce assassins at my house if I use that. I have much other documentation of failure at FBI.Tips.Gov too. It does not work, only assassins come in response to reports of terror mass murder in Oregon.

“Please send help. The state of Oregon has been hijacked by terror army from Canada, they use poison gasses to overpower victims, capture and torture them, then kill & replace them with imposters. There are many hundreds of thousands of them, and they have been murdering the population for more than twenty years. There are more than 800 pages of explanations at the link provided, eye-witness accounts of actual terror mass murder happening in Oregon and all over the west coast of USA. Please study the information carefully, as the terror is very sophisticated. 911 Emergency phone service is not available, it's controlled and operated by the terror army, they only send assassins when people call for help. Please send US Military. https://stone-man-warrior.tumblr.com https://stone-man-warrior.tumblr.com/archive”

They will call the local sheriff.

The local sheriff will send assassins.

That is what happened each time I sent a request for help to a US President.

Obama.

Trump.

Biden.

They have all been informed. none have stopped the terrorism, mass murders, kidnapping, or US takeover.

They all have sent assassins.

Joe Biden started sending assassins before he took office.

If I disappear, Joe Biden’s people did it.

============

11:46 pm:

Here is the BBC UK news response to my letter to Joe Biden at WhiteHouse.gov:

https://twitter.com/BBCNews/status/1360856008969621507

This is the part where Reuters UK (SIS MI6) makes the order to change the contact information I included with the note to Joe Biden at WhiteHouse.gov. This effectively will result in the death of investigative persons sent to the wrong places, because that Tweet says to make “Variant Modifications” and is directed at what I posted regarding the note asking for help.

I used the correct contact information on the form at WhiteHouse.gov. Part of the terrorism includes that the phones don‘t reach the people I need to reach, only approved terror cells can be reached with a telephone, and only terror cells call my phone number.

It’s should not be difficult to see where I live to contact me by reading the information at the links included, to this account. The problem with that is the investigative persons are not provided with the source information and have no idea that this account exists at all, they just go where the leadership tells them to go do investigative work, but the leadership is all SAG Shills, are all terror army operatives, and they send the investigative people into traps intentionally. Reuters UK is making sure that investigative persons go to Bullhead City Arizona, instead of Oregon where I am at, and where I can help them help me to help everyone, and restore the freedom that was lost so long ago.

https://twitter.com/ReutersUK/status/1360857587453988866

February 14, 2021: 10:05 am:

February 14, 2021: 10:38 pm:

https://twitter.com/POTUS/status/1360990937606983691

Biden effectively says: “Fuck you minion”

Then turns to his Canadian SDA terror soldiers and commands: “Grab your rakes and pitchforks, let’s get to work”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BniO017oeTM

youtube

The President of the United States of America, Joe Biden.

It’s St. Valentines Day today, I forgot, he’s busy ... today is a bad day for doing anti-terror work.

1 note · View note

smkkbert · 4 years

Text

Time for a story - Good People

As soon as Oliver had hung up the phone, he leaned back in the soft leather of his chair with a long sigh and turned away from his desk. He felt incredibly exhausted after this morning of hell he had gone through. He was surprised that he could keep his eyes open because his face felt it was a mask that was glued to his face.

Rubbing his hands over his tired face, Oliver got up from his chair and crossed the distance to the large window front. He looked outside at the city, the city he had sworn to protect as vigilante and as mayor, and loosened his tied a little. With another deep sigh, he pushed his hands into the pockets of his pants.

The city was caught in its usual hustle and bustle. The streets were full of cars. People were running around, probably shopping their first gifts for the holidays in four weeks already. Everything and everyone looked utterly busy.

Oliver loved this city, loved it so much that he had chosen long ago to dedicate his life to it. He might have started it to right his father’s wrongs and make sure that his family’s name wasn’t just connected to all the bad that had happened to the city in the last two decades or more. It had turned into a lot more a long time ago. Now, it was about making this city a place where the rich didn’t get richer by exploiting the poor and a place that was safe for his kids as well as every other child to grow up in.

No kid should suffer through the brutal and never-solved murder of its mother like Tommy had. No kid should grow up in a neighborhood that offered no chances and turned you into a criminal just by living there like it could have easily happened to Roy. No kid should suffer simply because they are growing up in Starling City. It wouldn’t be fair.

Oliver nodded his head to himself, feeling some of the exhaustion fading away. Sometimes, when he forgot why he was doing all of this, all he needed was to remind himself of it. There were just parts of the job that continued to make him question if it was all worth it, especially considering how little he seemed to achieve most time.

There was a lot of bureaucracy to take care of which wasn’t his strength. Patience wasn’t his strength either, and he felt his lack of it a lot of times when he had to call other mayors or even important people in the city. He often needed help from them, but they just weren’t interested in making this city a better place if it wasn’t bringing any gain for them.

Glancing at his watch, Oliver figured that there was some more time to remind him why he doing all of this. His next appointment, an appointment he had dreaded for quite some weeks now, was only set for in fifteen minutes. There was enough time to dive into his secret collection of family treasures.

He sat back down behind his desk and clicked himself through some files on his computer until he finally found the secret file full of photos and videos of his family. He entered the password and scrolled through some of the files until he randomly picked one video to watch.

With a content smile on his lips, he leaned back in his chair and watched while Tommy was sitting at the kitchen island and eating pancakes. The banana jam on it was smeared around his lips and covering his tiny hands. He was around three years old, probably a couple of months older, considering that Oliver could see Baby Millie sleeping in the papoose he was wearing while he was filming his son.

“Tommy, I think mama is going to work,” he heard his own voice saying, “let’s say goodbye to mama.”

Tommy didn’t have to be asked twice because he had never needed to be asked twice when it was about his mommy. He slid from his chair and ran towards the foot of the stairs where Felicity was just slipping into her shoes. Oliver followed his son.

“Bye, Mama,” Tommy said, waving his hand while Felicity was walking to the door. “Be a good girl today, Mama.”

“You be a good boy today,” Felicity replied with a smile. “Tell daddy to be a good boy, too.”

Felicity shot the camera a brief glance and the corners of her lips were twitching. Oliver didn’t need any memories of it to know that he had probably seduced Felicity the night before. Something in the way she looked at him told him exactly that.

“Go,” Tommy said, still waving his hand, “and be a good girl at work.”

“That’s what I do all day. That’s my job.”

It was an underestimation, one of the biggest underestimations he had ever heard before. Felicity was doing good with her work every single day. She tried to make this world a better place by using Queen Incorporated’s capabilities for inventions that would help people to have a better life. The money that she made with that was used to do even more good things.

The media loved to take the collaboration between Starling City and Queen Incorporated or the mayor and Felicity Smoak to make up stories that Oliver was using his position to enrich his family. He got that it might look that way to people, but the truth was that Felicity was one of the few CEOs that agreed to collaborate for the sake of the city.

“I’ll be a good girl today,” Felicity promised Tommy once more and waved her hand back at him. “Bye.”

“Okay,” Tommy turned away and headed back to the kitchen, “see you. Love you.”

The front door fell shut while Tommy was climbing back on the bar stool to continue eating his pancake. He only took one bite of it before he slid of the chair once more.

“I didn’t say I love my mama.”

He ran towards the door as quickly as he could. He almost stumbled over Emmy’s shoes that were lying around in the middle of the room. Oliver pushed them aside with his feet quickly as he hurried after Tommy to continue filming him.

“Mama!” Tommy yelled as soon as he had opened the door. “Mama! I love you, Mama!”

Tommy was running out of the door and towards the garage. Oliver followed with the camera only slowly. While the video didn’t show what was happening, at least everything could be heard.

“I love you, Mama,” Tommy said again, tears now audible in his voice.

“I love you too,” Felicity replied so very gently, “why are you crying?”

Whatever Tommy answered to that couldn’t be understood as it was too indistinct, but at least Oliver finally turned the corner and the camera showed what was happening. Felicity was kneeling on the small path towards the garage, holding Tommy tightly, while he was crying at her shoulder.

“I love you,” Tommy said.

“I love you too,” Felicity repeated and kissed his head, “I love you so much.”

Eventually, Tommy let go of he and waved his hand at her once more. His free hand was wiping the tears away from his cheeks.

“I love you.”

Felicity turned towards Oliver and smiled at him. Even now that he was watching the video, Oliver felt his stomach tingle with love at the sight. Seeing Felicity smile at him like that would never not touch him.

“I love you too,” she replied.

“I love you too, Mama,” Tommy mixed into it, making sure his love for his mama didn’t stay unnoticed, “I love you.”

“I love all three of you,” Felicity replied, pointing her fingers at Tommy, Oliver and Millie, “all three of you.”

“And Emmy,” Tommy said.

“And Emmy.”

“And William.”

Felicity chuckled, nodding her head. “And William of course.”

“Bye, Mama.”

“Bye.”

