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The Time Riders: Part 5 A Labyrinth Palace. Based on a post by BiscuitHammer, in 16 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels. The non-descript carriage had indeed made its way through Paris' winding streets, taking well over an hour to finally stop in front of the palace and allowing Mark to get out of the cramped cab before it rattled off. The sun had set some time ago, and night hung over the city heavily, the cloying air of Paris carrying the city's growing pains to his ears. Even at night, the city was not silent. Mark adjusted his outfit and marched toward the outermost gate of the vast palace, its arms spread wide and encompassing a massive courtyard. Two men wearing ornate red uniforms and holding pikes crossed their weapons at his approach, barring his entry. One of them gruffly asked him to state his business. Trusting to the plan, Mark said nothing, but merely held out one of his sealed letters, this one bearing the emblem of Richelieu. The guard examined it for several seconds, consulting with the other guard before handing it back and then opening the gate. Mark shot them both a dirty look for holding him up in his errand and then swept inside, doing his best to look haughty and full of bravado, which is what the Musketeers were apparently renowned for. He couldn't help but reflect that they seemed a lot less heroic than history let on and were more dickbags than anything else. Oh well. Faking being a dickbag was probably significantly easier than pretending to be a hero. He passed through another gate that got him closer to the palace, this one also manned by the Swiss Guard. He arrogantly presented them with the Richelieu missive, which once again satisfied their scrutiny and he was allowed to pass. He forced himself to not look around in wonder at his surroundings, instead heading straight to the great doors that would give him admittance to the palace. Alex once again presented his letter, but this time the guards squinted at him suspiciously. "Qui es tou?" demanded one of them. His throat was dry, but he answered as readily as he could, trying to sound authoritative and even haughty. "J'mappelle Benat de Ferres, of Soule, Second Company of the King's Musketeers under Monsieur de Treville. Let me through." "Fucking Basques and Gascons," muttered one of the guards in irritation. "Why would a musketeer be bringing a missive to his excellency, the Cardinal?" he demanded to know. Mark concealed his anxiety by looking pissed and rattling off one of the phrases Alexandra had given him, hoping it had the desired effect. "I have an idea, why don't we all go ask the Cardinal and you can fucking explain to him why you held up his envoy on an important errand? Does that sound good to you?" The two men looked at one another warily; the visitor was certainly obnoxious enough to be a Musketeer and a Gascon. Sighing and shaking his head in defeat, the one man handed the sealed letter back to Mark and they opened the doors, allowing him entrance. He swept by them, calling them shitheads in Spanish before the doors closed behind him. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help Gawking as he stared at the palace around him; its splendor was beyond anything he had imagined. Walls of white plaster, carved in exquisite shapes and edged in royal purple, along with gold filigree, and incredible paintings and artifacts lined the walls. Endless numbers of servants scurried by, hardly noticing him. He shut his eyes for a moment and composed himself, remembering the details Alexandra had shown him, the way through the palace. He turned and began his search for his teacher. Lisette walked primly through the halls of the palace, bowing her head deferentially to just about everyone who passed her. Wearing an elegant gown, she seemed to almost glide along the hallway, walking with a practiced ease that her mistress had taught her. She had, in three years, only been in the royal presence twice before, in attendance to Lady Alexandra. The king had barely noticed her, but Lisette didn't mind one bit, because this was far more of a life than she ever could have hoped for. She had, of course, spent much more time in the presence of the queen, because her mistress served Anne directly. Anne of Austria seemed mostly amused by Lady Alexandra's quirky servant, but she was kind to Lisette, often sending her home with gifts of chocolate. Her devotion to the queen, while not equal to her fanatic love for Lady Alexandra, meant she would die in Anne's name if necessary. She hoped it wouldn't come to that tonight, but she had made her peace with God and the Lady Mary all the same. Alexandra had set her with the task of removing or distracting every guard she could from the route Mark would take through the palace. She was not to kill anyone, nor was she to be seen in the mayhem, if at all possible. If things went wrong, she was to retreat to the queen's quarters and be seen protecting her. It was the best alibi she could hope for. A guard up ahead. He was a sullen-looking brute, not carrying the long pikes of the gate guards, but a much more practical halberd, along with a short rapier on his belt. She knew he'd be trouble. She ducked into an alcove and pulled a small phial out of her cleavage, drinking the strong red wine from it and sloshing it around in her mouth, to make sure the aroma was on her breath. Replacing the phial, she lurched back out into the hallway and sauntered toward him lazily. "Hello, beautiful," she said drunkenly, giving him a lopsided smile. "You must' be off-duty by now." "No, I am not," he grunted, not looking at her. "Go away, slut." "C'mon," Lisette persisted, leering at him as she leaned against the wall to his left. "We could be having fun. Don' you like fun?" "Duty is not meant to be fun." "But these are fun," she drawled, as she stepped in front of him and leaned forward, using her hands to pull down the front of her bodice and exposing her perky tits to the man, whose eyes went wide at the sight. "These are all the fun you'll need;” He didn't stop her as she sidled up to him, stood on her tip-toes and put her arms around his neck. Her breath was sweet with wine, her dark eyes glassy with the lack of inhibition it brought on. Her tits pressed to his chest, her hips flat to his crotch. "Take me into that room and fuck me;” she breathed huskily, her lips no more than an inch from his. "I want to feel you inside me;” The man was rather pale at her suggestion, but nodded readily and turned around to open the door. The parlor behind was empty, the perfect place for a rendezvous with this slattern. She took him by the hand and led him inside, closing the door behind them. Mark walked down the hallway, trying to not look like he was hurrying, and staying alert. He was entering a difficult part of the operation, because he was no longer in an area of the palace that led to either the king's quarters or those of Cardinal Richelieu. If anyone stopped him now, he would probably be redirected rather forcefully, and he had precious little time to waste. He walked by a door, from which he heard a moaning noise. Then he heard a familiar woman's voice, gasping and urging someone on. His translator bud wasn't close enough to hear what was being said, but he was fairly certain he knew what was happening. He subtly pushed the door open and peered inside. Mark gaped as he watched Lisette, leaning over a small table, panting while a member of the House Guard fucked her from behind, her layered skirt bunched over her ass as he pushed in and out of her. The guard remained oblivious, but she noticed the door open and flicked a glance his way. She gave him an annoyed look and jerked her head, indicating that she had this covered and he needed to keep moving. He nodded and pulled the door shut quietly before heading down the hall again. He turned a corner and then headed up some stairs, leading up to the next floor, which was apparently where Becky was being kept. He was so busy thinking about what he needed to do next that he blundered right into two guards, who grunted and then glared at him angrily. "Stupid shit!" the one man he had smacked into spat. "Watch where you are; who are you?" Mark went wide-eyed, not having expected them. His mouth seemed to work, but no sounds came forth. They blocked his ascent and continued to glare at him. "Who; are; you?" the man demanded again. Mark regained control of his voice and tried to speak. "My name is; my name is Benat;” Fuck, he'd forgotten his last name. "My name is Benat DeFlepard," he managed to say. "I am from Sully and I have' "What sort of name is DeFlepard?" snarled the one guard. "I have sealed orders," Mark interrupted, not liking where this was going. "From the Cardinal!" "Is that so?" sneered the man. "Let's see them!" Mark handed him the sealed missive scroll. The man examined it and frowned. "This is the king's seal," he growled. "What is the meaning of this?” Before the man could finish his query, Mark punched him in the face and then pulled his crème-colored tabard over his head and threw him down the stairs. The guard cursed loudly as he rolled at least two floors. Mark was too late to stop the other man from drawing his short rapier, but managed to grapple onto him, keeping himself from being run through. Mark might have been taller, but the guard was a veteran of many wars, strong and cunning. It wasn't long before he had Mark's back pressed against the wall, both men fighting for balance on the stairs. "Little shit!" he shouted, trying to press the edge of his blade against Mark's throat and slit it. They tussled, and Mark managed to wedge his arm between his neck and the rapier, feeling the sickening cold pain of the keen edge creasing his forearm. His free hand, however, snaked down to the pistol on his belt, twisting the leather until the muzzle pointed down; The stairwell echoed with a thunderous crack as Mark pulled the trigger and discharged the weapon, the iron ball punching a hole in the guard's boot and then his foot. The man groaned and staggered, releasing Mark. His ears ringing, Mark managed to shove the man down the stairs, following his comrade. He shook his head and began sprinting up the stairs, knowing the whole palace would be coming down on his head any second now. Alexandra was concealed in a secret closet in a parlor not far from the queen's quarters, listening carefully. She was wearing the red uniform of the Cardinal's personal guard, her impressive bust flattened and pulled tight with linen straps. Her golden hair was held in a ponytail while a black mask concealed her facial features. Her rapier sat on her hip and three customized pistols were concealed around her person, along with several knives balanced for throwing. She heard the discharge of a firearm, followed by shouts of alarm and fright. She hung her head and sighed. She'd been hoping it wouldn't come to this, but there seemed to be nothing for it. She would see her obligation met. Alexandra crossed herself and exited the hidden space, heading toward the Cardinal's quarters, determined to cause a distraction for Mark as he went in the opposite direction to rescue Rebecca. It was all in God's hands now. All she could hope was that Mark had remembered what his name was. Mark raced down the hallway, ignoring people who poked their heads out of various rooms and parlors to see what all the commotion was, before closing their doors and locking them in panic at the sight of him. He had his sword in one hand, his pistol in the other. Having discharged his shot already and having no idea how to readily and safely reload the damn thing, the pistol was mostly for intimidation purposes at this point. Thankfully, if he pointed it at people, they tended to make themselves scarce. A guard rushed around the corner, his halberd in hand, but Mark smashed the ornate swept hilt of his rapier into his mouth, which dissolved in a welter of blood, lips and gum before he burbled and fell over. Mark kept running. He shoulder-blocked his way past another guard, but then found himself confronted by a small group of angry servant girls, who kept swearing in French and throwing bread rolls and potatoes at him. Covering his head, he sprinted past them, resisting the urge to take a swipe at the uppity wenches. There was the room! He raced up to it and tried to open the door, but it was locked. Given the amount of noise and commotion he was causing, he shouldn't have been surprised. He stepped back and then slammed the heel of his sturdy boot into the door with all his might, knocking it out of its frame and falling to the floor. He rushed inside, looking around for his teacher, but she was nowhere in sight. That's when the heavy vase smashed into the back of his head. He was on his face on the floor, reality swimming around him. He heard someone hissing at him as he was handled roughly by his neck and his tunic. He was turned onto his back and someone was straddling him now, their supple legs on either side of his throat and their heavy skirt bunched up between their legs, allowing him to goggle up at his assaulter. "Becky! Stop! Stop, I; Ow! Jesus! Quit Hitting Me! It's Me, Mark!" The flurry of fists halted and then there was a pause thick with confusion. He felt his cheeks being gripped tightly, immobilizing his face and then his neck pulled up so that whoever was sitting on him could look at him. "Mark?" Becky exclaimed in disbelief. "Mark! Oh my God!" She began smothering him with feverish kisses, still straddling him. Still dizzy, he was in no particular shape to stop her, in spite of the fact the whole palace was on its way to kill him. His eyes finally managed to focus, and he looked up at her. "I've missed you too, Becks, but can you let me up, please?" Becky blinked and then jumped off him hastily, helping him to his feet. She still seemed stunned to see him, not that he blamed her. "How?" she asked, her eyes wide with disbelief and wet with emotion. "You; you were." "Dead? Yeah, kinda." "The how are you here?" she asked, trembling. He shrugged. "To quote Neil De Grasse-Tyson, science, bitches." "Oh, it doesn't matter," she exhaled, crushing herself to him and hugging tight, her body shaking with raw emotion. "You're back, Mark. You came back for me;” He smiled and hugged her back, his hand on the back of her head. "Well sure I did. You're my time-travelling partner, aren't you? Can't leave you here with these smelly savages." She laugh-choked back a sob and look up at him, her eyes leaking tears onto her scarlet cheeks. "And we're gonna get out of here and; Becks, are you, like, really drunk?" Her expression of delight warped into a scowl at his query and she pushed herself away from him. "Well what do you expect? I only spent the past month trying to kill myself with alcohol while you were taking your unscheduled nap, you jerk!" "I'm sorry," he faltered, knowing that this couldn't possibly be the right time to make her angry, on so many levels. "Let me get you out of here and then I'll explain everything." "Hang on;” she huffed, stomping over to a table and grabbing her bottle of wine, tilting her head back and taking a stiff pull from it gulping loudly. Mark made a wan face and fidgeted, acutely aware of the time they were losing. "Becks, no offense, but I'm pretty sure every guard in Paris is looking for me right now, and I' "Sounds like more of a you problem than a me problem," she grunted, attempting to drain the bottle with several loud glucks. "Nobody was trying to kill me while I was here." "No, you seem to have that covered;” he said dryly. She shot him a nasty look, but didn't stop drinking. "Look, we need to go," he insisted. "Pretty sure Alexandra's risking her neck to make sure I can' "Alexandra?" Becky interrupted, stopping drinking to look at him pointedly. "The gorgeous blonde I want to fuck?" "I; sure," Mark replied, trying to keep up. "Pretty sure she and Lisette are' "Who's Lisette?" Becky asked suspiciously, lurching toward him. She was quite a bit drunker than he'd initially thought. "It doesn't matter," he declared, determined to get moving before Richelieu arrested and shot his ass again. "We need to get' Mark winced in fear as she surged toward him, the bottle raised over her head. She flew by him and smashed the bottle down on the head of a guard who had barged into the room. His eyes rolled up into his head and he went to sleep. "Weren't you drunk moments ago?" Mark asked in disbelief. "Looks like you're the one who need rescuing." Becky shot back. "You were half a second away from having an exit wound the size of an airport runway in your chest just now." Another guard sprang around the corner. Becky, who was closest to the door, kicked him savagely between the legs. The man staggered to a stop and stiffened, but didn't fall over, the impact of her foot cushioned by the many layers of baroque skirt she was wearing, not to mention the dainty, padded slipper. As the man gaped at her, she kicked him between the legs again, but her skirt interfered, softening the blow to the place where he merely doubled over from the ache. Becky snarled angrily, lunged in, grabbed him by the neck and DDT him, almost as smoothly as ‘Jake the Snake' did to fellow pro wrestlers. This time he stayed down. "Jerk!" she muttered, glaring at the man. Without a second thought, she used a knife on the man's belt to tear layers of skirt away, leaving herself clad only in the bodice and skimpy underwear, with garters holding up the silk stockings she wore. She knelt on the unconscious man's back and pulled his boots off, replacing her slippers with the sturdier footwear. She then stripped his rapier and pistol from his person before turning to look at Mark. "You ready now?" she asked pointedly, standing there in what basically amounted to negligee and musketeer boots, while holding a rapier and a wheellock pistol. He gaped at her for a moment, unable to say anything. "You have no idea how stupidly sexy you