#Required Reading is transported in hair or a jacket pocket

[code31-onthedancefloor]

he requires reading

[recklessmark]

serendipity

he was the one i wasn't looking for —Nikki Rowe

—2:07am, 3rd december

you’ve just gotten out of work, exhausted. people always said choose the job that makes you happy, and you chose your job for the money. not to sound greedy but you would rather die in a mansion. so it’s not weird when you are waiting at the bus stop at 2am in the morning, a well-paid career requires more than you expected.

“do you have a lighter?”

you looked up from the ground to see a 5’9 man standing in front of you. you observed the stranger’s figures, you’re used to be outside this late so dealing with creeps is not a problem. but to be honest, this man looked handsome, he had something that radiates a childish energy. generally you would say that he’s fine as hell. he had a cigarette between his teeth, which made you assume that he was wanting to light up the cigarette.

you snapped out when he cocked an eyebrow at you, your hand dived in your bag to find the lighter. you do smoke, not regularly but sometimes it helps you relieve stress.

“here you are.”

the corner of his mouth curled up, the light of the small fire made his face brighten up, your heart unintentionally beated faster.

“thank you.”, he gave you back the lighter and then shifted to stand next to you.

“you smoke?”

you heard he asked, blowing the white smoke into the cold air of the snowy season and then it slowly vanished.

“yes, occasionally.”

he nods, “i know when people smoke.”

as if he could read your mind, many people around you do not know the fact that you smoke but a stranger you met 2 minutes ago can know it without you saying anything.

“i think it’s your bus.”

the transport slowly approached you, there’s only one bus active from 12am until the next morning.

“hey, we will meet again.”

the stanger gave you the last sentence before he walked away making you smile slightly. oh, you forgot to ask what his name was.

—5:20pm, 18th december

you almost tripped over while rushing to catch the last bus. you had a survey to do in the downtown, if you missed this bus you couldn’t go back to the city until the next day. fortunately, you were still quick enough to be the last passenger on the bus. while you were finding a seat for yourself, you saw a familiar man, you must have met him before but you’re clearly not a person who has a good memory. however this man is special enough to make that scene quickly flashed back in your mind, he was the stranger you met that day.

“hello, do you mind-?”

“oh hi, it’s you! alright you can sit here.”

the man moved to sit next to the window, left you a seat next to him.

“thank you.” you sit down and continued talking to him.

“did you cut your hair? i didn’t recognize you.”

he chuckles, “even my mom can barely recognize me.”

you don’t know if it’s considered a coincidence when you met him again, you didn’t complain though.

“oh, i forgot to ask you that day, what’s your name, i’m y/n.”

“i’m mark, mark lee.”

when you two had already arrived in the city, mark invited you to have dinner with him and who are you to refuse it? every second being with mark was pure joy, he told you funny stories which gave you a lot of serotonin. he’s definitely the finest man you have ever met in your life, well, you didn’t just fall for a man you only met two times throughout your whole entire lifetime, you didn’t.

“y/n, i think i should tell you this.”

“yes?”

“i’m moving to another town, for working.”

you could’t tell if you were sad, shocked or bitter but it’s complicated what you felt. it’s like somebody stole something from you, a precious thing.

“when?”

“tomorrow.”

that meant this was probably the last time you could see him. mark was a stranger after all but why did you care about him so much. before you two splitted in your directions, mark suggested to exchange numbers and you did, you genuinely wanted to keep in touch with this guy.

“hey, text me when you get home!”, mark hollered with a wide smile.

—7:54pm, 20th december

you‘d just gotten out of the shower, water running on the strands of your hair and dropping down to the floor. you quickly stepped towards the nightstand to find your phone when you heard the message ringtone.

|7:54pm| mark lee: hi, how are you doing? you didn’t text me :(

you bit your lips as the message popped up on your lockscreen, you almost forgot about mark.

|7:55pm| you: hi, i’ve been being busy lately, i’m so sorry

|7:55pm| mark lee: don’t be, you look prettier when you smile :) and take some rest tho, no need to tuck in those paperwork.

|7:56pm| mark lee: oh but i have something to tell you, i’ll come back to your town, for christmas break. can i take you out for a date on christmas?

you blinked at the text message, feeling butterflies in your stomach. he’s literally asking you out for a date, a date on christmas specifically. you do know some guys have a crush on you but you weren’t ready for commitment but mark, there’s something about this man that makes you want to go for him. you want mark in your life.

you didn’t notice that you were smiling until the screen of your phone went black, reflecting the obvious curl on your lips. you realized you had left mark on read for ages.

|7:59pm| you: sure! text me when you’re back!

|8:00pm| mark lee: okay, goodnight ❤️ *have a nice dream about me :)*

you flopped yourself on your bed, the moonlight dancing on your face. december, always be the best time of the year.

—11:16pm, 24th december

you’re walking along the pathway, it feels like the first time you enjoy your christmas night outside since you spent your time inside the apartment every year. mark is stepping slowly beside you, he gave you his scarf when you two got out of the restaurant, in case you’re getting cold. you inhale a deep breath, the fresh air mixes with the charming cologne of mark lights you up.

“i have something to show you.”

mark stops at his track, turns around to face you. you two are not alone, there are plenty of people walking pass you, some of them are delighted family. you look at him, your hand comes to catch his arm, pulling him to a bench beside the street.

“what is it?”, you ask softly.

you see his hand shoves inside the pocket of his jacket, taking out a small velvet box. you curiously wonder what’s inside when mark hands you the box.

it’s a platinum manacle. it’s curved with a word said ‘serendipity’ on the surface. mark takes the bracelet out of the box, his hand find yours, spreading some warm into your cold hand. and then he put the bracelet on your wrist, the metal sparkles in the darkness.

“gladly it fits you, i made it myself. the curving part was challenging, hopefully it doesn’t look to bad.”, he muses while tracing his thumb along the cuff.

“i love it.”

you words made mark raises his head up as his eyes meet your gaze. you give him a nonchalant smile.

“do you know what ‘serendipity’ means?”

mark asks quietly, his hand plays with your fingers.

“an unexpected luck, i don’t know but there’s one thing i know for certain-“, you intertwine your hand with his, “my serendipity is you, mark lee.”

©️  DREAMYKRAM. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

[ezwhump]

Let the Cat Out of the Bag - pet whump, pet-sitting, pampered pet, introduction of characters 

“Explain it to me again.”

“Aw, fuck off, Farhan.”

“No, seriously!” Farhan spat a seed shell into the solo cup and  took another swig of his beer. “This woman puts an ad in the fucking paper, for christ’s sake, asking for someone to what? Look after her kitty cat?”

He buckled over, eyes creasing, and barked out a laugh. 

“No you got that exactly right, man,” Gregor let his mouthful of warm beer dribble back into the bottle and set it down on the table. “She’s got some sorta terminal illness, says she won’t be home enough to look after it, yeah? That’s where I come in.” 

Farhan snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah but she could just sell it though. Get some dough before she croaks.” He leaned over and snatched the paper off the table. “Pet-sitting. Fucking hell. I can loan you the money, you know.” 

When Farhan got serious he got fancy, started picking up his ‘t’s, shortening his vowels. Offering money. It made Gregor raise his hackles. 

“When you think about it, it's not a bad gig. I get to fuck around in some OAP’s house all day and I get paid for it. If I do a decent enough job maybe I get in on the will.”

Farhan shook his head, flipping to the sports section of the paper. “You’re a fuckin’ vulture, man.”

Gregor smiled to himself and drank his warm beer anyway. Farhan didn’t really understand, it didn’t matter what the job was, it mattered what the pay was. And he’d do pretty much anything at this point (except become Farhan’s charity case), so long as food got put on the table and the bills were paid, even looking after some geriatric’s pet. 

Even if he was allergic to cats. 

--

The car pulled up a few streets away from the old lady’s, and Gregor opened the passenger door. 

Farhan leaned over and rolled down the window. “You got your cell?”

Gregor patted his jean’s back pocket. 

“Right, good. Wallet, keys?”

“Fuck off, Farhan.” Gregor was getting irate, jumping on the spot with his hands in his front pockets. It was too fucking cold outside for chit-chat, he wanted to get into the warm house and start eating. 

Farhan laughed and cranked up the window with a “right, right”. 

The house was in a cul-de-sac of luxury townhomes, redbrick with intricate railings and a courtyard with a fountain. Gregor was suddenly very aware of his ratty sneakers and DIY buzzcut. He spat into the bushes and rang the doorbell, stopping short of shouting up to the closest window. It seemed like the sort of place where people would stop and stare if you spoke too loudly, and god forbid he caused a kerfuffle and the police were called. 

He patted his pocket for his dab pen and rolled it between his thumb and finger while he waited to be buzzed in. 

“Katz residence.” 

Gregor jumped and turned to the intercom speaker on the side of the doorway. He pressed the little purple button. 

“Uh, hi. It's Gregor. Enache. I’m here for the pet-sitting gi- job.” 

He waited for a moment, wind whipping inside his jacket and making him shudder. Then the intercom buzzed and he heard a lock click, so he took his cue and went inside. 

After processing the excessive grandeur of the lobby, Gregor took the elevator up to the top floor. All the hallways were cream with soft white lights in sconces and glittering from chandeliers. The floors were marble, and Gregor almost laughed when his soles squeaked and tracked dirt if he scraped them hard enough. 

There was a soft tinkling music coming from somewhere and all the doors were painted a deep plum colour with gold handles. The whole place smelled like sweet perfume. Part of Gregor wanted to break everything just to check if it was real (especially the little statues on the antique tables), part of him wanted this whole place to be preserved in resin so he could stare at it forever, but he mostly just wanted to see if there were price listings for any of it. The pawn potential made him lightheaded. 

“She’s gonna pay you,” he reminded himself, stopping at door 19 and rapping the golden knocker. It was shaped like a cat. 

  A boy answered the door. Well, not really a boy, though he seemed younger. He looked around Gregor’s age, 22 or so, but they were leagues apart. 

He had pearl-blonde hair that stopped at the base of his throat and his lanky frame was a little taller than Gregor. He was wearing a long-sleeve shirt and slacks made out of the same muslin fabric, but his feet were bare and clean. 

“Pleased to meet you Mr. Enache.” A woman’s voice called out from the guy who stepped aside silently to let Gregor in. 

Salma Katz was sitting on a white lounge sofa in a skirt and blouse, her legs crossed at the ankles. She wasn’t geriatric by any stretch of the imagination but she did have an air of vulnerability around her, like something was wrong and she was using every vice at her disposal to hide it. It showed in the way she picked at her nails or kept tucking back her blonde bob. 

“Hi.” Gregor stood dumbly in the entryway, eyes darting to all of the fanciful objects littered about the place. Little markings of money, of privilege. He felt sort of trapped. “Um, so where is the little guy?”

Salma was blinking sluggishly, and Gregor couldn’t help but compare it to when his mom had gotten hold of Farhan’s Vicodin after his dental surgery last month. Hazy, drugged up. It was probably painkillers or something. 

“There are a few things I should go over before I leave, but just in case there’s a list on the refrigerator.” She gestured for Gregor to sit and he did, slumping into the love-seat across from her, a glass coffee table between them with a small vase of peach roses in the middle of it. 

“I’m very invested in the comfort and safety of my pet while I’m enjoying treatment, and thus very meticulous. . . about who watches him.” The boy had taken a seat on the floor in front of her lounge chair, and Gregor had to drag his eyes back to Salma. 

“Right. Well, I mean, why put it in the paper then? Any dickwad off the street could come in.” A humoured smile lit up her face, and Gregor caught himself. “Uh, with all due respect, ma’am.”

Salma laughed, an airy, unbothered sound. “Well, just prove to me that I made the correct choice young man, and we won’t have a problem.” Her eyes trailed Gregor up and down and he tried not to squirm, setting his jaw and meeting her eyes. They glinted. “Now, Leander has a particular diet which I included on the list. I presume you can cook?”

Gregor nodded. He’d had to learn a long time ago. 

“Wonderful. Taking him outside the apartment is discouraged, however we do have a balcony if you’ll be needing to smoke or he needs fresh air. He takes a bath most nights, and you’ll know what to wash him with. Oh, and of course if you need anything from him all you need to do is ask.” 

“It’s trained?” Gregor felt his eyes widen, impressed. Cat’s weren’t usually trained, but he should’ve figured given the context of the whole situation. 

“Indeed he is. Now, I wouldn’t want him to get lonely, either. He has his own room but he does enjoy company. Would you be available to watch him five days a week?”

Gregor thought for a moment and nodded. He’d cover his bases, pay his dues, on the weekend. And besides, pets didn’t really require all that much effort. 

“Perfect. Does 7-12 feel appropriate? Of course we’d provide you with adequate food, a bed, transport, and whatever else you require to perform your duties.” She was talking slowly, like she was trying to coerce a wild animal into a cage, but Gregor wasn’t going to complain. Living in a place like this all day, free food, a fucking car, and all he had to do was refill a food bowl and wrestle it into a bath sometimes? He felt like he’d stumbled upon a get-out-of-jail-free card. 

“Sure, no problem.”

Salma smiled again and smoothed her hand along the boy’s hair, standing up and gesturing for Gregor to do so as well. Gregor tried to keep the incredulity from showing on his face. 

She reached out and took Gregor’s hand, clasping it briefly and then turning back to the boy. Gregor looked around again for a tabby, a persian. A fucking tiger. 

Salma ushered the boy forward, and he stood graceful and silent in front of Gregor, avoiding eye contact. 

“Mr. Enache, this is Leander. My pet.”

--- 

I’m taking a short break from Russ & Lennon, but hopefully you guys will enjoy reading about Gregor & Leander as much as I enjoy writing them :) I’m starting up a new tag list for these two so if you’d like to be included pls just let me know! <3 - ez 

--

tag list: __ 

[choco-glow]

Fall Like Rain On Sunday, Pt. 2

They’d agreed to meet up at four in the afternoon after a quick run back to their respective apartments to shower and change out of their patrol gear, and Steph bit her lip as she tugged the towel a little tighter around her chest, wondering just what would be best to wear out. She’d asked Jason for an idea of what might be best, thinking he’d probably want to go clubbing (their usual whenever Dick and Kate were in town) or go to barhopping (Roy and/or Artemis), but he’d paused, giving her question serious thought as he stopped the motorcycle outside her apartment building.

“Honestly? Wear something comfortable to walk around in, if you’re up for it? I…wanted to do something a little different. Kinda celebrate the weather, y’know?” And she did know…He’d been blushing at that, sweet and shy and a little more school boy, a little less sexy asshole, and she’d hopped off and given him a kiss on the cheek, beaming at the butterflies in her tummy. “Oh…”

“Alrighty, that sounds good. Make sure you’re the same?” She almost asked, but Steph decided to add a little more weight to that one; ninety percent of the time, Jason would pull off his armor and change tee shirts, but otherwise, it was always the black/gray camo pants, the tan jacket, and a black shirt. Every. Single. Time. Don’t get me wrong, it’s hot as fuck, but I know damn good and well the man has more in his closet than just that. Jason had been a mob boss himself for a time, and she still lusted over the thought that some day, she might see him in the black and red suits…But for today?

Today was casual cute, for both of them.

“Deal, only fair. I’ll be back at four, okay?”

“Sounds good; are we going on your bike?”

“Actually, I had a different plan for transportation, if that’s okay?” She nodded, actually a bit relieved, and he beamed, then leaned in and kissed her, full on the lips…and oh, that made those butterflies burst into life all over again. She’d floated up to her apartment in a daze, and after a quick pause to do her dishes (just in case, y’know, she might have company later) and a shower, she’d put up her hair in a curly soft messy pony, bangs fluffed out and cute, then followed that up with some classic make up. A touch of mascara, a wickedly sharp wing on each eye’s liner, a brush of purple eyeshadow, then rosy red (because why not make sure he knew she was interested too?), then a soft pale pink to brighten  just under her eyebrows.

Rose red lipstick completed the look, and she grinned a little, feeling vintage and sexy and cute, then strolled out, still in her towel, to peruse her clothes. After a long conference with herself, she was left with three possibilities. All were cute; all were comfy, and only one required a heel higher than an inch to look fabulous in. That one, the bodycon dress in deep amaranthine, she put away after a long look; it was super cute, but definitely more club than ‘about town’. She also decided against the denim short-shorts and purple crop top; not quite the look she was going for, to be honest, and as pretty as the shimmery crop top was, it might actually be too cool for today.

That left her with the dress she’d bought a month ago, and she smiled as she undid the buttons on the front of the bodice, pulling out a matching set of lingerie in dark red to put on first. She’d found it in a shop just outside the Narrows, and lusted over it for weeks before working up the courage to go in. Thankfully, the woman who ran the shop was from a similar background, and rather than most boutiques, who looked at Steph’s eclectic style and judged, this lady had helped her pick out the right size dress, a cute pair of kitten-heels to go with it, and even a shawl to match. Purple linen, with black polka dots, soft and cool against her hand, made up a lovely day-dress with a sweetheart neckline, fluttery cap sleeves, and a lovely, knee-length, full skirt. With pockets.

And it was easy to step into, sliding up her hips with a whisper of linen on her skin, buttoning with no gaping (which, from experience, Steph could tell anyone was a fuckin’ miracle.) Steph stepped into the matching heels, and gathered up a cute flowered handbag she’d picked up at the thrift store that rather accented her new dress, matched some studs to the color of the dress, and pulled the wide-brimmed sunhat out of her closet, giggling as she spun in her mirror, feeling cute and happy and just…girlish in a way that she’d never felt. Even when she was a little girl…

Thankfully, a knock sounded at the door, rapping in the familiar Bat-pattern they’d all been taught, knocking her melancholy out of orbit and Steph glanced at her phone. 3:58…I love a man who’s never late. She happily danced her way to the door, and when she opened it…Stephanie Brown froze, jaw dropping.

Because standing at her door, holding a bouquet of purple roses (and where the fuck did he find  PURPLE roses, of all things?!) was Jason Peter Todd, looking as starstruck as she felt, dressed down in a pair of soft gray jeans that hugged his glorious thighs and ass, a pair of slightly battered red Converse, and a red cotton button down over a soft black tank top, buttoned up almost all the way, but left free on the last two buttons, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his shirt tucked in, wonder of wonders…She felt herself start to drool a little, and snapped out of it with difficulty, because UNF.

“Oh…Jase…are those for me?” He suddenly snapped back to himself too, looking absolutely adorable as he blushed and nodded.

“Oh, uh, yeah…Thought you might like these, given that your favorite color is pretty much a dead giveaway.” He grinned as she laughed, the ice between them melting once more into easy friendship, and she took the flowers, beckoning him inside as she pulled a vase out of her cupboard. She smiled to see him looking around with interest at her books, her game systems, even her tentative bits of crochet with the soft yarns she’d bought months ago, and still hadn’t quite finished.

“…See something you like?” He blushed, glancing up from reading the back of one of her fantasy books, and grinned sheepishly as she finished putting the last of her roses in their new home. They smelled so so good, and already were opening up, and she hugged her arms to herself shyly as she walked back to him. Jason shelved the book with infinite care, and his eyes seemed to warm even more, his smile creasing his eyes in all the ways she’d always loved in her fantasy guys.

“I do indeed…you look…God, you look absolutely amazing in that dress, you know that? It’s so fuckin’ cute.”