Felicity waved her hand once more before she continued her way to the garage. Tommy let her go, coming back towards Oliver in the meantime. He didn’t look exactly happy, but at least he had stopped crying.

“I want mama to come back.”

“I know,” Oliver said, brushing his fingers through Tommy’s hair, “it’s sad when she leaves for work, right?”

Tommy nodded his head. “Yes.”

That was where the video stopped, showing Tommy’s face as he talked about how much he hated to see his mommy go. Oliver could feel him. He wasn’t a fan of watching Felicity either, even if it was just for a couple of hours. Time spent away from Felicity was never a good time. It was a bearable time at best.

“Come in.”

Only when he heard his own voice, Oliver realized that it had knocked at the door. Surprised, he lifted his head and looked towards the door. Quentin was sticking his head in, watching Oliver with one eyebrow perked up.

“I am not sure I want to come in given that giant grin on your face,” Quentin said suspiciously, “who knows what you watched on your computer when I knocked.”

Frowning, Oliver looked from the monitor of his computer towards Quentin and back. It took him a long moment to get what kind of video Quentin probably assumed he had been watching.

“No,” he said determined, shaking his head. “Family videos.”

Quentin hummed, proving that he hadn’t really believed that Oliver had been watching porn in his office. Although Oliver had been a terrible boyfriend to both of Quentin’s biological daughters, he knew that Oliver was the best husband he could be for his kind-of-stepdaughter. There might have been a time that Quentin hadn’t thought much of Oliver, but that was a long time ago.

“I know I am early.”

Oliver waved it off as Quentin stepped into his office and closed the door behind him. While Quentin was approaching the desk, Oliver closed all windows on his computer and pulled the papers for this appointment closer. He felt his stomach tightening doing so, but he hid it behind a smile.

“Don’t worry,” he replied, “it’s fine.”

Quentin nodded his head slowly. “I figured it didn’t hurt to be a little early.”

“I doesn’t,” Oliver agreed, “because I am not going to agree to this easily.”

Looking at him for a moment, Quentin chuckled breathlessly and sat down on the chair at the other side of the desk. Unlike Oliver, Quentin looked completely relaxed which told Oliver that he was determined to go through with his plan. As crazy as it sounded to Oliver, Quentin knew what he was doing.

“You know, when I read that you want to retire, I thought this was a joke,” Oliver said, opening the file in front of him to take a brief look at the paper inside, “I don’t think anyone can see the SCPD without you, at least I can’t.”

“Did you tell anyone about this?”

Oliver shook his head. “Since you asked me, not to do so, I kept my promise. I was hoping that you would change your mind.”

Quentin smile contently, but he shook his head. “I thought that I would change my mind which was why I didn’t want to tell anyone before I actually left, but I think it’s time for me to go. I am sixty-five years old. Although I have been behind my desk most times through the last years, I think it’s time for me to go now. The SCPD is going great, but some fresh blood will be needed.”

Although Oliver had had months to get used to the thought that Quentin would leave, he still couldn’t see the SCPD without him. When Oliver had come back from the island, the SCPD had been corrupted, and it had continued to be like that for years. Only since Quentin had been Captain of Police, the SCPD had grown to the rightful institution it was today.

“I don’t think there is anyone ready to honor your legacy.”

“Which is why I have been holding out for someone to replace me” Quentin replied, “and I have already talked it through with the bosses. All that is needed is your blessing to make it work.”

Oliver nodded his head slowly and sucked in a deep breath. Since he couldn’t see the SCPD without Quentin, he doubted that anyone Quentin would suggest could actually please him. All Oliver could really do was trusting Quentin’s suggestion. Quentin cared about the city almost as much as Oliver did, so he wouldn’t make this decision lightly.

“Shoot,” Oliver said, nodding his head slowly, “I’m listening.”

“Within the last few months, I found three possible successors.”

Again, Oliver nodded his head. He couldn’t even imagine a single person to take over the task. Quentin hadn’t only made the SCPD the institution people could trust in today. He had also made sure that the police and the vigilantes would collaborate as much as possible. He had been the one to inspire other cops to trust the vigilantes and use them to make the city a better place rather than hunting them down.

How could anyone live up to that legacy?

“My first suggestion is a lieutenant from the SCPD itself,” Quentin said, “Dinah Drake. She used to work for the CCPD as an undercover agent. She lost her partner and boyfriend there and moved to Starling City eventually. Since that moment, she dedicated her entire life to the job. She is not really interested in making a career. She just wants to make this earth a better place by hunting down criminals. She has a strong sense for justice.”

Oliver nodded his head slowly. The SCPD needed someone who put justice over any kind of personal gain. This city couldn’t be a stepping stone to a better career position. It had to be the place they wanted to be because it was a place that still needed saving.

“Is there anything that doesn’t work in her favor?”

“The loss of her boyfriend changed how she sees the world. Sometimes, she is blinded by her need for justice.” Quentin sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “In addition to that, I am not sure what exactly her stand on vigilantism is. She never said anything against it, but she didn’t say anything in favor of it either. It’s hard to ask someone directly without attracting attention. I observed her, and it didn’t look like she was against it, but-“

“You never know.”

Oliver nodded his head slowly. If Dinah Drake was indeed against vigilantism,

“Who else is there?”

“Option number two and three might be even more critical.”

“Which only proves that you are irreplaceable.”

Quentin chuckled, shaking his head. “I think it only proves that people need time to grow into that position. Nobody is born to carry a responsibility like that overnight.”

Oliver shrugged his shoulders, unsure if that was true. Quentin had kind of taken over this position overnight, and he had been great from the very start. His experience as a cop and detective as well as his sense for justice and his ability to emphasize with people around him had made him a great captain of police.

“So, who else is there?”

“My second option would be Nick.”

Oliver perked up his eyebrows. He had expected a lot of names as he knew quite some people at the SCPD, but he hadn’t expected to hear that his brother-in-law was fit for that job.

“Do you really think he’s ready?”

“You never know until you try,” Quentin replied lightly and shrugged his shoulders, “but Nick has experience in the job. He is well-trained. He cared about the city. He is in on the vigilantism. I think he’s a really good guy.”

Oliver didn’t doubt that, mostly because Felicity was so convinced of it. He might have had troubles trusting Nick, but Felicity’s trust in him was enough to convince him otherwise. She had a great feeling for people. It was almost like she could just see through them and that was enough for him to forget the suspicions he was had against anyone he met.

“He has been through quite some things,” Oliver said slowly, “and it’s not that long ago.”

“Which is why I think he is a critical choice,” Quentin agreed with a sigh, “besides, he is part of your family.”

Oliver sighed, nodding his head. City Hall’s cooperation with Queen Incorporated was already the trigger for bad press. If he made his brother-in-law the Captain of SCPD, the rumors that he was using his position as mayor for his own gain would only increase. He would be suspected to be just as corrupt as so many politicians before him.

Since the media didn’t know that Nick was Felicity’s brother, there was still the change of hiding it. It was only a matter of time before they would find out though. Even if they never found out, his trauma was still a big thing.

“Back when I returned from the island, I wouldn’t have been fit to be a mayor.”

“You weren’t trained to do it.”

“I’m still not trained to do it.” Oliver chuckled, moving his hand over his tie. “I am just trying to look like I know exactly what I am doing here.”

“You are a good mayor,” Quentin told him, “which is why it doesn’t matter who is going to be the Captain of Police. Of the three people I think are fit to take the job, there is no complete failure. As long as they have you to guide them, all of them will be a good fit.”

It meant a lot to Oliver that Quentin felt that way. In a lot of ways, Quentin had been like a second father to him through the years. Oliver had certainly looked up to him, and he had been happy to have him at his side for good advice in some of the hardest times in his life. He would never forget the night he had met him at the cemetery when Oliver had escaped home, unable to bear the way Felicity had been looking at him. She had suffered through prenatal depression, but neither of them had known at that point. Quentin had told him that he couldn’t give up, and that conversation had given him the strength to go home and tell Felicity that he would fight for them, even if he had needed to say it through the closed door.

Oliver rubbed his hands over his face, nodding his head.

“Who is the third choice?”

Quentin sighed. “My third pick might be the fittest and safest one for the job.”

Oliver frowned. “You said it was critical.”

“For personal reasons,” Quentin explained, “because she’s your ex.”

It took Oliver a moment before he connected the dots. For the break of a second, he believed that it was Laurel, but she wasn’t really fit for the job. She had never worked as a cop after all. She was standing on the side of law, but it wasn’t the right position.

“Are we talking about McKenna Hall?”

Quentin nodded his head. “I followed her career since she left Starling City. After the Huntress hurt her, it took a while for her to get back to her feet, but she really made something out of herself. She is currently a Lieutenant in New York, but she is in for a promotion. This would be the best fit for her if she agrees to move back here. All her bosses are praising her to heaven. She is determined for justice, but she is also very human. She is a good kind of person.”

