#winter socks in bulk

[oliviasfashion]

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[myselfariana]

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[chai-berries]

Okay maybe it's the seasonal candles and chilly weather getting to my brain but clingy reader x clingy Abby would go so hard omfg. They're both so needy it makes everyone around them sick, constantly attached at the hip and smooching foreheads/cheeks. My OC has a matching kitty and puppy onesie with her 🥺🥺🥺🥺 I need Abby so bad it's not fair 😭

anon,,, you are so real for this. as someone that is single but has a “wifey” coffee cup stored away for later, i totally agree with clingy abby x reader

i thought of some things that abby x reader do that all of your friends would totally roast you both over:

— matching holiday sweaters…

— she wears one of your specific brands of hair ties on her wrist just in case you need it. i’m talking those spiral ones. and she doesn’t even wear them, she just has it on her at all times *insert manny making a whipping noise*

— you guys are often late to morning meet ups with friends because y’all are cuddling in bed. or having sex but most of the time it’s abby wanting to be the little spoon

— you guys both love quality time together, doing different things. like you could be working on art or catching up a show and abby will be right next to you working on sudoku or reading a book. you don’t talk much unless something interesting comes up. but that doesn’t mean you aren’t in a tangle of limbs on the sofa

— one time abby left a big hickey on your neck and you didn’t notice till you came back from the bathroom

“did you mean to make the hickey look like a heart?”

“no, wait lemme see”

*sees*

“holy shit… that’s hot”

— when you miss her but she’s not around or is busy, you will find one of her sweatshirts that she’s been wearing around the house and put it on. it smells so deeply of abby that you can easily cocoon yourself in the scent. abby discovered you do this when she was looking for her college crew neck sweater and found you wearing it while taking a nap

— you also often take her long socks. you know those nike crew length socks that she buys in bulk? yeah you love to wear them in the winter and abby thinks it’s adorable when you come shuffling into the bedroom, in comfy clothes from head to toe

— you both find so much comfort in each other's arms that even at parties when one of you is having a conversation with another person, the other will come up and silently ask for a hug that turns into a standing cuddle. it’s so normalized in your close friend group that no one bats an eye when abby comes over to you and wraps her body around yours all while you continue talking, softly petting and kissing her head and hugging her tighter when she moves

[middlingmay]

Birthday sex? Its Austin's birthday tomorrow so perfect occasion

Anon! I'm sorry this took me so long.

A while ago I asked for ideas for sexy scenes so I could practice writing them. Two of them helped me with an idea I've been kicking around for a while, and well. Here it is.

Bucky wears stockings, and Buck knows exactly how to feel about it.

It follows on several months after my Gale Cleven Never Learned to Flirt fic.

7K words of the spiciest thing I think I've ever written. Enjoy (if you're over 18).

-

It was March. The nip in the air had lost most of its bite, but it still nibbled at the tips of your fingers and ears and nose. It shot a draft up any nook and cranny it could if you didn’t wrap up tight enough. It was rarely a problem for John. The military get up was top heavy. Always had been. After the Stalag it was one of the few things that kept his feet on the ground, so to speak, when the winter came around.

But the bottom half of a fella? Protected only by wool slacks and some socks and whatever underwear you were able to fit under it? There was a reason the boys on base stamped their legs when they came in from the cold. John knew his own legs had borne the brunt of the bad weather more than once.

But today John felt pretty toasty down there. It was a delightfully unintended side affect of this whole endeavour.

He’d wanted to do this sooner. Ever since last summer when Gale had let it slip. But the logistics were surprisingly difficult, and in the end he’d had to resort to some identity theft and prayed his older sister didn’t ever come to town and need to use that particular store.

Besides, they had something special to celebrate in March, so it all worked out.

Why he’d worn them to work, John still couldn’t quite explain to himself. He’d wanted to try them on, and they had looked so seamless under the bulk of his uniform that he just…hadn’t taken them off.

He wore them as he was hailed and saluted by the junior ranks when he arrived on base. He wore them when he and the other COs had their morning briefing and shared some smokes over their morning coffee. He wore them when arguing with Vickers about the game. He wore them when he reamed out a cadet for trying to take a plane on a joyride—the very same thing he and Buck had done when they were reckless kids.

And it had…done something for him. Maybe it was just because it was taboo, and it always tickled John to push at boundaries and see what he could get away with. Maybe he liked having a secret when everyone called him an open book (he wasn’t; not since coming back state side, not to anyone but Buck). Maybe he liked the duplicity of it. On one hand, the Lieutenant Colonel. On the other, the degenerate.

Or maybe it was none of that psychological bullshit at all. John had never worn silk before today, with the exception of a tie or a handkerchief or a parachute. But fuck if it didn’t feel nice against his skin. Against all of his skin.

He’d requested an early finish today to he could beat Buck home, and it was a good thing, too. The closer it came to finishing time, the harder it was for John to keep his composure.

He and Gale had come a long way since they made that final step in their physical relationship. John had been so frightened of pushing. He had assumed that Gale needed time to acclimatise to wanting a man like that, wanting John like that. But he’d been terrifically, blessedly wrong, and Gale had been wanting for longer than John had ever realised. They never balked at asking each other to try something new, but Gale had never revisited what he’d mentioned that day he mounted John in the living room, taking what he wanted.

But John would give Gale anything. Including this. His Buck might be a little unsure, might be a little hesitant to go for it, shy about his desires, but John would get him there. John would guide Gale’s hands to his thighs so his fingers could tickle at the hems. He’d show Gale how to grip his waist without risking the clasps coming undone. He’d walk him through just how tight he could pull the straps without them breaking. He’d show him how to be gentle so he didn’t rip the silk.

He’d show him everything.

But first, dinner.

Gale was the cook in their household. Through sheer determination John had started to take up baking. He’d only just managed to make barely passable cookies, and that was because he threw a frankly scandalous amount of sugar in there and loaded them up with chunky chocolate chips that hid a multitude of sins. But when it came to making actual meals, he was hopeless. He could boil water, heat soup, peel vegetables and fry bacon in the pan. But anything more complicated than that was Gale’s far more patient, focused, and diligent domain.

But not tonight. Tonight John had the jump on him.

He pulled up outside Jenny’s. They kept in touch with Macon (and Jefferson, though he was more Gale’s pen pal than John’s, pair of know-it-all's), and it turned out he had a friend who’s wife had a restaurant out here. Her husband hadn’t made it back, but before he left he’d promised her that after the war they were going to start the restaurant they’d always dreamed of. So she’d gone and done it for both of them, and she served some of the best food John had ever eaten. It was Gale’s number one choice every time he got to pick where they went out for dinner.

He’d called ahead and placed his order, and Jenny had it waiting for him as he slipped through the door and tried to weave his way through the crush of bodies.

A server waved him down. “Got your food Mr Egan. It’s hot—Jenny just sent it through.”

Louis. A good kid. Sharp kid. John handed him a couple of dollars tip. “I don’t know how she does it, Louis. Woman’s magic.”

“Don’t I know it.”

John beat a hasty retreat and buckled the bag of food into the passenger seat. It was precious cargo, and their night was not going to go the way John wanted if he let anything happen to dinner from Jenny’s.

He got home with fifteen minutes to spare. Plenty of time to change into fresh clothes and plate up.

He was just pouring himself some wine and Gale some cordial when the man himself walked in the door. His satchel looked heavy over his shoulder and his cheeks were pink from the evening chill. John was already smiling like a goddamn idiot just looking at him.

When Gale saw him standing next to a fully laid table complete with one solitary candle and smelled that tell tale aroma, he shucked his coat and his bag with a rarely seen haste.

“Did you get dinner? From Jenny’s?”

“Mhm,” John trilled sing-song and smug. “Your favourite.”

Gale inhaled a lungful and moaned like he could already taste it from the smell alone. His hands floated to John’s waist as he looked longingly at the food, and John managed to quickly set his hands further up his ribs without him noticing the redirection.

“What’s the special occassion?” Gale pulled him close and pressed their foreheads together. “S’nice.”

John grinned wide and toothy. “Happy birthday.”

Gale pulled back, brows furrowed and tick of a smile playing at his lips. “My birthday was in December.”

Didn’t he know it. It had been miserable this year. A couple days before Christmas and right as a cold snap had hit them. It was the coldest the year had been so far, and they’d barely had it in them to celebrate. Instead they’d cooked as much food as they could, piled the fire high and burrowed themselves under blankets and pillows and each other. They’re refused to allow a single pang of hunger or chill of the cold get anywhere near them.

“Gale Cleven’s birthday was in December,” John corrected him. “Buck’s is in March.”

Realisation dawned with eyes sparkling like the sea in broad daylight from the cockpit of a B-17.

“We met in March 19—”

“1940. Happy seventh birthday, Buck.”

Gale wrapped his arms around John’s neck and kissed him slow and sweet. Warm like the glow of the fire they enjoyed in winter evenings. There was the barest, slightest hint of a pull, like Gale had to stop himself from drawing John’s lips into his mouth, into the waiting nip of his teeth.

He pulled back and set his forehead against John’s, his own smile a goofy match. “You’re a sap, John Egan.”

“Your sap.”

John got one more kiss before Gale was pulling away eagerly sitting down to their meal. To this day, watching Gale eat hale and hearty filled John with a joy he couldn’t quite describe.

Their meal passed with pleasant chatter, mostly led by Gale between bites as John tried to keep his focus on the good food and better company. But in his excitement, and a little nervousness, his leg was bouncing. And he could feel the slip of silk against his skin again.

“You haven’t paid attention to a word I said, have you?”

John’s eyes snapped back to Gale’s, who was trying not to laugh at him.

“Am I boring you?”

John licked his lip. “Far from it.”

Draining the last of his drink, Gale got up and stepped around the table to stand before John. John’s legs opened to let Gale slip between them. He tilted his head back as far as it could go as Gale stepped as close as he could get.

“Something else on your mind?” Gale’s voice was low and coy. Playful. John liked him playful.

“I got something else for you.” John tipped forward and kissed the flat of Gale’s stomach through his shirt, softer on account of their meal. “But it’s not for out here.”