“You look amazing in that shirt and those jeans…I mean it!” He turned away, blushing at that, looking shy now, and she caught his hands in hers, blue eyes trained on his. “Seriously. It’s a good look.”

“…Thank you.” He murmured, smile returning to his lips, and she took a risk, rising up on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips. He kissed her back, just as soft and sweet, and Steph didn’t know if she wanted to go out after all; this was…this was really nice. Jason pulled back, though, and she sighed a little, making him chuckle as he wrapped an arm gently around her waist. “Believe me, babe, I hate to stop kissing you, but I did make us some nice plans for dinner, if you’re still up for it?”

“Oh? What might dinner be?” He grinned at that, so much more in his own comfort zone now, and nodded his head to the west, where the sun was starting to lower in the sky, just a little.

“Care to let me surprise you?” Steph smiled, and put her arm around his waist in return, scooping her handbag up again.

“I suppose I can, this one time…” She rolled her eyes and he laughed, letting her lock and close the door before guiding her to the stairs, and walking down them in time with her, which, given his longer legs, was definitely something she appreciated.

“I promise, you won’t be disappointed.” As they walked out of the building, Steph was surprised to see a nice, large red truck waiting for them, and Jason’s hand up into the cab was just as nice as the interior, though it wasn’t leather, thankfully, but comfy heavy cotton seats. Dark grey with white accents, made it look a little more typical while still appealing to his color scheme, and Steph wasn’t surprised to spot a very, very well hidden (but not if you’re a Bat) gun compartment just under the dash. He gave her a worried look when he realized where her eyes were looking, but she met Jason’s worry with a smile, and kissed his cheek.

“You know me, Jase; I’m not gonna lecture you.” Jason’s tension melted away at that, and he chuckled, turning on the truck and backing neatly out of the space.

“I should, by now; but I still…panic, I guess? Too many years of being lambasted by B.”

“Don’t I know it…but…eh, we both grew up here. We both know what really stops criminals.” She murmured, and he breathed an ‘Amen’ at that, his right hand gently squeezing her left hand as he drove them towards the livelier market side of the bay.

“Still, I appreciate your…I guess, kindness? Tact?” Steph just smiled, twining her fingers with his, and grinning a little when his big thumb began to rub circles in the side of her hand.

“Let’s go with understanding.” She replied softly, and he gave her a flash of a smile and a squeeze.

“Deal.”

[forgadgetsandgizmos]

I (Gladly) Shoulder Every Burden

Written for Day 3 of Alex Manes Week 2020 | Prompt: "This time, I'm in charge" or Legacy

Read here on AO3

Alex grabbed his leather jacket off its place on the back of the desk chair in his room and shoved it into the large duffel he was slowly filling with essentials.

An hour ago, someone far beyond his own rank of Captain called using phrases like ‘missing paperwork,’ ‘essential,’ and ‘on-site assistance required immediately’ that triggered half a dozen alarms in his head. He’d been off the phone barely ten minutes before he’d received an email with a plane ticket from Roswell International Air Center, departure time in five hours. He had barely over three of those hours left and considering the hell that was airport security, (even in a small airport like Roswell’s with practically zero direct flights, especially since his leg prevented him from passing through metal detectors), that’s barely enough time for him to finish packing and make the half-hour drive to the converted old air base.

Honestly, it was just bad luck they called the day after he finally unpacked his bag from the weeklong Air Force recruitment trip he never actually took. He’d wasted that first hour doing laundry just so he’d have clothes that weren’t fatigues.

He was scrambling to make sure he’d packed all the little thing scattered across the house when a draft rushed in from his front door.

“Alex?” Michael’s voice drifted towards him. “You here? Sorry for stopping by like this. You weren’t answering your phone and you didn’t show up to the Crashdown.”

Alex glanced at the time and winced. According to his watch, he’d been suppose to meet Michael for breakfast an hour and a half ago.

“Back here,” he called out.

Michael’s footsteps echoed as he walked down the hall towards Alex’s room.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize it was past ten. I got a phone call a couple hours ago that threw me off,” Alex started to explain as soon as Michael came into view, apology etched on his face.

Michael didn’t speak, instead running his eyes over Alex and the full bag in his hand. “What are you packing for?”

Alex ignored Michael’s imploring gaze on his back as he moved around the room. “Ah ha!” He held up a grey t-shirt triumphantly before adding it to his duffel.

Standing in the doorway, Michael crossed his arms. “You didn’t answer my question. Where are you going that you need your favorite sleep shirt?”

Alex lifted his chin hesitantly. “I’m needed at Griffiss. I fly out in a couple hours.”

“Griffiss? The Air Force base in New York?”

“I shouldn’t be gone too long. A couple days, maybe a week at most.”

Michael’s face scrunched up in confusion. “You’re stationed here permanently. Why do they need you there?”

Alex avoided his eyes and answered. “I’m reporting to the supervisor who managed Project Shepherd in the seventies before it shut down. With my dad dead, no one filled the paperwork that kept anyone from looking too closely at the funds he had misdirected. I’m giving a deposition about my involvement in shutting it down.”

“What?” Michael gripped the edge of the door frame. “Alex, you can’t get involved with this again, it’s too dangerous,” he demanded, his tone incredulous.

Alex flushed and shot him a frustrated look. “It’ll be fine. As far as they’re concerned, I did them a favor by dismantling the project. They just have to hear from me in person and the General will only be in New York until Friday.”

Michael growled and slammed his palm against the frame. A loud bang rang through the room. “Alex!”

Alex yanked the zipper on his duffel shut and finally looked at Michael. His knuckles were so pale that they blended right into the white framing he was gripping, and his arm trembled faintly from the pressure. Alex shrugged his shoulder half-heartedly, as if to ask what he was supposed to do about it.

Michael closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Even if you’re clear, we’re not. Max, Isobel, and I had files in your dad’s system, you’re going to just hand us over to them.”

“Of course not,” Alex scowled. “How could you even think that? I took care of it. The system Dad was using was so old, it didn’t back-up to a satellite. Those profiles never left that bunker and I wiped any trace of them from there. The only people who know about the three of you are my dad and Flint. And I don’t think my dad will be saying anything from six feet under, do you?”

“What about Flint?”

“Not in charge and he doesn’t have any proof. Besides, I outrank him.” Alex turned to pull his crutch from its spot hiding at the base of the bed and fastened the metal arm rest and handle to the straps of the bag for transport.

Michael was shaking his head in disbelief when he turned his attention back to him. “You don’t know that,” he said, throwing his hands up. “You can’t guarantee that if you go there, they won’t find out about us and throw us in some dark hole before you can blink.”

“Yes, I do,” Alex burst out. He bit back his next words at Michael’s shocked face and lowered his voice. “Yes, I do,” he repeated softer. He took a step closer to Michael’s tense form. “Michael, my father is dead. Flint has no jurisdiction in the Air Force. Even if neither of those things were true, I still outrank them both. No one has any reason to distrust me and there’s an evidence pile a mile high of Jesse Manes’ misconduct.”

Michael jerked when Alex stepped closer again, as if he was going to argue again but stopped himself at the last second. He sniffed loudly, his nose scrunching up for a split second in a familiar way. It brought the beginnings of a smile to Alex’s face.

“I’m sorry I missed breakfast,” Alex offered, keeping his tone light.

“You were gonna leave without telling me,” Michael said accusingly. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“I would’ve called, I promise,” Alex said softly. “The General calling took me by surprise and my mind flew straight to laundry and packing. I didn’t mean to flake out on you.”

Michael fidgeted in front of him, moving his arms again to hang limply by his side before stuffing his fingers into the pockets. The action pushing his shoulders up around his neck. Alex thought he looked how he used to when they were seventeen, so unsure every time they spoke to one another. Wondering if this would be the last time. If he’d be rejected the next or laughed out, told it was all a joke.

Alex placed his hands on either side of Michael’s face, letting them trace the faint stubble along his jaw and run up through his curly, untamed hair. Michael’s eyes fluttered as he leaned into his touch.

“I’m not leaving leaving, okay? I’ll be back before you can blink,” Alex assured him, repeating his own words. “This is different.”

“How?” Michael demanded. His voice cracked, betraying the lack of anger or force behind the word.

Alex grinned slyly. “This time, I’m in charge.”

Michael huffed and knocked Alex’s shoulder with his. “Nerd.”

His grin grew wider. “That’s me,” he said cheerfully.

He got a laugh from Michael at his expression and laughed with him. He glanced at his watch showing his time dwindling with every tick forward. “I gotta go,” he said, trying to somehow convey to Michael in those three words every thought racing threw his head. That he didn’t want to leave but this was more than work, it was about protecting Michael and his family. He had promised to protect him. No chance was he going to make a liar out of himself because of plane ride.

Michael stiffened but nodded his understanding. “Call me when you get there? And when you’re back?” he asked, voice low.

“Of course.” Alex grabbed his now packed bag and walked into the kitchen, snatching his keys off a small tray on the counter. He arched an eyebrow at Michael when he didn’t move. “You staying?”

Michael had the sense to look sheepish when he followed out him. He lingered nearby as Alex locked the front door and loaded his bag into the backseat of his car.

Before Alex could wrench the door open, he was engulfed by warm arms on his back and a chest pressed against his own. Alex wrapped his around Michael, letting Michael bury his face in the crock of his neck. They held each other for what felt like hours but was probably no more than thirty seconds before Michael let out a shaky breath and pulled back.

Michael gave him a small smile, sadder than he would have like, and nodded for Alex to get into the car. Alex tried not to let Michael’s seeming lack of confidence affect him (it wasn’t Alex Michael was nervous about, he told himself, it was Project Shepherd and his siblings’ safety) and started the car.

He glanced back where Michael stood, still watching, in his rearview mirror as he shifted the gear into drive and pulled away. The figure didn’t move, eventually fading from view as Alex drove further from his home and toward the airport.

Michael may not agree, but this was the best thing he could do for him. At this point, him not going would only draw unwanted attention. He was still telling himself that when he parked his car in the overnight parking lot of the airport.

He promised to protect Michael, and this is what that looked like. This just happened to be a plane ride with two layovers and a shitty New York hotel room. Considering their lives, so often shrouded in mysteries and alien murderers, it was a small price to pay.

See it here on ao3

[afternoonteawithme]

Comfort and Lies

(read it on AO3)

Levi looked up from his laptop when he heard the apartment’s front door slam shut. He was about to call out, to let Eren know he was there, when he heard the slamming of a second, inside door.

Eyebrow arching, Levi eyed the wall dividing the kitchen he sat in from the bedroom. He glanced at the floor plans he’d been studying on his laptop, the unread messages on his cell phone, and the clock ticking away on the wall. He’d hoped to see Eren before he left so he was already running late. His ride was waiting impatiently – very impatiently – outside, but… he shut his laptop, tucked his phone into his pocket, and stood.

When he stepped into the bedroom, he saw Eren had thrown himself face down on the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, reached out a hand to stroke Eren’s hair. “Bad day?”

Eren turned his face and smiled weakly up at him, “I thought you’d be long gone already or I’d have come and said hello. Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to your booth at the trade show?”

“The flight was delayed, so I was killing time for a couple hours. What’s wrong?”

“It’s no big deal. My professor was just more of a jerk than usual.”

“What did he do now?”

“He’s an ass, is all. He just hates me because I helped Historia report him her first year, so he likes making real sure the whole class knows I stupid I am.”

Levi’s eyes went hard, but he kept his voice soft as he stroked Eren’s hair. “You’re not stupid.”

Eren laughed, and shot a brief, mischievous glance at Levi. “Really? I seem to remember you told me I was ‘the biggest idiot this side of the state line’, when you were driving me to the hospital last month.”

Levi pinched at Eren’s arm. “That was different, idiot. You almost gave yourself pneumonia, running around like that and pretending you didn’t have the flu.” He turned his fingers, stroked away the slight redness on Eren’s skin. “But you’re not stupid. Never that.”

“Thank you,” Eren turned over, scooted across the blanket until he could burrow against Levi’s side. “It’s ok, he can’t fail me because the exams are all externally marked, and I get decent marks there. But today he kept calling on me and asking me all these questions, and when I couldn’t answer he’d do that, you know, sneering thing, so I got mad and I…sorta told him what I thought of him. Because he was being an asshole, and I swear we hadn’t gone over half the stuff he asked about, and if we had then that just shows he’s a bad teacher, doesn’t it? Plus he’s a disgusting perv, even if Historia and I couldn’t prove more than we did.”

He pressed in a little closer, wrapping his arms around Levi’s waist. His voice was muffled against Levi’s suit jacket as he continued, “So then he tells me I’m ‘an embarrassment to my father’s memory’.” He said the words mockingly, almost managing to hide the hurt underneath. “He told me the only reason I passed any of my classes was because my dad’s estate promised the dean they’d donate lots of money when I graduate, and I know that’s not true, but…” Eren sighed, pulling away from Levi and flopping onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “But the whole class was there listening, and I just…I know some teachers do sometimes treat me differently because of my dad. So I guess I couldn’t really be entirely sure he was lying.” He half laughed, ruefully. “Maybe I am more stupid than I thought.”  

If he’d been watching Levi’s eyes, instead of staring up at the ceiling, Eren might have been shocked at the flash of fierce rage that ran through them.

“And by the end he’s like two inches away from my face so his spit is just landing all over me.” Eren shuddered. “After class I went to the bathroom and scrubbed my face as much as I could. He’s creepy and gross.”  

Very, very carefully, Levi fought to calm himself. Lightly, he reached out, flicking a finger at Eren’s forehead as he spoke as casually as he could manage. “There, there. Want me to beat him up for you?”

Eren laughed, turning his head to grin at Levi. “As always, thanks for the offer. Right now I’m going to rinse off any spit left on me, then I’ll go do my homework like any other good, diligent student so I can graduate as soon as possible.” He pushed himself up, planted a kiss on Levi’s cheek before sliding to the edge of the bed. “And then we’ll move, far far away, and I’ll never have to see him again.”

Levi watched Eren disappear into the bathroom, and quickly pulled out his phone. Ignoring the many increasingly irritated messages telling him his ride was ready and waiting for him outside, he sent out a brief text.

Change of plan. Personal issue came up. Abort mission.

There was a short pause, and then someone replied Sex is not a good enough reason to abort mission. Get your ass dressed and out to the car. Furlan has been waiting almost an hour.  

Levi narrowed his eyes. Fuck you. Will require Furlan’s assistance with transport, equipment, possibly clean-up.    

The reply this time took even less time. I stand corrected, maybe it is a good enough reason. Sounds like you’re planning some amazing sex.

Again, fuck you. I’ll be out in a minute.  

Levi kept an eye on the bathroom door and tucked his phone away again an instant before Eren stepped back out, scrubbing at his wet hair with a towel.

“Levi, I just realized, didn’t you say you had to set up your booth today? Will you have enough time before the expo opens tomorrow?”

“It’ll be fine. Erwin is there already, he’ll set up most of it.” Levi stood. “I do have to go though, my ride should be pulling up outside any minute.”

“Ok, thanks for listening. I feel better already.”

“Good.” Levi stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Eren’s neck and pulling his head down for a deep, lingering kiss. “Now go study. I should be back late Sunday, but I’ll call you on my lunch break tomorrow.”

“Alright. Travel safe. Sell lots of vacuum cleaners.”

 --

 Levi slid into the car waiting at the curb. As they pulled away, the driver threw a disposable cell phone over at him. “Boss wants to talk.”

“Boss can go fuck himself.” But as Levi met Furlan’s eyes in the rearview mirror, he sighed, opened the phone.

“What do you want?”

“Me?” The voice on the other end was rich, deep, amused. “You’re the one changing plans at the last minute.”

“This is important, Erwin.”  

“You sure you want to cancel? We might not have another go at this target for a while.”

“Let the client know we’ll get to it. Something came up.

“Uh huh. I’ll pass the word.”

There was a long, drawn out silence while neither Erwin or Levi said anything, and then there was a loud clatter as someone grabbed the phone from Erwin and a different voice yelled into the receiver, “Dammit, Levi, stop being a hardass and tell us what the hell is going on! I need to know. And do you need help? What’s happening? What do you need us to do? We can be on the next flight out there in…fourty-five minutes.”

Biting back a curse, Levi closed his eyes. “Hanji, calm down. And Furlan is enough, the rest of you can stand down. I’d like to handle this one myself.”

There was more clattering on the line, and then Erwin was back. “Then we’ll leave you to it, and give Eren my love when you next see him. Make sure to tell him I sold more…what is it you tell him we do these days? Oh, yes, tell him I sold more vacuum cleaners than you.”  

 --

 Levi let himself into a large, empty bedroom. He sneered a little as he glanced at the fussy, oversized bed covered with black satin sheets and a leopard print rug, at the framed, stylized sketches of women wearing only artistically tied rope that hung along the walls. The man had a giant damned painting of himself, bare-chested and riding some unrealistically small horse hung over the head of his bed. If he didn’t already loathe his guts Levi would have been happy to kill him based on that smug, self-satisfied portrait alone.

But he wasn’t here to kill him today. After all, he hadn’t asked Eren if he could kill him, he’d only asked if he could beat him up.

And this time Eren hadn’t said no, the way he had every other time Levi had offered. He’d laughed, but he hadn’t said no.

Opening the closet, Levi gingerly searched through until he found a white shirt with the tags still attached. He spread it out on the bed and settled onto it. While he waited, he checked his guns, and unwrapped the kit he’d brought with him. It had been a gift from Hanji, and she’d slowly been teaching him how to use all the little tools.

He wasn’t anywhere near as good at torturing as she was, but he could get by.

As he laid everything out, Levi wondered, not for the first time, if Eren would enjoy coming along on these trips once Levi told him he, Erwin, Hanji and the rest didn’t really sell vacuum cleaners for a living, and told him the truth about what they did.  

Unless he was very much mistaken, he thought Eren would take to this world like a duck to water.

But not yet. He had to finish college first.

Levi heard a noise somewhere in the house and sat back on the bed. When the door opened and a man that looked a lot like the man in the insufferable portrait over the bed, if a lot smaller and a lot less attractive, stepped in and flipped on the lights, Levi shot him with the tranquilizer gun.

He watched as the asshole’s knees crumpled, and he landed on his ass on the ground, staring incredulously at Levi.

“Who…what’s going on? Why are you in my room?” The man’s words were already slurring.

“Hello, Professor.” Levi smiled coldly as he ran one sharp tool through his fingers. “I’ve been wanting to meet with you for some time. We need to discuss your teaching methods.”