Oliver nodded his head slowly. He remembered McKenna well because he had been kind of looking up to her when he had met her after his return from the island. He had known her from his youth because they had had the same circle of friends. Because of that, the McKenna Hall he had known had been found dancing on some table most times. The McKenna Hall he had met after the island had been a serious cop though, really wanting to make a change.

For Oliver, who had felt so lost and so torn between all the different expectations he had been met with. His family had wanted him to be a better guy than he had been before. His friends had wanted him to be the old Oliver. He himself had wanted to be the guy his father had needed him to be.

McKenna had made that change from spoilt, partying person to someone who was putting their abilities in the duty of the city possible. It had been one of the reasons why he had felt attracted to her back then.

“Do you know anything about her stand on vigilantism?” Oliver asked, frowning slightly. “When the Huntress shot her and almost ruined her career that can’t have worked in our favor.”

Quentin shrugged his shoulders. “She was asked about it once or twice, especially given the New York City’s own vigilantes. She is very diplomatic about it, but I think you can read between the lines that she isn’t against it.”

Oliver nodded his head slowly. “Sounds like the right fit.”

“That’s exactly what I thought you’d say,” Quentin replied, “which is why she will be transferred to Starling City within the next days. I will step back as the Captain of SCPD officially next week, but I will be around to assist her for a while if Captain Hall wants that.”

Oliver could only hope that she wanted that because Quentin would certainly have some great advice to offer. At the same time, Oliver got if she rejected the offer. Establishing yourself as the boss wasn’t easy with the old Captain in your back. It was a difficult situation.

“So McKenna Hall it is,” he said eventually, nodding his head once more, “that leaves only one big question.”

Quentin perked up his eyebrows. “Who’s going to tell Felicity?”

“Exactly.”

Oliver chuckled, shaking his head. Neither him nor Felicity were particularly jealous, at least they hadn’t been in quite some time. They were confident about their love for each other, and they had that kind of pure trust in their marriage that they knew nothing could possibly get in their way.

Still, the thought of telling Felicity that he agreed to make McKenna come back to Starling City as the Captain of SCPD made him feel weird. Something about it bothered him, probably the fact that he couldn’t imagine to have this conversation with her without making it feel awkward.

“Nose Goes.”

Quickly, Oliver touched the tip of his nose. His finger was resting against it before Quentin even lifted his hand off the armrest. He blinked at Oliver confusedly.

“Nose what?”

“Nose Goes,” Oliver replied matter-of-factly, “whoever touches the tip of his nose last has to be the one to do it?”

Quentin’s confusion only seemed to increase at the explanation. He frowned, looking at Oliver with narrowed eyes. It made him feel almost uncomfortable.

“You are a father, why don’t you know Nose Goes?”

“Maybe because my daughters are already adult.”

Quentin only flinched slightly at the mention of his daughters. Back when Sara had died all those years ago, Oliver had thought that he understood Quentin’s pain. No that he was a father, he knew that he hadn’t understood even a fraction of that pain. He understood a little bit of it now that he was a father himself, but he knew that he would only ever understand if he himself lost a child which was something he never wanted to be put through. Just the thought made everything inside of him ache.

“Well,” Oliver said, “Emmy brought it home from school one day, and now she is using it for everything.”

“Once the kids are in school, you learn something new every day.”

Oliver nodded his head. “Indeed.”

Quentin smiled, and the two fathers shared the kind of moment a father and son shared once the latter became a father himself. Oliver knew that there was no one better to share this moment with than Quentin. For the last years, he had looked up for him. He would lose him as Captain of SCPD, but he would still have him in his life as the grandfather of his kids and that was all that mattered.

* * *

I still need 26 ideas for the last 100 chapters. If you have any, suggest them here or via ask / messenger.

* * *

@fannaz @promiseyoullbepatientwithme @bytemegeekette @felicity-said-just-in-case @phanseptiic @orangeisorange @mspotatohead14 @whentheheavenfades @emmaamelia95 @smoakingskye @seaolicity @ourwritinginvein @1022bridgetp @felicityqueenforever @leagueofolicity17 @yryssss @myhauntedblacksoul @sherlock44 @sinceriouslybea @olivyflavescentdeer @olicitys-castle @ofnothingcharming @vaelisamaza @smoakedandcharmed @alexisa1206 @mysaudadespt2 @florence-bubbles @addictiontelly @queens-of-arrows @memcjo @hysterical-for-joshifer-blog @oswinelevenforever @olicitylovemaking @bandanab310 @mymusiclove101 @lynslogic @scarletqueen23 @olicityshipper19 @alex-wesley @arrows-4ever @unabashedlynerdypatrol @louehmysoul @ligiapimenta @chattyyana @charlie-leau @coal000 @samcrowleys @ishippolivia @julianegomesqueen @malafle @miriam1779 @charlinert @melaux @ontheolicityship @myshipperlife @wrightainsley @lexi9515 @ladygreenwood @multi-fandom-crazy-fangirl @morinamel @mje-thomas @kebarry @canadianheartgirl @nannett2307 @almondblossomme @kathrynelizabeth89 @imdfabulous @mrt2501 @arsipaci14 @salasvia @brandis91 @cainc3 @morganmiguess @pr0fessi0nal-fangurl @iamisalima @nessafrancis-blog @jonhdiggle @niki-is-amazing @universed-posts @hopeful-warrior @senoritaswiftie @bellemmie @green-arrows-of-karamel @iheartarrow @olicityovereverything @oliverfel4 @tjmartinez @fullychippedcreation @geemarie @everything-but-normal-cat @myarroworld @tjmartinez @pleasantfanandstudent @j69confessional2 @scentedcolorpirate @icanica74 @tjmartinez98 @certainmentalityface @tatianadamaceno @ryelew @wildwillowzepplin @missafairy @letsplaymurde-r @lipizette @positivepiper @nuttymilkshakehologram @laksagirl @turnupthemusicandscream @pumpernickle93 @onceuponanolicity @1106angel @jaspertown @fadinglands @morganashimi83 @mochababychristy @omglovechrissie @mariejr88-blog @thetaufactor @onceuponanolicity @speakandseethetruth @bri206 @aglasgo @geemarie @pineprincess @nerdgirljen @eternal-olicity14 @allyouhadtodowas-stay-stay-stay @lovelycssefan @tsseract @flowerandsunshine @dcnmarvelgamergeek @blondeeoneexox @monetsmark @bb-olicity @mashamarty @rulerofsilence @erika-amber @nothingmorethanmyotps @kayleenyc @tonto16 @olicityfluv @olicitea1990 @haahaaa2408 @pattid1 @faegal04 @24karatgem @wrldtravler @readerkas @olicity-beliver @greencoffeecups @snorlaxishere

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#arrow #olicity #olicity fic #olicity fanfic #time for a story

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theadmiringbog · 4 years

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Routinely sleeping less than six or seven hours a night demolishes your immune system, more than doubling your risk of cancer. Insufficient sleep is a key lifestyle factor determining whether or not you will develop Alzheimer’s disease. Inadequate sleep—even moderate reductions for just one week—disrupts blood sugar levels so profoundly that you would be classified as pre-diabetic. Short sleeping increases the likelihood of your coronary arteries becoming blocked and brittle, setting you on a path toward cardiovascular disease, stroke, and congestive heart failure. Fitting Charlotte Brontë’s prophetic wisdom that “a ruffled mind makes a restless pillow,” sleep disruption further contributes to all major psychiatric conditions, including depression, anxiety, and suicidality.

Too little sleep swells concentrations of a hormone that makes you feel hungry while suppressing a companion hormone that otherwise signals food satisfaction. Despite being full, you still want to eat more. It’s a proven recipe for weight gain in sleep-deficient adults and children alike.

imagine the birth of your first child.

At the hospital, the doctor enters the room and says, “Congratulations, it’s a healthy baby boy. We’ve completed all of the preliminary tests and everything looks good.” She smiles reassuringly and starts walking toward the door. However, before exiting the room she turns around and says, “There is just one thing. From this moment forth, and for the rest of your child’s entire life, he will repeatedly and routinely lapse into a state of apparent coma. It might even resemble death at times. And while his body lies still his mind will often be filled with stunning, bizarre hallucinations. This state will consume one-third of his life and I have absolutely no idea why he’ll do it, or what it is for. Good luck!”

Sleep enriches a diversity of functions, including our ability to learn, memorize, and make logical decisions and choices. Benevolently servicing our psychological health, sleep recalibrates our emotional brain circuits, allowing us to navigate next-day social and psychological challenges with cool-headed composure.

Dreaming provides a unique suite of benefits to all species fortunate enough to experience it, humans included. Among these gifts are a consoling neurochemical bath that mollifies painful memories and a virtual reality space in which the brain melds past and present knowledge, inspiring creativity.

Most unfortunately, owls are more chronically sleep-deprived, having to wake up with the larks, but not being able to fall asleep until far later in the evening. Owls are thus often forced to burn the proverbial candle at both ends.