That pricked at Gale’s curiosity. John wasn't one of those folks who thought sex was between them, the bedroom, and the Lord. They’d made it in every room in the house. So, for him to confine it to the bedroom tonight. Well, Gale wanted to know. Needed to know.

“Alright then. Take me upstairs.”

John obeyed the one and only command he expected Gale to be able utter tonight. They had an equal amount of give and take when it came to sex. They both liked being in charge and giving it up depending on their mood. But John knew this was going to be so far outside of Gale’s experience that he’d be the one leading tonight. And he liked the thought. Loved it, even, of being the steady hand behind Gale’s pleasure.

Inside their room, John flipped the lock and Gale’s brows kissed his hairline. But before Gale could ask the questions John could see brewing in that big ol’ noggin, he leaned against the door, hands clasped behind his back and pushed his hips out. A summons Gale had never been able to refuse.

And he didn’t now.

Gale's long, supple hands gripped his hips with a strength that always sent John into a tail spin. People saw Gale’s pretty face and often jumped to the wrong conclusions. He was wicked, sharp, fast, and strong, and more than capable of putting John down when he had to. It was a heady thrill to have that type of strength panting for you, whimpering for you. And that was John’s goal by the end of the night.

Gale swept his hands round to cup and grab at John’s ass, but John laced their fingers together before he could get there. “You missed something,” he said, drawing Gale’s hands up towards his waist.

Gale's pout was cute, and John wanted to pull at it with his teeth. But he wouldn't do anything to miss this moment. He didn’t even blink as Gale touched and traced and explored his body until he caught it. There. A deepening crease between his eyes as Gale felt something covering the thick, meaty softness of John’s waist. He watched Gale’s eyes close as he concentrated, following the line as he figured out it went all the way around. He watched Gale look down as he tried to gauge the thickness of it.

Then he watched that gorgeous fuckin’ mouth drop open and heard the sharp hitch of breath as Gale realised what he was touching.

“You didn’t think I forgot, did you?”

Gale’s fingers dug in. A couple of them slipped under the top of the garter belt, taking fingerfulls of John’s shirt with it. Quick puffs of air fell against John’s lips and Gale’s eyes were wide and unfocused as he stared at John’s waist.

“Hey, it’s okay.” John stroked up Gale’s arms until he could cup Gale’s neck and squeezed it in a soothing beat. “I know it’s new. But we don't have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. And I’ll talk you throu—”

“John.” It was said with a bolt of steel that straightened John’s spine. He hadn’t heard that voice come out of Gale since they’d last disciplined replacements together in England. It had his cock hard and throbbing behind the delicate little panties so quick he near felt dizzy.

“You’ll talk when you’re spoken to. Do you understand?”

The door clacked as John slumped back against it. He felt a fine tremor start to warm and thrum in the muscles of his thighs. He wondered if Gale could see it? The way his eyes were focused on John like Gale was some great prowling beast and John the tasty morsel made him feel like Gale could see right through John's clothes, to the treat that awaited him.

Gale dragged his fingers, still just easing past the eaves of the garter belt, over the fabric on John’s shirt, around to the divots of his waist. He grabbed a better handful and tugged, testing the tautness, the tension, and the pull. Then John was yanked forward by his waist, the belt biting into his skin and straining under the strength of Gale’s hands. The pinch of the fabric had him gasping against Gale’s mouth as he smirked at John.

“I said, do you understand. Doll?”

John’s mouth fell open and a groan fell out. He let it roll out on his tongue as he tried to slip it against the petal-like softness of Gale’s lips. But Gale saw it coming and pulled back, and John tried not to whine like a dog.

Because he didn’t understand. He didn’t understand at all. He was supposed to help Gale fulfill one of his fantasies. He was supposed to lead and guide Gale through the experience and help him discover new realms of pleasure. He was going to watch Gale fall apart because of him.

But that wasn’t the Gale staring down at him now as he leaned into John’s space and had his back arching against the door. This Gale was in charge, in control, and ready to order his subordinate at his will.

How many women had John called doll in his lifetime? How many times had he said it to Gale and watched his cheeks pinken and eyes darken?

But oh, he got it now.

John nodded so hard his head smacked against the door, and Gale chuckled low and syrupy.

“Easy, sweetheart. Need you clear headed for this. For now.”

That’ll be a fuckin’ miracle, John thought.

Gale stepped back and John went to follow until a sharp click in Gale’s throat stopped him dead. Gale retreated backwards to the bed, eyes fixed on John, thumbing open the buttons of his shirt collar until the back of his knees touched the bed.

Slowly, he sank down with his legs spread wide, almost obscene like the way young men do when they have something to prove. But Gale didn’t have to prove a damn thing. He just wanted John’s attention, and he had it. John eyed the endless stretch of Gale’s legs, perfect for wrapping around his waist, or hooking over his shoulder, or driving John were Gale wanted him as he flexed his thighs. John knew their valleys intimately, from the delicate knob of his ankle to the mouth-watering bulge of his cock.

But John didn’t see that bulge now. He stamped down the little flash of disappointment that sparked up. He’d just have to work a little harder. Gale hadn’t seen anything yet, after all.

“You said you got a treat for me?” Gale’s voice was that deep and trembling bass he got that tightened John’s skin and made his insides quiver.

“Yeah,” he barely managed to whisper.

“Show me.”

John had never been one for following orders. But he’d never balk at Gale’s. That particular command gave him some of his Egan charm and bravado rushing back. A natural born showman, he was. And his man wanted a performance.

If he knew tonight was going to go in this direction, he would have found a good station on the radio, or put the record player on loud enough to filter up to the bedroom. But as it was, the only music he had was the warm creak of well-worn, trodden-soft floorboards; the soft shushing slip of his clothes as he ran his fingers down the length of his chest, into the v of his hips, into the flesh of his thighs. His only rhythm was the hammering of his heart, the breaths that hitched and gasped no matter how hard he tried to control them, and Gale’s minute shifts on the bed that sounded deafening tucked away secret in their room.

John traced his fingers back up from his knees to his hips, and he caught Gale’s finger stroking the bedsheets as he watched. John snagged the edges of his shirt and, using the flat of his palm just like he did doing yard work on a hot day, rucked the bottom of his shirt up to show Gale a flash of skin he loved so well. There was barely a day that went by that John didn't have some form of love bite fading on the skin of his belly.

But he showed Gale much more than that. After his rough handling earlier, one side of the garter belt had risen and settle higher on his hip, and now it peeked above the band of John’s slacks. John hadn't liked the belts that looked like a bolt of stretched, shiny fabric. Instead, he’d gotten one with semi-transparent windows against his flesh that let the pale skin peek through the opaque blackness. Stiff, geometric lines ran parallel, and pierced and broke up those glimpses. Gale was going to love it.

Gale’s hands clutched the covers underneath him in bunches as he glimpsed the little peek of the belt jutting over his hip, before John let his shirt fall back.

Gale’s eyes snapped to him and John caught the briefest flash of not-quite-anger, but heat. It was John’s favourite thing: testing that famous Cleven patience until it broke. Because Gale broke good.

“I said show me, John. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

John’s cock had been straining against the lake and silk on his panties for a while now. But the edge in Gale’s voice, the demand tinged with a hint of desperation? It jerked near painfully against its delicate confines, and John felt the sticky drops of his precum leak between flesh and silk, melding them together.

Fuck, he wanted to make Gale repeat himself.

His fingers trembled as he undid his shirt, button by button. He made sure to touch and pet each inch of skin as he slowly peeled his shirt open down the middle. He toyed on the last button a little, fingered the curve of it, rubbed it against his belly, until Gale leaned forward and opened his mouth to tell John off. But John didn’t let him get there. With a flick he undid the last button, but caught the edges of his shirt before they could fall away and it stole up Gale’s breath just like it snatched away what the younger man really wanted.

Holding the bottom corners of his shirt in one hand, John teasingly drew them down his torso and dipped them into the top of his slacks. He held his hand there a second, and pulled the shirt down tighter, stretching the fabric against the width of his shoulders and the expanse of his chest which he knew Gale loved. But the temptation was too much. He’d been achingly hard since Gale got the drop on him and it was right there. John pushed his hand down further before Gale could tell him to stop and almost sobbed as he pressed into the coil of his cock stuffed into too-small panties.

“Stop, John.”

John’s laugh was breathy and high. No fuckin’ way was he going to stop at the barest hint of relief. If he didn’t give himself something, he was going to blow untouched like some green kid.

But Gale wasn’t playing, and his next words were laden heavy with warning. “I said. Stop.”

John did, but didn’t remove his hand. Gale’s eyes were dark and hard and glinting with a side he didn’t trust anyone but John with. But God, John was desperate. It was no secret that he loved attention, but being under Gale’s scrutiny like this was almost too much. Almost.

“Please, Buck,” he sighed, shameless in his need. “I can’t… I just need a little…” He trailed off into a groan as his hand cupped and caressed his cock again.

He managed to open his eyes and Gale was half way to him from the bed. He was glowering, disappointed in John, and his jaw was tight.

Christ. He was in trouble, now.

Without a word, without looking away from John’s eyes, Gale pulled on John’s wrist and yanked his hand out of his pants. The fabric of his slacks roughed up John’s hand a little and he hummed at the pleasant burn. He went to rub it gently with his other, but Gale snatched that one up too and held them tight and unforgiving.

He gently knocked his forehead into John’s and let the tips of their noses brush.

“I know you can listen better than that, John. You wanna be good for me, don’t you?”

John grit his teeth. He did. He did want to be good. He always wanted to make it good for his Buck. But he wasn’t sure he could, he was so worked up. It had been building all day, bubbling and simmering and ready to boil over with just the slightest crank in the heat.

And Gale hadn’t even kissed him yet. Not since they came into the bedroom. Had barely touched him. John dared to pant into Gale’s mouth, but no further.

“Please, Buck.”

Gale tutted, the clack of his tongue like lead shot in his belly. “Poor baby. You just need a little help, right sugar?”

God, yes. He just needed Gale to touch him, just enough. Just until his head stopped swimming and he could do for Gale what he’d been planning all day.