[armsdealing]

charles derane’s apocalypse verse notes.

basics.

codename: hawthorne -- this is a name/nickname he will occasionally use when he does not feel like going by his actual name. height: six feet four inches weight: 274 lbs (formerly 295 lbs) transportation: 2001 Dodge Ram - Black (looks)

appearance:

standing at 6’4”, charles is massive in size and along those lines, incredibly imposing in posture – straight and ready unless otherwise required. not only that, but his build packs 274 lbs of muscle/fat that he’s had even before the outbreak and he’s been very careful to maintain at all possible costs. while it’s true that he had the weight lost typical of survivors, he remains hefty and able to endure and perform physical tasks with ease. this is a skill developed from childhood, and charles has formidable dexterity and control of his body, moving through the environment with the speed necessary to outrun even the most feverish of zombies or fight them with melee weaponry. he has very broad shoulders and thick biceps and forearms, muscular legs, and a solid stomach and chest, even if it lacks tone. despite all this, he’s able to remain graceful, movements characterized by their stealth rather than flaunting his physical appearance with noise and clumsiness. when needed, his walking might as well be referred to as an experienced hunter’s prowl, used to both rural and urban scenarios to explore and navigate.

slightly sharper features have been the main toll taken by a lack of steady food source. the biggest change remains in his head, though; charles actually is incredibly survival-driven and apathetic toward anything that won’t ensure said survival. he doesn’t care about anything or anyone but himself, and he will make a point to show it. needless to say – he won’t be very friendly.

due to a lack of efficient razors, charles sports an unkempt dirty and bloody beard that he only maintains at bay with a knife but otherwise leaves to grow as extra protection in harsh temperatures. this makes a good job at covering the lower half of his face, filling out the spots where body fat or muscle lacks. his hair is messy, but consistently kept short by comparison – and surprisingly soft to the touch if ever actually touched. but it’s true; he neither is nor looks friendly, and if ever forced to speak, it’ll be in the form of gruff mumbles and a desire to keep the conversation as short as possible. there is no discernable accent in his voice, save a very rugged pitch and texture born from disuse, and the only hint at coming from somewhere is a shortening of words typical of the southern american dialect – found in his closest post-apocalypse allies, the beckett family.

tics are bound to be picked up if too much time is spent around him. while at first glance you won’t see nothing but a very large man you’d want nothing but to get away from, there is a cleverness to his eyes that makes it noticeable he is very aware of what happens around him and what happens to you. he will pick up on movements, expressions, with nigh perfect accuracy – and know the very moment you’re reaching for the gun tucked on your side or planning to propel forward for an offensive. he reads people before ever coming close to them, which is an important point to keep in mind – while he has no problem whatsoever with violence and even, at this point in his background, with killing, charles would rather keep things distant, and he’d rather you left him in peace. he tends to look around himself when idle, unconsciously even, as a remnant of situational awareness, and so coming from behind is nearly impossible.

on that same vein, other minor habits include adjusting and readjusting his pack and its straps; a lot of his supplies are in that bag, and he makes sure to check regularly that everything is in place and he can move without fear of losing it. he twists his neck and rolls his shoulders, cracks his knuckles when it is necessary, and might scratch his cheek and beard. when he speaks, he might sigh occasionally, and grunt even more so, nod and shake his head and gesture directions rather than mention them, clench his jaw when he doesn’t like how an exchange is going, raise an eyebrow when he’s questioning you, shrug to disregard your questions, purse his lips when he’s being thoughtful. people have met him and not heard him speak even once because of his taciturn nature, keeping to commands that he does need to elaborate on and that is it. when forced to speak at greater length, expect hostility and a sharp sarcasm that might take you off guard.

clothing wise the apocalypse does not allowfor anything but light packing, and his shirts are comfortable and visibly worn, sometimes torn. he has no attachments to any particular piece of clothing – with the exception of his jacket and his steel toe combat boots, and will not hesitate to switch clothings the second he sees an opportunity to do it. ever present is the pack strapped to his back along his shotgun, however. he will go for the comfortable and things that will last him, most commonly henleys or plaids, western cut. nothing colorful and in fact, probably dirty. long sleeves are preferable, given most deaths to zombies being due to an exposed limb. he does not care about how he looks under any normal circumstances, and how he looks like – like the lone survivor he is – isn’t his primary concern. if he ever cleaned up, he’d be much more handsome.

when found in close quarters to him, the smell of forest will be practically a staple, along with with sweat and grease, scents that have followed him. occasionally, smoke may be added, when he’s been near fire. such is the case with gun powder or blood, the latter which he washes away when he has the opportunity to.

skin deep, it is surprising that he does not sport any tattoos of note or at all. he has never been interested by the idea. what he does have, though, is scars in spades, some – many – dating back to his very childhood, teenagehood, and pre-apocalypse adulthood. his knuckles are very scarred, as are his arms and legs, with an assortment of prints left by experiences that range from simple falls to glass to blades. in his very face rests a cut on the bridge of his nose, and another on the left side of his cheek/jaw that leaves a thin scratch in his beard devoid of hair. another quite visible scar going across his right eye that took some eyebrow with it. 

INVENTORY | WEAPONS (8)

aluminium baseball bat. found in his truck.

glock g17. found on his person. (spare ammo? yes)

smith & wesson 629. concealed on his person. (spare ammo? yes)

smith & wesson model 59. full magazine. in his backpack. (spare ammo? yes)

winchester fixed blade knife. in his backpack.

mossberg 590 mariner. holstered in his back with a strap. (spare ammo? yes)

remington 700pss with leupold mark 4 scope. in his truck (5 rounds. fully loaded. spare ammo? no)

makeshift blade. (looks) concealed on his person.

INVENTORY | ITEMS (12)

(1) backpack (looks). usually on his person or the back of his truck. very worn looking and dirty.

(5) cigarettes. lucky strike. kept in their package, inside his backpack.

(1) canteen (looks). water. normally full. inside his backpack. 34 oz.

(1) flask (looks). empty.

(1) zippo lighter (looks). on his person.

(1) leather journal (looks). inside his backpack.

(1) swiss blade (looks). on his person.

(1) duct tape roll. inside his backpack.

(1) first aid kit: (1) sterilized needle, (3) aspirins, (10) band-aids, (2) gauze, (1) surgical tape, (1) small bottle of rubbing alcohol. neatly pressed in a small bag (looks). inside his backpack.

(1) compass (looks). usually in his pocket.

whenever possible he has a map of whichever location he’s in.

he tries to keep a jug of spare gasoline in his car whenever possible.

BASELINE INVENTORY | CLOTHES & ACCESSORIES (8)

steel toe combat boots (looks). worn.

2 extra pairs of shirts. 

jeans (looks) very worn, as well as torn.

canvas coat (looks) worn.

leather jacket (looks). 

spare underwear.

one spare pairs of socks, besides the ones he wears, in his backpack.

BASELINE INVENTORY | FOOD & EDIBLES (9)

2L water canteen. usually full. ** (looks)

(2) goya black bean cans. **

(1) b&m baked beans**

(2) chicken bouillon**

(1) progresso chicken noodle soup.**

(1) jar of peanut butter’s co.*

(2) hard tack packs.*

(1) fruit snack.*

* kept in backpack ** kept in car.

BACKGROUND / VERSE NOTES.

this information will be used interchangeably for any apocalypse/zombie themed scenario that presents themselves. hence i didn’t write about a single specific storyline.

charles is a rover and this is by choice. however, he does have alliances, most notably with the o’connell compound located in garnet, montana (click here for more information on it -- when i post it that is :^)). 

charles usually acts as though he has no set role; however, this is false: his job is to track other settlements and map out other places of the united states to see how they’re doing, then relay this information back to the compound -- hence the journal he has on hand. he usually winds up there once every two to five months, depending on how far he wanders off. he will also hunt down rare supplies, and outline “no-go” zones, either because the place is swarmed or because the settlements are hostile. 

this information is normally used with the purpose of establishing communication between the settlements, if charles deems it useful and favorable. this goes back to whether he finds the settlement in question trustworthy and reliable. not all of them cut it. 

otherwise, he will never disclose the existence of the o’connell compound. you could set fire to his leg and he wouldn’t do it. 

exceptions are only if he finds you alone and you’re a child. he will try to take you back to the compound so you’re safe.

in this verse charles is 49, and still a father. cael derane is 20 and living in garnet. he’s a trained medic and occasionally will tag along for specific situations.

charles is unfriendly and does not like to work with others but he is pragmatic first and foremost and if you present yourself useful then he will consider forming an alliance for however necessary he deems it. again, the presence of children and young (his kid’s age, basically) people does a lot to sway him. he is very fatherly.  

[tobethefairybest]

A Match made in Hell - Chapter 4

Click here for chapter 1

Cana threw out most of her bags down on the train station's platform. She didn't even take the effort to look around the beautiful station. All she could think about was the fact she wished this mission was over already. She'd even give up drinking for a week if she could only skip these upcoming seven days.

"Man, I'm so glad that ride is over," Mest said as he stretched out his arms over his head. He glanced over his shoulder to his job partner, who had just stepped onto solid ground again.

"Aren't you?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

It was weird to see her so lost in thought. She was always very wary of her surroundings, but now she just stared into nothingness. The thought of turning around and asking her what was wrong crossed his mind for a split-second, but he decided not to. After all, she didn't choose to team up with him so he had to avoid making things worse.

"Excuse me," they heard a male voice say. They looked to their left and saw a rather plump and short gentleman walking up to them. "Are you by any chance the Fairy Tail wizards I've requested?"

Mest pulled up his sleeve to reveal the crimson red guildmark on his upper arm. "We sure are!"

"Wonderful!" The man reached out his arm. "Let me introduce myself, my name is Tiresias, Tiresias Black."

The transportation mage shook his hand. "I'm Mest, Mest Gryder."

"Nice to meet you," Tiresias said and turned to the right to shake the card mage's hand, "and you are?"

She absently shook his hand. "Cana's the name. Cana Alberona."

"So, Cana and Mest, eh?" he said and put his hands together, "That's just wonderful. It's beautiful to see the younger generation of wizards takes on jobs now."

Cana had to keep herself from rolling her eyes. She was on edge and it wouldn't take much more to make her snap.

The merchant reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a small, neatly folded map. "On this map, I've drawn the exact way to the merchant route and the place you'll stay for the next week." He pointed at the meandering red line that crossed the piece of paper. "I don't expect you will make it in one day so I've made sure to contact the owner of an inn that's on your route. You can stay there tonight."

He handed over the map to Mest, who carefully put it in his pocket. "Anything else you'd like to know about the job?"

"Yeah," Cana said, to Mest's surprise. "Is it guaranteed that we'll encounter the bandits? I mean, I'm not gonna survey all day and night with this—" she pointed to Mest, "—by my side, if there's nothing else to do."

"Hey, come on, Cana! I know I'm boring, but could you please at least try to be a little nicer to your job-partner?!" Mest blurted out. He knew it was a bad idea to raise his voice at her, but he couldn't take this humiliation any longer. "This wasn't my idea either!"

Cana's eyes widened in surprise. She had never seen him like this and she didn't expect him to snap either. "If you don't want to team up with me so badly, why don't ya just transport yourself back to the guild?! Crybaby!" the card mage backfired.

"I would if I wanted to, but unlike you I don't disappoint my clients!" he yelled back at her as he took a step closer.

She felt the anger inside her mix with all the stress she had built up over the past few hours. It all mixed into a dangerous soup of rage that boiled within her, ready to come out.

She took a step forward as well, grabbed the collar of his vest, and pulled him down to her own height. "One more insult and I'll burn your hair off with my cards," she hissed as she looked deeply into his widened eyes.

"Come, come!" Tiresias tried to calm down the fighting mages. "Let's not harm each other before harming the thieves, shall we?" he said carefully as he forced a smile.

Cana let go of Mest, turned on her heels, and walked away from him. "I'll just go ahead. I don't need a worthless partner to fulfill this mission anyway."

Mest and Tiresias exchanged a glance. "Ehm, young lady," the merchant carefully said.

"Yeah, what?" she asked as she looked over her shoulder.

"I don't doubt your sense of direction, but the route is over there," he said as he pointed in the complete opposite direction. Behind him Mest grinned as he held the map next to his face.

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

"It's getting dark, are we almost there yet?" Cana whined.

Mest looked at the map. The inn shouldn't be far away according to it. "Just a hundred more metres."

"Why can't you just use your stupid magic to teleport us there?" the card mage said.

"I can't. I can only transport back to places I've physically been to before. And the longer the distance, the more magical power it requires."

"Tch, you really are worthless."

He almost had to bite his tongue to keep himself from snapping. "Hold on Mest, you're almost there." he repeated silently to himself.

Suddenly it hit him—the thing that he had tried to remember since the train ride—he still didn't have his bags of clothing and food to survive this week. There was just one way to retrieve all that from his home in Magnolia. He stood still and closed his eyes. Cana couldn't see him properly and bumped into his back.

"Bastard! Don't just stand still when I'm walking behind you, what the hell are you—"

Her words were cut off by the realisation he wasn't standing there anymore.

"M-Mest?" she carefully said as she looked around, but she couldn't see him anywhere. "Y-you can't be serious, right? Did really just freaking leave me just because I called you worthless?!"

She raised her voice, "That's fine by me! I wanted to do this on my own anyway!"

She inhaled deeply and with big steps she continued walking. But which way did she have to go? The path was barely visible as it was getting darker and darker. The silent forest had started to rustle and the wind was getting stronger. Cana felt her skin form bumps and took off one of her bags to pull out a jacket.

As she kneeled down, she looked around one more time. There was no orientation point and she could hardly see the outlines of the trees that surrounded her. She was lost. She hated to admit it, but she couldn't do this alone. She put on her jacket and sat down, leaning her back to one of the forest's trees.

"What am I gonna do now?" she asked herself. "If I just walk around I'll get lost, but if I stay here nobody will ever find me. I can't just stay the night here."

Suddenly, she heard the sound of branches being cracked not far from where she was sitting.

"Who's there?!" she yelled as she jumped up. She could feel the adrenaline rush through her veins. It couldn't be, right? There couldn't just be creepy creature trying to attack her right at the moment she was left alone.

When she didn't get a response, she didn't hesitate any longer and jumped into the bushes where the sound had come from. Her body hit something heavy followed by a scream of what she had hit. Cana looked down at what she had tackled, and in the heavily dimmed light, she could distinguish a face, one with a huge scar covering the right side.

"What the hell, Cana! What was that for?" he groaned as his face contorted in pain.

"Mest?!" she exclaimed as she immediately jumped off him. "Where were you? I thought you had left!"

"I was just picking up my bags," he said, still slightly panting because he had used up too much of his magical energy.

The card mage let the information slowly sink in. "You let me think you left me alone, bastard! I'm so sick of your mag—"

"Wait," he said and lifted his head when he spotted something in the distance. "Is that light over there?"

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

The Inn was small, but probably capable enough of hosting passerby travelers. When Cana opened the big wooden door, a big man already stood in front of them.

"Welcome!" he said. "You must be the mages Tiresias contacted me about! Come in, come in."

Mest put down his bags next to the bar and Cana carelessly dropped hers at a random place at the floor.

"My name is Doranbolt," the man introduced himself as he shook Mest's hand.

"I'm Mest," he said back. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the brunette had already dragged herself to the bar. "And that girl over there is Cana." He sighed. "I don't expect much from her as long as she keeps that attitude, so I'll bring all the bags upstairs," Mest said as he started to lift the bags onto his shoulder.

"Your room is up the stairs, the second door to the right," Doranbolt informed him.

Slowly, he managed to drag all the bags upstairs. It sure was a lot they had to bring along for going away for a week. He was annoyed by the unnecessary weight of bottles that Cana had brought along, even though she had drunk several of them already.

Finally he arrived at the room the inn owner had pointed out. He used his back to open the door. It was dark, but in the middle of the room he could see an oil lamp. He dropped all the bags into one pile and lit the wick.

The room was now weakly lighted and he could distinguish a table, a few chairs, a wardrobe and a single bed. He held the lamp to the other side of the room to see where the other bed was.

But there was just one.

"This can't be true," he thought as he planted a hand to his face.

"I think there was a misunderstanding about the room," Mest said as he quickly came down the stairs. "There is just one be—"

He stopped running as he realised how bad the situation he was witnessing: Cana laying on her arms flat down on the bar. In front of her were two empty bottles of wine. She looked up when she heard the noise of him walking down the stairs. The card mage turned her head towards him.

"Ish that you Mest?" she said, obviously already tipsy. "Why dontcha come ovher here? The wine is amaaaazing~"

Oh, how much he wished he'd stayed home this morning.

If you want to continue reading; it’s here on FFnet and here on AO3

[musingsofazumbamind]

9 Tips for 9 Days Out: The Road to #zincon2019

Treat these 9 tips with a caveat of “if you want to”... these all have purpose for me but may not be the right “to do list” for you.

1. Do they know you’re leaving?

Tell or remind colleagues at work and your boss which days you will be gone

Call your bank and credit card companies, who may already know from your purchasing habits that you will be taking a trip but the clarity is important. You really did buy that costume including the bow and arrow set on the same day you bought a flight to Orlando.

Remind your significant other, children and dog that you will be going away for a few days and it’s important!

2. Fill a bunch of buckets now!

Give 200% in your classes, they are going to miss you while you are gone!

Remember and specifically pay into the Love Language of your significant other or most needy friend. Are they Words of Affirmation, Gifts, Quality Time, Physical Touch or Acts of Service? 

Get in the pool with the kids! Do the fancy box braids now! Try the science experiment that came as a gift for Christmas. Treat the kids as a priority before you prepare for ZinCon, especially if you are a parent who “never does this”.

3. Consider your transportation.

Flight, train, bus all set?

Need an app to get around Orlando, like Lyft or Uber? Download it now.

Take a look at who is helping you get from the airport to the hotel. I suggest Mike or Patrizio, they also take you to a grocery store before the hotel, their contact information is in the files of the Official ZinCon Group on Facebook. (Did you already join the official Zincon Facebook group?!?!)

Take a look at who is dropping you at the airport and bringing you back home, sore and exhausted. Consider how you might remind them gently now that they are doing this, and think of how you will thank them when the time comes.

Will your transportation accommodate you buying food at a grocery store, or will you buy fresh items from the Walgreens across the street or the Publix about a mile away?

4. This week is the time to print!

Tickets or itinerary for flight

Confirmation for the hotel or other fun you will be having in Orlando

When the registration email comes, print your barcode and session handouts

Make a copy of your ID or passport for the front pocket of your checked luggage, just in case it gets lost

Pre-Convention or Post-Convention party tickets

5. Let’s talk about our health…

Refill necessary prescriptions

Bringing your c-pap machine to sleep (or other necessary medical devices)? Replace the tubes and face mask cover now.

Something aching? Call your doctor or nurse on call to ask questions. Questions over the phone are free!

Make necessary appointments, especially if you need to make them for medicine refills

6. Make THE LIST and start packing. You will need at least one, large, functional and wheeled piece of luggage.

With printed #zincon itinerary in hand, treat each segment of the day as a reminder of what you will need. Each session, masterclass, training or party will need:

A dry outfit meant for movement (I have 9 segments not including Fitness Concert and Theme Party, so I pack 9 outfits and buy 1 outfit at the Zumbawear store)

Socks (if I pack this way for my particular schedule I end up having 10 pairs)

Underwear (if I pack this way for my particular schedule I end up with 12)

Appropriate shoes (I pack 2 different fitness shoes for session, 1 functional sandal/between sessions shoe, 1 nice but comfortable pair of dressy sandals for the afterparty

Accessories (i.e. soca sessions ask you to bring a bandana or flag; #jamjunkies like bringing highlighters to the sessions; Theme Night will need all the layers and fun items for your costume)

A way to carry small items, especially at the Fitness Concert where backpacks are not permitted. I use a hip belt for running that fits along my waistline. Some folks have a wrist pouch for just their room key. Or yes, invest in a fanny pack that you only use 1 night a year!

Having the play-by-play of what those 4-5 days will include will give you a sense of space in your luggage. You may want to leave room to purchase those daily outfits or shoes at Convention, especially if your costume (including a wig or wings or crossbow that takes up space) can be thrown out or left in the room. I always leave space for the one outfit I will buy and wear at Convention.