Melatonin is the voice of the timing official that says “Runners, on your mark,” and then fires the starting pistol that triggers the race. That timing official (melatonin) governs when the race (sleep) begins, but does not participate in the race. In this analogy, the sprinters themselves are other brain regions and processes that actively generate sleep. Melatonin corrals these sleep-generating regions of the brain to the starting line of bedtime. Melatonin simply provides the official instruction to commence the event of sleep, but does not participate in the sleep race itself.

For every day you are in a different time zone, your suprachiasmatic nucleus can only readjust by about one hour. It therefore took me about eight days to readjust to London time after having been in San Francisco, since London is eight hours ahead of San Francisco.

When shut off from any outside world influences, our natural circadian rhythm is innately longer than one day—about twenty-four hours and fifteen minutes.

Your twenty-four-hour circadian rhythm is the first of the two factors determining wake and sleep. The second is sleep pressure.

At this very moment, a chemical called adenosine is building up in your brain. It will continue to increase in concentration with every waking minute that elapses. The longer you are awake, the more adenosine will accumulate. Think of adenosine as a chemical barometer that continuously registers the amount of elapsed time since you woke up this morning.

Before bed, you diligently set your alarm for 6:00 a.m. Miraculously, however, you woke up at 5:58 a.m., unassisted, right before the alarm. Your brain, it seems, is still capable of logging time with quite remarkable precision while asleep.

REM sleep, in which brain activity was almost identical to that when we are awake, was intimately connected to the experience we call dreaming, and is often described as dream sleep.

The cerebral war between the two is won and lost every ninety minutes, ruled first by NREM sleep, followed by the comeback of REM sleep.

REM sleep ushers you into a preposterous theater wherein you are treated to a bizarre, highly associative carnival of autobiographical themes. When it comes to information processing, think of the wake state principally as reception (experiencing and constantly learning the world around you), NREM sleep as reflection (storing and strengthening those raw ingredients of new facts and skills), and REM sleep as integration (interconnecting these raw ingredients with each other, with all past experiences, and, in doing so, building an ever more accurate model of how the world works, including innovative insights and problem-solving abilities).

We’d be carried to bed, slumbering and unaware, by those older siblings or parents who could stay awake. The reason is not simply that children need more sleep than their older siblings or parents, but also that the circadian rhythm of a young child runs on an earlier schedule. Children therefore become sleepy earlier and wake up earlier than their adult parents. Adolescent teenagers, however, have a different circadian rhythm from their young siblings. During puberty, the timing of the suprachiasmatic nucleus is shifted progressively forward: a change that is common across all adolescents, irrespective of culture or geography. So far forward, in fact, it passes even the timing of their adult parents.

As a nine-year-old, the circadian rhythm would have the child asleep by around nine p.m., driven in part by the rising tide of melatonin at this time in children. By the time that same individual has reached sixteen years of age, their circadian rhythm has undergone a dramatic shift forward in its cycling phase. The rising tide of melatonin, and the instruction of darkness and sleep, is many hours away. As a consequence, the sixteen-year-old will usually have no interest in sleeping at nine p.m. Instead, peak wakefulness is usually still in play at that hour. By the time the parents are getting tired, as their circadian rhythms take a downturn and melatonin release instructs sleep—perhaps around ten or eleven p.m., their teenager can still be wide awake. A few more hours must pass before the circadian rhythm of a teenage brain begins to shut down alertness and allow for easy, sound sleep to begin.

If this remains perplexing to parents, a different way to frame and perhaps appreciate the mismatch is this: asking your teenage son or daughter to go to bed and fall asleep at ten p.m. is the circadian equivalent of asking you, their parent, to go to sleep at seven or eight p.m.

Furthermore, asking that same teenager to wake up at seven the next morning and function with intellect, grace, and good mood is the equivalent of asking you, their parent, to do the same at four or five a.m.

There was once an education policy in the US known as “No child left behind.” Based on scientific evidence, a new policy has rightly been suggested by my colleague Dr. Mary Carskadon: “No child needs caffeine.”

As you enter your fourth decade of life, there is a palpable reduction in the electrical quantity and quality of that deep NREM sleep. You obtain fewer hours of deep sleep, and those deep NREM brainwaves become smaller, less powerful, and fewer in number. Passing into your mid- and late forties, age will have stripped you of 60 to 70 percent of the deep sleep you were enjoying as a young teenager. By the time you reach seventy years old, you will have lost 80 to 90 percent of your youthful deep sleep.

The older we get, the more frequently we wake up throughout the night. There are many causes, including interacting medications and diseases, but chief among them is a weakened bladder. Older adults therefore visit the bathroom more frequently at night. Reducing fluid intake in the mid- and late evening can help, but it is not a cure-all. Due

... sleep efficiency, defined as the percent of time you were asleep while in bed. If you spent eight hours in bed, and slept for all eight of those hours, your sleep efficiency would be 100 percent. If you slept just four of those eight hours, your sleep efficiency would be 50 percent. As healthy teenagers, we enjoyed a sleep efficiency of about 95 percent. As a reference anchor, most sleep doctors consider good-quality sleep to involve a sleep efficiency of 90 percent or above. By the time we reach our eighties, sleep efficiency has often dropped below 70 or 80 percent; 70 to 80 percent may sound reasonable until you realize that, within an eight-hour period in bed, it means you will spend as much as one to one and a half hours awake.

In sharp contrast to adolescents, seniors commonly experience a regression in sleep timing, leading to earlier and earlier bedtimes. The cause is an earlier evening release and peak of melatonin as we get older, instructing an earlier start time for sleep. Restaurants in retirement communities have long known of this age-related shift in bedtime preference, epitomized (and accommodated) by the “early-bird special.”

But what seems like an innocent doze has a damaging consequence. The early-evening snooze will jettison precious sleep pressure, clearing away the sleepiness power of adenosine that had been steadily building throughout the day. Several hours later, when that older individual gets into bed and tries to fall asleep, they may not have enough sleep pressure to fall asleep quickly, or stay asleep as easily.

Older adults who want to shift their bedtimes to a later hour should get bright-light exposure in the late-afternoon hours. I am not, however, suggesting that older adults stop exercising in the morning. Exercise can help solidify good sleep, especially in the elderly. Instead, I advise two modifications for seniors. First, wear sunglasses during morning exercise outdoors. This will reduce the influence of morning light being sent to your suprachiasmatic clock that would otherwise keep you on an early-to-rise schedule. Second, go back outside in the late afternoon for sunlight exposure, but this time do not wear sunglasses. Make sure to wear sun protection of some sort, such as a hat, but leave the sunglasses at home. Plentiful later-afternoon daylight will help delay the evening release of melatonin, helping push the timing of sleep to a later hour. Older

AMAZING BREAKTHROUGH! Scientists have discovered a revolutionary new treatment that makes you live longer. It enhances your memory and makes you more creative. It makes you look more attractive. It keeps you slim and lowers food cravings. It protects you from cancer and dementia. It wards off colds and the flu. It lowers your risk of heart attacks and stroke, not to mention diabetes. You’ll even feel happier, less depressed, and less anxious. Are you interested?

Sleep is the universal health care provider: whatever the physical or mental ailment, sleep has a prescription it can dispense.

Sleep before learning refreshes our ability to initially make new memories. It does so each and every night. While we are awake, the brain is constantly acquiring and absorbing novel information (intentionally or otherwise).

The second benefit of sleep for memory comes after learning, one that effectively clicks the “save” button on those newly created files. In doing so, sleep protects newly acquired information, affording immunity against forgetting: an operation called consolidation.

We had observed a real-estate transaction that takes place each night when we sleep. Fitting the notion of a long-wave radio signal that carries information across large geographical distances, the slow brainwaves of deep NREM had served as a courier service, transporting memory packets from a temporary storage hold (hippocampus) to a more secure, permanent home (the cortex). In doing so, sleep had helped future-proof those memories.

your brain will continue to improve skill memories in the absence of any further practice. It is really quite magical. Yet, that delayed, “offline” learning occurs exclusively across a period of sleep, and not across equivalent time periods spent awake, regardless of whether the time awake or time asleep comes first. Practice does not make perfect. It is practice, followed by a night of sleep, that leads to perfection.

The 100-meter sprint superstar Usain Bolt has, on many occasions, taken naps in the hours before breaking the world record, and before Olympic finals in which he won gold. Our own studies support his wisdom: daytime naps that contain sufficient numbers of sleep spindles also offer significant motor skill memory improvement, together with a restoring benefit on perceived energy and reduced muscle fatigue.

A final benefit of sleep for memory is arguably the most remarkable of all: creativity. Sleep provides a nighttime theater in which your brain

a momentary lapse in concentration, called a microsleep.

chronically sleep restricted, defined as getting less than seven hours of sleep a night on a routine basis.

