#lipton plants

[keepingitneutral]

Transmitter Bunker, Ringstead, Dorset, United Kingdom,

Lipton Plant Architects

[noconcessions]

[cerealkiller740]

1957 Lipton Tea advertisement with TI plant offer

[mads-nixon]

Night Changes

Lewis Nixon x Wife!Reader

Masterlist

A/N: thanks to @footprintsinthesxnd for inspiring me to finally finish this wip from back in october!! for once, this isn't a heart-wrenching fic that makes you cry your eyes out...it's super fluffy!! Hbo owns the rights, and this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: morning sickness & pregnancy, nothing else except for tooth-rotting fluff :)

Nixon, New Jersey: April 1950

"What are you thinking, sweetheart?"

"What?" (Y/n) sighed, glancing towards her husband from where she sat on the floor.

A chuckle left Lewis' lips as he gestured to the various paint colors on portions of the wall. "Which one? Pink, purple, blue, or yellow?"

Rolling over to her side, (y/n) attempted to get up. With her swollen stomach, it made everything ten times harder than usual.

Lew rushed to her side, "Honey, let me help you."

"I've got it," she grunted, somewhat out of breath.

(Y/n) tried and failed a few times, then let out a huff of air, sighing as she held out her hands for Lew to come and help her up.

He smiled softly, moving to help lift her. "I thought you had it that time."

"Your child has been making things harder on me, lately."

Once they stood up, Lew pulled her close, his hand on her bump. "My child? I'm pretty sure we both made this baby."

(Y/n) pulled back with a look of disgust, fake gagging. "Please don't remind me."

With his signature grin, he pulled her back in, trying to plant a kiss on her lips. "No," she laughed, leaning away to evade his kisses. "We've got to pick out the color for the nursery, Lew!"

"So now you want to get on task, huh?"

(Y/n) giggled as she continued to swerve her husband's kisses. "Yes! We have to get this done!"

"Alright," he conceded. "Just one kiss. Please?"

With an exaggerated eye roll, (y/n) leaned in and pecked his lips quickly. "Come on, doll. One more," he pleaded.

"Nope. You'll get more once we get done picking out the color."

He led her to the wall with the colors and mock saluted her. "Alright, then. Captain Nixon is focused on his next objective."

They had decided to go with the soft yellow because it was more gender-neutral, even though both felt deep down that it was a girl. Staring at their halfway-finished nursery, (y/n) couldn't help but think back to when it all started the year before.

Indianapolis, Indiana: July 1949

The Nixons sat at the Easy Company reunion with Lip, Dick, and their respective spouses. While the guys all talked, (y/n) spoke with Ethel Winters and JoAnne Lipton about everything from baking to babies. Ethel and Dick had been married for a little over a year and were about to start trying for children. JoAnne and Carwood already had a son, so she told the two women how wonderful it was to be a mom. Hard, but wonderful.

The woman pulled out a picture of the three of them with a proud smile on her face. "Danny turns three next month. He's a spitting image of Car, that's for sure. I love him more than anything in this world."

Looking over at her husband enthralled in a conversation with his best friends, she couldn't help but imagine Lew as a father; holding their little baby in his arms or putting them up on his shoulders. (Y/n) knew he didn't have a good relationship with his father and would do everything to be there for their future children.

She was broken out of her trance by Lew's hand squeezing her thigh gently. "You alright, sweetheart? Why are you crying?"

Eyed widening, she went to wipe the tear that streaked down her cheek, but he beat her to it. "What's wrong?" He asked, eyes full of concern.

"Let's have a baby."

Lewis was taken aback by his wife's bluntness. Sure, they had talked about having kids but had decided to wait a few more years. Hearing that she changed her mind filled his with the same sweet images that appeared in hers moments before. If he was being honest, he had felt ready for a few months but didn't want to mention it to her until she approached him first.

He took her hand and excused them from the table as he led her to the lobby area of the venue. As soon as they turned the corner, Lewis' strong arms enveloped her in a tender embrace, his touch sending a shiver of anticipation down her spine. Their lips met softly, mouths melding together gently. It was a tender and loving kiss that expressed their shared devotion and longing for the next chapter of their lives.

With a gentle smile, they broke apart, their hands still entwined. The room seemed to radiate with the energy of their love and the endless possibilities that lay before them.

"Is that a yes?" (Y/n) asked, short of breath.

He kissed her gently, eye glistening with unshed tears. "Yes, let's start a family."

Nixon, New Jersey: November 1949

It was a cold and rainy morning when (y/n) stirred in bed, feeling a wave of nausea wash over her once again. This was the third morning in a row, and her eyes flickered over to Lew, who was fast asleep beside her. She always joked that even a freight train wouldn’t wake him up. Clutching her stomach, she quickly sat up, her heart racing as her body was trying to give her a few seconds of warning. (Y/n) barely had time to get to the bathroom, her steps hurried and unsteady as she covered her mouth with her hand. 

Reaching the bathroom just in time, (y/n) dropped to her knees, her body convulsing with dry heaves initially, followed by her dinner from the night before. The sensation was accompanied by a rush of relief, but the butter taste lingered in her mouth. 

Stirred by the sounds from the bathroom, Lew realized something was wrong and came rushing into the bathroom, concern etched across his features. He kneeled beside her, gathering her hair and rubbing her back soothingly. 

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” he asked worriedly, his voice raspy from sleep.

“I don’t know, Lew,” (y/n) replied weakly. “This nausea just won’t go away.”

“I think that we should get you to the doctor,” Nix suggested, worried she might have caught a nasty stomach bug.

She nodded, her mind already racing with a suspicion she dared not speak aloud just yet. “Yeah, maybe,” she answered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

After Lew left for work, (y/n) decided to visit the doctor to get some answers. Anticipation and nervousness bubbled within her as the test was administered. The minutes felt like hours, but finally, the doctor confirmed what she had hoped for – she was pregnant.

Unable to contain her excitement, she hurried back home, her heart bursting with joy. The second she got home, she walked past their extra bedroom, inspiration striking her. The sun cast a soft, golden hue through the lace curtains, illuminating the extra room that held years of collected odds and ends. (Y/n) stood at the threshold, groaning at the old boxes, forgotten furniture, and random oddities that filled the room.

She had a lot of work cut out for her.

After putting on a Nat King Cole album, she took a deep breath and rolled up her sleeves, beginning the task at hand. As she meticulously sorted through the belongings, memories danced in her mind – the dusty bookshelf that held Lew’s childhood favorites, the old rocking chair her mother had gifted her, and the worn-out toys that once brought her so much joy. 

With every box she emptied and every piece of furniture she carefully moved, the room started to transform. The clutter began to vanish, making way for her vision of a nursery filled with love and laughter. She could almost visualize the crib nestled by the window, sunlight streaming in, casting a warm glow on the tiny cradle.

Time seemed to fly as she got lost in the whirlwind of her excitement. As the clock ticked on, (y/n) meticulously organized, cleaned, and dusted, pouring herself into every corner. By the time Nix got home from work, she had cleared out most of the clutter. Her eyes held a sparkle of pride as she surveyed her progress, already lost in the thoughts of cradling their newborn baby in this very room.

Lew opened the door, calling out to her as he did every day. “Honey, I’m home.”

As he put his briefcase onto the kitchen table, he noticed the random items and boxes that were scattered around the kitchen. With a raised eyebrow, he stepped over the clutter and followed the sound of (I Love You) For Sentimental Reasons to the couple’s extra bedroom.

“(Y/n)?” Lew asked as he entered the room, his eyes flicking between the few things left inside.

A rocking chair…

Some old toys…

His old bookshelf filled with children’s books…

She stood in front of the window with a hand covering her mouth, eyes glossy with unshed tears. “Hey,” she whispered.

Lew’s brows instantly furrowed and he approached her, taking her into his arms. “What’s wrong, doll?”

“I’m happy.”

“You’re happy,” he pondered aloud, “But you’re crying.”

(Y/n) pulled back to look up at his puzzled face. “Yeah.”

“Why the sudden inspiration to clean out the crap in here?”

“Well,” she grinned up at him, her bottom lip wobbling as she spoke. “Our baby can’t have a room full of random stuff, can they?”

As (y/n) looked at him expectantly, he nodded with raised brows. “Yeah, yeah.”

But then his eyes widened suddenly and Lew’s gaze flew to hers. “The what?”

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[footprintsinthesxnd]

Darling I’m All Yours

So this is based on an anonymous request that I got back on February. I’m so sorry it took so long, but it is here now and I hope you enjoy it.