look right now, Becks." Mark managed to say. "I'll believe it when Alexandra says it to me," she sniffed, turning and heading out the door. "Let's go, hero." Mark sighed and trotted after her, leaving the two men lying on the floor in a spreading pool of wine and broken shards of glass. Lisette made sure the guard was arranged comfortably in the plush chair, snoring, his breeches still around his ankles, his soft cock oozing cum all over his balls. She shook her head in exasperation as she rearranged her skirts; no sooner had the man cum than he yawned and began to fall asleep. She'd been nowhere close to climaxing when he'd finished. Typical male. At least the boy from the future liked to make sure she came first, even if he was a naïve school boy. She left the door open, to make sure his shame was on display and then hurried down the hallway, holding her skirt up and allowing herself to run. The palace was ringing with shouts of alarm, anger and panic. Everything seemed to be going as planned, whatever that entailed. She just trusted that Mistress knew what she was doing. Guards from various regiments were racing around now, getting one another's way and shouting orders angrily. She passed through them virtually unnoticed, merely a servant girl looking for shelter. She made a beeline right for the queen's royal apartments, and she was stopped by no one, since she was known to the guards and stuff. She nodded hastily as she passed two guards outside the ornate doors and headed inside the boudoir. Anne of Austria looked up from a book to see Lisette scurry in, closing the door behind herself and then pressing her ear to the door, ignoring everyone else in the room. She then saw the queen, blinked, curtseyed hastily, and went back to eavesdropping on the frenzy of activity outside. The monarch shook her head wearily and went back to reading her book. "You may not pass through here!" shouted the house guard, blocking Alexandra's passage forward. She had identified herself as a member of the Cardinal's guard, using her well-practiced man's voice to give credit to her guise. Thought he believed her, the man remained unmoved, barring her way. "I told you, I need to reach the Cardinal!" she insisted, knowing full well he would not let her through. "That is no concern of mine," he said coldly, glaring at her, his hand on his sword, ready to draw it. "Find another way to reach your Cardinal, because if you come another step closer, I will run you through." "So be it!" she growled as she lunged in, her own rapier flashing in her hand. The man drew his weapon and thrust at her, but she parried and then drove the point of her blade through the shoulder of his sword arm, pinning him against the wall. He groaned as his sword fell to the ground, but then her foot slammed into his face while she pulled her rapier from his shoulder. He was unconscious, but he would live. She had no cause to kill these men. She ran down the hallway, listening all the while to the commotion that echoed through the Louvre. A young guard barred her progress at a juncture in the hallways, and before he was even ready, she struck him across the head with the basket of her rapier, knocking him out. Alexandra continued along the corridor, but then saw several guards rushing into the other end of the hall, outside of an ornate door that led to the king's royal apartments. Upon seeing her, the six men pointed their muskets at her, three kneeling while the other three stood behind. A series of barks shook the area as she ducked around a corner hastily, avoiding their barrage. She could hear them shouting orders to reload. She leaned her head back against the wall and sighed. Idiots. Before they had reloaded, she had pulled a small device made of two pieces of flint out of her pocket, along with a tiny clay pot out of the other. From the hole in the top of the pot hung a thin strip of rigid paper. She held the pot by its flat bottom and snapped the flint pieces against one another, producing sparks that caught on the paper and began to burn. As the flame made its way down the paper wick, she counted slowly and calmly before leaning around the corner, tossing the pot, which skated on its flat bottom along the floor toward the guards who opposed her. She then ducked back, waiting grimly. There were shouts and the sound of boots stampeding, but then an unreal hissing shriek and a bright, flaring white light as the magnesium powder inside the container ignited. Cries of pain followed. Ten seconds later, the light died, and she rounded the corner and strode down the hallway. Four of the six guards had fled before the grenade went off, while two were writhing on the ground, clutching at their eyes from the flash blindness. She stepped between them and kicked in the door toward the king's apartments before turning around and walking away, knowing that this would create additional confusion as they sought to find the assassin in the red tabard who sought to slay the Sun King. There was more chaos to sow. Mark and Becky sprinted down the hall, ignoring the pell-mell going on around them. Inevitably, though, they were confronted by a soldier of the Cardinal, one that Mark recognized. It was the captain who had shot him. Marks teeth clenched as he rushed forward, ready to run the sonofabitch through, but Becky was faster. She threw herself into a skid, sliding along the polished floor, hurtling straight toward the man. He gaped at her in disbelief, but by then, she had slammed her foot into his crotch, doubling him over with a grunt of unreal pain. With a roar, she surged to her feet, grabbed the man around the middle from behind and yanked him over backwards, suplexing his family jewels with zest. Mark had by now skidded to a halt and watched in disbelief while his teacher stood over the supine officer and kicked him in the ribs. "Bastard!" she raged. "Teach you to kill my students!" She knelt and yanked his head up, making sure his eyes were open as she pointed at Mark, her voice dripping with vitriol. "See that? He's alive! You can't even kill something right! Your life means nothing! Nothing!" She smacked his head off the tile floor and gathered up her weapons before looking at Mark, composing herself now. "Sorry," she said with a flush of embarrassment. "You probably wanted him, didn't you? I thought you were dead, so if I ever saw him again, I'd have to avenge you." Mark shrugged. "No harm done. Except to him, and I don't really' Mark stopped talking and stared down the hallway behind Becky. Three men in flamboyant uniforms, trimmed in blue and white like himself were now approaching them. One had a grim, patrician air and about him, the second a handsome boyish charm, while the third towered over the others by a head and shoulders, a contemptuous smirk on his face. "That can't be good;” he thought. Becky didn't even blink. Without turning around, she pointed her pistol backwards over her shoulder and pulled the trigger. The bark of the shot echoed around the palace and the giant staggered backward, eyes wide in shock, before he fell over like a redwood. The other two gaped at her in astonishment as she turned around to glower at them. They hastily took hold of their downed friend and hauled him out of sight, their duty to the king forgotten. "That's right, ladies, run!" Becky called out, her chest heaving. "How's it feel to get beat up by a girl?" "You are so sexy right now, Becks." Mark chuckled, approaching her. She turned back to face him; covered with gunpowder smudges, scratches and the occasional bruise, she'd never looked more attractive to him. Heedless of their surroundings, she threw herself against him and kissed him shamelessly. His hands found her ass and squeezed as he returned the kiss and she moaned into his mouth. If there'd been a rhino horn on his crotch, he'd have been impaled on it. She broke the kiss and looked at him hungrily, her eyes shouldering with desire. "I'm so glad you're not dead, Mark," she breathed. "I can't wait to prove it to you when we get the fuck out of here." Mark took her hand and pulled her down the hallway, breaking into a run. They weren't out of danger yet. "What're you laughing about?" she asked, scowling while she allowed him to lead her through the palace. "I think that was Porthos you shot," he said almost cheerfully. "Becks, you ganked Porthos." "Oh, I did not," she hissed, trying to not feel disgust at her student's lack of historical knowledge and basic temporal mechanics. "Porthos doesn't die until 1670. So if that guy dies, it wasn't Porthos. If it was Porthos, he isn't dead. Read a book, Mark." "Ha, you said bookmark!" he laughed as he pulled her around a corner and down another hallway, trying to reach the point Alexandra had designated. "Uh!" Becky groused. "Why was I so damn happy that you lived? I swear, Mark, I; Ack!" They both whirled in panic and threw themselves back around the corner as a withering hail of musket fire peppered the plaster of the walls where they'd been standing mere seconds before. They scrambled to their feet and began running back the way they'd come, determined to not die in some baroque version of Bullet Hell from the Matrix. "Fucking shit!" Mark yelped, yanking her around another corner as more soldiers appeared and filled the hall with musket balls. "This sucks!" "Ya' think?" she hissed as they kept running, their options becoming increasingly limited. "I'm in this too, Mister Spotlight!" "Yeah, well at least you don't have the Goblin City Battle music from the Labyrinth soundtrack stuck in your head while they chase us around and try to kill us!" "I do now, you fucker! Thanks a lot!" Becky raged. A lone house guard skidded to a stop near them and prepared to fire. Mark flung his pistol at the man, striking him in the head before knocking him aside as they continued down the corridor. "What did you throw your gun away for, dumbass?" she exclaimed, wondering if blood loss after getting shot had permanently damaged Mark's brain. She hoped he could still get it up, if they made it out of here. "It had no ammo in it." Mark grunted, trying to get his bearings, thinking back to the plans of the palace Alexandra had shown him. "Why were you carrying around an empty pistol?" Becky asked in disbelief. "Intimidation purposes? Were you gonna hold it sideways when you pointed it at people, hope you looked all gangster?" "I plugged a guy on my way to find you, okay?" he sighed as they kept running. "The first shot fired that started this whole mess, it was me shooting some jackoff in the foot as I tried to find you." Becky skidded to a stop, halting Mark's flight as well. She looked into his eyes and then hugged him in relief. "Thank you, Mark," she said quietly. "You came for me, after you nearly died, and we both could today. You're very brave." When she ended the hug, Mark found she had put her own pistol in his hands. He frowned in confusion. "Why'd you give me your pistol?" he asked. "Because let's face it, I'm a lot more likely to snag another one than you are," she sighed. "Let's go, I'm done with the Sun King's France." Out of breath, they settled for trotting down a hallway, surrounded by the echoing sounds of chaos. Things had gotten so confused that the guards were all fighting one another now, thinking the enemy in their midst. Panting, the pair stopped suddenly as they came to a major intersection of hallways. Not far away, a confused brawl consisting of house guard and the Cardinal's guard blocked their passage. Upon their appearance, though, both sides paused in their fight and stared at them. Then a captain raised a call to kill them. Without even thinking, Mark pointed his pistol at the huge iron chandelier over the soldier's heads and fired. The plaster ceiling broke as the iron ball struck at and the chandelier plummeted, crashing into the dozens of men before while clouds of plaster dust filled the hall. "I can't believe that worked!" Mark laughed as they ran down another venue. "Yes, it was very impressive, Gene Kelly," Becky sighed, shaking her head. "Next, you'll be swinging from the damn chandeliers or using your knife to ride down tapestries." Soldiers surged around the corner, charging into the couple. Mark shouted in fury as they tried to skewer him while they attempted to wrestle Becky to the ground. He dodged a blade and slashed his foe across the arm before leaping back to try and give himself room. He looked around in a panic and saw Becky kicking a soldier in the nuts before punching another in the face, her eyes flashing with fury. Someone slammed into him from behind and he tumbled forward, scrambling to gain his feet. More bodies joined the fracas and he realized that they were not only trying to kill him but fighting one another as well. It was difficult to breathe. There were too many bodies smothering him. He gasped in panic and strained to find room for himself. His shaking hand gripped a sword and she shoved it forward indiscriminately, feeling something soft give before him. He focused all his effort on crawling forward, finally emerging from the churning pile of men, locked in combat. He dragged himself along the floor but then grunted in pain as something speared into his thigh from above and behind. He turned to look, his eyes watering in pain, seeing a man in red, glaring at him, raising his rapier for another strike. Then a sword point burst through the man's chest from behind. His eyes widened, and he dropped his sword and crumpled to the ground. The man who had killed him was already moving on to another target. Exhausted and dull with pain, Mark dragged himself to a wall and slumped against it, looking around for Becky, but she was nowhere to be seen. No. Not again. He ignored the maelstrom of violence and pushed himself to his feet, limping down a hallway, sword held loosely in his hand as he went to find his teacher. Alexandra strode down the hall with purpose, her senses keen for trouble. She had caused as much trouble as she could, all the while keeping the fray well away from the queen's quarters. She regretted that men would die today, due to their poor judgement, but she understood that the girl Rebecca could not remain here in Paris. A deep foreboding warned her that almost any price was worth paying to see her safely away. Sparring with D'Artagnan. She stopped as a lone figure came into view, blocking her way down the corridor. He wore the blue of the king's mousquetaires, his young face etched with determination. His hand rested on the hilt of his rapier while he observed her. "So," he began, tilting his head. "You must be the cause of all this mayhem, oui?" "I am not who you seek." Alexandra said plainly. "I do not truck with liars and I do not appreciate being lied to!" the young man snapped. "I would have your name before I run you through in the king's. Are you an agent of Buckingham?" "No." "Charles of Spain?" "I have no time for this," Alexandra said testily, putting her hand on the hilt of her blade. "Move aside and let me complete my task, musketeer!" "Then it is death you crave!" he hissed, his rapier flashing in his hand now. "I shall happily give it to you in the queen's honor!" Alexandra drew her blade as her foe rushed forward. She parried his initial thrust and then counter-thrust, which he swatted aside. A flurry of thrusts and ripostes followed, the two warriors measuring one another, vying for advantage in the narrow hallway. Steel rang and flashed. Alexandra's sword point tore a vent in one of her foe's sleeves, and she followed up with a swipe at his eyes, but he dodged away nimbly. He lunged in with the speed of a striking serpent and she caught his blade on hers before it pierced her stomach, turning it aside. They pressed blade-to-blade, moving around one another in a slow, deadly circle, their eyes locked. He danced away again as a main-gauche flashed in her hand, nearly shearing his throat open. He spun around her next attack, and when he was facing her again, a pistol had appeared in his free hand. At point blank range, he pulled the trigger. The thunderous bark of the firearm rattled her teeth as she bent backwards, the bullet passing harmlessly overhead. Alexandra somersaulted backward gracefully, coming to her feet with her rapier guarding against a follow-up attack. A lot of bemusement crossed his face. "Very pretty, good sir," he said. "But it will not save you." He darted in again and another furious exchange of swordplay followed. His blade kissed the top of her thigh, leaving a shining crimson thread on her skin. She paid him in kind with a nick across his cheek, followed by cutting the red plume from his hat. He was nearly as fast as she was, and his recklessness made him dangerously unpredictable, even to one as skilled and experienced as Alexandra. Their blades grated as they strained against one another, teeth clenched and eyes flashing in fury. With a cry of effort, she shoved with all her might and threw him back. He kept his feet and remained on guard, irritated by his foe's grit and skill. "D'Artagnan!" shouted Athos as he and Aramis dragged the unconscious Porthos across the hallway behind the combatants, disappearing from sight. This distracted the Musketeer, who turned to look behind himself in confusion and then disbelief. He glanced back at his foe and then sighed, sheathing his blade. "Until next time, enemy mine;” he said, before darting around the corner to catch up with his comrades. Alexandra waited some seconds after he was gone and then sagged against the wall, sighing heavily. She rubbed her face for a moment before returning her rapier to its sheathe and continuing on. She had to find Mark and Rebecca. The door to the room swung open and Mark staggered inside, panting in pain. His entire leg felt like it was on fire, and it was maddeningly sticky. He had lost his sword while searching for Becky, but it mattered little if he couldn't find her. He tumbled into a sitting position, propping himself up on his hands and trying to breathe. Everything hurt now, and