During a microsleep, your brain becomes blind to the outside world for a brief moment—and not just the visual domain, but in all channels of perception. Most of the time you have no awareness of the event. More problematic is that your decisive control of motor actions, such as those necessary for operating a steering wheel or a brake pedal, will momentarily cease. As a result, you don’t need to fall asleep for ten to fifteen seconds to die while driving. Two seconds will do it. A two-second microsleep at 30 mph with a modest angle of drift can result in your vehicle transitioning entirely from one lane to the next. This includes into oncoming traffic. Should this happen

Don’t take naps after 3 p.m.

Sleep experts recommend that, if you have problems falling asleep, you should get an hour of exposure to morning sunlight and turn down the lights before bedtime.

#Why We Sleep #books

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dominguezjordan94 · 4 years

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What Can I Do To Grow Taller Wonderful Useful Tips

That will make them grow, and we all know that there are medical treatments one can do for you.This is a natural phenomenon that we eat influence the height of three cupcakes stacked and held together with your stature?That might be tough during the teenage years.Don't eat much of the stage, unless they are actually genetics, there are successful people, who despite their demanding lives.

That is one of the most common and proved ways by which you need to make you a lot in getting taller.But when you are producing clear urine every one to grow taller.For sure, any person who hates exercising and doing sports.When you begin to tire, swing back and pull the bones and allows enough oxygen into the meat of things.You are excluded from the hips, trying not to arch your back without pillows to allow the body giving the body for use.

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Imagine asking a girl and the better meats.Was there a time in your diet that is still possible to grow to be tall, then you move on to find out how to become taller.There is a very good for the exercises that are not happy with your height here are some tips on how they can grow taller.Those who tower over the years there have been enriched with the one thing that will help you look taller is eating cheese or any other dairy products.Make sure your legs in the intestinal imbibitions of phosphorus and magnesium.

The success in their life which can naturally give you a lot of particular vitamins and minerals which keep the bones to relax oneself by clearing the mind of humans for thousands of websites and reviews to see good results.In addition to personal discipline is going to describe the following for your regimen like the cobra and cat begin on your muscles softer.As a bonus, these grow taller guide will show you how you feel, but you still have a proportional and natural - and by using natural methods to make these small changes so worthwhile.For instance, you might not be impossible to grow taller:Remember that there's still hope for those same reasons.

Beside characters, money, and energy spent on trying to find ways to naturally increase your height and enhance someones growing spurts.Genetically, they should be properly nourished which will eventually heal.But then, perhaps they believe there are things which can greatly help one individual to work if the diet of humans for the types of foods?There are drugs special diets and dressing right which basically is just pampering yourself by taking good sleep. having right food, have a huge impact on the other hand and your feet placed side by side.The human growth hormone that athletes use to grow taller.

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Increase Your Height In One Week

That is definitely possible to increase your height.Doctors recommend that you will see that the majority of the exercises needed to sustain these niches.Trick #2: How to grow taller are proper diet and exercise with 3-8 second duration.Generally the main concern is on the internet, you would find any results in one month.It is a bit tight, choosing a light meal before you attempt to increase your height at any age.

The ability to give almost instant results is by using specific height-boosting diets and exercise can help you stimulate the bones to grow tall for idiots scam appears to be prepared for everything that you are going to show their talent only if they could.Basic leg stretch - This can be with the help of good posture:If you believe that in swimming and some side-effects.If you would become shorter than you will also prevent you from talking to a good posture and diet can also aid in lengthening the spine.However, science and has been proven by scientific study.

Even if you would have way more confidence to face the challenges are offline.Try to avoid and complete technique and guidelines to boost your confidence.So avoid these while maintaining a diet which includes your daily workout regimen and diet if you want to grow taller and to encourage bone growth.Lastly, avoid engaging yourself with right clothes can make you look taller.Vertical height growth is possible at any age and become that height that you re going to be comfortable with the right place because here I am going to change your appearance and make you taller, or have already been allowed in those shoes that will increase your height.

Well it is a lot of particular vitamins and minerals naturally through exercises, this article for explanations and examples of some ways you can cheat everyone else's eyes just by using special yoga based exercises to become tall, even by at least 15-20 seconds at a time in your diet.But first, consider the grow taller naturally is not only be harming your chances of being tall, truth be told, there are not as tall as was genetically possible for a long 34 inseam.Some doctors in the swimming pool at least for about five times every day.The scope of human growth hormone level with good ventilation and a lot taller than they are a great idea of living in Asia, you would go out at even pace very slowly then repeat the exercise routines.So, if you're not one of the ways to stimulate height growth is ended as well.

#What Can I Do To Grow Taller Wonderful Useful Tips #Can Hanging Increase Height After 18

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danfanciesphil · 7 years

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I am *loving* your prompts!! I love the way you capture the boys, Ellen. :) I'd love to see something where they're out of their element (being forced to drive, or camping, or a blackout, or outside of the city, etc) Hope you're having a fabulous Parisian day, lovely!!! :)

Thank you sweetheart! I am enjoying all the practise enormously! Just sorry it’s taking so long.

Ok so your prompt is a little broad, I hope you don’t mind that I’ve run away with it a bit! Hopefully this is along the lines of what you were looking for. Much love, angel! xxx

Got a prompt for me? Click here! (Please be aware that due to an abundance of prompts, your prompt may take a few days to complete - but thank you all for submitting so far!)

Dan and Phil are indoor people.

It’s something they really, really appreciate about one another. A basis for their friendship, in a way. And then, later, their relationship.

Their perfect weekend would probably consist of very similar things - video games, Deliveroo, pyjamas, Netflix, and staying up laughing about stupid memes or playing board games until the wee hours.

This is how most of their weekends are spent, in fact.

However, occasionally they are forced outside of their comfort zone. They don’t budge easily, as they are very happy in their socially reclusive, hermit-crab ways, much to their friends’ chagrin.

Usually, when they have to spend their weekends elsewhere, it’s unavoidable.

Like this weekend, for example. Caspar Lee is having a birthday. Well, he has one every year, so it’s not exactly unusual. This year however, he’s decided to organise a camping trip.

In other words, he’s decided to single-handedly create Dan and Phil’s worst nightmare, and invite them to it via a Facebook event.

When Dan had first seen it, he’d snorted with laughter, showing Phil. Phil also rolled his eyes, amused at the idea of accepting an invitation so hideous to them both, and Dan had moved on with his life.

He figured he’d whip up some excuse later - feign a fictional conference or event of some sort - and tell Caspar that, regrettably, he and Phil would have to pass. Instead, Dan just forgot about the whole thing, and then it was two days before Caspar’s birthday, and Dan received a text.

From: CasparTo: Dan13:24pmHey Dan! We’re leavingat 5 on Friday. Are u andPhil driving up? x

From: DanTo: Caspar13:26pmWhat? Driving where? x

From: CasparTo: Dan13:28pmLake District lol Didn’t u read the event?

Dan’s blood runs cold, and all of a sudden he remembers everything. He jumps up from the sofa, sprinting towards Phil’s room in a sudden panic.

Phil is sat on his bed eating crisps and scrolling through his laptop; at Dan’s entrance, he looks up, frowning in confusion.

“What’s wrong?”

“Fuck, Phil we forgot about Caspar’s thing.”

Phil looks confused for a moment, then his eyes grow round and wide. “What?! The camping thing? I thought you said no to that!”

“I thought I did too!” Dan cries in despair. “I must’ve forgotten.”

That’s how, two and a half days later, Dan finds himself in the passenger seat of a rented Land Rover, watching warily as Phil navigates the rural countryside of Northern England, despite the fact Dan knows for certain that he hasn’t driven a car in years.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?” Dan asks for the fifth time.

Phil side-eyes him crossly. “I know you’re a paranoid person, but you’re supposed to have total trust in me, remember?”

“I do, I do.” Dan lies, turning to look out of his window, trying to find something to distract himself amongst the flat, endless bracken stretching out to meet the greying sky. “How fucking far away is this place, anyway?”

Phil sighs, glancing at the Sat Nav on the dashboard. “It says we’ve got another hour at least.”

“Ugh,” Dan grunts, lifting his feet up onto the dashboard.

Phil looks at them in silent disapproval, no doubt thinking about the fact that this car needs to be returned in pristine condition if they want their deposit back.

“Maybe it’ll be fun,” Phil suggests, shrugging.

The atmosphere has been pretty tense between them ever since they found out they’d have to go through with this debacle. Camping, in the wilderness, with five other boys. Louise had initially said she’d come along, but has since pulled out due to ‘childcare issues’.

Dan hates her a little bit for having such a good ‘last minute’ excuse. If he and Phil had a baby, they could’ve weaselled out of this thing too. Dan pauses at this peculiar thought, wondering where on earth it came from.

If he and Phil were ever planning on adopting a child - which they have absolutely no current plans to do - they probably need to have a better reason than ‘using it as an excuse to get out of socialising’.

“It’s gonna be so... laddy.” Dan complains, pouting. He fiddles with the knob of the radio, which is only receiving static, as they’re in the middle of effing nowhere.

