#backcountry press

[fungusqueen]

I took a 2-part online Seaweed Class through Backcountry Press, and our instructor sent us a class resource page. I revisited it for the book recommendations but I saw that she included some websites of small business that sell ethically harvested seaweed products.

This Sea Vegetable Sample Kit from Main Coast Sea Vegetables is quite charming! I've been searching for dried seaweeds at my local Korean market but the packaging rarely lists the species type, so the scientific names give me reference for my own culinary research.

Ugh! And this Kelp Krunch bar is kind of adorable. I have no idea how it would taste but I think I might like it. I also feel like this is the type of snack that would scare the wrong people away, if that was your goal. Like if someone is in your space or won't leave you alone, you can pull out the Kelp Krunch and start crunching and say, "sorry, I hope my seaweed breath doesn't bother you!" and they'll promptly leave and think it was their idea. I am super curious about the kit/this snack and I might want to get it for myself for Christmas.

[betweenapitchandacast]

These Tips Will Give You Perfect Campsite Coffee

For some people, camping can be an unappealing way to spend a few days. The idea of leaving behind all the comforts of home and their favorite cup of coffee in the morning can be discouraging. The thought of having to settle for a brand that is too strong or too weak can also be a deterrent. However, while it may be true that certain daily comforts are difficult to replicate outdoors, there is…

[evidenceof]

i have just said something ridiculous to you

Joe Toye has a nice face, George thinks. Strong nose, strong brows, and a scowl that George realized he liked to earn. Miles deep into 2nd Battalion's march to Atlanta, George Luz hears an Irish song from across their frozen campground.

happiest holidays, @blood-mocha-latte, my hbo war 2025 secret santa baby!! ♡ crossing my fingers and hoping i did their voices/headspaces justice. this present is brought to you by equal parts mary oliver's 'i have just said,' that you love, and toye's atlanta march predicament™. i very humbly give to you my very first luztoye fic.

I have just said something ridiculous to you and in response, your glorious laughter. - 'I Have Just Said' by Mary Oliver

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

December 1, 1942 | 2330 hours Campgrounds, 38 miles from Fort Benning

The butter tastes like nothing on his frozen tongue. George winces at the thin oily film it leaves behind in his mouth after he swallows. Too fucking cold, everything was too fucking cold. A ragged chuckle saws its way through his throat while he watches Perco fight a losing battle against his hard slice of bread. Eventually, he rips it in half, elbow colliding with the tent wall and almost costing them their flimsy shelter. A hundred and fifteen miles and they had to survive off of stale bread and pats of butter.

“The way we live you’d think we’re already at the front of the fucking lines.” Perco’s voice was muffled under a thick scarf. “I don’t know what’s worse. This or shit on a shingle.”

“Come on, we got it made.” George lights a cigarette, and flicks off his lighter in an attempt to sweep away any talk of war. “Sightseeing the backcountry, free food, free clothes. These fuckin’ boots? Babies are the best in General Patton's Third Army, so I’ve heard.” His boot lands back on the cold ground with a pathetic thump from where he lifted it. 

“Aw, shut up, Luz.” Perco shoves him backwards, hard, half a slice of bread still in his hand, but with a grin already plastered on his face.

Just barely missing the tent wall, George regains his balance. “All right, all right. Jeez,” he laughs. He presses his hand on Perco’s head to push himself up, earning him a scowl. “Gonna go find a fire before this thing collapses on us.”

The flap of the tent all but snaps in half when he throws it open. Ice crackles down the drab green canvas like peanut brittle. Outside, cold air smacks against George’s face as he takes in the columns of tents around him that stand frosted and gleaming in the moonlight. The temperature had dropped earlier in the afternoon, but tomorrow promised worse terrain because, as far as George was concerned, God had abandoned 2nd Battalion specifically. Why else would they be the only ones walking all the way to fucking Atlanta? There's thirty eight more miles and not nearly enough bad Sobel impressions in George’s back pocket to last them that far.

With a single drag, he polishes off the remainder of his cigarette. Squinting, he spots Lip and Guarnere in the middle of what looks like an attempt at walking without having to bend their knees. Their frosty puffs of breath mirror the smoke he exhales. He sees Lip’s hand raise to greet him at the same time a bad tune cuts across the field, louder than the muffled grousing from inside the pup tents. Only George whips his head towards the direction of the sound.

“Luz, what’re you up to?” Lip’s voice is firm. George doesn’t see, but he hears the smile in it.

“Better not be doin’ anything fuckin’ stupid. I’m goddamn tired of that pansy chicken-shit officer breathing down my neck all fuckin’ day,” spits Guarnere, digging his hands deeper into his pockets. “Sobel, I mean. Winters ain’t no chicken-shit at least.”

George doesn't expect the polite chuckle from Lip who's quick to follow it up with a stern, “Bill.” At that, Guarnere raises an eyebrow like a demanding child, a look that George knows he never let his ma see. “But he’s right, keep your head outta trouble, Luz. Got enough to deal with while Toye’s relegated to K.P,” continues Lip with a grimace.

George tips his head in the direction of the broken Irish song still flitting in the air. “That him?” The scowl on Guarnere’s face is confirmation enough. “What’d he do?”

“Go ask him if you’re so fuckin’ curious,” Guarnere sneers. “Hey, I’m serious Luz. Give Sobel an excuse to take away passes and I’ll shove a trench knife up your ass.”

George knuckles his forehead to mock-salute Guarnere and gives Lip a wink. “I’ll behave for you, Bill,” he sing-songs. It only takes him a second to quash his finished cigarette under his boot before his feet start moving towards the sound almost involuntarily. He finds Toye hunched over a fire, chin resting on his legs that are folded in front of him. Even tucked into himself, there was something intimidating about his angles. It’s those goddamn broad shoulders of his, wide like no one’s business. Certainly not George’s. He doesn’t recognize the words Joe is singing but the tune’s familiar enough. Once or twice, he found himself straining to hear it in the Toccoa showers. It almost feels like a shame to put an end to it. Almost.

“Thought someone was dying. Your bad singing why they’re making you do this?” chides George, nudging Toye with his boot before he takes a seat on the ground. 

Toye clenches his jaw in acknowledgment, any lingering mirth vanishing from his face. “Luz,” says Toye, already exasperated. George watches him jab the weak fire with a stick. The orange glow casts shadows on his irritated face. Nothing quite like pissing off Joe Toye. He has a nice face, George thinks. Strong nose, strong brows, a scowl that George realized he liked to earn. Even with the darkness under his eyes, Toye looks sturdy.

“Aw, c’mon Toye. Not happy to see me?” His teeth chatter and Toye’s lip twitches into the beginnings of a smile. “Lighten up will ya?”

A gust of wind makes them both adjust their scarves. From under his own, Toye shakes his head before glaring at the stick in his hand. George can see him weighing out the pros and cons of throwing it into the pit. “I did. Look where that got me,” says Toye, eventually.

“Hey, least you’re warm right?” George smiles at him while dislodging a clump of dirt from the sole of his boot to throw in Toye’s direction. When it hits the side of his leg, Toye barely flinches. So it was like that, huh? George digs his heel into the hardened ground, dragging himself closer to Joe. “So what’d you do? You can trust me. Who the fuck am I gonna tell?”

Toye continues staring at the flames like they’d done something to offend him. When he doesn’t answer, George inches forward, tracking cold moisture and mud on his trousers. For a moment he’s convinced Toye isn’t paying attention, but George sees how his eye twitches in time with the sound of his ODs scritching against the ground.

“Toye. Toye. Toye. Joe Toye. C’mon, buddy. Tell good ol’ George,” he says, slightly out of breath as he continues to drag himself closer. 

Bright dots of orange float up into the inky blue night when Toye jostles the firewood with his stick. “Not sure you wanna know, Luz,” he says gravely. “What, you need new source material or something? Running out of punchlines?”

“Me? Nah. Been practicing my Strayer,” says George, grinning. He’s not sure if he imagines the little nod from Toye. “When I get that pitch perfect, it'll last us ’til we ship out at least. You’ll fuckin’ see.” There’s caked mud on the ass of his ODs, he feels it. But now Toye was in perfect prodding distance and that made the journey worth it. With his fist, George nudges him once, twice, but he still looks like a goddamn statue staring at the fire, unmoving. “C’mon Toye. What’d you do?”

Nothing prepares him for how quickly Toye swivels his body towards his. He’s so close that George feels his breath on his cheek when Toye says, “You really wanna know? How about you ask me nice, Luz? Throw in a little favor?”

“Like what…?” says George, schooling his face into seriousness. Were Toye’s lashes always this long? George swears he feels the phantom brush of them against his goddamn forehead. He isn’t proud of the way it makes him miss a beat or causes that slight tremble in his voice. Nothing he couldn’t chalk up to the cold, he thinks. And he fucking would, if anyone asks.

“Like take over with these fires for me, you fuckin’ idiot,” growls Toye in his usual low gravelly voice. The white of his teeth catches the corner of George’s eye, then the pink of his lower lip. Damn. It feels almost too late when Toye thwacks the long stick against George’s chest and he nearly falls backwards. “My arm’s falling asleep.”

Clearing his throat to pull himself together is a decision George regrets immediately. It’s raw and cold like the rest of him. But he can deal with the shards of glass lodged into his windpipe better than the fucking knots that just erupted in his stomach. What was with that? He swipes the stick and turns to face the fire so that Joe is just a smudge in his periphery. From a few feet away, he hears Lieb and Alley laughing mercilessly. The thought of them witnessing all that makes his face burn, but he reminds himself everyone’s huddled in their own pup tents.

Toye's voice, resigned now, floats from beside George suddenly. It’s soft from fatigue. “Kid wanted to know what it felt like,” he says but doesn't continue. 

“What what felt like?” George pokes the fire. There’s a hiss and crackle of wood before Toye replies.

“What it’s like to pick up a skirt,” mumbles Toye, sounding embarrassed, forgiving maybe. “Says he gets nervous easy. He’s a buddy of mine from Dog Company, knew him from Pennsylvania, worked the coal mines together. He’s… you know? All stiff-like. Kinda like—”

“Like Winters?” George answers. “The fuck is wrong with you people from Pennsylvania. You born with a complimentary stick up your ass or what?” George wonders if that was too much, but he hears a huff from beside him—a sound that, from his limited knowledge, is the closest thing Toye gets to laughing. There’s a giddiness in his chest that tells him he’s been wanting to hear that for a while.

“Yeah. Yeah, like Lieutenant Winters,” replies Toye, less grave now. George turns to find him smiling down at the ground almost sleepily. It triggers a fresh set of knots right below George’s belly. It makes sense that the guy would ask Toye, George decides. With a face like that, eyes like that, he could bring home just about anyone he wanted. “Tells me he gets jittery, that friend of mine. Loses his fucking words. Needs practice. Needs advice,” says Toye. 

“Just need a face like yours.” It tumbles out of George’s mouth automatically. God, he wanted to shove one of the burning logs down his throat. But if Toye heard, he didn’t show it. Recovering, George continues, “What’d you tell him?”

Calm as anything, Toye lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I didn’t. Gave him a little practical exercise and pushed the guy against a wall,” he says with an even voice. From where he’s turned, the fire illuminates only a portion of his face. Even from a partial view, George could tell he wasn’t joking. Unsurprising; Toye rarely did. “Evans saw.”

“So he served you K.P. duty for jostling a guy? Sounds about right.” George laughs, imagining Evans’ prissy frown. “Your broads usually slam you against walls?”

As an answer, Toye smiles, all teeth, and George stops laughing. 

“It was nothing serious. Wanted to see how well he could come up with one of those lines of his in that position. Said he’s been practicing,” insists Toye. A tiny smirk tugs at the corner of his lip at the sudden shift in George’s face. “I was gentle though, but I think that was the problem. I, uh… I think he liked it.”

There was something about the image George couldn’t quite put together in his mind. He frowns. I think he liked it. 