it was getting to the place where he couldn't move. His head throbbed and he was getting dizzy. With extreme effort, he managed to tear one of his sleeves off, and tied it around his leg, hoping it would act as a tourniquet and perhaps staunch the bleeding. It stung like fucking Hell and to his distress did nothing ease his pain. He sat there panting, when a solemn figure in red moved slowly by the door. There was a pause and then the person came back into view, peering at Mark quizzically. Clad in red robes and a little red skull cap, his tight, lemony features creased in recognition and then disbelief. "I know you," the Cardinal murmured, his eyes never leaving Mark. "Yes, you are the boy from the field, the one who claimed to be a Spanish noble and had the pretty girl with him." He stepped closer, still scrutinizing Mark, who tried to move backwards, his body screaming in protest. "But you died," the elderly man stated. "My captain shot you. You died in that field. What witchcraft is this?" Annoyance flashed in the Cardinal's eyes now. "So, you are the cause of all this tumult. The girl I was to give to the queen, she is missing and now I know why." He pulled a pistol from within the voluminous folds of his red robes and cocked it before pointing the muzzle down at Mark's face. "I think it is time I dealt with this problem myself, once and for all." Too hurt and exhausted to fight back, Mark squeezed his eyes shut; "I Kick You In The Nuts, Richelieu!" shrilled a voice from the doorway behind the Cardinal, the shout followed by a sickening thump as a musketeer's boot appeared beneath Richelieu's groin. The man stiffened for a moment in confusion, but then his eyes crossed, and he bit his lower lip as his skin turned a sickly shade of green. While Richelieu slumped forward and then fell on his side, trembling and holding the family jewels, Mark goggled up at Becky, who stood indignantly in the doorway with her hands on her hips, glaring down at His Eminence. "Asshole;” she muttered as she stepped over the Cardinal and came over to Mark, who was shaking with the effort of holding himself up. Her eyes welled with emotion as she knelt next to him. "Oh, Mark," she said in a gentle voice. "Look at you, you got stabbed, baby. I'm so sorry;” "I'll be alright," he managed to say as she hugged him to her. "At least you still look amazing, no matter how badly your ass has been kicked." Becky's laugh choked back her sob and she smiled at him, tears in her eyes. "Smart-ass," she murmured. "C'mon, let me bind your boo-boo properly and then we'll get out of here, before everyone in Paris is dead." She fixed his makeshift tourniquet and then helped him stand. Once he was upright, he took a deep breath and smiled at her. "I think I can walk, I was just in need of a breather, ya' know?" She giggled. "How the Hell are we gonna explain a rapier wound through your thigh when you get home?" "With any luck, Chester will have a little something' to fix me right up." Mark replied. "Let's go. If we are where I think we are, then our ride isn't that far away." They walked cautiously down several smaller hallways, avoiding any and all encounters. They chaos seemed to have abated, at least for now. Alexandra had predicted that if fighting broke out, there was be lots of confused violence, followed by the various guard companies withdrawing to their assigned wings of the palace, to directly protect their charges, such as the king, queen and cardinal. "Bet the Cardinal's guards are gonna be upset," Mark chuckled. "He's nowhere near his quarters, and they let him get kicked in the freaking balls." Becky giggled as she walked alongside him, her arm through his. "You have no idea how good that felt, Mark. A girl could get used to that. Maybe we should visit Berlin, see if I can kick Hitler in the nuts." "One grand adventure at a time, teach;” he said wearily, causing her to laugh. But her mirth was brought up short when a solitary figure appeared in front of them, wearing red and clad in a black mask, a rapier and several pistols on their belt. Becky scowled, getting ready to step in front of her student, when Mark seemed to sigh in relief. "I am glad to see you are both well," said the person, walking forward, pulling their golden hair out of its ponytail and removing the mask. Becky's heart leapt as she came face-to-face with Lady Alexandra once more. "Thank the Lord." She stepped in and embraced them both, all three of them trembling at being reunited. Alexandra finally smiled at her friends and nodded. "We must still get you out of here, before the guards return to some sense of normalcy. Mark, do you still have the place name I gave to you?" Mark smiled wearily. "I; it's in the little pocket in my pants here, but it's probably pretty red and unreadable by now." "It's a good thing, then, that I wrote a copy, non?" Alexandra lilted, pulling a small piece of vellum out from beneath the sash she wore and handing it to Becky. "Go to this place," the noblewoman instructed. "By carriage, it should not take more than three days. It is a sanctum I use on occasion and it will be safe. Lisette and I will find you there a day or two after you arrive." She then handed two small, round jars into Becky's palm as well. "Use these to salve your wounds, until I arrive. I promise you, they will work." "How can we thank you?" Becky asked, staring at Alexandra, enchanted. The French woman smiled and then pulled Becky to her, kissing her deeply and passionately. Becky shuddered and moaned, her arms wrapping around Alexandra and returning the kiss passionately. Mark smiled as he watched the blondes make out for almost a minute before Alexandra reluctantly pulled away. "We need to stop, or we will be fucking right here in the halls of the palace," she breathed, wiping at the corner of her mouth with a finger. "We will see one another soon, and celebrate then." She turned to Mark and smiled before leaning in and kissing him gently. "You are a brave man, my friend. Never doubt it, no matter what travails Heaven provides." She walked them through several secret passages now, until they emerged into a small courtyard, under the cover of night. Standing nearby, a non-descript carriage awaited them. Alexandra wrapped Becky in a cloak and then spoke to the driver while the clambered inside. His instructions were clear, and he would not deviate from them. Becky and Mark looked out a small window, smiling and waving at Alexandra, who held up her hand to bid them farewell. The carriage exited the Louvre via a small gate where the guards asked no questions, and then they were on their way through Paris. Mark sank back into the surprisingly plush seat and sighed heavily. "Try not to get kidnapped again, Becks," he said lazily. "I'm not sure how much more of this my body can take." "But being rescued by you is one of my favorite reasons to use tawdry sex as a thank you," she protested, turning to smile at him and tracing a fingernail up and down his chest. "You wouldn't deprive me of that joy, would you, hero?" "Perish the thought, teach;” he chuckled tiredly. A time to recuperate. Mark had Lisette pinned beneath him and rocked back and forth on top of her, his cock plunging in and out of her molten cunt, while she groaned in pleasure. It felt so good to have this boy's tool inside her again. Her legs were wrapped around his strong waist and her hips moved in time with his, taking him in as deep as she could. Lisette rarely kissed anyone who wasn't her mistress, but in this case, she was making a willing exception. Their tongues tangled wetly as they fucked, exploring one another. The tingling heat was overtaking her, and she knew it would not be long now. She crossed her ankles behind him and she bit at the skin of his chest, shuddering in delight. Mark arched his back, pushing as deep inside her as he could, before shaking and allowing himself release. Her wanton cunt gripped his cock while he came deep inside her, his whole being awash with unreal pleasure. They moaned through a frenzied kiss and then sagged together, spent and sated, at least for now. Moans, pants and sighs of bliss attracted Mark and Lisette's attention and they looked off their side; also on the huge bed with them, Becky and Alexandra were sitting together, with their arms and legs wrapped around one another, kissing hungrily as they squirmed their slick pussies together. Their matching golden hair was damp with the sweat of their exertions, skin slick and shining. The greedy smacking and sucking sounds their slits made as they mingled made the four lovers shiver in delight. Alexandra and Becky were groping and fondling one another with unreal need, their nails leaving red marks and their fingers gripping tight enough to leave welts. Neither relented, though, desperate to cum together. The moans became groans and they were panting as they gyrated their hips, churning rhythmically in a sensual dance of bliss. They pulled tighter against one another, clenching their teeth and craning their necks as they peaked, then crying out and pressing their molten, gooey pussies as they came. More feverish kissing punctuated the climax and the finally both collapsed backward, chests heaving, their legs still scissored together. Steam seemed to be rising from their bodies, skin flushed pink. The four lovers lay silent for some minutes, just basking in their shared bliss. Mark finally pulled himself out of Lisette and then knelt over her face, allowing the dark-haired girl to slide his cock into her mouth, cleaning their mingled cum from his cock, which she did with great delight. Becky and Alexandra finally clasped wrists and pulled themselves up into a sitting position, hugging tiredly, but not willing to relinquish their most intimate contact. They kissed deeply and contentedly, fondling one another's tits. Lisette looked over at them and giggled. Alexandra looked over at her servant, her eyebrow raised. "What is so funny, girl?" Lisette turned on her side and rested her head on her hand while Mark spooned in behind her. "I was just thinking, Mistress; you and Miss Rebecca look so much alike. What if you are her ancestor?" Becky and Alexandra both thought about that, looked at one another for a moment, shrugged and began kissing again, their tongues tangling loudly. "And if that was the case, think about what we discussed the other day," she continued, smirking mischievously. "You said you had wondered what it would be like to Monsieur Mark's child, yes? Wouldn't that also make him Miss Rebecca's ancestor?" Mark burst out laughing while Becky choked on her shock, interrupting the kiss she had been so enjoying. She looked at Lisette in disbelief. Alexandra just sighed and shook her head, used to her servant's twisted humor. The moment of metaphysical terror passed for Becky and they all cuddled together in the center of the bed, kissing tenderly and caressing. Alexandra had told Becky all about Mark's efforts to find her and reach her, what he had undergone and risked. Becky's eyes shone as she looked at Mark at promised to make sure he was properly thanked until the end of time. "I wish you could stay," Alexandra almost moped, regretting that she had to give her new friends up. "I enjoy your company, and I am not ashamed to say I love you both." "Feeling's mutual, Alexa," Becky lilted, tracing a fingernail across her generous tit. "But maybe we needn't end our association. If we designate a consistent place, when you know you are available, you can leave a message there. Mark and I will check for messages, and when we see one, we can visit you at the appointed time. No conflicts or dangers presented, as long as we're all certain of the clear lines of communication." "I like that idea," Alexandra said, grinning. "And I have a gift for you both." She climbed off the bed and went to retrieve something. She returned shortly with two bottles, which she presented to them. "A new type of wine, invented in my native region of Champagne," she said, kneeling on the bed as they examined the bottles. "Twice fermented and sweet on the tongue, not unlike my darling Rebecca." Becky blushed and Mark grinned. "You'll be glad to know that in our time, champagne is one of the most expensive and sought-after drinks in the world, used in every important celebration." "That does please me, Mark." Alexandra said, nodding her head and deciding to not chide him this time about telling her the future. "And now that I think of it, literally, I've got a present for you, Alexa." Mark mused, getting off the bed. The three women watched as he walked into a large closet, rummaging around loudly. When he returned, he was holding what appeared to be several unusual books, which he handed to Alexandra. "What are these?" she asked, puzzled. "Well, the graphic novel is a pictorial history of Wonder Woman, who you may recall I told you a little bit about," he explained, sitting on the bed again. "And the other three books are all written by a man named Alexander Dumas and are fictional works about the Three Musketeers. I figured they'd be humorous reading for you." She looked up at him incredulously. "But; why were they in my closet here in my chalet?" He grinned again. "Well, just a moment ago, I decided to give them to you. So in a few days, I'm gonna gather them up, bring them here to just before Becky and I arrive, and bury 'em in your closet, where I know they are. That way, I don't run into any of us. And clearly it worked." Becky made a wry face. "Ya' know, I'd say you're getting the hang of this whole temporal travel thing, but I'm pretty sure you're only getting the hang of abusing it." Mark smirked at her and pinched her nipple, making her shiver and bite her lip. He then looked back at Alexandra. "And when you're done with 'em, you can just leave 'em in our drop-off spot and Becks and I'll pick them up. That way, there's no anachronistic copies of nineteenth-century novels or twentieth-century comic books lying around to be discovered by archaeologists." "I take back what I said just now, you're gonna get us all clock-hammered right out of existence." Becky sighed, causing her lovers to laugh. Mark and Becky lay side-by-side in her bed and holdings hands, back in their own time and generally none the worse for wear. They'd learned some valuable lessons and had made some important contacts along the way. "Do' you really think Alexandra's my ancestor?" Becky mused, looking at her bedroom ceiling. Mark shrugged. "You sure look a lot alike, and you're both Hell on wheels. I'm still amused by the notion of me being your great-great-great-whatever grandfather." She sighed and shook her head. "I can handle the notion of fucking and falling in love with my great-whatever grandmother, but the notion of you as my whatever grandfather gives me the jibblies. Just promise me you won't impregnate Alexa and make that come true, Mark." He chuckled. "I promise. I have no idea how trans-temporal alimony or visitation rights even work." Becky giggled and turned in to face him, cuddling close. "So, who're you gonna save me from next, hero?" she purred, nipping at his earlobe and making him shiver. "Oh, God, Becks, can we start out with some really ferocious kindergartners from the Roaring Twenties taking you hostage? I can probably handle that right about now." She giggled again and crawled on top of him, staring down into his eyes and kissing his nose while she squirmed her tits against him. "Take me to New York in the Twenties and I'll show you how liberated a flapper girl I can be," she whispered. "Deal?" "Deal." Mark replied, pulling her down and kissing her soulfully. Count Mark and Becky in! I Think I'm Getting The Hang Of This! Finally home. Mark sat at his dining room table, eating dutifully. His mom had prepared short ribs and mashed potatoes for dinner, one of his favorites. What she didn't know was that Mark had substituted several herbs and spices into her collection, items he'd brought back from his temporal travels. At the very least, this meant they were technically several hundred years old, or sometimes that they didn't exist in the modern era at all. "I'm enjoying this particular batch of thyme that I put in the braise," Dhallyla Pritchard remarked as she gently stabbed some green beans with her fork. "Mark, where did you say you got it for me? The flavor is so; special." Mark shrugged. "Another shop I thought I'd try out," he replied. "Nowhere near our usual places." "Well, keep it up, son," his father said, sitting at the other end of the table. "No offence to your mother's cooking, but the spices we were getting before weren't helping the cause. Now this is flavor." "Such a good little minion," his mom said sweetly, reaching over and pinching his cheek. "First, you did amazingly well on your Physics exam and boosted your overall grade to the place where the university accepted you, and now you're an herbs and spices guru. Talk about an unexpected change." "Yeah," his sister Roxy said, sitting across from him, and trying to keep the suspicion out of her voice. "Unexpected is right." "Now Roxy, be nice," their mom chided. "You should be happy for your little brother, he'll be going to university with you." "As long as she pulls her grades up," grunted dad, pausing in eating to waggle his fork in her general direction. "You promised us you'd keep your grades up and we'd let you live here rent-free as a result, Rox. We're living up to our end of the bargain, what's so difficult about yours?" "Maybe I should study more and party less," she grumbled, scowling at her food. She hated to admit it, but her mom was right, the spices were great. Where had the little trouser-snake bought them? "Ya' know, open my mind more and my legs less?" "Dear!" Dhallyla gasped, looking at her daughter in shock. "Nobody said you were behaving licentiously! There's no need to use language like that!" "Sorry," the dark-haired girl sighed, putting down her fork. "Just been on edge lately. Seems to have been The Mark Show around here recently,

