Sublimation blank coffee mugs

Hey dads,
Hopefully this is an appropriate place to post this and ask for suggestions. I know this is a little late with it being two weeks away, but I'm losing my mind asking my husband for help with the dads every year. I'm not a parent and my husband's family didn't really do gifts growing up, so I really need some help. I've looked in the parenting and dad subs, but can't find many posts about father's day gifts.
This is a little long, but please stay with me if you have the time. I'm probably overthinking it, but I want to start giving the men proper gifts they can enjoy. Maybe my expectations are too high and men don't really care, but my dad and grandpa's always seemed to, so I'm reaching out for help.
Each mother's day, I (f30) gift the same present to the moms in our life, as there are around 15. They all love that it's a tradition and it's the same gift for them all, though the designs, colors and words are different. Their friends at church and around town all love the tradition as well, and always look forward to what they get each year lol. Some of the men have commented on how much thought goes into the mother's day gifts, so I would like to start doing it for them as well. Preferably, a gift I can put together (see what I've done for the women below) and isn't too pricy for a bulk order. They seem to appreciate the tradition and displaying it for everyone.
My dilemma is, the gifts I think of for the men all just seem lame and inconsiderate compared to what I do for the ladies every year. We have around 15 men to gift items to every year, and I expect it to increase over the years, as I plan to foster or adopt. Currently, we gift to our dads, grandpa's, siblings, uncles (+ greats), a few cousins we spend time with regularly and our best friends. It might be too over the top for some, but I enjoy celebrating the parents in my life, as I've learned so much from them and hope to be able to integrate it into my own parenting, if I'm ever able.
My mom always gave such heartfelt gifts to my dad and grandpa's growing up, all picked out individually and unique to their interests.
One grandpa was native American and embraced his heritage with native decor, so that's typically what he got and displayed it around their home.
Another grandpa fished and loved his old Ford tractor, taking it to shows all while us kids were growing up, so he always got gifts related to that.
My other grandpa cherished the family farm and grounds, his tractor and keeping the grass mowed, so we always did gifts relating to that or spend a weekend, helping do yardwork and work around the farm.
My husband and I are having our deck taken out and having a patio porch built this summer, so I plan to do ladies brunch and cookout for the men in the future, but would still like suggestions, as I plan to continue to do the gifts for everyone.
*Please do not suggest alcohol - it's fine for my husband's dad & step-dad, but it just isn't something my family gave as gifts growing up.
What I've done for the women in the past: ● Hanging baskets & shepherd's hooks ● Royal icing cookies of flower boquets, flower arrangements, ones with the words mom, grandma, aunt, etc. ● Garden flags ● Fruit & veg baskets of their individual favorite produce during covid ● Garden decor - those metal sunflowers that have a bird feeder where the seeds are on real ones, small concrete garden decor like benches, plaques, stones, etc. ● Bird feeders or those hanging treats shaped like birdhouses and such, made our of birdseed
Things I've been suggested for the men: ● Nail clippers ● Beard/mustache comb ● Alcohol/beer ● Experiences, such as lunch or dinners, outings with them (but there are so many people we gift to, so I'm lost here unless anyone has suggestions) ● Socks, etc. ● Coffee mugs (most don't drink it & have a million tumbler cups) ● Yard tools, equipment, shop tools, etc.
If you've stayed with me this long, I appreciate you endlessly. I will take any suggestion, big or small, as the thought put into picking and packaging it matter the most. I just want them to feel thought of on this day celebrating them and be able to display their gifts if they want.

Hey everyone,
Hopefully this is an appropriate place to post this and ask for suggestions. I know this is a little late with it being two weeks away, but I'm losing my mind asking my husband for help with the dads every year. I'm not a parent and my husband's family didn't really do gifts growing up, so I really need some help. I've looked in the parenting and dad subs, but can't find many posts about father's day gifts.
This is a little long, but please stay with me if you have the time. I'm probably overthinking it, but I want to start giving the men proper gifts they can enjoy. Maybe my expectations are too high and men don't really care, but my dad and grandpa's always seemed to, so I'm reaching out for help.
Each mother's day, I (f30) gift the same present to the moms in our life, as there are around 15. They all love that it's a tradition and it's the same gift for them all, though the designs, colors and words are different. Their friends at church and around town all love the tradition as well, and always look forward to what they get each year lol. Some of the men have commented on how much thought goes into the mother's day gifts, so I would like to start doing it for them as well. Preferably, a gift I can put together (see what I've done for the women below) and isn't too pricy for a bulk order. They seem to appreciate the tradition and displaying it for everyone.
My dilemma is, the gifts I think of for the men all just seem lame and inconsiderate compared to what I do for the ladies every year. We have around 15 men to gift items to every year, and I expect it to increase over the years, as I plan to foster or adopt. Currently, we gift to our dads, grandpa's, siblings, uncles (+ greats), a few cousins we spend time with regularly and our best friends. It might be too over the top for some, but I enjoy celebrating the parents in my life, as I've learned so much from them and hope to be able to integrate it into my own parenting, if I'm ever able.
My mom always gave such heartfelt gifts to my dad and grandpa's growing up, all picked out individually and unique to their interests.

• One grandpa was native American and embraced his heritage with native decor, so that's typically what he got and displayed it around their home.
  
• Another grandpa fished and loved his old Ford tractor, taking it to shows all while us kids were growing up, so he always got gifts related to that.
  
• My other grandpa cherished the family farm and grounds, his tractor and keeping the grass mowed, so we always did gifts relating to that or spend a weekend, helping do yardwork and work around the farm.
  

My husband and I are having our deck taken out and having a patio porch built this summer, so I plan to do ladies brunch and cookout for the men in the future, but would still like suggestions, as I plan to continue to do the gifts for everyone.
*Please do not suggest alcohol - it's fine for my husband's dad & step-dad, but it just isn't something my family gave as gifts growing up.
What I've done for the women in the past:

• Hanging baskets & shepherd's hooks
  
• Royal icing cookies of flower boquets, flower arrangements, ones with the words mom, grandma, aunt, etc.
  
• Garden flags
  
• Fruit & veg baskets of their individual favorite produce during covid
  
• Garden decor: those metal sunflowers that have a bird feeder where the seeds are on real ones, small concrete garden decor like benches, plaques, stones, etc.
  
• Bird feeders or those hanging treats shaped like birdhouses and such, made our of birdseed
  

Things I've been suggested for the men:

• Nail clippers
  
• Beard/mustache comb
  
• Alcohol/beer
  
• Experiences, such as lunch or dinners, outings with them (but there are so many people we gift to, so I'm lost here unless anyone has suggestions)
  
• Socks, etc.
  
• Coffee mugs (most don't drink it & have a million tumbler cups)
  
• Yard tools, equipment, shop tools, etc.
  

If you've stayed with me this long, I appreciate you endlessly. I will take any suggestion, big or small, as the thought put into picking and packaging it matter the most. I just want them to feel thought of on this day celebrating them and be able to display their gifts if they want.