“You shoulda seen Evans’ face. Kinda looks like yours right now actually, but less red,” Toye grins and George fights the urge to hide his head under his scarf. “Ripped my friend away from me and doled out the punishment. But really, the fucking kicker was him telling me to go see the chaplain. Fucking self-righteous asshole.”

“The chaplain? Since when the fuck do you need to—” Suddenly, it clicks in his mind, and he imagines the scene Evans must have walked into that night. Toye resting a hand against the wall beside the private’s face, the incline of his broad shoulders pointing inward, caging him. Gentle . Those big eyes and lashes too fucking close: Toye looking like the very picture of ease. Only in his head, George erases the face of the nameless PFC from Dog Company and replaces it with his own. Toye’s angles leaning towards him, lips inches away from his face, the feeling of his gravelly voice trailing from the tip of George’s nose all the way down under his shirt. He chokes a bit when he says, disbelieving, “No. Fuck, Toye. Nah, that ain’t right. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” says Toye tightly and looks up to glare at him. George can’t quite meet his eyes. “I was lightening up, remember?”

This close to the fire, George’s hands still feel like ice. “You’re insane, Joe. Fucking insane,” he says, trying to shake off the thought of Toye being close, peering up at a guy through his lashes like a dame. Suddenly, George’s trousers feel tight and his head was spinning in all possible directions.

“Didn’t hurt him. Was only trying to help. I was gentle, like I said,” Toye says lightly, voice already edged with sleep and without a trace of guilt. “Want a demonstration, Luz?”

“What, so you can get caught again? You plan on being K.P. until we’re shipped out?” George hears the higher register in his voice, and feels the way his heart rams against his sternum. He can’t look at Toye so he pokes the fire instead. A hot splinter flies onto his hand and he lets it sting, steering his full attention to the tiny patch of burning flesh.

Toye’s voice is thick with the lack of sleep, but more importantly is suddenly right behind George’s ear, brushing against the tiny hairs he didn’t know existed there. “I won’t tell if you don’t. I can keep a secret,” whispers Toye. George almost moans, but catches himself. It comes out a fumbling huff instead. The tightness of his trousers stop him from moving away.

“Well,” George tries to say. His zipper brushes against his skivvies and he almost jumps. If not for the jacket, the tented crotch area of his trousers would be on full display. Christ, he hopes Toye’s sleep-deprived enough to forget all this by the end of the march. “I can’t.” 

Toye laughs, fully now. George feels it on his nape, the hahas hitting his skin like long-burning coals. God, it felt good. 

“I’ll try it on you one day, Luz,” says Toye. George isn’t sure if he imagines Toye’s palm resting on his hip. It's too much and he feels like passing out. All the blood from his brain seems pool to right down into his crotch. It was getting harder to think, let alone respond. 

“You’re funny,” manages George eventually. Toye’s breath smells like Juicy Fruit, sweet.

“Yeah? I like surprising people like that,” says Toye, like a purr. When he moves away, Toye keeps the smile fixed on his face. The missing pressure of his hand leaves a cold mark on George’s side. So that was real. The affirmation only intensifies the heat below his stomach.

“You make a habit of shoving enlisted men against walls?” breathes George. It feels too good to keep this line of conversation going, everything in his body says so. But George couldn’t trust himself or his faculties. He was still thinking of Juicy Fruit in his mouth.

“Among other things.” Toye smirks lazily at him, and tilts his head up at the sky. George tells himself it’s the fatigue and the proximity to smoke that makes every word Toye says sound flirtatious. This fucking march had everyone acting strange, especially him.

“You are insane,” he says again, voice trembling. No way in hell was this guy a fairy. Didn’t fucking look like one anyway, all broad shouldered and angular. Nothing about him swished: not his fucking voice, or his fucking hips. Shit just don’t add up like that. But neither did the tightness in his OD trousers that didn't feel like it would disappear fast enough.

“A compliment coming from you, George.” Toye buries his face in his palms. “Fuck, I’m tired,” he says, the words drawn out of him like an exhale.

George watches his body sway slightly, tipping almost imperceptibly in and out of consciousness. “You sleep at all Joe?” Toye yawns as an answer; it shudders through him. He was just tired and spread thin, George thinks, they all were. And that got you acting different, that got you acting abnormal.

“No. But Evans still has it out for me. He’s lurking somewhere,” Toye says, not looking up from where George thinks he’s already fallen half asleep. The sharp angles of Toye’s shoulders droop, sagging under the weight of a second day without sleep. George lights another cigarette, finally, to keep his hands from doing something really fucking stupid like throwing a blanket over Toye and shoving his head onto his lap. Shit that guy from Dog Company can’t do, he thinks, feeling an odd barb of possessiveness while looking at Toye’s drooping head.

“Hey, I got this, all right?” argues George, gesturing at the growing fire.

“Shut up, Luz. I’m not looking for handouts.” But Toye’s voice dips in volume, belying the stubbornness in it.

“C’mon, Joe. You can’t be the only one handing out favors from the goodness of your heart,” George offers something like understanding. From his palms, Toye glances up at him, questioning. He’d look almost offended if he didn’t look so soft.

“Twenty minutes. Sleep. We got thirty-eight miles left in the morning and you look like shit,” continues George. Toye’s gaze doesn’t move away from him. So he stares back, feeling a little selfish, tracing Toye’s dark lashes and pink lips with his eyes. He wonders if they’ll ever get to sit this close again. “I’m saying if Evans comes around, I’ll charm him for ya.”

“Yeah?” says Toye, still looking at George, a small smile hooked on his lips. The sounds of the camp feel like they’ve all but disappeared. “Yeah. You’re good at that.”

His cigarette burns down to the filter but George continues to suck on it, unable to fish it out with his shaking hands that he’s hidden in his jacket pockets. They’re warm now, so it couldn’t have been the cold causing the trembling. He can still feel Toye’s laugh ricocheting on his neck.

Toye breaks their little staring contest and faces the fire. “Fine, twenty minutes.” 

“Sure buddy.” George watches Toye’s chin droop down onto his chest and his eyes flutter shut, lashes twitching. He’s asleep immediately. When he’s sure Toye was out cold, George fishes out a blanket from his pack and drapes the whole thing across Toye’s shoulders with a gentleness he didn’t know he had. “Take as long as you like.”

[legendary-pink-dot]

Hinterland

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x female reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Unprotected PiV and half-asleep sex, established relationship

Word Count: 600 on the dot

Summary: Camping with Frankie, and why 3am half-asleep sex in a backcountry tent is superior.

Notes: A little scene inspired by @trulybetty's gorgeous little fic "Campfire" and the discussion it inspired with @goodwithcheese via reblogs about the joys of camping with Frankie. (Are you still not convinced?!) I'm an Outdoors Girl, so this would be my dream.

Stillness at 3am in the backcountry is primal. Nocturnal creatures have finished their hunts, but it's too early for birdsong. Even the insects have stopped clicking and chattering.

The air around your tent is quiet. Heavy. It's echoed in the way Frankie softly grinds against you from behind, his hard cock teasing your entrance. He doesn't have to ask if you like it; all his half-conscious brain has to do is track the pace of your breath, register the slight hitch in your hips that begs for more.

His calloused fingers, wisps of woodsmoke still clinging to them from the campfire, automatically travel down from your stomach to lazily circle your clit. He's too lost in his half-lidded dreams to be intentional with his movements, but it sparks your fire all the same, until you're wide awake.

Being with Frankie in these early morning moments, when he's half asleep and acting purely on instinct, is your favorite thing in the world. When you're at home spread across your luxurious bed and not inside this pitch-black tent at 3am, he's controlled, so focused on your pleasure instead of his own, a people-pleaser to the point of fault sometimes. But not now. He can have whatever he wants.

Frankie's cock finally slides into you. His breathing is soft and even against the back of your neck, and you reach back to twine your fingers gently through his hair. After a minute or two to adjust -- he's always so thick inside you, especially in this spooned position -- you start to clench around his length, matching the rhythm of his breaths as they slowly pick up speed.

Lazy and languid gradually turn visceral as his hips instinctively move faster, his thrusts hard enough to hit and drag across nerves deep inside you, but without the force behind them he can give when he's conscious and you're loudly begging more, harder Frankie, please fuck me, I want to feel all of you.

Little drops of condensation bead on the inner nylon of the tent, rolling lightly down the walls.

His fingers dig into your hip to push and pull you over his cock. His hand has given up doing anything to your clit, but that doesn't matter. You can take over. It won't take much anyway.

His breath catches repeatedly, forming grunts and groans that echo loud inside the tent. You know he's close, even though he's still not fully awake.

Your hips are moving faster now to pull him in and drag him out, just far enough to brush the nerves around your entrance with each slide. Your hand draws familiar and practiced circles on your clit, bringing you to the edge and drawing soft whimpers from your mouth. Not too loud; you don't want to wake him.

You press your palm against your clit at just the right spot and you come with a whimper, squeezing down on Frankie's cock just as he presses deep with a groan and spurts, his cock pulsing and twitching inside you, deliciously filling you up as you ride out your orgasm.

He never really woke up, and you can tell by his breathing pattern that he's already drifting back into deep sleep.

As you start to doze off yourself, his softening cock still inside and his arm wrapped around your chest, the forest outside the tent gently starts to wake. You cling to each other like it's the final moments of a delicious dream that will be gone forever once the sun rises.

In a few hours, you'll wake up exactly like that.

[johnwickb1tsch]

Vino Veritas - Part IV

A Destination Wedding Frank x Fem!Reader Fic

Attending the wedding of your ex-fiancé gets slightly better when you meet someone having just as miserable a time as you... Warnings: Nothing too serious holy shit. Cursing. Broken engagement. Nihilism, existential bullshit, copious amounts of sarcasm. NSFW. Angst. Grump/sunshine trope. Loosely based on the movie but I'm not that smart. Or bitter. 😆 chapter map.

IV. Showering Together To Conserve Water

You are both tired as you return to the hotel, and maybe a little giddy from what you did in the backcountry of the vineyard. You certainly didn’t drink enough wine at the reception to be stumbling the way you are, and when you nearly trip over your tall shoes again Frank sweeps you up into his arms for the second time that day.

When you look at him with surprise he qualifies, “If you break an ankle, it will ruin my night.”

You chuckle to yourself, and rest your head on his shoulder. It’s a very nice shoulder, broad, solid. If you were braver than you are, you might even dare to think it feels…dependable. It doesn’t escape you, that he carries you like a bride over his threshold, on this day when you watched your ex-fiancé marry someone else.

Frank would be a much better prospect than Keith—but you are not thinking about that.

You’re trying not to, anyway.

The shine doesn’t even diminish while he curses as he fumbles to get out his key. It’s all highly entertaining, and very sweet, and that cloyingly painful ball in your chest only feels like it's growing.

He sets you down on the bed, and immediately sets about unbuckling the ankle straps of your shoes. “These things are an accident waiting to happen.”

“But they make my calves look amazing,” you defend.

He pauses to assess the body parts in question, nodding begrudgingly. “They’re quite nice on their own though. You’re a very attractive woman.”

This hits you a bit like a shovel to the head. You guess he’d complimented your clothes before, but it wasn’t quite the same thing.

“I think you’re very attractive too,” you confess, though you’re sure he already knows it.

The fleeting look on his face isn’t exactly surprise—but you dare think that maybe it moves him too.

“Excellent. We’ve had sex and now we admit we’re attracted to each other,” he deflects with a smirk. “However, I also think you’re dirty after our roll in the hills, and I am too. Want to take a shower?”

You can only presume he means together, and you nod.

*** 

At first you focus solely on washing, which is nice when he lathers his big hands up with soap and runs them all over your body. You’re all too happy to return the favor, which yields the inevitable arousal for both of you.

“I know it’s how it’s done in the movies,” he says between kissing you, “But if I pick you up to fuck you the odds are excellent I will slip and fall and we will both get hurt.”