This episode features "In Luck's Panoply Clad, I Stand" written by Phoebe Barton. Published in the October 2025 issue of Clarkesworld Magazine and read by Kate Baker. The text version of this story can be found at: https://clarkesworldmagazine.com/barton_10_25 Support us on Patreon at https://www.patreon.com/clarkesworld/membership

No fireworks, just good ol' parkrun chat. Should every 50-milestones be a Thing? Have you seen Match of the Day? Are you a hugger or a handshaker? Plus both Nicola and Danny are too tired to tour far far away (Nic Nic at Lister Park parkrun parkrun and Danny at Queen Elizabeth parkrun parkrun). Sacreligious, we know.

Clad only in his underwear, Grant chased and caught an alleged burglar, which begs the question - when have you been the hero in your undies?See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Welcome to this elevated, culturally charged, aggressively sophisticated podcast. Jane and Fi tackle Frankfurt kitchens, Liverpool Echo obituaries, the ethics of wearing a baseball cap indoors, and the art of putting off boiler servicing - among other highbrow pursuits. We've announced our next book club pick! 'Just Kids' is by Patti Smith.You can listen to the playlist here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3qIjhtS9sprg864IXC96he?si=uOzz4UYZRc2nFOP8FV_1jg&pi=BGoacntaS_uki.If you want to contact the show to ask a question and get involved in the conversation then please email us: janeandfi@times.radioFollow us on Instagram! @janeandfiPodcast Producer: Eve SalusburyExecutive Producer: Rosie Cutler Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Scuba-clad man accused of robbing Disney Springs restaurant of up to $20,000 Had To Be an Inside Job

Scuba-clad man robs Disney Springs restaurant, swims away

Fluent Fiction - Dutch: Siblings Unite: A Triumph in Amsterdam's Ivy-Clad Halls Find the full episode transcript, vocabulary words, and more:fluentfiction.com/nl/episode/2025-08-14-22-34-02-nl Story Transcript:Nl: In het hart van Amsterdam, in een glimmende kantoorruimte met grote ramen, zat Bram.En: In the heart of Amsterdam, in a shiny office space with large windows, sat Bram.Nl: Hij keek naar de levendige grachten en voelde de nervositeit in zijn maag kriebelen.En: He looked at the lively canals and felt the nervousness fluttering in his stomach.Nl: Het was de dag van de examenresultaten.En: It was the day of the exam results.Nl: De lucht was warm, de stad zinderde van leven, en de zon wierp patronen op de eikenhouten tafel voor hem.En: The air was warm, the city buzzed with life, and the sun cast patterns on the oak table before him.Nl: Maar Bram's gedachten waren bij zijn zusje Femke.En: But Bram's thoughts were with his little sister Femke.Nl: Femke studeerde aan de universiteit vlakbij, een majestueuze plek met muren bedekt met klimop.En: Femke studied at the university nearby, a majestic place with walls covered in ivy.Nl: In de lucht hing spanning.En: The air was thick with tension.Nl: Studenten stonden in groepjes, fluisterend, wachtend op hun toekomst.En: Students stood in groups, whispering, waiting for their futures.Nl: Ondanks het sprankelende zomerweer, voelde Femke zich bedrukt.En: Despite the sparkling summer weather, Femke felt weighed down.Nl: Ze had hard gestudeerd, nachtenlang.En: She had studied hard, night after night.Nl: Maar de angst dat ze niet goed genoeg had gepresteerd, knaagde aan haar.En: But the fear that she hadn't performed well enough gnawed at her.Nl: Bram was een gedreven accountant.En: Bram was a dedicated accountant.Nl: Hij was goed in zijn werk, maar vandaag kon hij zich niet concentreren.En: He was good at his job, but today he couldn't concentrate.Nl: Hij had een beslissing genomen.En: He had made a decision.Nl: Al zijn Excel-sheets en dossiers konden wachten.En: All his Excel sheets and files could wait.Nl: Zijn zus was nu het belangrijkst.En: His sister was the most important thing right now.Nl: Hij pakte zijn jas en verliet het kantoor, vastbesloten om bij haar te zijn wanneer ze de e-mail met haar resultaten opende.En: He grabbed his coat and left the office, determined to be with her when she opened the email with her results.Nl: Femke zat op een bankje in het universiteitspark.En: Femke sat on a bench in the university park.Nl: De bladeren ritselden zachtjes in de warme bries terwijl ze op haar telefoon tuurde.En: The leaves rustled softly in the warm breeze as she stared at her phone.Nl: Moest ze het nu openen?En: Should she open it now?Nl: Alleen?En: Alone?Nl: Ze wilde zo graag slagen, niet alleen voor zichzelf, maar vooral om te ontsnappen aan de druk van thuis.En: She wanted so much to succeed, not just for herself, but especially to escape the pressure from home.Nl: De verwachtingen waren torenhoog.En: The expectations were sky-high.Nl: Plots verscheen Bram aan haar zijde.En: Suddenly, Bram appeared by her side.Nl: "Zullen we het samen doen?"En: "Shall we do it together?"Nl: stelde hij voor met een geruststellende glimlach.En: he suggested with a reassuring smile.Nl: Femke knikte aarzelend.En: Femke nodded hesitantly.Nl: Samen, hand in hand, opende ze de e-mail.En: Together, hand in hand, they opened the email.Nl: Haar ogen vlogen over de tekst.En: Her eyes flew over the text.Nl: Haar hart maakte een sprongetje.En: Her heart leapt.Nl: Ze was geslaagd!En: She had passed!Nl: En zelfs met uitstekende cijfers!En: And with excellent grades, no less!Nl: De vreugde van het moment was groot, maar ze voelde ook een verborgen zorg knagen.En: The joy of the moment was great, but she also felt a hidden worry gnawing at her.Nl: Ze keek naar Bram, haar ogen weerspiegelden haar twijfels.En: She looked at Bram, her eyes reflecting her doubts.Nl: "Wat als het niet genoeg is voor hen?"En: "What if it's not enough for them?"Nl: vroeg ze zachtjes.En: she asked softly.Nl: Bram trok haar in een omhelzing.En: Bram pulled her into a hug.Nl: "Je hebt het geweldig gedaan, Femke.En: "You did wonderfully, Femke.Nl: Dit is jouw moment.En: This is your moment.Nl: Hun verwachtingen doen er nu niet toe."En: Their expectations don't matter now."Nl: Ze stonden op, het onbekende tegemoet met de belofte van een toekomst vol mogelijkheden.En: They stood up, facing the unknown with the promise of a future full of possibilities.Nl: "Laten we het vieren," zei Bram met een knipoog.En: "Let's celebrate," said Bram with a wink.Nl: Ze wandelden weg van de universiteit, de toekomst tegemoet.En: They walked away from the university, into the future.Nl: Dit moment markeerde niet alleen het einde van Femke's academische reis, maar ook het begin van haar nieuwe pad.En: This moment marked not only the end of Femke's academic journey but also the beginning of her new path.Nl: Bram leerde dat zijn steun Femke vleugels gaf, en dat die vleugels nu volledig klaar waren om te vliegen.En: Bram learned that his support gave Femke wings, and that those wings were now fully ready to fly.Nl: En zo, hand in hand, begonnen broer en zus aan een warme zomeravond in het hart van Amsterdam, vrij van verwachtingen, rijk aan dromen.En: And so, hand in hand, brother and sister began a warm summer evening in the heart of Amsterdam, free from expectations, rich with dreams. Vocabulary Words:nervousness: nervositeitfluttering: kriebelenmajestic: majestueuzetension: spanningwhispering: fluisterendweighed down: bedruktgnawed: knaagdededicated: gedrevenconcentrate: concentrerendetermined: vastbeslotenrustled: ritseldenbreeze: briesexpectations: verwachtingenhesitantly: aarzelendreassuring: geruststellendleapt: sprongetjeexcellent: uitstekendehidden: verborgendoubts: twijfelsembrace: omhelzingwonderfully: geweldigpromise: beloftecelebrate: vierenmarked: markeerdejourney: reissupport: steunwings: vleugelsfree: vrijrich: rijkdreams: dromen