Dick Winters x y/n Warnings: smut, swearing, dominate winters, 18+,

Dick Winters had always been a gentleman man, generally quietly spoken, especially when it came to Y/n. They had been friends before an incident one night had caused them to become closer. Y/n wouldn’t have said they were courting, more like lovers. When Dick needed distraction she was there to provide it, when Y/n had a long day Dick was there to help her relax.

It was a mutual, unspoken agreement that worked for them and despite the lingering gazes and secret touches they never addressed what they felt for each other. They just went through each day as normal and by night they were back in each other's arms, whether that be cuddling in the armchair in Dick’s office or making love in the small one-man cot. It wasn’t the most comfortable but they made do with what they had, and any evening spent with Dick made Y/n forget about any other worries that may have previously preoccupied her mind.

Every stroke was so soft, so loving, that she could barely speak her own name by the end of the night. Dick’s constant worried reassurances and endless questions to ensure he wasn’t hurting her were endearing, if not a little unnecessary at times. Y/n couldn’t even remember how many times she had to assure him that she was enjoying herself. He was in constant fear that she would think he was using her for his own pleasure, when in reality he didn’t even care if he reached his own release, as long as she did.

Only the other night Y/n had woken up alone, wrapped in Dick’s bedsheets. She rolled over, noticing the light in his office seeping through the crack in the door, flooding the room with a yellow glow. Huffing she rolled out of bed, pulling the sheets with her and shuffling over to the office door, peering around it to see Dick, bent over his desk in his skivvies, the muscles over his shoulders tight and knotted.

“Dick, come back to bed,” she mumbled, pressing her lips along the exposed skin of his shoulder blades, feeling the way his flesh rippled, goosebumps appearing beneath her touch.

“I’ll be there in a minute, Love,” he reassured her, pressing his lips below the lobe of her ear, breathing in her familiar scent before falling down into his desk chair with a sigh.

Y/n knew what Dick was like, she could go back to bed and an hour later he’d still be sitting here.

“Not a chance, Dick. Come on, let me give you a little distraction.” She sunk down onto his lap, unwrapping the bedsheets and allowing them to fall to the floor.

Dick smiled, looking at her with utter adoration as he cupped her cheek, smoothing his thumb over her pale flesh and she leant her naked form into him, pressing her hips against his.

A low moan escaped through his lips and he groaned, “You’ll be the death of me.”

That was a week ago now. Dick had been in his office most days, flitting between meetings, mission briefings and briefing his officers that he’d barely managed to find two minutes to spend with Y/n. She understood, she had been busy too with her own work at headquarters but she missed his loving arms wrapping around her, the soft kisses he’d planted on her neck.

She leaned against the wall outside his office, her eyes closed as the warm afternoon sun shone down on her, seeping through her thick uniform. Someone cleared their voice beside her and she cracked open her left eye, noticing two familiar faces.

“Captain Speirs, Lieutenant Lipton,” she nodded at them. Despite her rank only being a Lieutenant the officers of Easy Company never played the rank card, especially not Speirs. She’d warmed to the cold-hearted Captain instantly and they had an understanding.

“Lieutenant Y/l/n,” they both greeted her.

“What brings you over here?” Lipton asked, leaning against the wall beside her with a smile.

“Got these for Major Winters,” she motioned to the two brown envelopes in her hand. That wasn’t the real reason she was over here, but Lipton didn’t need to know that, he just nodded, satisfied with the answer.

“Cigarette,” Speirs offered, pulling the pack of Lucky Strikes from his breast pocket. Lipton and Y/n didn’t hesitate, pulling out a cigarette each. They’d both heard the rumours and knew none of the enlisted men would take cigarettes from Speirs but they had no problem with that. After seeing the way he’d run into Foy with 88mm shells falling at his feet, well you’d just about follow that man anywhere too.

Y/n lit the end of her cigarette, sighing as she exhaled the smoke, “Do you know how long he’s been in that meeting?” She motioned to the office door that led into Dick’s office.

Lipton shook his head but Speirs nodded, “He’s been in there over an hour, don’t know how much longer you’ll have to wait.”

“Well then,” Y/n moved to perch herself on the stone wall, “I could use some company while I wait.”

Dick looked out of his office window, running his hand down his tired face. Supply meetings had never been something that interested Dick but lately he was finding them even more mind-numbing. His eyes scanned over his surroundings, noticing the three figures seated on the stone wall outside. He recognises those long blonde curls anywhere as she throws her head back, laughing at something Speirs had said. He knew that she had friends in Easy Company, she’d spent enough time around Dick’s men over the last year that she knew nearly all of them and he was fine with that, happy even. He just didn’t like the way she seemed so familiar with the Captain, laughing at his jokes like they were old friends.

His hands gripped tightly at the window seal, nails digging into the soft wood beneath his fingers. Something inside him seemed to grow, bubbling up in his chest as his jaw tightened. Was he jealous? No, of course not, they were just friends, and yet…

Dick found his legs carrying him down the hall, throwing open the wooden door and causing the three people to jump, poor Lipton nearly toppled off the wall at the sudden outburst.

Y/n glanced lazily over her shoulder until her eyes found Dick’s and her face softened. A familiar smile spread across her lips.

“Major Winters, Sir. I have some letters for you,” she hopped off the wall, motioning to the brown envelopes in her hand. “I thought you’d never get out of that supply meeting, Sir.”

It always made her chuckle that she had to address him by his rank when she knew him so intimately in his bedsheets. Dick’s whole body stiffened as she reached him, and she couldn’t help raising her eyebrow at his expression.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” he took the envelope from her before his eyes found Speirs and Lipton who remained on the wall, cigarettes in their mouths.

“I’ll see you later,” he spoke gruffly, his eyes watching her sternly for a moment before he strolled over to the two officers, falling quickly into conversation about his meeting.

Y/n was a little stunned, she knew who wouldn’t openly kiss her in front of his men but he’d never been this cold before. She could only hope that their meeting later that evening wouldn’t be so cold.

…………………………………………………………………………….

The evening air was chilled, biting at Y/n’s exposed skin as she hurried towards Dick’s office. She was later than normal, having been kept late, alongside Captain Nixon, by Colonel Sink. Her shoes clicked against the cobbled street, echoing loudly through the silent street. She reached the wooden door quickly, undoing the latch and slipping inside, locking the door behind her. She crept up the few wooden steps to the office, tapping her knuckles lightly on the door.

Dick’s mumbled voice came from inside and she pushed open the door, allowing it to swing back on its hinges. Her eyes quickly found Dick, but he wasn’t at his usual spot bent over his desk, instead, he was leaning against his desk, arms folded as he waited for her.

“You’re late,” his voice was rough and Y/n wasn’t sure what was going on with him. Normally he'd stand from his desk and walk over to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. Instead, his eyes remained trained on her small figure as she shut the door before shrugging off her coat.

She cautiously approached him, “Sorry, Colonel Sink kept Captain Nixon and the other intelligence officers late and I had to stay behind to help. I came as soon as I could.”

Dick nodded, sighing loudly before standing up, using his height to tower over her. He cupped his cheek, tutting under his breath, “You’re just so helpful aren’t you, Sweetheart, always so helpful to everyone.”

“Well, I do try,” Y/n replied, biting her lip nervously as Dick raised his hand, brushing his index finger over her lip. She’s never seen Dick quite like this before and yet that simple action sent a throbbing sensation between her legs. She moved to clamp her thighs together, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by Dick and he tutted again.

“Already so needy,” he mused, stepping away from her and moving back behind his desk, taking a seat. Y/n watched him in confusion as he bent over his paperwork, his eyes focused on the job at hand. A small whine escaped from her lips and Dick chuckled at her neediness from just one simple touch.

“Too bad that you haven’t been a good girl,” he added, shuffling some of the papers into a pile. “I didn’t realise you were so close with Speirs.” His blue eyes moved to meet hers, his pupils large and dark.

“I’m not, we’re just friends,” she corrected him, leaning across his desk. “Why are you jealous?”

Dick’s hand tightened around the paperwork in his hand, crushing it easily. Y/n enjoyed his reaction but hoped that the reports weren’t important. “I’m not jealous,” he seethed, teeth gritted as he looked up at her, “I was merely making a comment.”

“Of course you were,” Y/n laughed, sauntering away from the desk and into the bedroom adjacent to the office, her hips swaying in her pencil skirt and she knew Dick’s eyes were on her the whole time.

She moved into the room, leaving the door wide open behind her so Dick could see her. She began to remove her clothes, sliding her uniform from her body with ease and leaving her in her bra and underwear. She toed the floor with her foot, stretching her exposed leg out for Dick to see. A shuffling noise from the desk, followed by the sound of the chair scraping back across the wooden floor followed. She knew exactly how to play him.