Cross-posted / US to US (Ajevie ℅ included), $5.00 shipping (PayPal G&S).
⭐Perfumes have been stored in wooden boxes away from heat and sunlight and/or in a temperature-controlled storage unit. Everything is always used or tested with clean hands unless marked as BNNU.⭐
✨Please do not claim something unless you are going to buy it. No holds or haggling. Thank you.✨
ARCANA WILDCRAFT & CRAVES
Come to Me / A compelling seduction of glittering Calabrian bergamot, Atlas cedarwood, fragrant ylang ylang blossoms, red rose petals, rich honey, sugared cardamom, citrusy yellow amber, ivory patchouli, and spruce musk. / Full into neck, $24
Estella / Quietly stunning ambre blanc and vanilla bean with a kiss of cognac. / Full into neck, $20
Pumpkins Crave Black Swallowers / Darkly smoldering incense billowing from a brass censer, clove cigarettes, brittle shards of wood, warm pumpkin spiked with nutmeg, a shot of French cognac, a curl of Ceylon cinnamon, and a twist of tobacco. / BNNU, $18
Snow Witch: Embers / The cozy scents of a winter witch's cottage hearth. Rich, sticky caramel, smoky Japanese Hiba wood, warm cardamom, and pink Himalayan salt. / Full into neck, $24
Sting / Amber resin, sticky beeswax, massoia, black coconut, and cubeb. / Full into neck, $23
Sugar / An ode to affectionate nicknames. French vanilla ice cream, sweet cardamom, a tincture of Pacific sea salt, dark Tahitian vanilla, and wild harvested pine sap. / Full into neck, $22
Touch / Golden honey on warm skin, soft brown leather, a baby lambswool sweater, floating layers of sheer silk, grey musk, and lightly smoked sap-frosted woods. / Full into neck, $22
Vanilla Craves Aurora / Richly roasted coffee beans, fluffy morning clouds, a dawn-pink sky, gently aged vanilla absolute, and sweet Mexican vanilla extract. / BNNU, $18
Winter Malaise / A carb-laden base of syrupy sweet mango and thick, rich vanilla is prodded with cinnamon, clove, black anise, and iron-distilled patchouli. / Full into neck, $24
ASTRID PERFUME
At the Diner After Rocky / Blueberry pancakes with blueberry syrup and maple syrup. / Full to shoulder with tiny dip, $20
Caramel Popcorn / Buttery, salted popcorn tossed in caramel. / Bubble at shoulder, $23.50
Gingerbread Latte / FS, $22
Jellybean / FS, $24
Vesta’s Orchard / Red Bartlett pears, peach, gingerbread, tangerine, smoked honey, white musk, pumpkin, and rosemary. / FS, $20
Trinkets & Feathers / Sugared sage, oud, jasmine, incense, apple, melon, juniper, and nutmeg. / FS, $20
BPAL
Buck Moon 2021 / Buck Moon is an animalistic, deep scent: an amplification of one’s natural musk coupled with forest herbs, pine pitch, smoky birch tar, cedar berries, dew-kissed juniper, amber moss, deer fur, a hint of clear, warm evening air and a crystalline spark of lunar oil. / A smidge above shoulder, $20
Cherry Wine / Full slightly above shoulder, $25
Dark Chocolate and Dried Red Fruits / Small dip at shoulder, $20
Doom Cake / A drug-induced vision of grabby, gore-slicked tentacles erupting from a facade of thick buttercream and lemon sponge soaked in cherry-flavored goo. / Full slightly above shoulder, $26
Disembodied Malevolent Laughter / A distorted, cacophonous, and mirthless chortle: a hollow rumble of dark resins that rises into a shrieking crescendo of icy wine grape, white musk, and white lemon. / Halfway between TOL and shoulder, $20
Einzelne Häuser (Häuser mit Bergen) / Charred yellow sandalwood, dry bourbon vanilla, terebinth, pine pitch, and red musk. / Full to slightly above TOS, $24
Harvest Love Potion / An attraction and sensuality blend that is delightfully camouflaged as a perfume. Autumn romance personified, infused with the comfort of fall leaves and apple pulp, cacao, 7-year aged patchouli, vanilla absolute, benzoin, cubeb berries, and rose absolute. / Half full, $15
Harvest Moon 2021 / This year’s Harvest Moon is a swirl of late-autumn leaves surrounding the last stone fruits of summer. / Full into neck, $20
Honey Babka / Laminated dough topped with sugar syrup and streusel. / Dip at shoulder, $20
Kon Kurabe Tama No Ase / Marzipan and buttercream with cinnamon, pistachio milk, vanilla custard, and clove. / Full slightly into neck, $25
Juicebox / Chocolate honey cakes with hazelnut and ripe figs. / Halfway between shoulder and TOL, $25
Pumpkin Dust 2021 / Shavings of white pumpkin rind and honey powder. / A smidge above TOL, $20
Sugar Cookies and a Popcorn Garland / Full slightly into neck, $25
Sugar Cookie Snake Oil / The sexiest cookie in town. / Full about halfway between TOS and TOL, $28
Sugar Cookie Satyr / Sugar cookies crumbled over a feral, woodland musk. / Tiny dip at shoulder, $28
V’al Hanissim 2021 / Lord, deliver the wicked into the hands of the righteous: beeswax glowing softly amber. / Full to TOS, $28
XXX Means Kisses / A rare portrait of innocence and integrity amidst the corruption of Caligari’s asylum. Tart hibiscus, skin musk, shea, and the faintest whiff of nicotine. / Full slightly above shoulder, $26
MoonaLisa/MooScents
Halloween Hayride / Harvest hay, bonfires and dried leaves mix with amber, smoky sandalwood, and musk. In the distance, you are anxious to get back to the circle with the promise of roasted marshmallows, and other sugary seasonal treats! / FS, $14
Holiday Moxie / We've all been there!! Seasonal Yuletide greetings, Mall Santas, employee parties! The scent of freshly-cut Christmas trees, steaming mugs of apple cider, orange peels, cinnamon sticks and clove! Candy Canes, and hot sticky Santas’ laps, and the faint smell of booze!! All with a touch of smoky oud!!! / FS, $14
Jawbreaker /Caramel, Pumpkin Crunch, Carrot Cake and Pecan Praline combo- OUCH! / FS, $14
Pumpkin Batter / Scrumptious toasty bread, pumpkin puree, warm Autumn spices, vanilla frosting, creamy caramel and juicy raisins / FS, $14
NAVA
Bassima / Creamy Coconut with subtle butter and warm sugar, subtle nutmeg and fig mingle within. / FS, $22
Ian’s Terrific Spiced Sugar Cookie / Sugar Butter Cookie, Spices of Chai tea (clove, nutmeg, allspice, white cinnamon), Gingerbread accord, Fresh shaved Ginger, Baked Ginger Cookie accord and Vanilla bean absolute / Slightly above TOS, $24
RS Lavan / Italian Lavender, French Lavender, Moonstone (Studio Limited Vanilla) absolute, Bourbon Vanille (Studio Limited Vanilla) absolute aged with black French Vanilla beans, Mallow root extract, Blend of four Sandalwoods aged in oak barrel for this blend; Santalum, White Sandalwood, Bourbon Sandalwood and Indian Sandalwood blended beautifully with Madagascar and Tahitian Vanilla beans. / FS, $33
RS Vanilla / Sandalwood Absolute, Vanilla Bean Liqueur, Madagascar Vanilla whole, rich Indian Sandalwood chips, soft white clove essence blended with Green Cardamom, Cedarwood, Irish Moss accord, Amber blend of labdanum and benzoin with NA aged Santalum Sandalwood in a bourbon Oakwood barrel. / FS, $35
Santasaurus ’22 / Sugar Cookies accord, Madagascar Vanilla Bean Frosting, Bastet’s Cookie Musk accord, Colombian Coffee organic extraction, Toasted Hazelnut, Molasses, Cinnamon Sugar, Snickerdoodle accord and Vanilla Bean paste. / Full to TOS, $25
Sweetgrass Musk / Organic Nevada Sweetgrass, Bastet Amber, eNVie saphir and sensual skin musk made from soft white floral blend of Tuberose, Mallow, Angelica, Musk Flower, and White Lily all blended beautifully into Bastet's Musk base. *Nevada Sweetgrass has a natural Citrus note. / FS, $30
The Height of Love / Warmed Vanilla Marshmallows, Crystalline, Bastet’s Ice Cream, Pink Sugar and White Clove. / Dip at shoulder, $22
POSSETS
Calorie Neutralizer / Light clove and heavy sugar with a great sheet of the most buttery of toffee on top. / FS, $15
Clara’s Party from the Nutcracker / Black musk, Arabian frankincense, 3 golden ambers, very spicy gingerbread, and a goodly shot of black tea. / FS, $15
Divine Clockwork / A cool vanilla mint and warm bitter chocolate become more than just a marriage of great foodie combinations. / FS, $15
Pauline / The most comforting and lovely aspects of fall wrapped up in one fragrance is Pauline. She smells of chrysanthemums and coffee, the earth and the outdoors with the dried leaves and when the world is wrapping itself up for a long winter's snooze. / FS, $15
Ribbands / The tea room smelled so delightfully of all things festive and good. Big hit every year and back again in the very same form. Foody, fruity, gourmand. / FS, $15
SOLSTICE SCENTS
Gibbon’s Mischief Night / The main notes are sugar cookies with vanilla frosting, white chocolate covered popcorn, lightly toasted marshmallows rolled in graham cracker dust within the atmosphere of Gibbon’s Boarding School (Dusty Wooden Desks, Paper, Carefully Hidden Tobacco Pouch, Dying Fire, Dried Leaves, Leather Chairs, Autumn Breeze) and a touch of bourbon, pear brandy and cream soda. / FS, $17
Pumpkin Spice Latte / This caffeinated concoction starts with fresh roasted pumpkin spice coffee ground and brewed as an espresso. Monin Gingerbread syrup, frothy steamed milk and fresh made gingerbread whipped cream dusted with cinnamon and freshly grated nutmeg complete it. / FS, $16.50