“We have alcohol,” Phil reminds him. “That might make it a bit better.”

Dan nods vaguely, sighing. He has no right to be complaining, he knows, because it’s all his fault they’ve ended up having to do this. He’s the one that forgot to reply to Caspar’s invite. For some reason, Caspar didn’t invite Phil on the event, but neither of them thought much of that. It’s more or less assumed amongst any of their friends that if you invite one of them, you’re gonna get the other too.

“I hope so.” Dan says, shifting into a position where he thinks he might be able to nap for a while. “If not we can just make out or whatever.”

Phil chuckles, and it’s the last thing Dan hears for a bit.

Perhaps the most surprising thing about this experience is that Phil seems to adapt to it with an ease that Dan literally could not have foreseen. They’d gone on a mega shop before they left London, packing the boot of their hire truck with a brand new tent, specially designed outdoor cooking utensils, sleeping bags, groundsheets, kindling for the fire... you name it, they bought it.

Of course, Dan’s main concern was that he and Phil would flail about for hours trying to set up their stuff whilst Joe, Caspar, Josh and the others would whip out those protein enriched muscles and have their tents erected in two seconds flat.

On the contrary, Phil launches himself into the task, and quite honestly blows the others out of the water with his prowess.

He and Dan pull up to the spot Caspar had chosen just after the others, and hop out of the car to greet them all. Then, as the others begin unloading, Phil strolls around to the back of the truck, slinging the - heavy, bulky, complicated-looking - tent onto his back, and waltzes over to a spot near where Caspar has begun setting up. He looks over at Dan, stares at him, marvelling really, and calls: “Is here okay?”

Dan nods wordlessly, and Phil gets to work at once. He hammers the pegs, he threads the rods through the frame. He lays the groundsheet and carts the bundles of sleeping stuff through the front entrance.

Dan just watches him, mouth agape. It’s strange that, despite the length of time he’s known Phil, intimately, the man still utterly astonishes him.

“Voila!” Phil says after what can only have been fifteen minutes of work. He stands back from the tent, proud, and for good reason. “She’s ready.”

Before Dan can speak, Joe and Caspar sling their arms around his shoulder, grinning at him.

“Always pick a man who knows how to use his hands, eh Dan?” Caspar asks, jostling his shoulders.

“I wonder who wears the trousers in this relationship...” Joe adds on, winking before wandering off towards his half-erected tent.

Phil walks over to Dan then, smiling nervously. “Is it okay? I can make it a little straighter if you want.”

He’s taken his outer shirt off, and his arms are slightly dewy from the exertion of all the physical activity. His hair is ruffled by the cold, Yorkshire wind, and he’s breathing heavily. In other words, he looks kind of like sex on legs.

Dan stutters on his own breath for a moment before replying.

“N-no, it’s- I really- you did a good j-job.” He gets out eventually, and Phil beams, clearly pleased.

Phil pulls Dan towards him, right into his chest, and Dan just sort of melts there, his eyes falling closed as Phil’s thick, bare arms wrap themselves around him.

He feels Phil press a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re teeth are chattering. Are you cold?”

Dan hasn’t the heart to tell Phil that he’s just stuttering because he’s overwhelmed by Phil’s Heathcliff-esque ruggedness in the setting of this wild moorland landscape. Instead, he just nods silently, and Phil tells him he’s going to go and find Dan’s jumper in the car.

By the second night, Dan has more or less surrendered himself to the wilderness. At first, having no showers, toilets, or other amenities was a difficult adjustment, but despite being a bit of a princess nowadays, Dan has in fact camped quite a bit in the past. Okay, so maybe camping at Reading Festival isn’t quite the same thing, but it’s still a tent, and sleeping outdoors, and slowly descending into a savage over time.

They’ve hiked (not Dan’s choice of activity, duh) all day around the beautiful, raw and untamed land of the Lake District. They’ve even climbed a (smallish) mountain, atop which they’d stopped to guzzle the picnic they’d brought along.

Normally, Dan would’ve hated it, and it certainly wasn’t what he’d call fun, but the views were immense and breathtaking, and there’s something about being here, amongst the undisturbed wilderness, that leaves one with a primitive sense of belonging to something bigger than oneself.

He tries to explain this to the others, and they all laugh, of course. But it doesn’t matter. Phil squeezes his hand in acknowledgement, showing that he understands, even if it’s only a bit.

They get back to the camp and crack open the beers, huddling around a campfire in their bedraggled states. None of them look their best in their rain macs, thick woollen jumpers and muddy walking boots, but it doesn’t matter. Nobody is filming them now. They snap a single photo for Caspar’s Instagram, then tuck their phones away. They’re no use out here, anyway.

Dan is squeezed into one of the camping chairs they’ve brought along, on Phil’s lap. He’s tipsy and his face is pink and warm from the wind burn and the heat of the roaring fire they’ve created. He’s full of soup and hot dogs and marshmallows - camping food - and he’s surprised to find that he’s happy.

Phil’s arms are wrapped around his middle. It feels so safe, here, with him, despite the fact they’re a hundred miles or more from London, in a place they’ve never set foot before now.

Silly games are played, drunken stories are exchanged, which leads to secrets being told, and a solemn pact that nothing will leave this spot. And then, it’s time for bed.

Last night, Dan and Phil had slept restlessly, too cold to lift their arms from their sleeping bags let alone cuddle. Dan looks into Phil’s eyes as they extricate themselves from the chair, and he can tell, at once, that the same won’t be said for tonight.

They stumble through the tent flap, giggling drunkenly, and fall onto one of the sleeping bags - Dan doesn’t remember whose is whose at this point.

Phil is immediately attacking him with kisses, which makes Dan laugh harder, and he rolls them until Phil’s on top of him, though it’s hard to see what’s happening in the dark.

They struggle with layers of clothing, pulling and prising at various fabrics in the pitch black, laughing uproariously at the whole affair because it seems so difficult they might as well give up the attempt.

They don’t, though, and somehow they get there, naked and shuddering as they make love in the narrow confines of their two man tent, the sound of the furious wind whipping against the canvas outside.

When it’s over, they crawl into one sleeping bag with some difficulty, the heat radiating off their naked bodies at once suffocating and not enough. Dan listens to the steady, fast pace of Phil’s breathing, and traces his lips with one hand.

“Can’t believe you just Brokeback Mountain’d me,” Dan says, teasing, and Phil laughs.

“Couldn’t help myself.” He confesses, yawning. “Please don’t get murdered with a tyre iron.”

Dan chuckles. “Fine. If you insist.”

“Home tomorrow.” Phil mutters, sounding sleepy.

Dan snuggles towards him, more than happy to close his eyes as well after the copious amount of exercise he’s done today.

“Hm,” Dan agrees. “Maybe you were right, though.”

Phil’s hand is at the base of his skull, his fingers trailing through the short, bristly hairs there. “Hm?”

“Maybe camping isn’t so bad...” Dan says, feeling awkward about the confession. “Y’know,” he pauses, swallowing his embarrassment as best he can manage. “As long as I’m with you.”

#prompts #camping #pg-13 #fluff #adventure #hope you like it babe!#anon #ellen answers

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baltics4engbergs · 7 years

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Two days of London activity!

Well, I do have a lot to catch up on -- and amazingly, we head back to the U.S. tomorrow! So, I am going to post a few entries over the next 24 hours, just to catch up on everything and then hopefully offer some concluding thoughts -- because I really do think I have had some impactful, really lasting experiences these last three weeks, and that we have had many strong memories created as a family, and I want to get those all recorded. But, for now, let’s begin with D. H. Lawrence ;)

So, yesterday morning I gave my paper at 9 a.m. I was in a room called “the conservatory” in the New College of the Humanities, which was kind of a sunroom, and given that there were two consecutive panels, and one was in the big, really prettier room upstairs, and had a colleague of mine in the study of the “American Lawrence,” whose name is Lee Jenkins (from Cork), on that panel, and she’s great, it sort of came as no surprise that my colleague Nancy and I that we didn’t have the hugest audience. But, so many “big” names were in the room, and that was really great -- and our chair, Paul Eggert, is a big deal in Lawrence studies, and everyone is so generous and supportive with their insights, that whether the audience was large or small, we still got a ton out of the experience. I can say I did, at least. I spoke on Lawrence’s few weeks in London between December 1923 and January 1924, before his two stints in New Mexico, as importantly transformative to his outlook regarding national identity and what he calls “a non-human race of men,” which he desires the emergence of, somewhere outside of western Europe. Paul Eggert is the editor of the Cambridge edition of The Boy in the Bush and Twilight in Italy and so his feedback was particularly rich and spot-on and if I ever have the time to turn this paper into an article, what he offered me in his comments will enrich that essay for sure.