His large hands quickly wrapped around her waist, pulling her close to him, his lips tickling her ear as he spoke, “I may have been a little jealous.” His voice was softer now, more like the Winters that she knew so well, and yet the grip on her waist didn’t falter.

“I can’t help myself,” he nibbled down her neck, “You just have this effect on me. I can’t help myself.” His hands began to slip down her stomach, fumbling along the line of her underwear, a silent ask to which she nodded.

He spun her around guiding her towards the bed. She sunk into the familiar sheets, resting back against his pillow. Dick remained at the end of the bed, undoing the tie from around his neck and throwing it somewhere behind him. Next came his shirt, his hands moving down the buttons tantalizing slowly, taking his time with each one.

Y/n eyes roamed over him, watching his every move with baited breath, her dark irises scanning up and down. She bit her lip nervously as he removed his shirt, pulling the white vest quickly over his head and exposing his pale chest, his muscles flexing.

Dick bent over, pulling quickly at the laces of his jump boots. The seductive undressing from earlier now taking its time and Y/n found herself growing a little impatient. He kicked his boots free, climbing swiftly onto the bed, his cheeks a little flushed and his eyes roaming freely over her exposed frame.

“So perfect,” he mumbled, his index finger drawing lazy circles over her stomach. His lips found their way along her collarbone, kissing gently at the exposed flesh. Y/n’s hands found their way around his neck, tugging at the soft strands of red hair at the base of his neck. His body hovered over hers, filling her with excitement and anticipation. His lips continued their assault, peppering her stomach, breasts, collarbones, and neck with kisses. Dick was taking his time, teasing at her smooth flesh.

Y/n’s heart raced, pounding against her rib cage. She wondered if Dick could hear it as his lips pressed over her heart. It wasn’t that she wasn’t enjoying his attentive affection but she needed him desperately and he was taking far too long.

“Dick,” she whined, gripping his red hair harshly and tugging it roughly. “Please.”

Dick’s head shot up, his pupils were blown, dark eyes boring into her, “Please what?” His tongue ran over his plump lips, causing her to moan.

“Please, I need you,” she whined pathetically, throwing her head back in annoyance against the pillows.

Dick chuckled, moving his hand down until it disappeared beneath the soft fabric of her underwear, “Oh Darling, I’m all yours.”

Y/n wasn’t entirely sure of the order of the next events but between smoldering kisses and rough touches, they were both stripped of their remaining clothes, leaving Dick in just his boxers. She could feel Dick’s hands all over her. There wasn’t a part of her body that his hands didn’t touch and as he worked his fingers between her legs Y/n withered before him, groaning as she gripped the sheets tightly.

She sighed pathetically as her organs washed over her, shaking her body violently and she gasped out, throat constricting as she shuddered beneath him. Dick wrapped his arms around her immediately, pulling her into his chest and rocking her slowly, rubbing his hand over her spine as she convulsed.

As her heart rate slowed and her vision became clear she looked up at Dick, admiring how his red locks fell in sweaty strands over his forehead, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he watched her.

Y/n reached up, smoothing his hair down, “That was” she trailed off, watching as his cheeks blushed a deep red. The dominant man from earlier had disappeared and the soft, familiar, loving man she knew so well sat before her.

He shifted uncomfortably, and Y/n noticed the hard bulge straining against his underwear. She reached out, running her fingers over the clothes bulge and watched as Dick inhaled sharply.

“How about I look after you now, Major,” she whispered against his skin, pressing her lips against his collarbone. Dick chuckled but nodded, drawing her chin up and pressing his lips softly to hers. She always loved Dick’s dominant side but she couldn’t help but love his softer, loving side. That was the Dick Winters she knew and loved.

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @msmercury84 @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @allthingsimagines @bucky32557038ww2 @hanniewinnix @inglourious-imagines @l13bg0tt @1waveshortofashipwreck

[chaisshitposts]

𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 & 𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐀 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐝

hello there! welcome to another blog for the nerdy manifesters who want to feed their logical minds. full disclaimer, these answers are solely based on the research I've done, and if you'd like to do your own research, you should! you are the creator of your assumptions and reality, after all. I will never stop encouraging others to find their own answers. while I was writing this, I had no idea someone had already talked about muscle testing on Tumblr, so, please do check out their post too!

what is muscle testing?

according to my holistic therapy, muscle testing is, "[...] a method of gathering accurate biofeedback on the body’s Physiological and Psychological state by stimulating the muscular system. The body’s cells know their entire history and what they require to regain full health. Muscle Testing is an elegant way to retrieve the knowledge imbedded into the cellular memory of the muscular system." ^1 when muscle tests are performed correctly, it allows the one being tested to have a direct conversation with the subconscious mind, aka the machine that controls the entirety of our body.

how does muscle testing work?

"Our bodies interact and move through the world by contracting and releasing muscles. A Tester will illicit either a contraction or release of certain muscles by applying gentle pressure to the muscular system. This testing unlocks the vast knowledge muscle cells by utilizing the binary contraction-release language of the body.

This simple, yet powerful process, is the first step of energy therapy, and it provides an accurate assessment tool of the client’s condition. This is a major part of Integrated Physical Emotional Clearing (IPEC) Therapy."^2

To better simplify what this means, everything that 'works' has energy flowing through it. You, me, your pets, the plants, and beyond. When doing a simple muscle test, you consciously may have a thought, or ask a question perhaps, and when the muscle test is performed, the subconscious will control your muscles in a way that gives an indication of 'yes', 'no', 'like', 'dislike' through a strong/firm or a weak/struggling muscle response that involves the muscles locking in place or stress causing weakness in the muscles. Energy therapy involves changing beliefs at the subconscious level with the use of energy, there are various energy therapy treatments, however, the one that I know about in a deeper sense is PSYCH-K. Again, I recommend you go and do some research of your own!

why would I muscle test myself or others?

muscle testing is just another application of holistic health, and there have been studies on how it can aid in decision-making, figuring out allergies, as well as what foods your body does and doesn't like. along with that, you are also able to test your subconscious' view on certain things that you are conscious of. bruce h. lipton details in his book 'the biology of belief' that DNA expression is not, "predetermined or unchangeable. Instead, the book details how DNA is influenced by signals emanating from outside the cell. The strongest energetic signals that cells receive are our thoughts, beliefs, and attitudes."^3 which is how we're able to manifest drastic appearance changes with our thoughts, feelings, etc, as well as completely eradicate health issues, pain, and other things of that nature with the use of our thoughts, beliefs, feelings, experiences, etc. the medicine you take for your colds is literally just energy, consider that.

how can I muscle test myself accurately?

there are various tests you can do. there are dozens YouTube instructional videos that can lead you in the right direction! however, my personal favorite is the sway test, which i will discuss a little further down. it takes trust in yourself, however, other people can muscle test you if you'd like a solid proof answer. even so, here are a few videos you can watch to better familiarize yourself with. please be advised, there are various ways to muscle test, I highly recommend that you do all of them and figure out which one feels right for you, your body will know.

The Finger Pad Test

Pendulums for Muscle Testing

7 Different Self Muscle Testing Techniques

how can I muscle test other people accurately?

How To Do Applied Kinesiology Muscle Testing

also, whoever you're testing or if you're being tested, your chin must be parallel to the floor while your eyes are looking downwards for the most accurate testing while your arm is being pushed down. the position of your eyes allows you to fully engage your subconscious without worrying about your conscious getting in the way of accurately testing others or yourself, it's been believed to assist in dissociation.

what are some benefits to muscle testing?

since muscle testing is apart of energy therapy, energy therapy has the ability to benefit all areas of life, including, but not limited to— relationships, family, individual growth, and overall well-being whether that be physical, mentally, or emotionally. if you find yourself struggling with certain thoughts or beliefs, muscle testing allows you to have a conversation with your 'higher self' aka your subconscious.

how does muscle testing correlate to manifestation?

when you perform muscle testing on yourself or others, you're able to connect with your 'higher self' aka your subconscious which uses about 95% of your brain on a daily basis, it knows when a lie is being said as well as the truth. after you've established what 'yes' and 'no' is according to your subconscious by making statements you already know the answer to (Examples: [My name is [insert your name]. I have [color] hair. My name is [fake name that's not yours] I have [insert wrong color hair]), you can then ask anything you want. You can also make statements and see if your subconscious agrees with you or not, that will then allow you to take the necessary steps you need/want in order to become your best self.

how can I do the sway test?