I know folks who hand wash some of their belongings and drip dry them at night to make room in their luggage. Maybe ask your roommates if they mind you doing this as it takes up space.

Leave room for what you know you need to purchase. Things like:

Souvenirs for your people and/or pets

Clothing or items from the Zumbawear store. Not just for yourself-- some folks might send you on a specific mission to buy what comes out that week! You may want to check the outlet store for giveaway items for folks in your classes. 

If you aren’t comfortable traveling with a certain something, just know it will cost at least 50% more in Florida. (I ALWAYS pack my sunscreen but some folks don’t like doing that for fear it might explode in flight. My favorite brand costs $24 in the hotel store, so it just makes sense to bring it for me.)

Many folks like ZJ Ria from Michigan and ZJ Court from Arizona pack each segment in its own gallon sized Ziploc bag and mark it with the day and session where it will be worn.

I always make my carry-on the “One Happy Day in Florida Bag”. It holds my small purse with a credit card, medicine, makeup, ID, a swimsuit, fitness shoes, socks, underwear, reading material and my phone and phone charger and I ALWAYS wear Zumbawear on the plane. It’s a conversation starter for sure! I feel like I could purchase, or have help from Home Office, for anything not packed in that bag.

7. Outside of your daily packing for Zincon itself, take a look at what you need to THRIVE. I pretend I’m living in my normal day for that.

Vitamins & meds

Water Bottle

Deodorant, light-smelling body spray, body wipes

Shampoo, conditioner, dry shampoo

Toothbrush, toothpaste, floss

Hair brush, comb

Flat iron, bobby pins

Makeup

Sunscreen, hat if you want more coverage from the sun

Fiber, tums, ibuprofen

Functional shoes like running sneakers or athletic sandals for wearing between sessions

Shoe inserts or toe separators, whatever brace your ankle needs while you sleep (if you use them, definitely keep using them at Convention!)

Backpack (if you use the one we all get in our free swag, be sure to label it very specifically as yours--bandana on the loop, giant tassels, loud key chains)

One sweatshirt or light jacket -- the OCCC is the coldest building in all of Florida, especially when you’re sweaty!

Notebook & pen or some other organizational system like your ipad or a binder and markers

Pajamas

Something from home to help you sleep. Melatonin? Your diffuser? A pic of your family? A stuffed animal? A symbol of your faith for stillness and meditation? Every day will be exhausting in the best way, and although your body will say “SLEEP” your brain may still be racing.

Swimsuit

Sunglasses

Chargers and devices, I especially like wearing a Fitbit at Convention but I have actually forgotten the charging brick. The step counts are insane! Get ready!

One non-athletic outfit. At some point a sundress or a t-shirt and shorts will feel really nice!

*Note* If you are heading to a club at any point, maybe the pre- or post-convention party, consider non-athletic wear especially where you feel confident and comfortable. Many clubs will not allow you in if you are wearing Zumbawear.

8. Consider all your plug items or devices. Ask yourself the following questions:

If I LOVE to take pictures, which device will do that and does it have the space for 1,000 pictures? If not, start deleting and backing up as necessary.

Do I need batteries for what I’m bringing and do I have those batteries? Think of your white noise machine, your electric toothbrush, your portable hair crimper…

Is this something I need to THRIVE for only 4-5 days of a fitness convention? 

Is a roommate already bringing something on this required list? Some roommates plan each “required” item--one friend brings the blender, one the K-cup coffee maker, one the mega box of K-cups and one the flat irons.

*Note* You can look online to see what your hotel includes. Some already have small coffee makers, hair dryers, a fridge, toiletries and irons.

9. And now, time to recover! Wait, what?

Convention is a whirlwind, a neon-filled Disney for the happiest and most passionate fitness instructors in the world. What will you need to start each day, end each night, with positive intentions?

Foam roller

Essential oils

Ice packs

Yoga mat

Emu oil, Biofreeze, Tiger Balm, Icy Hot or other topical creams

STRETCH now, especially your neck, and get it ready for looking upward at tall stages or getting “Apeshit” in the Beyonce session. Stretch each night at Zincon before bed and again in the morning if you can. There are also mindfulness or yoga opportunities in the mornings before sessions start--check your badge for the location.

ICE and be smart now, because whatever aches today will ache exponentially in Florida.

FINISH what’s hanging, like your Theme Night costume, the puzzle on your coffee table, the giant project for work or those haircuts for your kids. The less on that reality To Do List, the more open your brain will feel for Zincon.

REST and RESET now, as you can, because learning, loving, hugging, smiling, listening, moving and feeling all deplete your emotional and physical stores. But also, learning, loving, hugging, smiling, listening, moving and feeling will refill your quality of instruction and energy for the rest of the year. It’s absolutely worth it!!

See you soon, #zinmembers!!

[samedifference61]

A Borrowed Interlude

Gingerpilot | ~3900 words | Explicit |  Read on AO3

Written for @lingeriewarsweek: Day 4: rosy pink/peach. 

For your reference, this is what I had in mind while writing, just in a slightly different color. (link contains lingerie photos)

Summary:

Hux doesn’t dare look at the color, not here, not yet—but he wants to, only second to feeling it slide along his skin.

“Do you like it?” Dameron asks, voice pitched lower, and Hux can’t look at him—won’t, because he knows what kind of suggestive, half-lidded leer he’ll receive in return.

“Do you have what I need, or not?” Dameron holds up the silver data chip the size of his fingernail, smiling with entirely too much bravado. “Because this contains exactly what you want.”

“I have it.” Hux produces a data chip of his own and places it on the cantina table between them. “Why are you looking for this man?”

Hux gets the impression this trade of intelligence between their respective corners of the galaxy is far from even, but he still has a choice in giving up what Dameron wants. Hux had never heard of this man Dameron is looking for, someone by the name of Lor San Tekka. With what Hux could gather, it seems he’s an aging Jedi sympathizer and a grifter. The kind of loathsome wanderer existing without purpose in the Jedi’s absence.

“I’ll tell you why,” Dameron draws out, flipping the data chip between his fingers, teasing. “When you tell me why you need access to Empire construction droid schematic diagrams.”

“Because I don’t have access to them,” Hux answers. It is true. The fledgling First Order doesn’t have access to old Empire records, and everything they do have was taken back from the New Republic in some way. What he doesn’t say is this information will likely cut their estimated time of completion for Starkiller in half. “I’m building a prototype droid and it’s easier to use working documents than to start from nothing. Those schematics never belonged to the Republic.”  

“Right.” Dameron rolls his eyes in disagreement.

Dameron is no friend to the New Republic either and is never shy about goading Hux into debating their opposing political viewpoints. He usually wears his disdain for the former glory of the Empire on his sleeve, but he doesn’t push Hux on it this time. He must be after something else requiring Hux’s good mood first.

As if on cue, Dameron slides a small, lumpy package wrapped in brown paper and tied together with red string across the cantina table. Hux leans back, eyeing the package with suspicion. This isn't part of their agreed exchange. If it contains what Hux thinks it does—

Dameron raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Got you something else to remind you of me when I’m across the galaxy.”

Yes, it’s definitely what Hux thinks it is. Even as his cheeks start to color with Dameron’s sudden shift toward the familiar, he hisses, “I told you not to bring me any more.”

It's hard enough trying to hide the gifts Dameron has already given him. The more he has, the more difficult they are to conceal, and the greater the chance of getting caught with them in his possession. These gifts are never anything Hux would have access to in the Unknown Regions, and go against the Order’s philosophy of rejecting personal effects or keeping objects of emotional value.

“Yeah, and when have I ever listened to you in the past?”

Unconcerned, Dameron stretches his neck and puts the data chip back into the interior pocket of his worn leather jacket. The cocky smile has softened into something more dangerous, something that never fails to get under Hux’s skin.

Never listened. Not once, Hux doesn’t say, still eyeing the package. He won’t deny his curiosity. Dameron is consistently good at surprising him with these gifts, regardless of how often Hux reminds him not to bring them.

Dameron tips his chin toward the package. “Go on. I know that’s what you really came here for.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Hux denies, but slides the package closer. The back alley cantina where they’re huddled is crowded during the midday meal rush, so Hux won’t be able to take the contents out of the wrapping, but he can’t wait either, anticipation already taking hold.

Hux unties the string first, then slips his fingers under the seam separating the two halves of the paper, gently breaking the sealed adhesive connecting the two flaps.

When he reaches inside, the fabric is soft to the touch, silky and thin. Hux runs it between thumb and forefinger and imagines it to be a gauzy, transparent material, something thin enough to show everything beneath. It was probably smuggled from the exotic Inner Rim trade markets of Naboo. Dameron teased about being there in his last encrypted message, three days ago. Hux doesn’t dare look at the color, not here, not yet—but he wants to, only second to feeling it slide along his skin.

“Do you like it?” Dameron asks, voice pitched lower, and Hux can’t look at him—won’t, because he knows what kind of suggestive, half-lidded leer he’ll receive in return.

“It’s adequate,” Hux whispers to the tabletop, trying not to be obvious about surveying their surroundings for anyone giving them extra attention.

Dameron huffs out a laugh and leans back, taking a sip from his oversized caf. Careful to let Hux linger in his own thoughts, Dameron shakes his head in disbelief when he puts the mug down again.  

“You know I’ve gotten pretty good at reading you in the last two years. You never say what you mean, and it used to frustrate the kriffing starlight out of me, but now? It’s actually kinda cute.”

Hux raises one eyebrow. “Cute?”

Slowly, Dameron pushes the ceramic pot of caf aside and slides forward on his elbows until he’s close enough to speak soft, conspiring words only meant for the two of them.

“You heard me." Eyes never straying, Dameron picks at the string on the package.

While Hux is too stubborn to look away, he does tilt his chin in defiance.

Dameron unwinds the string from the package, brushing past Hux’s fingers still hidden beneath the paper. Hux wishes they were tucked in the back of this cantina, not near the door where a pair of twi'leks are chatting just beyond Dameron’s shoulder, near enough to hear this, to see this.

Dameron weaves the bit of string around Hux’s middle finger, wrapping it in slow, even coils from knuckle to tip.

“Listen, babe,” he begins, and Hux knows whatever he’s about to say is going to make Hux hard, and Hux—Sith hells, he wants to lean into it, soak up every syllable, drunk on the cadence of this infuriating man’s voice. “I’ve got four standard hours left on this sad excuse for an outpost before my people start looking for me, and—” he pauses to tie the string into a tiny, efficient bow, securing it around Hux’s finger. “I plan to spend every second of those four hours pounding your cute ass while you’re wearing this pretty new outfit. Does that sound adequate to you?”

Instead of answering aloud, Hux wraps two fingers around Dameron’s and holds his gaze.

Fraternizing in secret with one of General Organa’s rebels could ultimately get one or both of them killed. Dameron knows this. Hux knows this and reminds both of them often. They watch what they say to each other, only giving specific bits of information—and this part is always only about sex anyway. These are the usual lines running through Hux’s head before he drops everything to trail across the galaxy to meet Dameron, and this time is no different.

Neither of them are delusional about how this will probably end.

Hux hasn’t put the gift on yet, is still admiring its golden rosy sheen on the refresher counter with all of his same clothes on from the cantina. He fingers the curve of the fabric, the delicate stitching along the bodice, the empire waist and thin straps. It’s almost too pretty to wear. Almost.

Hux wonders if he could be so bold to wear it under his clothes when he leaves for the transport. Maybe just the panties.

Arriving at the guest house room exactly ten minutes later, Dameron enters the room and shoves the refresher door open wide open to reveal Hux standing at the counter.

“Show daddy,” he teases, stretching wide to remove his black undershirt. His outer tunic, jacket, and boots are already absent, probably carelessly strewn about the room. Hux sighs. Getting Dameron to take anything slow is always a chore.

“You know that does nothing for me,” Hux says. Dameron’s fascination with getting Hux to call him daddy usually leaves him rolling his eyes or laughing, unable to take any of it seriously. He’s beginning to suspect this is the real reason Dameron does it. Also, Hux slipped up one time and actually did call him daddy. Hux can hardly take responsibility for his actions while Dameron is balls deep inside of him.

“Yes, well. I certainly indulge you. So you could return the favor once in a while.”

Dameron stands behind Hux, grinds his erection into Hux's backside while biting at his shoulder.

They are a sight in the broad mirror over the double sink, everything contrasting—hair, skin, height, body type, and most obvious of all—persuasion tactics.

“Up,” Dameron commands, impatient with Hux’s wavering indecision. Hux frowns but lifts his arms so Dameron can peel off the jacket and white, regulation undershirt.

And this, Hux thinks manically, is where they meet in spite of those differences. Skin against skin.

With his arms still around Hux, Dameron lifts the gift with little care and examines it, deciding how it must go on. There are little snaps at the back that he pulls apart, and a bow at the neck to create a halter.

“Careful,” Hux warns, taking hold of Damerons’ wrist when he pulls the bow too quickly, not wanting it ruined before they’ve even begun.

Dameron only gives him a knowing smile and raises his eyebrows to indicate Hux should hold the front of it to his bare chest. Dameron wraps it around his torso, and Hux holds it in place, heart beating fast while he snaps it down the back and ties it at Hux’s neck. It’s a little irritating to have him make quick work of something Hux probably would have taken another ten minutes to savor, but he holds still anyway.

When Hux catches Dameron staring, and Hux shys away, shivering.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Hux begs and concentrates on smoothing the sheer fabric down his front, already hard from the feel of it, from Dameron's eyes on him while he does it.

“Turn around, gorgeous,” Dameron purrs, and pushes until Hux turns, leaning against the counter with both hands while Dameron kneels. He presses a kiss to Hux’s belly before he eases his boots off, follows closely with Hux’s trousers and socks. The briefs are last, leaving Hux’s erection to tent the front of the babydoll, brushing against the soft material. It’s enough to get Hux to push forward with his hips, encouraging.

Grinning but not touching yet, Dameron reaches up for the second piece of his gift, a pair of thong panties in the same shade of blush with golden thread along the seams.

Gently, Dameron takes Hux’s ankle in hand and eases Hux’s feet into the panties before slowly pulling them up his legs. It's strange. Having Dameron dress him, and especially like this, is so unexpectedly intimate. They've never done it like this before.

Snapping the straps of the panties at Hux’s hips, Dameron says, “Don’t worry, baby. I can fuck you just as hard with them on.”

Hux nods, reaching forward to sink his fingers through Dameron’s thick, dark curls. Dragging his stubbled cheek along Hux’s hip, Dameron mouths at the underside of Hux’s cock, leaving the front of the panties damp and cool, then takes care to adjust them until they’re covering nearly everything. The head of his cock still strains over the top, but as hard as he is, it can’t be helped.

“Do you feel better now?” Dameron asks him, digging his fingers into the flesh of Hux’s ass, spreading his cheeks.

Hux can only let out a strained hum to answer, already heady with want.

“I have one more thing for you. In the front pocket of my bag.”

WIth his heart fluttering, Hux reaches into the pocket on the counter behind him. There are a pair of matching stockings wrapped around a familiar pot of lube. Hux hands both over with a swallow. Dameron takes Hux’s foot to rest on his thigh and rolls one stocking between his fingers so he can ease the first one over Hux’s foot. Hux wonders how he became so confident with female underthings. Thee stockings stop at his upper thigh, a sheer honey color that blends well with the gold thread in the other garments. He repeats the same slow roll of the stocking along Hux’s other leg, and ends with a careful kiss to the inside of each of Hux’s thighs.

“There,” Dameron says, satisfied. He gets to his feet, hands trailing all along Hux’s sides. “Turn and look at yourself, baby.”

Hux doesn’t want to, feels the embarrassment flush over his skin. He’s ready to protest, say something biting in return when Dameron turns Hux bodily before he has the chance to reconsider.

“Look at how gorgeous you are, blushing for it. I’m going to fuck you so hard, baby.”

Hux does look then. It’s always a shock, seeing himself like this—openly needing this, and getting it from someone so unexpected, but the embarrassment fades into a pleasant arousal that makes Hux feel heavy, drowsy and cared for. While Hux admires the fabric, the flush against his chest, the look of his hard nipples against the fabric, he leans against Dameron’s solid frame—stares at the flush of his cheeks, the hard outline of his cock, the flair of his hips at the delicate seam.

Dameron lubes up before reaching down to pull the thong aside so he can slip one finger inside. Hux won’t need much prep, but Dameron seems to enjoy opening him up with his thick, persistent fingers anyway.

Dameron pushes until Hux is leaning over the sink, cock trapped against the counter. Being taller does have its advantages, affording them a fairly easy vantage while fucking like this. Hux almost suggests the bed instead, but Dameron pushes in unexpectedly, shorts still bunched around his thighs, and Hux can only offer a hitched moan at the familiarity of stretching open around Dameron’s girth.

“So good for me, baby,” Dameron is murmuring against the back of his neck, spreading the edge of the babydoll up and over Hux’s hips to keep the fabric out of the way once he starts moving. “Do you let anyone else fuck you like this?”

“You know I don’t,” Hux breathes out, gripping the edge of the counter to keep himself upright once Dameron is moving steadily.

“Good. Tell me why,” Dameron demands, even when Hux knows he’s shaking for it, already trying to hold himself back from orgasm.

“No one else fucks me like you do,” Hux says, arching when Dameron pulls him back by the throat, straining the panties against his erection and sliding his cock deliciously against Hux’s prostate. “Don’t come yet,” Hux demands, reaching back to dig his nails into Dameron’s bottom to get him deeper, grinding himself backward when Dameron stills, shuddering out a moan at the new angle.

“Why?” Dameron asks, palming Hux’s erection to try to persuade him that coming is more important, and Hux recognizes that needy tone, knows exactly the ego stroking Dameron needs to keep him from disobeying, from coming anyway.

Hux locks eyes with him in the mirror, preening with the attention and completely abandoning any earlier embarrassment.

“Because I want to ride your cock.”

It’s hard not to feel so confident when they’re connected in this way. It's a high Hux always finds himself chasing when they’re apart—something he hates thinking about aboard the Finalizer because he can do little to remedy their distance.

Because everything is a negotiation, Dameron says, “Let me come. Then you can ride me.”

Hux eases Dameron free, and Dameron bites at his ear to hide his moan.

“No, I want it now.”

Dameron doesn’t like having his cock touched just after he’s come, so his proposal is an empty one anyway. Hux doesn’t say this, just leaves the room, taking the lube with him to the bed.

Dameron doesn’t let him get far, tackles him to the bed before Hux has a chance to make sure the curtains over the balcony windows are closed, distracts Hux with his mouth and a set of firm hands on either side of his face, ends up on his back with Dameron pushing into him again, twin groans shared between them.

It’s so good Hux holds on for awhile, lets Dameron work himself into a sweating, panting mess. Hux draws his knees up high along Dameron's sides, likes the feel of the stockings warming against his skin. Grips Dameron's biceps, feeling the build up in himself with the steady push against his prostate and the not-nearly-enough drag of his cock against the panties, the material of the babydoll caught between them.

When Hux can feel him getting close, he brushes his fingertips along Dameron’s sides until he pulls back, whining in protest. He's quite ticklish, and Hux is never afraid to use that as a weapon.

“Off,” Hux says, and Dameron eases off, flopping on his back, panting, ready to do as Hux asks so he can come. Hux gets up on his knees so he can slide the thong down his thighs, doesn’t want to ruin them with come.