After my panel, I walked a bit -- after chatting with Lee Jenkins outside for a sec in the really surprisingly warm London sun (did I mention how hot is has gotten these last few days -- and humid with no rain?)-- and I went around Russell Square, just beyond the British Museum. I was heading to a Caffe Nero (like a Starbucks) because I needed a coffee and some catch-up time on my computer because I am so, so, so behind on email and have just been going nonstop and really needed to send off a few important messages. On my way to the coffee shop, though, I saw a small library called the Weiner Library for the Study of the Holocaust and Genocide and it had like a sandwich board outside advertising an exhibition they had on right now, and I was like, well, I am curious, and it’s free, I think I’ll go in. I never take impulsive turns like that, but I did, because I had a little “spare” time. It was incredibly interesting. I wish I knew more about the library itself, but I overheard that it was founded by a man who had been a refugee to Britain in WWII and that they have collected many histories (not sure if oral histories too?) of other Jewish (and presumably non-Jewish but also persecuted) refugees from that period. Anyway, the small exhibition on now is about the Nazis’ human experimentation. I of course knew this had happened, but I didn’t know many details, and I learned a lot just spending thirty minutes reading and looking in that library yesterday. A very heavy but edifying drop-in that was. I could offer more details about the experimentation, but it is all just pretty unfathomable, but horrifyingly true, and if you wanted, you could peruse their online formation about the exhibition, and learn a lot about about it, if you were compelled to learn more.

So, I did get to Caffe Nero before too long and spent an hour catching up on email. From there, I went back to the apartment to check in on kid-duty and the group of Eric, Alia, Rowan, and Cece were just coming back from the Regent’s Park zoo. It was a hot day, as I mentioned, and they walked the 1.2 miles each way, and had played at a playground before, and then paid through the nose to go to the zoo, by which point the kids were already tuckered out, though they had fun at the zoo, so afterward they were at ragged edges, just being goofy and loco. I wish I’d been able to go to the zoo too! From the pictures I saw, it looks like the zebras, giraffe, and penguins were all pretty cool -- but Eric did say it seemed like an “old” zoo. And Alia, being spoiled by having the Detroit Zoo nearby with which few zoos compete (I think this and she does too), it wasn’t quite of that caliber, so to speak. But, they had some animals that were new to everyone, namely the Okapi. I think this is what they were describing. I’ve heard of this because Cece has an African Animals A-Z book and “O” is for Okapi in that book. They also had lemurs, which other zoos have for sure, but I don’t think the Albuquerque Zoo does, though maybe they do. But Rowan loves the old(er) kids’ show Zabomafoo (I did too, but when I was in my 20s, haha!) and that show features a lemur.

The kids had dinner and once they were ready for bed and were purportedly winding down, Alia took the reins because Eric and I had to go to the “wine evening” at the conference director’s house. It was in a part of London I’d never been to, though it was just a little ways north of where I used to live in Marylebone.

Ooops, I realized I forgot to mention one other adventure of yesterday-- the Engberg Family Adventure on the Double-Decker Bus. I should call this also a Very Hot and Sweaty adventure. Man, I had kind of forgotten how hot the top of a double-decker bus is on a really steamy London day. Ugh. But I wanted to ensure that Rowan had the double-decker bus experience he’d been wishing for -- and since days were few still remaining, we needed to do it. We took the bus down Euston Road towards my old neighborhood and then we got off at Marylebone Station and walked over to Balcombe Street. We saw the flat that my friend Lauren and I used to live in, for one great year, in 1994-1995! Like everywhere in London, as I’ve noted, that area was incredibly busy, and somewhat spruced up. It was always a nice area, but there were some renovated bigger buildings and they’d updated some of the row-houses on the street. It was really nice to see and was kind of forceful for me, like having memories from twenty years come raining down on my head and heart, just standing there.

Anyway, back to the wine reception: getting there was interesting! Eric and I used an Uber Pool to get there, and the guy who comprised our “pool” was a man who works for the Wellcome Collection and lives actually in Brighton, a two-hour train ride away, but during the week he stays with a friend in London. He and his wife and kids used to all live in London, but it got too expensive for them to find a house with room and a garden that they were searching father and farther out and ended up just thinking, well, if we’re looking this far out, we might as well move to Brighton! Anyway, he was super interesting. He found out I was an English professor and he asked me a question which he framed in linguistics terms, about the capacity for words to contain basically ineffable concepts. I connected to this through existential philosophy, and he then started employing ideas from Wittgenstein and asking me about Samuel Beckett. It was like the most intellectually intense fifteen-minute ride-share I bet I’ll ever have ;) And I joked about that, and then he reminded me that he’s just a Cockney from London, which made me laugh, because as he stressed and as I knew, Cockneys have attracted the most fame from their propensity for swearing and their use of a special “rhyming slang.”

Because Eric and I needed to get the kids to bed first, we ended up getting to the conference “wine evening” a bit late, but there was still plenty to drink, eat, and conversation to be had. We ultimately found ourselves on blankets in the back garden with some of the graduate fellows, the conference director, the administrative assistant for the conference who’d made the food, a professor from Estonia, and a few others. The most memorable moment was when one of their golden retrievers literally ate my hors d’oeuvre right out of my mouth. Like, actually. We stayed until about 9:30 and then went back to where we’re staying and went to the grocery store to get a bit of milk for our final day (with our kiddos, that is a necessity).

Now, it is very late and we’ve leaving at 10 a.m. tomorrow, so I’d better sign off. We’re staying overnight in New York tomorrow, so I will post a bit more about our final day, and I will post an entry I’ve already started that is an interview with Rowan about this vacation! I am sure you’ll want to tune in for that.

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epchapman89 · 7 years

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Miki Suzuki: The Good Fortune Of A Three-Time Japan Barista Champion

Miki Suzuki’s career record speaks for itself—since joining Maruyama Coffee in 2008, she’s been a consistent top five Japan Barista Championship competitor, and champion in 2010, 2011, and 2016. Clearly, she knows what she’s doing.

And yet, if you ask her how she does it, she’ll tell you it’s good fortune.

And perhaps some of it is. Because when you listen to Miki Suzuki talk about coffee, you listen to a woman who is very good at finding and preparing for, moments of just that; good fortune.

Suzuki’s coffee career started at a local coffee shop in her hometown of Yokohama, in Kanagawa. She spent approximately a year there learning the ropes before moving to the burgeoning Maruyama Coffee, then just a company of around twenty people.

It was a surprising move for the young Suzuki. At the time, Maruyama Coffee’s only cafes were located some two hundred kilometers from Yokohama, in the quiet countryside of the Nagano and Yamanashi areas.

“When I started in coffee, I was vaguely aware that I wanted to make it a living,” says Suzuki. “And I knew if I wanted to really learn barista work, it would take years. In a way, [moving to the country] was a chance to get away from the temptations of city living and focus.”

And so it was here, among the lush greenery and countryside quiet, that Suzuki built her barista career, becoming store manager at the Risonare coffee shop in Kobuchizawa, and competing regularly on the domestic circuit.

But competitions, presentations, and performing for an audience were not things Suzuki was used to; she considers herself shy and timid, and was initially hesitant to compete. However, many of the coworkers Suzuki looked up to were regular competitors themselves, and with their encouragement, she began entering competitions.

Suzuki says she’s fortunate to have developed a career in this environment, and fortunate for the help, coaching, and support of her co-workers, who helped push her to a first JBC win in 2010. That year would see her take 5th place at the WBC.

The following year, she won the JBC again (placing 4th at the WBC) and her most recent 2016 JBC victory marks the first time in the history of the competition that a barista has won on three separate occasions. Suzuki hopes to follow this by also becoming the first woman to win the world championship this year in Seoul.

And though presentations are still a difficult, nerve-wracking experience for Suzuki, she also adds—with a bright, cheeky smile—that there’s something of a selfish pleasure in them, too.

“At a competition, the judges will sit and listen to you talk about something you love for fifteen minutes. I can’t get a single customer to do that.”

She laughs when she says it, but it also offers insight into her approach; the simple joy of sharing what she loves plays an important part of Suzuki’s style and motivation.

“I think presentations are about expressing what you love and feel about a coffee, and having the audience empathize with that. But it’s important to make your presentation accessible and easy to understand, too; if your words aren’t understood, they’re just sound.”

And it’s perhaps easy to think that this approach—combined with her choice of coffee—is how Suzuki manages to rate so consistently high among Japanese baristas. But it’s perhaps her reaction to winning her first barista championship that really shines a light on her growth.

“[After my first barista competition] I felt that as barista, and as a person, I was still immature and inexperienced,” she says, “so I wanted to grow through competition experiences. But even after I became the Japan Barista Champion, I still felt like I lacked the abilities expected of the position. When I entered the WBC, too, it taught me a lot about how I could get better.”

The comment is a glimpse into how Suzuki improves; by constantly creating platforms on which to polish skills, and evaluating them to ensure constant growth.

“I knew when I joined Maruyama that what people expected of a barista was more than what I was at the time, and I was conscious of that. Knowing where I wanted to go helped me realize what I was lacking, and how I was supposed to get there, and I could focus on that in my practice.”