You’re not entirely disappointed to hear this. You’ve always thought it precarious and awkward anyway. In answer you turn to lean on the shower wall. “How about this?” you suggest, standing on tiptoe to offer your ass up in the air, looking back with a mischievous smile.

“Maybe if we could get you a footstool,” he snarks, before engulfing you with his body behind yours, his front pressed to your back. He grumbles with appreciation as he kisses the back of your neck, his hard member pressing into your spine. “I think we can make this work,” he muses, his voice gone low and gravely with desire. That alone is enough to make you gush between your legs, and when he touches you he finds your slit slick and ready for him. It’s almost embarrassing, really, how much you want it with this man.

When he bends his knees to enter you the both of you moan, the wonderful pressure of his beautiful cock filling you up making you see stars.

It’s also embarrassing, how fast you cum on his fingers with his cock inside you like this, the hard clench of your walls bringing him right along with you again.

“Oh my god,” you pant, pressing your cheek against the cool tiles. You can feel the hot drip of his seed running down your thighs—it’s marvelous, if you’re being honest. It’s wonderful and you’re afraid you never want it to end.

“Yeah,” he agrees, leaning above you, leaving you feeling surrounded by his body and strangely secure in the shelter of his larger form.

“I never—” You stop yourself short, thinking that maybe it’s too much to confess this soon in your budding relationship, if this can even be called yet. Leave it to you, to scare him off straight out the gate.

“Tell me,” he says, almost gently, his throbbing manhood still inside you.

Fuck it.

“I never cum this quickly. I usually get freaked out that I’m taking too long, and it’s a nightmare, and I just end up faking it to make it stop. You are…” You evacuate the breath from your body, so that you don’t say something insane, like you’re a dream come true.

You tense, waiting for the inevitable snide comment that will shatter the moment, but it does not come. He just kisses the back of your head and slides out of you, so that he can stand upright again. However, he does not let go of you, holding you snug against the shelter of his body with an arm still looped around your waist. 

“That sounds crushingly disappointing,” he says against your ear.

“Yeah.” You’re not sure why your throat is suddenly tight, and that’s all you can get out at the moment. You guess before Frank, you weren’t that into it either. 

He turns you in his arms and kisses you again under the warm stream of the shower, so sweetly one would find it hard to believe he’s the same man from before. “I’m honored. And…same.”

“You’ve faked orgasms before?” you ask, incredulous.

“No, but you—this is the best I’ve had in a long time. So…same.”

You nod, and resolve not to pick at it anymore, happy with what you have for now. You rest with your head against his chest, catching your breath, your knees–and your heart–feeling like they’ve turned to jelly.

[bigkingxl0]

Tomorrow

A built god splitting logs in the backcountry of Vermont, glistening with sweat. Muscles rippled from his swift swing. He drove the axe head down and added the wood to the pile. He was nearly done collecting what he needed to fire up the wood stove through the rest of the year. A dream life built from the blood, sweat and tears of one ambitious man, on acres of land nobody else could say they owned. Far from civilization. Andy was surprised his phone even had reception at this part of his sprawling property. He was even more surprised to see Mom's contact photo staring back at him -- when did she ever call? -- but rested the tool against the chopping block and answered.

"Hey, what's up?"

"We need to talk."

Exactly what you want to hear from your mother. He offered to talk later but she rejected him, insisting they talk right there and then. He gathered up the flannel he'd discarded, phone pressed to his ear, and made his way back to his cranberry colonial.

She spoke sternly but vaguely. At first he didn't understand what happened and why he had to be recruited, at first. Sure, Andy lived through his shut-in gamer phase too, years ago, so he kind of understood it. He had his time with a carpet full of crumbs and 2 liters filled with piss. And other disgusting things. Lazy summers where WOW came first and everything else second. His parents had reacted the same way then. He grew out of it. Maybe it took a couple threats of military school and disownment, but he went to college and got his life together. Now look at him. A successful property manager and agricultural scientist who lived his truth and sold it to the masses. He wanted to laugh. Fly across the country and tell his brother to put up the controller and invest in deodorant? It was comical.

Arlo would grow out of it. He wanted to crack a joke about sending him off to the army, but Mrs. Menconi was not one to call and ask for anything. The subtle desperation got the best of himIf he didn't recover his brother from the dark side, he would lose access to the most powerful network in his life. Her image was on the line. It was also the least he could do was repay his dear mother. It had been a long time since he'd seen Arlo, too, so it was only fair. Half a decade of globetrotting for work, and his busy life had gotten in the way of things more than once before. He hadn't actually spoken to his sibling or anything in all that time. He'd be lying if he said he'd noticed, and that shook his reality. Too many years passed and not enough time spent together. No wonder his brother rebelled. Poor bastard probably hated his life. Now he had nothing in his upcoming schedule and his mother was practically begging him to intervene. He had to go.

Andy caught the soonest red eye with nothing but his laptop and farm clothes, unprepared for what faced him on the West Coast.

He hesitated at the bare condo door. He didn't actually know what to say to the kid. It wasn't like they had much in common. He shook his head and knocked, the charisma of a salesman taking over. If he could do it for work he could do it for family.

After several minutes, the door creaked open, and the stench hit before he could say hello. Andy tried not to screw his face up too much, and forced a smile at his younger sibling. "Hey, lil dude.”

"Oh... hey bro," Arlo groaned, caressing his stretchmarked gut. "Long time, no, URP, see. I hoped you were Domino's."

There was no life to his voice. He started his waddle back into the dark, dank house. Andy watched the sweat roll down his curves and drip from the ends of his greasy hair. Arlo plopped into his groaning gaming chair and pulled his headset on.

"Not even a how are ya?"

"I'm literally in a game, bro!"

He started to remember why they hadn't talked much in the past six years.

Stepping out with a phone call, he questioned what he was even doing there. What could he even do? Clean up after him until he decided to become a man? He dialed his mother but she didn't answer. At the end of the voicemail he left a text that said "Please." dropped in and knew he couldn't leave her hanging. He sighed and hung up the phone.

Andy slipped back into his brother's rotten, rent-free apartment and gently stepped around the landmine field that was the den. Heavy footsteps went into the kitchen, bags crinkled, then Arlo came in with an arm full of family sizes.

"We can hang out now, I guess.”

He dropped onto the disgusting couch with a groan. The greasy pile of take out boxes on the coffee table matched the swollen lard around his middle. He reached for the clicker and put on some annoyingly loud cartoon. The TV fueled his dead eyed stare.

"Arlo," he started, eyeing the blotchy, bloated sphere that was his brother. The words fell away from his lips without a sound.

"Yeah, dude?" His brother said it like the words were foreign, head too full of pretty TV shows too even listen.

"It's great to see you."

"UURRRRRAAP. Yeah..." His voice trailed off, thick with disinterest. His eyes were locked on the screen, only this time he brought chips to his mouth. "Same to you."

With his mind racing, Andy tried to figure out how deep he was and where the hell the shovel was. He rested on the arm of the couch, the most visibly clean surface in sight, and tried to seem as comfortable as possible. Part of him wanted to see the rest of his apartment. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stomach it. He watched along with the dumb cartoon his brother occasionally chuckled at between dabs and blasting videos on YouTube and Tiktok at max volume. Not a word said for an hour until the eldest brother broke the vocal silence.

"So much for hanging out huh?"

Arlo rolled his eyes. "Bro literally... toxic vibes for real."

Andy sucked his teeth. "Nothing you say actually makes sense, you know that?"

"Honestly bruh, we aren't, like, hanging out." Arlo lifted his leg and let out a bassy fart. Andy was afraid to breathe in the toxicity. With a satisfied look he continued. "You only came 'cause, like, I blocked mom."

"I came because you're my bro and I love you. And care about you."

"Uhuh, 'bro'", he said, air quotes and all. "You lie for a living and you're trash at it? You're such a beta."

"First of all my business is very successful-" he was interrupted by another reeking fart and a giggle.

"Yeah, that was a good one, mother fucker!"

Andy could feel himself losing brain cells. He fiddled in his bag for his airpods but they were dead. Typical. He sank angrily into the armrest and then stiffened just as quickly. God only knew what his hand hit in the cracks of the seat. He steeled himself, trying to muster as little judgment as possible, just like he'd been asked.

Not everyone cleans as rigorously. Not every tidies. He eyed his brother, trying to mask his disgust - not that he'd notice. Not everyone showers regularly. Or at all. His face crinkled at the scent wafting off Arlo. Pungent BO, old food, and stuffed farts. He wasn't sure what smelled worse, him or his festering apartment.

He added more to the list and actually felt his prejudices wavering. Not everyone eats healthy. Not everyone watches educational programs. Not everyone makes something of themselves -- and can be content with it. By the end of his list of "not everyone" he didn't have a single thing left to judge.

Andy knew then that the next few months would be very, very long. His brother had fallen asleep sitting there, one hand in an empty dominos box, the other on his dab torch. There was no clock in the house, his Apple Watch had died in the airport, his phone done then, too, and he felt tired in the darkness. He didn't even realize his eyes were fluttering. Tomorrow he would make a game plan, just like he would for his business. Break down exactly what went wrong, where, and what the comeback would be. It might take some time, but nothing was impossible with enough hard work. Satisfied, he dozed off.

---

That didn't go as planned. Arlo slept at bizarre times, which gave him time to look through the rest of the house. He thought it might be a good time to clean, but the trash was so dense that it seemed nearly impossible. Arlo didn't even seem to own any trash bags, and even after buying a box, Andy couldn't throw a tenth of the mess in the overfilled dumpster in the parking lot.

His clothes were covered in mysterious trash juices and food. Dirty and exhausted, he tried to shower, but there was no soap, shampoo, conditioner, not even a washcloth. He damned TSA for their liquid rules. This was already the trip from hell and it only compounded with every minute.

Andy found acceptable clothes in the depths of the grungy apartment. They weren't anything he'd choose to wear--a graphic tee with some game he'd never heard of and a pair of sweats obviously too small for Arlo--but they sufficed. He wasn't going to buy real clothes to ruin in this cesspool. He figured he could just go into goodwill later and get some throwaways to tide him over if necessary.

It didn't work like he planned, not unlike everything else he'd planned so far. He'd taken an uber from the airport to Arlo's, with the idea of borrowing his brother's car for the week or even renting one. He came to find there was no car rental place for miles with a vehicle available, and his brothers beaten 90's Civic was long overdue for services and remained unstartable.

It felt like now, or never. Originally he'd planned to work during this whole debacle but he saw that was nigh impossible. He left a quick memo to his remote workers that he was taking an emergency leave and to continue any major projects and manage themselves for a little bit. He knew they were up to the task.

The next few days went that same, Andy bagging up as much trash as humanly possible until he was too weary to continue, and Arlo piling it up just as fast. It was fruitless, much like the kitchen fridge, and Andy felt as though he might genuinely lose his sanity holed up in the trash den.

They went back and forth with each other a hundred times over the weeks over this. Sometimes as friends and sometimes mortal enemies. Sometimes it seemed like his brother was coming around. He could get him to clean up after himself. Then he was cooking meals instead of ordering them, shaving, showering. Normal people stuff. Andy even got him to cut down on dope smoking and gaming. But he could never get anything truly clean or put together or even decent. It was always kind of cluttered, bad, stinky, or some other awful thing that drove Andy nuts.

"I'm going to take you out."

"Like, kill me?"

"Out to a bar or something! Around people your age."

"I'm good with that, chief," Arlo said, shaking his head.

"It's celebratory, and mandatory," Andy waved his hand. "No get out of jail free card."

"And walk there?" "I connected with some of my people and arrange a private transport to a-"

"Fine. But you're picking up the tab."

"I planned on it, turd," he said, the eldest brother snark returning as if they were kids again.

The way Andy saw it, a chick would steer Arlo on the right course, fast. That had worked for a million guys more than once, him included. What he hadn't expected was that most of the single ladies wanted to talk to him instead. He tried to distance himself from his brother and blend in with the crowd, but the bar was small and Arlo could spot the cowboy talking from a mile away. In the end, two drunk Menconi boys with a single plus one. She tangled herself around the chiseled body of the eldest brother, with half an outfit less than what she started with.