Bikini-Clad Katy Perry and Ex-Fiance Orlando Bloom Reunite After Split to Join Jeff Bezos' Honeymoon With Lauren SanchezAdvertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

Captain America: an all-American superhero. Clad in red, white, and blue, he carries only a shield. And he fights only when he must. When it's right.But what happens when what's right isn't so clear? And how does a comic book hero designed to represent America's values survive in a changing world?Learn more about sponsor message choices: podcastchoices.com/adchoicesNPR Privacy Policy

Welcome to Le Hollandais, the most fashionable restaurant in town, where the food is divine and the clientele is dreadful! Meet Albert, a gangster with Michelin-star vulgarity, and his elegant wife, Georgina, who's desperately seeking a more palatable main course. She finds it in a quiet bookworm, and soon they're having their cake and eating it too, right under Albert's nose! What follows is a deliciously decadent tale of high fashion, haute cuisine, and hilariously unsubtle revenge. It's a visual feast where the only thing more shocking than the menu is the table manners.  The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover (1989) Pray, draw back the heavy velvet curtain and step inside Le Hollandais, the kind of establishment where the decor is so ostentatiously opulent it borders on self-parody, and the food is so artfully constructed it seems a crime to actually eat it. This is not merely a restaurant; it is a theatre of consumption, a nightly opera of gluttony and grandeur, presided over by the stoic and endlessly patient French chef, Richard Borst. Each plate that emerges from his kitchen is a masterpiece, a testament to culinary genius. The tragedy, of course, is who gets to devour it. Enter, with all the subtlety of a foghorn in a library, the titular Thief: Albert Spica. A gangster of such profound and spectacular vulgarity, he makes a mockery of the very concept of refinement. Clad in suits that scream for attention and draped in gold thick enough to anchor a ship, Albert holds court every single night at his reserved table, the undisputed black hole of decorum in this universe of elegance. He doesn't so much dine as he performs, his booming voice ricocheting off the damask-lined walls as he pontificates on his own brilliance, bullies his sycophantic cronies, and tortures the staff with his boorish demands. He is a man who believes his wealth entitles him to treat the world as his personal spittoon, and Le Hollandais is his favourite target. And seated opposite him, a portrait of silent, simmering despair, is His Wife, Georgina. A creature of ethereal beauty and impeccable taste, she is as serene and elegant as her husband is brutish and loud. Trapped in a marriage that is less a partnership and more a hostage situation, Georgina endures Albert's nightly tirades with the grace of a marble statue. Her rebellion is a quiet one, expressed through her meticulously curated wardrobe—each outfit a masterpiece of high fashion, a silent scream of defiance against the ugliness that surrounds her. She floats through the restaurant, a ghost at the feast, her eyes starved not for food, but for a morsel of kindness, a sliver of intellect, a life less… Albert. One fateful evening, her gaze drifts past her husband's gesticulating form and lands upon a quiet man dining alone, absorbed in a book. This is Michael, Her Lover-to-be. He is everything Albert is not: gentle, learned, and capable of sitting still for more than five seconds. He reads, he eats with quiet appreciation, he exists without needing to suck all the oxygen from the room. To Georgina, he is not just a man; he is an escape hatch. A silent, smouldering glance is exchanged across the crowded room, a spark of conspiracy against the tyranny of bad taste. An affair is not just inevitable; it is a matter of aesthetic survival. And so begins one of the most audacious and absurd liaisons in cinematic history. With the tacit approval of the chef, Richard, who seems to believe that true love (or at least a desperate escape) is a cause worth risking his Michelin stars for, Georgina and Michael turn Le Hollandais into their personal playground. Their trysts are frantic, passionate, and hilariously brazen, conducted in every corner of the restaurant that isn't in Albert's direct line of sight. They find love in the cavernous, pristine kitchen amongst hanging pheasants and simmering pots. They embrace in the back of a lorry filled with rotting meat, the stench of decay a bizarre perfume for their blossoming romance. They even find refuge in the lavatories, a sanctuary of gleaming porcelain tiles. All the while, Albert sits just yards away, pontificating, stuffing his face, blissfully unaware that his wife is sampling a far more satisfying dish from the restaurant's à la carte menu of patrons. But such a delicious secret cannot be kept forever. Albert, for all his brutishness, possesses a gangster's low cunning. He begins to notice the lingering glances, the prolonged absences, the faint air of satisfaction about his wife that has nothing to do with the dessert trolley. His suspicion, once kindled, erupts into a volcanic rage. The discovery is brutal, swift, and horrifyingly inventive. Michael's sanctuary, his world of books, becomes his tomb. In an act of supreme cruelty, Albert's thugs force-feed the gentle scholar the pages of his favourite book before ending his life. This, Albert believes, is the end of the story. He is sorely mistaken. He has underestimated Georgina. The quiet, elegant statue has been shattered, and from the pieces emerges an avenging angel of haute couture. Her grief is not passive; it is a cold, hard, diamond-like fury. She seeks out the chef, Richard, not for comfort, but for collaboration. She has a recipe in mind, a final dish to be served to her husband—one that will ensure he finally gets what he deserves. The stage is set for a final, unforgettable confrontation where the main course is revenge, served ice-cold. It's a visual feast where the only thing more shocking than the menu is the final bill. Bon appétit! "Looks like catfood for constipated French rabbits!"   Follow us on Twitter @rbritanniapod    Thanks for listening   Scott and Steven  

"I wish I had 640 days to do this trip, not 64." Bali-based Stuart McDonald, founder of Travelfish, is 34 days into an ambitious two-month overland trip across 18 countries from his Bali home to Leeds in the UK. So, why is he doing it? What has he experienced en route? And what have been the finest discoveries of the journey so far? This week, Gary catches up with Stuart in Tashkent, the capital of Uzbekistan, to track back across his train and-bus route so far, which has taken him from Bali to Jakarta, Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, Laos, China, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan. Stuart describes the dramatic natural landscapes viewed from numerous train windows. He also tells compelling stories about his encounters with Chinese backpacking culture, entire mountains clad with solar panels, the lowering of a giant Lenin statue, an under-construction China-Central Asia railway, and the cultured urban delights of Almaty. We preview the anticipated highlights of the rest of the trip, including Tbilisi, Istanbul, Bucharest and Budapest, before a rapid dash to Paris to catch the Eurostar to London - and a connection to the journey's end: Leeds. A remarkable journey, which Stuart describes as "exhausting" and a "gruelling mission", but - overall - the "trip of a lifetime".

What happens when a woman rooted in animism and native traditions opens her heart to the forest around her — and finds something waiting in return? In this unforgettable and deeply mysterious episode, we sit down with Avery, a Portland native and Sauvie Island resident, who shares a lifetime of spiritual connection to nature — culminating in a vivid and startling nighttime visitation from two juvenile Sasquatch. Clad in clothes, with wispy black hair and round black eyes, these beings didn't just appear in a dream — they left an emotional imprint too real to ignore. We explore glowing blue orbs over the Columbia River, the energy of ancestral land, and what it means when the forest answers back. This one goes beyond physical encounters — into the dream realms where the wild still watches.

Shannon Warr, owner of Clad & Cloth, joins me to talk about the lifecycle of Clad & Cloth, all the ups and downs. And now the revival of her brand and store is coming back! Follow Clad & Cloth on Instagram and Tik Tok to follow the docuseries Shannon is releasing.

Albuquerque brothers, 7 & 9, caught on Drone cam, wielding a loaded gun in a heart-pounding standoff with police; Parents facing charges! A son shoots his mom in the face with a crossbow because he reportedly "lost his sh*t over his cat." Plus, a disgusting delivery by an Amazon worker & the 'Prime' crime was caught on camera. Jennifer Gould reports. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Kent Monkman is one of the most vital and provocative voices in contemporary painting. Based between Toronto and New York, and a member of the Fisher River Cree Nation in Treaty 5 Territory, Monkman is known for his epic, genre-bending canvases that challenge dominant historical narratives and reframe them through Indigenous and queer perspectives. Monkman has developed a distinctive visual language that subverts classical European art traditions—particularly those of 19th-century and 20th-century history painting—to expose the distortions and omissions of colonial narratives. His work blends these European conventions with Indigenous histories, recontextualizing colonization while exploring themes of resilience, sexuality, joy, and identity. At the center of many of these works is Miss Chief Eagle Testickle, Monkman's time-traveling alter ego. Clad in high heels, Miss Chief operates as both a trickster figure and a witness to colonial encounters, embodying Indigenous worldviews and queering history in a way that destabilizes settler-colonial perspectives. Through Miss Chief, Monkman reimagines historical events, placing Indigenous presence and agency at the forefront. Monkman's large-scale commissions include mistikôsiwak (Wooden Boat People), a pair of monumental paintings created for the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 2019, which directly confronted the institution's colonial legacies. His work has been exhibited in major museums across North America and Europe, and is part of significant public and private collections. As his first major U.S. museum exhibition, "History is Painted by the Victors," opens at the Denver Art Museum, Monkman joined me to reflect on the road to this moment—a journey that spans decades of challenging entrenched narratives in Western art history. We spoke about how growing up in Winnipeg, amidst the complexities of Indigenous representation in Canadian institutions, shaped his relationship to museums; how painting serves as both a political tool and a personal method for processing historical trauma; and the collaborative energy that fuels his expansive studio practice.

In the fifth episode of season 4, guest host Faryal Popal, LMFT, Doctor of Behavioral Health (DBH) program student at Cummings Graduate Institute for Behavioral Health Studies (CGI), sits down with Jes Aced, BA, EdSpec-MM, CLAD, AAAS, ELAE to explore how schools are uniquely positioned to address the complex relationship between teen mental health and social media use. Together, they discuss strategies educators can implement to support students navigating digital spaces, as well as innovative approaches for integrating mental health practices into classrooms. The conversation highlights the importance of collaborative efforts between educators, mental health professionals, and families in building resilience and emotional well-being among adolescents. Tune in to learn how an integrated care model can transform the future of youth mental health in education.About the Special Host:Faryal Popal, LMFT, began her academic journey at California State University, East Bay, in 2005, earning a bachelor's degree in psychology in 2009. She then pursued a Master's in Marriage and Family Therapy, which she completed in 2011. Since then, she has been dedicated to the mental health field, providing therapeutic services and advocating for comprehensive mental health support. Faryal began her career at Union City Youth and Family Services, working with families, children, and court-mandated youth. She later transitioned to school-based mental health, focusing on delivering counseling services, consulting with educators, and supporting families in East San Jose. In her current role at Campbell Union School District, she serves as a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist (LMFT) and an integral member of the IEP team, collaborating to develop treatment goals that align with students' educational plans while providing crisis intervention. As a member of the District Crisis Team, she plays a critical role in responding to crises, including suicide and homicide risk assessments. Additionally, she provides training to administrators and staff on suicide prevention protocols. She remains actively engaged in improving mental health services within the district, working alongside leadership to implement strategies that enhance student well-being. In addition to her extensive experience, she is trained in Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR) and is a certified Parent Project Facilitator.About the Guest:Jes Aced, BA, EdSpec-MM, CLAD, AAAS, ELAE, as an experienced educator dedicated to creating equitable opportunities for all learners, I have built my career advocating for accessible and inclusive learning environments. My work centers on empowering students by ensuring the curriculum is accessible to those with learning disabilities, integrating innovative teaching strategies, and utilizing tools such as speech-to-text and other assistive technologies to support diverse learning needs. I have witnessed the profound influence of social media on the mental health of teens, particularly those navigating depression. By fostering healthy boundaries and promoting collaboration between schools and families, I aim to equip students with the skills to thoughtfully navigate the complexities of technology and digital spaces. My perspective as an educator is enriched by my lived experience as a neurodivergent individual. Managing ADHD, dyslexia, and auditory and gross motor processing disorders has given me a unique understanding of the challenges students face in today's educational landscape. Growing up with the support of an Individualized Education Program (IEP) in the public education system sparked my passion for advocacy and innovation. These experiences drive my commitment to contributing to meaningful conversations about supporting neurodivergent individuals and addressing the evolving challenges faced by today's youth.

Missy Bevers, a mother, wife, and beloved fitness instructor, is attacked by someone who left the murder weapon behind, was caught on camera and whose car was potentially seen nearby the crime scene driving erratically…. And yet Despite all the evidence, the killer has never been identified, and as a result almost 9 years later…the case remains unsolved.