Gently, like he might if John were a woman, Gale kissed him. Short, sweet, feather light kisses at first. And when John pushed harder, he allowed it. He pushed John’s hands behind his back and squeezed his wrists; a silent command to keep them there. But he would. He could be good now Gale was giving him something.

Gale let the very tips of their tongues touch in the barest hint of a caress before he gentled the kiss again. John keened but drank up every taste of Gale’s lips he could get, all sweet with cordial. Gale’s hands slid up his chest and over his shoulders and dragged John’s shirt down and down. John sighed into Gale’s mouth with relief. He’d foregone an undershirt when he changed after coming home from work, and was grateful for it now. The air of the room was cool against his heated skin, and he felt it tighten with goosebumps and shivered pleasantly.

Gale kissed his way from the corner of John’s mouth along the square jut of his jaw and down the thick column of his neck. John bared it all until he felt the skin stretch across the base of his throat with a tightness that told you that was enough. Gale suckled and nibbled on John’s skin just, just, below where his shirt collars sat. He tugged and tugged and John’s shirt, and John wriggled and helped him get it down to his wrists.

And he felt the pearly hardness of Gale’s teeth against his neck as he grinned.

“Atta boy, Johnny.”

Gale grabbed John’s shirt tight and yanked and pulled and twisted. John couldn’t see what he was doing, but when he was finished, wearing a pleased, satisfied smile as he took John’s face in his hands and kissed him sweet and full, John went to draw up his own hands so he could touched the beautiful planes of Gale’s face. But they were stuck fast.

Gale pulled back and his smirk was a small and wicked thing.

“You needed help,” he said and John tugged fruitlessly at the bond Gale had made of his shirt around his wrists. “That should help you behave.”

The groan that kicked out of John’s chest was bestial. He bit down hard on his lip and slumped into Gale, who laughed at him and petted his hair.

“It’s not too tight,” he asked, kissing the shell of John’s ear.

John shook his head dumbly against Gale’s shoulder.

“Mm. Good.”

John’s stomach swooped, that pleasant, almost arousing way it did on your first flight, as Gale ducked suddenly and John was left swaying there, trying to keep himself steady. But seeing Gale Cleven on his knees in front of you, smiling like the devil incarnate with fingertips plucking at the teeth and tongue of your belt, was as far from steady as a man could get.

Gale made mercifully short work of John’s belt. His button was yanked open so hard John thought it might pop, and his zipper was thurst harshly down. Gale shoved John’s slacks over his hips, and—

And stopped.

Gale could see the garter belt now. He traced those pretty black geometric lines with his fingers. He scratched along where it met the skin of John’s torso. He thumbed the opaque segments like he was testing to see if he could really feel John’s skin through them.

Then he unwrapped John like he was the birthday present he’d been waiting for all day. Gale carefully tugged John’s slacks down so he could see the ties properly. Strips of silk with tiny delicate bows stitched on. Gale tumbled forward on his knees like he was drunk, and nosed the line they ran from the garter belt down into spaces still hidden by John’s clothing. Gale nuzzled so close that the ties pressed into his skin.

John felt his panting breaths in the crook where his belly met his groin. He felt wet heat pulse from his cock and thanked God his hands were tied, because otherwise he may have grabbed a handful of Gale’s hair and put him to work.

“S’pretty, John,” Gale whispered, reverent and adoring. John felt it like the zap of a live wire. His whole body flushed, and there was very little left on him to hide it. He’d never been called pretty a day in his life.

Gale eased John’s slacks over the sizeable curve of his ass and down his thighs, until finally John’s panties were revealed and the very tips of the stockings. And that seemed all Gale could take. He fell face first onto John’s silk covered cock with a pained, eager sound. His hands scrabbled to pull John’s trousers off the rest of the way, shoving them down to John’s ankles and cursing when he had to pull away to tear Bucky’s socks off, too.

Until finally, John stood before a worshipful Gale, garter belt tight around his waist, ties good and tight, panties straining and wet, and stockings encasing his thick thighs and strong, long legs.

Suddenly, Gale’s eyes were large and wide and shiny wet. His lips pouty and half open. Like he might cry. “I don’t…” He shook his head as he gazed at John. “I don’t know how to deserve you, John Egan. I don’t know how…”

Gale’s hands grasped desperately at John’s legs, stroking and slipping all over the silk stockings. He was untethered, unmoored, and John had the passing thought that it was good neither of the joined the navy since they both needed anchoring so bad.

John gave Gale a slow crooked smile. “Just breathe, baby. That’s all.”

Gale closed his eyes and something wild tore out of John when Gale bit at the edge of his panties and pulled at them with his teeth until they snapped back into place with a sting.

Then John was in the air. Gale grabbed John’s thighs and bolted upright, hauling John over his shoulder. John yelped at the display of strength, positive Gale could feel the way his cock throbbed against his shoulder. He felt Gale’s hands worry at the panty line on his ass and land a hard, solid smack on the exposed flesh around the triangle of silk that hardly covered his ass. Then his world was tilting and Gale threw him on the bed. When John looked up at him, bouncing on the mattress, arms still behind his back, Gale’s eyes were raw and wild.

“Just breathe,” he repeated John’s words back at him as he petted the top of the stockings. “You best remember that.”

He slipped his hands underneath John’s arms and sat him up. A few rearrangements later and John was being pushed against a soft wall of pillows so he could look comfortably down to where Gale sat between his sprawling legs.

“Comfy?”

John tugged at his bindings. They were tight but not painful. And he had enough movement that his shoulders and elbows didn’t bear the strain.

“Like a kitten on a cloud.”

Gale gave him his favourite smile, apple-cheeked and from under lowered lashes. It made John want to grab and squeeze and bite him. But he couldn’t do any of that right now and had to lie there under Gale’s weighty, considering gaze and take whatever he was about to be given.

Gale's hands smoothed over John’s chest. His fingers traced under the ridge of his collar bones. The heel of his hands pressed into the bud of John’s nipples, dragging against them in their exploration and John arched his back and pushed into it. Gale dragged his nails down John’s ribs and it made him squirm and wiggle, but with the way Gale had him boxed in and trapped on the bed he had no where to go. So he had to writhe and tremble and take it, the slight scratch of pain the only thing keeping him from losing his mind.

Gale's hands finally came to rest at John’s hips, and his thumbs rubbed soothing circles into his hipbones. And John knew what came next. If he knew anything, he knew what came next.

Gale swooped down and mouthed over soft, giving skin of John’s stomach. John moaned his relief loud and unrepentant, gratified there was at least one thing he’d been able to predict about tonight.

The bite of Gale’s teeth rained down with his mouthing kisses. A shiny, slick trail dotted Gale’s path around the proof of their recovery over the past couple of years. He sucked in mouthfuls of John’s flesh until the skin tingled and throbbed and red and purpling patches staked his claim.

“You know," Gale murmured between tastes. "Some of the guys at college brag about how tight their girls can cinch their waists. I couldn’t help but find that strange.” He wrapped his long hands around John’s waist, something pleasant rumbling in his chest when they came nowhere close to touching. “Why would you brag about your girl going hungry? Hm? Wanna keep you full, John. Want my girl’s waist nice and thick and strong. So I know I’m sating her good.”

In more ways than one, John hoped. “Please,” he hissed and Gale’s hand’s dug tighter into his waist. “You do. You do. So good, Buck. Take such good care of me. Please—”

Gale cut him off with a kiss, a good and real kiss, and John felt the wet roll of moisture falling from the corner of his eyes that he hadn’t realised had been building. He wanted to wrap his arms around Gale, to bury his fingers in his hair and trace the sharpness of his jaw, but his hands were still tied uselessly behind him. So he could only sit there as Gale tilted his head back and pressed him as far into the pillows as he could get and kissed him deeper. The tip of his tongue dragged all the way down to the crest of John’s, right at that ridge that took the plunge down into John’s throat. Gale licked the underside of his tongue on his way back, sucking it into his mouth, then nipping on John’s lips, before plundering him all over again.

John could scarce breathe. He didn’t want to, if this was how he was going to go. It wasn’t until one of Gale’s hands pushed hard down on John’s hips that he realised he’d been rutting like an animal, fruitlessly trying to get some friction against Gale but meeting air.

Gale pulled back with one last tug on John's lip and said, “I think I’d like my present now.”

John fell back with a flump. His eyes followed Gale’s hands. They moved up first to tug and yank on the garter belt a little and see how far he could lift John with it. The muscles in Gale’s forearm flexed as he tested it, and finally dropped John back down with a satisfied smile. Then his hands smoothed over the dotted mess he’d made of John’s belly. And just when John thought Gale was finally going to touch him, was finally going to bring him some kind of relief he needed so badly, Gale swerved his hands around the triangle of John’s panties to scrape down his thighs instead.

John swore and lifted his leg to kick at Gale, but he caught him easy.

“Be nice,” he drawled and pressed his thumb into the arch of John’s foot.

“You be nice! I’m dying, here.” Gale looked down to where John’s cock had made a valiant effort to escape his underwear. The flushed, red head peeked out from the bottom, pressed between his thigh, the silk, and John’s balls which had drawn tight, below.

“I can see that. But this was for me, wasn’t it?”

John bit his tongue and groaned harsh and grumbling.

“Wasn’t it?”

John sulked. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

Another splatter of moisture fell from him and dropped onto the hairs on his thigh. “Yes, sir.”

Gale grinned sharp and toothy, and raised the leg he still held to his shoulder.

Heedless of John’s predicament, Gale turned his face, now lax and blissful, to rub his cheek against John’s ankle. Gently he kissed the bone and mouthed the silk of the stockings, catching that little piece of extra fabric that stretched between the peak of the ankle bone and the flat of his leg between the blunt edges of his front teeth. Just a bite then he let it go, before chasing it with his tongue, swirling around the bony mound and feeling the texture of the stockings.

John had never noticed before with how Gale was so appreciative of every part of him. But he was starting to get the suspicion that his fella might, might, be a leg man.