“Stars. I don’t care. I’ll keep you hidden away in my bunk and we can fuck like this everyday.”

Hux hums, ignoring the flutter in his gut, always flustered when Dameron affects him with offhand platitudes. Instead, he concentrates on guiding Dameron’s cock back in, thighs bracketing Dameron’s hips. Dameron splays his palms over Hux’s stomach and under the fabric when he starts to move, digs his thumbs in to encourage a slower, rolling motion.

Dameron doesn’t warn him when he comes, just grunts and pushes his hips up to match Hux’s pace, and keeps moving even when Hux can feel the slide of come down his thighs, rolls the babydoll up to hold it under his arms, away from the wet mess. Dameron’s hand closes over Hux’s erection, encouraging him to follow. Hux dips into the abandoned pot of lube and slicks up Dameron’s fingers. Better.

“You’re gorgeous, baby. Come for me,” Dameron says, and Hux can’t help letting go, the tight pleasure uncoiling something innate, always ready to release itself when Dameron draws it out of him. He contracts around Dameron’s softening cock enough to earn a stuttered grunt, paints his fist and torso with loose streaks of come.

Hux leans down for a kiss, but holds Dameron’s slick hands away from the babydoll. He laughs, blissed out on his own orgasm, while Hux shrugs out of the top, frowning at how sticky it is with sweat. He leaves the stockings on.

Naked, he curls around Dameron, head resting on his chest while they both drift, breaths slowly evening.

“Don’t sleep,” Hux says when Dameron’s idle petting along his arm starts to slow, prods him with his toes for emphasis. They don't have much time.

“Just resting my eyes. I’m awake. I’ll be ready in a minute.”

This is something he indulges Dameron on more often, post-fuck cuddles. Hux isn’t tired but resists the urge to get up to have a smoke and shower while Dameron sleeps. It will give him time to decide how he’s going to conceal the gift in his jacket—or if it can be secretly worn instead.

There are always other ways to take advantage when Dameron is nearly asleep, loose-lipped and pliant. He has mixed results with this tactic, but decides to try anyway.

Hux yawns, stretches to make sure Dameron is listening. He wants his question to sound as casual as possible. “Do you know anyone by the name of Kylo Ren?”

“Never heard of him,” Dameron mumbles. It’s automatic and relaxed enough that Hux can't decide if he's telling the truth. Hux will have to push a bit more, unconvinced.

“He claims to be a descendant of Darth Vader.”

“The only living descendants of Darth Vader are his two children. Everyone knows that.”

“The Skywalkers. Yes. And Leia’s son?”

Dameron looks pained, like it’s a subject he’d rather not discuss, and especially not with Hux. That's fine. Hux won’t push his luck on the subject, not when his limbs are heavy with satisfaction and there's a pleasant ache settling into his muscles. It has been nagging at him though, the identity of his masked sometimes-rival. Supreme Leader Snoke’s new apprentice is an irritation to endure, sent to the Finalizer with vague, non-regulation orders and a habit of destroying equipment while terrorizing his crew.

Dameron sighs, keeping his eyes closed. “Ben Solo is dead.”

Hux nods. He’s either lying or doesn’t really know the answer—both are just as likely, Hux decides.

“I thought so.”

It’s clearly not something he’s able to brush off easily, because after a few minutes, Dameron cracks one eye open. “What does he look like—this Kylo Ren?”

“I’ve not actually seen his face. He hides it behind a mask. He’s my height and is humanoid. Among the most powerful force users I’ve come across. He—yields a red lightsaber with a prominent crossguard. Has a temper. A sense of entitlement that rivals his force capability.”

“Huh.” Dameron squeezes Hux’s forearm, frowning up at the ceiling. If Kylo Ren and Ben Solo are connected, this is exactly the kind of information the Resistance might find valuable. Hux regrets not properly thinking through this inquiry, but—maybe it matters little. Corruption by the darkside isn't reversible. Hux doesn't believe in most of it, the sorcery of the Force, but that much? That much remains true.

“Probably, we should forget we had this conversation.”

Even while he’s itching to know more, Hux is unwilling to spoil the moment.

“Yes, I'm inclined to agree.”

While they’re still dressing, Dameron presses the data chip into Hux’s hand, and nudges at the paper covering the gift once again.

“Next time, wear this one under your clothes.”

Hux takes the data chip from his pocket and exchanges it for Dameron’s, sits at the edge of the bed to shrug on his undershirt and pats the top of his head to survey how mussied it is.

“You think there will be a next time?”

Dameron just smiles. Hux loves the shape of his mouth when he smiles, wanting to believe in its sincerity. Leaning down, he presses a kiss to Hux’s forehead, then another to his mouth—soft, unrushed. A promise neither can keep.

If Ben Solo and Kylo Ren are connected and Starkiller’s speed of completion can be increased with the droid prototype—not to mention whatever the Resistance intends to do with the information on Lor San Tekka—this may be the last time. There’s a great shift in the galaxy coming. Hux can feel it, a tipping point both of them welcome in anticipation of reaching very different goals.

They were never meant to exist together in this borrowed interlude between the main events.

Dameron presses one more careful kiss to Hux’s cheek, and Hux slides his hand around Dameron’s neck to hold him there, nuzzles into his face just a moment longer. Hux gently whispers, “I’ll see you soon.”

A reassurance neither can believe.

In this rented lodging in a rundown outpost along the Inner Rim trade routes, there’s nothing left to say between a First Order General and a Resistance Commander—so Hux lets go, and Dameron nods once before turning away.

Read on AO3

[sarcasticdebate]

Water Your Plants to Make Them Grow

Pairing: Emori/John Murphy - AO3

Rating: G

Summary: Post Wandheda 1, Murphy sticks around Emori, mostly for the hell of it, but maybe also because he doesn't want to sleep and Emori laughs at his jokes.

He kinda wants to trust Emori. Not that he does, but he figures that if he expects to be betrayed then placing a little bit of trust in her isn’t the worse thing.

He leaves Jaha behind to talk to himself and walks up the dock, hands in his pockets, as casually as he can manage.

“Who’d you steal the boat from, Emori?” he taunts as Emori climbs down from the upper deck. She laughs, the sound coming from deep in her throat, and he wants to be mad that she isn’t showing even a hint of guilt, but he isn’t really. Whatever. Sometimes being angry about everything requires too much energy.

He steps onto the boat carefully. The knotwork keeping it tied to the dock doesn’t look particularly trustworthy, and the last thing he wants to do is make an ass of himself and fall on his face. Not that he didn’t do the exact same thing in front of Jaha today, but he’d rather not have a repeat performance; he still has his pride.

Emori’s brother, whose name he can’t remember—can’t even remember if he learned—is helping Jaha’s new friend load boxes and packs onto the boat while Emori leans against the ladder to the upper deck doing what he can only call supervising. And he can get behind loafing around while the others do all the hard labor, so he leans next to her.

“So, how’ve you been?” she asks, more teasing than conversational. He has half a mind to tell her to fuck off, but he shrugs instead.

“Shitty.”

She smiles, and maybe if the sun was out he’d be able to tell if it was regretful or not.

“Well, it nice to see you alive,” she says, eyes tracking one of the boxes in her brother’s hands.

“No thanks to you,” he huffs because he might not hate her but that doesn’t mean he can’t hold a grudge. “I thought the land mines were bad, but the sea monster was a nice fucking touch.” He doesn’t mention the bunker, that was all Jaha.

“No need to worry about that now,” she says, still refusing to be apologetic, “our boat’s too fast for him.” She pats the side of the boat and he nods, pretends that her reassurance isn’t as much of a relief as it is.

“We’re all set,” Emori’s brother calls as he sets a funky looking backpack down gingerly. Emori nods and climbs the steps to the upper deck and starts the motor. Jaha takes a position at the bow, doing his weird kneeling thing that looks monstrously uncomfortable; as the boat jolts forward, Murphy kinda hopes that he falls over and into the water.

“I’m driving Otan,” Emori calls, so that’s her brother’s name, “Get some sleep if you want.”

Otan ignores the suggestion and brushes past Murphy to climb onto the upper deck, clipping their shoulders. Murphy doesn’t take any particular offense, he’d be pissed off about being Jaha’s chauffeur too.

He follows Otan up onto the upper deck, even though it’s cramped, mostly because he doesn’t want to be stuck with Jaha’s tall henchman, who doesn’t quite look like a riveting conversationalist. Emori at least was nice to talk to. And he kinda desperately wants to be around real, nonvideo-recorded people who aren’t Jaha.

The breeze, at this higher level, is pleasant too, now that the boat’s chugging along. He’d missed it in the bunker. Fresh air.

Otan shoots him another dirty look, probably for interrupting whatever conspiring he was planning on doing with Emori. But Murphy doesn’t care; if they’re planning on screwing them over again, he’d rather know about it now, get in on it.

“So what’s the plan this time?” he says, interrupting a weird silent sibling conversation, “I don’t have anything for you to steal but this jacket, but I guess all that stuff Jaha’s having you cart around appeals to you.”

“It’s a nice jacket,” Emori says, leans a little closer like she’s inspecting it, “But you can keep it, we’re just the transportation.”

“Sure,” he says, then has to look away quickly, because it didn’t sound nearly as sarcastic as he meant it to.

Otan says something to Emori that he doesn’t hear because of the scarf that hangs over most of his face. He doesn’t know why he bothers; Jaha’s goon’s face is wacked out too, and he has it on full display. Then again, Murphy has ten regular fingers and toes and the shape of his face is pretty generic, so he probably doesn’t get an opinion. But if he did he’d say that Otan’s face wouldn’t bother him, tell Emori that he’d be cool with her taking off her glove. Mostly because he wants to see her hand again, he’s almost completely forgotten what it looks like.

Otan and Emori are talking softly now, and he purposely doesn’t pay attention this time. Even if they are planning to steal all this shit from Jaha, that’s not his problem anymore; hell, he’d probably get a good laugh out of it.

Plus, he kinda wants to trust Emori. Not that he does, but he figures that if he expects to be betrayed then placing a little bit of trust in her isn’t the worse thing.

“Keep, us on track,” Otan says, which he can’t help but overhear. Then he promptly returns to the lower deck, presumably to get some sleep like Emori had originally suggested.

“You know, you should get some sleep too,” Emori says, turning her back to the controls to face him. “Don’t worry, you won’t miss much.”

“I slept late this morning,” he says, as lightly as he can manage, but Emori shoots him a look that says she heard some of the bitterness in his tone. He shrugs. “I’ll keep you company for awhile longer.”

She turns back to the controls.

“Why?” she asks, curious, with the same tone of voice she’d used to crack him open in the desert.

He almost says because he has nothing better to do, but that’s crueler then he wants to be at the moment, and isn’t true anyway.

“Still one of the only people in the world who doesn’t hate me,” he says instead. She turns around to face him again, so fast that her long hair whips around her shoulders. She looks confused. “Unless I’m totally reading you wrong,” he adds.

She smiles again, and it should really be a crime, how soft her face looks when she opens herself just a little bit. He’d noticed it in the desert too.

“No,” she confirms, with an odd little half tilt of her head, “I don’t hate you.” She pauses, weighing her words. “And you’re not as angry as I thought you’d be.”

“Maybe I’m mellowing out,” he says and Emori laughs lightly, like she somehow knows him well enough to know that he’s constantly bristling on the inside. It’s weird, people are always more annoyed than amused by him, and they never try to understand him. “I get it,” he says more seriously, “You’ve got to survive, it was nothing personal.” The word bygones almost slips off his tongue before he swallows it, because he’s being sincere right now, and that’s a word for deception. She doesn’t hate him, and he’s determined not to screw that up.

And he seems to have succeeded somewhat, because she looks almost pleased by what he has to say. She doesn’t hate him and something about him makes her happy, sometimes. He really hopes that’s enough for her to want to keep him around.

He moves to stand next to her, so they’re shoulder to shoulder. There really isn’t much to see at night, just like she’d said, but the inky blackness of the water and the sky are probably better than whatever is in his subconscious that would greet him if he went to sleep, so he plans to stay up a little later. He leans forward, to feel more of the refreshing wind.

“He won’t miss it,” Emori says suddenly, and when he turns to face her he notices that she’s watching him closely.

“What?” he asks, planting himself more firmly within the boat.

“The man I stole the boat from,” she clarifies, then pauses. “You asked.”

He nods because he did ask, but not seriously.

“Well, the man we stole the boat from thought he got the better part of the deal, because he was too dumb to make it run, and too dumb to check that the bags of grain we gave weren’t filled with sand. I’m the one who put the light on it, and figure out to use the sun to make it run.” Pride colors her voice as she tells him the story, and he can’t help but think that it’s well deserved, he, a sky person, wouldn’t have been able to do that. “So it’s my boat,” she adds strongly, like she’s expecting a challenge, “mine.”

“Clearly,” he says, “I wasn’t going to fight you for it.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to win anyway,” she replies, and he’s inclined to believe her. “I just thought you’d want to know, the boat’s mine, fair and square.”

“Fair and square,” he repeats, and he gets that, the desire to own something when nothing’s been yours all your life. Thinks of the stupid knife he’d made, and how much it had screwed him over, and misses it a little. He supposes Emori wants him to know that’s there’s at least a little honesty in her.

The story could be a farce, of course, but he decides he’ll buy into her honesty. Not really a survivor’s move, but one that stops the bristling under his skin for a little bit. Emori smiles, seemingly happy that he understands her, and he smiles in return, only vaguely recognising that he’s so, so fucked.

[theaspiringwanderess]

Packing For The West Coast Trail; Essentials, Clothing and Food

Return to My WCT Story | Booking: Reservations/Transport | Clothing, Essential Items, Recommended Items, Optional Items, Food

You Don’t Need The Kitchen Sink - Trust Me

Packing is a BIG deal for the WCT. It’s a lot to pack and there’s the pressure of not getting caught without the essential gear while keeping it all at a manageable weight. My first WCT trek I vastly over packed a 53lbs bag! It killed my hike and was hard on my body and most of the extra was food I hated, which was the worst. My second time I managed 38lbs and it went down dramatically as I ate! I packed everything on each list below (minus the book which i forgot and the GPS which I didnt bring) and still kept it at 38lbs including my food. Always opt for the lightest version. Cut size where you can, even the smallest items eventually add up (ex. some people cut off tooth brush handles, I have a rain shell instead of a full jacket, a double foam sleeping mat is much lighter - but bigger- than a blow-up mattress, an ultra light single unit stove, etc)... One spork for all and all for one spork!

Clothing

The proper clothing is a key factor in keeping you dry, warm/cool and happy. It’s important to keep it light weight but you also must be certain it’s functional for your needs. In 2016, my sister brought a rain jacket she tested and thought was waterproof. A full day of beach hiking in pouring rain later, not only did she learn the hard way it was not, but poor girl was cold, soaked and shivering too hard to do anything but shiver. Be 100% sure about your gear. You also want to be selective about fabrics. Avoid cotton, which retains moisture, and feather/down which loses its loft (heat trapping ability) when damp. Merino wool is a great bet to stay warm and dry and is the best option for socks and sweaters. Synthetic, sweat-wicking active wear is light weight and dries quickly for the daily hike. I also prefer my leggings and shorts to have a zip-up pocket or two. 

I pack my clothing in a waterproof stuff-sack, and I put tanks in one small ziplock, underwear and bras in another, and pjs in a third so they stay dry, clean and easy to find. I keep a safeway bag for dirty clothing and my lesser used items at the bottom (towel, bathing suite).

I always pack my sleeping bag in a garbage bag every morning before it goes in my pack. In the event I fall in a creek... or the ocean?... it’ll add a level of extra water-proof protection. I also re-waterproofed my Lowa hiking boots for the first time ever... this is their second visit to the WCT after all. And, as a random side note, don’t plan to wash your clothes on the WCT. I’ve seen so many people make this mistake. Trust me, nothing that gets wet will dry. EVER. If you have a sunny day, air it out, dry it in the sun, pack it up in a ziplock.

It’s important to note everyone has different needs. You might be ok with 2 pairs of hiking socks! Or one pair of leggings... This is just what worked best for me based on the experiences of both my trips. Customize your WCT adventure-wear as you see fit ;)

3 tank tops, active wear / workout (sweat wicking, not cotton!)

2 pairs of leggings, active wear / workout (seat wicking and stretchy for flexibility and comfort with zip pockets)

2 pairs of workout shorts (sweat wicking and stretchy, w/zip pockets)

3 pairs of merino wool hiking socks

1 pair of wooly socks to sleep in (in case you get cold)

2 pairs of sock liners (major blister prevention technique)

PJs: 1 tank top, 1 merino wool sweater, 1 pair merino leggings or light weight sweat pants

1 or 2 long sleeved sweater(s) active wear / sweat wicking (to wear under your rain jacket or as a warming option in morning) *I took one, but in the event you’re sweaty or expect a lot of rain, 2 is advisable.

3 pairs of underwear active wear / workout (or merino wool if you want to splurge) *for women 7 panty liners (1 per day) to extend your underwear life.

1 bathing suite top (use a pair of used shorts for bottoms and you’ll double their use and wash them at the same time!) ... or dudes wear just your shorts of course!

Essential Items

*For your emergency kit it is extremely important to bring allergy and pain meds. Unexpected reactions and injuries happen all the time. On my Murtle Lake canoe trip, my friend had a terrible reaction to the abundance of mosquitos for the first time in her life and I myself, not having allergies, have come away from the WCT with skin infections and allergic reactions. On average 80-100 hikers a year are emergency evacuated from the WCT due to injury or inability to continue.

1 good hiking backpack with hip belt & chest strap & RAIN COVER

1 pair waterproof hiking boots high top - comfortable, already broken in

1 pair hiking gaiters (protect against ticks, bugs, keeps pants, legs and boots dry, shields mud!)

WCT Trail Map, Tide Tables (provided by parks staff)

WCT overnight pass copy (in a ziplock bag somewhere safe)

$160 minimum cash for water taxi, crab shack, chez moniques (in a ziplock bag somewhere safe)

1 pair ultra-light sandals

1 waterproof rain jacket

1 towel (very small, microfibre recommended)

bear spray

single size cooking stove (I love my jetboil flash lite)

cooking stove fuel for 7 days (2 small cans or one large 230 g can)

long handled spork (this titanium one is the shiznit!)

emergency whistle

emergency kit (gauze, medical tape, various sized bandages, disinfecting/antibiotic cream, a few tabs of common medications such as tylonel, asprin, allergy treatments like benedryl or reactin).