Andy woke up still drunk with a dead phone and no other belongings. He could tell it was afternoon from the sun through the blinds, but this was not Arlo's place. A mangled charger in the kitchen brought his phone to life and he escaped with an Uber, careful not to wake his new friend, who was sprawled out on the floor in front of the door.

Arlo had left the front door unlocked. Disgusting slapping and plapping and moaned nonsense echoing through the house when he walked in. Arlo, naked except for VR headset and headphones, tugging on himself and surrounded by take out boxes. He slammed the door shut and covered his mouth, turning away from that grotesque sight and running into the hall.

He couldn't get the picture out of his mind. Rolls wobbling and the squelchy fart noises and whorish groaning... he rubbed his eyes but it didn't help. All he wanted to do was lay on the couch. As far as he knew that was now all contaminated, not like he wanted to be in the house right now anyway. He slithered back into the elevator and made way to his rental car, kicked back the seat and slept his regrets off.

When he awoke again he felt sober enough to tackle that ordeal. Bounding up the steps and opening the door to a quiet house. He looked from side to side. It had never been quiet in here, between TV looping, gamer shouting and fat dude snoring. He listened and at the edge of his hearing he heard crinkling. He looked for the culprit under his feet or among the garbage and found nothing. Then he heard the heavy footsteps of Arlo and a belch that confirmed it.

"Got something for you broski," he said, coming from the back room. "But I gotta test it first."

"What? And look, about earlier-" Andy started but trailed off when he saw Arlo loading a familiar looking bong. He took a hit as if in example and ripped a fart as he stepped closer.

"This might be more your speed dude. Remember this shit?"

"You're joking-" he was interrupted by another reeking fart and bong rip.

"pffprprPRFRBFFTBT--nyeahehehe, smoke it!"

"Okay, you're not joking," he said, mouth watering with nausea but too shocked to move. "How the fuck did you get this?"

"I was nine, I wasn't dumb. I hid this first and then told mom about your stash." "You told them!?"

"Old news bro, just smoke."

"It's not time to smoke! I need to-"

"It's ALWAYS the time to smoke," his pothead brother blew a lungful of pen smoke in his face. "C'mon, like, relax!"

He hadn't done anything like that since college, and he wasn't sure he wanted to start again. He eyed the glass piece like it might blow up in his face.

"Arlo, you know I'm here to set you straight right? To get you off of this... stuff? Make you an adjusted member of society like the rest of the family?"

"Bruh... don't be a loser."

"You have to understand how worried everyone is-"

"C'mon, bro, like," he exhaled more smoke. "You're not even gonna, like, take a big rip? With your bro?" His tone was both inviting and mocking.

"Arlo, you're kidding, you can't just expect me to smoke weed of all things, at this point in my life-"

"Bruh, if you ain't hanging, you're not welcome. I don't G-A-F about an intervention," He let out a drawn out fart that smelled acrid, and took another hit. "Smoke, or go."

"Fine, yeah, okay... bro," Andy said, mom's voice spinning around his mind.

The faster he gained his brother's trust, the faster he could get on the redeye flight back home. Not to mention, Arlo hadn't exactly been welcoming - was this his way of bonding? Was this him letting down his guard? Andy rubbed his eyes and took the bong. "One, and that's it."

Arlo put a cap over the chamber and intense hot smoke entered Andy's lungs, making him cough and gag. He stopped immediately, hacking and spitting and snotting. He choked out some obscenities.

"Let's goo!! Hit that shit man!"

"What the fuck," he said between gasping coughs, spittle flying. "Was that even weed? Fuck is that!?"

"Moonrock, broski....weed and wax rolled in kief."

His head swam in circles. He must have sat there for an hour, infinitely sinking into the disgusting cushion of the disgusting couch. His mind was everywhere else but paying attention to how disgusting it all really was, and he almost understood how his slovenly brother had gotten to this point.

"Jesus H..."

"One more! One more!" His brother handed him the piece again, hot and ready to go. Somehow he felt that Arlo was influencing him, and not the other way around. He figured if he smoked enough he could just go to sleep and try again tomorrow.

So he smoked, coughed, smoked some more, floating through spacetime and drooling on himself while his brother played videos that soothed him. In his brain he was out on an undiscovered frontier and afraid of what he might face. In reality he was potbrained and glued to the couch while Arlo fed him chips and baby talked him.

"Poor dude. You're probably thirsty too, here bro," and let him drink coke, "sorry, bro, forgot you probably got the munchies, sorry I got you couchlocked," and gave him scraps of food. "Damn bro, you look totally boofed right now."

Andy couldn't figure out what that meant. He could see his brother's lips moving and he could hear this noise that really sounded like Arlo, but nothing made sense to him.

"What the fuck, dude?" Is what he wanted to say, but it came out as a groaning moan that his brother just laughed at.

"Aww don't worry dude, this won't last forever. I love being blasted... it doesn't last long enough! BRRAAAAAP. It'll all be over tomorrow."

Through the distortion he could understand that his brother was comforting and caring for him. It was the most emotion he had really shown towards him the whole time he'd be there. Plus, like Arlo said, his head would be attached to his body again by tomorrow.

Andy couldn't stop smiling. That might have been the weed making his head spin around the room. It felt nice either way.

---

The more Andy warmed up to his brother, the more often days ended like that. In one way or another. They were closer than ever. They no longer fought, but Andy didn't push him as hard either. He felt bad pushing him too much... it always ended up with a fight and more stress, and how could that possibly be helping?

It was also easy to lose track of time. Easier to give in to cravings with junk always available. He forgot about his disciplines slowly but surely, until he was only a more put together facsimile of Arlo. Though that whittled away too, as his slobbish tendencies grew and he picked more things up from his brother.

It was bound to happen.

It was impossible to escape.

Arlo was getting worse, and so was Andy. Daily. Weekly. Monthly. Forever. He'd slipped enough to make a habit of smoking again, but that wasn't the worst vice he indulged in alongside his brother. The mind-numbing channel surfing, the screen-casted tiktok thirst traps, the mountain of artery-clogging fast food they consumed daily... the worst part was the fact that Andy was enjoying it. A lot. He couldn't stop getting high and he couldn't stop stuffing himself. He had never gained weight this fast in his life: every meal stretched his stomach, grew his capacity, and made him greedier for more. He reasoned that as long as he wasn't as big as Arlo, it was okay.

In reality he'd basically polymorphed into his younger brother. His beard grew much faster than Andy's and he hadn't cut it, same with his greasy hair. His midsection was bloated with salt and even when it wasn't it was bigger than it had ever been in his life. His fingernails were dirty with resin. He'd blown up so many sizes he'd graduated into Arlo's old clothes.

"Wanna smoke again, bro?"

They shared the same glassy eyed look at the TV. What was one tolerance shredding dab going to do? He was already in too deep. He took the piece and ripped it like a pro, never taking his eyes off the tiktok thot his brother was obsessed with.

"I've followed her onlyfans, PRRFFTTT, like, since she made it," he said like it was an accomplishment. "She even shouted me out for like, bRRRAP, donating. Talking all sexy and flashing her titties."

"SHE shouted YOU out?"

"Yah, bro, I'm like her highest dono," he giggled at that, smoke oozing from his mouth. "And her highest sperm dono..."

Andy mindlessly rubbed the ice cold can of coke across his sensitive nipple. It was hard to think... and every time he noticed how hard it was to think his mind would drift to how hard he was. His thoughts thickened quicker than he had.

"She... she shouted you out...? For donating money?" He said his words like they were too thick.

"That's her job, dude, to like, get us off."

"Why am I so horny?" He thought, but wondered if he said it aloud.

"Yeah bruh, it's lit," Arlo said, winking.

Andy had never been into the whole scene. Okay, yeah, old playboys and stuff when he was younger, maybe some old school DVDs. When he really became successful he just didn't have time for it. He had real sexual encounters with real women that had real interest in him.

This still felt kind of real. He looked on at the TV, the only thing that made a lot of sense in his clouded head, and felt his shorts tent more.

"Dayummm she thick!" A glint of self recognition; he sounded just like Arlo. Then Ms. Tiktokverse bent over and he was thinking with the other head again.

"Facts bro... Don't worry, I'll leave you two alone. I got her snapchat so I've seen every sfw angle like a million times."

His brother scooted a lotion closer to him and waddled back to his room, farts and moans leaking out of him every other step. Andy could see his grimy tented shorts too, and knew his brother would be busy for an hour or two.

Andy watched the livestream, ignoring the thousands of comments pouring in. Months ago he wouldn't have believed he'd ever sink this low, yet here he was, ogling some girl that didn't even know his name, doing the most sex-adjacent things she could on a PG site.

"Heyyy Arlo, thanks for the donation, sweetheart.This one is for Arlo's brother...Hey, Andy!"

Correction, she did know his name. He eyed the comments that joked about his inceldom, needing his brother to get this girl's attention for him, but quickly went back to ogling. He reached down into his shorts he'd outgrown, but his arm was too fat to fit comfortably. He settled for sliding them down slightly and exposing his growing fatpad.

"Mmm, Andy, I hope you're enjoying every minute of this~"

She winked and smiled, before saying she needed to end the show because there weren't enough donations. With the screen blank, the reality of what he was doing hit him, even with his weed addled brain.

"What the hell am I doing?" He asked aloud, as if God himself might answer. There was no answer though. The only sound he could hear was his pounding heartbeat and the videos his brother blasted at all hours of the night. "Tomorrow... I'll fix this tomorrow."

Tomorrow he could start again, buy a handful of garbage bags, and cleaning supplies, and recruit Arlo into his own rehabilitation. Get his shit together and stop having fun. Since when do businessmen have juvenile fun like this? Never. He needed to get back to Vermont. He would finally be able to get back to work.

Then it hit him like a ton of bricks. His business!

Fuck, how many weeks had passed in this fever dream? He hadn't looked at his work email in ages. After a few failed password attempts, he opened the minimalist mail app, which overflowed with hundreds of emails from clients and coworkers alike. Probing about his return, wondering if he and his family were okay, curious if he'd quietly quit his prolific position. His fat fingers danced on the keys, brain working overtime to try and make an intelligent reply. Nothing came out except a run-on sentence filled with "bro" and "dude". Shit.

He closed the app without sending a single reply.

Tomorrow, he would try again.

---

Oh no. His heart pounded as he shifted on the couch as fast as he could, which wasn't fast at all.

"FRRRAAAP, nnyah."

He wiggled, wobbled, and rocked side to side, resembling nothing more than a bowl of pudding.

"Shiiit, BRRAAAAAP, URRP, nngh nnnnghhh,"

He couldn't fucking reach. He tried so hard but couldn't fight the weight of his fat long enough to do anything.

He looked at his phone with unfocused eyes and forgot what he was doing, but still trying to satisfy the twitching between his thighs. He let out another nasty burp that made him twitch harder.

He looked over at his brother who was groaning in hedonistic joy. Although he was censoring himself with his excess flab, Andy could still hear the buzzing of the toy underneath. His moobs jiggled in sync with the rocking motion he made and Andy wished that was him instead.

"Alexa, can you, like, BRRAPunghhh, order a vibrator?"

"I have found multiple orders in your previous history-"

"Order it!" He barked, trying to reach once more and finding himself red faced and spent.

Blinking blankly at his phone screen again, he suddenly remembered what he needed. He opened Twitter and scrolled more and more. He felt so brainfried, jaw hanging low and staring at flashing gifs. His eyes were too unfocused to read captions anymore, but he needed more.

"BroooAAAPPPP, we should order Doordash... Like a lottafuckingfoooooodnnnngh!"

It was half request and half orgasm. Andy's neck burned hot with desire and jealousy, then anger as the vibe kept purring.

"Dude, take that thing out, burrp, it's distracting as fuck."

"Dude, I can't fucking BRRAP reach it anymore, nyeheheh."