Clad in a big, bulky menswear suit, “Julia” Mozhdeh Rahmanzaei stomps around the stage at the Theater off Jackson in Seattle’s Chinatown International District. She glares over a fake beard, holding audience members’ gazes, and shakes the program for this very play in one hand. The actor and playwright is channeling the censorship she experienced in her home country of Iran. As a young artist in Tehran, her theater work repeatedly ran up against the strict rules of government monitors – who shut down several of her shows, including her master’s thesis and performance, which discussed limitations of physical performance for women actors. Julia left Iran three and a half years ago to study for a Masters of Fine Arts in Acting at the University of Washington. In Seattle, she’s acted in several local productions, including “The Moors” at the University of Washington and “The Forgotten History of Mastaneh,” at Taproot Theater and Seattle Public Theater. This weekend is the debut of her autobiographical solo show, called, “I am an Actress, Where is my Country?” It traces her struggle to express herself under Iran’s repressive theocratic regime – and find her place both legally and as an artist in the U.S. Libby Denkmann sat down with Julia Rahmanzaei and director and dramaturge Leah Adcock-Starr during rehearsals this week. Guests: Julia Rahmanzaei, actor and writer for "I am an Actress, Where is my Country?" Leah Adcock-Starr, director and dramaturge Related Links: I am an Actress, Where is my Country? - Theatre Off Jackson Thank you to the supporters of KUOW. You help make this show possible! If you want to help out, go to kuow.org/donate/soundsidenotes. Soundside is a production of KUOW in Seattle, a proud member of the NPR Network.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Clad in our classiest Killik silks, we walk the wax carpet for the gala that's even goofier than the Golden Globes... the 4th Annual Lowie Awards! Join us Joiners in raising a collectible McDonald's Batman Forever glass to toast the pop culture from the year of our lord Two Thousand and Twenty Four, not to mention our Lord Nyax, Emperox of Bad Boys...  

Pivot doors are the new “in” thing in home design, and Panda Windows & Doors has many options for Las Vegas homeowners! Choose a standard design or make your very own one-of-a-kind door with Panda today! Visit https://www.panda-windows.com/residential/pivot-doors/ to learn more! Panda Windows & Doors City: Los Angeles Address: 14921 Delano Street Website: https://www.panda-windows.com/ Phone: +1 702 643 5700

For two decades, a shadowy figure haunted the forests of Maules, Switzerland. Clad in a tattered military-style coat and an eerie gas mask, Le Loyon—also known as The Ghost of Maules—became a living legend. Who was this silent wanderer, and what compelled him to stalk the woods in obscurity?In this chilling episode of My Dark Path, host MF Thomas embarks on a journey to uncover the truth behind one of Europe's strangest modern mysteries. From eerie first-hand accounts to a haunting photograph that ignited a media frenzy, the tale of Le Loyon blurs the line between folklore, paranoia, and the unknown. Was he merely an eccentric recluse? A fugitive in disguise? Or something far more unsettling?Through gripping historical parallels—including the bizarre disguises of fugitive Robert Durst, the decades-long isolation of WWII holdout Hiroo Onoda, and the outlandish stunts of Timothy Dexter—this episode explores the psychology of those who vanish into the shadows.And then, there's the final revelation—the cryptic farewell letter from Le Loyon himself. Did he truly disappear, or was he forced into the darkness by those who knew more than they admitted?Step into the mist-shrouded woods and walk a dark path as we unravel the legend of Switzerland's most enigmatic phantom.https://www.mydarkpath.com/70-le-loyonRead MF Thomas' novels Like Clockwork https://amzn.to/417lOzyArcade https://amzn.to/4aTpisxA Sickness in Time https://amzn.to/41apSPKSeeing by Moonlight ...

You can enjoy exclusive and intense erotic audio by grabbing your copy of the Sensual Awakening App on the Apple Store,or downloading the very unofficial and unapproved Android version from WyldeInBed.com Step into the enchanting world of "Shadows of Desire," where the night is alive with mystery and the promise of passion awaits. Meet Alice, a painfully shy woman who dreads the thought of attending a lavish fancy dress party. Clad in an elegant yet modest costume, she feels out of place among the vibrant crowd.But as the evening unfolds and the drinks begin to flow, Alice discovers a newfound sense of courage, igniting a spark within her that she never knew existed.In the dimly lit corners of the party, she catches the eye of a captivating older man, his presence both commanding and alluring. Drawn together by an undeniable chemistry, they slip away from the bustling crowd into the shadows, where inhibitions fade and desires come alive.Join Alice on her intimate adventure as she explores the depths of her sensuality, guided by the warm embrace of passion and the thrill of the unknown. In this tantalizing tale, discover how one night can change everything, leading to unforgettable encounters that awaken the senses and unleash hidden fantasies.Dive into "Shadows of Desire" and lose yourself in a story that celebrates the beauty of transformation, the allure of connection, and the intoxicating power of surrender. Will Alice embrace her desires and step into the light of her true self? Find out in this captivating erotic journey that will leave you breathless and yearning for more.

Clad in my bucket hat, saltwater dripping from day-old braids, I make Sean follow me outside for a celebratory photo. “You want a picture of the pie here?” he asks, slightly incredulous as I try to balance the melting treat on uneven gravel. It's heavier than you'd expect.“Yes,” I reply. “My key lime pie in our keys campsite!”Later he sends the picture to his mom. She says it looks delicious—and it is.Let vacation begin.I can't get over the view from our bed. I take entirely too many photos (Future Me will have a problem cleaning them out) trying to capture the awe—sun-bright awe—that my house is parked in a place like this. My backyard is a rocky shoreline. My kitchen rustles with an ocean breeze. My eyes can't drink it all in.Our campsite is Scout's dream, too. No matter where she is—claiming her yellow lawn chair, curled in the front cab, sprawled on our bed—she is immersed in fresh air.We breathe deeply, all three of us.“What a faith-in-humanity moment,” I say to Sean, finally unclenching my jaw.Shortly after we arrived at Bahia Honda State Park, an off-leash golden retriever barreled into our campsite. Sean tried to intercept while a boy looked on from the road. “Please get your dog!” I hollered, darting to my left to match the creature's swerve.The boy's mother appeared at a leisurely stroll. “She's friendly! She's really friendly,” promised this woman I'd never met (and had no reason to trust).“My dog's been attacked before and isn't,” I called. “Yours can't be in our site.”The next minute blurs a little, even in such recent memory. I know I body blocked the retriever again while her owner tried to attach the leash. Finally, oversized adolescent paws scratching my thighs, we succeeded.“She's only eight months old,” the woman said, a bit pleadingly.I felt myself flush. Scout had done well—only barked once, stayed lying down on her blanket, knew her humans would handle it—but this was not how I envisioned the start of our vacation. My voice had an edge: “That's not an excuse.”“I'm not making excuses,” the other owner half-snarled before stomping away. “I'm sorry.”I could feel my heartbeat in my fingertips. Sean hugged me; Scout asked to play; we tried to move on. Then I realized the woman and her dog and her son were our immediate next-door neighbors.Then I realized they were also the campground hosts.Is this a bad sitcom? I texted my mom, venting frustration. It is not encouraging when the people in charge of a shared space's rules (like, you know, keeping your dog on a leash and under control) are the very ones violating them.I buzzed with anxiety until, as Sean removed a raw neck bone from the freezer for Scout and I started thinking about our own dinner, the off-leash-neighbor-campground-host family again appeared in our site. Sans dog this time.The woman had a special treat for our heeler. Her husband offered a soft handshake. Their boy rode a bright bicycle. I've never received such a sincere apology—I've never witnessed, so clearly, the results of a stranger pausing to consider their impact after the fact.“That must have been so scary for you,” she said simply.“Thank you,” I replied, meaning it.Their dog never ran at us again.It is not uncommon for people to comment on our campsite as they walk by. They like the van's bright color; they love when Scout curls in a lawn chair of her own. (For introverts, we certainly aren't inconspicuous.)This morning a woman with arms of tattoos asks if our dog's name is Macaroni. What? She clarifies with a grin: Then we could refer to her and the van, together, as “macaroni and cheese”.Sean and I burst into laughs as she walks away, equal parts bemused and delighted. “That's near the top of the ‘best comment ever' list,” I declare. He agrees.I have worked ahead—client work, the stuff that pays part of our bills—so I can avoid email and Webflow and Canva here on the ocean's edge. It feels wrong to be lit by a computer screen when I could be lit by the sun.My Kindle's glow is different. I read three books in three days: lying on our bed, sitting under blue sky, stroking Scout's fur. I read in my head while walking to the bathroom building (a few neighbors look on, confused) and aloud to Sean while he cooks breakfast (pancakes, mostly) and under my breath as the evening colors fade.I wanted to live inside a book, wrote Ann Hood in her Morningstar memoir. How lucky I am to do just that.I am still damp with saltwater. Sand coats my feet—more determined than I after two rounds of attempted toweling—and I realize I don't even mind that our rug is a noticeably different color than it was two months ago.This is pure luxury, I think. Lavender lotion on gently tanned skin after a day of fresh air. What more could anyone need?I choose a postcard with a cactus—Organ Pipe National Monument—even though the landscape is nothing like our current humid world. I'm drawn to the simple shapes. I want to think simple thoughts.Next to me Sean hand-solves a calculus problem his boss sent him “just for fun”.Is this balance?I sit, cross-legged, at the edge of our bed. My face meets the breeze. I can see more of the sky if I crane my neck forward, and I let my eyes adjust—I know, from two nights of sleeping with the back doors open, exactly where Orion's belt will appear.Sean brings me decaf dark roast with whipped cream. As I lean against the foot of the bed, legs toward our pillows to ensure the best sunset view, Scout sprawls to my right. “Can you get my phone?” I call to the front of the van. “I just need the camera. To capture this moment.”This evening world is so quiet. I'm nearly done reading The Darkness Manifesto, and I'm not sure I've ever felt so excited for the night—for the bats, for the stars, for the sounds. For the stretching increments between “last light” and “full dark”.For my newfound ability to appreciate them.I painted my toenails when I was in Wisconsin, while my niece napped and wouldn't ask to make her own mess with the bottle. Now the bright-orange squares peek above the water—satisfying contrast against an impossibly blue backdrop—as I float in gentle waves.I'm not sure how long I lie there. (Sean tells me I'm lucky to float; he, too dense, always sinks.) I feel dizzy when I climb back on shore, struggling to reconcile the firm sand with the water's give.It's not a problem. I just wade back out.Scout tries to eat the cucumbers off my eyes. How can I expect her to understand food that is not food? I laugh so hard I snort; she wags back hopefully.“You're an idiot,” Sean and I tell her, often. The words mean so many other things: you are perfect, you bring us joy, we love you more than anything.I never want her to change.We are on this jog for a stupid reason: I saw a sculpted woman on the rocks late this morning and felt, crushingly, that I was not enough like her. Jiggly, I asserted to Sean, pointing at my triceps. He sighed. “Please don't say ridiculous things.”But now that we're moving—feet brushing cracked pavement, shoulders sweating in humid air—I don't feel “jiggly” at all. I feel strong. I feel chastised. I feel so damn lucky to watch the sun dip behind the water's edge.We detour to the sandy beach when we're done. I sprint to the edge, trust fall in the water, nearly forget to close my eyes before diving under each wave. We stay, quietly—nothing needs to be said—until Sean is shivering and we cave to the promise of homemade ramen in the van.I eat a huge bowl.I pick my way around hermit crabs—too many to count—with a lawn chair draped over my shoulder. We are finally heading to the shallow bay we keep walking by, the one tucked along the road with a view of the old railroad bridge, for sunset. (And civil twilight. Maybe nautical and astronomical, too, if thoughts of Scout snuggling by herself don't call us sooner to bed.)The clouds put on less of a show than they did last night—we watched yesterday's sunset from the van's front windshield on our way to the dump station for a gray tank emergency—but somehow the evening is still more beautiful than I imagined. I inhale. An osprey squawks, perches on the sandbar a dozen feet to our left. Each passing moment reveals a new star.I stop trying to chase my anxiety away and instead invite it to sit with us, share our snacks, sip from Sean's thermos of decaf with cream. I sing “Of Love and Life” in my head. The song sticks with me all night, even after we've waded back to shore (without stepping on a single sea creature) and crept to camp in the dark. I sing it to Sean and Scout as we pile atop each other in bed.“Hear me out, take your time, watch the setting sunTake your hands out of your pockets, feel the water runDon't worry about tomorrowAnd yesterday is gone”Sometimes a stranger's poetry seems written just for you.Sean and I walk through the small restaurant's door. Old-school entrée photos obscure the walls, captioned in Spanish; I feel a bit sheepish when the cooks' replace their background chatter with “do you need an English menu?” as we reach the front of the line.It's a glorious day: pure sun, eighty degrees, shallow blue-green ocean on each side of the highway. Melancholy laced the morning as I thought about leaving the keys. We'll be back soon (an incredible delight) but I've always struggled with endings—even the simple ones.All that messiness dissipates with my first bite of tamale. We pass our Cuban coffee back and forth across the picnic table, Sean's gentle grin—the soft one, the one that reminds me of his shyer college self—igniting my own. After this we have more local cafes to visit as we make our way toward Homestead (where home for the night will be a dingy Cracker Barrel parking lot). “A restaurant crawl,” Sean proposed before we left our campsite, doing what he always does.“Thank you,” I say now. “For making today feel more like an adventure than a goodbye.” Get full access to Paws and Reflect at www.pawsandreflect.blog/subscribe

In this episode, Paul will talk about Metal-Clad Cable and Bundling of Multiconductor Cables as they apply to the adjustment factors in 310.15(C)(1).Listen as Paul Abernathy, CEO, and Founder of Electrical Code Academy, Inc., the leading electrical educator in the country, discusses electrical code, electrical trade, and electrical business-related topics to help electricians maximize their knowledge and industry investment.If you are looking to learn more about the National Electrical Code, for electrical exam preparation, or to better your knowledge of the NEC then visits https://fasttraxsystem.com for all the electrical code training you will ever need by the leading electrical educator in the country with the best NEC learning program on the planet.Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/master-the-nec-podcast--1083733/support.