2 regular toilet paper rolls with cardboard tube removed (in a ziplock)

Fire Starters:

1 lighter & 1 flint striker (learn how to use it! This is a great video)

Dependable fire starter (2 or 3 tiny balls of dryer lint rolled with a small amount of unscented vaseline inside a ziplock bag work great in wet weather and will burn for 10-15 mins)

sunscreen

2 (1 litre) water bottles OR 1 bottle and a 2 litre camel back water bag

Water purification tabs (my go-to is Pristine brand). Ensure they are the 30 minute variety (not 1-3 hours). Alternatively some people use a UV light but this does require batteries and adds weight

tarp, lightweight

paracord (15 m or 50 ft)

2 carabiners, 1 that can hold 50 lbs, 1 small light (for random things)

1 sleeping bag, synthetic fill (ideally good for +5 celcius)

1 waterproof tent with rainfly (*I have a cheap 2 person waterproof coleman tent with a tarp bottom that I later bought replacement aluminum poles for. The poles made a 5lb tent a 3lb tent - impressive investment. I pack the poles and my friend the tent body = 1.5lb/each)

cell phone (I use my phone camera a lot so I brought 2 backup chargers. Solar charging is not an option given fog)

3 extra large black garbage bags and  

3 large ziplocks (for trash, as an emergency poncho, keep feet dry in wet boots, the uses are endless)

1 pocket knife

1 flashlight

sunglasses

closed cell foam sleeping pad or light weight blow up mattress pad

1 watch, battery or wind-up water proof or at least resistant - digital watches can get damaged when wet or expensive watches ruined)

1 poop trowel.. yes you read that correctly - the plastic kind

1 bug spray (there weren’t many bugs, lots of wind though!)

2 travel sized hand sanitizers (for covid & as well after nature’s call)

1 emergency blanket

1 small soap or body wash (environmentally friendly brand)

1 travel toothpaste & toothbrush [small]

gloves (fingerless mesh back type for weight lifting is best)

neck gaiter (*instead of a hat - can double as a hat)

Other Recommended Items

unscented lip balm... you don’t want to smell like a walking buffet

1 light weight sleeping bag liner to keep sand and dirt out (I prefer silk)

ball cap or foam visor *non-water absorbing (this can be worn on a sunny day or under a rain hood to keep rain off your face).

1 emergency plastic poncho

1-2 hair ties (it gets wet and windy and they double as pack ties!)

sweat band

baby wipes (good for cleaning your face, or dishes...)

a small book or time passer (don’t bring a giant novel)

Items I’d Consider Optional

rain pants (*optional as long as you have a long waterproof rain jacket. gaiters provide extra leg protection or if its warm don shorts! skin dries)

small camera with good battery life (not necessary if you use your phone)

pen and paper for notes or emergencies

small GPS or Spot satellite device

1 waterproof phone case (if you bring a phone)

1 extra light pillow (optional - i had one this time but usually use my sweater)

Food Recommendations

On the WCT you are expending roughly 3000-4000+ calories per day. That’s more than double the average 120lb marathon runner going hard for 2 hours if they ran 12 miles. You are Climbing, Hauling, Pushing, and your feet are operating at the agility level of “expert cat on steroids”. So, essentially you NEED the calories. But packing the right amount (and weight) of food is challenging. I’m happy to report this time I ate it all by the end so it was the perfect amount. If you find you are running low or forgot something, you might be able to grab it from the Nitinaht crab shack and likewise if you over pack you can leave extra food there for someone else. But please, do NOT leave garbage.

**Note, I must, must stress - DO NOT leave garbage on the trail. There is no garbage removal service. Parks staff do not remove it and with covid there are fewer staff in general. Garbage is a major bear attractant and you put others at risk leaving it behind. 2021 is a year with only Canadians allowed on the WCT and the amount of garbage was appalling.

The WCT, and island in general, is VERY humid. It’s best to bring items in individual packages, otherwise things clump or mush. On our first trip, my sister brought important medications that melted and became extremely difficult to take. My advice is to pack any daily meds you must bring in the plastic containers with individual days. This way if something similar happens to you, you can still be safe knowing the amount taken.

Additionally, I work with a very simple but effective system of ziplock bags. This keeps everything fresh, organized, and easy to find as you go. I have one large ziplock for breakfasts, one for lunch & snacks, and one for dinner. As I finish breakfast I move it to the bottom of my bear bag and put lunch/snacks on top for easy access and so on - Ta-da!

I consider lunch and snacks the same thing as we never stopped for a cooked meal mid-day. In 2016 my sister talked me into doing dried lentil dinners and it was the WORST (... for me, she loved it!). It made it hard for me to want to eat, which was a big set back. I have this vivid memory burned into my brain from our first trip of an adorable father - daughter duo whom we criss-crossed a lot. One rainy day he had her tucked up under a tree eating the most delicious looking meat and cheese sandwich and my instant thought was ‘awww, so cute... I’d kill you for that sandwich though...”. Who knew a sandwich could insight such murderous intent?!

My lesson learned was when it comes to physically demanding, multi-day hikes, pack healthy but also things you enjoy eating. I strive for light weight first and foremost. I love fruit but it doesn’t pack well, so items like fruit leathers work well. Real, individually wrapped, cheese sticks are a great too; by day 5 they get soft or oily, but they never go bad (harder cheeses like cheddar are naturally preserved), so I stick to 4 or 5 day cheese supplies. My ultra-favourite hiking snack - individual wrapped rice crispy squares! I pack 2 per day... and a couple extra for desserts! I never packed enough of each junk food to have one for every day, instead with treats I generally aimed to have 4-5 of each and mix it up. In between hikes, I also spend some time picking up and trying different types of nuts. Don’t get me wrong, peanuts are good, but after 4 days they get pretty boring. I often pop into a Winners or Home Sense store and look for enticing types of nut mixes and I’ll keep them in my car to snack on and decide if its a keeper.

Im also very careful about toothbrushing too because prolonged periods of hiking without proper dental care wrecks havoc on your teeth.

Ok! Down to the nitty-gritty! My dinner ziplock has 1 dinner for each night and sometimes a hot (dehydrated) dessert. And I have a small ziplock for items like my toothbrush, toothpaste, body wash slips, and anything else that might need to go in the bear bag. Again, I’ll preface this by saying its important to note everyone’s needs are unique and based on the experiences of both my trips, this is the food I packed.

Breakfast Ziplock

7-8 easy breakfasts (i pack 1 peaches & cream oatmeal for each morning and an extra in case we missed the bus).

coffee - starbucks via’s have been my favs! but nescafe also makes individual coffees and a fab toffee nut cappuccino option!

sugar and powdered creamer (individual pkgs) & tea in a smaller ziplock

a smaller ziplock for toothbrush/paste, body wash etc

Lunch / Snacks Ziplock

bag of beef jerky

individual (real) cheese sticks (usually cheddar, or a hard variety works best, soft cheese goes bad faster)

a few bags of different varieties of nuts (*lemon sea salt almonds, tamari nut mix, cilantro lime cashews, Dare brand Vietnamese coffee flavoured macadamia nuts)

2 bags snack sized hawkins cheezies

5 individually pkgd M&M’s chocolate & oatmeal cookies (*the M&M cookies were crumbly, the oatmeal squished but stuck together!)

16 Rice crispy squares - my ultra-fav hiking snack, individually wrapped (2 per day + couple extras)

4 fruit leather bars in a smaller ziplock

4 snack sized oh-henrys in a smaller ziplock

2 bags Stinger caffeine gummies & 2 capsules Nuune electrolyte/caffeine tabs in a smaller ziplock

Dinner Ziplock

1 dinner for each night and sometimes a hot (dehydrated) dessert

Presidents Choice brand (bagged) vegetarian chili *this was a new try for me, normally I advocate for dry only food because wet is messy, can leak, is heavy and can go bad fast. BUT! I ate this the first night on the trail so it was gone quickly, and it stood up to the abuse and was only $3!

AlpineAire potato cheddar soup (dehydrated) is my fav dinner. fast, hot, make in the bag, and tasty!

2 Stove Top brand stuffing; cut a small hole, let out the air, retape. write water and instructions on the bag. Throw away the box. (*mix with 1 pkg gravy)

1 Instant mashed potatoes; cut a small hole, let out the air, retape. write water and instructions on the bag. Throw away the box. (*mix with 1 pkg gravy) - FYI this is a BIG meal, make only what you can eat or bring a smaller amount if you cant eat the whole thing.

3 pkgs reduced salt gravy mix

1 Nomad Nutrition vegetarian shepards pie dehydrated meal.

1 dehydrated dessert hot option (maple rice pudding this time!)

Return to My WCT Story | Booking: Reservations/Transport |

[bluesakura007]

What She Had To Do - Chapter 1: How to Defrost a Cryotube - Khan Noonien Singh x OC

Summary: Two years after the events of the alternative sad ending of Undeniable - after Khan Noonien Singh was sealed away in an eternal sleep - commander Zinalya Hamilton isn’t ready to give up the man she adores without a fight, and has decided that she’s going to rescue him. 

Warning: Mentions of implied alcoholism

The afternoon sunlight, despite being cold and much more white than yellow, was nonetheless harsh despite being hidden behind a vast cloudy curtain. On a certain small island nearby, Lady Liberty, as always, stood proudly with her torch aloft as though she were watching over the surrounding lands like a mighty extradimensional being born to live solely as a benevolent overseer.

On the subject of mighty women, a young Starfleet officer was standing only about four feet away from the front gates of the facility known as Sierra-Lambda 3, which was owned and operated by this very same organisation. An officer with burgundy hair, glimmering hazel-green eyes and a few Trill spots going from the top of either side of her forehead down to her neck and then her toes, and who was currently twenty-seven years old as of the previous day; she also happened to be the very same woman who was a key individual in the court tribunal that took place a little bit over two years prior regarding a certain superhuman and the events of his quest for vengeance.

"Could you show us your transport order, ma’am?" A burly guard in front of her requested, a phaser rifle strapped to his back, to which commander Zinalya Hamilton - who was promoted several months beforehand - handed over a translucent rectangular data pad to him. Her current getup consisted of the grey jacket, skirt and peaked cap of her dress uniform with immaculately-polished black leather boots. After holding the pad in his left hand and scrolling down on it with his right to fully read over what was on it, a few seconds passed before he looked up again and nodded. "Okay." He pulled a smaller handheld device with a keypad out of his pocket, akin to a tricorder, and entered several passcode keys on it, upon which the gates smoothly and gradually slid open from the middle, in the same way as the doors of a turbolift.

You see, these contents of the data pad she’d just handed over were forged orders from a higher-up officer, a Caitian named admiral S'toia, for the transport of a batch of photon torpedoes to Starfleet Headquarters for further research, complete with the equally fake required signature from the above-mentioned admiral. 

The reason behind this ploy was that Sierra-Lambda 3 was holding a specific something which she wanted, and from what she’d gathered there’d most likely be no way she would be permitted to take it - specifically, there was a man in the belly of that facility, stuck there like some kind of houseplant in a state where he could never age.

The guard, along with another who had been standing several meters to his right with his own rifle being actually held in his hands, both led Zinalya through the now open gates and across the wide tarmac path that led up to the actual entrance doors themselves. 

Her dress uniform, especially the peaked cap on her head, and the assertive way she carried herself which was the usual way she walked while on duty on the USS Enterprise all added together to make her look like a goddess of war right now. After all, this body language was most often needed during this on-duty times to establish herself as a dominant and combat-ready force due to her being the ship's chief of security, but the valiant look on her face which was used to match it was different this time: on this particular occasion, the fire in the gaze of her eyes was of a newfound craftiness. 

For the last year and a half or so, Zin had unintentionally but gradually given off the impression to those around her that she always had one thing or another on her mind, quietly ticking away underneath the surface encasing the cogs and gears of her brain. It caused most of them to become unsure of what she might be thinking about at any one time.  

"Sir, there's an officer from the Enterprise here to see you about an order of torpedo transport from admiral S'toia. It's commander Hamilton." The second guard, the one who'd remained silent during the exchange at the gates, said upon approaching the director of the facility, another Starfleet admiral called Nathaniel Fletcher. This man was inside the foyer beyond the the entrance doors, talking to two other men and a woman who were all dressed in form-fitting white tunics and matching trousers and shoes, the woman holding a data pad of her own under her right forearm and one of these two men being a Vulcan. "I've already just checked this order myself."

"Thank you Mr. Perez." Admiral Fletcher was a man in his early fifties with greying blonde hair and light brown eyes, who, like Zinalya while on duty, carried himself with an aura of confidence, but he was capable of the occasional instances for letting his hair down. "You're dismissed." He momentarily addressed the three white-clad facility scientists he'd previously been having a discussion with, who nodded before heading off to their duties, and then turned to hold out his hand with a courteous smile. "Nice to meet you, commander. Admiral Nathaniel Fletcher."

"And you too, sir." Now it was Zinalya's turn to show her own smile in the same manner as he reached out and shook his hand.

"Shall we go up to my office so we can confirm the transport?" He briefly motioned behind him, towards a set of stairs.

"Yes sir, lead the way." She nodded her head, after which roughly the next minute and a half was the time taken for the pair to walk up these stairs, into one of several hallways on the upper floor and through said hallway on their way to the office belonging to him, past several other scientists and security guards. 

Sierra-Lambda 3 as a whole was, Zinalya thought to herself without saying a word about it out loud, rather like a deep underground cavern, as it appeared to be windowless and it had a hefty size to put it mildly; additionally like a dungeon complex, which was an especially fitting image considering the fact that she was looking for an imprisoned man.

"So, you've been ordered to send this request on admiral S'toia's behalf?" Asked Fletcher a couple of seconds after they'd ascended the stairs.

"That's right. Do you know her?" The half Trill hybrid put forth her own question.

"She's more of an acquaintance, but we have met once, at a conference three years back I think. She was a pretty easy person to get along with - friendly but professional."

"I'll be sure to send her your regards." A light chuckle fell from her lips.

He also chuckled to himself. "Good luck with that, she might've forgotten who I am in those three years, and like I said, it's not like we've had other meetings since then, so it's not like there's any reminders." It was shortly after this when they made it to his office, as evidenced by the fact that this was the only door where he proceeded to step through into the room behind it. After they'd both entered, the door slid shut behind them again, and it was during this time when Zin managed to momentarily take a mental note of the photographs on the wall behind his desk, one of which evidently being a picture taken of admiral Fletcher and his wife on their wedding day based on the white dress this wife was wearing and another, slightly smaller one being of a pair of young boys around the age of ten or eleven. "Have a seat, commander. Can I get you a Jack Daniel's?"

"No thanks." Zinalya took off her peaked cap and held it next to her right thigh, and gracefully sat down in one of the two armchairs sitting opposite each other in front of the desk on either side. On this desk sat a computer with table between the armchairs in addition, and all of this furniture in the office was organised neatly, including the drinks cabinet on the side of the room she was facing, where Fletcher was retrieving a bottle of Jack Daniel's Tennessee whiskey and pouring himself a glass. She took another glance at the picture of the two boys and saw more details about the photograph in the process, such as them both smiling brightly at the camera in front of a colossal tree. "Are those your sons?"

"Hm?" The admiral was confused for a second until he turned around with his now half full whiskey glass and saw the photo that she was looking at. "Oh, yeah, they are. Twins. That picture was taken at the General Sherman tree in California last Summer - I had a little shore leave time sitting around, so my wife and I went over there with them for a week as a vacation."

"I’m actually in the middle of my own shore leave myself. Well, apart from this torpedo transport business for S'toia, obviously." She fondly recalled some of the memories of the last few days she’d spent with her family as she spoke, especially the ones from yesterday, March 30th, due to it being her birthday. "I spent some time with my parents in Canada before it came through."

"Sometimes the workload just wants what the workload wants." He jokingly shrugged in reply. "And going off topic, congratulations on your promotion to full commander."

"Thank you, sir. Captain Kirk told me that most lieutenant-commanders in Starfleet apart from commander Spock don't reach that rank until they've reached thirty."

"How old are you, Miss Hamilton?"

"I'm twenty-seven." Replied Zin amicably as, at the same time, he then sat down in the other armchair directly opposite her after putting down his now empty whiskey glass on his desk.  

"You've beaten that average age to it before the inescapable adulthood of that one fateful birthday comes along." Said Fletcher, just as lightheartedly as his previous comment that he'd given a few moments ago with the shrug. There was a pause for another of these moments. "I've gotta say, I'm kinda surprised you accepted S'toia's order and came here to Sierra-Lambda 3 of all places after the business with Khan Noonien Singh's court case in San Francisco."

She nodded her head slightly. "It was a little hard for me to come knowing we're basically sitting on top of where he is right now, but it's never a good idea to ignore an order, especially one from a member of the admiralty."

"That is true." He gave his own nodding in return.

"Still, at least this whole thing means nobody who'd want to hurt Khan can get to him, though. None of them'll get the chance to defrost that microwave lasagne." The woman once again chuckled jocularly, causing the same reaction for the admiral in front of her. And then, after a few more seconds and while leaning herself somewhat further back against the armchair she was in, she suddenly and without warning reached into a pocket of her jacket with the same hand that she'd been using up to now for holding her peaked cap. "Seriously, how do I defrost him?" Her hand emerged again, just as quickly, with a phaser being held in it that was aimed at Fletcher across the space between them, all while she was smiling sweetly.

He felt a surge of surprise at this abrupt development, as expected, but his eyes then narrowed by a fraction confrontationally - during their conversation just now, he'd gradually gotten a tiny inkling that she had an ulterior motive up her sleeve relating to this English-accented and black-haired Augment. "This must be what you accepting the order was really all about."

"Wrong: there was no order in the first place. I just picked S'toia's name for the bluff because she turned out to be one of the higher-ups on the jury who wanted the sentence he got to be agreed to." Zinalya still maintained the smile on her face while the fire in her eyes from a few minutes ago made a reappearance.

"So you lied your way in here to pull a stunt to get your boyfriend back." Said Fletcher with a stony expression growing on his own face. Underneath this, however, he felt somewhat uneasy without admitting it, as he could see very clearly that her phaser, still unwaveringly trained on him, was on the stun setting but no one particularly relished having a weapon aimed at them nonetheless.

"You make it sound like something to be downplayed, sir." Said Zin pleasantly. "Since it sounds like you know about the court case - obviously news gets around - I've got another fun fact for you: if I had to rate the events of my life, that day scored pretty low to say the least."

"And now you think that means it's an excuse for you to come in here and just take a convicted criminal, this is getting better and better." The admiral rolled his eyes in contempt before taking a moment to eye up his desk to his right. He kept a phaser of his own in one of its drawers for if and when he might need it, and he was weighing up how quick he'd have to be in order to get to it before the younger officer opposite him could fire her own.

"I wouldn't even think about it if I were you. I can drop you before you'd get the chance to do anything." She told him immediately after noticing his gaze to the side, speaking more tersely now and making him look back at her in the process. The smile which had previously adorned her face had nearly melted away to leave only a scowl, which was brought on by what she was about to say next causing her to recall to mind the pain of it. "If you were in my position and your wife was taken from you never to return, for example, I'm sure you'd be ready to resort to the same thing I'm doing now. It's really not nice when the person you wanna be with and who you essentially realise is the other half of yourself is stolen from you, Mr. Fletcher."

"Here it comes, the life story monologue."

The wildfire already blazing through her eyes doubled in intensity at this. "You're going to listen to what I have to say whether you like it or not, because after two years I'm sick of sitting around and waiting for a change that'll never come unless I do something about it. Two years of having to lie in bed on some nights fooling myself that maybe if I wait long enough he'll just walk right in through the door and say that he's come back. There was a long while soon after that actual day itself where every so often I'd think to myself, 'Things can't be any worse than this'." Despite her grip on the handle of her phaser tightening in anger, she was already beginning to feel like she was healing. She'd told Scotty and Pavel about these deep emotions of hers on some occasions when they'd come to provide her with comfort during the moments of despair she'd had, but it felt even better to this time vocalise it with venom and to a man who, based on his comments, appeared to have disregarded her feelings so far. "There was also a longer while where most of the time the key for me getting over it even for just a couple of days was at the bottom of a vodka bottle. To put a long story short, one of the only things I could think about back then and still nowadays was what could've been, and after they took him away to stay frozen here until God knows when, there've been no other men who I liked. Basically, the whole thing meant in the end that apart from my job I've had no other ambitions, no future, and no life."