Andy twitched some more, feeling so close to the edge mentally. He wanted that so bad. Constant pleasure. He was so addicted to chasing dopamine. No more natural happiness like sunlight and exercise. Only artificial substitutes like smoking, gorging, and watching pretty girls do disgusting things on Twitter. What happened to him, and so quickly? He felt a pang of fear in the back of his mind but quieted it down with a big fat cloud.

This was the life he was meant to live.

Maybe Arlo had been right all along.

...

SUPPORT MY WORK/MAKE ME FATTER. CLICK FOR MY SOCIALS & DONATION LINK! THANK YOU.

[snae-b]

hi! ❤️ a little prompt idea: Crowley camps in a national park to stargaze and gets caught by Ranger Aziraphale.

“Backcountry camping isn't allowed in this area.”

Crowley couldn't see the man speaking to him, just a blinding spot of light coming from the headlamp strapped to his forehead. He recognized the voice though. Knew every detail of the face he couldn't see. The twinkling blue eyes and pink cheeks and wild curls bleached blond by the sun.

How could he forget it?

Crowley stretched out on the sandstone outcrop with his hands behind his head. It was still warm from the heat of the summer sun.

“I won't tell if you don't.”

He turned his gaze back to the thick tapestry of stars stretching out above them. Only the barest sliver of the moon hung in the sky like a hook snagged in the fabric of the night.

The headlamp clicked off and the starlight caught on a gold badge. Gritty stone crunched beneath thick soled boots and Crowley watched those blond curls in silhouette as they lowered to the ground beside him.

“I told you not to come back here.”

Crowley fingered at the goose egg on the back of his skull. His little souvenir from their last run in.

“I know.”

“The rest of your pack has already moved on.”

“Always been a bit of a lone wolf.”

“You're not welcome here.”

Heat coiled up in his belly remembering the last time he heard those words. The rough and desperate tumble in an iron barred cell in the basement of a ranger station. A race against the setting sun. Time chipping away at his humanity.

“Got a funny way of showing it.”

“You stick around another ranger is going to put a silver bullet in your head.”

“New moon tomorrow. Got two whole weeks until she's full again.”

“Two weeks, Crowley. Then you're out of here.”

Crowley grinned at the press of a pink cheek against his bicep. The tickle of a nose against his jaw and the broad hand that fell over his heart.

“Pretty sure that's what you said last month, Angel.”

[plaidos]

Thoughts after playing PZ for most of last night: it feels satisfying that the most pressing issue I run into every time is finding disinfectant for wounds; as a backcountry first responder I appreciate the detail that its not the injury that kills you, but the infection you don't treat. I definitely need to get better at managing small hordes, any more than 3 zombies and I can't get out without sustaining pretty significant injuries. I think one of the rules I'm going to change in my next go-around (if I can) is how fast the player becomes bored? felt like I was running into that All The Time and it just doesn't vibe with my autistic perfectly-content-doing-menial-tasks mindset...

I'm also curious what your go-to traits are?

right now i’ve been playing in a server with some newer players on, so i’ve cranked up the amount of trait points we have and just gone nuts; it’s been quite fun learning how to play a total badass action hero to get the basics before applying those lessons to a Regular Guy Who Is Bad At Running etc.

smoker is basically free trait points, cigarettes are so fucking easy to find in the world and they instantly deal with the negative moodles you get from it. whatever trait it is that gives you bigger carry capacity is like a must for me personally too. avoid anything to do with first aid (which currently doesn’t govern any stats, early access!!!) and to be honest i’ve never found a good usage for stuff that gives you better survival skills; i always find those pretty easy to learn from books.

your autism lets you do menial tasks on repeat without getting bored? is there a chance that perhaps in real life you usually have music or a tv show to supplement these activities? maybe, maybe not, but that’ll keep you from going bored in Zomboid, as well as newspapers, word searches, comic books, etc. they’re one-use, but they’re fucking everywhere. in my base i almost always have a tv or radio turned on at low volume in the early days so i can stave off that boredom the old fashioned way

[selene-writes]

Hellfire series rewrite- Wendigo part 2

Hi guys! I'm really excited about this series. Please let me know what you think. Also, the next and final part of this episode/chapter will either come today or tomorrow.

Warnings for this chapter include violence and swearing? Thats it, I think.

(W.C: 3, 219)

This is an 18+ fic

The next day, as you shut the car door, you scanned the surroundings to find Hailey, her brother, and another older man in tow. "Great," you sighed inwardly. Another person to protect that was just what the three of you needed. Sam and Dean emerged from the car alongside you. You were dressed in khaki cargo shorts, a black tank top, and a jacket, carrying a duffel bag slung over your shoulder. Catching Sam and Dean's eyes, you offered a small smile.

Dean's question broke the silence. "You guys got room for three more?" he asked, raising his hand.

Hailey glanced between the three of you. "You guys want to come with us?" she asked, a hint of skepticism in her voice. You moved closer to Sam, so you stood in between the brothers.

"Who are they?" the man behind Hailey interjected, his tone suspicious.

"Apparently, this is the best park services could muster up," Hailey retorted, shooting a glance back at the man before turning to face you again.

"You all are rangers?" the man pressed, eyeing the three of you..

"That's right," you replied, stepping past Hailey.

Hailey's gaze shifted to Dean. "And you're hiking out here in biker boots and jeans?" she asked incredulously.

Dean chuckled. "Well, I don’t do shorts," he replied, glancing down at his attire.

You couldn't help but snort softly at Dean's response, earning a laugh from Sam, who had moved up beside you. Dean shot you both a glare before joining Sam's side.

"Oh, you think this is funny?" the guide, Roy, interjected, his tone condescending. "There's dangerous backcountry out there."

"You think we don't  know that?" you shot back, meeting his gaze defiantly. Roy seemed like a seasoned outdoorsman, but his attitude was already pissing you off. Stepping forward, you moved past him with purpose, Sam falling in step behind you.

"We understand the risks, Roy. We just want to help find her brother," Dean  said firmly, his voice steady as he stared down the guide, before moving forward with you and Sam.

Several hours into the hike, the scenery had shifted from welcoming woods to darker, denser forest as sunlight struggled to penetrate the thick tree lines.

"So, Roy, you mentioned you do a bit of hunting?" Dean's voice broke the silence, the group now arranged with Roy leading, followed by Dean, you behind him, and the rest trailing behind.

"Yeah, more than a bit," Roy replied gruffly, his eyes scanning their surroundings.

"What kind of furry critters do you hunt?" Dean continued, unimpressed.

"Mostly deer, sometimes bear," Roy answered tersely, his attention still fixed ahead.

"And do Bambi and Yogi ever hunt you back?" you quipped from behind Dean, causing Roy to turn around, puzzled. Dean chuckled, glancing back at you with a smirk as you swatted at a mosquito on your arm.

Roy's demeanor shifted suddenly as he grabbed Dean's collar, surprising everyone. Dean stared at him, caught off guard, as you and the rest of the group halted, watching in anticipation.

"What are you doing, Roy?" Dean demanded, his voice steady despite the tension.

Roy released Dean and bent down to pick up a stick, prodding ahead of him cautiously. As you looked on, the stick triggered a bear trap, snapping shut with a loud crack.

"You should watch your step… ranger," Roy remarked, emphasizing the last word and smirking as Dean nodded begrudgingly, slightly annoyed.

Turning to Sam, you exchanged a glance before continuing forward, Dean falling back into step beside you.

"It's a bear trap," Dean muttered under his breath, pushing ahead. Glancing back at Hailey and her brother, you noticed their concerned expressions.

"You guys didn’t pack any provisions," Hailey confronted Dean, grabbing his arm to force his attention.

"You're not rangers, so who the hell are you?" she angrily demanded.

Dean nodded subtly at you and Sam, signaling for you to keep moving forward. With a nod in response, you took the lead, keeping a close eye on Hailey's brother and Roy, Sam following closely behind.

As the hike continued, Sam's voice broke the silence unexpectedly. "I never got to thank you, Jane," he began quietly, catching you off guard. Turning to face him, you could sense the seriousness in his face.

"For what, Sammy?" you replied gently.

"For coming with us, for helping find Dad, and for keeping an eye on Dean all this time," he confessed, his gaze dropping momentarily.

You paused, feeling a rush of warmth and gratitude towards Sam. Placing a reassuring hand on his arm, you spoke softly. "You don’t need to thank me, Sam. You're family," you assured him, meeting his eyes and offering a comforting smile.

Sam nodded, visibly relieved, before resuming walking. Watching him go, you couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion.

The next hour and a half of hiking felt increasingly tense. The woods grew denser, and unsettlingly quiet.. "Here we are, Blackwater Ridge," Roy's voice broke the silence ahead of you. Sam was just behind him, and you followed, eventually reaching a clearing where everyone gathered.

"What coordinates are we at?" Sam asked, stepping ahead of Roy.

"35 and minus 111," Roy answered, consulting his satellite GPS before pocketing it. As you joined the group, the eerie silence of the woods unsettled you; no birds chirped, no insects buzzed– nothing.

"You hear that?" you asked, breaking the silence with a whisper as you looked up at the two brothers.

"Yeah," Sam replied, his gaze scanning the darkening forest. "Not even crickets."

"I'm gonna go take a look around," Roy announced from behind, drawing your attention.

"You shouldn’t go off by yourself," you said, eyeing Roy warily.

Roy chuckled dismissively. "That's sweet," he retorted, striding past Dean and Sam. His attitude angered you, but before you could say anything, Dean was talking.

"Alright, everybody stay together," Dean ordered, gesturing for Hailey and her brother to keep close. He led the way forward, and you followed.

Fifteen minutes later, Roy's voice echoed through the woods. "Hailey! Over here!" Hailey bolted towards the sound, and you followed closely behind her..

 You arrived at a campsite—or what remained of it— and your heart sank. Tents were torn, shredded, and smeared with blood. "Oh my god," Hailey gasped beside you, her horror mirroring your own.

"Looks like a grizzly," Roy commented grimly from the other side of the wreckage. You cautiously approached for a closer look, scanning the area. There were no bodies, but based on the amount of blood, someone was seriously injured or dead.

"Tommy?" Hailey called out desperately, dropping her backpack to the ground. You looked back at Dean and Sam, who were talking quietly, you could see the concern etched on their faces.

"Tommy!" Hailey yelled, her voice cracking as she moved forward.

"Shh, shh!" Sam urged, hurrying after her and setting his own bag down.

"Why?" Hailey demanded, stopping abruptly and turning towards Sam.

"Something might still be out there," Sam explained gently, scanning the the woods.

"Sam, Jane," Dean's voice cut through the tension. You and Sam walked over to where Dean knelt beside a disturbed area of the campsite.

"The bodies were dragged from the campsite," Dean observed grimly, looking up at you both. He pointed at the ground, where the tracks abruptly vanished. "But here, the marks just vanish. It's weird."

You stood up with Dean and Sam, peering at the tracks in the dirt. "I’ll tell you what, it’s no Skinwalker or black dog," Dean muttered, his brow furrowing. He turned and walked back towards the others, and you exchanged a worried glance with Sam before following.

In the clearing, Hailey knelt, clutching something in her hands while Dean crouched beside her. "Hey, he could still be alive," Dean offered gently, trying to comfort her. But his words didn't sit well with you.

"What the fuck?" you mouthed silently at Dean, shaking your head. This wasn't the reassurance Hailey needed right now, and you could see the frustration in her eyes as she stared back at Dean, at a loss for words.

"HELP!" a distant voice suddenly pierced the air.. Hailey and Dean sprang to their feet, scanning the woods. You and Sam exchanged a look before sprinting towards the source of the sound, Roy close behind.

"HELP!" the voice called out again, in pain. Pushing through the underbrush, you ran faster, your heart pounding. Branches snapped underfoot, and leaves slapped your face as you darted deeper into the forest. But abruptly, the cries stopped, leaving you and Sam standing there, breathless and disoriented.