stand up with no distractions (no TV, no music, no outside conversation), feet should be shoulder width apart and planted flat on the floor. or if you are unable to stand, just sit up as straight as you can manage. then, lift your chin up so that it's parallel to the floor, facing forward, and focus your eyes down on the floor. once you're done with that, state "my name is [insert name]", notice which way you lean naturally, make sure you're relaxed, this'll be your 'yes/like/true'. you can do this a couple times to make sure. and then you state "my name is [fake name]," notice which way you lean naturally, this'll be your 'no/dislike/false.' once you've established that, you can ask questions, make statements, and anything else you want, you can even test supplements by holding them in your hand as well as holding certain foods. your body may lean forward, backwards, sideways, etc, it's all based on the individual. please be advised that at any point in time you can retest from your yes/no answers by making the statements above, as many times as you want, just to make sure your yes/no answers are the same. I would recommend that you do this after every question you ask, just to give yourself the satisfaction. but again!! do what feels right and what makes you feel that you're getting the most accurate answers.

what are some ways I can muscle test myself without fear of my tests being inaccurate?

practice whatever test you feel most comfortable with, or have someone else test you if you're unable to fully trust yourself. personally, I find that the sway test is easiest. you can also use a pendulum as a muscle test if you'd like, whatever suits you as the individual is what you should go with.

how can I use muscle testing to heal my limiting beliefs, trauma, and other detrimental things that have been holding me back?

muscle testing gives you a deeper insight on the beliefs currently settling in your unconscious/subconscious mind. truthfully, you'll find out things you probably would have never expected to be there in the first place, hidden away somewhere. who better knows you better than you?

is it an absolute necessity to muscle test myself when trying to create new assumptions/testing whether or not my beliefs have changed on a subconscious level?

nope, not at all! this is essentially the same thing as getting your palm read, your aura read, having a tarot reading, and other things of that nature. It's up to you on whether or not you want to try this out or if you think it'll work in your favor.

how can I use muscle testing and psych-k simultaneously to benefit myself to the max?

in my previous post I provided the instructions on how to do psych-k, and if you fully watch the video you will notice that the demonstration involves muscle testing before and after the psych-k treatment. you can do the muscle testing on yourself with various methods, and then you can figure out how your subconscious stands on your conscious belief/affirmation. if the subconscious likes the affirmation or views it as true, then you're golden. however, if it sees it as false, then the next step would be to ask your subconscious 'Is it safe and appropriate for [name] to balance for this goal?' If the answer is yes, then proceed, if the answer is no, you may have some underlying issues that need to be addressed before that. It's very rare for the subconscious to say 'no,' however.

after receiving a 'yes', you will then ask 'are all systems ready and willing for a balance of this goal?' once you've gotten your answer, you will go on to do PSYCH-K.

after performing the necessary steps to implement this affirmation/goal/ etc into your mind, you may do another muscle test and see where you stand.

what are some questions or affirmations/afformations, and belief statements I could use to muscle test?

I am a master at manifesting.

I can manifest anything I want right in this moment.

I am ready and willing for change.

My desires are already mine.

I am intelligent and capable.

and if you struggle to come up with your own affirmations or questions, check out this video and see if it'll help you!

notes

personally, I've only learned about muscle testing and psych-k within the last three days, and I've already had results. before I started doing this to myself, I did it to my brother and ma (they're my guinea pigs 🧍) and they both experienced some weird tingling sensations in their brains after looping a single affirmation. I decided to do the same for myself, but with self muscle testing. my manifestations are coming in faster than ever just because my subconscious now believes I'm a master manifester. plus, I used it to change another belief I had and I actually started crying like a lil' bitch. 🧍and I'll be honest, yesterday I muscle tested myself and asked 'can I enter the void right now?' and my subconscious said yes. so, there was an attempt on my end where I used the lullaby method, lulling myself to sleep with just the words 'I Am', and when I went to sleep, I didn't enter the void, but I had a dream. I can't entail what the exact details were specifically bc it's personal but it was about my family members who've hurt me in the past, with lots of rage and anger. and when I woke up, an affirmation immediately popped up in my head 'I forgive those who have hurt me and I'm ready to move on.' bruh. this isn't what I consciously wanted, but obviously my subconscious thinks I need to work on this matter before I can ascend and so, I'm gonna trust myself.

gotta be honest, I've read other people's posts where they have had their 'eureka!' 'aha!' moments and their little epiphanies... thought they were all completely bullshit and I was a hater, but gods-- that shit's real, and now I gotta make a change within myself, and it's time for you to do the same.

references + extra resources

Quoted Information

PSYCH-K

The recorded lecture about PSYCH-K (it's an hour long but I think the knowledge is worth it)

Rewrite Your Mind

[girlactionfigure]

LEICA AND THE JEWS

The Leica is the pioneer 35mm camera. It is a German product - precise, minimalist, and utterly efficient.

Behind its worldwide acceptance as a creative tool was a family-owned, socially oriented firm that, during the Nazi era, acted with uncommon grace, generosity and modesty. E. Leitz Inc., designer and manufacturer of Germany's most famous photographic product, saved its Jews.

And Ernst Leitz II, the steely-eyed Protestant patriarch who headed the closely held firm as the Holocaust loomed across Europe , acted in such a way as to earn the title, "the photography industry's Schindler."

As soon as Adolf Hitler was named chancellor of Germany in 1933, Ernst Leitz II began receiving frantic calls from Jewish associates, asking for his help in getting them and their families out of the country. As Christians, Leitz and his family were immune to Nazi Germany's Nuremberg laws, which restricted the movement of Jews and limited their professional activities.

To help his Jewish workers and colleagues, Leitz quietly established what has become known among historians of the Holocaust as "the Leica Freedom Train," a covert means of allowing Jews to leave Germany in the guise of Leitz employees being assigned overseas.

Employees, retailers, family members, even friends of family members were "assigned" to Leitz sales offices in France, Britain, Hong Kong and the United States, Leitz's activities intensified after the Kristallnacht of November 1938, during which synagogues and Jewish shops were burned across Germany.

Before long, German "employees" were disembarking from the ocean liner Bremen at a New York pier and making their way to the Manhattan office of Leitz Inc., where executives quickly found them jobs in the photographic industry.

Each new arrival had around his or her neck the symbol of freedom - a new Leica camera.

The refugees were paid a stipend until they could find work. Out of this migration came designers, repair technicians, salespeople, marketers and writers for the photographic press.

Keeping the story quiet The "Leica Freedom Train" was at its height in 1938 and early 1939, delivering groups of refugees to New York every few weeks. Then, with the invasion of Poland on Sept. 1, 1939, Germany closed its borders.

By that time, hundreds of endangered Jews had escaped to America, thanks to the Leitzes' efforts. How did Ernst Leitz II and his staff get away with it?

Leitz, Inc. was an internationally recognized brand that reflected

credit on the newly resurgent Reich. The company produced cameras, range-finders and other optical systems for the German military. Also, the Nazi government desperately needed hard currency from abroad, and Leitz's single biggest market for optical goods was the United States.

Even so, members of the Leitz family and firm suffered for their good works. A top executive, Alfred Turk, was jailed for working to help Jews and freed only after the payment of a large bribe.

Leitz's daughter, Elsie Kuhn-Leitz, was imprisoned by the Gestapo after she was caught at the border, helping Jewish women cross into Switzerland . She eventually was freed but endured rough treatment in the course of questioning. She also fell under suspicion when she attempted to improve the living conditions of 700 to 800 Ukrainian slave laborers, all of them women, who had been assigned to work in the plant during the 1940s.

(After the war, Kuhn-Leitz received numerous honors for her humanitarian efforts, among them the Officier d'honneur des Palms Academic from France in 1965 and the Aristide Briand Medal from the European Academy in the 1970s.)

Why has no one told this story until now? According to the late Norman Lipton, a freelance writer and editor, the Leitz family wanted no publicity for its heroic efforts. Only after the last member of the Leitz family was dead did the "Leica Freedom Train" finally come to light.

It is now the subject of a book, "The Greatest Invention of the Leitz Family: The Leica Freedom Train," by Frank Dabba Smith, a California-born Rabbi currently living in England.

Thank you for reading the above, and if you feel inclined as I did to pass it along to others, please do so. It only takes a few minutes.

Memories of the righteous should live on.