Gale’s fingers traced down the line of the seam, humming in approval at the military precision of its straightness. Resting John’s leg on his shoulder, he thumbed at the crook of John’s knee with one hand, and with the other kneaded the tense, hard muscles of John’s calf.

The noise John let out was wounded and obscene. “Holy—fuck, Buck. Oh…God that’s good.”

Gale continued to take John apart, teasing the tension out of his muscles and pushing mercilessly down on any knots he found. John was dragging air in through his teeth, whimpering and yelling when Gale locked on a particularly tender knot. And the whole time a constant trickle of viscous, warm pre dropped from his cock and collected in valley of his panties. It had built to the point that every time he shifted, he felt the sticky, squidgy mess against his balls and his taint. He was wet like a woman and Gale hadn’t even touched him there yet.

Gale pressed those lush, plump lips of his in an adoring trail up the inside of John’s leg. He licked and bit, careful not to snag the stockings. When he reached the hem, where black silk gave away to the creamy paleness of John’s thigh dotted with glossy black coils of hair, Gale moaned low in his throat and pushed his face into the crook between thigh and groin. John desperately snatched Gale up in the vice of his thighs and tried to drag him closer to his cock. And for one glorious moment, Gale allowed it. He tipped open-mouthed onto John’s satin covered cock until he could feel the lapping of Gale's tongue against the panties.

“Fuck, Gale, please. That’s it—right there.”

Gale moaned against him and the vibrations kicked John's belly to quivering and his thighs starting shaking, too. God he was going to embarrass himself but it’s be worth it. So fuckin’ worth it—

Gale tore his face away, breathing heavy and climbed back up the length of John's body. No mean feat as John, furious and choking on his own arousal, tried to drag him back down with the power of his legs alone.

But the kiss Gale gave him soothed him some, filthy and wet and slick, and with none of the finesse they’d learned over the years.

“John,” he rumbled into the underside of his jaw. “God, the things you do to me.” He rolled his hips hard against John’s, and his belly dropped so sharp he was sure he was about to come.

“Gale. I—I—”

A piercing sting nipped at the lobe of John’s ear then Gale’s voice was murmuring against him, sending tremors down his body. “You’re right there, aren’t you, John? Right fucking there. Me too, baby. Know how good you look? Fuck, me too.”

But just as John teetered on that precipice, as his eyes blurred with tears of pleasure, Gale stopped and pulled away, and John let out an embarrassing squeal.

“No! No, no, Gale, I was—I was—”

“Shh, shh, shh,” Gale soothed him, petting hair damp with sweat. “I know.” He rained kisses along his forehead. “Just a little longer, yeah. Wanna get a good look at you.”

He dropped a final kiss to John's nose and leaned back, kneeling between John’s thighs high on his waist, thumbing the sides of the panties.

“I’ll be sorry to lose, ‘em.” Gale eyed the thick band at the top of John’s stockings, lingering on where the clips bit into the fabric and pulled at them, keeping them up. They’d performed a valiant service this evening, but their time had come. “But I think you’ve been patient enough.”

With a fierce yank, the render of ripping fabric pierced the room as Gale yanked the clips out of the stockings, ripping the delicate silk. It tore another groan out of John and seemed to finally unseat Gale’s patience. He shoved the garter belt higher up John’s waist, and tore his stockings down, deepening the rips. The way Gale’s hands tightened over the split fabric, John came to the heady realisation that Gale had done it on purpose.

And then finally, finally, Gale tucked his fingers into John’s panties and pulled them down.

The air hitting his cock had John gasping and thrusting into nothing. He heard Gale choke on his own breath before he pushed John’s hips down with his palm, soothing him like he would an animal.

When John could focus enough to look at him, Gale was gazing at him with nothing short of wonder.

“Shit, look at you John.” Gale marvelled over the mess he’d made of himself. “You look like you’ve come already.” God, he might have. This whole time leaking in a steady stream of unbearable heat, maybe he’d been coming the whole time.

“Gale for God—fuckin’ please. I can’t take this. I can’t take this anymore. I’m begging ya. I’ll do anything.”

And Gale, eyes wide and brimming with something heady, something he kept banked and rarely let blaze out like this, and looking fucking ruined for it, shoved the blunt of his knee up into John’s crotch. The perfect mixture of blinding pressure and the tiniest pinch of skin, and John was writhing and thrashing, getting every ounce of friction he could take. He didn't even know what sounds were coming out of his mouth—babbling, whining, shrieking, it didn’t matter so long as Gale didn’t stop.

And thank God this time he wasn’t going to. Gale’s own crotch was mercy to John’s frantic, frenzied movement. He trembled down the length of his spine and the slender curve of his legs. His arms shook where he held himself over John. He felt his lips quiver as the heat bubbling in his gut frothed and spat and he felt the tingling at the base of his spine that told him his end was coming. But God, he’d see John there first. He would.

He weaved a hand into John’s hair and yanked his ear up to his mouth. “You’re so goddamn beautiful baby. My woman, getting all pretty for me? I nearly came at the damn sight of you. While all the fellas at college are complaining about their girls, I get to tell them how mine fed my favourite meal and served it in silk.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Buck.”

He felt the solid lines of John’s body start to lock. His back arched in a deep valley. All tell tale signs Gale knew like a bedtime story.

“That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it, sugar. Y’look so pretty when you come. Lemme see. Let me—”

For all John’s loudness, Gale had worked him past words. His mouth opened in a silent scream, his lungs ceased to draw in air, and his eyes rolled up past thick lashes as he finally came. Hot spurts of seed lashed over his belly, and Gale drooled at the thought of cleaning him up, a line of spit pooling down into the mess. As Gale kept rocking and pressing into him, John kept coming. When finally dragged in ragged gasping breaths, there wasn’t a bit of him that wasn’t shaking. Gale didn’t want to miss a bit of it, but he was barely able to undo John's bonds with one hand, so he could feel John's touch on him, before his own orgasm hit him. It felt as violent as being torn from a plane. His vision whitened and he used John's body, his jerking, twitching, vulnerable spent body to ride out and milk every last drop from himself, until he mewling, pathetic and sensitive.

John was petting his hair and whispering in his ear when he came back to himself.

“It’s okay. That’s it. I’ve got you. You did so good, Buck. That’s it. You back with me?”

Gale nodded into the crook of John's neck and snuggled closer. He powered through the flinch that rocked both of them as the sensitive skin of their cocks brushed. But nothing could pull him away from John at this moment.

John kissed Gale’s hair and without even looking, Gale could feel the grin against his scalp.

“Happy birthday, Buck.”

“Mm.” Gale felt the loose, hazy drag of sleep put weight in his limbs and on his eyelids. He let them droop shut, but before he let sleep and the warm cradle of John's arms take him, he managed: “John?”

“Mhm?”

“We’re going to need more stockings.”

[ittybittykittyfingers]

Winter Clothing Tips

I wanted to make a friendly and detailed list of stuff I've learned from living in a cold climate.

(Note that I do not have vegan-friendly options- suggestions with links to a vegan product's efficacy are welcome)

This stuff is common knowledge where I live but it occurred to me that it might be useful to someone if I laid it all out. I'll be updating this list if I think of more.

I absolutely adore winter and want to help you love it too! Cheers! List below.

• “Cotton kills!" You see, when cotton gets wet, it will suck warmth from your body and freeze on your skin surprisingly easily. Use wool in place of cotton because when wool gets wet, it will still insulate you.

• Know how to layer! Counterintuitively, having layers of thinner, high-quality materials is less bulky than having a single jacket or pair of gloves/socks. Plus, it has the added bonus of being able to be taken off and switched around according to your needs.

1. Base layer - this is the layer that touches your skin. You want this layer to be light, flexible, and moderately form-fitting. This layer's job is to be moisture-wicking. Sweat evaporates, even under layers, so you want something that will move it away so you don't feel the cooling effect. You also just don't want moisture on your skin. Real silk is recommended.

2. Mid layer - this layer can actually be as many layers as you want. I rarely need anything more than a knit merino wool sweater, but accommodate yourself. This layer does the brunt of the work of keeping you warm. Real, non-blended wool is recommended, but really any wool will be miles better than most anything else.

• make it a priority to keep your center warm. Many people choose a vest as a mid-layer as it keeps bulk off of your arms and keeps your middle toasty.

3. Shell - this layer keeps the warmth in and the elements out. Many people go for waterproof shells so they can be worn all year (i.e. rain jacket). Shells have little to no insulation and usually have a hood. You want the shell big enough to always cover your underlayers, but not so big that it bunches up. I don't have a material to recommend here since anything truly waterproof and tough enough to resist puncture will do. It can actually get hot under there so consider whether you might want a ventilation hole for your arm pits. There are plenty of options. Know that any shell which says it's both breathable and waterproof is lying (unless it's a super fancy item, like $300 fancy). Sometimes, a water resistant material will be better for you than a waterproof one. It depends.

• socks, socks, socks! A pair of silk foot liners paired with a good pair of wool socks will keep you comfy all day. Make sure your winter shoes/boots are a bit too big to accommodate the extra space that multiple socks take up. Make sure your socks are taller than the top of your boots. You want the socks sticking out from the top. I like to layer my foot liners the highest, then the wool socks a bit lower, than the top of my boot lower than that. You can always fold the top of socks to make them a comfortable height. (Pro-tip: do not use ankle socks! They will bunch up)

• The above logic should be used for gloves too. You'll want to make sure your shell gloves are waterproof but thin enough that you are able to use your hands. Again, the name of the game is staying dry.

• Waterproof, non-slip boots are a must. You don't need to get fluffy or insulated boots if you use my sock tips. This saves money too because now you have boots to wear all year instead of just winter boots. I'm a fan of Gore-Tex with Vibram soles.

• If you do a lot of walking on pavement and such, get a pair of crampons! There are tons to choose from. They're awesome. They'll have you confidently walking around a frozen driveway with ease. Crampons are these rubber and metal things you strap to the bottom of your boot. They often use either spikes (only recommended for seriously rough terrain) or coils that lay horizontally under your foot to increase traction.