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On this episode of JHLT: The Podcast, the Digital Media Editors invite lead author Chung-Wai Chow, MD, PhD, FRCPC, to discuss the paper, “Pollution exposure in the first 3 months post transplant is associated with lower baseline FEV1 and higher CLAD risk.” Dr. Chow is a transplant pulmonologist and clinician scientist at the University of Toronto, with work focusing on investigating air pollution's impact on chronic lung diseases and developing improved methods to assess lung function. The episode explores: Measurement methods for home and personal air pollution exposures Specific pollutants like black carbon and their effects on patients after lung transplant Practical advice for mitigating these effects For the latest studies from JHLT, visit www.jhltonline.org/current, or, if you're an ISHLT member, access your Journal membership at www.ishlt.org/jhlt. Those on heart transplant teams should tune in again later this month for a Scandinavian study that performs long-term follow ups with patients on the nephrotoxic effects of CNIs. Don't already get the Journal and want to read along? Join the International Society of Heart and Lung Transplantation at www.ishlt.org for a free subscription, or subscribe today at www.jhltonline.org.

Listen as Paul Abernathy, CEO, and Founder of Electrical Code Academy, Inc., the leading electrical educator in the country, discusses electrical code, electrical trade, and electrical business-related topics to help electricians maximize their knowledge and industry investment.In this episode, Paul will talk about the misinformation that circles around about conductor slippage in Metal-Clad Cable and how many believe, engineers included, believe 300.19(A) has something to do with cables, such as MC Cable. So, on this episode we break it down for you so hope you enjoy it.If you are looking to learn more about the National Electrical Code, for electrical exam preparation, or to better your knowledge of the NEC then visits https://fasttraxsystem.com for all the electrical code training you will ever need by the leading electrical educator in the country with the best NEC learning program on the planet.Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/master-the-nec-podcast--1083733/support.

Listen as Paul Abernathy, CEO, and Founder of Electrical Code Academy, Inc., the leading electrical educator in the country, discusses electrical code, electrical trade, and electrical business-related topics to help electricians maximize their knowledge and industry investment.In this episode, Paul will talk about the misinformation that circles around about conductor slippage in Metal-Clad Cable and how many believe, engineers included, believe 300.19(A) has something to do with cables, such as MC Cable. So, on this episode we break it down for you so hope you enjoy it.If you are looking to learn more about the National Electrical Code, for electrical exam preparation, or to better your knowledge of the NEC then visits https://fasttraxsystem.com for all the electrical code training you will ever need by the leading electrical educator in the country with the best NEC learning program on the planet.Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/electrify-electrician-podcast--4131858/support.

Nahum 2Nineveh to Fall (v 1-13)**********Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version ®, NIV ® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc. Used with permission. All rights reserved worldwide.The “NIV”, “New International Version”, “Biblica”, “International Bible Society” and the Biblica Logo are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.  Used with permission.BIBLICA, THE INTERNATIONAL BIBLE SOCIETY, provides God's Word to people through Bible translation & Bible publishing, and Bible engagement in Africa, Asia Pacific, Europe, Latin America, the Middle East, and North America. Through its worldwide reach, Biblica engages people with God's Word so that their lives are transformed through a relationship with Jesus Christ.Support the show

Today we have the following question:A job site that we are on recently had the roof drains improperly opened and the MC that was installed got wet. I've recently heard the podcast where this was the topic in question, but for Type NM cable. Is the affected MC ok to remain or should it be replaced?Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/master-the-nec-podcast--1083733/support.

Another current listening episode!  We discuss the music we've been listening to, why we are listening to these artists, and the stories around why they are hitting us hard.  Nine Inch Nails, Genghis Tron, Fen Walker, Lorde, MC Breed, Cold Sanctum, Blood Incantation, Coil, D.B.C., and more are discussed.  We each share a song that we've been vibing with as well.   -------------------- Hosts:  Jason Walton and Nick Wusz. "I Hate Music" theme by Marius Sjoli.  I Hate Music image by Jori Apedaile. Produced by Jason Walton for Earth in Sound Productions. -------------------- Support the podcast by becoming a Patreon member here: IHM Patreon Follow us on socials, donate to support the podcast, listen to our playlist on Spotify, and visit us online: I Hate Music Linktree Email and listener suggestions to: hate.pod.music@gmail.com #ihatemusicpodcast **I Hate Music is an Earth in Sound Production**

Are you one of the countless poor souls blighted by the relentless scourge of privilege? Do you lie awake at night, fearing the scorn of your less fortunate friends, worried that they might storm your palace in a fit of redistributional pique? Do you yearn for a bygone age when the lower rungs of society knew their place and regarded their betters with an air of awe and curiosity at God's wisdom, rather than a barely contained fury at the greed and callousness destroying society? Do we have a job at The Times for you! Donate to receive two blessings a month: https://www.patreon.com/praxiscast  Observe our rituals: https://www.twitch.tv/praxiscast Clad yourself in vestments: https://praxiscast.teemill.com/  Join our cult: https://bsky.app/profile/praxiscast.bsky.social Cast: David - https://bsky.app/profile/sanitarynaptime.bsky.social Jamie - https://bsky.app/profile/wizardcubes.bsky.social Alasdair - https://bsky.app/profile/ballistari.bsky.social James - https://bsky.app/profile/anarchonbury.bsky.social

Pastor Anthony Uvenio discusses the reality of spiritual warfare and the importance of believers putting on the armor of God to stand firm against evil. They emphasize the power of opposition faced by Christians and the need for dependence on God's strength. Pastor Anthony cautions against complacency and stresses the responsibility of actively engaging in the spiritual battle. They highlight the significance of recognizing weaknesses and relying on Christ for salvation. # The Armor of God: Equipping for Spiritual Warfare In a world that often prioritizes the physical and visible, the concept of spiritual warfare might seem distant or even irrelevant. However, as believers, we are called to recognize and engage in the battle that rages beyond what our eyes can see. This battle isn't against flesh and blood but against rulers, authorities, and cosmic powers of darkness. It's a spiritual struggle requiring not worldly weapons but the full armor of God. ## Understanding the Battle Ephesians 6:10-20 serves as a crucial text in understanding this spiritual warfare. It instructs us to "be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might." This passage vividly details the armor of God, including the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. These elements are not just metaphorical; they are essential tools for defending ourselves against spiritual deception and harm. ### The Reality of Spiritual Forces In a materialistic age, the existence of anything beyond the physical is often dismissed. Critics demand physical proof of spiritual realities, yet they readily use their immaterial minds to argue against the existence of the immaterial. This contradiction highlights a significant oversight in their reasoning. If we accept that our minds can conceive immaterial thoughts and utilize immaterial laws of logic, how then can we deny the existence of spiritual realities? ## The Armor and Its Significance Each piece of the armor of God has a specific role. The belt of truth combats the lies and deceptions of the enemy. The breastplate of righteousness protects our hearts, the seat of our emotions and desires, from the allure of sin. The shoes of readiness ground us in the gospel of peace, helping us stand firm. The shield of faith deflects the fiery darts of doubt and accusation thrown by the enemy. The helmet of salvation protects our minds, the battleground where many spiritual wars are won or lost. Lastly, the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God, is our offensive weapon, capable of cutting through deception and doubt to reveal the truth and convict the hearts. ## Engaging in the Battle Taking up this armor requires more than a passive stance. It calls for active engagement in the spiritual realm through prayer, scripture reading, and community with other believers. It's about making conscious choices every day to live out the truth of the gospel, to uphold righteousness, and to propagate the faith amidst a world often hostile to such ideals. ## Conclusion: Clad in the Armor, Prepared for Victory As we face the complexities and challenges of life, let us remember that our battles are not just against visible troubles but against spiritual forces that seek our downfall. Clad in the armor of God, let us stand firm, not in our strength but in the might of the Lord. It is He who fights for us, who equips us, and who leads us into victory. Let us then move forward, not in fear but in faith, fully equipped for the spiritual warfare that lies before us. www.ReformedRookie.com Podcast: https://anchor.fm/reformedrookie Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TheReformedRookie Twitter: https://twitter.com/NYapologist Semper Reformanda

Https://www.patreon.com/isyanderandkoda You already know how to please the Machine Gods at this point so thank you so much. And make your voices heard for which faction you would like to see next! -Isyander Everything below is for the omnissiah. But like, you can read it if you want. Just a synopsis of the video you're watching. The Minotaurs are a renowned and enigmatic Space Marine Chapter in the Warhammer 40,000 universe, characterized by their brutal efficiency, fierce loyalty to the High Lords of Terra, and mysterious origins. Their history is largely obscured, with much of their early records either classified or lost.Led by the formidable Chapter Master Asterion Moloc, the Minotaurs are known for their strategic brilliance and relentless ferocity in battle. Moloc wields the Black Spear, a powerful Relic Blade with a deadly single-shot laser, said to have once been wielded by the Adeptus Custodes. Clad in Tartaros Pattern Terminator Armor, Moloc is a fearsome warrior whose numerous survivals of near-fatal incidents have led to speculation that the name "Asterion Moloc" might be a legacy title passed down along with engrammatically enforced memories and personality traits.The Minotaurs' base of operations is the Daedelos Krata, a massive warship that has played a significant role in various campaigns, such as the Badab War and the Amarah Void Battle. This heavily armed vessel serves as their command center and is equipped with bombardment cannons, teleportariums, and a cadre of Contemptor Pattern Dreadnoughts, known as the Hecaton. Within the ship's maze-like chambers lies the brazen throne where Lord Moloc directs the Chapter's operations.Operationally unique, the Minotaurs prefer to deploy in full Chapter strength, avoiding smaller-scale engagements. This approach, combined with their exceptional equipment and recruitment practices, allows them to maintain full strength and effectiveness. Their advanced arsenal includes Mk VIII and void-modified Mk III power armor, Terminator suits for their elite warriors, and an array of heavy vehicles.Throughout their history, the Minotaurs have been involved in numerous key battles and campaigns. They played pivotal roles in the Battle of Shaprias, the reclamation of Rynn's World from Ork forces, and the Orphean War. Often deployed by the High Lords of Terra, the Minotaurs are used to suppress rebellions and eliminate renegade Space Marine factions, employing aggressive tactics and an uncompromising approach.Notable members of the Chapter include various decorated warriors and Contemptor Dreadnoughts like Morbus. These individuals exemplify the Chapter's martial excellence and unwavering loyalty to the Imperium.The Minotaurs' enigmatic origins, combined with their brutal efficiency and steadfast loyalty, make them one of the most intriguing Space Marine Chapters in the Warhammer 40,000 universe. Their extensive lore, detailed in various Warhammer 40k resources and codices, provides deeper insights into their history, battles, and key figures.—— ——TAGSWarhammer 40k, Minotaurs Chapter, Adeptus Astartes, Space Marines, Asterion Moloc, Black Spear, Daedelos Krata, Warhammer lore, Warhammer history, Badab War, Amarah Void Battle, Tartaros Pattern Terminator Armor, Relic Blade, Adeptus Custodes, Contemptor Pattern Dreadnoughts, Hecaton, High Lords of Terra, Space Marine Chapters, Imperial operations, Mk VIII power armor, Mk III void-modified armor, Terminator suits, Warhammer 40k campaigns, Battle of Shaprias, Rynn's World, Orphean War, Space Marine recruitment, Space Marine tactics, Imperial loyalty, Martial excellence, Space Marine battles, Warhammer 40k key battles, Warhammer 40k universe, Warhammer 40k factions, Warhammer 40k equipment, Space Marine vehicles, Space Marine lSupport the Show.

On today's 7-23-24 Tuesday show: We go through our first talkbacks of the day, Graham has finally finished watching Love Is Blind, Jess shares a new show that she is watching on Netflix, the Bachelorette is getting so steamy that there was a warning for the show, we talk all things Olympics, it's another edition of “What the Bleep”, Justin Timberlake is not here for the NSYNC reunion, JV did not get into the Bay Area radio hall of fame, Benny Blanco gifts Selena Gomez a cute present for her Birthday, and so much more! 