Rabbi Yisroel Bernath

[probablyasocialecologist]

Kenyan tea pickers are destroying machines brought in to replace them during violent protests that highlight the challenge faced by low-skilled workers as more agribusiness companies rely on automation to cut costs. At least 10 tea-plucking machines have been torched in multiple flashpoints in the past year, according to local media reports. Recent demonstrations have left one protester dead and several injured, including 23 police officers and farm workers. The Kenya Tea Growers Association (KTGA) estimated the cost of damaged machinery at $1.2 million (170 million Kenyan shillings) after nine machines belonging to Ekaterra, makers of the top-selling tea brand Lipton, were destroyed in May. In March, a local government taskforce recommended that tea companies in Kericho, the country’s largest tea-growing town, adopt a new 60:40 ratio of mechanized tea harvesting to hand-plucking. The taskforce also wants legislation passed to limit importation of tea harvesting machines. Nicholas Kirui, a member of the taskforce and former CEO of KTGA, told Semafor Africa 30,000 jobs had been lost to mechanization in Kericho county alone over the past decade. "We did public participation in all the wards and with all the different groups, and the overwhelming sentiment we were hearing was that the machines should go," Kirui said. In 2021, Kenya exported tea worth $1.2 billion, making it the third-largest tea exporter globally, behind China and Sri Lanka. Multinationals including Browns Investments, George Williamson and Ekaterra — which was sold by Unilever to a private equity firm in July 2022 —  plant on an estimated 200,000 acres in Kericho and have all adopted mechanized harvesting. Some machines can reportedly replace 100 workers. Ekaterra's corporate affairs director in Kenya, Sammy Kirui, told Semafor Africa that mechanization was “critical” to the company’s operations and the global competitiveness of Kenyan tea. As the government taskforce established, one machine can bring the cost of harvesting tea down to 3 cents (4 Kenyan shillings) per kilogram from 11 cents (15.32 shillings) per kilogram with hand-plucking. Analysts partly attribute Kenya's unemployment rate — the highest in East Africa — to automation in industries, including banking and insurance. Some 13.9% of working age Kenyans (over 16) were out of work or long term unemployed in the final quarter of 2022.

[theweirdgoodbyes]

bestie imma need to know (and pls be tagged in/sent the link) everything about the speirton ring fic right now please🧎🏻- for scientific purposes, no other reason…

HELLO DARLING I just gave @pfctipper (who I blame this whole thing on) a WIP snippet so imma do the same for the speirton girlies and gays BECAUSE. I love them and they’re fucking crazy (me. I’m crazy.)

“Lipton.”

“Fuck!” Carwood quickly looks up and sees that he is not alone in this makeshift kitchen, a figure sitting at the small table to his left. He takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm the pounding in his chest. He hadn’t heard anyone enter, or had been so caught up in his search that he had not realized he was never alone to begin with. The moonlight pouring through the hole in the roof assists him in identifying who has spoken as he sits back on his heels, taking one more deep breath. “Captain Speirs…I’m sorry. You startled me.”

“Are you looking for something, Second Lieutenant?” Speirs asks casually, like he’s asking Carwood what he ate for supper. His chin rests on the back of the chair is he is straddling, his hunched position making him look smaller and younger than Carwood knows him to be. Blue eyes look down at the fingers he’s drumming against the shoddy table, his other hand a fist resting on his knee.

“My…I’ve lost my wedding ring,” Carwood forces out, feeling his cheeks grow hot in embarrassment that he has been caught crawling on hands and knees so frantically. He hadn’t expected Speirs to be awake, although he wasn’t certain if the man ever slept in the first place. During their week in this billet, Carwood always came down the stairs each morning to see the blankets on Speirs’ makeshift bed neatly folded, the man in question nowhere to be seen. Each night he felt tempted to ask Speirs if he wanted the bed, assure the captain that he would sleep just fine on the couch; but he never asked, knowing that Speirs’ would refuse and the sensation of the man’s hand on his lower back urging him up the stairs would…well, he didn’t want to think about how it would make him feel.

He rises from the floor, wiping his hands on his knees. He watches Speirs nod in acknowledgment and Carwood takes in the sight of him, this enigma that always seems to find him. He is shirtless, a rare sight, but his pants are still on, soiled and stained from the day’s duties, muck boots planted firmly to the ground on either side of his chair. Squinting through the shadows, Carwood may see freckles on the man’s bare shoulders, similar to the ones spattered across Speirs’ nose and cheeks; he tries not to think about it.

“Wedding ring.” The corners of Speirs’ mouth pull down, eyebrows raising. His fingers keep beating their pattern, the soft sound filling the silence around them. “How long have you been married?”

“Five years.”

“Hm.”

Speirs lifts his fist from his knee and holds it out to Carwood, his fingers uncurling to reveal a simple gold ring; he stares at it for a moment before realizing it is his own. Carwood wonders where Speirs found it and is about to ask when the thumping in his chest returns with the heat in his cheeks, realizing the truth. He quickly meets Speirs’ eyes and tries not to feel sick. Speirs had not found it anywhere. He had taken it.

“Thank you,” he manages to whisper after a few moments, reaching out to take it back, doing his best not to let his fingers graze Speirs’ palm. He returns it to his finger, noting its looseness; he has lost weight since the war began, and it would not take much for it to slide off, or be taken off when he wasn’t expecting it.

He looks back at Speirs and sees his gaze has not left him. The man shrugs.

“I wanted to see how long it would take you to notice.”

[viktorbezic]

Transmitter Bunker, Ringstead, Dorset, United Kingdom - Lipton Plant Architects via @keepingitneutral

[blurredcolour]

You Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under | Part Three

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

Dick Winters x Female SOE Agent!Reader

For the first time since you met, fate seems to be conspiring to keep you and Dick apart, forcing you to find new ways to remain connected to one another.

Warnings: Military Violence, Discussion of Injuries and Death, Separation, Fear, Discussion of Nazi Atrocities, PTSD, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Language, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Note: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal of Dick Winters by Damian Lewis. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within. Non-English is denoted in italics.

Word Count: 4568

--------------------------

Bastogne – December 21, 1944

Grasping the handle of your F-S knife, Dick chopped at the thick layer of ice in the ammunition box braced between his knees, revealing the frigid water beneath. He planted the blade into the dirt at the edge of his foxhole, starting to spread shaving cream onto his cheeks as his friend Nixon threw back the tarp covering the next hole over.

He emerged into the milky light, the fog still thickly besetting the Bois Jacques, as he stumbled over holding out your scarf. Dick motioned with his head for him to set it on the ground beside him and Nixon simply sat down there himself. “Thanks for lending it to me.”

“You were shivering so much after your recon I could hear your bones rattling.” He muttered as he dragged his razor over his stubble, flinching at the chill of the blade each time it met his skin.

Nixon gave him a lopsided smirk. “Sure your girl won’t mind me borrowing it? It still smells real nice.”

Dick glared at him out of the corner of his eye. “I have half a mind to stab you with her knife.”

Nixon’s grin only widened. “The poetry of it would not be lost on me, I assure you.”

With an affectionate roll of his eyes, Dick quickly finished shaving before retrieving the scarf from his friend’s hand and wrapping it tightly around his neck, tucking it beneath the collar of his ODs. Nixon was right, there was still a hint of your scent woven into the fibres and he could only hope to hold onto it. Merely nine days ago he had left you on the platform in Paris, and not three days ago he had stood at the crossroads outside Bastogne, staring back to where he knew you slept safely in your bed, making a vow to keep it that way. Your body bore enough scars from this war, he would not permit the accumulation of any more.

His hands found their way into his pockets, lips twitching as his fingers brushed against the edge of your cap badge stowed inside the right one. Pressing it between his thumb and forefinger, his heart warmed somewhat against the chill of the morning. The eerie silence was broken by Lipton’s shouted warning of ‘incoming!’ and he and Nixon quickly threw themselves into the bottom of the foxhole to take cover as yet another barrage of artillery rained down on their position. Working the pad of his thumb along the grooves of the maple leaves, he took slow, steady breaths, focusing on each ridge, on the raised lettering, using it as a tool to ground him amidst the maelstrom that filled the woods.

As the chaos eased off, the men slowly began to emerge from their cover, and Dick took stock of the dead and wounded. It was a tedious and heart-rending routine they had fallen into since taking up this position. Reports given and calm restored for the time-being, Dick took advantage of the rare moment with no demands on him to delve his hand into the breast pocket of his jacket and retrieve your letter. The creases were becoming well worn, the words nearly memorized, but the solace it brought him was no less profound.

When, at last, supplies reached them after Patton broke through the German lines, Dick was both taken aback and yet somehow unsurprised when his correspondence from regiment included a bound packet of letters bearing your handwriting. You were a determined woman, and true to your word it seemed you had been writing almost daily. With your posting in Paris, and connections at Allied HQ, your letters had been delivered through military channels rather than civilian ones.