• Speaking of footwear accessories, consider getting waterproof gators. Common wisdom is to tuck pants into your waterproof boots to keep them dry. Sometimes, especially if the snow is deep enough, snow will get trapped at the top of your boots where your pants are tucked in anyway and it'll start dripping into your boots. Gators fix this issue. They're these... they're like shin guards that go all the way around your ankle and up to your knee. They cover the area where your pants meet the boots and will completely prevent snow from getting in. (Pro-tip: if you get ones that are also puncture resistant, they can be used in nice weather too to prevent ticks and protect against snake bites. They're perfect for tall grass. I use mine all year.)

• Scarves are often overlooked but they can make a huge difference. You'll want to find a way to tie them that is comfortable for you. There are plenty of guides on the internet for that. I've found that extra long scarves tend to be the most useful. I like to stuff the ends of them into my layers for extra coverage wherever I need it. Plus, it's easier to tie long scarves.

• Get a good hat that also has ear flaps. I like ones that have space above my head so that a warm air pocket forms, keeping my head comfy. Or you could get a pair of earmuffs that go around the back of your head to pair with your hat. You can use the hood of your shell to protect your hat if you need to, so focus on comfort and warmth for the hat rather than it being waterproof or especially durable. I tend to like alpaca wool for hats.

• Sunglasses can make a difference since blinding light glares off of the snow.

• Before you go out in the snow, put one of those foldable clothes drying racks in your bathtub. Leave a watertight bin by the door you'll be coming in from. Lay a towel at the door if you don't have a good/big enough doormat. You'll be dripping water and littering the floor with snow and ice when you come back inside. Wipe off/ shake off as much snow from your person and knock your boots on the lip of the doorframe before coming inside (this logic works for cars too). Put your wet clothes in the bin. Change into whatever you need to. Bring the bin with you to the bathroom and hang up your articles on the clothes rack to dry. You can keep your boots in there too, just make sure the clothes aren't going to drip into the boots. If you want to get fancy, you can buy a cheap boot dryer to keep in the bathroom.

• Once you get inside after being out in the cold, remove your jacket immediately. It'll take you longer to warm up inside if you keep wearing your outdoor clothes.

• Quick buying tip- if you end up visiting somewhere that's cold a lot, be sure to check out a wealthy location's Goodwill and thrift stores. I've found amazing brands like Patagonia, Kool, and Spider there for cheap!

• TL;DR If there's any one thing I would want to impress upon you, it's that materials matter. You could be wearing 4 cotton sweatshirts and still be cold or you could wear one marino wool sweater with a rain coat and be toasty and comfy.

[fox-bright]

Watching the H5N1 stuff get worse and worse--I'm hoping we have until late next year before it goes reliably human-human, but it wouldn't surprise me if it was this winter--and not being able to do much makes me anxious, so I've been composing lists of stuff to do. I keep thinking, if this were August, 2019, and I knew covid was coming, what would I prepare? If this one goes off like the scientists think it might, it'll be much worse than covid.

Right now, I'm concentrating on food. My plan is to have enough hunker down supplies by mid-September that if things go bad in the normally-scheduled October-February flu season, we'll be okay simply not leaving the house at all. There are only two of us here now, and if things go bad there may be as many as four (as I have two separate friends I'd push hard to come stay here with us), so I need to make sure we have 4 meals x howevermany days I choose. I'm building up to six months, but I'm beginning the plan at three. While a lot of Serious Prepper lists have pretty generous caloric allowances, the MFH and I eat pretty light, and we're both smaller than the average adult human, which does give us even more squeak room here.

We started out with dry staples--bread flour, AP flour, semolina, rice, beans, pasta, lentils, powdered milk--though I have still to get powdered eggs (I'll dehydrate those myself), more dry beans (I'm going to use up a lot of what we have when I do my canning run for the winter, and so far I haven't been able to get my hands on kidney beans in any decent amounts), quinoa, and one more kind of pasta. Right now we have about 2/3 of what I'd want; we'll be holding things at this level, replacing staples as we use them, and if things look more serious we'll do another big shop and give ourselves additional stock of the AP flour, the bread flour, the rice (which we already buy in 40-50 lb bags anyway, we're Asian), the dry milk.

Then there's the perishable stuff; yesterday, the MFH and I took advantage of some very nice sales and got seventy pounds of meat for two hundred and twelve dollars. Beef brisket for stew, pork butt for sweet molasses chili, ground beef for hotter chili, pork loin for white bean soup. Still have to get chicken (which was pretty much sold out at our bulk place) for chicken soup (to be pressure canned), chicken and mushroom cream soup (to be vacuum-packed and frozen).

Very very soon it'll be time to harvest my leeks and my butternut squashes, for leek and potato soup (either finished with cream, blended to a smooth-ish consistency and frozen, or *not* blended down, and just socked away in pressure-canned Ball jars without the cream added; will it take me longer to thaw it, or to take my immersion blender to the hot individual meals later on?) and canned butternut for baking with or making soup or chili or making pasta sauce.

I might can a bunch of just potatoes, too, to keep 'em shelf stable (plus that front-loads a lot of the work of producing a meal later).

So I need to buy onions and carrots and potatoes and celery and garlic and mushrooms and corn, cream, red wine, tomato paste (because my vines got blight this year, sigh--I've managed to can one single run of tomato sauce and that's IT), ten dozen fresh eggs to dehydrate and powder and store in the fridge in case of egg shortages, several pounds of beans to be thrown into the chilis and...hm...fifteen pounds more, twenty pounds more, to have on hand? And then for non-canning purposes we'll need butter, oil, white vinegar (I've used a lot of it for pickles this year), various Asian food staples like black and rice vinegars, oyster sauce, black mushrooms and so on. As for pre-made, mass-produced foods, I'll probably make another post about them later.

While this is more than I'd generally stock in a single season, I do generally put about 100 quarts of home-canned food by a year, and I never keep less than 75-100lb of flour on hand anyway because of how frequently I make bread. So though it sounds like a lot up front, it's not hoarder level; everything I stock will be eaten, some of it pretty much immediately (the beef stew is so good). And putting it all by now means that we'll be less of a burden on our community safety net, if push comes to shove. When the covid pandemic hit I had dozens of jars of food on the shelf already, which gave me a little peace when things were looking scary. We were able to share some of our stores with people who hadn't had the great privilege of long afternoons spent seeing to the personal stores. That's a better option, to my mind, than needing to panic-shop right as things start getting a little wild.

Basically, if things go bad, we'll have food for a while. And if things don't go bad, we'll have food for a while. It's win-win. And it keeps the floor under my feet when I'm feeling unsteady, to be able to sneak down into the cool, still basement and look at row on row of gently gleaming jars of food security.

[mangoshorthand]

Flesh and Blood- [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Ch5 (Hard Feelings Part 3)

SUMMARY: As Christmas approaches, everything between you and Five is perfect...until a destructive temporal anomaly gets in the way. Five is convinced another permutation of himself is to blame. Nothing's simple when you're in a relationship Five Hargreeves: could your loyalties be tested in a way unique to him?

<<Back to Chapter 4 Onto chapter 6 >>

You and Five need a place to hide.

Proceed at your own risk and Merry Christmas, I guess....

Chapter Five: Keechie's Cabin

Keechie was a dedicated follower of Destiny’s Children. When he died in April 1997, he left his cabin and the bulk of his estate to his Prophet, believing in his divinity to his dying day. Klaus had been lucky to have been able to claim it nearly twenty-five years after the fact. Deep in the forests near the Maine border, it provided Klaus with the perfect bolthole in the last few years. Whenever he needed to get away for a bit of much needed self-care, the cabin always welcomed him.

As cozy as it was, Klaus didn’t envy them spending winter there. Luckily, she and Five would be able to get there with relative ease now but in a few weeks’ time the roads might be hard to pass. The cabin boasted an outbuilding complete with tools, Snowcat and snow shovels, but the isolation still worried him a little, especially considering they would have to stay there for the rest of her pregnancy. They'd have to go completely dark. Their phones were left, switched off in their bedroom. They couldn't be traceable.

She runs around upstairs packing them both clothes and personal objects while Five creates himself a small arsenal from the weapons room. Klaus empties the whole pantry into the trunk of the larger of Five’s two cars. Anything non-perishable or long dated. Just in case.

When confirmation came through, Herb drummed his fingers on the desk and scribbled a note on his pad. They’d lost Wynn and the mark had survived. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected- the Commission employed many extraordinary agents, but Number Five had always been in a league of his own. 

Herb had certainly been no fan of The Handler’s, she was a terrifying woman and particularly sinister when it came to Five, now he thinks about it. One thing she’d said a few times had stuck with him though: could the Commission be like jazz?  Could it…improvise? Was it worth doggedly pursuing the same course of action when even your partial attempt might tweak things? Why not take a more iterative, free form approach? When he made the order, killing Five’s partner (or fiancée now, apparently) had been the kindest cut, but since this news he’d had an inkling. After years in the office, Herb had learned to trust his inklings about things.

So when Betty returned with the rerun files, Herb had read them carefully two or three times. Sometimes, things take care of themselves. No more cuts were needed, kind or otherwise: it seemed that they’d already taken the decisive action. Things would resolve themselves and, this way, Five would only have himself to blame.

Five is weird about laundry. You both had to adapt to each other’s idiosyncrasies, (Five had taken to wearing socks in bed because you got freaked out if the soles of his feet touched you unexpectedly in the night) but his laundry thing had been one of the first. 

When you’d moved in, still recovering from your injuries at the hands of Michael Monroe, you’d bought some new detergent, done a load of laundry, pressed it and put it away while he was out. When Five had gone to dress himself the next day, he’d tensed and ripped the shirt off him as if it was filled with writhing insects.

“What’s that smell?”

“It’s a new detergent” you’d said, bewildered, watching him scratch at his arms where the shirt had touched.

“I hate lavender.” He’d grumbled, still hugging himself a little.

“Who hates lavender?”

“I do. Just…thanks and all but let me do the laundry from now on.”

Considering this was your most hated chore, you hadn’t looked this particular gift-horse in the mouth. This had stuck, and Five was now in charge of laundry. As a result, when you’re hurriedly stuffing clothing into suitcases, you’re not sure where most of your panties and his favorite pajamas are.