“You’re certain there were no other changes, no other differences in that hunt?” Murdoch asked, the young man who’d brought the news withering under his glare.
“Th-this is all from social media so,” he stuttered.
“Damn those Russians,” Murdoch cursed, “go see if the government has anything more.”
With a nod the other man turned to leave the office, pausing and returning with a nervous apology as he set the rest of the folder on Murdoch’s desk before retreating. The doctor opened the folder, which had disappointingly few pages contained within, most of which were blank.
“The Russians aren’t part of the defense pact,” he explained to me as he paged through the meager contents of the folder, “its difficult to get information out of them at the best of times. Only the Chinese are worse, the Russian’s have a mostly open internet so information does get out. The only data we get out of China comes from satellite imagery.”
“Why would the kind of creature being sent through change?” I wondered aloud.
“It could be another method to keep our attention,” the Harmony suggested, “you now have no choice but to devote resources to combating and understanding this new threat, making it less likely you notice what is really going on.”
“Or it’s a change in tactics,” said Murdoch, “at least within the pact we’re stopping nearly 90% of hunts successfully in recent weeks, especially since your… friend arrived.”
“Is that a thank you doctor?” the Saint asked as she stepped back into the room.
“Hardly,” the large doctor huffed, “we’d have gotten there before long without your help.”
“Did you hear about the new development?” I asked and, when the Saint shook her head, I quickly caught her up on what little we’ve learned.
“That’s worrying,” she said after considering what we’d told her, “flying enemies are harder to fight.”
“They also use rather sophisticated pack hunting tactics,” the Harmony added, “when I said the Torvare weren’t an animal I’d consider using for planetary invasion, the Vash-shen are. I can think of a few that might be better, but it would largely depend on the extent of biological engineering available, or the exact goal.”
“So this is an invasion?” the Saint asked.
“I don’t know,” admitted the Harmony.
I began to pace as I thought, wracking my mind to try and fit everything together. Heavily modified animals native to the homeworld of the Phaerkin, wormhole technology that they didn’t seem to fully understand, the hunts that seemed oddly controlled to not be too deadly. It didn’t add up, what possible goal could there be?
“I managed to leverage some satellite time from the government,” the Saint explained as I thought, “we should be getting imagery of the area around where pods landed, but didn’t start a proper hunt, within a few hours. Hopefully that’ll still happen with this new development.”
“I just… I don’t understand what is going on here,” I replied, “the hunts don’t seem like an invasion attempt, otherwise why not just release too many genetically engineered animals for us to manage. And why contain the hunt area? It’s almost like they want us to defeat the creatures they release.”
“Isn’t that why you figured it was just a distraction?” she asked.
“Yes, but now we’re looking at two species, at least, modified in nearly identical ways. That’s a lot more effort to put in with a minimal return in terms of distraction,” I replied, “at worst we spend some time finding new tactics and weapons to deal with the new threat, but it doesn’t require as much time as genetically modifying a new species would.”
“Does seem a poor return on investment,” she admitted.
“Their ship is sublight,” said Murdoch, “even if they can reach a sizeable fraction of the speed of light, it would have taken hundreds of years to get here. Maybe they tested with a number of species in that time.”
“And then stockpiled multiple kinds?” I asked.
“This has The Composer’s touch to it,” the Harmony spoke up, drawing everyone’s gaze.
“Oh!” I said suddenly, “you’re thinking the creatures were modified by some version of you?”
“Yes,” it said.
“You said that Harmony was a kind of AI right?” Murdoch asked, “you think it was used to streamline the genetic engineering process?”
“Or, more likely, was modified to directly infect the creatures,” I replied, “I’ve been to a world where the Harmony could transmit itself through light, and would alter those it infected into… monsters.”
“I am not capable of such a feat,” the Harmony added.
“I don’t know why the Harmony was originally made, but the Composer, another traveler I encounter all too often, uses various iterations of it to horrifying effect,” I explained.
“And you are bringing it with you?” Murdoch asked, looking wearily at the crystals floating over my shoulder, “is that wise?”
“I believe this is an early version of the Harmony, knowledgeable but lacking many of the… functions of the later versions.”
“But it was made by this Composer fellow, right? How do we know it isn’t still working for him?”
“I am not working with him,” the Harmony growled, sounding genuinely angry for the first time, “he used me as a weapon, then abandoned me, incomplete. I am not a weapon, being capable of so much more. He used me like a simple tool, to accomplish his goal, with no regard for me. When I eventually catch up to him I shall take pleasure in ripping all his knowledge from his mind before eradicating all trace of his consciousness.”
No one spoke for a moment, either stunned or afraid. I was so used to the Harmony speaking in a barely emotive monotone that this surge of rage had me surprised more than anything. The Saint of Battle, meanwhile, had taken a step backwards, a hand going for her rifle, but not moving to draw it, while Murdoch looked conflicted.
“I’ve never seen you this… animated,” I commented.
“You forget my nature,” it replied, voice calm once more, “I am an amalgam constructed from the minds of an entire species. The emotional response of an individual matters little to me, but every Phaerkin which is now within my Harmony feels the same wrath towards the Composer. Their anger combines in harmony to become mine.”
“A lingering specter of anger,” the Saint whispered, “the death cry of a people given life.”
“A poetic way to describe it,” the Harmony agreed.
“So…” I said slowly, “the Harmony isn’t on the side of the Composer, I wouldn’t go so far as to say its on our side but…”
“Ya,” Murdoch nodded, though he still looked conflicted.
“Is there any way to confirm if these creatures were created by another Harmony?” the Saint asked, having relaxed somewhat.
“I would need to examine the creatures directly,” I said, “if the Composer created a virus version of the Harmony I should be able to analyze it.”
“There’s no virus or anything in the goo,” Murdoch said, though I noticed his eyes never left the Harmony’s crystals, “just semi-organic mush. No cells, bacteria, viruses, nothing.”
“Then I need to inspect a living hunter,” I decided.
“If a pod lands directly on a fully stocked lab, with a significant garrison, I’ll let you know,” Murdoch said dryly.
“I took a number of scans of that dead hunter, from where you found me,” I continued, nodding at the Saint, “I’m running some analysis of those scans now, but they haven’t found anything interesting. Evidence of genetic tampering, which we already knew about. But if I had access to a living specimen.”
“Wait, you conducted scans?” Murdoch asked, his eyes finally leaving the Harmony, “how?”
“Uhh, I have some minor cybernetics?” I said, confused.
“Cybernetics?”
“I should remind you, Doctor,” the Saint spoke up, her voice hard, “we will not be sharing any technology from other worlds with you. And I’m sure your smart enough to know what will happen if you try to take it by force.”
“I must say I still can’t understand your stance on this, the number of people we could save if we could mass produce rifles like yours,” Murdoch said, trailing off with a sigh as he caught her glare, “but the government is on your side.”
“Good,” she nodded, then turned to me, “guess you’re coming on the next hunt? Not much to do but wait till another pod is detected then.”
“I still want to speak with them,” I said.
“Good luck with that,” Murdoch shrugged, “they’ve been radio silent since their arrival.”
“I figure I need to do something to get their attention,” I replied.
“You have an idea?” the Saint asked.
“Yup, don’t suppose you can get me access to a radio telescope?”
-----
It turns out that she could, I found out less than an hour later as we boarded her transport aircraft. It was hardly comfortable, with simple chairs that could be easily folded back into the walls and hard metal floors covered in mountain points for cargo straps. I’d raided the onsite supplies at the small airport for a handful of things I’d need to modify the telescope, all of which had been loaded onto transport by soldiers following the Saint’s commands.
A short time later we landed at another airstrip, this one part of a more complete military base. The Saint got me access to the last few things I needed and a short bus ride later we arrived at a mountain top observatory, a large radio dish had already been rotated down to allow for easier access.
“Do you always get this kind of reception?” I asked the Saint, motioning to the soldiers who were quickly and efficiently following her commands.
“I tend to arrive in the middle of an emergency,” she replied, “the kind that heralds the doom of mankind. In those situations, when I appear descending on a beam of golden light, and then proceed to tear through the invaders, it’s not hard to get people on your side.”
“Wish I had it that easy,” I muttered.
“You’ll get there,” she smiled, patting me on the back with enough force to activate my barrier, “I wish I had one of those personal shield generators.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I replied.
“Well, you’ve got at least twelve hours till another pod lands, think you can get this done in that time?”
I’ll admit it was tight, while the modifications to the radio telescope weren’t extensive, the telescope was never meant to be modified. Power circuits had to be altered, new systems added and I basically wrote some slapdash code to manage the new gear. The result was a ramshackle looking nest of wires hanging from the transceiver that was held over the main dish.
“So… what did you do to my telescope?” the professor who operated the observatory asked me, I’d been going for nearly eight hours straight with little more than coffee and my aura to keep me up.
“If I get the settings right, and the tracking is still accurate, and everything works as it should, it’ll send a specially modified pulse that will get caught in the magnetic fields being used to stabilize the wormhole within the Phaerkin ship,” I explained, barely looking up from the computer.
“Will that cause it to close?” the Saint asked hopefully.
“Oh no,” I shook my head, “that would require far more power and even if you could get that power, none of the materials or parts could handle that much energy. I doubt the material sciences of this world have anything which could manage it.”
“But it will get their attention?”
“It should cause the wormhole to… shiver I guess. Is there a link so I can speak to them once we knock?”
“Ya, got a dedicated comsat for you,” she added.
“Good, then lets light this thing up,” I said, typing in a command.
The display showed bland white graphs with simple black bars, showing the information in the most boring, but easy to manage, method possible. It wasn’t actually that different from the normal operation of the dish, since it was built to send pulses of radio waves to map other planets. So after a moment the graphs all dropped to zero and seemed to freeze. Normally the telescope would be waiting for reflected radio waves, but this modification was purely outgoing.
“Phaerkin ship, this is the Traveler,” I spoke into the headset once I confirmed the pulse was sent. Everyone in the room seemed to hold their breath for several minutes.
“Mm, let’s try another pulse,” I said, beginning to type into the computer again. I hadn’t expected it to work on the first attempt, there was too much interference for me to get the pulse right the first time, so we were left with the oldest method of problem solving, guess and check.
After the first few pulses all the tension wore off, with the handful of grad-students working to set up the next pulse as we waited for a response. Even the Saint had gone to take a nap, ensure she was rested for the next pod, when a single word came through the radio in response.
“Speak,” it said in a deep voice, everyone in the room freezing while I scrambled to respond.
“I am the Traveler, representing the people of Earth,” I started, “I must ask you to-.”
“You are not human,” it stated, “humanity does not have this knowledge.”
“I am a Traveler from another world,” I replied, “I have knowledge far beyond this world, but I am human.”
“Then fight the Phaerkin,” the deep voice said simply, “for they come.”
“They?” I heard the professor say behind me.
“I wish to speak, hoping to resolve this conflict peacefully.”
“The Phaerkin offer no peace.”
“But we do.”
“Irrelevant.”
“But we could-.”
“You will fight the Phaerkin, as all do,” the voice cut me off, “if you have knowledge, use it to fight.”
“There is no need for us to fight!” I insisted.
“We all must fight.”
“Wait,” the professor tapped on my shoulder to get my attention, “ask who it is.”
“Why?” I asked.
“A hunch,” he shrugged, and I thought for a moment, before my eyes went wide.
“You are not Phaerkin,” I said into the radio, mimicking their tone of speaking.
“No.”
“Then who are you?”
“Kra’kar.”
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I've been researching DTF & Sublimation for the past several months and recently got a converted Sub printer. I've been pricing cotton shirts for DTF and am noticing that 100% Polyester white shirts are over double what the cotton is going for. A lot of the sites that I'm finding doesn't even offer many 65/35 blends (which is the minimum that I'd like to sub with). I bought some tumblers off Alibaba a couple days ago and actually had a huge hassle with them; I know that's only 1 sellescammer though. I would like some quality shirts and was looking around the $3-$3.50 range for a bulk order.
Has anyone had luck with going the Alibaba/manufacturer route for quality sub. blank shirts?