Ordering the runner to wait, he quickly dashed off a reply to you. He kept the message free of sentiment, knowing that it would be read by numerous people along the way, but was desperate to send something to you all the same. Folding it carefully, he addressed it to you care of Major Wilkes at Allied HQ, aware that he might receive a reprimand, but after everything he’d just endured the idea of that really held no fear for him.

------------

Paris – January 7, 1945

It had been an agonizing three-and-a-half weeks. More accurately, the last two-and-a-half had been pure torture while the first had simply been filled with longing. As promised, you had written letters almost every day and sent them through the Allied post office. Letters about the weather, the book you were reading, the cat that lived in the courtyard of your building. Mundane topics that would pass by the censors and were in no way what you had actually wished to talk about, but you had done your best to keep the contents light as all the magazine articles recommended a lady ought to do.

And sometimes it felt like you needed advice on the subject. On how to field strip a Sten gun? Absolutely not – you could and had done that in the dark with your eyes closed. But supporting a man in the fight while you remained in the relative comfort and safety of Paris had been an entirely new experience for you.

The news of the German assault through the Ardennes, however, had put an abrupt halt on the festive feeling that had been unfurling across a city ready to celebrate its first liberated Christmas. It had not been necessary for Major Wilkes to ask you to stay late that first night, rifling through any and all decoded intelligence awaiting your translation from German into English, desperate to find out just how they had blindsided everyone. Late nights had run into early mornings, with copious amounts of artificially sweetened coffee consumed to keep you alert, thinking back wistfully to the Benzedrine tablets you would have carried if you were still a fully functional SOE operative.

The news had been dire – 2nd Battalion of the 101st surrounded in the Bois Jacques above Foy in the brutal cold, woefully undersupplied, under near-constant artillery fire. It had been all you could do to keep Dick’s face out of your mind as your eyes had raked over page after page of German, writing your preliminary translations in pencil before sending them to be typed up in order of importance. There had not been enough of importance in front of you to make a difference, it seemed.

A knock on the door to your small, windowless office had sent you scrambling to cover up the avalanche of paper covering your desk, but Major Wilkes had stepped into the room with a reassuring smile.

“At ease, Sergeant, it’s only me.” He had set a new cup of coffee on your desk, making you blink up at him owlishly before you had murmured your thanks. “I wanted to bring you word that the 101st continues to hold the line. Your Captain and his men are doing an excellent job.”

You had pressed your lips together shyly to hear the Major refer to Dick as ‘your Captain’ but had managed a nod of thanks. Your commanding officer had been slipping you bits and pieces of information as they came in, continuing to impress you with the fact that he never seemed to miss a thing. He had barely run into you and Dick at that restaurant over a week ago and yet he had retained that information and since taken the time to keep you updated on Dick’s situation.

“I understand you visit the post office almost daily on your lunch?” He asked.

Looking to him sharply, it had become even clearer to you just how astute Major Wilkes truly was. You had known him to be an acquaintance of Colonel Buckmaster, head of SOE’s F Section, for that was the reason why you had been placed under his command when you insisted on continuing to make yourself useful following the explosives incident in Normandy. But it had become increasingly apparent that Buckmaster and Wilkes may have spent a great deal of time together in similar fields to your own.

“I do sir, yes.” You had replied, taking a sip of the fresh coffee he had delivered even though your stomach had rolled in protest; you had needed the caffeine to keep working.

“Might I suggest you bring the letters to me, and I will send them internally. God knows when the actual post will reach them.”

“Sir I…” You had stuttered, taken aback by the generosity of his offer.

“I see you in here sixteen hours a day, Sergeant. Don’t you think your letters will help him just as much?” He had raised an eyebrow and you had nodded slowly.

“Good, I expect to see the first one on my desk tomorrow at 0900 for mail call. And don’t stay past midnight tonight, you’ve done that for the last three days.” He had looked to you firmly and you had nodded rapidly.

“Yes, sir.”

The news of Patton’s break through had brought with it some sense of relief but it paled in comparison to that brought by the tattered scrap of paper which found its way onto your desk that day in early January.

Two sentences scrawled in pencil upon paper bearing all manner of stains and splotches that reduced you to tears of the sweetest relief. Dick was alive. Yes, the reports all said so but to see something addressed to you in his handwriting made it real.

The pace of the war seemed to change after that – time and troop movements speeding up immeasurably. The promised arrival of six fresh-faced CWACs taking up residence in your apartment, needing constant supervision on the worldly Parisian streets only served to blur your perception of time even further. Certainly, they had arrived with a captain and sergeant of their own, but not one of them had set foot outside Canada before, save a brief stint in England, and relied heavily on you to ensure they were able to make their way to and from their posting – mercifully in the same building as yours.

Feeling not unlike a mother goose with a trail of goslings behind her, you did your best to keep them out of trouble with locals, and soldiers alike, leaving you little time to enjoy your now regular correspondence with Dick. Nor the privacy, for their Sergeant shared your bed with another girl on a single cot crammed in the corner of the room, the other four girls sharing the second bedroom. Their feminine influence did prove useful in finally eradicating your habit of cursing, however, which you had been trying to accomplish for Dick’s sake anyway.

One evening in late February, the sound of Glenn Miller and his orchestra echoed from the kitchen, accompanied by their bright laughter as they cleaned up from dinner. The girls were more than a little distracted by practicing their dance steps with each other to prepare for a dance hall outing the following night. Shaking your head fondly you signed off on your latest letter to Dick, sealing the envelope with a few dabs of glue before walking to the front hall to slip it into your shoulder bag to post tomorrow. The sound of heavy boots on the stairs set the hairs on the back of your neck on end, even in liberated Paris, while the subsequent knock on the apartment door had your heart skittering against your ribs.

Several of the girls appeared in the doorway to the kitchen but you stopped them with the firm gesture of your palm, raising up on your toes to take near-silent steps before glancing through the peep hole of the door. The sight of the Officer’s Airborne patch on the garrison cap of the man outside had you clutching at the letter still in your hand tightly, but as he swivelled his head you were startled to see dark brown hair rather than the ruddy red you had been hoping for.

Pulling at the chain before unlocking the deadbolt, you tried to deny the feeling of your heart sinking through the floor. If something had happened, the reports would have told you. Major Wilkes would have told you. You exhaled shakily as you opened the door to see Lieutenant – No, Captain Nixon – standing on your doorstep with the distinct shape of a paper wrapped bouquet tucked into the crook of his arm and an envelope pinched between his fingers.

“Good evening, Captain Nixon.” You assembled what you hoped was a calm smile on your face.

“Ma’am.” He smiled in return, and you couldn’t help but note that the youthful softness he’d had about him in Normandy seemed to have been etched from his features. “With Major Richard Davis Winter’s compliments and regrets.”

At the sound of his voice, the girls flooded into the foyer behind you with all the subtlety of a herd of cattle, making you bite the inside of your cheek as you accepted the offered flowers and envelope.

“Thank you very much, Captain. Please convey my gratitude and understanding.” You swallowed, realizing now that though his battalion had been pulled back to Mourmelon-le-Grand for well-earned rest, it seemed you were not going to have the chance to lay eyes on Dick for quite some time.

“Of course.” He grinned, eyes dropping to the letter still clutched in your other hand. “Is there anything I might deliver to him in return?” He prompted with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh…oh!” You swallowed and quickly held it out to him. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“My pleasure.” He nodded. “Have a good night. Ladies.” He nodded to the cluster of women behind you, earning a chorus of giggles and farewells before disappearing down the stairs.

Tucking the letter into the pocket of your skirt, away from prying eyes, you lay the bouquet on the dining table to gingerly unwrap the paper, revealing a dozen red roses. A collective gasp sounded from all seven of your mouths at the surely astronomical cost. The amount of personal funds that Captain Nixon added to the sum Dick had sent with him on his leave to Paris would be a secret he kept well beyond the end of war. The worn enamel pitcher from the kitchen suddenly appeared on the table in front of you along with a paring knife, the girls settling into the chairs and begging for you to tell them all about your Major and the handsome Captain he had sent with flowers in his stead.

Carefully trimming the end of each rose stem before placing it into the makeshift vase, you spun a tale of an accidental collision with then-Captain Winters at the train station. His friend Captain Nixon had been there too, and you had shown them around Paris to make up for causing such a ruckus on their arrival. Partially based in truth, by the time you got to the dinner and dancing, dreamy sighs reached your ears. Nestling the last rose in amongst the rest of the bouquet you smiled softly at how lovely the dining room suddenly looked, but the letter was fairly burning a hole in your pocket.