"There’s a load still sitting in the drier." he mutters, distractedly, sat on a stool and checking a scope fits the Remington he intends to bring.

Before you can hurry away, he calls you back. His eyes and tone of voice seem detached. 

"You said you felt it this time?"

"Yeah. I felt it come...out. It pulsed my stomach."

He looks back down at the rifle.

"You need to understand what you're getting into here. This is going to be months of isolation and I can't predict what will happen with the portals," when you meet his eyes, there's only business-like seriousness, "Diego's a sack of shit but he's right. We could go down to planned parenthood."

When the words are out, a sliver of emotion comes back into his eyes, perhaps at the look in yours.

"I..." you consider, chewing your lips, "I still don't want to."

He closes his eyes and nods.

"I thought as much," he takes one hand off the gun and rubs at his forehead, "I just wanted you to know you have the option. I know it would be the logical way forward but is it weird that I'm relieved?"

"No. Logic doesn't always come into these things. Plus, I could still hurt people: the doctors, the public."

He smiles, and the angle of his lips signals that he's still feeling the effect of drink.

"We could just aim you at the protesters outside?"

You let out a hum or two of laughter and kiss the crown of his head. 

With the packing finally done, (though a little haphazardly), everyone except Diego and Santi had said goodbye as you’d got ready to leave. You couldn’t really blame Diego, but Lila gave you a hug.

“Just ignore him, kitten. He just got a scare." she kisses your cheek and hands you a box, "I found this for you, it's a doppler from when I was pregnant with Santi. It lets you hear the heartbeat."

"Thank you," you'd hugged her again, tears in your eyes.

As Viktor said his goodbye, he held you extra tight and whispered to you.

“I know what it’s like to be treated like a bomb that could go off at any moment. It’s not fair.”

You reciprocate his tight hold.

Diego watches you drive away from an upper window. 

How Lila can wave you off as if you couldn’t maim her in a second, he doesn’t know. Well, if Lila loses a limb, she shouldn’t expect any sympathy from him.

They’ve already argued about it. Apparently Lila cares more about Five’s kid than her own. She watched Santi bleed like a firehose just like he did, and yet she’s downstairs acting like nothing happened?

The helplessness was the worst thing. He thought he could protect his boy from anything, but that portal chewed him in like a devouring maw.

Absent-mindedly, he runs the sheathed blade of one of his knives between a finger and thumb. He only turns around when a small voice sounds from Santi’s bed.

“Daddy, can we play video games now?”

It makes him smile.

“Sure. But nothing too intense. We're gonna play Animal Crossing or something.”

He turns away from the window as the car exits his field of vision.

Five has roughly six stages of drunkenness, (one fewer than Paradox Psychosis): Stage One: Elevated and jokey Stage Two: Surly Stage Three: Awful dancing Stage Four: Karaoke Stage Five: Maudlin Stage Six: Vomiting and blackouts

When he’d been called into action against Wynn, he’d been somewhere between three and four, but the hour or so of abstinence since then had brought him back down to a two.

You were driving the whole way- nearly seven hours. You could tell that not being in control of the car was difficult for him, especially with the chance of another portal appearing at any second. Your insistence that he was several times over the legal alcohol limit was the only thing that stopped him from taking the wheel. He’d tried to argue that he was fine to drive, (hadn’t he just fought Wynn well enough?), but you’d put your foot down. So instead, he sat morosely for the first hour, backseat driving in a way that made you want to drive him off an overpass.

“That’s a yield sign!”

“I know, I can see it too.”

“Sorry.”

He’d leaned his head against the door instead. His leg was shaking restlessly.

“Will they find us at the cabin?” you ask.

“Yes. Eventually, I just don't know when. We need to be vigilant and we may have to run. I can deal with the Commission once you’ve had the baby.”

“What do you mean, ‘deal with’?”

“Boom.” he mimics an explosion with his hands.

You scoff, “So the first thing you’re going to do when you become a Dad is blow up a bunch of people?”

“Yup. I’m protecting you both. Isn't that what Dads do? The limit’s 70 here, by the way”

“I know!”

“Sorry.”

“Last year you told me you were done with them- done with killing for them.”

“Correct. And what better way to ensure I keep that promise than blowing them sky high?”

His voice and eyes take on the look that scares you- the unhinged look he wore as he held the gun to your head on the night you met. That look is really just the B-side of the disorder he’s unwilling to acknowledge out loud; the other face of the neuroses that cause him to wake screaming at least once a week. You try to bring him down:

“And what if you don’t come back? How do you protect us then?”

He looks out of the window, cheek pressed against the glass. After what seems like a long time, he replies.

“Once the baby’s born, the threat should be neutralized. I suppose I could renegotiate with Herb.

“Then do that.

“Watch your blind spot.”

 “FIVE I swear to God-“

“Sorry.” he says and falls silent. 

You drive for a few more minutes in silence until a thought hits you, 

"Shit."

“What?”

“I forgot your Christmas present.”

“Don't worry about it, dear one. We had more important things to worry about."

"So you forgot mine too?"

He lets out a little laugh. “Would I forget something like that?” 

"Well now I feel bad."

He snickers, pulls out the road atlas and spends a few minutes following the route. An idea seems to strike him and he smiles boyishly.

“Hey- let’s try and make the most of this.” He leans towards you, angling his jaw in the way he knows you find most attractive. “Me and you, before the baby comes. What do they call that these days? A ‘babymoon’?”

Apparently, he’s back down to his drunk stage one.

“I’m not sure imminent threat of assassination or consumption by a rogue time portal is what the Instagram moms had in mind.”

“But would you expect any less from a baby-daddy like me?”

You catch his eye briefly. His grin broadens and his eyebrows almost disappear into his hairline.

“Plus…” he continues, “A Christmas snuggled up by the fire…Bing Crosby playing…snow outside” his voice has taken on a silky quality; smooth-talking you, “it sounds pretty ideal to me.”

It does sound nice. You rock your head from side to side, seeming to weigh his words.

“Maybe I can go cut us a little Christmas tree?”

You smile, unable to keep playing nonchalant. “That does sound pretty perfect.”

He puts a hand on your leg and strokes you, inching his hand upwards and inwards. With his finger-tips, he makes little circles high on the inside of your thigh.

“I’ll have you all to myself…and out there in the woods, there’s no-one to hear you scream.”

This gives you the giggles:

"Is that supposed to be sexy?" 

Five scowls, though it doesn't reach his eyes. You push him a little further; you consider teaching him to laugh at himself one of your primary responsibilities. 

"That was like, the opposite of hot, Five. It makes it sound like you're going to murder me."

He laughs reluctantly, keeping his brows lowered in mock-irritation. 

"I'm not ruling it out."

The first few weeks had been the idyll he’d foreseen. Once you’d got used to all the Klaus-based iconography hanging here and there, the cabin was undoubtedly pleasant. The walls and floor are wood-paneled and give off that slightly minty pine smell.

It's a small building, consisting of a single living space made up by a rustic kitchen, dining area and living room. Upstairs, on a mezzanine level is the bedroom and bathroom.  In the middle of the downstairs sits a wood stove, the chimney reaching up through the center of the house, spreading warmth throughout.

Though a little threadbare in places, Klaus has clearly kept the cabin in good repair. The floors are covered in rag rugs; the chairs and bed in crocheted quilts. It would have been the perfect vacation were it not punctuated at least once a day by increasingly uncomfortable portal eruptions. 

On December 20th, Five had indeed brought in a little four-foot pine. You decorated it together with threaded popcorn, a few cookies, holly and some pink hydrangea you’d found in the woods. Left from summer, the flowers had faded on their stems to a deep rust color, individual petals brown and skeletal. After unearthing some 1960s household candles from a kitchen drawer, you had managed to secure them to the end of the tree's branches with wire, lighting up the whole thing pleasantly. It was a makeshift tree but all the more special for that.

Five was, of course, an extremely adapt hunter. Thirty minutes on Christmas Eve was all he had needed to return with a buck slung over his shoulders. This he’d hung, skinned and butchered over the course of the rest of the day. The chest-freezer in the outbuilding was stuffed full of meat by the time he’d finished. You’d been both impressed and saddened by his unflinching efficiency. Survival had been his way of life for so long. He took no pleasure in hunting like some did- it was a means to an end.

The beautiful roast venison loin was the star of your Christmas meal. The canned potatoes and greens you ate with them had not done the meat justice.

After dinner, he had produced two wrapped boxes, a large and a small one. 

"One of them I'm pretty sure you'll like, the other was just a guess so maybe open that first."

He handed you the smaller of the two boxes, wrapped (badly) in paper patterned with sleighs. Before you had done opening it, he'd already started talking. 

“I…er…I know you don’t wear much perfume but I thought it might suit you. It reminded me of the body wash you use. Apparently that’s geranium?”

You took the bottle out of its box and spritzed it on your wrist. It was nice. While it was true that you don’t wear perfume very often, this one might be an exception.  

“Do you like it?”

He was clearly trying to project his usual confidence and failing. You could tell by the slight sway in his hips that he was anxious for your approval. It was helplessly endearing. You could just imagine him, stalking around the fragrance counters of a department store before a brave retail assistant approached him.

"I love it. I'm just surprised you didn't get me Chanel No.5."

He grinned back at you, "I considered it but it seemed a little...gauche."

You'd laughed at this, an ironic smile forming.

"As if you jack off in the mirror and really love the smell of your own farts?"

"That's a weird way of putting it, but yeah."

You laughed again, applying it to the pulse point of your neck, then stood a little on tip toe to give him a peck on the lips. 

"It suits you. But don't forget about the other one now."

Inside the larger gift's paper was a brown paper shoe box, tied with a red ribbon. You gaped on noticing the branding.

"Shit...Five!"

His smile was broad, "That's the one I'm sure about...but I think you might struggle wearing them as the baby gets bigger."

Inside, as you hoped, were the scalloped-edged designer pumps you'd tried on months ago but dismissed as too frivolous an expense. You looked up at him, eyes wide. He looked back at you, trying to conceal that he was proud of himself. 