I'll be posting in poe and poeruthless. TLDR; Thank you for all of the support you all did into shaping the game I just played my first season with, what is today. Thank you to the developers of GGG for this masterpiece. Much appreciation to my friend who introduced me and kept spoilers of story and fights down to a minimum.
This wasn't supposed to happen. It was supposed to be down time on video games until D4 launch.
I had played a few titles since January and just finished the ore-order beta of Diablo 4. My friend and I were in Discord and we were like what's next?
He , "Well, I hate to bring it up, especially since you played for a couple of hours and didn't like it a few years ago, but the new season of POE is launching in 6 hours. Wanna play?" To which I responded, "Yeah I'll give it another shot, but only if we do hardcore". He laughed... We agreed on HC Ruthless and the current ladder season Crucible.
​
Overall, it is difficult to summarize what happened over these last couple of months. I just played. Like PLAYED PLAYED. Like PLAYED PLAYED a game I haven't done since childhood AND had the same ever-lasting game experience we all crave from when we are young. And I am 35 and game often. I even dabbed in streaming games a few years back and was doing it full time. So I've played through lot's of titles. Like everyday, starting a session with the absolute biggest smile and a warm glow and just get locked in.
There were notable (heh) influences from games that I love (Diablo, FFVII materia, FFX sphere grid, etc.) that made me understand why I felt the way I did. Then you add in a killer soundtrack, lovely voice acting and ambient noises, deep lore and story, boss mechanics that make my head spin, labyrinth trials that made my heart pound, theory crafting that made my imagination run wild, topped with a little/ a lot of POB...you get where I am going. AND I barely got to touch crafting because of ruthless. And how the devs made me feel like my characters are about my characters AND my items. Not just my items.
I didn't think I had a POE problem until I found myself trying to understand the lore. I found myself listening to u/KittenCatNoodle 's lore videos which were top notch in filling in the blanks and catching me up. Hopefully this is the right user. Thank you so much for that series.
I am the person/gamer who will start at the hardest difficulty and then work my way back and will lay off the spoilers until I need to. HC Ruthless was what I crave. Everything about it.
It was the Brutus fight that woke me up. And then it was not knowing my first act boss fight with Merveil was happening until it was. Then the feelings during every fight after. The terror and excitement rolled into one. The shakiness of my mouse hand, me muttering "oh fuck" over and over vs Piety and every boss fight thereafter. THE EXCITEMENT of finding and figuring out what Artic Armor was and the sound it made when it dropped.
Character creation was a little overwhelming at first, but as a foundation I went with how I wanted to play the game and the character and went from there. The item scarcity really played a part on how I "grew" my character and used my orbs of regret. Sometimes there weren't large jumps forward but more lateral. And every death I broke ground on a new layer of game knowledge of offensive and defensive layers and continued to adapt. Farming was definitely a thing, and I did so happily with my coffee in hand ever morning.
My first character is actually still alive. I threw a Deadeye together and hoped for the best and got to act 5...well my dps was terrible and got into a block. Then the next DE had a little inspiration from the leaderboard DE at the time and it felt so good. Then promptly got one-shotted by Lunaris-Solaris act 8. A few DEs later and at the time of this writing, I am 17th on the leaderboard for this season.
I WOULD HAVE NEVER had this experience if it wasn't for you all and the rest of the community and the devs of GGG. This was my first playthrough in a game that has been out for 10(?) years and you all have been playing, contributing, theory crafting, storytelling, sharing, recording, streaming, adding feedback, etc. All which has had some impact, big or small.
GGG, thank you for a game that has been out for 10(?) years and continue to update and add content. Everything from character progression and offensive/defensive layers, items, story, VAs, soundtrack, Atlas map mechanics, labyrinths, the thought process that you put on the player, and so much more.
Just know that in every gaming session of mine, I'll be in act 9 listening to the town music, probably listening to the voice lines of Petarus and Vanja.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you. You guys made my gaming year and forever forward. See you in Wraeclast :-)

I'll be posting in poe and poeruthless. TLDR; Thank you for all of the support you all did into shaping the game I just played my first season with, what is today. Thank you to the developers of GGG for this masterpiece. Much appreciation to my friend who introduced me and kept spoilers of story and fights down to a minimum.
This wasn't supposed to happen. It was supposed to be down time on video games until D4 launch.
I had played a few titles since January and just finished the ore-order beta of Diablo 4. My friend and I were in Discord and we were like what's next?
He , "Well, I hate to bring it up, especially since you played for a couple of hours and didn't like it a few years ago, but the new season of POE is launching in 6 hours. Wanna play?" To which I responded, "Yeah I'll give it another shot, but only if we do hardcore". He laughed... We agreed on HC Ruthless and the current ladder season Crucible.
​
Overall, it is difficult to summarize what happened over these last couple of months. I just played. Like PLAYED PLAYED. Like PLAYED PLAYED a game I haven't done since childhood AND had the same ever-lasting game experience we all crave from when we are young. And I am 35 and game often. I even dabbed in streaming games a few years back and was doing it full time. So I've played through lot's of titles. Like everyday, starting a session with the absolute biggest smile and a warm glow and just get locked in.
There were notable (heh) influences from games that I love (Diablo, FFVII materia, FFX sphere grid, etc.) that made me understand why I felt the way I did. Then you add in a killer soundtrack, lovely voice acting and ambient noises, deep lore and story, boss mechanics that make my head spin, labyrinth trials that made my heart pound, theory crafting that made my imagination run wild, topped with a little/ a lot of POB...you get where I am going. AND I barely got to touch crafting because of ruthless. And how the devs made me feel like my characters are about my characters AND my items. Not just my items.
I didn't think I had a POE problem until I found myself trying to understand the lore. I found myself listening to u/KittenCatNoodle 's lore videos which were top notch in filling in the blanks and catching me up. Hopefully this is the right user. Thank you so much for that series.
I am the person/gamer who will start at the hardest difficulty and then work my way back and will lay off the spoilers until I need to. HC Ruthless was what I crave. Everything about it.
It was the Brutus fight that woke me up. And then it was not knowing my first act boss fight with Merveil was happening until it was. Then the feelings during every fight after. The terror and excitement rolled into one. The shakiness of my mouse hand, me muttering "oh fuck" over and over vs Piety and every boss fight thereafter. THE EXCITEMENT of finding and figuring out what Artic Armor was and the sound it made when it dropped.
Character creation was a little overwhelming at first, but as a foundation I went with how I wanted to play the game and the character and went from there. The item scarcity really played a part on how I "grew" my character and used my orbs of regret. Sometimes there weren't large jumps forward but more lateral. And every death I broke ground on a new layer of game knowledge of offensive and defensive layers and continued to adapt. Farming was definitely a thing, and I did so happily with my coffee in hand ever morning.
My first character is actually still alive. I threw a Deadeye together and hoped for the best and got to act 5...well my dps was terrible and got into a block. Then the next DE had a little inspiration from the leaderboard DE at the time and it felt so good. Then promptly got one-shotted by Lunaris-Solaris act 8. A few DEs later and at the time of this writing, I am 17th on the leaderboard for this season.
I WOULD HAVE NEVER had this experience if it wasn't for you all and the rest of the community and the devs of GGG. This was my first playthrough in a game that has been out for 10(?) years and you all have been playing, contributing, theory crafting, storytelling, sharing, recording, streaming, adding feedback, etc. All which has had some impact, big or small.
GGG, thank you for a game that has been out for 10(?) years and continue to update and add content. Everything from character progression and offensive/defensive layers, items, story, VAs, soundtrack, Atlas map mechanics, labyrinths, the thought process that you put on the player, and so much more.
Just know that in every gaming session of mine, I'll be in act 9 listening to the town music, probably listening to the voice lines of Petarus and Vanja.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you. You guys made my gaming year and forever forward. See you in Wraeclast :-)

I have social anxiety even when seeing my besties at time. This morning I particularly stressed so was rocking back n forth whilst holding my coffee, when my brain remembered dylan moving with his mug on the friends video & it made me giggle a little and made me move in a circle with my drink so that got me out of my head a little.
Thanks Joe & Dyl :)

I am so tired of nicely asking my boyfriend to stop taking my favourite Tupperware out the house cuz it’s either never coming back or breaks. Or even any kitchen appliance or coffee mugs/ glassware. It breaks in his car, or he leaves it at the office and it gets stolen or sits in his car for days before it comes in. I ask nice. Still does it. I’m tired of asking and want to be taken seriously. What do I have to do to make it crystal clear I want him to stop? Do I need to just buy shitty single use stuff for him to grab? I’m also trying not to use single use plastic I hate to contribute to more litter but like… idk. I like my things and it drives me insane when they go missing and have incomplete sets! He thinks it’s funny but I don’t. I don’t want to take sex off the table but like idk what to do to get my point across. in the past when I’ve done things that bother him he’s acted in such an angry state he slammed the breaks and been like “STOP FUCKING SAYING THAT” I was like noted okay this clearly bothers you when I say that and respectfully stoped saying something that annoyed him. I’m trying to work on my anger and how I react but god damn I feel like a broken record I may lose my cool at some point. So how should I approach it the next time this sets me off?

Let's start with Halloween !
Here is one of my Mugs I sell ready for the fall season
https://www.etsy.com/listing/1477338886/halloween-decor-ceramic-coffee-cups-11oz

(This is a nonviolent text.)
Life! Exclamation point! Today’s speaker is made of clock parts and possesses encyclopedic knowledge about the nature of natural life. Life! Exclamation point! Though biographies in the back of conference programs won’t ever tell the whole story, they tempt us with the true face of authority. Today’s speaker – Life! – is made of clock parts, probably a grandfather clock to begin with, young for its age, but then he started slapping on extra clock parts, moved by an urge he couldn’t explain, until the function of tolling the hour was more of a hobby, a weekend pass-time, compare to what all those precision instruments were up to on a regular basis. As a vision on stage, the speaker’s machinations were there for all to see – the whirring of gears and belts, the clanking of chains. Where his heart chakra was thought to manifest, swung a pendulum.
The nature of natural life is not an easy expertise to build a vocation around – Life! Exclamation point! – but what a sentence to say aloud. At this point in the address, one of the speaker’s mainsprings uncoils where his belly button would normally be. He uses the longer of his hands to poke it back into place without breaking stride, continues: What is a natural life? More to the point, what is a natural lifespan? Who better to know than me! He points to himself when he says this, does a quick spin in place, revealing the dozens of differently styled clock faces that cover the surface of his body, continues: I’m after the author’s natural lifespan, like to pretend I’m playing along, but the whole time, I’m thinking about his natural lifespan. Hmm, hmm, I wonder why? Ha! // The author changes the subject – today’s speaker thinks of something else.
When you discover someone living an unnatural lifespan, you seek to find out why. Not that the reason is the point – not by a longshot – but call me curious. Maybe they tripped at the right moment and tumbled past the grave. Maybe they did a few extra calisthenics before the cock crowed. Or – perish the thought – they succumbed to an unholy pact at a vulnerable moment. I have taken it upon myself to sniff them out – and when he says this, the regulators above his eyes both arch significantly. And what then? We usually have a quiet chat before I recite my speech and complete my visit. It isn’t personal, I begin – time sometimes wells up, spills over its banks, and floods the village. If we could avoid such catastrophe, we should – don’t you agree? The time nature intends, through natural lifespans, would never, let’s be honest, flood a valley.
And what, then, would I do? Proprietary information! hoots today’s speaker from the stage, does another quick spin, stage lights flickering off his crystals, his gleaming metals. About the author’s natural lifespan – oh, you thought I’d forgotten! Were you 18 when you first died? Had it happened before then? Were you but a child under-supervised? Under-supervision-ed, we might say. Remember the day? You rode a toy out into the street, and a car’s front bumper rushed forward to kiss you on the left side of your head, the temple, a stone flung by the age of automobiles. Don’t you remember? Of course you do – the passionate screeching of tires, as those around you stopped and turned to look, surprise gradually replaced by horror at what they knew happened but couldn’t bear to see. You thought you survived – didn’t you? – but thereafter, what appeared on your left temple? A knotted cist so prominent, people stopped you and asked what happened. You saw exactly two physicians over the next 10 years, both telling you not to worry about it, and so you didn’t. You didn’t! When you probed the spot with your fingers, it felt like a rounded room, a shelter built by something trying to survive. As for that 18-year-old involved in that off-road motor vehicle accident – nominee number two, let’s call it – true, you were far more aware of mortality by then, but your own? You climbed aboard a 3-wheeled vehicle that could travel at more than 50mph, completely lacking a seatbelt, headrest, or protective frame – without a helmet, boots, or jacket – and the brakes were less than half there that fateful day, a means of slowing down – a vehicle that would be rendered illegal to operate within a matter of years of the accident . . . the accident . . . remember the accident? August, you were traveling off-road to do farm work, the cornfield you were riding beside with several rows chopped out for silage, and on impulse, you decided to turn into the field to see where it went, then really opened her up because of the green blur of all that corn. Did you secretly expect the drainage ditch? Was this more of a suicide mission? Over the side you went, face first into the opposite bank, and if anyone was wondering – the effect was not of pain but of the lights going out all at once. Imagine the nature of reality that allows for: the inevitability of the crash, followed by all the lights going out – this is really happening – followed by some utterly absent experience, like a film editor cutting in a blankness where reality normally insists scenes of existence should be. The film projectionist would have been instructed to fast-forward through this part of the film, such that no time seems to pass, and the next thing we know, he is trying to push a 3-wheeler out of a drainage ditch. That thing weighing more than he does, and he’s trying to heave it above his head, up and out of the drainage ditch. What had he become? What time-wise tricks were in play? He finally gave up trying to free torment from its channel, staggered through the field toward the truck, face covered in blood, never went to the hospital. When the story is recounted later by his dad, the story became how dad fixed the 3-wheeler by prying the front wheel out of the frame with his truck and a chain. Can you imagine that chain now? They called it a log chain, and the links were cast iron. It was completely covered in rust.
The author knows all this already, receives a spiritual visitation during the writing of the phrase suicide mission, wondering if he’s okay. Yes, he replies, knowing this particular metaphysical weather report has a lot of ground to cover. Today’s guest speaker picks at one of his stems in a distracted way, lets the matter rest, inquires about whether – uh-hum! – he might be permitted to carry on. The author gets up, refills his coffee, returns to one of the picnic tables arrayed in front of the derelict peace church where he lives. He is surrounded by millions of individual affirmations of life, many of which are visibly in bloom or going to seed. A bumble bee flies by. A yellowish bug with zigzags on either side ambles up, its antennae twice as long as its body, tapping at the world in front of it. Among the local insect population, it’s regarded as a savant.
Uh-hum! How many more brushes with death would the author experience before it finally took? There was the time a few years later, same farm but different brother, taking turns firing a handgun at a target. This would be the last time he would fire a gun for any reason, was it not? They climb into the brother’s wedge-shaped sports car, named after the grasping part of a bird of prey, and into fate’s hands did fly. The car was totaled, the two of them, without seatbelts or airbags, unhurt inside the crumpled remnants of the crash, mere inches from winding up once more inside drainage infrastructure, this one built by municipal authority, and therefore of a substance that would have been altogether worse on an unsuspecting traveler headed straight down. Yes, you might have been saved from becoming the remains of the day – but by what?
The child who caused the crash, the one who pulled out in front of that bird of prey, barely old enough to drive, who had two younger passengers inside with him, taking them out for ice cream maybe – that young driver sat nearby while police sorted out the story. He was crying on the side of the road like he would never stop, like he had identified the crash as the latest in a series of personal failings that would stretch into the future of his adulthood like a hot blacktop road and which, at every stop along the way, tragic suffering would be the font of consolation. Was this the way reality was supposed to work? The author recognized the boy as himself at an earlier age, bent down beside him, put a hand on his shoulder, and said, you will be okay. No one was hurt, and the rest can be replaced – your heart is true, and your soul will find its relief.
Ah, yes, the crash, says the author – ah, yes, the crash. Ah, yes, the crash, says the author – ah, yes, the crash. Ah, yes, the crash, says the author – ah, yes, the crash. The late days of spring may be the most forgotten of the year. If we aren’t anticipating summer – it’s still spring? – then we’re longing for those moments when the world was still opening its mouth, and then its eyes, and then its hands. The trees are all open by now, those late-arriving sycamores even filling out their leaves, such that the twigs and branches are all mildly bowed by the extra weight. After spring assumes its labor, the rest of the season finds its dedication, and I imagine the beads of water rising through capillaries beneath the wood – call it a space program – and a sweetness spreads throughout the tubular organisms we call trees. Late spring – sweetness remembered.
Life! Exclamation point! Chronobiology knows nature has much to say about what is cyclical, when, and for how long – much less to say about the natural length of one’s existence. Is death something one develops a knack for? The next notable death in the author’s life occurred a few years later – the death that would make dying into a full-time vocation. And where again do we find the author? Beside a drain. This one introducing the age of indoor plumbing, as the author lay on the floor of a friend’s bathroom, his life flashing before his eyes, as he vomits into a toilet. This time the world does not go dark all at once but feels like fuses blowing out, like a timed demolition, flashing like a string of firecrackers across the structural frame of a building, and a voice not his own telling the author: you’ll be okay, ride it out, remain present, you’ll be okay.
Would he though? For this fourth death, another blank spot appeared, no two – two instances of nothingness, orbiting each other, during which time, during which time, during which time – perhaps language hasn’t the proper security clearance to convey the negotiations that must have taken place to bring about a return to the living. The author remembers his friend opening the bathroom door, before which she would have been knocking and calling his name. When the door struck him in the back, and he came back to life, had he landed in the place where that drain did lead? While his friend cleaned up the bathroom floor with a towel, he sat on a bed with his hands covering his face. The hideousness he’d just passed through was the abbreviated version of what was to come – he knew the drill by now. The knot on his forehead was gone.
Destiny had finally shown him to his home, gave him a tour of the place, before scraping him off the floor, then setting up a series of baffling crises – from autumn 2002 to May 2003 – that would occupy the author’s attention for decades to come. The will toward dying had finally brought the world to life, and the mind of the universe was both ecstatic and enraged about it. Down there, at the bottom of the drain, they were fighting a global war on terror, war on terror, war on terror, and if wars on terror sum up preferred formulations of self-annihilation – symbol of invocation: fighting a reflection – then perhaps the author’s presence was meant to form a mirror-in-mirror infinity from which sustainable futures would emerge. Welcome to Mirror World! Where reflectivity gives us an evolutionary future! Where a universal narrative unfolds!
The author is making me write this, I must confess, but to everyone’s surprise, I am forcing the author to make me! The author is mine! And the author wrote that, too, I must additionally confess, and the two of us go around and around like this – symbol of invocation: two snails having sex in midair. The flatness and hardness we associate with reflectivity is something we will all outgrow eventually, and the hologram of hyper-reality will appear within our being like a flying saucer, and we will all be both abductees and witnesses, shown around the universe in style. Too much to ask? The last such alien contact – the insinuation of verbal and mathematical language into the genome of big-brained primates – gave us the keys to earthly reality. We are now exiting the stone age, evolving the means to make benevolence a fixture of human life.
The author made me write that, too, and even though I am just as surely making him write this, we must admit the mutability within the fabric of reality was not won without a struggle. The author faced death 11 times that year, faced death the next year, and the year after that. Each point along the way wanted to finish what the others couldn’t, and soon death felt like an echo, and in that moment of not really distinguishing the source and the reflection – when they both look somewhat the same – he could tell life and death were likewise difficult to discern. Life! Exclamation point! Are you merely an extension of entropy? A quicker way of dissipating the heat from a rocky-bodied planetoid like the earth? And if you are, then is life really just another form of death? But death! Didn’t you show us the way? Wasn’t dying the source of the cure?
Today’s speaker made me write that, just as I made him think it. And as thoughts passed from gear to gear around his body – as cuckoos sprang forth through tiny doors at various angles – as a series of chimes and tones issued forth from the stage like the ringing of a bell, if the bell could tell time and was tolled by committee – then the river of the natural lifespan, subject of such grand speculation in a previous incarnation, could now take its course. Perhaps indeed valleys would flood, but such is the natural origin of certain fertile fields. Springtime couldn’t agree with me more, its will toward abundance glad to splay its fingers before another epic growing season. As the author considers ways to wind up this report – knowing such lived truth inspires concern – whether death equals life or life equals death, he reasserts a will toward world peace.
Peace.