You were unspeakably grateful when their sergeant interrupted their barrage of questions with a firm reminder that the kitchen was still in a state of disarray, and though they let out a collective moan, they trudged back in to finish cleaning up. Mouthing a silent ‘thank you’ in her direction, you quickly slipped off to your room, shutting the door and tearing into the envelope somewhat savagely.

The personal tone of his letter, a clear indication of the level of trust he held in Captain Nixon to carry around such honest words, made your heart ache fondly. You wished that the letter you had placed in his friend’s hand was comparatively tender, but you had written it, as always, with the expectation that several others would be privy to its contents before it reached him. Re-reading it several times before tucking it away safely in the false bottom of your suitcase, you knew it was a piece of him you would hold onto for the rest of your life.

More surprises lay in store for you that month when the girls took it upon themselves to write to their superiors in London, recommending you for a promotion. A King’s crown was soon in place of your sergeant’s stripes to denote your position of Company 47’s Sergeant Major. It was a promotion which amused Major Wilkes greatly, seeing as you’d gained it through honest means, while your place as a CWAC most certainly was not.

As the Allies advanced into Germany in the early spring, however, it proved to be one of the few sources of amusement in your office. Certainly, the promise of an ever-closer victory in Europe was a spot of radiance on the horizon, but the flood of paper being returned for translation was unveiling a darker and darker truth of just what had happened under Nazi rule. You had heard the rumors, and seen their violence firsthand, but the liberations of the camps, the cold and calculated way in which these things were discussed in the documents before you – it was taking a toll.

The news of the German surrender had brought with it riotous celebration throughout the streets of Paris, but you had only felt a moment a quiet relief that Dick would no longer be subjected to enemy fire – for now. The battle of the Pacific still raged for the American army, and you could not help but dread the possibility of his redeployment there. Major Wilkes startled you on your way back into the office with just two days later with some news.

“I’m sorry to say, Sergeant Major, you won’t be remaining with your company much longer.” His eyes held their usual spark of mischief as they did whenever he spoke of your ‘company’ but you tilted your head curiously at his words.

“Sir?”

“Plans have been in place for the eventuality to see justice done in the face of the heinous acts I know you have been busy translating.”

You swallowed dryly and nodded in reply.

“We are to move into Germany as soon as possible, please return to your lodgings and pack your things and report back to me immediately.”

“Yes sir.”

It was easier said than done, navigating the streets still in the throes of celebration, but you managed nonetheless to gather your belongings and leave a note of farewell to the girls. By the time you returned to the office with your suitcase, the clerks had nearly finished packing everything into boxes and the twenty of you working directly under Major Wilkes made your way down to a transport truck to begin the long drive. Settling in for an uncomfortable ride, you did not concern yourself with the precise destination like many of the other staff who were whispering amongst themselves. ‘Germany’ would suffice for now.

It wasn’t until mid afternoon the next day when you arrived in Nuremberg, with pockets of the city relatively untouched by the air raids and invasion, that your curiosity was piqued.

“Nuremberg, sir?” You asked him as you worked together to unpack into a new set of offices.

“A hunch.” He said with a knowing grin, and you had a feeling there was an awful lot more to it than that.

Spring wore on into summer, the documents you worked on grew more disturbing, and the London Conference convened proposing an International Military Tribunal to take place in Nuremberg, confirming your suspicions about Major Wilke’s ‘hunch.’ Dick, it seemed, was enjoying his time as an occupation commander in the Alps – not four hours away and yet duty still managed to keep you apart. The office was growing busier, more cramped as men no longer required for the fight were able to return behind desks and take up the work of translation alongside you and your colleagues.

Despite the increasing volume of personnel under his command, Major Wilkes still managed to keep an eye on you, not missing the way you had developed a tendency to stare vacantly off into the corner of the room from time to time. Physically present yet taken back to some moment in time you’d been forced to bury for the sake of carrying on with the tasks before you – the face of the German soldier as he drove his bayonet into your side, the ten second plunge into the inky blackness from the belly of a silent plane, the wailing of that boy’s mother when you’d returned with her dead son draped across your shoulders.

“Sergeant Major?” He interrupted one such moment in mid-July, making you sit up straighter as you were caught red-handed.

“Yes sir?”

“My office.”

You stood quickly, feet briefly snagging on the legs of your chair making you struggle awkwardly before you were able to follow him into his office.

“Close the door.” He said firmly and you were quick to do so. “This is long overdue.” He muttered and held out a piece of a paper. “Seventy-two-hour pass to Austria. My apologies for the length of time it took to arrange it, as well as the short notice.”

You stared at it openly before he thrust it a little closer in your direction and you stepped forward to take it from him. “Th…thank you very much Major Wilkes.” You gulped roughly, holding it between both hands as though to protect it.

“Now I have it on good authority there is a supply truck departing for Zell Am See at 1030 whose driver would not be opposed to a passenger. You’ll find the address tucked inside of your pass. It will most likely not be so easy to make your way back, which is why you have seventy-two hours. You’d best be on your way, Sergeant Major.” He smirked, leaning back against the edge of his desk.

You could not help the smile that stretched from ear to ear, nodding rapidly. “Sir, yes sir, absolutely I will be back on time I swear it. Thank you very much, sir.” Turning quickly, you nearly raced out of the door before reminding yourself to walk at a calm pace in front of your colleagues. You grabbed your shoulder bag from the bottom drawer of your desk, locking up the documents you had been working on, and snagged your uniform jacket from the back of your chair before making out way out through the main door of the office.

It was only once you were out in the hall that you began a mad dash for the entrance, not even having the time to return to your billet for a bag. You checked the address on the slip of paper inside your pass before running almost all the way there, drawing far too much attention to yourself – and not caring in the least. You arrived with ten minutes to spare, a sticky mess beneath your woollen uniform, finding the driver who helped you into the cab of the supply truck. He was a gruff, middle-aged man, but after you caught your breath, a few well placed questions easily drew him into telling his life story, filling the time as you wound your way higher into the mountains that Dick had described in his letters.

It was mid-afternoon by the time you arrived at the supply depot in Zell Am See, but you still had yet to reach Dick’s lodgings. Truth be told, you hadn’t even told him you were coming; there was a chance he might not even be there. Walking down the side of the road toward the hotel you knew they had requisitioned, you swallowed as you heard a jeep pull up beside you, rather missing the reassuring weight of your knife at your hip.

“If that man doesn’t sing you ‘Kiss Me Goodnight, Sergeant Major’, he’s just not living his life to the fullest.” Your eyes widened as Captain Nixon grinned up at you from the driver’s seat.

You let out a bark of laughter, though the accompanying smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’m impressed you recognize my rank badge…” You couldn’t help but admit.

“Used to be my job to know things.” He muttered, a touch of sadness in his voice.

“Not all it’s cracked up to be, knowing things.” You trailed off in a similar tone.

“I apologize I don’t have any flowers on me this time.” He tilted his head with a smirk, breaking through your melancholy silence. “But climb in, I’ll drive you the rest of the way.”

You quickly slid into the front seat beside him, thanking him profusely as he took you up the winding road to the hotel and through the checkpoint with ease. You followed him inside the building, removing your cap with its replacement badge, and up the stairs before he gestured at the door to room 308. Feeling suddenly nervous, you glanced over to Captain Nixon only to see him walking away down the hall.

“Captain Nixon where are you going?” You whispered after him anxiously.

“Trust me, he’s seen enough of my face.” He winked and disappeared into another room a few doors down.

Taking a fortifying breath, you raised your hand to knock.

-------------------------

Read Part Four

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

Tag list: @allthingsimagines, @bcon24

[luckyreds]

bob but as people from my old workplace pt1:

Dike:

- Andrew, The Head Manager of the restaurant.

- came in because nobody wanted to be head manager because it took too much time and always spilled over into your free time. Does absolutely nothing.

- goes missing for about half his shift, talks about going home 24/7, leaves the underaged staff to run the place.

- you complain to the Boss🤢 about it, he does nothing.

-if by some miracle, he’s there, sits in the office for about 1-2 hours on the computer or his phone.

- the health inspection comes by and the only people to greet him are teens. You send everyone out while to go look for him while keeping the HI busy. He wants you to accompany them because you know more about the state of things than Dike does.

-quits after a year because of a burnout.

Lipton:

- Carlos, one of three adults that work at the restaurant.

- picks up Dike’s slack but gets no extra pay for it. Deals with reservations, staff food, sick calls etc while he’s not supposed to do it.