"Wow...how did you...?"

"I have my sources," he said, mouth twitching.

You picked up one of the shoes as if it was made of glass. It was the right size. Your shining eyes met his. 

"Did Lila tell you about them? Or Klaus?"

"Can't I have a bit of goddamn mystery?" 

This was as good as admitting it, so you laughed and gave him a quick, fierce hug. Before breaking apart, you kissed him on the nose.

"Thank you, darling, I can't believe it!"

"Don’t mention it. Merry Christmas, beautiful." 

He moved as if to kiss you again, but you were out of his grip too quickly, peeling off your thick socks to put the shoes on. It was better to make the most of them before your ankles swelled to the size of hams. Five had watched with amusement as you looked down at your feet admiringly and gave a little squee of excitement.

"So you're quite the champagne socialist at heart?"

"Oh shut up. I just wanna redistribute the champagne!"

He laughed a little. He was enjoying spoiling you. The gleam in your eye gave him what a less cynical man might describe as ‘the warm fuzzies’. All he knew was that seeing the woman he loved carrying his baby and eyes filled with childlike joy was nice, to say the least.

You spent the rest of the day lying on the rug in front of the fire, listening to and singing along with old songs, making out and talking softly about how things would be this time next year. Occasionally, you raised your feet above your heads, looked at your shoes and let out more exclamations of pleasure.

His smile was smug.

“So your gift for me has a lot to live up to, then?”

"You'll see."

As the time drags on and Christmas fades into the new year, you both begin to feel the effects of confinement. Your pregnancy bump seems to grow daily after barely being visible for so long. The baby also begins to press on your bladder, making you irritable and needing to rush to the bathroom with alarming regularity.

The hormones are also a killer, especially in this uniquely stressful situation. You find yourself beginning to cry more regularly while your sex drive, (already healthy) has rocketed to a slightly deranged level. Five struggles to keep up with your lightning-fast mood changes; confused by how quickly crying could turn into sex and vice-versa.

Ever vigilant in case the Commission made another attempt, he had set up booby traps in the surrounding woods and he checks these compulsively, never wandering out of earshot, lest he's needed to close a portal.

He's sleeping even worse than usual: you often wake in the night to find him maintaining his weapons or else reading about fetal development and how to soothe crying infants from one of the many books on the subject he brought from his Dad's study.

On one such night, a portal erupts in your sleep, waking you up with a shriek from pain like intense menstrual cramps. Furniture slides across the room, ready to plug and then be devoured by the portal.

“It’s okay- it’s okay!”

Five throws back the covers, blinking in the sudden eerie light. Finding his feet, he feels the portal’s resonance with his hands, allowing his power and instinct to work in tandem. The furniture slows by a tiny amount and he manages to key-in.

“It hurts!”

“Hold on!”

The portal thrummed and spat static electricity. This is bad. This isn't right. They've been getting worse, sure, but these pains are like a wet washcloth being wrung tight inside you.

“The baby, Five! I might be having-" but your final words are engulfed in a shriek as the washcloth ratchets to an even tighter apex.

His face screwed in concentration and grunts of effort escaping the corners of his mouth, he leans forward into his outstretched arms. Saliva flies from his mouth with his hard, hissing breathing through gritted teeth

“Nearly.”

With a yell and a forward lurch, Five dispels the portal, falling onto his hands and knees. The pain recedes, like the tide going in over rocky ocean bed. You're able to breathe fully again, so you pant. Meanwhile, Five scrambles to his feet and tosses through the bedside cabinet with little regard for the rest of the contents.

“Are you ok? Does it still hurt?”, he says, wildly.

“I…don’t know.” He finds what he's looking for: Lila's doppler. He throws the covers off you to expose your stomach.

His shaking hands fumble with the box and the machine and gel fall out onto the bed. You grab the gel while he readies the sensor and handset. You manage to get the screw-top off with difficulty and spread it onto your stomach. The handset beeps on in Five's hand and he applies the sensor. He skims it over you.

Nothing,

You’d seize his wrist and move it lower; you looking up at him and he down at you. Your eyes exchange a single look of panic while nothingness still rings in your ears.

"No." murmurs Five, answering the growing certainty in your eyes. He moves the sensor again.

...and there it is; the doppler detects the steady whoosh whoosh of the heartbeat. You breathe identical sighs of relief. He leans forward and presses his forehead against yours, breathing coming to an easier rhythm. 

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed.) @dilfjohhny , @sunsunhe, @w4stedtr4sh, @nevbrooke-555, @theredvelvetbitch, @td-miley01, @five-hxrgreeves, @fivefolklore, @jamiebower88

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How I Purged My Entire Closet in 48 Hours (PT.1: Preparing for a Purge)

TL;DR:

    Step 1: Do ALL your laundry.     Step 2: Sort your clothes into broad categories and write them down.     Step 3: Decide which categories you're purging today.     Step 3.5: Put everything you're not purging out of sight.     Step 4: Purge.

But if you want to know all the details of how I made it go so quickly for my neurodivergent self, here are the real steps to purging an entire closet.

The Real Steps to Purging an Entire Closet

Real Step 1:Understand how your brain categorizes your clothes.

Take a look at where you currently keep your clean clothes or how you aspire to store them. Are your socks and underwear crammed together in the same space, making it difficult to find the pizza patterned socks you really want to wear today? Apply the same concept to other clothing items as well. For example, if you have multiple styles of shirts mixed in the same drawer, it can lead to mental overload and analysis paralysis. Real life example:

Before my clothes purge, all my shirts from crop tops to casual long sleeves were crammed into the same drawer. This chaotic system didn't work for me because I rely on visual organization. If things aren't visible at first glance, they might as well not exist. Real Step 2: Categorize your clothes!

Here's my primary categories and subcategories: Tops Crops (sleeves of any length) Tanks Tees Nice Short Sleeves and No Sleeves Formal Short Sleeves and No Sleeves Casual Long Sleeves Nice Long Sleeves Formal Long Sleeves Exercise Bottoms Short Shorts Shorts Long Shorts Capris (purge category) Jeans Casual Pants Formal Pants Exercise Intimates Bras Sports Bras Underwear Boxers Socks Thigh High Mid Calf Above Ankle Ankle Tights Bathing Suits Masc Suits Fem Suits Secondary Warm Layer Sweaters with buttons Sweaters without buttons Hoodies Dresses (Sorted by formality) Skirts (also sorted by formality) Officewear, Etc. Coats Exercise Raincoats Vintage Winter Casual Accessories such as shoes, belts, hats, jewelry, as complementary items, are their own beasts and will be addressed separately after purging the bulk of clothing. The key aspect of Step 2 is that the bolded categories are planned and intentional, while some subcategories emerge organically as I take stock of my belongings and determine their appropriate spot.

Example of planned vs organic subcategories:

For intimates, I utilize a plastic chest of drawers. The top drawer is reserved for bras, the middle one for underwear, and the bottom one for socks. Purging according to these categories, one at a time, was part of my plan.

On the other hand, regarding tops as referred to in Step 1, I initially stored all of them in the same drawer. However when I had them all on the floor in front of me during the purging process…

The twelve piles pictured organically developed.

The bottom left pile consisted of items to be hung up, including long sleeves that didn't belong in that drawer to begin with, and nicer short and sleeveless tops. The three center piles were t-shirts sorted by level of "formality," while the six piles on the right were tank tops and crop tops. Why Categorize and Subcategorize Before Purging? Addressing similar clothing groups individually is far less overwhelming than tackling the entire "shirts" category at once. This approach allows me to evaluate each shirt as part of my wardrobe, going beyond a simple decision of whether to keep or discard it.

For instance, I categorized together these four functionally identical shirts (tops/short sleeve/nice but not formal/neutral):  

If I had sorted "Tops" as a whole instead of categorizing first, I might have kept all four without realizing that two of them were similar enough to purge.  By considering the specific subcategory, I was able to identify the factors that led me to purge the two on the left in favor of keeping the more flattering V-neck style in a much better condition.

Breaking down the process into manageable clothing categories before tackling allowed me to evaluate each item based on its function and relevance to my wardrobe, rather than feeling overwhelmed by the sheer volume of clothing or missing near-duplicates. In Part 2 of "How I Purged My Entire Closet in 48 Hours," I'll elaborate on how I purged based on the most flattering colors and cuts that complement my personal style, referencing seasonal color analysis and the Kibbe system.

[anxiousesquire]

As we get deeper into winter, the needs of local shelters and food banks is going to be more important than ever.

I want to encourage everyone to seek out their local shelters and food banks and ask what they need.

Most will have a wish list on their sites, nonperishable food, socks/underwear, and menstrual products are always in high demand.

In many cases monetary donations might be preferred, as they will be able to but in bulk.

Feeding America has a good bank locator: https://www.feedingamerica.org/find-your-local-foodbank

Cities, towns, and states will also likely have information on their own .gov pages with more information.

When capitalism decides a that food, clothes, and shelter are not human rights it falls on us to support eachother.

[sublimeobservationarcade]

Dressing Slaves For Work

I was listening to an interesting presentation on Plantation Goods – these were the products made for the enslaved workers in the south. These included the textiles woven for the clothes worn by the cotton pickers, the tools used by the agricultural and mine workers, and the shoes and hats required by these enslaved folk. Much of this stuff was made by businesses in the north of America, thus linking the slave economy with the greater United States. The author of this book, Seth Rockman, recounts some fascinating and unexpected historical information he found detailed in letters between the merchants and slave holdings involved.

Civil War Abraham Lincoln said: by The Metropolitan Museum of Art is licensed under CC-CC0 1.0

Plantation Goods Equipping The Enslaved

In one incident a group of irate slaves and their master confront a Charlestown merchant and New England manufacturer about the poor quality of the bulk order of clothing provided. The author of Plantation Goods reveals how important the outfitting of enslaved plantation workers was to the optimal running of such exploitative operations. Too often we don’t think about such things in such intimate ways, which immunises us from the realities of slavery to a great degree. If you make an effort to imagine yourself working from dawn to dusk in a physically demanding activity and think about how important it would be to have attire that supports you in executing your labour. Clothing protects us from the elements and for outdoor agrarian slaves it would have been essential. Slaves who were neglected by their owners in this fashion would have been more likely to get upset and the precarious balance in the south was prone to eruptions of rebellion and runaways.