On this episode of JHLT: The Podcast, the JHLT Digital Media Editors explore two studies from the July issue of The Journal of Heart and Lung Transplantation. Digital Media Editor Marty Tam, MD, a transplant cardiologist from the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor, hosts this episode.   First, Dr. Tam and Digital Media Editor Erika Lease, MD, FCCP, interview their first guest, Daniel Calabrese, MD, first author on the study “Macrophage and CD8 T cell discordance are associated with acute lung allograft dysfunction progression.” The study's authors sought to tackle challenges behind early detection of chronic lung allograft dysfunction (CLAD) by identifying biomarkers associated with acute lung allograft dysfunction (ALAD) progression to CLAD.   To do this, they collected bronchoalveolar lavage (BAL) cells at the time of ALAD diagnosis and performed single cell RNA sequencing to identify significant differences in 26 unique cell populations across groups, with discordant CD8 T cells and macrophages providing the best discrimination between ALAD with decline from ALAD with recovery and controls.   Dr. Calabrese discusses how his team identified the diagnostic criteria, why the biomarkers might lead ALAD to progress to CLAD, and how the findings might lead to early targeted therapies.   Next, Dr. Tam joins and Digital Media Editor Khue Ton, MD and David Schibilsky, MD, to interview their next guest, David D'Alessandro, MD, the Surgical Director of Cardiac Transplantation and MCS at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston. Dr. D'Alessandro was the first author on the study “Impact of controlled hypothermic preservation on outcomes following heart transplantation,” which sought to assess the impact of the Paragonix SherpaPak Cardiac Transport System, a device allowing controlled hypothermic  preservation, on rates of primary graft dysfunction (PGD) and post-transplant mortality.   The key finding was that controlled hypothermic preservation was associated with a lower incidence of severe PGD – 6.6% compared to ice storage at 10.4%. In the conversation, Dr. D'Alessandro answers questions about the need for innovation over traditional ice cold storage, the greatest advantages of controlled hypothermic approaches, and the next steps in this research.   Follow along at www.jhltonline.org/current, or, if you're an ISHLT member, access your Journal membership at www.ishlt.org/jhlt.   Don't already get the Journal and want to read along? Join the International Society of Heart and Lung Transplantation at www.ishlt.org for a free subscription, or subscribe today at www.jhltonline.org.

-The National Champions are clad in Big Orange -Jack Foster joins the show

This week on "The Price for Paradise," we welcome back Jacob Clad to discuss his journey of recovering from a recent back injury. Jacob delves into the psychology of injury and the challenges faced while striving to regain his sense of self. Tune in for an insightful conversation about the mental and physical trials of recovery and how to navigate the path back to wellness.

Brandt, Tyler and Brennan discuss the 2 games this week, comparing and contrasting how RSL is +17 goal differential. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/rslrandomfan/message

Send us a Text Message.https://www.patreon.com/AdeptusRidiculoushttps://www.adeptusridiculous.com/https://twitter.com/AdRidiculoushttps://orchideight.com/collections/adeptus-ridiculousChaos Space Marines are genetically augmented transhumans who seek only to conquer, slaughter, and despoil. Clad in baroque power armour bedecked in macabre trophies and infernal iconography, Chaos Space Marines do battle alongside growling battle tanks, monstrous Daemon Engines, and thronging masses of cultist thralls. Some are possessed by daemonic allies, others bear Chaos-tainted artefacts or wield warp sorcery. No matter what form they take, they pursue their Long War with pitiless brutality, slaughtering any who stand in their path in an ever-escalating campaign of vengeance, conquest Support the Show.

Ah, welcome, welcome, today, we are diving deep into the icy fjords of Norse mythology. Buckle up, because we're about to explore the epic saga of the Valkyries – those fierce and fabulous battle maidens who make Wonder Woman look like a teeny tiny Girl Scout selling her cookies.  It's the age of the Viking, somewhere between the 8th and 11th centuries. The air is crisp, the fjords are breathtaking, and the locals? Well, they're busy pillaging and plundering their way into history. Scandinavia – a land of rugged terrain, long winters, and more mythological creatures than you can shake a sword at. Now, imagine you're a Norse warrior. You've spent the day in glorious battle, hacking and slashing like there's no tomorrow. And just as you're about to fall, who swoops down to claim your soul? None other than the Valkyries, Odin's elite squad of warrior maidens. These ladies aren't just here to hand out medals; they're here to decide who gets a VIP pass to Valhalla and who ends up in Hel's dreary realm. And more importantly, Valkyries had names that practically screamed 'badass'. Take Brynhildr, for example – her name means 'armored battle'. Or how about Hildr, which translates simply to 'battle'. Subtle, right? These were women with a singular purpose, and they did it with style. Clad in shimmering armor and riding winged horses, they were the ancient world's equivalent of a heavily armed SWAT team – but with better hair and the attitude that screamed ODIN.

are clad in one green hue and lose themselves - #3822 (84R26 714left) by chair house 240601.mp3are clad in one green hue and lose themselves〓240529：Kindle版「美しきAI女神達３イラスト集」を作成して公開しました。https://amzn.asia/d/5fZb01E本書はマルチメディアアーティストであるチェアハウスが、AIを..

A female photojournalist who was attacked by alleged Antifa members last week at Portland State University in a harrowing caught-on-camera confrontation said the "leftist extremists" will continue to wreak havoc because they never face consequences. "A friend that I was with said, ‘Turn around, there is a problem,' so I turned around and there was a group of Antifa in bloc walking up on us and I could tell that they were going to target me," Chelly Bouferrache told Fox News Digital. Bouferrache, an independent photojournalist and reporter for The Publica, was a stay-at-home mom who started covering the news in 2016. What began as a part-time gig has evolved into a passion project that has taken her to chaotic scenes in Berkeley, Portland, Seattle and Los Angeles to cover riots, protests and unrest. She ended up at Portland State when anti-Israel agitators occupied the library on campus last week, and the frightening ordeal resulted in her becoming a target. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/darien-dunstan3/message

As dawn broke over the iconic New York City skyline,  she couldn't help but feel a mix of nerves and excitement—the cocktail of emotions that Ana from @Ana_Runs_on_Coffee described as she boarded the bus to the marathon starting line. Clad in mylar blankets and loaded with carb-rich strategies, she joins us for a second episode to continue recounting the pre-marathon rituals that set the stage for 26.2 miles of urban adventure. Hear how her preparation unfolded into an orchestra of precision, emotion, and community spirit found only in the crowds of runners poised at the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge, ready to conquer the concrete jungle.The crowd's energy is an intangible yet potent force, and this episode captures the essence of that support alongside the critical topic of marathon fueling. With anecdotes of energy gels and the sweet taste of success (or sometimes, just too much sugar), Ana dissects the tightrope walk of maintaining energy levels without stomach upsets. Glimpse into the heartwarming tales of spectator ingenuity and discover how the cheers of strangers can propel you through the physical challenge and emotional highs of passing each mile marker.Post-race, the euphoria is palpable as we share the tales of her New York City Marathon experience, from the tear-streaked joy of crossing the finish line to the gastronomic bliss of a well-earned burger. Our journey concludes with brunch at Tiffany's Blue Box Cafe, a treasured photo by the mile 26 marker, and the comical mishaps of a much-needed coffee fix. Join us on this exhilarating tour of perseverance and celebration that encapsulates the marathon spirit, and perhaps you'll be inspired to lace up your running shoes for your next big race.Find out more about the New York City Marathon here:https://www.nyrr.org/tcsnycmarathon Get the Goodr glasses she wore at the 5K the day before her NYC Marathon Debut:https://goodr.com/products/breakfast-run-to-tiffanys Connect with Ana here:https://www.instagram.com/ana.runs.on.coffee  (@ana.runs.on.coffee)https://linktr.ee/Ana.Runs.On.CoffeeCheck out Ana's food and beverage recommendations here:Tiffany's Blue Box Cafehttps://blueboxcafenyc.comPHD Terrace:https://taogroup.com/venues/phd-terrace-new-york/menu/ Support the showTHAT'S A WRAP! Thank you for listening! Because of your support, we are in our seventh year of the podcast! Don't forget to follow us and tell us where to find you next on our website, Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. Also, check out our store on the website and get some NEW swag, thanks to Pure Creative Apparel. Thanks to www.PodcastMusic.com for providing the music for this episode, too!

When it comes to writing, there is so much happening behind the scenes. It is so much more than sitting down, grabbing a pencil, and putting words on paper. In today's episode, we'll explore the challenges students face when it comes to writing. From motor skills to executive functioning, today's guest explains the complexities of the writing process.  Shanna Trombetta is an Educational Therapist and she joins the Diverse Thinking Different Learning Podcast to help us better understand not only the writing process and the challenges students face, but also ways we can support struggling students at home and in the classroom. She shares practical strategies and insights to empower parents and educators in guiding children through the whirlwind of creativity, skill, and determination that is writing.   Show Notes: [3:16] - A lot of learners who come into Shanna's practice struggle with writing. [4:24] - Shanna describes some of the things that are commonly a struggle when it comes to writing. There's so much happening at one time. [5:39] - It is common for students to have a lot of great ideas, but the mechanics of writing hold them up, and they wind up not writing anything. [7:32] - One way to support kids with writing is by providing them with a structure. [9:37] - People who don't struggle with executive functioning can typically create their own structure. But many kids need to be shown how to organize their information. [11:24] - When she works with students, Shanna helps them develop and use tools. [13:08] - What is background knowledge and why is it important for writing? [15:01] - Shanna describes writing around themes to help with structure. [16:57] - Chunking is a great strategy that helps students take one step at a time. [19:01] - Keeping a checklist as they write is another tool that can alleviate the stress of keeping track of things in their mind. [21:00] - Assessment data is really helpful for Shanna so she knows to target some of the spelling patterns that are a challenge for a student. [23:16] - So often students know what they want to write about. Strategies to get the information out are not “cheating.” [26:22] - Writing is an area where many students experience stress. Make it fun. [28:30] - While struggling, it is hard to remain motivated. Shanna shares some ways to keep students positive while they're learning.   About Our Guest: Shanna Trombetta is an Educational Therapist affiliated with the Association of Educational Therapists, dedicated to serving the community of Los Angeles. Shanna holds a Master's in Educational Psychology and a B.A. in Special Education/Psychology from Marist College. Additionally, she holds an Educational Therapy Certification from UC Riverside, a CLEAR credential from the California Commission of Teacher Credentialing (grades K-6), and CLAD certification. She serves on the International Dyslexia Association Chapter of Los Angeles Board and is a Child Nexus member. With a rich background spanning over two decades, Shanna has excelled as a classroom teacher, literacy coach, private homeschool educator, and currently, as an Educational Therapist, offering a depth of expertise in her private practice. Specializing in supporting neurodiverse children, addressing dyslexia, and navigating language-based disabilities, Shanna is unwavering in her dedication to creating inclusive and effective learning environments. In her free time, Shanna treasures moments spent with her two daughters, husband, and Australian labradoodle. A passionate book enthusiast, she often finds solace at the beach with a captivating read.   Connect with Our Guest: ChildNEXUS Provider Profile Trombetta Therapy Website Email: shanna@trombettatherapy.com    Links and Related Resources: Ready, Set, Write! Engaging Reluctant Students Writing Disorders in Children: The Language Link Coping with Executive Function Deficits in the Context of Writing Assistive Technology for Students with Learning Disabilities   Connect with Us: Get on our Email List Book a Consultation Get Support and Connect with a ChildNEXUS Provider Register for Our Self-Paced Mini Courses with LIVE AMA Sessions   The Diverse Thinking Different Learning podcast is intended for informational purposes only and is not a substitute for medical or legal advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Additionally, the views and opinions expressed by the host and guests are not considered treatment and do not necessarily reflect those of ChildNEXUS, Inc or the host, Dr. Karen Wilson.

With Dee out this week, Bryan Anthony Davis relives and revies the Steelers week on the Steel Curtain Network from FFSN. This new year, get Factor and enjoy eating well without the hassle. Simply choose your meals and enjoy fresh, flavor-packed meals delivered to your door. Ready in just 2 minutes, no prep, no mess! Give Factor Meals a try TODAY!! Head to factormeals.com/steel50 to get 50% off! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

From the land of jazz, gumbo, public drunkenness, and second lines at Delta's baggage claim, Trixie and Katya bring you an auditory experience of such unabashedly sultry sexiness and salacious prurience that your ears will climax long before you do. Start building your credit up today! Open a Chime Checking account with at least a $200 qualifying direct deposit. Get started at Chime.com/BALD or click on: https://www.chime.com/apply-debit/?ad=podcast_bald Synbiotic+ and Ritual are here to celebrate, not hide, your insides. There's no more shame in your gut game! Get 30% off during your first month. Visit https://Ritual.com/BALD to start Ritual or add Synbiotic+ to your subscription today! This podcast is sponsored by BetterHelp Therapy Online. Visit https://BetterHelp.com/BALD today to get 10% off your first month! Pure for Men offers the leading cleanliness fiber supplement that helps keep you confident from daytime to playtime. The brand for good health and good times! Head to: https://puremen.co/baldandbeautiful for 20% off with code: BALD20 Follow Trixie: @TrixieMattel Follow Katya: @Katya_Zamo To watch the podcast on YouTube: http://bit.ly/TrixieKatyaYT Don't forget to follow the podcast for free wherever you're listening or by using this link: http://bit.ly/baldandthebeautifulpodcast If you want to support the show, and get all the episodes ad-free go to: https://thebaldandthebeautiful.supercast.com If you like the show, telling a friend about it would be amazing! You can text, email, Tweet, or send this link to a friend: http://bit.ly/baldandthebeautifulpodcast To check out future Live Podcast Shows, go to: https://trixieandkatya.com To order your copy of our book, "Working Girls", go to: workinggirlsbook.com To check out the Trixie Motel in Palm Springs, CA: https://www.trixiemotel.com Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices