#retiree mug

[creativity-island]

Black History Month Periodt canvas pouch.

Black History Month Periodt canvas pouch.

[addison1992]

My grandfather's coffee cup; I use his when mine is being cleaned 👍☕️💯 #coffee #cup #cup #mug #company #ibm #grandpa #grandfather #coffeemug #oldschool #neat #cool #computer #programming #installation #repairman #retiree #veteran #employee #lifetime #lifetimeemployee #hospitalized #dementia (at Broken Arrow, Oklahoma) https://www.instagram.com/p/CkFJfZFsn84/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[redflagshipwriter]

Nest Swap 6

masterpost

Mrs. Henderson was a lot friendlier with that explanation. He was grateful because that gave him a little space to think about escape plans. “You’re lucky I was here at all,” Mrs. Henderson chattered. “Goodness knows I’ll be out of town soon. My grandson is getting married this weekend, down in that shithole Metropolis.” She shut the window that he’d come in through, which looked a little difficult with her mace wedged in her armpit. 

It would probably be really nice if her walker had a ledge for storage on it, Tim thought. He let his eyes glaze over a little bit as he imagined how he would design it. He ended up following the retiree through her house to the wall that he knew connected with the other apartment. The door stuck out because it kind of looked like an outside door: sturdier than a door usually needs to be inside.

Mrs. Henderson optimistically tried the door that internally connected the duplex. It rattled a rejection. “He never used to keep this locked,” she lamented. She gave up with a sigh and put her mace back on the display case a few feet away. 

Tim hummed and bounced on his heels. He thought that made sense. If Jason wanted the neighbor man investigated, he probably had stuff to hide. Tim would lock out his neighbor, too. 

“That's too bad,” Tim lamented. He clasped his hands behind his back. “I guess I'll go back to my Mom.”

“Oh, nonsense.”

Tim froze. Mrs. Henderson started walking to her kitchen. . Her long robe dragged behind her about an inch on cold hardwood floors. “You can wait for a while with me.”

Oh. Oh, this wasn’t great.

On the one hand, he would get to see the sausage man if Mrs. Henderson let him wait with her. On the other hand, he was going to know that Tim had lied about being a relative, and he would probably say so.

Tim followed Mrs. Henderson a bit woodenly and climbed up onto the stool on autopilot as she leaned over to the sink. Heck. What did he do? He searched his mind for a reference he could rely on. He had nothing.

‘I’m not a very good vigilante,’ Tim thought sadly. He kicked his feet against the bars of the stool and then suddenly stopped when Mrs. Henderson glanced over at him. She flicked the red light on on her kettle. ‘I should have watched more spy movies.’

He made a silent promise to himself to study before he went into action again. He didn’t know how he was going to get out of this, but once he did, he was going to learn from it. A few minutes passed before Mrs. Henderson poured the hot water into mugs and then stirred something.

“Do you like marshmallows?” 

Tim blinked. Like, merengue? “I have sophisticated tastes,” he answered on autopilot. Then he wondered why she’d asked.

She laughed. “Me too.” She opened a bag and dumped a pile of sweets into the tea.

His brain shut down a little at the audacious display of dietary recklessness. “Thank you,” he said, and accepted the mug with both hands. He peered down and breathed in the sweet steam.

It was weirdly dark tea. And- really, really sweet-smelling. He sniffed it cautiously and then took a look at his hostess. 

“It’s hot,” she warned, and then took a cautious sip of her own.

Tim copied her out of well-bred reflex and instantly coughed. It was thick. Why was it thick? “What kind of tea is this?” His voice squeaked up high.

Mrs. Henderson snorted brown liquid out her nose and then cried out in pain. Tim startled but she kept laughing, hand pressed over her face.

“... It's not tea,” Tim said. He took another suspicious taste. Now that he wasn't expecting something else, he could identify chocolate. “Wow. My mom wouldn't give this to me.” He slurped up a marshmallow. Then he froze because Mrs. Henderson had put a hand over the top of his cup. 

“Do you have allergies?” Her dark eyes were serious underneath her eyeglasses. 

“Prawns,” Tim supplied. “That's all.” 

Mrs. Henderson took her hand away. “Ah. There's no prawns in there, so….” She pursed her lips. “Well, I was a scout when I was your age. I have to peddle sweets to show my pride.” 

“You what?” Tim leaned a little closer. 

She blinked at him and then took another sip of her chocolate. “You know, scouts? They sell cookies?” 

Wow. Tim hid his reaction to that. Were things really that bad in public schools? She'd been working at 9? That was brutal and unjust. Tim worried his lip between his teeth for a few moments before he decided that he really did have to say something.

“That seems unjust,” he said. Tim worried that it was a little rude to say so, but he didn't want people to think he approved of child labor.

She choked on her chocolate again.

A car door slammed on the other side of the building. When his hostess cleared her throat, there were tears in her eyes. She patted at Tim's hand. “You can come back anytime you want, honey,” she said, in a funny voice. “Your Uncle is home! That was his door. I'll walk you around.” 

Tim stood up. “No, I'm fine!” He chirped. His heart thudded in his chest. “Thank you so much!” He went to the door a lot faster than she could, pulled it open, and then felt bad. “The drink was really good,” he added, and then he hopped out and shut the door behind him.

“Oh. Hello.” A middle-aged man stood on the sidewalk outside of the duplex. He had a huge duffle bag over his shoulder and he was sort of leaning as if it was heavy. He eyed Tim and Mrs. Henderson’s door with a sort of sharp, calculating expression. “...Visiting my neighbor?”

Ah. His stomach wrenched.

Tim flashed a gala-ready smile up at the sausage guy, deploying maximum cuteness. “Yepp!” He chirped. “I’m her grandson.”

‘Don’t be suspicious,’ he chanted internally. ‘Don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious.’

Sausage man frowned a little. “...Not the one who is getting married?” he asked in a funny voice. “I thought she only had the one.” He eyed Tim a little harder. “And, not to be rude, but i would have assumed he’d also be Black.”

Oh. Heck. Jason’s bad guy was definitely getting suspicious of him. He needed to deflect, fast.

“I was joking!” Tim giggled. “You’re funny. No, I’m a scout selling cookies.” He straightened his posture to look like a child with stable employment. “Do you want some?”

“...Cookies?” he clarified. “Not popcorn?” 

“Definitely cookies,” said Tim, who had just learnt this fact today. “It’s okay, it’s confusing.”

Sausage man cocked his head to the side, opened his mouth, and then apparently thought better of whatever he’d been about to say. “Yes, actually, I love those cookies.” The man readjusted his duffle bag. “Do you have an order form?” He held out a hand expectantly.

Tim eyed it and resisted the urge to fling himself off the two concrete steps separating him from the lawn. “Not with me,” he bluffed. “What kind do you want?”

“You’re not going to just remember my order,” said the Sausage man, who was beginning to look genuinely irritated. He took a half a step closer. His heavy bag swung. Tim stole a glance down at it. Sausage man followed his gaze and then looked back at Tim. He narrowed his eyes and he smiled.

It did not feel like a nice smile. 

“Why don’t you come in?” he said, and put a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “No one is waiting for you, right?”

“My boyfriend is,” Tim lied immediately. It was kind of true. 

Sausage man snorted, because he didn’t know that Jason was going to kick his ass. “That’s probably alright,” he said, amused. He squeezed down on Tim’s shoulder a little. Tim tensed. He needed help, he needed an adult-

“There’s my mom!” Tim chirped. The man let go like he thought Tim was on fire. Tim took advantage of the moment and ducked under the Sausage man’s arm. His heart was pounding so hard. “I’ll see you later, bye!” He sprinted down the walkway and turned left onto the real sidewalk without slowing down. 

Haha, sucker. Janet wasn’t even there! And the guy just believed him when he said he saw his Mom? Ridiculous! She was probably in Peru or in a board meeting! He pumped his arms a little harder until he realized that he wasn’t being chased.

The sausage man didn’t chase after him or call out. When Tim stole a look backwards, he saw the door pulling shut.

“Whew,” said Tim, slowing down. “That went okay. Except I didn’t learn anything.”

…He could try again tomorrow.

[ainyan]

FFXIV Write - Day 8: Arrival (Free Day)

Sheriff Thancred Waters leaned against the wall of the train station and pretended to doze. He’d drawn his broad-brimmed hat down over his eyes and folded his arms across his chest and was doing his best to ignore Fourchenault’s soft mutters as he rehearsed his welcoming speech. He didn’t quite understand why his brother was insisting on being present for the arrival of the town’s newest resident, nor why he wanted him there - but the morning was slow and he’d been plied by a tall mug of Ameliance’s coffee. It was no skin off his nose if his brother wanted to be all officious and mayorly.

Anyway, being here when the new teacher arrived would give Thancred a leg up in the local pools. He’d wisely held his bets until he’d had a chance to meet them - except for the ones about probable sex (he’d gone with female) and age (retired old stick). Those were all but a given, as the town council had somehow convinced each other to spare the expense to bring a schoolmaster in from Sharlayan rather than sticking closer to home.

As for the rest, well - Thancred had his own ideas of what kind of person would be willing to leave the comfort of Sharlayan’s ancient halls for a rough and ready frontier town at the fringes of the Sagolii Desert, and none of them were particularly complimentary. It’s true, they could have found a true pioneer spirit among their resident scholars - but the most likely scenario was either a teacher who didn’t suit being given a not-so-subtle nudge, or a retiree who had nothing to lose.

And for the sake of his daughter, his nephew and niece, and the other townschildren, he hoped for the latter. Presumably anyone who managed to make it to retirement age in the City of Scholars knew a thing or two about teaching children - or at least knew a thing or two about teaching in general.

As a distant whistle sounded, he lifted his head and thumbed his hat back to study the rapidly-approaching plume of smoke on the horizon. Fourchenault cut off mid-mumble and cleared his throat. “Now, I expect you to be polite.”

“Nah,” Thancred drawled. “I thought I’d drag out the rubber hoses and the heated irons from the get go.” The Elezen’s glare bounced right off of his brother’s smirk. “Don’t worry, Four-chan, I’ll be just fine.”

The mayor muttered, but had no time to argue further as the train slid to a halt before the station house, letting out a puff of steam from the brakes. Thancred lowered his head again, tilting his hat to shade his face as he waited for their newest citizen to disembark. Fourchenault stood with his hands tucked behind his back, back ramrod straight and face alert.

The door slid open with a hiss, bracketing a small, slim figure standing as stiffly as the mayor. Thancred reached up and tilted his hat back slightly with his thumb. Small, short, slim - between the stature and the dark indigo gown, Thancred knew he’d hit the mark with female. Excellent. Already anticipating going two for two, he tilted his hat a touch higher.

And forgot himself, sweeping his hat off of his head and simply staring.

The woman before them was no old stick; indeed, he gauged her to be a few years younger than his own thirty. But that was not what had him fascinated.

No, it was the sweep of her dark horns back from an impish face. It was the rich indigo hue of her skin. It was the smattering of silvery freckles across her nose and cheeks. It was the midnight-blue of her hair, caught in a braided bun at the back of her neck. It was the lavender-edged indigo eyes that held just a hint of laughter despite her serious mien as she listened to Fourchenault welcome her with political pomposity.

It was the sheer beauty that all but dropped him to his knees.

As if in a daze, he slid his hat back on and approached, sidling up next to his brother as the Elezen finally wound down. When she glanced at him curiously, he gave her a slow smile. Fourchenault, seeing her distraction, glanced down at him. “Ah, yes, and allow me to introduce our Sheriff, Thancred Waters. He keeps us safe, and does quite the fine job of it. His daughter, Ryne, will be one of your students, alongside my own twins.”

Thancred’s smile broadened and he tipped his hat to her. “Ma’am. I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

“Kal’istae Miurani,” she replied, her voice low and smooth, with just a hint of the same lilt as his parents’ voices. “A pleasure to meet you, Sheriff.” When she offered her hand for a shake, he instead gripped her fingers in his and drew it up to his lips. She stared at him, startled, then sighed and shook her head, extracting her hand neatly. Dismissing him, she instead looked back to Fourchenault. “Would you be so kind as to show me where I will be staying, and arrange for someone to bring my trunk?”

Fourchenault glanced at the hefty chest at her side and hesitated, eyes darting towards Thancred. The silver-haired Hyur raised an eyebrow and hooked his thumbs in his belt, easing back on his feet as he shook his head. Though the mayor appeared tempted to follow through with the implied threat, instead he turned back to the Au Ra. “Of course, we’ll send a cart by for it. Is this all you brought?”

“Yes, it is,” she replied serenely. “As I agreed to in the contract, I will be engaging in a six-month trial before the final contact for my services is signed. Rather than burden myself and the town with my possessions without knowing if I will remain, I elected to bring only clothes and a few personal items of value to myself. I was told the apartment I will be staying in is furnished?”

Thancred’s eyebrow remained raised, though he shifted his attention to the new schoolmistress instead, just a bit surprised. “Yes’m,” he said, when Fourchenault didn’t answer right away. “Dulia-Chai and Miss Warde spent last weekend preparing the place for you. I think you’ll appreciate their efforts.”

Kal’istae nodded, and the politely serene expression on her face never wavered. Thancred found himself wondering just what it would take to pierce that placid facade. That brief flash of laughter he’d seen earlier had shown him there was more. He wanted to see it.

He needed to see it.

“Thancred,” Fourchenault said, breaking into his thoughts. The sheriff caught sight of his brother’s slight frown of concern. “Thank you for joining me. I will show Miss Miurani where her apartment is, then give her a tour of the town and the schoolhouse. I imagine you have plenty of work to do, yourself.”

Tonzes. That didn’t stop Thancred from being sorely tempted to offer to take over for his brother. He studied the schoolmistress a moment longer, then nodded briskly. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” he told Fourchenault. “Ma’am, it’s been a pleasure.”

Kal’istae inclined her head in answer to his tipped hat. “I’m sure I will see you again soon, Sheriff,” she murmured.

He grinned, flashing bright teeth against the dusky gold of his skin. “You can count on it. Mayor,” he added with an insouciant smile to his brother before turning and ambling off towards the town.

Fourchenault watched him go, still frowning. “He’s a good sheriff,” he finally assured the woman as he turned back to her. “Probably distracted by all of the work he had left undone this morning. Come along, then. We’ll stop by the general store and have Tataru send along one of her delivery boys for your trunk. This way.”

Gathering her skirts, Kal’istae followed along behind Fourchenault as he led her towards the town of Seventh Dawn.

Her new home.

FFXIV Write 2024 (Daily Prompt List)

Day 8 - Arrive (Free Write)

OC: Kal'istae Miurani

NPCs: Thancred Waters, Fourchenault Leveilleur

AU: Stars over Western Waters

[android-and-ale]

WIP Wednesday

I'm slowly working my way through a very E rated sequel to Not In Front of the Klingons. Our favorite middle aged retirees are once more called into action by the long suffering Admiral Nogura. To his ever growing annoyance, Spock and Kirk are, in fact, the best possible people for this job.

---

“Admiral, are you suggesting we attempt to seduce this young man into returning to Starfleet custody?” asked Jim.

“Jesus Joseph and Mary.” Nogura pinched the bridge of his nose. “Have I not been clear enough? Yes! That’s exactly what I’m fucking saying, you absolute shitheel.”

“I do not believe we fall within his most desired demographic,” said Spock.

Nogura glared at Spock through his splayed fingers. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“I am not engaged in any act of coitus at the moment,” said Spock.

“He hasn’t seen it,” Jim smirked. He knew exactly what Nogura was hinting at, and had been saving it for his next long weekend away with his husband.

“I hate you both,” said Nogura. “I can’t believe you’re making me watch this bullshit again.”

He angrily punched his PADD. The screen swirled, slowly coalescing into two hands rushing at one another in a hot, sloppy ozh’esta.

"Exclusively on Only Hands!"

The twined fingers pulled apart, dragging an animated curtain with them.

Suk’Lok appeared, microphone in hand, wearing his signature skintight green leather pants and a beaded mesh vest. His mouth looked swollen and bruised, with lipstick smeared across his cheek in a way that suggested his lips had been wrapped around something huge. Light glinted off the twelve heavy piercings tracing a line up his pointed left ear. His nostrils flared, and he chewed his bottom lip, staring at the microphone like he was ready to deep throat it. 

“I want Spock’s Cock!” sang Suk’Lok. 

It’s not just talk! 

I wanna suck him dry

I wanna make him cry

Until he sees Shrimp Colors!

I want Spock’s Cock

-- Hottest of the S’chn T’gai’s!

I want Spock’s Cock

-- Thank the gods he is into guys!

I wanna rub my wet Lok against his half human Cock 

Until we’re both so dehydrated we die! 

“If anyone can bring him in,” Nogura poured another shot of gin into his mug of lukewarm coffee, “It’s you assholes.”

“Based on that holo, I don’t think he’s after Spock’s asshole,” said Jim.

“There’s another verse,” said Nogura. “In fact there are five more. Not counting the club dance remix.”

“It’s catchy,” said Jim.

Nogura took a long drink of what was slowly turning into coffee flavored gin. “The only thing this kid is catching is the Andorian Shake.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Bookstore 2

Warnings: None as yet.

Summary: A mysterious strangers comes to your bookstore.

Character: Jorah Mormont (Modern AU)

This is for my Jorah Bean, they know who they are ;) and to anyone else who likes this teddy bear. Darkness to come, promised. As well, as usual, as I so desperately beg of you, please let me know what you think. Love!

Cardinal’s Cafe is busy as you wait in line for your noon time cappuccino. You hoped to take a longer break from the store as your eyes were starting to get tired from squinting at your weekly sales spreadsheet. You could just go upstairs to your apartment above the shop but that only made it harder to go back.

You step up and take your mug from Doris. You forgot you said ‘for here’. You’re stuck now and there’s nowhere to sit. You back up and look around, drawn by subtle movement to your right. You glance over as your name lilts off the man’s tongue.

“I’ve a seat available if you don’t mind the company,” Jorah offers as he stands, an open palm towards the other chair at the table for two.

“Only if you don’t mind,” you answer sheepishly, “it’s packed in here, huh?”

“Please,” he comes around and pulls out the chair for you. It’s not entirely peculiar in the town of retirees.

You place your cup down and sit as his fingers unintentionally brush your sleeve. He steps around you and resumes his seat across from you, framing the saucer beneath his cup with his long fingers. You warm your hands against the sides of the porcelain mug and sniff as you look out the window.

“I was on my way to the shop actually,” he intones, drawing your attention back, “I finished the books. I think I underestimated my free time.”

“Oh? Any good?”

“The first was a fun romp but the second… not entirely a satisfying end,” he takes a sip of his black tea, “do you know if the food is any good here?”

“That’s kind of a subjective question but I don’t mind it. I tend to go more for the bakery but… I’m cutting back on all that.”

“Sweet tooth?”

“Deadly,” you confirm and dare a sip of your cappuccino, carefully not to singe your tongue.

“How about Medley’s? The restaurant?”

“It’s not bad,” you nod, “I mean, there’s not much choice around here, is there? As long as you have a strong stomach.”

“Oh?”

“It’s also the deli and they butcher their own meat. They’re hardly shy about it.”

“Ah, I will keep that in mind.”

“Pretty slow everywhere here,” you say, “I hope you’re serious about retirement.”

“Slow is nice. Safe,” he says as he leans back and fixes his lapel, “how did you end up here?”

You smile, “how do you know I’m not from here?”

“That could be an answer.”

You take another drink and eye the coffee cake in the display, wondering if it’s worth it to get up and order. “My grandmother owned the shop before me. Put my name on it herself. She needed a caretaker and I just finished uni at the time.” He listens intently, planting his elbow on the table and steepling his fingers beneath his chin, the soft fuzz grazing along his fingertips, “she had a couple years left but they were rough.”

“I’m sorry,” he says mournfully, “I know how hard loss can be.”

“It’s life,” you swallow your emotion. “I’m sure you know. What about you? You got a family in tow? A partner?”

His cheek dimples and he pulls his hands apart, showing his left and wiggling his bare ring finger, “never got to that part. Just me. Lonely old man.”

“Free,” you correct him, “means you can just do whatever you want.”

“And you? Are you… free?”

Your brows nearly meet as you consider his question. It’s harmless. At least twenty years between you, he’s being polite. Like Ruth does when she asks about your love life. If you can call it that.

“Was in something long-distance for a while. Didn’t wanna leave the shop so that’s that,” you tap your fingers on the handle of your mug, “so guess I am too.”

“We should start a club,” he kids, “we don’t have to quilt or anything.”

You can’t help but chuckle and give another longing look to the case of cakes and pastries. Your mouth waters and you drown the temptation with a taste of espresso.

“Looks good,” he comments and you guiltily retract your stare.

“What?”

“The cake.”

“Like I said, cutting back.”

“Yes, you did, but it’s okay to still have some.”

“Don’t tempt me, please.”

“Ah, but it’s fun,” his blue eyes gleam.

You shake your head, “really, I’m not–”

“Oh, you must be the new one,” you’re interrupted as Diane blusters over from the counter, “well, look at you. How dashing, you are!”

You look up as she gives a flirty smile and slurps from the plastic lid. Diane’s the type to fill the shop with her voice as she recounts the filthiest gossip. You glance at Jorah as he maintains a courteous veneer.

“Hello,” he says evenly.

“But I see you’ve already hopped on the young one,” she sneers, “bit old, aren’t ya?”

“Di,” you warn, “we’re just talking.”

“Right, right, I’ve not even introduced myself. Diane. I run the local book club and the founder’s lodge.”

“Founder’s lodge?” Jorah wonders though hardly sounded interested.

“Yes, very exclusive. We arrange local events. We’ve had art installations and the like. We also run the Christmas market.”

“Fun,” he muses dully and empties his cup.

“You didn’t tell me your name, handsome?”

“You’ve not stopped talking about yourself long enough to let me,” he stands and wipes his mouth with a napkin, “if you’d excuse us, we were having a conversation before you waltzed in. I’m certain you’ve got some important task to do for the Founder’s Lodge or what have you.”

“Why I– Oh, feisty.”

“If you would,” he gestures past her, “I’d like to get through.”

“I am being polite, sir, the least you can do is tell me your name,” she says, aghast.

“Polite isn’t interrupting a stranger, now if you would kindly move, I would like to claim that last slice of cake,” he waits only a moment before stepping around her decisively.

She juts her jaw out at the affront and scoffs. Her eyes fall on you and she sniffs, “hm, he must be rich, eh? Just like nana.”

She spins, spilling some coffee on herself as she storms towards the door. There’s some chatter as the door chimes and you peek over at Jorah as he stands unaffected in line, coolly taking out his wallet as he moves up to the till. Well, you don’t expect you’ll be hosting any book club meetings at the shop soon.

[olivers-cocoapuffs]

01: Camp

Will stirs the honey into his coffee, inhaling the rich aroma. Satisfied with the combination, he lifts the mug to his lips and takes a sip.

He casts his eyes over to the bedroll nearby that Horace is tucked into, snoring softly. Despite himself, Will smiles.

It’s been a few years since they both retired, so now they only go camping recreationally. They both enjoy it, the smell of the fire in the morning, the smell of the trees.

Will still misses the adrenaline of the Corps sometimes, though he’s adjusted to the more mellow life of a retiree.

He takes a moment to close his eyes and focus on the senses around him. The heat of the fire, the faint birdsong, the smell of the morning dew.

There’s a rustle and Will looks over to where Horace is, propped up on his elbow and blinking hazily at Will.

“Morning H.” Will greets softly.

Horace smiled at him warmly before pulling himself up with a groan. He then moves towards Will and sits on the ground, leaning against his legs.

“I’m getting too old to be doing this.” Horace mutters weakly.

Will hums and presses a quick kiss to the top of his head. “You’re as dashing as ever though.”

Horace tilts his head back to look at him and grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Coffee?”

[frostedlemonwriter]

There above her head was a lamp that flickered and cast long shadows. A cigarette burned between her metal and plastic index and middle fingers, and a thin ribbon of smoke trailed from the tip. She took a long drag and exhaled a cloud of mint-scented smoke that trailed off into the wind. There was also a consistent smell of an acrid burning that was hard to describe, even with the wind. Heavy boots stomped through a puddle as she crossed the street. There buzzed by several drones which ruffled the green and teal mohawk upon her head. KOZU Channel 5’s news logo identified the drones as they headed off to capture footage of an SPD officer beating on some young offenders or perhaps a retiree getting mugged on the way home from the market. While a small group of punks with their piercings, tattoos, and back market repo tech installed stood in front of a small store, smoking cigarettes and drinking synthetic booze. She ignored their words and suggestions with a middle finger and a hearty laugh as they recognized her, as did she. It was all done in jest. But she had a plan for tonight with no time to bullshit. It always seemed pointless to her to have lights that lined the streets when there were always enough neon-lit advertisements and signs, high-definition screens as large as the buildings that they hung from showed off the newest soda, erotic television show, or a politicians’ lies to help them get into or stay in office. With the gracefulness of a ballerina, she weaved through the crowds of people that never seemed to thin out despite the time of the day. Tonight there was determination in her movements.

[cerbreus]

Been trying to find a funny and less humiliating way to say I fell down the stairs with a mug of hot water like I'm charlie chaplin playing a 90 yr old retiree yesterday but there really isn't one lmfao

[thewul]

Ace full of Kings

Welcome to suburbia land and the wealth of suburban lifestyle, although on the surface it may have looked like nothing, boring even, there was good poker players and poker nights, Sunday baseball games were always fun even if it's just kids, and every Wednesday at the local bar karaoke nights entertained the best and worst singers the neighborhood had, there was different stuff once you started digging in it, once you got acquainted with the place and its people most of all, and you know anywhere is worth it if you find good poker players

Tonight we are having a poker night in a dimly lit small backroom at Harris, smoke filled with the cigars that Barnes procured from an army buddy selling them on the low from Puerto Rico where he was posted, the room had every kind of Seahawks team memorabilia you could think of, signed jerseys and footballs, players cards, framed press articles, and a heap of photographs with the players and staff plastered the walls almost entirely, a lifetime collection that spilled to a few large boxes stacked one on top of the other, as a cop Harris had his entries, originally from Seattle before he bailed after getting in serious trouble with organized crime, it even had trophy replicas on a shelve, complete with Seahawks branded coffee mugs and coffee machine

Seahawks was "the coolest name for a football team" and the retired street cop was a huge fan, and of course it had the crackling police radio noise in the background because that's what you would expect from a retired street cop, to stay put even if, a couple of years ago we had invested in a proper poker table, our pride and joy, professional green mat and cup holders, the bar well it wasn't much, but Harris kept it filled with his rake although he didn't like to hear that word

Meet the players, or the demonstration that maybe prosperity isn't what it used to be, that the neighborhood isn't what it used to be, life in general, but that poker can heal all wounds, imagine that a poker night at your neighbor's poker room, a bottle of the finest whiskey money could buy for under 100 Dollars, put together around the fine looking table more than a hundred years of life experience, retirees, O’Brian retired fireman, Harris still on police radio, Brown a retail store manager, a black man who fought his way in life arguing to too many customers that he was the store's manager, and Barnes a Vietnam vet with two rounds of duty under his belt and the scars to prove it

Billy Perkins wasn't half their age but they made a place for him because he was good at poker, above all they wanted to know why he wasn't not good at money other than the chips that he racked often, and above all if he realized that a man his age of his character can be anything he wanted in life, he was on to something big that's what they all thought of him

I'll have that widow hand, No Billy Perkins you can't have that Why not? You're not even married, Well look at me it's my winning hand, What do you know it's your winning hand? See it's two pairs already, say I score a full and a pair, I don't say nobody says that replied Barnes, Or 4 of a kind, ace high Come on now, Why come on, you're not even looking at your hand, don't like what you see? I have a better hand! What you're raising now, Of course am raising, am raising your better hand, Watch out the kid is on a roll

That fishing contest Billy how did it go? asked Harris, We won it, uncle Joe is the best, sold the fish for ten grands I made half of it, That's good money what are you going to do with, repaint the house I guess its been due for a while, Get a new lawnmower too your front yard looks like a jungle he added while fetching a couple of new cards, I was thinking of fixing it, That's what you said last week and the week before that

O’Brien took a long look at Perkins before deciding to share what he had in mind, tell me Perkins that O'Connor guy he's a big shot at the company where you work right? A big shot he's The big shot, used to be president and chairman of the board, Something is fishy about the whole thing, Such as? I've been told that propane tank was installed by a top notch utility business, checked it regularly, last time they did they replaced every joint gave the installation a clean bill of health, 3 months later the whole place blows up like a gas station on fire, wasn't supposed to happen like that

Retired Lt Harris who had listened on while staring at his hand paused his drink, see what you just described is murder for hire, come on now are we saying that rich folk homes don't blow up Brown interjected Brown, listen to the man Harris replied he said wasn't supposed to happen, But still it was a gas leak that did it am I correct, atleast that's what I read on the newspaper, Well there's guys that are into that stuff and they're paid big bucks to make murders for hires look like an accident

I didn't say a word more and kept focused on building my hand, thinking about what just been said, how O'Connor, Sullivan and Richardson had died within weeks, and so who benefited the most, Dillinger and again Dillinger who had an opening for president and chairman of the board, meanwhile he could push back indefinitely his retirement on the grounds that his succession had been hampered

Maybe if they fixed it wrong Brown went on, a botched job, you guys are always trying to make the stuff that happens in this city into a police movie, what do you know about gas Clayton replied O’Brien, what do I know about gas I used to run a retail store, it smells Clayton gas smells, see said Harris, the botched job might be O'Connor instead, did cops drop by at the company? They did answered Perkins coolly, keeping to himself that it wasn't about O'Connor that they showed up and that the murder count at Allstate was already 2 or 3 now by the looks of it, See no wonder, you have two guys who spent too many time doing this and they're saying that somebody punched that propane tank, Not the tank no that can leave traces remarked O'Brien, the joints are more likely

Because they would burn in the fire? Right it's not your everyday plastics but with that kind of temperature they will, If they don't catch who's behind this it's going to be another perfect murder, Perfect murder? That stuff exists? replied Brown, Oh yes it does and it's nothing that we advertise to people, Because you guys can't catch the murderer? No it's worse than that Clayton, we can't prove that it was a murder

Hey Barnes pour me a drink What's the occasion kid, Am doubling the raise, What for? For everyone's been throwing cards like they're yesterday's newspapers, But not the cards you want now Perkins, True haven't seen those, madam widow here is going to hand them right next, Ugly little weasel, Now now what's wrong with having a little drink

What on earth was he up to, a bigger pay no he was already well off, they all were, there had to be something else far more potent and sinister to justify his deadly power play, most of all the risks he took, Allstate was no small fish, 3rd largest insurance company amongst those who operated solely in the U.S, worth tens of billions

Am going all in gentlemen, Are you kidding us! It's several rounds we've been doubling that raise! Sergeant It's time to suck in the pain, What is it with suck in the pain, My favorite part, the single most telling line about war and about life, it's in the movie, What movie again? Barnes movie war movie, tell us about the alligators Barnes, There was no alligators in Vietnam, You sure look like you've been bitten by one, How come you're not a rich guy already since you're so cocky asked Barnes? Am hood rich, every week I come here and rack those chips Not always no, True sometimes I sit next to the bottle, Ouch

So? Am folding, Same here, Same, Barnes you're in? Let's see what you have, what I have is all in want to go all in? Not this time but I'll get you next time ugly weasel, I guess that's it, was nice playing you gentlemen partners, always a pleasure, Not so fast partner Perkins you have to pay the house, There you go Harris make my day, It's every other week that you always keep forgetting, But you don't

Let's see that hand you have, Does anybody look into a grave before getting in, That's it he had nothing but those two pairs, who let you sit next to the dealer anyways, The dealer sat next to me what should I do tell him to bounce, You think you're so clever, Look at you, you sat next to the bottle, Bluffers come with big mouths, Well you should have known Harris, He's been robbing us like that when he has nothing going he bluffs, Then I might have something going, Keep bluffing Perkins

How much did you make? Let's see there's a couple of upcoming games and I have to fork the beer cases at Barnes, Clayton asked me to take his car to the car wash stick me with bill plus extra for the leather chairs, O’Brien well what do you know he's got groceries he wants me to pick up any given Sunday, and Harris just raked me, Don't say that word, Why it's true, Keep things going for the club, Oh it's a club now? What do you think look at all the decoration

Was he after all of it why… Pretty much anyone else could arrive to the same conclusion as I did, police included especially the police, making him the prime suspect, or maybe in the back of his mind he thought he was so cunning that he could pull his moves without so much as a citation, so far he had succeeded that's the thing… The papers said the blast was an accident, and Richardson and Sullivan seemingly killed each others

That hand Perkins? It's there on the table, Can we? Go ahead what's the poker night for, What does he have? Aces full of kings!, Ugly little weasel, Keep going Perkins you'll get places, So he wasn't bluffing after all? Yeah it's the same to me Clayton, He's got something this young fellow, We agree on that, we said it over and over again, but he doesn't seem to know what it is himself, He's a good kid Harris he will find out when it's time, He doesn't look in a hurry and what do you know about time, it flies

Look at the hand that he has continued O'Brien, didn't even show it what does tell us about him Harris, Keeping his cards close to his chest, knows best in life than to show his cards and when you know that his age in life you already know a great deal, I think paused Clayton, no I am convinced that he can be anything he wants in life, Well he's got us posted about what it's going to be replied Harris

[wives-natlho]

Captain Styrnsyn

The burly Roegadyn folded up the newsrag he had been handed a few minutes ago. On page four was a spread honoring the Maelstrom’s recent retirees. He had just read about one particular Sea Wolf named Coco Natlho, who had ended her services with the Maelstrom after several years of faithful service. The caption below the image listed some of Coco’s accomplishments, which had included multiple frontline engagements with Garlemald forces. The Captain thought back to his own encounters with Garlean ships, and knew that this girl Coco was something special, but… was it her?

Captain Alyph Styrnsyn put his hands on his knees and stood up, stretched, put his hat on, and headed out the door. The sun shone into his eyes harshly, and it took a moment for his sight to adjust. The bright sky was clear, and the wind was favorable. It was their final day before making port in Limsa Lominsa, ready to unload and collect his payment. He wasn’t a pirate anymore, but merchant work was just as profitable, if not more. Also, the odd encounter with Sahagin or Garlean ships kept things just interesting enough for the old man. 

This time, he was transporting a load of equipment from Sharlayan. Odd aetheric gadgets he didn’t really understand, along with two scientists who did. The trip was particularly boring, and there was no reason to draw his blade, which was simultaneously a relief and a disappointment. 

“Captain, are you going to take shore leave this time?” His first mate was an Auri woman from Werlyt named Cassandra. 

He gripped the paper in his hand. “Yes. Two days.”

“Aye, aye!” Cassandra adjusted her bicorne and handed Alyph a clipboard. “No changes in cargo. Both passengers and all crew accounted for overnight.”

The Captain nodded and walked around the deck of the ship, ensuring its safety.

—--------

Two years ago, he had embarrassed himself, asking the life story of a Sea Wolf woman in Ul’dah, who had reminded him of a beautiful enemy of his that he had one spent the night with. 

Ten years ago, he stood silently in front of the orphanage where they left her, only to lose his nerve and walk away before anyone opened the door. 

Eighteen years ago, he began to think he had made the biggest mistake of his life and began his search the world over. 

This time, the name Coco showed up… It was the name he left her with. Surely she hadn’t kept it. It had to be wrong again, just like all the other times. It had to be wrong. 

It wasn’t her.

—------

Cassandra escorted the Sharlayan scientists to the Arcanist Guild. After a few hours, the ship was unloaded and most of the crew began their shore leave. Once the Raen women returned to the ship, Captain Styrnsyn left the vessel in her care and stepped onto land for the first time in several months. He opted against using the Aethernet, and instead adjusted to solid ground on his walk across the city and up the stairs to The Drowning Wench. He had carried the paper with him, and re-read the small blurb about the Maelstrom retiree. He must have read it at least thirty times now. It couldn’t be her…

And if it was, should he say something? 

He sighed, and ordered two shots and another mug. 

—------

He hadn’t drank enough water that night, and woke up under the bright moon, needing something he couldn’t identify. The stomach ache from the alcohol was made worse by the anxiety from his complete inability to decide if he wanted to find this woman and speak to her, or not. He vomited. He cried. 

The age of Sixty Seven wore heavy upon him. He felt much worse after a morning when he wasn’t sleeping on a mattress. The stone wall on the outside of the Aftcastle was not very supportive of his ailing lumbar, but it was the only place he could rest after the night he had. The solitary inn room was not accommodating to his current mental and psychological state. He decided to order a courtesan just to have some company for his much-needed bath. She didn’t end up being much of a comfort, though. Courtesans often make good psychologists, but unfortunately Alyph needed a more specific professional. 

After he was clean, he still didn’t feel any better. He ate a fancy meal at the Bismarck. He soaked his feet in the ocean water, and watched the fisherman catch the night’s dinner. He ordered two courtesans at once, just to see if four hands would be enough to help him forget. But it wasn’t. He had to try again, just for his own sanity. He would have none left if he let this one go. He was determined. 

The next morning, he let Cassandra know to extend all hands’ shore leave by three more days, and he would take three more as well. He started in the Mist, just to see if there was any sort of registry, and to ask around to the locals. He didn’t get anywhere with them, though, because he knew nothing of the woman he was seeking beyond what the article had listed. He showed it to everyone he met, to no avail.

He sought out the Maelstrom Command, who would not give any information on their retirees. The girls at the Missing Member wouldn’t even let the captain into the restaurant. A few people in the city seemed to recognize the woman in the paper, but knew her only in passing. The Arcanist Guild reported they did remember her, vaguely, but it was nearly 20 years ago, so there was no reliable record of her presence. 

He spent the entire three days in search, and was no closer to finding her. He returned to the Drowning Wench, and took a mug outside, to let the sea wind attempt to blow away his failure and regret. He leaned over the railing, mug in hand, and watched the crowd in the Aetheryte Plaza below. He stayed like this until sunset, watching the people move below him. The buskers traded places, one starting up a new song just as another had finished their day. The constant line of shoppers going to and from Hawker’s Alley hid amongst them several folks showing off their bright garments and newly-forged and aether-infused weaponry. A stationary few were only in one place in order to provide a public display of affection enough to make some of the Captain’s own crew blush. This went on until he was ready to leave Vylbrand for good. Being home made him feel sick. Maybe his ship’s new home should be Radz-at-Han.

Alyph stood, wiped his mouth, and started to walk back to the bar to return his empty mug. He took a deep breath and looked once more at the giant spinning crystal in the middle of town. Just behind it, emerging from the shadow of Hawker’s Alley was her. He winced and wiped his eyes to make sure. It was definitely the woman from the paper… But was it her? 

Looking on, he smiled wide, seeing the cheerful woman below. She was spinning and bouncing, seemingly showing off a new dress that had just been purchased. The display seemed to be intended for the eyes of a Miqo’te woman nearby, wearing a complementary-colored suit. The two were walking towards the ramp up to the Bismarck. He headed north to cut them off. This would be his only chance.

He could tell the two were friends. The Sea Wolf chatted away as the Miqo’te woman smiled widely at the goofy and gleeful display across from her. The two were comfortable around one another. Very comfortable… They were kissing now. He hadn’t expected that. 

A wave of some foreign feeling washed over him. At this point he was hiding behind a big menu, watching this young couple enjoy their love, and he knew if he approached he would only make things worse. If this was his daughter from so many years ago, he could be proud that she had made a life for herself. That she had such an illustrious career with the Maelstrom, and was in a loving relationship, and that she had such good taste in dresses. If this wasn’t her, then whoever his daughter truly was had her own full life filled with joy and hope. Either way, he could know that his daughter, whether it was this particular Sea Wolf or not, had made a life for herself.

Without him. 

The foreign feeling found several names, in order: regret, anger, sadness, joy, and then peace. He was done, and he could go back to his own life. He actually quite liked the idea of Radz-at-Han. He would talk to Cassandra about it, to see what she thought. 

He got up from the table, leaving a handful of gil, and never returned to Limsa Lominsa. 

—------

Across the Bismarck, Coco Natlho looked up at an old Roegadyn leaving the restaurant and stopped mid-conversation. 

“You okay?” asked Athena. 

“Uh… yeah. Sorry, I thought I saw someone I know.”

[shimmershae]

My thoughts on Episode 9--No Other Way

As always, placed behind a cut for those of you that would rather escape my babbling, lol.  You’re welcome.  

Okay.  

It took a minute for my app to wake up.  It didn’t get the memo to rise and shine at 4 am like the rest of us--how much do I hate that work has trained my body to wake up at a set time everyday, no matter whether I want to or not, lol--but I guess it served me well in the end so.  

Anywho.  I had a bit of a wait.  Thus, time to think and let my brain get with the program and during this little siesta, I mulled whether my anticipation had ultimately been outweighed or overshadowed by dread thanks to the ongoing OTT celebrations from certain factions of fans.  

Spoiler alert:  turns out I really and truly don’t trust their judgment for shit, never have, and I’m too ready to see our babies to care about their never-ending hate campaign.  10/10 recommend this attitude to everybody.  It saves a whole lotta grief.  

Enough lead in.  Y’all ready?  In 3-2-1.  Shae’s stream of consciousness review coming right at ya.  

Okay, okay.  Maggie’s getting tossed around like a ragdoll by a big, burly NFL linebacker retiree/Reaper while those Angry Birds fireworks spears are screaming past her like missiles.  Cool opening.  Cool.  Whoa.  Is that what they call making a splashy entrance?  Or a dramatic AF exit?  

Well holy shit.  Just when did it change from me rolling my eyes and stifling a groan whenever I see Negan to breathing out a sigh of relief and feeling--I don’t know.  I wouldn’t call it happy exactly but I know at least he’s gonna spice up Maggie’s scenes so there’s that.  I will say though.  I didn’t realize how much I’d missed JDM--big difference, big distinction, what have you--until I saw his scruffy mug so yeah.  We’re gonna admit my crush (lifelong, lol, thanks to Denny, my beloved) is still going strong.  ; ) 

Personally, I think the mere fact Negan hasn’t ditched Elijah and run to save his own hide is earning him some reluctant, perhaps subconscious, definitely unwanted brownie points with Mags.  

I’ve always wanted a secret door to somewhere, lol, so that secret door in the infirmary delighted me much more than it should have.  I blame my love of A Secret Garden as a child.   

Ahhhhh!  I’ve missed the opening credits and the theme song and hearing it and knowing we’re essentially on a countdown to the last time is making me emotional. It really is.  That said, I do still prefer the original opening credits and would love if the show went all “retro” for the finale and had a new “old” version again.  Just to tie things up in a neat little bow of nostalgia.  It’ll never happen but oh how I wish it would.  

That shot of Rosita and Lydia going all Buffy the Vampire Slayer on the stair Walkers was simple but badass.  Love the girl power.  Oh and Dianne lives!  Only to die?  We shall see.  

The fuck do those things want in the basement so bad anyway?  Do Judith and Gracie smell like a couple of walking chicken nuggets to them?  A late night Taco Bell Cravings Box? You’d think they’d be most interested in all the people they keep trying to convince us are upstairs.  

Anyway.  Moving on.  

Yeah, no.  Make that 4 feet of water in the basement make sense.  I’ll wait.  

Jerry!  Aaron!  Oh wow.  My girl Carol looking beautiful as ever!  Listen.  Would I have liked to SEE her working with the superheroine sisters to save the walls?  Hell yeah.  But I’ll take what I can get because I was honestly afraid they were just gonna allude to her whereabouts offscreen after the shoddy treatment our leading lady got in 11A.  

Kelly being so reluctant to leave her sister’s side.  My heart.  I love them.  

Gracie’s whistle!  Aka, the call to the Undead Wild.  But whatever.  Baby girl got some lung power for Daddy Aaron to hear it over the storm.  Or maybe he just got Daddy ears and could hear that whistle anywhere like a dog hearing a dog whistle.  Yet more proof Aaron is half Golden Retriever/half human.  

Carol, Kelly, and Jerry are my kind of trio. I’d follow them anywhere. 

Well.  At least it’s partly cloudy with what looks like a chance of rain later at Meridian, lol.  

Father G--still hobbling to fight another day.  

Daryl--is that what they call a knife to the gut (sorry, lame, I know)?

It’s been so long since I bothered to watch any of the boring Reaper bullshit that I don’t remember if Austin is significant to Daryl’s latest prisoner/fake turncoat arc or not.  Kudos to the Reaper outside that door for dropping that name for me.  Other than asshole Carver, I can’t distinguish one from the other.  

Leah legit sours my throat with bile.  Maybe that’s what Angela Kang was going for.  I don’t know.  Someone forgot to send LCol the memo though.  Or else she immediately deleted it sight unseen for plausible deniability.  Even her voice triggers that upheaval response.  Ugh.  

Side note:  I actually feel bad for these dudes playing Reapers.  Unproblematically excited as far as I know and their story went over like a lead balloon.  

Daddy Aaron to the rescue!  Whoa.  Cool underwater shot with that Walker kill.  He saved our little girls.  Whew.  For a minute there I was worried about Judith.  Insert eyeroll emoji.  Judith handled that situation like a champ.  I was worried for Gracie, full stop, but at least it looks like they decided to spare Aaron.  Well, maybe not.  Oh shit.  

“Worry about yourself first.”  LMAO.  Father Savage is back, y’all.  Reaper priest almost had him. Or did he?  “No oneis above saving?”  Hmm. 

Maggie being chased by Carver like the final girl. Methinks she’s leading him into a trap.  At least I hope so.  

Really though?  A bat? Negan, man.  Choose another weapon.  Anyway. I do love the teamwork but you know that’s gotta be triggering AF.  

“Well.  Ding, ding.”  The way that made me LMAO.  It’s all in JDM’s delivery, y’all.  Think I’m gonna steal that for later.  

Maggie’s reluctant acknowledgment of gratitude to Negan is enough.  I’m tired of the retread dialogue but she owes him nothing she doesn’t want to give.  He gleefully murdered her husband.  The father of their unborn child.  He can keep trying to prove he’s changed but IMHO?  If she doesn’t want to accept it?  She doesn’t have to.  

The Elijah dude really made me feel  his pain over his sister with just his face and no words so kudos.  

C’mon, now.  I thought people were saying Daryl was yelling “Don’t” to Maggie about Leah.  LOL.  I mean, did LCol plant that suggestion to make it look like Daryl actually still give a shit?  

Smart move to use Carver.  Least I think.  We’ll see.  

Listen.  Team Family climbing around like Olympic Champion monkeys this ep. I could never.  Don’t have the arm strength, lol.  I’d be like that squirrel trying to climb that greased pole to the bird feeder.  Y’all know the one. 

Lydia saved Aaron?  My baby girl.  Oh my heart.  Wonder if this will change or move the needle somewhat on my boy’s perception that no Whisperer is worth saving or that they’re all bad?  Lydia saying “You would have done the same for me” truly made me pause because despite knowing his misgivings, knowing the times he hasn’t full on embraced her as family and one of their own, she still believes in his good heart, and it makes me cry for her.  That trust.  I loved the little pause on Aaron’s part before he answered her.  It’s almost like he didn’t realize he actually would and was surprised.  Anyway.  I think Lydia’s finally earned her standing with Aaron as one of the family and I could honestly see him going full protection mode for her in the future.  

Where is Dog in all this chaos?  Gnawing on some milk bones?  I hope he’s warm, dry, and well fed.  Little traitor, lol. 

Yeah, Leah’s a duplicitous bitch.  

Why does this feel like some kind of Western duel or standoff?  

“Nope. No Jenson/Jentzen (sp?) here.”  LMAO.  I do love me some savage ass Father G.  “Call me Gabriel.”  Negan’s face SENT me.  

Fucking go, Maggie.  I loved the dramatic music that accompanied that little piece of deserved and earned brutality.  ;)  Never mind I don’t know who the hell Elijah was talking about because they redshirts.  The world is down a bunch more boring ass Reapers and Negan knows he better toe some kind of line.  

Dammit, Daryl.  You dumbass.  She deserved DEATH not BREATH.  

There my boy Dog magically is.  Thank goodness they didn’t have Leah use him against Daryl in their ugly breakup.  My heart couldn’t have handled it.  

Maggie knows Alden’s dead.  C’mon.  That’s why she went alone.  They finally decided to remember the poor dude. Adam has had so many sets of parents.  Maybe Commonwealth has some kind of support group for that.  

All those crosses.  Ouch.  

Negan ain’t wrong.  Maggie gonna do what Maggie gonna do.  There goes any levity or tension to Maggie’s story, but you know what?  I’m here for it because your girl is TIRED of them having the same scene different verse over and over again.  

Carol looking out and watching for her bae like Daryl did after spending all night on that log with Negan and looking mighty fine doing it, I might add.  Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but did they raid a Cabela’s in between reinforcing walls, putting out fires, and playing lifeguard in the basement?  

Of course her man is the first one she sees.  

Judith running to Uncle Daryl always makes this girl smile.  Sue me.  I’m a sentimental fool.  

Look at Lydia’s happy little face.  

The way Carol almost fell into Daryl’s arms like a wife happy to see her husband home made my heart flutter.  You know she’s keeping her cool in front of the kids.  

Both my girls feeling some kind of way about Negan.  My, how times have  changed.  I wonder.  Will Lydia harbor any future resentment toward Maggie for this?  She didn’t know Glenn so she’s not as closeto the history there.  But she’s been an outsider so she identifies and empathizes with Negan somewhat. Future conflict between the two of them perhaps?  

Look at little RJ.  They keep that cute baby monosyllabic or silent, lol.  

Okay.  I bought Father G’s look at Rosita but girl looked kind of unimpressed, lol.  

How adorable is Coco?

OMFG. That’s what people been declaring canon over?  LMAO.  Whoever called it a Bro Shove was spot on.  All they needed was a basketball and a court and I could have seen them going to shoot some hoops later.  It had that kind of catch up feel.  It was cute.  I’ll give you that.  And it hinted at literally no romantic feelings or implications at all.  Daryl looks like he just got reunited with his sisters.  Y’all.  For real.  Put down the crackpipes if you forecasting marriage proposals because of this.  We good.  

Now the implications of Carol witnessing?  That screams jealous, insecure, disbelieving of her own worth love interest.  But antis gonna anti so of fucking course they see it as Carol shipping them when the truth is she is literally the only person on earth, fictional or real, that honestly and without ulterior motive, ships Daryl with happiness.  

And y’all.  Carol is literally framed between them.  She is 100% the reason why it’s not like that and she just doesn’t realize it.  At this point, the only person, ahem--people, in more willful denial are the shippers of the other ship.  

Stormtroopers on horseback.  Surely our nerd Jerry can appreciate this.  You know he’s a not so closeted Star Wars lover.  Has to be.  

Eugene running ahead saying “we’re all friends” made me giggle, okay.  Josh as Eugene has a very distinct gait/run and it never fails to make me laugh.  

Look.  If Daryl and Connie really were like *that*, realistically, who do you think he’d be standing within arms’ reach of lined up in front of some strange newcomers he for sure doesn’t trust?  Certainly not Carol.  C’mon, people.  Put your thinking caps on.  Shit goes down?  He wants Carol nearby just in case.  I swear.  Some people willfully dense AF.  

6 months later, huh?  I hate Angela’s apparent lady hard on for these time jumps but I do appreciate the idea that Maggie really said fuck slimy Lance Hornsby and his politician’s suit.  

Holy shit.  Daryl in stormtrooper gear demanding Maggie open up the gates of Hilltop.  WTF, lol.  

Who’s Stephen Campbell?  Anybody know?  Some digging is in order.   

So.  Some overall impressions because I figure if you’re still reading at this point, why the hell not?  

I love that shit actually got done.  

Maggie and Aaron were badass.  

Daryl was a dumbass letting Leah live.  Like that time they didn’t end the Governor, I fear this one will come back to bite them in the ass. 

Daryl’s reunion with Carol and the kids was heartwarming and felt like two marrieds that had been through it all a million times before reuniting and it had the right kind of understated flavor, considering they haven’t 100% cleared the air with each other.  

Daryl 100% views Connie as a sister.  Kelly too.  Only Carol and the antis think otherwise and only Carol’s reasons make gd sense.  

Lance is slimy AF.  

Lydia has my heart.  Girl saved a man she felt didn’t 100% have her back as a former Whisperer and Aaron felt small because he’d been wrong not to embrace her wholly.  

Aaron is such a good dad.  

Carol and Negan remain the only two that have the ability to cut through the bullshit and see the larger picture.  Except where Daryl is involved for Carol because her heart and her insecurities are too damn loud.  

Judith, Uncle Daryl scenes, however small?  Continue to warm my heart.  

RJ is literally just there as a peace offering for pissed off R!chonne fans to keep the lid on their rage, IMHO. He’s cute but so far?  A non-factor.  Because the mama that lost Andre so tragically would have never left him.  Ever.  I don’t care how people try to rationalize that OOC behavior to benefit their shipping preference/perspective.  I’ll die on this hill.  M!chonne as a character was done so dirty but I suppose backstage decisions dictated their options and they chose the least sensical one that pandered the most to the ship. They dampened my personal enjoyment in the process.  Here’s hoping they’ll find a way to right the ship in the future.

Father G and Rosita are still so mismatched.  Like I don’t even get the vibe she’s really into him.  More that she looked at the X’s and O’s and decided he best overall benefits Coco and okay, fair.  I don’t understand it but I do.  

Anywho.  I cannot wait for super spy Carol to take the Commonwealth down. 

The rest?  I’ll reserve judgment.  

Here comes Angela’s explanation points, lol.  Let’s see if I learn anything new.  

Nope, nope.  

Although.  It didn’t really hit me how much Maggie’s killing of Carver literally echoed Negan’s killings of Glenn and Abe until I saw the moments back to back so yeah.  Kinda cool but Maggie still has the moral high ground, IMHO. By a hair.  

I’d explain why but this is already a typo ridden thesis so.  

Until next time, lovelies.  

Same time next week.  

[fireynovacat]

For @karokatten! I was your secret Santa! Hope you like it! @dreamsclock

It was said that when gods, spirits, and others of the kind had no more use, they disappeared. This was true sometimes, but not always. Some would retire. Leave and enjoy the rest of their existence, no matter how long or short and be free of the bonds humans put on them. And some are simply stronger. Held on longer. Lived long past their use.

Dream supposed that was the case for the two newcomers. They'd begun building a home on his land. Cold and barren as it was. He'd supposed it was too much to ask for to finally be left alone, even if deep down he knew it wasn't really what he'd wanted. The entity hadn't had much contact with others in a long time, so he didn't recognize what or who they were, senses rusty from misuse. But he could guess that the tall, piglike being was a god of some decent level and the other winged being was some powerful spirit. The taste of their power was familiar if strange. And it took a week of watching them to realize it was the aura of blood and death. Dream had nothing against entities of that kind. If his memory served he had been akin to them at one time. But his reconnaissance was coming to an end. And to find out what his options were, he'd have to ….talk to them.

He pulled his shakey humanoid form into something more solid and human. His shapeshifting hadn't quite left him yet, even after all these years. Even if his other powers failed. Such was the fate of the forgotten too stubborn to fade and die. Or in his case, unable to. And while he could wait for these two to finally die or move somewhere else, Dream was lonely. And as foolish as it was, he hoped even a brief conversation would soothe that ache so he could go back to lurking in his cave, waiting for the world to end or for whatever higher being created him to finally remember he existed.

His face, which he knew he couldn't get right, instead morphed to look like a mask. Old memories forming the smile and eyes and white smooth surface. Wrapping his green "cloak" around himself, he crossed the hill into the small dip that sheltered the hint from most of the wind. Knocking, he gazed through the shutters, catching a glimpse of movement and warm light. The door swung open to reveal the tall piglike creature, staring at him with dark eyes.

"Phillll, there's a homeless green blob on the deck."

Dream sputtered. Managing to grit out, "Rather rude to say to the person who's land you built your house on."

Surprisingly the former god's eyes softened. "What's a settlement guardian doing all the way out here? I don't see a home to protect. Or anything like that. Come inside, it's cold. And you're letting the heat out." The taller guided Dream in, despite the protest. Stepping into the threshold sent an immediate wave of calm, peace and a sense of protectiveness washed through him. Deep to his core.

"Who's this then?" The winged man asked, looking up from a pot on the stove.

"Another retiree like us. 'Cept he's homeless and it isn't right to leave someone to freeze."

Dream groaned, already feeling fond, "I've been fine for years."

Phil shook his head, picking up a teapot and pouring a mug for Dream, offering it. "So are you a spirit?"

"Pretty sure he's a home guardian, Phil. The disrespect these days." The last part was muttered.

Dream shrugged, "I'm adaptable. I've done many things. I was a protector originally yes. I watched over a settlement a long time ago. I had a home in the center, they called it the community house. And well. Nothing bad happened, don't look at me like that. Eventually everyone moved on. Went to new places. Moved to greener lands. So I became a wanderer. Then some...demigod? Or abouts of survival. Became a guardian again. During a time of war. People forget home guardians aren't peaceful." He surprised himself when he moved his mask aside to drink the tea.

Phil nodded, "I was and still am, the Angel of Death." And Dream's confusion he explained, "I would take souls to the afterlife. And sometimes hunt down those that defied Lady Death. I'm taking a bit of a break, mate." He adjusted his wings as he leaned back in his seat.

Techno groaned, "Man, alright I'm a war god. Righteous war. Mind you. Against tyranny and wrongful governments. And well. I'm tired of fighting. And people trying to kill me for glory." He snorted, petting the head of a white fox that curled in his lap. "I'm all for choosing your own path and I choose this."

Dream nods. He understands, he knew what it was like to have pressing expectations. He'd grown to enjoy the peace of his snowy isolated home, and he was starting to believe he'd enjoy these newcomers' company. His irritation at his solitude being invaded was fading. The pair convinced him with ease to stay for dinner. Over the stew they swapped stories. Dream telling his time of being a necromancer. They didn't ask many prying questions, and he returned the politeness. By the time the meal was finished it had grown dark, with the snow falling faster.

Dream made to leave, but was shoved back into the couch and handed a thick blanket. As Techno explained, immortal or not, he was not sending a "homeless teletubby" into a snowstorm. Dream bickered back, but the taller one ignored his argument. Banking the ashes of the fire and blowing out most of the lanterns. And while Dream didn't need sleep, it was the coziest and best rest he'd had in years.

----

He awoke before everyone else. In a half haze if old instincts he stood. Not noticing his form had changed he began patrolling the house, walking quietly around the first floor then up the stairs. Both residents were safe. He walked back down. Outside. Patrol the outside. Check for threats. Protect.

---

Technoblade was not surprised to wake up to Dream patrolling. While it had been awhile since he met a home guardian, he knew of their habits well. They liked routine and would get quickly attached to a place. The old god would be lying if he said he hadn't felt pity for an unattached guardian. And the long running mostly joke partially serious plan to build a retirement community of gods and spirits who rejected the fate society gave them had to start somewhere. Looking through his chest, he pulled out an old cloak and bracelet. When befriending a home guardian and asking them to stay and protect your land it was best to give an offering. And while technically above Dream, he respected all beings equally if they'd earned it. And Dream definitely had earned it.

----

Dream accepted the position. And everything felt right.

----

It had been two months and Dream had added his home to a slowly growing community. A minor justice goddess named Niki stumbled upon them, lost one day and after some consideration joined them. Next came Ranboo. A nature spirit driven from his home. He was safe now though and Dream had taken an almost mentorship roll, teaching the younger to protect the portal they'd found nearby. Dream's form had stabilized into pupiless green eyes, sharp teeth and dark claws, long white hair and freckles. Tall and lean he looked alive and healthy now.

----

Dream and Technoblade sat on the roof, watching the stars. There was a snowstorm rolling in, but for now they watched the stars. The guardian shifted, settling back. It's good to be home.

[sokoviareports]

22/2/2021 - 14:00 - 20:00 - Matchak Patrol

AGENT(S): Huntress LOCATION: Matchak; Matchak Hall, and behind the Church. DATE / TIME: 22/2/2021; 14:00 - 20:00. IS THIS A FOLLOW-UP? N BRIEF: One pimp, one mugging. 

PATROL REPORT: First three hours were quiet. Ran into a pimp violently extorting one of his presumed “workers” around 18:15 behind the Church of St. Stojan. Irony is, in this case, extremely unfunny. The girl fled the scene, otherwise I would have offered further assistance. Pimp, Predrag Vukovic (see attachments for ID), left with dislocated arm, possibly broken jaw, possibly broken cheekbone, and three (or more, I didn’t count carefully) missing teeth. Admitted under pressure that he is visiting from Novi Grad. Will not be returning to the area under threat of further injury. $618 euros found on his person, which have been redistributed to the Chuch of St. Stojan’s traveling food service.  Around 19:30, saw a young woman mugging an old man as he was leaving the back entrance of Matchak Hall (where retirees regularly go to pick up their monthly checks). Stopped assault and questioned mugger, Snezana Urosevic. (See attachments for ID.) Under duress, she admitted that she has been seducing retirees leaving the building for a two weeks and has been stealing their checks. Under more duress, promised not to return to the area. Left with bruised rubs, potentially sprained wrist, and check taken was returned to victim. 

SCOPE: N/A. Matchak’s generally quiet.

RISK LEVEL: N/A.

INTEL GATHERED: See attached.  [IMAGE OF FRONT AND BACK OF SOKOVIAN ID, PREDRAG VUKOVIC.]  [IMAGE OF FRONT AND BACK OF SOKOVIAN ID, SNEZANA UROSEVIC.] 

CONTACTS: N/A.

FOLLOW-UP: I’ll keep an eye on City Hall on future patrols, and it might be a good idea for others to monitor the comings and goings of senior citizens when they pick up their pension checks. Things are still quiet, but desperation generally makes people revert to their worst possible selves. 

Might be worth keeping an eye on the alley behind the church, too. Vukovic could have friends. 

[marchingintime]

So here’s the thing- if @staff wanted to actually invest in this hellsite, there is a way they could turn a profit without resorting to the paid posts dumpster fire.

Targeted ads.

There are plenty of ads on Tumblr, but more often than not, users see ads that have nothing to do with their actual interests, shopping habits, or demographics (I’m 27 and married, and I regularly get Tumblr ads for 65+ dating websites).

Un-targeted ads are generally much cheaper for companies to buy, because there’s no guarantee that the users who see them will have any interest in the product. But if Tumblr had the capability to show users ads based on the tags they used, the type of content they reblogged, or the blogs they follow... suddenly, that ad space would be much more valuable to marketers. Star Trek licensees would put down the big $ if they knew their product would be shown to fans of the series.

And of course, you may argue that Tumblr was better before all the ads. And it was. But ads aren’t going anywhere, and I personally would much rather see an ad for a Star Trek mug over “Sexy Singles in YOUR area! Golden Moments- the #1 Dating Site for Retirees!”

[yespolkadotkitty]

Burn With Me Tonight, pt 1

It's been two and a half long years since your husband passed away, and your neighbour thinks it's about time you got back on the dating (or at least sex) horse.

I’d like to dedicate this to @pedropascalito​ for being so immediately nice to me!!

“Happy birthday to me,” you muttered, staring up at the ceiling as the sun crested over the far hills. You had a birthday brunch with friends at your favourite taco place planned for the weekend, but today, nothing.

If you tried hard, you knew you wouldn’t look at the empty place in the bed beside you where Sam used to sleep.

Shoving it aside, you idly fingered the ring that hung around your neck on an old, thin leather thong, and headed into the shower to pummel yourself with hot water. When you came out in a robe, towelling off your hair, a duo of male voices could be heard distantly through your open bedroom window, and the notification light blinked green on your smartphone.

MRS CHEN: Happy birthday, babe. Enjoy the view.

Puzzled, you looked out of the window to see two tall men hauling sacks of turf and plants into Mrs Chen’s garden. One was blonde, lanky, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, the other, you couldn’t see too well, but he looked darker, messy hair, facial scruff, wearing a white tee that showed off his biceps.

You’d become friends with your neighbour soon after moving in - the low brick wall in the garden meant you saw each other often, and the retiree was often chatty. Then, over time, and especially once Sam got sick, very sick, she’d become a confidante and a treasured friend. Not to mention she had a potty mouth and never seemed surprised by anything. Ever. In fact, at her divorce party, she’d told you that she was now “one hundred percent in charge of my own orgasms. No actual humans needed.”

You loved her.

MRS CHEN: The heat! The sweat. The dry dusty dirt on their hands. Those shirts don't stand a chance.

MRS CHEN: Patience, young grasshopper. Soon.

MRS CHEN: All will be revealed.

You snorted out a laugh and closed the curtains, getting dressed. Mrs Chen had been planning to use her divorce settlement to make her yard into a paradise, and you were happy she'd got there at last. She loved to be outside with a book and a glass of iced tea. The overgrown weeds and gnarled tree stumps had spoiled her enjoyment of the space thus far.

As was your habit, you moved into the garden to have your breakfast, setting out your solitary plate, bowl and mug, picturing Sam’s stuff there. Had he always used the red mug? Or the green one?

Two and a half years since his death, and sometimes, you struggled to picture certain things about him, and that made you alternatively relieved and horrified.

Horrified because you never wanted to erase the man you loved, and relieved because, well. You couldn’t spend the rest of your life in this constant-daggers-of-heartache limbo. 

Could you?

As you sat down with some work papers to look through as you ate, the blond gardener waved to you over the wall. “Hey.”

“Morning,” you replied, conversational but polite. “Hell of a job for you in this heat.”

He grinned, unfazed. “That’s Texas for you. Hey, Javi, hurry it up, will ya?”

His colleague appeared and glanced at you, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated manner, then smiling, and you noticed that his soulful brown eyes crinkled at the corners. It was charming. He dumped a final huge sack of equipment on the patio, then straightened up and stretched, his worn, soft white tee riding up to reveal a wide strip of tanned golden skin, bisected by an arrow of chocolate-brown hair.

For the first time since you’d stood over Sam’s grave in the barely-there spring rain, the clouds low in the sky, you felt something like lust stir, deep in your belly.

Mrs Chen chose that moment to come outside on to her patio to greet you.

“This is Steve, and this is Javier,” she said, her back to them as she spoke to you. Her voice remained normal but her eyebrows were telling a different story. You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “They’ll be here for a few days, working on the garden.” 

She winked at you. “Fertilising my field. Ploughing my compost. Tiling the good earth. Enriching my soil. Keep an eye on them for me, will you?”

“Oh, er, great,” you enthused, sipping your tea, trying not to make it obvious that you were drinking in Javier’s messy locks - would they feel soft? - and daydreaming about what his voice would sound like. If his moustache would tickle when he kissed your lips - and other places.

As if he’d heard your thoughts, Javier turned to Mrs Chen. “So, can you run us through what you want, one more time? Just to make sure we’re on the same page.” His deep voice had a husky edge, like he’d used it too much, and the timbre of it sank into your veins. You pressed your legs together, and at that moment, Javier met your gaze, and something passed over his face, through his soulful, dark eyes, that almost made it feel like he knew your thoughts. “So we make sure you get…. What you want,” he added, voice dropping half an octave, and you felt the heat of his fine-vintage-whiskey eyes just as surely as if he’d touched you.

You looked away hurriedly and immersed yourself in paperwork.

And that should have been the end of it.

Tagging people who might like this @tiffdawg​ @spacegayofficial​ @bunnyart-blog​ @queenofheavenandhell​ @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​ @restingnurseface​ @iamsuchanasshat​ @annathewitch​ and my usual taglist @myoxisbroken​ @littlemissthistle​ @hopelessromanticspoonie​ @just-the-hiddles​ @palaiasaurus64​ @adorkabeezle​ @ly--canthrope​