"I sympathise with everything you went through after he was sentenced, Miss Hamilton. But threatening me with that phaser isn't going to accomplish anything or make it any better."

"Wrong again, sir." Zinalya retorted. "You're going to tell me how to deactivate Khan's cryotube and wake him up."

"Or else what, you'll stun me?" He said. "I'm sure you and I both know that'll defeat the possibility of me being able to tell you anyway."

"Three wrongs now. If you refuse to tell me, then I can stun you and look for someone else here who'll tell me instead; if you won't talk, there's still dozens of others here who might. The only thing that will have changed is that the task of finding out will have just been made slightly more difficult." Another pause briefly hung in the air. "I've got no intentions of killing you or anyone else, admiral, but I'm done with living this life where I've stuck to the rules and the man I like is still kept dead to the world."

The pause made yet another comeback. "Fine." After several seconds of his eyes flicking between her phaser, Zinalya herself and the distance to the door, Fletcher grudgingly replied with this word. "There’s a passcode for activating the cryo’s defrosting process, you can put it in on my computer and do it remotely from here, but to actually wake him up after that and complete the whole revival you’ve gotta do it on the tube’s keypad." He briefly smirked to himself at the last half of this sentence - there had to be no way she’d manage to make it all the way to the Augment tubes before security stopped her.

"Care to tell me what the passcode is, sir...?"

"It’s six zero two, hyphen, seven delta tau." Said the older one of the pair. "Then the tube code for fully waking him up in person is one zero zero, omega eight omicron, in that order."

"If you’re lying to me..." Said Zinalya in a somewhat quiet and ominous tone to make her warning clear.

"I’m not lying to you, those’re the real codes, and the tubes are in Hangar 2. Now let’s see how long your memory can hold on to all that, commander."

One corner of her mouth curled upwards ever so slightly. "Thank you for sharing." She then, instantly after speaking, proceeded to pull the phaser’s trigger due to not really wanting to risk Fletcher running off and telling the facility’s security personnel about the plot she was now in the middle of carrying out. 

Zinalya got up out of the armchair following this and walked past the now unconscious admiral to the other side of his desk, where, still keeping her weapon at the ready in her right hand in case anyone else walked in, she used her other hand for turning on the computer and then searching through the list of the seventy-three cryotubes. They’d all been given identifying serial numbers by Starfleet shortly after Khan was put into stasis, and for some time this was, effectively, the only thing she had to remember him by. A number.

After a little bit of scrolling through the list, she eventually found the particular serial number she was looking for, which she selected and then typed in the keys she’d been told for the passcode: zero, two, hyphen, seven, delta and tau. She did all of this as quickly as she could, so as to make sure she was out of there as soon as possible in order to ensure that she didn’t get caught, but without rushing it to the point where it was sloppy.

"Iadras, it’s me." She flipped open her Starfleet communicator, which was currently tuned to one specific channel that wasn’t anything to do with the Enterprise, and spoke into it.

"Go ahead." Said the man on the other end of the line, a fully Trill starship captain named Iadras Mirehl who’d agreed to let her use his ship as the metaphorical getaway car and had helped her with some parts of the actual plan itself after having heard of her plight.

"I’m in. I’ve found the right stasis tube on admiral Fletcher’s computer and put in the passcode to defrost it." Zinalya informed him. "I’ve got to head on over and press the right buttons for waking him up in person; apparently they’re all in Hangar 2."

"I’ll get the engineers working on getting the transporter lock on the other seventy-two tubes." Acknowledged Iadras. "Remember, as soon as you put in the chip, you’ll have twelve minutes to revive Khan and for the both of you to get out of there so we can beam you up with those others."

"And then if everything goes as we hoped, we can run like hell away from Federation space." She smiled. "I’ll let you know when he’s up and awake, and until then we should probably maintain radio silence."

"Okay, Mirehl out."

She reached into the same pocket from which she’d drawn her phaser a couple of minutes ago, this time retrieving an electronic microchip which contained a virus programmed by Iadras’ chief engineer. 

The virus would disable Fletcher’s computer - the object she was going to plug it in to - and a large majority of the facility’s security systems, providing twelve minutes of time before the backup energy supply would kick in and get said security system running again, during which the surge of this backup energy coming to life after the twelve minutes would be remotely fed to the transporter systems of Iadras’ ship via the microchip, therefore allowing them to penetrate the walls of Hangar 2 and beam out Khan’s Augment crew along with Zin and this man of the moment himself. The hangars of Sierra-Lambda 3, thanks to this facility being one of the especially secretive ones, had walls around them which blocked out other transporter signals apart from ones originating from Starfleet Headquarters.

As she held the microchip up in her fingers to look at it for a moment before initiating the rest of the plan, the smile on Zinalya’s face didn’t dissipate.

[affordabledeerhuntinginohio]

What To Bring - Camping (U.s. National Park Service) Sequoias

Thermarest's NeoAir XLite is a favorite of many through-hikers, and it's easy to see why. This three-season air bed mattress will keep you warm and comfy even on the rockiest ground, yet it packs down to the size of a water bottle and weighs a simple 8 ounces. I like that this mattress does not stint convenience in spite of the light weightthe fabric is extremely soft, and it uses a patented reflective ThermaCapture innovation to trap your body's warmth and decrease heat loss.

Sleeping Mat, readily available in a double size that's perfect for couples camping together. This mat has an R-value of 5.2, so you can utilize it even in the winter season, and it has 10-centimeter vertical side walls that make it seem like a genuine bed mattress. Best of all, this sleeping mat is self-inflating, so you don't need to waste your breath trying to blow it up prior to you can finally go to sleep.

Brief on area? Sea to Top's Aeros Pillow Ultralight lives approximately its name, clocking in at 2.1 ounces, and is little enough to fit in a pocket when deflated. The pillow is covered with a polyester stretch knit fabric that's relaxing enough that you will not miss out on a pillowcase. Got a little additional space in your pack? For just 0.5 ounces more, the Aeros Pillow Premium utilizes an even more plush fabric covering and is additional comfy.

Each pillow pumps up in simply three breaths and deflates in under a minute. Unless you genuinely want to sleep under the stars (and deal with any inclement weather condition that comes your way), you'll need a camping tent. An easy-up camping tent, like this one, is quick to assemble or to take down.

10 Must-bring Camping Essentials - Reserveamerica in Los Angeles

Mountain Requirement's Camp Chair loads down little for simple transportation, but assembles into a comfortable seat in seconds. Objective Zero's Crush Light run of solar power and can last for up to 35 hours on one charge. It collapses almost flat, so you can use this on backpacking tripshang it from your camping tent as a reading lamp or carry it to light your way on a dark path.

Even if you do not plan on utilizing your phone, this is great to have in case of emergency, as it has a built-in LED flashlight, compass, and whistle. If you're bringing food, you require to likewise bring a method to safeguard that food from wildlife. Even if you're not in bear nation, you'll still have rodents and other animals after your stash.

Or go for a lighter-weight odor-barrier bag like this one from Base CampSource, which eliminates any food smell and will not attract animals to your camp. These need to be hung off of the ground in bear country. Unless you're doing ready-to-eat meals, you'll require to bring utensils and pans for cooking.

This kit includes a folding camping stove, paracord bag, fire starter, and survival package for emergency situations. If you're utilized to starting off your day with a good hot cup of coffee, do not deny yourself of that in camp. Instantaneous coffee, like these sachets from Tandem Coffee Roasters, are easy to load and prepare in minutes.

Here's Everything You Should Add To Your Primitive Camping ... Lake Isabella

If you're remaining at a camping area with safe and clean water, where keeping your beverage cold is more of an issue than water quality, pack an insulated bottle like this one from Klean Kanteen. Headed to the backcountry? The LifeStraw Go Water Filter Bottle will give you safe drinking water quick. Don't feel like cooking while on vacation? There are a lot of tasty ready-to-eat meals these days that simply need boiling water to consume.

If no shower remains in sight, these Surviveware eco-friendly wet wipes are designed for "no rinse bathing and showers." Thankfully, they're unscented and hypoallergenic. Likewise, a little container of dry hair shampoo can help get rid of sweat, smells, and oilno water required. Hygiene is really essential while outdoor camping, specifically if you do not have a clean water source for hand cleaning.

Can't go that long without a shower? A small solar shower bag can be filled up and heated by the sun to offer you a fast hot shower. This microfiber towel dries up to 4 times faster than a regular cotton towel, and packs down really little. Coleman's Camp Soap comes in spill-proof sheets that are biodegradable and can be used for hand cleaning, showers, and meal washing.

Make certain you utilize safe and clean water when brushing your teeth, and pack a little toothbrush and toothpaste set like this one.: Constantly pack out what you cram in (even garbage), so don't forget the trashbags.: Badger Balm combines sun blocks and bug repellent into one helpful cream. Do not go outdoor camping without a first-aid seteven if you just utilize the bandages for blisters, you'll be delighted you have it.

Packing List For Camping With Babies, Toddlers And Young ... Lake Isabella

Caroline Morse Teel is still working on her outdoor camping packaging list - kern river ca. Follow Caroline on Instagram for photos from camp. Some evaluation products are sent out to us totally free of charge and with no incentive to provide a favorable evaluation. We provide our objective opinions, favorable and negative, and will never accept settlement to examine an item.

Some products are sent to us complimentary of charge with no reward to offer a beneficial review. We offer our impartial viewpoints and do not accept payment to evaluate products. All items are in stock and prices are accurate at the time of publication. If you buy something through our links, we may earn a commission.

Layering is the essential to staying comfortable while camping in fall. Pack layers of breathable, water-resistant clothes. Wool, fleece and artificial products will help keep you warm and dry. Avoid cotton clothes. If you're backpacking, simply know that extra clothing add extra weight. Some important items include: long johns, or base layers with wetness wicking residential or commercial properties fleece jacket, wool shirt/sweater or other artificial layer for warmth wind and water resistant external coat winter season cap-- for daytime usage and for sleeping gloves/mittens, plus an extra pair in case first pair gets wet winter jacket (even if the weather is forecasted to be warm) sturdy boots, with waterproof membrane extra shoes and a lot of additional dry socks rain poncho and rain trousers lots of modifications of clothing so that you can dry out wet clothes when required Other items to consider: Balaclava (face equipping) and down booties.

Every pleasure trip has three parts: the anticipation and preparation stage; the actual trip; and then the warm radiance of remembering the enjoyable after you return. When it concerns outdoor camping, the "non-fun" part of the adventure for any household is most likely the packing. What to wear? What to eat? Are we tenting, RVing or Cabin outdoor camping this time? Done correctly, packaging for a camping trip does not need to be stressful. both something to bring it in and a way to filter it. two alternatives are best; a lighter or wind proof matches. a pot to boil water and utensils.a tool beneficial for preparing your primitive site.blankets made from mylar are really beneficial for keeping warm, and light when packing.a convenience from home that's light enough to fit at the bottom of your pack.

Camping Essentials Checklist - What To Take Camping in the Sequoias

For your first primitive camping experience, it's probably best to prepare a weekend journey to a state park or national park near to where you live. From there, you can develop to longer journeys, week long backpacking or bike packing trips, and even month long ones. Most state parks, nationwide forests, and recreation locations enable what they call "dispersed" outdoor camping, or backcountry outdoor camping, indicating you may camp outside of the designated areas as long as you follow a couple of basic rules.

Do not reduce trees, or perhaps branches from the trees. Guidelines for primitive outdoor camping depend on the state you're in. For instance, New york city requires primitive campers to establish camp at least 150 feet from a body of water, road, or path. Make certain to check you state's law and policies when planning your journey.

" My alternative to using pro would be to drive back out to cell service." As mentioned before, backcountry outdoor camping is offered at a lot of federally-owned land areasmaking up 28% of the United Statesand comes with a huge bonus: it's most frequently complimentary, depending upon where you camp. Outdoor camping is totally free in numerous national parks, Bureau of Land Management (BLM) areas Wildlife Management Locations (WMA), and national grasslands.

As long as there are no signs that state "no over night parking" or "day utilize just," it ought to be all right to camp. Water is heavy to bring, however it's also the most essential thing for human survival. Many hiking backpacks have a pocket for a water tank or bladder. Carrying two to 3 liters is generally an enough amount for a basic primitive trip.

The Perfect Camping List For Your Family Los Angeles

Purification systems are essential to your primitive camping checklist. There are a number of methods to filter water. Personally, I have actually utilized the Sawyer capture water system on numerous journeys. This system includes collapsible, reusable mylar pouches that you fill with water. You then screw on the hollow fiber Sawyer filter, then squeeze the pouch to push water through the filter.

The Sawyer filters are lightweight, low tech, and don't take up much room. Another way of filtering water is to utilize filtration tablets. Many of these little tablets need a waiting period, ranging from 15 minutes to 4 hours, once dropped in a water vessel to allow the tablets to ruin viruses found in river or lake water.The Steripen is yet another way to filter water.

This method uses ultraviolet light rays to ruin germs and infections in water. You simply insert the Steripen, press a button, and upset the water with a quick stir. The Steripen cleanses 16 fluid ounces of water in less than a minute, and 32 fluid ounces in 90 seconds. It also turns itself off when water purification is total.

As far as showers go, infant wipes or body wipes will go a long way. There are numerous ranges out there, some of which are biodegradable. I use Goodwipes body wipes and Caboo Bamboo Baby Wipes. I invested three months bike outdoor camping across Central Asia, only remaining in a hotel with a shower as soon as every 7 to 10 days.

The Essential Camping Packing List For Outdoor Adventures Lake Isabella

Most any variety of hypo-allergenic anti-bacterial infant wipes will sufficethough some are more fragrant than others. I need to know, I acquired them in almost every town I travelled through for 10,000 kilometers. You can also rinse off in a stream, river, or lake utilizing naturally degradable soap like Campsuds. Often, an old-fashioned rinsing is all you require to feel revitalized.

In a lot of locations, as long as you bury your waste, you ought to be fine. A little trowel for digging must permit you to effectively bury your waste. Make certain to dig at least 200 lawns from the camping area, trail or water source. Dig a hole 6 to 8 inches deep, then fill it in when you're done.

Out in the backcountry, the sun is your good friend and your power source. There are a variety of photovoltaic panels offered, numerous of which can be connected to your knapsack to collect the sun's energy while you trek, which are a best addition to your primitive outdoor camping checklist if you need the extra power.

If you're out of cell service variety, however, you won't truly require to charge your phone, though. For some added safety, you might desire to think about bringing along a weather condition radio, to alert you of any inbound storm weather condition. Having a long-range walkie talkie with you is another clever resource that you may wish to have if losing cell service could be an issue.

27 Fun Things To Bring Camping - Crow Survival Sequoias

There are all kinds of solar powered lights and lamps offered for use inside and outside your camping tent. Biolite also makes a camp stove that transforms fire into energy that will power a light or charge a phone or GPS device. Regrettably, there are no Walmarts, Targets or corner store out on the trail or in the middle of a forest.

They're lightweight, compact, filled with calories, and simple to prepare. Simply include boiling water and, presto, you're obtained a tasty meal. Delicious may be a relative measure, however lots of camp meals will definitely please your cravings after a day of treking. Like whatever these days, there are numerous alternatives readily available.

Freeze died meals aren't the cheapest method to go if you're backpacking for extended time periods. Other less costly alternatives include mashers, pasta sides, and the food of option for bad college students all over: ramen. Primitive outdoor camping is not a specific science. Things alter. Weather takes place. No matter how prepared or experienced you might be, sometimes mom nature will throw you a curve ball.

And taking pleasure in the heck out of it. I tend to overthink things. A lot. During the 3 months I spent camping in Central Asia, I 'd often spend a good half hour to hour strolling around at our picked location to invest the night searching for the best spot to pitch my tent. kern river camping reservations.

What To Bring - Camping (U.s. National Park Service) Lake Isabella

Here are a couple of things to remember when selecting a site. 1. The flatter the website, the much better. If you are camping on an incline, place your tent so that when you rest, your head will be on the higher ground. 2. Make sure there are no sharp rocks, branches, pinecones, or other debris that may pierce through your tent.

3. While it's great to be near a stream, river, or lake, if you're in a state forest in the U.S., policy requires you set up a minimum of 150 feet from the banks. Also, it's constantly possible that it could rain and the water level might increase enough to flood over the banks and into your camping tent (vacation trailer rentals).

[the--blackdahlia]

Don’t Blink Chapter 21 (John x Reader)

Title: Don’t Blink Chapter 21

Summary:  When (Y/n) takes a simple haunting case on her own, she gets in way over her head. Being transported to the past, she falls in love with a young marine with a killer smile. The only problem is she knows his sons and his girlfriend wants to kill her, and probably knows about twenty ways to do so.

Warnings: Language

AN: I’ve got another one shot for this story I’m wanting to write, so that will probably be next

“Dean! Holy water! Silver knife! Now!” Sam called out to his brother. He kept his gun trained on the younger version of his dad standing in the doorway, keeping him away from (Y/n). Dean gave Rosie over to Adam.

 “Don’t come out until I tell you to.” He said. He took his flask of holy water and his silver pocket knife into Sam, stopping dead in his tracks at the person Sam was just moment away from shooting. “That’s…no. We burnt your body.” Dean said, shaking his head.

 “Hence the need for the tests.” Sam said. Dean nodded and flung holy water at John, but nothing happened. Dean roughly grabbed his arm and slid the knife across it, but still nothing happened. Dean stepped back, stunned, looking over at Sam, who slowly lowered his gun. (Y/n) walked over towards him.

 “John?” She asked. He smiled.

 “I know, I look amazing.” He chuckled. She reached up and touched his face before slapping.

 “Mom?” Sam asked. John raised a hand.

 “I deserved that.” He said, rubbing his stinging cheek. “She told me everything that was going to happen to us and I still went after Yellow Eyes anyway.”

 “Are we all really that stubborn?” Dean asked.

 “Yes!” Bobby and Cas called from the kitchen.

 “No one asked you!” Dean yelled at them. “The big question is, how are you here? We burnt your body, and you sure as hell weren’t in your thirties when we did it.” John looked down at the pocket of his jacket and saw a card sticking out of it. A Hannah Montana birthday card. He opened it.

 “It says “Thanks for keeping me safe. Rosie is a good kid. John and (Y/n) will find each other no matter what timeline or universe. I just wanted them to be reunited before heaven. See you at Rosie’s birthday. Gabe.”.” John read. “I guess that answers it.” Rosie managed to get away from Adam then and ran towards (Y/n).

 “Mommy, who’s that?” She asked when (Y/n) picked her up. John stared at the little girl. She had been just a little baby when he left.

 “Rosie, that’s your daddy.” (Y/n) said. “He came home.” Rosie looked around with wide eyes. Meeting her big brothers and her dad in all day was big news. Even bigger then when she got to go pick out jewelry for her ears at the mall with (Y/n).

 “My daddy?” She asked. (Y/n) nodded. She looked over at Dean for confirmation. She had just met him, but she knew that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her. Dean smiled at her.