- basically a single mom who works two jobs. Used to work 5 days a week but brought it back to 4 because of stress.

-much too competent to be working at this joint. But cares too much to let it fall apart.

- Remembers the good times before the Boss🤢. Hopes it will get better once more.

- He didn’t smoke when he started here, but does now purely to have extra breaks.

- Curses out Dike when he thinks no one can hear him.

Bill and Babe:

- Eric and Eric. Despite being from the same village, being the same age and having the same name. They never met until working here. Now their best friends.

- Babe works as a dishwashing boy at the restaurant.

-he came to visit a friend who worked behind the counter when Dike asked him to help out in the back. The friend quit a week later. Babe stayed. working illegally for about a month before Dike remembered he didn’t have an actual contract.

-Bill met Babe during break. Bill works with the outside plants. And a frequent visitor of the restaurant, the Boss🤢 caught him hanging out in the back and he now has a ban on the kitchen.

-Babe was send outside to help Bill with the Christmas trees once. They tried to stuff two trees into a jaguar and one went through the front window. Babe is sent back to the cafeteria promptly.

- people switch up their birthdays a lot. And they don’t actively make it worse. It became so confusing everyone just congratulates them twice.

Luz:

- Miranda, the barista.

- has worked there about as long as Lipton and knows everybody. Always talking to somebody or getting recognised by someone.

-dated several people who work here. Nobody is clear on who exactly.

- Has customer’s orders ready before they order it. You don’t know how he does it.

- On top of all the drama bc everyone tells him everything, will spill the tea to you if it’s slow. Somehow he never gets shit for it.

- You know he worked as head manager once, but never talks about it. Still helps Lipton out with reservations etc.

- Has 2 cats, both of them used to live at the workplace as mousers. They kept making the alarm go off so Luz took them home. The mice are still a problem.

-convinces the Boss🤢 to have an end of year party at the workplace. It was the last party ever held on the grounds because someone fucked in the storage room/office against the freezer door.

- sends you to deep clean said office the day after. It quickly becomes clear it hasn’t been properly cleaned in the last 10 years.

Talbert:

- the guy that fucked in the office during the end of year party.

- Lipton and Luz catch him sneaking out of there when they go for a smoke break.

-tells them he just came back for a smoke break as well even though the office is in the opposite direction of the smoke room.

-nobody can agree on who the second person was.

-works in “the back offices” what they do there is unclear to this day.

Speirs:

- Calvin, the storage manager.

- For some reason, Storage is always silent, even though every single noise you make seems to echo. It is also about 10 degrees colder and shaded in perpetual darkness even when the lights are on.

- Every Thursday someone has to go there to empty the Paper/plastic trashcans. Nobody wants to go out of fear of meeting Speirs.

- Just as you think he truly isn’t there. Speirs appears out of the dark like some boogeyman. Asking you if you know how the carton shredder works, the only thing you can do is nod. He smiles creepily and disappears again.

- Actually kind of chill when you meet him outside his natural habitat.

Liebgott:

- Ben, maintenance guy that has also worked here since forever.

- threatened to quit and has quit about 4 different times, but always comes back somehow.

- If you hear bitchy comments from above its him fixing lights or looking at the roof. Really nice once his feet are back on the ground.

- Somehow knows your mother. You don’t want to know why.

[scalpel-mom-mori]

oh yeah quick guide to teas from a tea addict that spends about 40% of their disposable income on teas: all non-herbal teas come from the same plant, the leaves are just processed differently, from roasting to oxidizing to aging.

I'm very biased when it comes to prep, i almost universally prefer my teas on their own, usually hot, sometimes iced

Black teas:

the big three of Indian black teas: assam, ceylon, and darjeeling all are fantastic hot and plain

assam is typically the one used in blended/flavored tea drinks like chai

Darjeeling by contrast is much more delicate. I don't even recommend putting milk in it, honestly

Never had ceylon on its own so i can't comment

red tea, better known in the west as chinese black tea, is perfect on its own, with a distinct flavor profile from its Indian counterparts

Lipton is garbage you deserve better than that

Pu'er is a fantastic aged tea, chinese in origin. Much earthier than your average black tea. Blends very well, and holds up to various flavorings. If you want to make Mongolian butter tea, this is what you use.

Green teas:

Pretty universal across regions compared to black teas, aside from the match-adjacent teas

Japanese green teas are highly varied in terms of strength and bitterness

Often blended with other herbal flavors that would otherwise not infuse as strongly such as jasmine

My friend got me this really strong korean green tea that's absolutely delicious but much more bitter than most would prefer

Oolong:

Similar to green teas, though oolong is considered its own category. Honestly my personal favorite. It's nice for any time of day, light on the caffeine,

Da Hong Pao <3

Others:

I actually haven't delved too deep into the world of yellow and white teas so if/when I do, I'll let yall know

[witch-in-the-dirt]

The Evolution of My Magic,

Is such an interesting thing for me to think about. Lots of places online and paths you read about will discuss the different tools and uses and rocks and herbs etc. They will also say that all you really need is yourself and your intentions, and yet I don't see this.

My path has evolved. It looked like, expensive rocks, hand made wands, and fancy knives, a mortar and pestal, drying plants, in depth rituals and so many things like this.

Today it looks like the cup of lipton tea I made for my friend who was feeling under the weather.

Today it looks like a picnic in the park with my close friends.

Today it looks like a meditation that turned into a 30 minute nap.

Today it looks like a tarot reading on my porch in my pajamas.

Today it looks like cooking a meal, cleaning, writing, painting, walking, and reading.

Today my path is myself, honestly. Yes I have labels and funny lines to define myself within, but it is still within my own ability and daily life. A day in my life, a normal daily practice, is just my day.

Returning to my roots I suppose.

[scotianostra]

March 29th 1835 saw the birth of The Scottish tea planter James Taylor.

Born to Michael & Margaret Taylor at Moss park, Monboddo Estate, Laurancekirk, young James was devoted to his mother whose death took place in 1844, when James was nine years old. James was educated at Auchenblae, which stands at the entrance to the Glen of Drumtochty and worked with his father on the farm there. When his father married again, home life became unbearable to the young lad who was no favourite with his step-mother. As he grew older he disliked what he considered the drudgery of farm life, but his father gave no encouragement to his desire to leave home and push his way in the world.

Via London he ended up on the Loolecondera estate, in what was then Ceylon. At the time of his arrival Ceylon was more known for it's coffee but there was an onset rust disease, destroying the crops, Taylor visited India in 1866 to learn about growing tea. Upon his return, Taylor planted a 21-acre plot of tea on Loolecondera in 1867 – Field No 7.

Taylor’s initiative enabled a new industry to hastily replace an old one which had been brought to its knees. It breathed new life into the perilous situation that investors, owners and planters had found themselves in.

The first shipment of Ceylon tea comprising 23 pounds in two small packs was sent to the London tea auction. The value of the shipment was 58 rupees. In 1873, his first quality teas were sold for a very good price at the London auction.

It was a small step for a man but a giant leap that paved the way for a flourishing trade, leaving behind a rich heritage that is treasured to this day.

James Taylor put his heart & soul into cultivating tea. He was never married, his first & last love being tea.

During the forty years he spent in Sri Lanka, he took a holiday and spent it studying tea in Darjeeling.

From an initial export of a mere 23 pounds, tea production on Loolecondera and the country expanded rapidly and by 1890, exports had risen to more than 20,000 tons. So too did the glowing reputation of Ceylon Tea. It was in the early 1890 he met up with fellow Scot Thomas Lipton and the latter started his own Tea production, which lasts to this day.

The rapid growth of the Ceylonese tea industry allowed the large tea companies to take over therefore the small farmers like Taylor were chased out from the industry. Because of this, Taylor was dismissed by the Loolecondera estate management. He passed away just over a year later of dysentery in Sri Lanka in 2nd May 1892 at the age of 57 years, and is buried at Mahaiyawa Cemetery in Kandy.

In 1893 one year after his death, one million packets of Ceylon tea of the first shipment to London were sold at the Chicago World's Fair.

A museum was built in 1992 to commemorate him in the place where he lived. The pics include his grave at at the Mahaiyawa Cemetery in Kandy.

[serpulalacrymans]

Dracaena, Pothos, Monstera, pink princess philodendron (cuz ofc) ZZ plant, poppies, and the all famous hemp plant if you wanna start growing. Plus the exclusive Pickwick and lipton teas.

(You DO deserve it.)

Pspspspspspspspspspsps

You have a pink princess philodendron?

...Maybe one cup of tea.. Would be.. Okay...

...But I'm not some kind of animal. Don't psps me.