"It sounded like it was coming from around here, didn’t it?" Hailey's voice sounded from behind, and you turned to see her and the others catching up. Roy raised his gun, a sense of dread settling over the group.

"Everybody back to camp," Sam ordered, his voice grave as he glanced around at everyone's faces. You all hurried back, but upon arrival, the campsite was stripped bare.

"Our packs!" Hailey exclaimed, panic creeping into her voice as she scanned the scene.

"So much for my GPS and satellite phone," Roy muttered, crouching down and inspecting the ground.

"What the hell's going on?" Hailey demanded, her eyes darting between Sam, Dean, and you.

"It's smart," you murmured solemnly, staring at the empty ground where your gear had been.

"It wants to cut us off so we can’t call for help," Sam added, his expression grim as he looked at Hailey.

"You mean some nut job out there just stole all our gear?" Roy asked, looking incredulous.

"I need to speak with you all, in private," Sam said quietly, taking hold of Dean's and your arms. He led you deeper into the woods, away from the others, until you were sure they couldn’t hear.

Stopping in a secluded spot, you took a deep breath. "I think I know what it is," you began, looking at Sam and Dean.

"What?" Dean asked, intrigued.

"Give me your dad's journal for a second," you requested, and Dean handed it over. Flipping through the pages, you found what you were looking for.

"Here," you said, pointing to the page. Both Sam and Dean leaned in to read.

"Oh, come on," Dean groaned, looking up from the page. "Wendigos are supposed to be in the Minnesota woods or northern Michigan. I’ve never heard of one this far west."

"Think about it, Dean. The claws, the way it can mimic a human voice," Sam said, nodding in agreement with you. You exchanged a knowing glance with Sam.

"Great," Dean muttered, shaking his head. "Well, then this is useless." He held up his gun. "We gotta get these people out of here."

Handing the journal back to Dean, you nodded in agreement with Sam. You looked at Dean for a moment longer before turning to follow Sam.

"Alright, listen up. Time to go," Sam announced as you both emerged from the woods, Dean following closely. "Things have gotten more complicated," 

"What?" Hailey asked, her voice tinged with anxiety and anger as she looked between the three of you.

Dean stepped forward, standing to your right. "I think whatever's out there, I can handle it," Roy interjected confidently, causing you to clench your fists in frustration.

"If you shoot this thing, you’re just gonna make it mad," Sam retorted, his patience wearing thin.

"We have to leave, now," you insisted firmly, locking eyes with Roy.

"One, you’re talking nonsense; two, you’re in no position to give anybody orders," Roy shot back, his skepticism evident.

"We never should have let you come out here in the first place," Dean chimed in. You looked at him incredulously..

"We’re trying to protect you," Sam added, his voice filled with urgency as he stepped forward, with you at his side.

"You protect me? I was hunting in these woods when your mommy was still kissing you goodnight," Roy scoffed, and you felt your anger flare and your fists clench. You looked over to Dean and saw that he had flinched.

"It's a damn near perfect hunter," Sam argued, his voice firm. "It's smarter than you."

"It's gonna hunt you down and eat you alive unless we get your stupid, egotistical ass outta here," Sam snapped, frustration boiling over. 

"Stop it, everybody just stop," Hailey interjected, stepping between Roy, you and the brothers.

"Look, Tommy might still be alive, and I’m not leaving here without him," Hailey declared, determined as she looked squarely at Sam, Dean, and you.

"It's getting late. This thing is a good hunter during the day, but it's an even better hunter at night," Dean explained, turning to address Hailey, her brother, and Roy. "We’ll never beat it, not in the dark."

"How?" Hailey asked, desperation creeping into her voice.

"We gotta torch the son of a bitch," Dean replied grimly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As night came, you found yourselves huddled around a flickering fire, the makeshift symbols drawn around you for protection. Dean had just finished drawing the last of them in the dirt when Hailey spoke up nervously.

"One more time, that's?" she asked, looking over at Dean.

"Anasazi symbols. It's for protection. The Wendigo can’t cross them," Dean explained calmly, his focus on completing the task at hand.

Roy's laughter interrupted, and you shot him a glare. "Nobody likes a skeptic, Roy," you snapped, annoyed at his attitude. Roy's expression sobered as he looked back at you, anger across his face.

Dean stood up after finishing the symbols and walked over to join you and Sam sitting on a log a short distance away from the fire. He sat down heavily beside Sam, leaning in slightly.

"You wanna tell me what's been going on in that freaky little head of yours?" Dean asked Sam, his concern evident. You listened intently.

"Guys..." Sam began, clearly struggling to voice his thoughts.

"No, you're not fine," you interjected firmly, your eyes fixed on Sam. You worried about him. He wasn't sleeping or eating, and he was darker. 

"You're like a powder keg, man. It's not like you," Dean added, trying to lighten the mood. "Jane and I are supposed to be the belligerent ones, remember?" he teased, giving you a slight smile as he glanced over at you. You returned the smile briefly before turning your attention back to Sam.

"Dad's not here," Sam stated flatly. "I mean, that much we know for sure, right? He would have left some sort of message, a sign," Sam reasoned, looking between Dean and you for confirmation.

"Yeah, you're probably right," Dean agreed, his gaze drifting into the distance. You nodded silently. "To tell you the truth, I don’t think Dad’s ever been to Lost Creek," Dean admitted, catching both Sam's and your attention.

"Then let's get these people back to town and hit the road," Sam suggested, frustration evident in his voice. "Go find Dad. I mean, why are we still here?"

"Because he sent us here," Dean replied firmly, kneeling in front of you all. He reached into his jacket, pulling out John's journal. "This is Dad's single most valuable possession," Dean explained, looking between Sam and you. "Everything he knows about every evil thing is in here, and he's left it to us."

You nodded in agreement with Dean. "I think he wants us to pick up where he's left off. Saving people, hunting things. The family business," he added, voice steady.

"But that doesn’t make any sense. Why doesn’t he just call us?" Sam questioned, frustrated. "Why doesn’t he just tell us what he wants, tell us where he is?"

"We don't know," you admitted honestly. 

"The way I see it, Dad's given us a job to do, and I intend to do it," Dean declared firmly, his eyes locked on Sam.

"Guys, I gotta find Dad. I gotta find Jessica's killer," Sam said, his voice cracking with emotion. You felt your heart hurt for him, knowing how much he was hurting.

"Sam, we will find them, okay? I promise you," you said softly, reaching out to squeeze his hand reassuringly.

"Sam, you gotta prepare yourself," Dean added, placing a supportive hand on Sam's shoulder. "This search could take a while, and all that anger, you can’t keep it burning over the long haul. It's gonna kill you. You gotta have patience."

"How do you two do it? How does Dad do it?" Sam asked, his voice tinged with desperation as he looked between Dean and you.

"Them," you replied, gesturing towards Hailey, her brother, and Roy around the fire. "We're all fucked up in our own ways. Maybe by helping others, it makes things a little more bearable."

Dean nodded in agreement with you before turning his attention back to Sam. "I'll tell you what else helps. Killing as many evil sons of bitches as I possibly can," Dean quipped, a hint of a smile crossing his face. You chuckled softly to yourself, seeing a slight grin tugging at Sam's lips too. But before you could say anything further, a chilling scream cut through the night.

"HELP!" a man's voice echoed from the darkness. You sprang to your feet, as did Sam and Dean. Quickly, you joined the others around the fire as everyone instinctively reached for weapons and flashlights.

Sam pointed his flashlight into the woods, where the cry had come from. "HELP!" the voice called again, this time from behind you.

"It's trying to draw us out. Just stay cool. Stay put," Dean instructed, his eyes scanning the surroundings, ensuring everyone stayed within the protection of symbols.

"Inside the magic circle?" Roy scoffed arrogantly, clutching his gun as he stood beside you. You glanced at him briefly, hoping he wouldn't do anything reckless.

"HELP!" the voice sounded once more, now to your right. But this time, it was accompanied by a low, guttural growl that sent shivers down your spine. Everyone turned towards the direction of the growl, Hailey gasping in fear.

"Okay, that's no grizzly," Roy muttered, raising his gun and aiming it towards where the growl had come from.

"It's okay, we'll be alright. I promise," you heard Hailey's voice behind you, trying to steady her brother. You scanned the woods, trying to spot any movement.

A snap of a twig to your left caught your attention, and something moved in the shadows. Hailey screamed, and more growls echoed around you. Roy moved towards the noise, Dean following closely behind him. The brush rustled as something darted to the right, and Roy fired his gun into the woods. Another noise erupted from behind the group, and everyone spun around, startled. Roy fired again, and this time, you heard a screech of pain.

"I hit it!" Roy exclaimed triumphantly, adrenaline coursing through him as he charged deeper into the forest.

"Roy, no!" Dean shouted, sprinting after him without hesitation. You glanced back at Hailey and her brother, yelling for them to stay put before running after the two men.

"Roy!" you called out, hoping to locate him in the darkness.

"It's over here—ugh!" you heard Roy's voice, followed by the sickening sound of something snapping. Your heart pounded in your chest as you ran towards the sound, finding Dean ahead of you.

"Roy!?" you yelled desperately into the night, but there was no answer, only silence.

next part

[slippinmickeys]

More North of Zero

Joy rolled over in the bed feeling expansive and slow, pendulous as an oversized bell. It was bright outside their window, sun dappled light flickering through the dusty pane. She ran her hand along the rumpled sheets, stretched. The spot next to her in the bed was cold; William must have gotten up hours ago.

She was contemplating going back to sleep when there was a light knock on the door. She looked up to see Scully poking her head through the doorway, a soft smile on her face.

“Good morning,” the older woman said gently. Her hair, having taken on the faded peachy blond of an aging redhead, was swept up into a loose mass on the top of her head, held back by a bright red bandanna.

“Morning,” yawned Joy, pushing herself up to lean against the headboard. “The boys at the new house?”

“They were at it early,” Scully said, pushing her way through the door. In her hands she was carrying a mug of steaming tisane, which Joy received gratefully. “How are you feeling?”

“Mm,” hummed Joy, taking a sip of the hot drink. “Good, I think. My hips hurt. But that’s nothing new.”

Scully lowered herself to sit on the edge of the bed. “I remember that well,” she smiled. “Everything is moving around. You up for an exam today?” She went on. “It’s been a few weeks.”

“No time like the present,” Joy said, hiking up the sweep of her nightgown. At this point she was so used to Scully’s poking and prodding that she barely gave it any thought. That said, Scully always opted for the cervical exam right off the bat, just to get the awkward part over first.

It lasted only a few moments. Scully leaned back from her and peeled off the nitrile glove, a large box of which Mulder had liberated from Zero the last time they’d visited.

“Dilated?” Joy asked, feeling a little nervous. She was well into her third trimester now, and nervous about nearly every aspect of their impending blessing. Scully had been as good to her as she imagined her mother would have been—better, in fact, as she was a doctor—walking Joy through everything she’d be going through, from the scientific to the emotional. She was, Joy had to admit, a fantastic mother-in-law.

“Not yet,” Scully said with a smile, reaching down to pull an old cloth measuring tape out of the pocket of her oversized sweater. “But please let me know if you lose your mucus plug, okay?”

Joy nodded. She lifted up her back so that Scully could get the tape measure around her middle. The older woman smiled at her after a moment’s measurement.

“Coming along nicely,” she said. Joy exhaled. She tried to imagine life before the aliens had come. Regular exams in a medical practice, blood tests, technology. All the things that could put a worried mind at ease. She could have that, though, she thought. If they went back to Zero, they could have that. It was her and William’s choice to have a baby the backcountry way. It had been their decision.

As if sensing her train of thought, Scully, now feeling her way around the tight drum of Joy’s abdomen, said: “Have you given any more thought to heading back to Zero?”

Joy thought she could sense a little tension in her voice, and Scully, who was still prodding at Joy’s stomach with warm, gentle hands, had a small chevron of worry on her brow.

“Is everything all right?” Joy asked, trying to keep her own worries at bay.