 “He’s your dad, just like he’s mine, Sam’s, and Adam’s.” Dean explained. Rosie nodded and wiggled out of (Y/n)’s arms. She walked over towards John and looked up at him with curious eyes that had him breaking down in tears. He shouldn’t have gotten a second chance to be in her life, but he had. And he wasn’t going to mess it up this time. He picked her up and hugged her close.

 ****

 Things went well for a few days. Sam and Adam were still trying to get used to the fact that they were full blooded brothers, but Dean promised Sam that they were still brothers no matter what, and he would always protect him. Nothing had changed between them.

 John was getting used to be alive. Four years is a long time and John was struggling to adapt to the changes that had taken place in his absence. Rosie was happy to have people to play with besides (Y/n) and Gabe. Dean was the best at fairy princess tea parties. Sam read the best bedtime stories. Adam gave the best hugs.

 With this many people in the house at once, (Y/n) ran out of food fast. Cas teleported Dean’s car to them, and (Y/n) had her own. Putting Rosie in her car seat, they headed out for groceries. It was a little weird being in the restaurant together with the boys, and it was even weirder walking around Walmart with them in tow and Rosie sitting in the cart.

 They hadn’t had so much food in the house before. With it just being (Y/n) and Rosie, not much was needed. Cas didn’t eat, but all the Winchester’s and a Bobby did, which required (Y/n) to have to make a trip to Costco.

 “Mommy, can we go play outside?” Rosie asked later that evening. The boys were all looking through a photo album. (Y/n) smiled and led her outside to her rope swing. John watched from the kitchen, smiling lovingly at the two of them. Dean came into the kitchen to get a beer from the fridge. He had always been told that John had been hopelessly in love with Mary, but seeing the way that John looked at (Y/n), he wondered how much of that was true.

 “Dad.” Dean said. “About what happened…back in ’06. I didn’t realize how much you gave up for me.”

 “Dean, you’re my son.” John said. “I would do anything to keep you safe.”

 “But if I would’ve known about Rosie and (Y/n), I never would’ve let you do it…” Dean said. John shook his head. He could see the guilt weighing on his son’s shoulders.

 “Dean, you didn’t let me do anything.” John said. He smiled at his son before looking back out the kitchen window. He looked out to see (Y/n) standing between Rosie and someone new.

 “No!” Dean said. “Sam! Cas! Zach’s here!” Dean grabbed his gun and bolted out of the house, John, Sam, Adam, and Cas following, Bobby staying in the house.

 “So good you guys could join us.” Zachariah laughed. “And thanks for leading me here Castiel. You’ve done well.”

 “You bastard.” (Y/n) hissed at Cas. “How could you do this to me again?”

 “I…” Cas started to say.

 “He didn’t know I was tracking him.” Zachariah said. “I couldn’t get a pinpoint on you, but I knew he would eventually. So I decided to track him to find you.”

 “Why?” (Y/n) asked, keeping a hand on Rosie. Zachariah smiled.

 “Because they’ll do anything for their mom.” He reached out and touched her forehead, making her fall to the ground.

 “(Y/n)!” John screamed. Zachariah smiled at her.

 “She’s not waking up unless Michael and Lucifer get their vessels.” Zachariah explained. “And, to make sure that you play your roles…” He reached out and grabbed Rosie by her arm, pulling her to him.

 “Let her go!” Sam snapped. Zachariah laughed.

 “No.” He said. “You know what I want Sam.” Rosie was crying.

 “Dean! Daddy! Help!” She reached for them. John made a step to get to his daughter, but Zachariah pulled her away, disappearing with her. John ran to (Y/n), gently shaking her. But she didn’t wake up. Cas walked over and touched her forehead.

 “It’s a lock.” He said. “She can’t wake up until Michael and Lucifer get what they want.” He explained. John held (Y/n) to his chest, burying his face in her hair. He had just gotten her and Rosie back only to lose them again.

 “What about…what if you guys kill him?” Adam asked. “Maybe it could undo what he did?” Dean and Sam looked at each other.

 “There’s a chance.” Cas said. “We have to get to him. And where he is, he has to have Rosie.” John picked (Y/n) up and carried her inside. He carried her to the couch and gently laid her on it, playing with her hair.

 “Find them.” Dean growled at Cas. “Because I’m going to kill him nice and slowly for messing with our mom.” No one made a comment that Dean called (Y/n) his mom. The only thing one their mind right then was getting Rosie back and killing Zachariah.

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[lukes-writing]

Chapter 12: The Death by Paper

Project introduction | Previous chapter | Next chapter

Word count: 3100 Warnings: Gore, car crash (mentioned only)

September 29th, 7:19 AM, Northeastern district, Trinity Gate

The place is already swarming with Trinity Gate police officers. The less frequent backstreet on the district’s outskirts became cut off from the outside world after a terrified early morning jogger reported the gruesome finding.

The body of a man in his fifties with thinning hair dressed in an old-fashioned tweed suit is sitting, leaning against a wall next to a trash can. At first sight, he could be mistaken for a drunk who just flaked out after a night out. Only his suit would write a question mark into this theory.

“This is something I’ve never seen before,” one of the officers claims after he squats down and examines the man’s head. “I have no idea how could this be achieved.”

Most of the officers have no words. They just silently photograph the body and check for possible evidence. There seem to be none, except empty sheets of paper scattered on the ground, wet because of the slight morning rain. The modern devices the officers use find no fingerprints or body fluids. In fact, there isn’t much blood of the murdered man, too.

Clean kill.

The police officers are almost relieved when a strange man without a uniform enters the crime scene. His long dreadlocks don’t look exactly professional, but at least he seems to know what to do. He hands one of the officers a signed paper.

“Chief Peterson allowed me to take care of this situation,” he announces with a firm voice. “You can phone him if necessary. Thank you for securing the crime scene.”

“And who do you think you are? Who do you work for?” one of the younger officers lashes out.

“I would tell you if it was your goddamn business,” the newcomer scolds him. The steady glare of his eyes makes the impertinent officer back off.

The policeman who was given the papers decided to phone the chief officer for confirmation. It seems that the chief confirmed the strange man’s words. The officer urges the rest of the team to leave. Some of them don’t seem to accept it well - allowing a stranger to do their job isn’t something they do often.

The last thing they see is a second person entering the scene - a tall, beautiful girl with short hair and eyeglasses wearing a navy blue jacket and skinny jeans. The young officer who lashed out at Wiccan gives her a long look. Different time, different place…

However, the girl seems to be only interested in the body. The man can’t get the thing out of his head - why would the chief officer allow these people to investigate this murder? The way the man died is strange indeed, but even so, why would they…?

His older coworker puts his big, calloused hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “That’s not the first time,” he explains. “I have no idea who these people are, probably some secret governmental service, like the CIA. I learned to just follow the rules and don’t poke my nose into their work.”

“I arrived as soon as I could,” Sienna says. Her car is parked nearby. When she got a call from Wiccan, she got ready in about three minutes - a record for her since she usually spends up to two hours by going through her wardrobe and putting her make-up on.

Without her make-up, she feels like naked. She already managed to put lipstick on in the car. Now she takes a mascara and a pocket mirror from her purse and starts to work on her lashes.

“Sienna? I don’t think this is the right time for this,” Wiccan tells her.

“It’s always a right time for this,” Sienna says, putting on eyeliner. “A person of my social status can’t be seen looking imperfect in public. I hope you understand.”

“No, I don’t understand,” Wiccan grumbles. Every once a while, pieces of arrogant, snobby Sienna starts to show and it’s driving Wiccan furious. “Now you are working for The Society, and we don’t give a shit whether you have perfect eyebrows or not. Now put it away and do your job.”

“Okay, okay.” Sienna quickly finishes the eyeliner on her other eye so it doesn’t look symmetrical and joins Wiccan who approaches the dead body.

The girl shivers. She has never seen a dead body. However, there is a moment in her life that made her more numb towards such sights. When she was fifteen, she got involved in a horrible car crash. Her injuries were so serious she had to stay in a coma for several weeks.

Their family chauffeur died, just like the married couple in the car which crashed into them. Sienna is the only person who got involved and is still alive to this day. Her parents call it a miracle and Sienna carefully starts to adapt this theory, too. She saw pictures from the crash. Both cars were wrecked.

“So, let’s take a look at this,” Wiccan mumbles and uses his hand in a glove to lift the dead man’s chin. Sienna gasps and steps back. The sight is really gruesome.

The man’s head is filled with paper. Literally. The crumpled sheets of paper protrude from his mouth, ears, nose, even eye sockets. Some of the sheets are bloodied, red drops drip on the pavement.

Sienna has to hold back nausea when Wiccan takes one of the sheets from the man’s mouth and carefully removes it. It’s an A5 size paper that looks like an unwritten page of a book. There are just a few drops of blood on it as the more bloodied sheets lie deeper in the victim’s head.

“Oh… my… God.” The girl’s face turns pale. Of course, she has watched nasty slasher horror films with her friends, and she usually laughed at it, but the fake gore in the movies was nothing compared to seeing an actual dead body. “Why didn’t you bring Parker with you? He wouldn’t mind it this much.”

Wiccan raises his eyebrows. “You are a team leader, Sienna. When the time comes, you will do such things all by yourself. You also have a great memory and analytical thinking, so it’s also likely you can come up with some ideas about how could this happen. Don’t tell me this disturbs you?”

“Not at all,” Sienna replies and gulps audibly.

“Tell me - why are we doing this?” Sienna wonders. “I thought our task is to enforce the law in the inhuman enclave. This unlucky guy was apparently killed outside it.”

Wiccan, just like the police officers, takes a few shots of the crime scene using a small digital camera. “Our task is to investigate everything that could have any connection to inhumans, even if it happens outside the enclave,” he explains. “Peterson, the chief of local police, works with us and lets me know immediately after the regular officers find something which might be a work of an inhuman or a human with special powers. In that case, we take care of the investigation.”

“And what if it isn’t work of an inhuman?”

“Then we just return the case to the regular police,” the man shrugs. “We ain’t got time to waste with mundane causes. Well, there is a situation where we get involved even if there’s no inhuman involved, and that’s a misuse of secret or unknown technology.”

Sienna carefully memorizes every word Wiccan says. He said there will be no training, but he still follows Team Dreamcatcher, giving them useful advice without unnecessary meddling. The girl is aware that there will be time Wiccan leaves them on their own, and it will be up to her to take the lead.

She wants to be prepared as much as possible.

In the past days, Team Dreamcatcher had three interventions in the inhuman enclave; Wiccan was with them every time. It was nothing particularly dangerous, just some minor skirmishes or rioting in one of the lousy inhuman pubs in the Pit. No violence was necessary - as soon as the Enforcers showed up with their weapons drawn, the offenders calmed down.

Wiccan claimed most of the interventions are like this, but from time to time, there are more difficult tasks that require full use of their skills and teamwork. Is this one of them?

“What should we do with this man?” Sienna brings up a question.

“Now we should get him into the headquarters where we perform autopsy,” Wiccan replies.

Sienna already knows the headquarters under the Heap of Ashes isn’t just the conference room. A few days ago, the whole team went on a tour to see all the rooms. A well-equipped operating theatre and infirmary are two of them. They have a kitchen, a warehouse, a science lab and, what Sienna finds the most interesting, armory filled with the most unbelievable pieces of combat technology.

Wiccan makes a few phone calls and soon after, an anonymous black hearse arrives at the spot. In the meantime, a crowd of rubberneckers grows bigger. The people realized something happened and, of course, they want to know more.

“Those pests always piss me off,” Wiccan mutters. Together with two large men in black suits (Sienna would bet they are inhumans), he puts the cadaver into a body bag and load it into the car. Sienna can’t force herself to touch the body yet. The hearse then takes off.

Wiccan answers Sienna’s unspoken question. “They will carry the body into the enclave. From there, he will be transported into the headquarters. There we find out what happened to him.”

The man then gives Sienna a brief introduction to crime scene investigation which is sometimes a vital part of The Society’s activities. Wiccan shows her several cool gadgets, but still, it’s not anything similar to what she saw in the CSI TV shows. Sienna’s fast learning is supported by one sentence she repeats to herself over and over again: one day, this will be up to me.

They find several seemingly insignificant things which, according to Wiccan, can help with the investigation even though Sienna has no idea how. “Different inhumans leave different traces,” Wiccan explains. “Everything can be found in the book Inhuman Criminology. Have you read it yet?”

Sienna blushes. “Uhm… I was planning to.”

“Uh, okay. Let’s go.”

September 29th, 8:41 AM, The Society headquarters, Trinity Gate

The whole team gathered in the headquarters soon after the undertakers transported the murder victim into the operating room.

“Nobody told me this job will involve getting up before nine in the morning,” Parker grumbles.

“What a waste of time,” Whisper smiles. “I usually get up at five; that way, I can accomplish more and I have some time for myself before the sun rises.”

“I don’t want to know what does your time for yourself involved,” the man chuckles. “Or maybe I kinda do.”

Sienna rolls her eyes. “Are you two okay? If you don’t realize, a murder happened here, maybe committed by an inhuman. And you just exchange dirty remarks?”

“Exchange?” the pitch of Whisper’s voice rises again. “He started it!”

“Enjoy your childish bickering for a while longer, doctor Imago just took a train,” Wiccan says and explains: “He is one of The Society’s surgeons. His work is to come wherever he’s needed. He knows all possible ways the inhumans can kill a person and that helps us a bunch.”

“So The Society aren’t just enforcer teams like us,” Gary states. “How many employees does The Society have? Wouldn’t it be too hard to keep the whole thing secret if there were too many of them?”

“That’s why we like employing inhumans,” Wiccan replies with a smile. “They wouldn’t expose themselves, would they? Besides the Enforcers, we employ enclave guardians, doctors, logisticians, technicians, teachers, basically all the people you need for a working infrastructure. And bureaucrats, of course. If an inhuman decides to work for The Society, they receive various benefits. They are mostly loyal to us.”

“Mostly?” Parker points out.

“Well, there are always the ones who secretly work for hostile inhuman gangs which make sabotage attempts, but the Enforcers are usually able to spot them before they cause any harm.”

The discussion lasts for a while longer. Then, the door leading to the underground capsule train station opens and a rather strange man steps in. Must be doctor Imago.

Imago is apparently in his mid-forties, with grizzled dark hair, small round eyeglasses on his eyes and a short beard. He’s dressed in a long, buttoned-up trench coat which conceals most of his body. It’s his body build which brings up questions. Even though his head and limbs look rather slim, he has a large pot belly bulging underneath his coat, almost like he was pregnant.

“Hi, everybody!” he strides towards the team with a smile on his face.

“Hi, Doctor Nick,” Parker utters dryly.

“It’s always exciting to see a new team,” Imago shakes their hands one by one. “My name is Ignatius Imago, one of The Society’s lead surgeons with a focus on pathology. If I can’t find out what’s the cause of death, it was a divine intervention. What do we have today?”

Wiccan leads him into the operating theatre where the undressed body of the murder victim is already resting on the steel table. “Arthur Taylor, fifty-three, worked as a university professor,” Wiccan says. He was found this morning by a bypasser.”

Everyone except the surgeon stand behind a glass panel from where they can see what’s happening in the theatre. First of all, Imago takes off his coat and then removes something from underneath his shirt. Something similar to a bowl. Whisper realizes it’s a prop that filmmakers use to make a woman appear pregnant. It’s hollow on the inside and it’s clear Imago was hiding something under it.

The answer to the question what it was comes right after. Something emerges from well-hidden holes in the shirt made to not be seen unless necessary. Two pairs of small, scrawny arms with three fingers at the end of each. They slightly resemble pincers of some crustacean.

“You know your life is surreal when you realize this isn’t the weirdest thing you’ve seen this week,” Parker says. “But still, he could have told us he’s some kind of human-lobster hybrid before he did this.”

Doctor Imago washes (all) his hands and changes into a surgeon gown. After that, he finally proceeds to the autopsy itself.

The group soon realizes his inhuman traits help him greatly when he’s operating. He doesn’t even need another doctor - with his extra limbs, he can carry up to six different tools and switch between them quickly. He operates using his “main” pair of hands; the smaller ones probably aren’t as dexterous.

A problem emerges when he actually starts operating. Only Parker can watch the whole scene while remaining calm, maybe even fascinated a little. Sienna also keeps a poker face on, but her face turns ghastly pale. Whisper is yowling and covering her eyes. Gary attempts to leave the room, but Wiccan prevents him from doing so. The short man does his best to fight nausea.

“Just don’t throw up in my direction,” Parker grumbles.

“What exactly is Doctor Imago?” Whisper asks Wiccan, probably to keep herself distracted from the theatre where Imago is removing sheets of paper from the dead man’s eye sockets.

“He is what we call a halfling,” Wiccan explains. “A child of a human and an inhuman. Not all inhuman species can produce offspring, it’s something about genetics. But if they do, the child usually inherits only a part of the traits of their inhuman parent. You basically get a watered-down inhuman. However, some inhumans actively seek humans to breed with since their child would be more likely to pass as a human, which is definitely an advantage. Some completely humanlike inhumans can even leave the enclave.”

“And who is Doctor Imago’s inhuman parent?”

“Amphibian inhuman known as Coral Scavenger, Corsca in short. They live in South America and are a bit similar to Doctor Zoidberg. Ignatius inherited only the extra limbs and remains of a carapace on his back. Also, he wears false teeth. Don’t ask why.”

Whisper ran out of questions to ask, so like it or not, she has to watch the autopsy. Imago is using an electric saw to open the man’s head; both Gary and Whisper have to close their eyes to keep the contents of their stomachs where they belong. Even Sienna turns away.

They expect the surgeon to remove the man’s brain. The problem is that there is no brain inside. Just paper. Enough paper to produce a book, soaked in blood and mash which used to be the brain.

“What the hell is going on…?” Imago mutters to himself.

In the end, Imago finds out everything from the inside of his head including brain, eyes and tongue has been crushed and squeezed by the ungodly amounts of paper someone crammed into his head with brutal force. The rest of the body hasn’t been damaged anyhow. “It’s something no human is capable of,” Imago states after he finishes the autopsy.

“So it’s either an inhuman or a PSP,” Wiccan says.

“How can an ancient gaming console be responsible for this?” Parker wonders.

“PSP is an acronym for people with special powers,” Wiccan explains. “You are also one of them.”

The two men who were in the hearse earlier come for the dead body - they will transport it to a morgue, then return it to the man’s family. In the meantime, Imago changes into his casual clothes; his extra limbs are once again stored in the hollow of the fake belly.

“I admit, that was weird even for me,” Imago says after he takes a seat in the conference room. He has a very specific drink request - a glass of salt water.

“Was he dead before all that paper got into his head?” Wiccan asks.

“No, that paper was the cause of his death. Someone crammed it into his head so violently it basically crushed everything inside his head, causing immediate death. We can rule out the possibility a human did it - no human would be able to do it with such force. And what’s worse, I can’t even think of an inhuman who would be capable of something like this.”

“So the PSP is our preferred option,” Wiccan scowls.

The doctor squirms. “Actually, I have doubts even about this option. It would have to be an immensely powerful kinetic to achieve this. In other words… it’s a mystery I can’t solve. I can only give you information from my field, the rest is up to you.”

 Author’s Note

I wholeheartedly thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and if you did, please leave a comment, send me a message or share and let more people know about this story! You can also consider a small donation at www.paypal.me/lukassladky. Have a great day and stay tuned for the next chapter!