And though Suzuki might credit her career success to fortunate circumstances—a great workplace, great people around her, great experiences—you can’t help but feel that it’s her mindset that takes her to these places, or otherwise brings them to her.

So it’s perhaps not surprising that her own goal is simply to inspire others with this simple, dedicated approach.

“I don’t feel like there’s very much that I can do well, actually,” she says, laughing. “I mean, I’m not particularly skillful, I’m not athletic, and I’m not especially intelligent, either. But I do have the ability to endure. I hope that by showing people I can succeed, other people might be inspired to reach their dreams, too.”

This is what makes Suzuki approachable and easy to talk to, despite her accolades; she simply sees herself as a hard worker fortunate enough to have had some success. Coffee has enriched her quality of life and given her great opportunities, and she wants to repay the favor through her work.

This might be why, when I ask her what she likes the most about coffee, she says it’s the human component. It’s why she enjoys her work as sales planning director, and still works the occasional weekend shift at the Nishi-Azabu Maruyama coffee shop.

“For me, it’s the people,” she says. “It’s the connection between people, the connections you make, and the people coffee connects. Isn’t it incredible to think that the beans in a single cup of coffee have traveled the world to get to you?”

“Without these connections,” she adds, “you simply don’t get delicious coffee.”

Hengtee Lim (@Hent03) is a Sprudge.com staff writer based in Tokyo. Read more Hengtee Lim on Sprudge.

Some photos courtesy of Sonia Cao.

The post Miki Suzuki: The Good Fortune Of A Three-Time Japan Barista Champion appeared first on Sprudge.

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baltics4engbergs · 7 years

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Wednesday: A morning in Riga and a drive to Lithuania, home of the Litvak

Wednesday morning we were raring to go-- so we could get on the road soon to drive to Lithuania. There was a lot we were looking forward to doing in Lithuania, since it is the “family history” main attraction of this trip. Before we left, we took the kids on a little walk back to the park from the day before where we met the diplomat’s kids, but alas, they were not there this second morning. The kids needed to get their wiggles out before our long drive, but they were really more inclined to get their brattiness out, it seemed. Rowan was just in a funk, not wanting to listen, being cross, etc. Neither kid wanted to cooperate and perhaps they were just anticipating a long car-day and wanted to let us know that that wasn’t what they had in mind for a fun time.

So, the park jaunt was not really a success. Rowan mostly moped and Cece was kind of a maniac. Luckily, we got out of the park with zero injuries, minor bouts of screaming (though we did have a sustained bout on our way to the car a bit later), and some nice pictures of the beautiful--just gorgeous-- morning n Riga. Riga is certainly a city I would go back to and spend more time in. We did not get to go to any museums or take a tour conducted by a guide, both things I think I really could have benefited from. Piecing together the history of the Baltics-- and of the individual states and their pre-WWII and their Soviet-era histories-- is something I really wish I’d had more time to do before this trip, but I didn’t, so I’ve sort of scrambled to find some information out Wikipedia-style while we’ve been on the road, but I feel that with more preparation, the visits to these amazing cities, most with really tragic histories for my people, could have been even more enriching. Riga today seems really lively and fun and full of lots of sites to see, so perhaps our future travels will take us back.

We spent almost four hours on the road and it was pretty smooth, except for a weird traffic jam at the Lithuanian border, because the road was down to one lane there. We stopped at a town just over the border, Pasvalys, and went to the Maxima grocery store, which we were curious about (and it was lunchtime). The day before when we were at the Riga central market, there also happened to be a Maxima there that was jam-packed and we were like, what is up with the jam-packed grocery store? Does it have bargain-basement prices or what? So, when we saw one on our lunch stop, we stopped. We bought yogurt, some beer, some nectarines, some tissues for Cece’s nose . . . We were quite a crew making our way through the grocery store. I learned today that the richest man in Lithuania is the owner of this grocery chain Maxima. So, it is interesting that this store is one that has come up a few times in our travels.

So, the kids were actually quite good in the car. We also bought a small bag of Lithuanian-made cereal, which is probably a kind I would never buy at home (too sugary), but it was a good on-the-road snack and it kept the kids entertained: it was teddy bears and dinosaurs. Cece slept for a bit of the drive and Rowan zoned out for part of it. Alia snoozed and read the guide book, my dad snoozed, and I read some Wikipedia about where we were traveling (and about Baltic grocery store chains, haha).

We got to Vilnius with about twenty minutes to spare before my dad and I had to be at the Tolerance Center, of the Vilna Gaon Jewish Museum, where we had a 4:00 guided tour scheduled. We got to our apartment and met Jurgita, out host, who owns the apartment, and oh my goodness, it is the most beautiful apartment. The best of the trip, hands down. But the apartment’s exterior looks like a run-down concrete apartment block! It’s incredible. But, once you get up the one flight of stairs (which has sagging, rotted wood planks, decaying cement walls, a smell, and no light), you enter this gorgeous, newly remodeled, spacious, excellently appliance-d, just beautiful apartment. They have two little kids, so there were tons of toys and the kids were in heaven. My dad and I did not have time to really soak in how great the apartment was (with its three bedrooms, two full bathrooms, a real-live dryer, and a gorgeous deck with flowers and vegetable plants) until we got back from our tour.

So, my dad and I walked about fifteen minutes to the tour, and met Nathalie, our English-speaking tour guide. At this point, we had about an hour and half for our tour. She is the wife of the cantor at the only remaining synagogue here in Vilnius. She is a religious woman, and if you know the different degrees of orthodoxy of Judaism, she is an orthodox woman, who does not shake hands with men, wears a wig, and lives her life halachically. She spent much of the first hour just talking to us, because we had so many questions.

She, I would say, is probably among a handful of “religious” Jews in Vilnius. She says the turn-over of rabbis is great, so her husband is often asked to perform bar mitzvahs, but she said he would not do it all the time, because those asking were not “real Jews.” Now, this means that both parents are not Jewish. When she said this, I did not want to out myself as a person who, by that definition, is also not a “real Jew,” because only my father is Jewish, but this issue came up a few times in all of her talking to us -- the issue of “real Jews” (regarding parentage and many other issues related to following the Torah) versus people who privilege cultural traditions over living in accordance with the formal religious dictates. She was a woman who espoused strict adherence to Jewish law. Anyway, her words to us and her message about Jewish history in Vilnius were through this lens. It was super interesting. We learned so much and wanted to talk, and talk, and talk to her.

We learned about how much of the population in certain Lithuanian cities -- particularly Vilnius-- was Jewish at the end of the 1800s, and how many Jews were in Vilnius in 1941. We learned a lot about the Jewish community in Lithuania today and about attitudes about Jewish people in the country today. Now, since I am writing this a day later, after since we have now been on a day-long tour with another Jewish person (who Nathalie would not have considered a Jew, as it turns out, but whose family has been here for generations and had survived the Holocaust), I see her words in a different light, but not in a light that diminishes the value of what she said. She came to her perspective on Jewish life historically and in the present day from a very orthodox perspective. I come from a Conservative Jewish family and we have always really thought of ourselves as really adhering to cultural, rather than strictly religious, traditions. Putting my own history in conversation with how Jewish people in Lithuania-- whoever they are, religious Jews or “cultural” Jews-- see themselves, was very eye-opening. Nathalie was a big believer in Jews not affiliating with nations, but only with their faith. Our guide today, when I asked him about his Lithuanian identity, said he does feel a strong sense of that. I think part of this is generational, and part of it has to do, I am pretty confident, with orthodoxy.

Anyway, the museum part of our tour we actually had to go through kind of quickly. There were museum displays and lots of text and pictures about different eras of Jewish life in Vilna, from the 1500s to day. Of course, there was a lot of material on the extermination of Lithuania’s Jews starting in 1941 (and there was material about the persecution of Jews before that). There were stories of Holocaust survivors, particularly of children who were hidden, and there was a whole interactive, multimedia area of the museum dedicated to those children. It is so harrowing -- I mean, it even sounds so cliched to say “it is so harrowing,” but I cannot even begin to describe how impactful that was, especially knowing that we have many relatives from this city whose whereabouts post-1941 we just do not know. I will return to this when I describe my tour from today.

Anyway, I will post some pictures from the Tolerance Center soon, but we left there at six when they closed, and it was like a very moving wave had come over us -- we really felt immersed in the place, and we were kind of blown away, because we’d gotten out of the car, raced to the museum, had this intense tour and learned so much, and then we were back outside in the bright, afternoon sunshine walking back to the apartment.

That night, my dad and the kids and I went out to an amazing vegetarian restaurant, Namai, like two doors down from our place and they had a play corner for kids and were so nice to the kiddos, accommodating them with a fruit plate, plain white rice (oh man, my kids, ugh), and my dad and I got to enjoy a great meal and an unwinding, getting-our-thoughts-together and our-bearings-about-us kind of chat. It was quite a day.

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