Scully’s face relaxed and she smiled at her.

“Perfectly normal for this stage of pregnancy,” she said, leaning back. “Amongst some of my other, previously stated concerns,” she went on, not belaboring a point. “I can speak as a woman who gave birth without an epidural. If you can avoid having to do that, I can tell you in no uncertain terms that you should.”

The thought had crossed her mind more than once. She reached down and rubbed her hand over her belly, trying to remind herself about all the reasons they’d made the decisions they had. The baby chose that moment to press a foot to the confines of its current home, and Joy and Scully both laughed as the skin of Joy’s stomach rolled.

Joy felt a protective surge of love.

“We’re going to stick with our plan,” she said, and took a deep, steadying breath.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Hey,” Mulder said, ducking into the kitchen of the cabin. The air outside was getting colder, and a gust of it had blown in, pushing against Scully’s back before he closed the door behind him.

“Hey,” she called back over her shoulder. She was stirring a pot of venison chili over the stove, its warm, bubbling spice swirling in the air around her face.

Behind her, Mulder toed off his boots and shucked off the husk of his coat, turning to hang it on the rack by the door. A moment later he came up behind her and leaned in to kiss her neck, carrying the smell of sawdust and fresh air.

“Smells good,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning over her shoulder to let the steam purl into his face.

“So do you,” Scully said, tapping the spoon clean and turning in his arms.

He loosened his grip on her only enough to let her complete the turn before pulling her to him and leaning in to press his lips to hers. She let him give her a few lingering kisses before she leaned back a little to catch his eye.

“How is it going over there?” she asked.

He twisted his neck until it popped, still holding her.

“Will’s determined to get the roof finished before the first snow,” he said, wincing. “Or he’s going to kill us both trying.”

William and Mulder had been busy building a little cabin in the lot next to Mulder and Scully’s ever since he and Joy had discovered they were expecting their first child. Will had been working like a man possessed, and Mulder had thrown in his lot and helped his son as much as he could, much to the detriment of the family’s meat stores.

Scully frowned at the expression.

“I don’t like the idea of you up on that roof,” she said, “at your age.”

Mulder gave her a look and disengaged his arms from around her person.

“I don’t particularly love it myself,” he said, leaning down to place a quick peck to the end of her nose. “Nor do I love you casting aspersions on my virility. And though Will can use his powers to lift the trusses and hold them in place, he still needs someone up there to hammer in the damn nails.”

Mulder gave her nose one more kiss before making his way to the sink and washing his hands.

Scully walked up behind him. It was her turn to wrap her arms around his middle.

“I would never cast aspersions on your virility,” she said, gently bumping her hips into his backside while he toweled off his wet hands. “But your balance isn’t what it once was, and I don’t want you falling and breaking your back.”

Mulder squeezed her arms where they met around his belly, the skin of his hands still damp.

“Relax, Scully,” he said. “I’m still a rugged outdoorsman. Fit as a fiddle. Plus, there’s a doctor living right next door. And two super-powered healers at my beck and call.”

Scully made a derisive sound and released her grip on him.

“Will and Joy can heal wounds and mend bones, Mulder,” she said, crossing her arms and looking at him frankly. “But their powers don’t extend to restoring the power to walk to the paralyzed. And neither do mine.”

Mulder’s face softened and he reached out a hand to touch her shoulder.

“I’ll be careful,” he said gently.

“See that you do.”

He squeezed her and she decided that was enough scolding for one day.

“Will still next door?” she asked.

Mulder nodded. “He had a few things he wanted to get done. Where’s Joy?”

“Napping,” Scully answered, crossing her arms to lean against the countertop.

“How did today go?” Mulder asked. There was a hedging quality to his voice; he knew her too well, knew she was worried about something.

“The baby hasn’t turned yet,” she said, sighing.

Mulder nodded sagely and lowered himself into one of the kitchen chairs.

“There’s still time though, right?”

“Yes,” she answered. “There’s still time.”

“And even if there isn’t,” he went on. “Couldn’t one of them… I don’t know… help?”

It was something Scully had thought about herself. Being that the baby and the womb were already inclined to want the baby to move head-down when gestation was nearing an end, it wasn’t outside the realm of their potential that either William or Joy herself could help move things in the right direction if necessary.

“Possibly,” Scully said, then finally gave voice to a worry she’d been experiencing for some time. “But… I’ve been thinking. Maybe it isn’t such a bad idea for us to head back to Zero for the birth.”

Mulder’s eyes went a little round.

“Even though they’re both adamantly against it?”

Both kids (she couldn’t really call them kids anymore, but it was a hard habit to break), had been against the idea from the start. They worried their child might be a target of some kind, wanted for its admittedly incredible potential. A feeling Scully remembered all too well. The family—all of them—trusted the people of Zero, had fought beside them—but kooks, religious and otherwise, were still out there, even if the aliens who had roused their ire were not.

Joy and Will wanted Scully to deliver her grandchild, and they didn’t want anyone to know about the baby until well after it was born. Scully didn’t blame them and she had respected their wishes. But all the things that could go wrong during a birth were running on a continuous loop through her mind, and many of them, she knew, were conditions her son and his wife—despite their great power—could do nothing about. She would feel better, at least as their doctor, having the backup of the best medical technology this new world had to offer.

“I obviously can’t force them,” she said. “And you know I wouldn’t try, but… it’s our…” She trailed off. Our grandchild, she thought. Mulder stood and moved to her side, leaned down and pressed a long kiss to her forehead.

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

[myrandomfandomramblings]

Chenford Week 2023 Day 2: TV Tropes Day (July 12)

Spin the wheel! Pick a random trope and fic type from the wheel (click here)

S5 tropes / s5 parallels (can include other seasons)

Future tropes (engagement, wedding, pregnancy, kid fics)

Trope: Vacation, Fic Type: Fluff (full disclosure: I chose these from the wheels to fit an idea I already had in mind)

__

Bear it all - A Chenford fanfic

When Lucy first opened her eyes into pure darkness she was momentarily disoriented. However, it didn’t take long before she remembered where she was: A tent in the California backcountry, with Tim, on their first ever camping trip. She wasn’t exactly sure what had woken her up but the top contenders were clear: she was cold and had to pee. The temperature had dropped significantly since they went to bed. In fact the tent had been so hot after sitting in the sun all day it could have essentially functioned as a green house. To beat the heat her and Tim had gone for a swim just before bed to cool down and both fallen asleep naked on top of their sleeping bags, shortly after. She figured the solution to that problem was pretty clear. She just needed to slip into her sleeping bag, but first she had to get to the outhouse to pee. She quickly located her headlamp which she had strategically placed under her pillow. However, she didn’t want to turn it on until she was out of the tent to prevent waking Tim, so she fished around blindly in her bag for something to throw on. Eventually she successfully produced an oversized sleep shirt and slipped it on , along with a pair of shoes, before quietly exiting the tent.

Once outside she was about to turn her headlamp on when she was distracted by the sky. This far out of the city it was clear of smog and light pollution and the stars were on full display. She started in the direction of the outhouse with her eyes still fixed on the sky until she realized she would ultimately need her headlamp to find them. She pressed the on button as she lowered her gaze and immediately let out a scream as her eyes met those of a bear illuminated by her light. The bear immediately turned and ran away into the woods, clearly frightened by the screaming woman. Just as Lucy’s pulse began to slow it began to pick up again, as she heard fast steps approaching from behind. She turned around and took up a fighting pose on instinct, ready to defend herself as she saw a large shadow advancing quickly toward her in the darkness. She was just debating Fight vs. Flight when it stepped into her headlamp’s beam.

“Tim?”

She questioned as the situation became clear.

“Lucy?” he asked frantically, “Are you okay? I heard someone scream.” 

“I’m fine,” Lucy reassured him, “but I have to ask, how exactly did you think this,” she continued gesturing to Tim, who was standing before her buck naked wielding a pillow like a weapon, “was going to help?” she finished dissolving into laughter.

“I don’t know,” Tim replied defensively as the reality of the situation seemed to sink in and he lowered the pillow to cover himself. “I woke up to screaming and you gone. I guess I just panicked and jumped right into action.”

“With a pillow?”

“It was the first thing I could find. Would you rather I had left you to die?”

“I wasn’t going to die. It was just a black bear. Gave me a bit of a scare but I think I scared it more.”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“I guess you weren’t,” Lucy offered, finally containing her laughter, “I appreciate the effort,” she continued giving Tim a quick kiss, “but if you wanted a naked pillow fight all you had to do was ask.”

[dragons-ire]

#18 A Fish Out Of Water

“Go on. Go.”

Standing on a curve of the ancient road that wound through the Dravanian Forelands, Breandan reached up to grasp the creature clinging to his pauldron like a lifeboat. Gauntleted fingers curling around her midsection and trying to pull her off without hurting her too much.

In response, Lohs let out a miserable squeak, turning her face to the side of his neck.

He took a moment just to let out a sigh.

“I’m going to have to be away for awhile.” He went on, trying to get his grasp back. “I don’t like the idea of you hanging around camp by yourself. I don’t know who all comes that way.”

“Nooooooooooo.”  Lohs answered, a pitiful little wail and found a place to dig in a claw

“Ow! Hey!” Breandan hissed, digging his fingers i  in return. He yanked the little dragon free, only to have her immediately latch on in a death grip to both his gauntlets.

“Come on.” For good measure, he gave her a gentle shake. “These are your…own kind. There a reason you don’t want to stay with them?”

Lohs hung her head with another sad vocalization, and Breandan narrowed his eyes. He’d tried, of course. When he’d first picked her up, he’d left her here and hadn’t stayed around to hear what the Dravanians had thought about it.

She came crawling back to his campsite out here more often than not. Came and went and stayed around. He was sometimes a little concerned some trapper might find her there and get the wrong idea. Peace was sometimes for leaders safe in their cities and didn’t always hold in the backcountry.

“because….I can’t…” Lohs squirmed. She tried to bite at one of his armored fingers. 

“I can’t sing.” She answered with that mournful tone again. “Not like the rest of them. Can…you? Can you sing?”

In response, Breandan laughed, once. A terrible sound, ragged and harsh around the edges. Looked away from her beady eyes on him, bright and searching for something that wasn’t quite available in his profile.

“No.” He answered. “I can’t.” 

After a stilted pause, he went on.

“I have friends who can.” It came out awkwardly, half-mumbled. As awkwardly as the hand he shifted so he could press his thumb to the crowd of her head, giving the scales a little stroke.

“I like to go listen to them. There’s…places. People get up and do it for…mm. Money, sometimes, but because they like to. And even if I can’t, it’s still…nice, yeah? Being there with your friends. Seeing them do things that make them happy.”

His lips pressed together in an effort to keep himself from talking too much. His attention shifted back to her.

They must have been a ridiculous sight, he thought. The small creature twisting in his grasp, sunlight bouncing off the golden gleam of his armor. Taken from a cache that had turned into a grave, reforged and re-enchanted as a gift. Blessed, some might say. How much the action of returning Lohs to her people had counted towards that was hard to tell.

He wasn’t interested in keeping score.

By contrast: the lance on his back that hummed violently to the creatures that dwelled within. The blood and anguish of their fallen kin enchanted to the core of the weapon even before he’d picked it up and started killing with it.

The Dravanians still smelled the blood on his hands first, sometimes, before they picked up any other intent. It wasn’t always easy out here, and it wasn’t always pretty.

“...want me to go in there with you?” He asked, looking up at the triune spires of the old ruin that lay just beyond the bend of the road. Another sigh escaping from somewhere deep at the bottom of his chest.

“Maybe they’ll show us both around.”

His answer was a slightly brighter chirp, as the dragonet finally began to unwind from between his hands.

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

[foxbirdy]

Absolutely utterly entranced by your traveler's warning comic/poem, and then started scrolling through your entire blog! Sorry bout that like spam lol. You're an incredible artist and seem like such a cool person!! I was curious on three things if you feel like answering: one, do you think you'll ever do prints of your poem, and 2, what's the best hike or trail you've ever been on, and 3, do you have any favorite trail meals or recipes? anyways. off to go make an inaturalist account bc I did not know that was a thing!! Cheers and keep doing you out there!!