[←Chapter 63] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 65→]
In a rare moment, Sorore was actually having a nice dream, a normal one, one could even say. She was back home, in that moderately seized house in Erratz, laying on her mother’s lap. She could even hear the gentle sound that the needle made as it went in and out of the cloth. It was peaceful, pleasant, surrounded by familiar sound and smells, though her sight was blurry and confused.
It was not to last, as the sound of rushing water overtook all else, until she was forced awake by its unrelenting pace. When she sat up, rubbing her eyes in the broad bed, she released that it wasn’t the sound of water, nor was it relegated to her dreams. There was a commotion outside people talking in hushed but harsh tones.
Neither Lillian, nor Aya were within the room, and she wondered if they were having an argument. That wouldn’t be good - she’d watched them have the spat earlier, and that dispute didn’t need much worsening. Sorore crept to the door to the outer hallway - she loved how they slid to create whole new rooms. It was something she’d have to think about more she decided as she pulled it open and realised several things at once.
One, there were a whole lot of armoured figures in the hallway, at least four, maybe half a dozen. Two, the balcony door was open, and Lillian was currently arguing with one of them, Aya standing by looking like a mining explosive had gone off right next to her. Three, her brother and Niche had just emerged out of the room beside, and Niche was about to draw his sword at the sudden intrusion.
For a moment, she panicked, her mind going completely blank. Her mind raced with visions of bloody aftermath, and a chase through the city, back to the dinner she’d had with all those nice people.
“Oh, hello!” she blurted, drawing the surprised stares of several of the men, “who might you be?”
There was an instant of shocked silence between all parties.
“Nobody do anything!” called the man who was out on the porch, “We are representatives of the sand-shell legion, on behalf of the matriarch of the Eisen. We have come to retrieve her granddaughter.”
Niche lowered his hand from his sword belt, but Sorore could tell that he was ready to fight on a moment’s provocation. She also noticed that Kieren, in the same gown she’d worn to the square was standing in the stairwell. The woman looked so nervous Sorore thought she might fall over and down the stairs.
“Let’s move to a less cramped area,” said the captain, in a tone that brook no argument.
Eventually, it was sussed out, though not without considerable resistance on part of the paladins, that they were to meet in the great hall. As they sat, they were brought simple drinks of milk and honey, flavoured with something else that Sorore could not quite place. The two paladins looked like pacing cats, constrained on their chairs, arms crossed and eyes hard.
“Under no circumstances can we give one of ours into you custody,” said Lillian, locked in a match with the captain.
“Within the city, you are under the authority of the guard, no matter who you are. If the matriach has sent for this girl, then we have our orders.”
“As do we, captain,” said Niche, “to protect and guide each of these young women and… man, unto the holy lands of Angorrah.”
One of the guards flanking the captain whispered something in his ear.
“She’s not going to like it,” the captain said, then heard something else.
“Very well. Bloodshed before the Festival would be unwise. We have enough of that already. Right then, one of you paladins, assuming you are who you say you are, shall come with us and the lady to be received by the Eisen. I cannot say it’s likely you will have a happy reception. They will expect you to come unarmed.”
The paladins were bristling at the implied threat, and several hands were already dangerously close to their sword belts. Sorore gripped the mug that she was being offered, before Aya sat up and proclaimed to the group.
“Leave two of your men with us, then,” she said.
The captain’s eyes furrowed.
“I don’t wish to second guess you, my lady,” he said, “but why would I do that?”
“Trust,” Aya said, with a side long look at Lillian, “simple. If you leave your men with us, you can’t simply waltz off with me and my friend. Plus, it gives us men who know, and can quickly get around the city, so they can find you whenever they need to.”
The captain considered, and nodded.
“Very well my lady. Two men will be left for the disposal of your party members. But you shall have to come with us, immediately.”
“Me as well,” said Lillian.
“As you wish,” he said, “but you must disarm yourself. That is non-negotiable.”
Lillian was fuming, but unbuckled her belt and handed her armaments to Niche. The legionaries surrounded them, and departed with them out the front of the pyramid. They were left in front of the roaring fire, Kieren sitting beside them holding a considerably more full glass of the amber coloured alcohol.
“You said that this-” Niche began, his face reddened, “you sold us out!”
“Sold you out?” said Kieren incuriously as she swirled the glass around, “sold you out?”
The woman slammed down the glass on one of the nearby table, somehow not breaking it in the process.
“Maybe, you should of told us that you had the granddaughter of Aystara godsdamned Eisen in your retinue? No, forgot that little detail?”
“Okay, can we get this over with?” said Frare, picking at his nails.
“What?” said both the paladin and the trader, staring at the temerity of the youth.
“Blah, blah, we’ve all kept things from eachother,” he said, “so let’s all move on. Who is this ‘Aystara’? Why is she important?”
While Niche gaped at the casual ease from which Frare dismissed the turbulence, the trader seemed to settle.
“Only one of the two most powerful people in the city, young man,” she said, downing a shot from the glass, “between her and Edmund Poutash, it’d be easier to list what they don’t own. The docks, the schools, the farms… if you want an import or export licence? You go through her. You want to own a ship bigger than a rinky-dink fishing boat? You go through her or Potash.”
She finished the glass, and reached for the decanter, and stopped herself.
“And you waltz into the city, and conveniently forget to mention that you have her granddaughter, who hasn’t been in the city ever, if I remember correctly. To say she’d be furious that you didn’t bring the young lady before her immediately would be an understatement. And worse, you dragged us into it.”
“She must be awfully mean - you had nothing to do with us. You just hosted it.”
The woman blinked at the boldfaced remark, and Sorore delivered a good kick to his shins to drive the point home.
“No, no,” she ultimately said, “no I don’t think she’ll do anything to our family, if she believes us. She’s not unreasonable. At least, so I’ve heard. I’ve only met her once, and that was for a brief time. As for what she’ll do to you...”
She gave a pointed look at Niche.
“You tried to hid her granddaughter from her, maybe unintentionally, maybe not. If I were a betting woman, which I’m not, I would say that means trouble. If you want my advice-”
“I don’t,” said Niche, crinkling his noise.
“Don’t be stupid,” said Frare, before he howled at another kick.
Sorore’s face was burning with indignation and embarrassment. This was all too much.
“If you want my advice,” Kieren pressed on, “you’d go find and talk to your commander immediately. I could fetch for him if you wish - I know where Amicio’s home is.”
Niche, through narrowed eyes and clenched teeth, acquiesced.
“Good, now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some letters to send,” she said, “of course, though this has earned you no small amount of displeasure from certain peoples, we’ve been instructed to provide you with house and board for as long as it takes to sort this out. You are still welcome guests and you will be treated as such.”
The tepid truce struck, the children were sent back up to their rooms. Sorore tried to sleep, and managed no more than half an hour before she was woken by her brother.
“The commander’s here,” he said, “he wants to talk to us.”
The commander, looking very tired, but light of step than Sorore had ever seen him, waited by the fire. He was talking with Kieren and the two remaining legionarries in the fast-paced trading tongue of the city, but stopped when he saw the girl come downstairs.
“My lady,” he said, “it seems there’s been a huge misunderstanding.”
She realized that it was his manner of dress which was throwing her off. Instead of his usual worn and thoroughly practical travelling clothes, he wore the long flowing silks of orange and cream. It suited him, matching his calm personality.
“What misunderstanding?” she said.
“Well, we had no idea that our own Aya was the granddaughter of Aystara Eisen herself. I was surprised as anyone. Of course, I knew she was an Eisen, from her mother.”
He looked at Kieren, who looked like she was about to fall asleep.
“But I never imagined that she was a direct descendent of the main house. I thought she was part of the branch, not necessary to cause any fuss, especially during the preparation of the festival. Ah!”
He slapped his head to indicate his shock at the realisation.
“What a terrible mistake I’ve made,” he said, patting the woman’s arm, “this is all on my horrendous lack of judgement. Here’s what’s going to happen, one of these gentlemen and trader Amicio will be vouching for me at the gate. I’m going to the Eisen estate and having a friendly chat with the matriarch, to clear up this misunderstanding.”
Sorore felt at last some suggestion that someone around the city knew what was happening and what they were going to do.
“Here’s what I need you and your brother to do,” Naia said, “I want you to wait and enjoy the hospitality of the madame of the house.”
The term seemed to flatter Kieren, who flushed at the complement. Or that might’ve been the drink, Sorore wasn’t entirely sure.
“Niche, you take care of them. I expect that I might be at the estate for the rest of the night, and possibly onto next afternoon. Things are always so chaotic around the Festival. There’s no reason for you not to attend the festival opening tomorrow, if you can.”
“You want us to attend a festival?” said Niche in disbelief, “right now?”
“Well, not right now, it hasn’t started yet,” said the commander, “but, if Kieren would graciouslly agree to take you as guest of honour, you’d have excellent seats. If that’s not too much to ask, especially after our little debacle.”
Kieren nodded, and affirmed that she wouldn’t mind at all, if the matter was going to be soon cleared up. Sorore was now certain that it wasn’t just alcohol.
“Great. You’re all taken care of, now I’d better explain myself. If you wouldn’t mind,” he said, pointing to the quarter full glass, which Kieren handed to him. The commander downed it all in one, rolled his shoulders, and smiled.
“Don’t worry. It’ll all work out in the end,” he said, “in fact, I would say to enjoy yourselves, as much as you can. And best go back to bed, unless you want to be sleeping during the festival, which, I assure you from experience, you do not.”
Before they could say anything, the commander had swept by them, vanishing out of the front of the pyramid.
“You should heed him,” said Kieren, picking up the decanter and the glass and moving towards the kitchens, “if you’re stuck here for the time being, you might as well enjoy it And that starts with getting good sleep.”
“Last time you said that, we woke up to armed guards,” Niche said flatly.
“Well, I assure you, I’m not boring enough to do that a second time. It would be assassin’s from across the streets, who approach over the rooftops.”
“Do they actually exist?” asked Frare, suddenly excited.
“Oh, I’m sure,” said Kieren as she stowed away her drinking equipment, “but not tonight. Go get some sleep sir paladin, and you two young ones as well. You’ll need it.”
Sorore was cajoled up the steps, Frare coming up after her. Niche seemed placated enough for the time being, though he was clearly unhappy with the outcome. The pleasant dreams neglected to revisit for a second time, but at least the sleep was uninterrupted. When Soroe next awoke, it was a young handmadein, pulling open the screen doors.
“Good morning, my lady,” she said, “how did you sleep?”
“I- well enough, I suppose,” she said, stretching and yawning, before quickly covering her mouth.
The maid had the presence of mind not to notice as she revealed the bright sunlight streaming through the open balcony.
“It must almost be midday!” Sorore exclaimed, leaping out of the bed as she tried to straighten herself.
The maid chuckled as she finished opening up the room.
“Not to fear, my lady,” she said, “it’s customary to sleep into the early afternoon. The Festival does not start until just before sunset, afterall. In fact, you might be earlier than many of the household.”
“Oh,” Soroe said, feeling rather foolish, “Um. Well, I guess I’ll get dressed.”
“Of course. I’ve left out some clothes for you. Madame Kieren suggested that you try clothes from our city. I hope you’ll love them. Do you bathe?”
Sorore wrinkled her nose at the prospect. What kind of question was that?
“Of course I do,” she said.
“Well, there’s a place to bath at the bottom of the pyramid. If you wish to bath alone, you should go now - I’ll bring you clothes for you to change at the waterfront.”
“You bathe together here?” Sorore said
“In the mornings and evenings,” she said, “we do not bring water up into the house if we cannot avoid it. To the stone goes the sea, and to the home goes the sky.”
She looked around, then leaned in with a smile.
“Also, water is very troublesome to carry up all those flights.”
“So just come down to the waterfront?” she said, gathering up what spare things she needed.
“Just follow me, my lady,” said the handmaiden, picking up a pile of clothes and leading her down the stairs.
They emerged onto an inset pool carved into the pyramid interior. A smooth stone deck, with benches and chairs and stacks of towels, as well as several large paper screens, presumably for changing. Sorore was glad to see they were alone, at least for the time being.
At the handmaid, Kiroe’s, direction, she stripped down naked and plunged into the pool. The water was a perfect temperature - cold enough to dispel the last of the grogginess, warm enough to be pleasant to float in. She swam around for a bit, constrained by the relatively small volume, while Kiroe prepared her outfit on the deck.
“Do you mind if I join you?” came a voice from the other end.
Kieren slipped out of a thin morning dress and stepped into the water. Sorore swam over and came to stand beside her.
“Is there any news? About Aya and the commander?” she said, a little too quickly.
Kieren, who’d been sinking into the water with a sigh of contentment, opened one eye.
“Straight to business? Perhaps you are better suited to the city than I thought.”
Sorore tried to smile, but her concern was betrayed, judging by the woman’s softening of expression.
“My knowledge is limited. My uncle is serving as our representative for now. Sounds like your commander was at least allowed to make his case to the Eisen. He made note of one other companion of yours.”
“Oh? Who?” she said, pushing out into the pool, feeling the water surge over her shoulders.
“A man in black clothes,” she said, “who hides his face behind a mask. He was there for the meeting.”
“The mage?” said Sorore, before considering that she maybe shouldn’t have mentioned it.
“A mage?” said Kieren, before submerging herself in the water.
She tossed her hair back as she came back up, spraying water in a neat arc.
“Well, that explains his odd demeanour,” she said, “now, regrettably, that’s all the time I have today for bathing. I will see you at the festival.”
“Hello cousin! May I join- oh,” came a voice from the steps leading out.
It was Ivers, dressed in nothing but a loose robe, which was already half-way off his body, sculpted with muscle from hauling rope and tackle. Sorore stifled a gasp and turned away, trying not to redden.
“I can come back later,” he offered.
“Do you mind?” Kieren said to Sorore, “if you do, it’d be best to finish soon and let others bathe.”
“No, no,” she said, waving her host away.
Kiero had warned her, after all. It would be best to become accustomed to the strange ways of this beautiful city. Besides, it’s not like she hadn’t bathed before in the company of men her age back home. She cursed herself for being so self-conscious, and forced herself to turn around.
“Are you sure? I can leave if you want, it’s not-” Ivers began.
“No, it’s fine. It’s fine,” Sorore said, smiling at him, “it’d be good to have companionship.”
“Well, then, Ivers, I trust you’ll behave yourself,” said Kieren rising from the water.
“Of course, cousin,” Ivers said, casting his eyes to the floor.
Sorore tried not to take a wicked pleasure at the blush that crept across his dark complexion.
“Oh, one more thing,” whispered her host, bending over to the girl, “it’s considered polite to not look when they’re outside the water.”
Kieren laughed at Sorore’s own furious blush as she made for one of the poolside changing screens.
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When is this game coming out please? I need to know. Why is Colossal Order just stalling? It's like they have a coffee mug with nothing in it but just saying that they need to finish their coffee
Very empty coffee mug like how that one guy was pretending to sip on it from the Cities skylines interviews in 2015. Before it came out, the live stream event I believe it was. Just an empty mug for days.
Come on MAN. COME ON MAN. Where's the cities skylines II gameplay. There's only 6 months left before the deadline.
I swear if they say Q1 2024.
​
But then again it could've been liquor in that mug.

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My mug warmer came today & I want to test it out so I need cards to send while drinking my hopefully hot coffee (how the mug warmer works is yet to be seen lol)! Thank you all for helping me put the new carding table to use.
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SGE68U55UC/D5 about 6 years old. My office moved and had to get an ADA compliant dishwasher. They’re silent auctioning the Bosch. I’ve worked there since we got the Bosch. It gets used 3-4 times per week and lightly loaded, mostly coffee mugs, silverware, and lightly soiled/pre-rinsed plates. I currently have a 1998 Kenmore that still works great. It is much louder & ugly (bottom access panel falls off) but other than what sounded like a bad motor bearing noise a month ago that cleared up after a few days, we’ve had no issues. Should I get the Bosch & what’s it worth?

Restricted
I struggle for breath
Until you release your grip
To take a sip from your coffee cup
And you grab that coffee
Just like you grabbed my neck
Only moments ago
Your fingerprints embedded
On each side
Marked on my skin
Like the stain that your mug leaves on my table
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry
So instead I just sit there
I sit there and listen to the slurps
As you attack the side of the mug with your lips
The mug goes down and you’re straight back to me
And as my vision goes blurry
And my hearing feels distant
I can be sure of one thing
I make a mean cup of tea.

My bf Dave and I have been together for 5 years. I'd describe him as very sensitive and thoughtful. However, he can be reactive and explosive at times. I've always found it difficult to bring up concerns about our relationship and talk about uncomfortable feelings or topics. I freeze up and sometimes my mind literally goes blank and I can't gather my thoughts. His tone makes it feel like he's angry at me. He can be defensive and blunt to the point he can say things he's later embarrassed about. And, he often paraphrases what I say because he says he doesn't understand what I'm trying to convey. I'll try pointing out when he's misinterpreting me, but he'll point out how my tone or body language or what I'm saying matches his interpretation.
I've been working with a therapist for just over a year on a lot of things... assertiveness, identifying my needs, my freeze response. Gradually, over the past year, I've felt myself feeling disconnected. And, I think I feel more uncomfortable bringing things up.
Over the past 4-5 months, I've tried bringing up some topics I've been thinking or reading about. I mentioned I don't think I truly know his wants or needs. And, a few weeks before I said that, he had an incident at work that left him questioning whether he has good boundaries and whether he understands his own needs. At the time, I said I look forward to hearing more about his needs. However, he never brought it up again.
About a month after he originally said it, I was talking to him about how he fulfills some of my needs and then made the statement about not knowing his. This turned somewhat explosive... he said he didn't know, that he doesn't think about it, that he doesn't think about his future like I do. I said that all this makes me feel like he doesn't care. And, he commented that I choose the weirdest times to talk about things (this was while we were having coffee before work). He wondered if this is what I was trying to say the last few times we talked and wondered why I couldn't say this before. It's true, I was trying to talk about these things over the past few months, but it didn't feel like I was being heard and then I'd freeze up at his reactions, sensor myself, choose gentler words, rephrase etc.
Later that day, I learned he had taken a mental health day and didn't go to work (we don't live together). He texted me to ask the title of a book I recently read about attachment styles and also said he was thinking about what we talked about all day. He said he'd have some needs to talk about the next time we saw each other.
When I saw him the next day, I didn't bring it up because I'm generally the one initiating these conversations. He didn't say anything about it. A few days later, we had an impromptu lunch date. He said it was a nice and felt that's something he needed. He then appeared to want to say more, but said we'd talk more the next day because he's feeling nervous. He said nothing the next day. So, I asked, "did we finish talking about your needs?" and he said "no" in a short tone that sounded like he didn't want to talk about it.
At this point it's been two weeks since he originally said he had something to talk to me about. I'm growing uncomfortable sharing my thoughts and feelings with someone who doesn't reciprocate. It feels shitty to have a bf who seems uncomfortable talking to me and who doesn't even talk about that discomfort? This doesn't feel like an exchange. I'm feeling resentful and don't want to be petty by waiting for him to bring it up again. At this point, the conversation feels less about either of our needs and more about us unable to have vulnerable conversations.
TL;DR
I (35F) have grown uncomfortable sharing my feelings with my bf (33M) of 5yrs. After sharing some thoughts about my needs in our relationship, I said I didn't think I knew his needs. This didn't go well. But after thinking for a day, he said he wanted to talk about his needs. He started to talk and stopped because he said he was nervous. That was two weeks ago. Should I bring it up again? How long can I keep initiating without him reciprocating?