🥲 Thank you! This is such a kind message. To answer your questions:

1. Yes, I'm working on getting The Traveler's Warning printed! I'm really touched by how many people have asked for a physical copy. I'm hoping to start taking orders shortly, & mail out a round of copies in late May ♥️.

2. My favorite trail is a tough one - I think if pressed to pick, I'd say the Paintbrush Canyon - Cascade Canyon loop in Grand Teton National Park! That one is a super fond memory for me. Me & some of my coworkers were close to the end of our season, and decided (at about 10 P.M. the night before our day off) that we were going to do it as a day hike because we didn't have enough time off left to backpack it. We started at Jenny Lake, went up the Cascade Canyon trail to Lake Solitude, over Paintbrush Divide, and connected down to the Paintbrush Canyon trail through a skree field. It's got some of the craziest views I've seen in my life!

3. I absolutely do! Chili Mac is obviously a trail worker favorite, but my crew staple was for sure spicy peanut stir-fry! You just assemble your stir-fry ingredients (in frontcountry, maybe this is summer sausage, ramen, and produce! In backcountry it's probably TVP, ramen, and rehydrated veggies) and you make the sauce with a big helping of peanut butter, your favorite hot sauce, whatever cooking oil you have available, a sweetener (honey, sugar, whatever you have on hand), and if you've got it, soy sauce! If you don't have soy sauce, use a generous amount of salt. You want to go light on everything but the peanut butter, and super conservative with the sweetener. You can make the sauce ahead of time, too, and then add it to your soup/ramen/mess when you're cooking! It's a fan favorite. 👍 A tip that is NOT a fan favorite (but is critical knowledge to have) is that if disaster strikes and you don't have a heat source, you can cold-soak ramen for about thirty minutes and it will be soup-able. Somewhere there exists a picture of me eating cold-soaked ramen out of a nalgene, using tent stakes as a chopsticks.

[dddragoni-drabbles]

The car shuddered, then sputtered, then the smooth rumble of the engine started to fade.

"Oh no no no no no, not now..." Pete glanced down at the dashboard panel, as if it would tell him anything- none of those dials had moved in years. He pressed the gas pedal down further, to absolutely no response, then slapped the side of the steering wheel a few times for much of the same. "Come on..." With the car's speed dropping, there was little he could do other than pull off to the shoulder as it coasted to a stop.

Pete turned the key in the ignition, already knowing it was fruitless. He spared a quick glance at the figure asleep and snoring in the back seat- they didn't seem to have noticed the car stop.

Moving as quickly as he could while staying quiet, Pete slipped out the driver's side door, moved to the front of the car, and popped the hood open. A cloud of thick black smoke belched out, and it was all Pete could do to keep himself from coughing. Once it cleared, Pete stared blankly down into the mess of metal amd rubber that made up the car's engine. He had no idea how to even tell what was wrong, let alone fix it. His passenger might know, but the prospect of waking them up was even more frightening than that of being stranded here. The odds of someone cling by this barely-used backcountry road were slim to none, and there was no one he trusted to call for help- he'd just have to figure out this engine thing himself.

[finishinglinepress]

POETRY BOOK OF THE DAY: Bamboo on the Tracks: Sakura Snow and Colt Peacemaker by Tony Wallin-Sato

On SALE now! Pre-order Price Guarantee: https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/bamboo-on-the-tracks-sakura-snow-and-colt-peacemaker-by-tony-wallin-sato/

Bamboo on the Tracks: Sakura Snow and Colt Peacemaker is an exploration of impermanence and the fragile dance between multi #ethnic #identities. These #poems flow through the author’s #Hapa experience without shying away from incarceration, overdoses, and heroin addiction, but also the multi generational trauma created from war, poverty and otherness. This collection is broken into three sections to reflect the interconnectedness of nature, emptiness and ancestry. We are taken from the backcountry trails of Northern California to protests in Paris, psych wards to jail cells, and the #Japanese landscapes of the mind. Bamboo on the Tracks is an experience of meditation on the cushion and the attachments we face on the street simultaneously.

Tony Wallin-Sato is a Japanese American who works with formerly/currently incarcerated individuals in higher education. He holds an MFA in Creative Writing from California State University, Long Beach. His chapbook of poems, Hyouhakusha: Desolate Travels of a Junkie on the Road, was published in 2021 through Cold River Press. Bamboo on the Tracks: Sakura Snow and Colt Peacemaker was selected by John Yau for the 2022 Robert Creeley Memorial Award and his second book of poems, Okaerinasai, is forth coming from Wet Cement Press.

PRAISE FOR Bamboo on the Tracks: Sakura Snow and Colt Peacemaker by Tony Wallin-Sato

If you feel disconnected, estranged and enraged from this whirl of maddening sewage issuing from daily life, then read this book, it will clear the air, set your sights on higher ground and balance you out again…great stuff!

–Jimmy Santiago Baca, Poet and winner of the American Book Award, Pushcart Prize, International Hispanic Heritage Award, and International Award, his most recent book is The Misfits, by ARTE PUBLICO press.

“In Tony Wallin-Sato‘s Bamboo on The Tracks grief traverses from door to door, prison cell to mental institution, Alaska to Paris to Kyoto. The poems are peopled with casual encounters, precise and heartbreaking, as well as the meetings and non-meetings of generations between Sato and his mother, Sato and his father, Sato and his grandmother. In the poet’s hand, darkness is ‘stiched with stars’ and cans of Busch Light recall lessons in impermanence. Bamboo on The Tracks combines the fervency of industrial hip-hop and the elegance of jazz. A poetry collection, a witnessing, a manifesto of the heart, an awakening.”

Warmly,

–Abbigail N. Rosewood – author of Constellations of Eve and If I Had Two Lives

Tony Wallin-Sato wants to get back to where he’s from. Trouble is, he’s never been there. This book takes us through the many places he’s been instead. City streets. Back country trails. In and out of Asian ethnicities. Visits to the psych ward. A street funeral. Addiction. Prison. Tony is from trouble. Trouble with identity. Trouble with authority. Kid with a mouth. Kid running the ultimate con: Poetry. The key that gets him through his time. Into classrooms. Bringing others on his journey. Like post cards home, this is wild language looking for roots. Naming the trees: Pacific yew. Blue oak. Ancient bristlecone pine: where solitary carries another meaning. The noodle house where he shares memories with his mother, both of them hungry for culture and spiritual practice. The vacancy where his American father, one year sober, compares places they’ve done time, reveals the true meaning of impermanence. Visits to his mother’s mother: I remind her of back home–a place I haven’t been yet. The journey brings him to the San Francisco Marina and the streets where he learned to walk: to learn/of my memories. I came here to witness my futureMessenger, pilgrim, bringer of care: Tony Wallin-Sato wants to take us home.

–Jerry Martien – Author of Infrastructure: Dreams, Divinations, and Dispatches From the Underground

Rimbaud and Whitman and Lorca – oh, my. Tony Wallin-Sato’s poems embody acceptance of experience in their expansiveness, their attentiveness to detail, their love of sounds. Like his favorite authors, Wallin-Sato’s narrators wander and observe, consider and evaluate, and most of all, include. Radical inclusion. The poems contain a gentleness of spirit while addressing the necessary ferocity of survival. They are always questioning, always searching, and the search is spiritual and physical as the poet takes us through cities and landscapes, towns and places of wild quietness. The Virgil of these poems has touched down in jail cells and train cars, mountaintops, coffee shops and galleries, and brings a little piece of each to everywhere else. A mosaic of fire escapes, a Modernist trope, Pall malls and a swamp of men find themselves allied in the first stanza of a poem. Beautiful remnants and residue, things that are crumbling and fenced, abandoned and abundant. And no shortage of loss in the meditative spaces these poems create amidst their density of language, image, and people. I could go on and on. Really, I have gone on too long. Read these poems. Read this book.

–Patty Seyburn – author of Threshold Delivery

“In Bamboo on the Tracks: Sakura Snow and Colt Peacemaker, Tony Wallin-Satotakes us on an intensely personal journey — pain and beauty often traveling hand in hand. He paints arresting images that allow us into a world I wouldn’t otherwise be privy to. But once there, I’m pulled willingly into his reality by the incandescence of his poetry.”

–Amy Uyeki – founding member, Humboldt Asians & Pacific Islanders in Solidarity (HAPI)

Please share/please repost #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #poetrybook #read #poems

[rockislandadultreads]

Nonfiction Thursday: Great Outdoors Month

A Wilder Life by Celestine Maddy

In our technology-driven, workaday world, connecting with nature has never before been more essential. A Wilder Life, a beautiful oversized lifestyle book by the team behind the popular Wilder Quarterly, gives readers indispensable ideas for interacting with the great outdoors. Learn to plant a night-blooming garden, navigate by reading the stars, build an outdoor shelter, make dry shampoo, identify insects, cultivate butterflies in a backyard, or tint your clothes with natural dyes. Like a modern-day Whole Earth Catalog, A Wilder Life gives us DIY projects and old-world skills that are being reclaimed by a new generation.

Divided into sections pertaining to each season and covering self-reliance, growing and gardening, cooking, health and beauty, and wilderness, and with photos and illustrations evocative of the great outdoors, A Wilder Life shows that getting in touch with nature is possible no matter who you are and—more important—where you are.

The Campfire Cast Iron Cookbook by Editors of Cider Mill Press 

What is better than cooking with cast iron? Cooking with cast iron on an open fire, camp stove or grill is better!

There’s no such thing as spending too much time outdoors. The cravings you work up exerting all that energy in nature will be satisfied when you cook with The Campfire Cast Iron Cookbook, making for a healthy and delicious adventure. This guide to outdoor cooking over a campfire guarantees that the more time you spend outside, whether in the backyard or the backcountry, the better your meals will taste. Inside you'll find:

- Over 100 recipes for all meals and all tastes - Chapters dedicated to breakfast, sides and starches, meat, seafood, vegetables, and desserts - An in-depth description and explanation of different types of cast iron cookware - A guide on how to set up your fire and cookware for the perfect outdoor cooking experience - Tips and tricks for cooking and clean-up, including how to properly care for your cooking fire and firepit

From roughing it to van life and glamping, The Campfire Cast Iron Cookbook has your outdoor meal needs covered.

No Shortcuts to the Top by Ed Viesturs

For eighteen years Ed Viesturs pursued climbing's holy grail: to stand atop the world's fourteen 8,000-meter peaks, without the aid of bottled oxygen. As he recounts his most harrowing climbs, he reveals a man torn between the safe world he and his loved ones share and the majestic and deadly places where only he can go. A cautious climber who once turned back 300 feet from the top of Everest, but who would not shrink from a peak (Annapurna) known to claim the life of one climber for every two who reached its summit, Viesturs has an unyielding motto, "Getting to the top is optional. Getting down is mandatory." It is with this philosophy in mind that he vividly describes fatal errors in judgment made by his fellow climbers as well as a few of his own close calls and gallant rescues.

America’s Best Day Hikes by Derek Dellinger 

Beautifully illustrated, this best-of compendium features the most memorable one-day hikes in every region of the United States from Sierra Buttes Lookout in Tahoe National Forest to Grinnell Glacier Trail in Montana's Glacier National Park to Giant Mountain in Adirondack Park and beyond. Organized by region, this guide goes into detail about what makes each hike so remarkable and why it might be worth a detour or even a special journey for someone looking to broaden their horizons. All of the hikes are doable during daylight hours and none require camping.

America’s Best Day Hikes comes with all the information anyone would need to experience these unique locations, including details about the hike itself—difficulty, duration, seasonal hazards, and more—as well as traveling, planning, and packing suggestions. All this paired with Derek Dellinger’s stunning photography makes this incredible volume a must-have for any lover of the outdoors.