Hand powered cottage saw gin by Jamieson, W. and J. is licensed under CC-BY-NC-SA 4.0

Dressing Labourers For Hard Work

This minutiae strikes me so sharply, I think, because I have been labouring myself under the hot sun of late. The last 8 months have seen me sign on as part of a labour hire work crew. We were issued with 3 high visibility work shirts in the attractive hue of bright orange, 3 pairs of dark blue dungarees, a bright orange broad brimmed hat to keep the sun off, and were recompensed for our purchase of a pair of steel capped work boots. Initially, we were not issued work gloves and gators, as was supposed to have occurred. Of these items of work attire and PPE, the shirts (long sleeved) were all too short to be tucked into pants, the blue work pants were all different sizes in contradiction of how I ordered them, obviously, desiring the one uniform size, and the hat’s brim collapsed after a couple of weeks and I could not get it up again. I soldiered on with what I had been allocated, thinking to take the rough with the smooth. However, after a couple of months at the mercy of the elements, the early morning winter chills in darkness and then, the high humidity and heat as summer fast approached I realised how bloody important it is to be properly outfitted when labouring nearly 9 hours a day. I sort of know about dressing slaves for work. The Importance Of A Labourer’s Attire The sweat stains upon shirts and whether the armpits breathe at all. The fabric and weave of your work garments impact upon how you deal with the heat bodily. The rub and rashes you can develop from continual movement in damp clothing imbued with perspiration. My nipples would get really sore, like a nursing mother, but from the rubbing against sweaty fabric. The constant walking on uneven ground in heavy work boots would put strain upon my ankles and lower legs. Their immersion in slushy ground and puddles would mean wet socks. Wearing big thick socks to cushion the constant blows upon my feet from walking became very apparent. On some days we would take 25, 000 steps according to the fitness app on my smart phone. Both the main buttons of the 2 pairs of dungarees I could regularly wear to work soon popped off and I was forced to pull out needle and thread to replace them. These were my essential garments, along with the orange shirts and thick work socks, I depended upon and I have to wash them and hang them out to dry 3 times a week to meet the hygienic demands of 9 day fortnights. Quite apart from the malodorous smell you cannot keep wearing them because of crutch bite in this humid heat. Dressing slaves for work is vitally important, even when you are the slave yourself.

History That Touches Us In Tactile Ways I do not wish to make light of what real slavery was, however, as there are no actual whips (just passive aggressive messaging) determining my productivity. Seth Rockman is an eloquent speaker and expert on Atlantic slavery who has written a great book. This is his third book written within his field of specialisation. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l5XDs2v1tbU “An eye-opening rethinking of nineteenth-century American history that reveals the interdependence of the Northern industrial economy and Southern slave labor. The industrializing North and the agricultural South—that’s how we have been taught to think about the United States in the early nineteenth century” (https://press.uchicago.edu/ucp/books/book/chicago/P/bo237040605.html) This is history that gets much closer to the subject than most historical research texts. It is tactile enough that you feel that it rubs up against real flesh. Check out the fabric book cover if you get the chance. Work, manual labour is something integral to human life, I think, although for many of us it is a thing of the past. If, however, you do ever find yourself in the fields, working on a farm or at some such labour spare a moment or two for the enslaved worker. He or she who had little control over their sartorial choices. Think and feel on the relationship between workers, plantation owners, and the merchants and manufacturers who supplied them with their necessary plantation goods. These days most clothing is made in China or India and attracts scant attention from the wearer. There are human beings at every juncture, I would remind us, in the processes that create and transport garments across the globe. In the meantime, I will trudge over another field in my dungarees and hi viz wear hoping that my tired flesh will not rub too much in the wrong places on these hot days. Robert Sudha Hamilton is the author of America Matters: Pre-apocalyptic Posts & Essays in the Shadow of Trump. ©WordsForWeb Read the full article

[goatsgomoo]

#ma'am why so many layers??????????? #how are you not dying of heatstroke

No no, this is actually right if you're going to be spending hours doing stuff outdoors in the cold!

Regular underwear. Pretty standard stuff, you know what it is.

Long underwear. A fairly thin, slightly insulating, and moisture-wicking layer to get sweat away from your body, since being wet and out in the cold is very dangerous. I think the undershirt and hose here would probably be made of linen for the wicking properties.

Clothes. Just the long underwear plus regular clothes may be enough for being inside buildings that are heated with something like a center-of-building chimney if you don't have modern HVAC and insulation.

Sweater & socks, likely wool. This is the bulk of the insulation, which you may want to take off if you're taking a break near a strong heat source, but would probably stay on if you're spending a brief moment in a chilly (but not freezing) interior.

Coat. The main job of the outer layer is deflecting wind and precipitation. The wool sweater is good insulation, but with wind, that cold air is going to go right through the wool and linen layers. I'd expect this to be leather or waxed fabric. This probably comes off for any meaningful time spent in shelter.

Hood, scarf, and mittens, likely wool. A lot of heat can be lost through the head and neck, and those long ears would be very susceptible to frostbite. The lack of face covering does allow for some heat loss, and the scarf could be adjusted for comfort or further protection. The mittens likewise can come off easily if you start getting hot, but are definitely better than gloves for heat retention.

With modern materials and garments, layers 4-5 are generally combined into a single "winter coat" that's both insulating and weather-proof, possibly with vent zippers to let you expel excess heat without removing it entirely. But that aside, this is basically exactly what I'd wear for spending 8+ hours out in temperatures below about 0F/-18C. Having these all be separate layers gives you a lot of flexibility when it comes to temperature management; if you start getting hot, you can gradually open up or take off layers as you see fit.

marcille is ready for winter :D

[fatiguesarmynavy]

Preparing for Winter with Cold Weather Gear

In the event your camouflage pants aren’t insulated, now’s the time to revamp your wardrobe with some appropriate cold-weather gear. The freezing temps will be here before you know it.

Here are some points to make sure you can keep warm this winter.

Materials: What to Buy?

There are lots of modern synthetic performance materials out there, but you can’t go wrong with an old classic: wool.

Wool has better thermal insulative properties than most other materials and it remains warm when wet, which can save you in wet conditions.

Avoid cotton, as cotton is highly absorbent and loses its thermal insulating properties when set. Down is middle of the road; it is lighter than wool and offers excellent thermal insulative properties, but like cotton, loses them when wet.

Technical insulative gear is acceptable as long as it’s reasonably priced - nylon, polyester, and wool-acrylic blends can all be useful.

Sizing Jackets, Pants and Snow Suits

One of the most important things about winter gear is that it’s not just important what you wear, but how you wear it.

First off, you’ll want three layers. A baselayer that you wear next to your skin (wool is great for this) followed by a mid-layer that will offer the bulk of insulation. Wool, down, and performance synthetics are appropriate here.

Next you’ll have the outer shell that will provide your first line of defense against the elements (more on that below).

This makes it critical to size appropriately. With the exception of your baselayer, you don’t want to be wearing skin-tight clothing in the cold.

This can restrict circulation and it also limits the amount of air that can be trapped next to your skin.

Ideally, you should run a half a size or a size up. That way, you can trap warm air next to your skin and you’ll also have room for layering.

The Outer Shell

The outer shell you wear will be your first protection against water and wind. As a result, many outer shells are waterproof and windproof.

This is one area in which synthetics are acceptable. Tightly woven natural materials, like cotton duck canvas and twill, are also good. Waxed canvas is one alternative to modern synthetics, as it repels water effectively. It is also much more durable and much longer lasting than tech gear.

A Note on Your Extremities

While it’s a myth that you lose most of your heat through your head, you do still lose heat through it. A good, snug hat, either wool or fur, is necessary.

Also, you’ll want to make sure your hands are covered; mittens are better as they keep your fingers together, but gloves offer better dexterity. Glomitts are a good compromise between the two.

As for your feet, you’ll want to wear thick wool socks, and if your feet sweat a lot, you may want a silk liner sock to wear inside of a second pair of socks. Make sure your boots are waterproof and rated appropriately according to the conditions.

One helpful note is to carry a few chemical hand and foot warmers that you can put in your gloves and boots to give you an assist if it gets really cold.

Cold Weather Gear Is in at Fatigues Army Navy

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Top Things to Pack for Your Chopta Adventure – A Traveler’s Checklist

Chopta, often known as the “Mini Switzerland of India,” is a beautiful destination in Uttarakhand, known for its scenic trekking trails, dense forests, and serene meadows. If you’re planning a trip to Chopta, packing wisely is essential due to its varying weather conditions and rugged terrain. Whether you’re trekking to Tungnath, camping by Deoria Tal, or simply enjoying the peaceful surroundings, having the right gear can make a big difference. Here’s a comprehensive packing checklist to ensure you have a safe, comfortable, and enjoyable adventure in Chopta Tour.

1. Clothing Essentials

The weather in Chopta can be unpredictable, with chilly mornings and evenings, even in summer. Packing the right clothes is crucial to keep you comfortable during your trip.

Layered Clothing

Thermal Wear: Essential, especially if you’re visiting during winter (October to February). Thermals provide an insulating layer without adding bulk.

T-shirts (Full and Half-Sleeved): Opt for quick-dry, moisture-wicking fabrics. Layering is key in the mountains, so bring a mix of full and half-sleeved T-shirts.

Fleece Jacket/Sweater: A lightweight fleece jacket or sweater helps you stay warm without being too heavy.

Down Jacket: If you’re visiting in winter, a down jacket will protect you from the biting cold, especially during early morning treks and nighttime camping.

Waterproof Windcheater/Jacket: A waterproof jacket is essential, as sudden rain showers are common in the hills. Look for one with a hood to protect yourself from rain and wind.

Bottoms

Trekking Pants: Comfortable, stretchable trekking pants are a must. They are more practical than jeans for treks and nature walks.

Warm Pants: For the evenings and nighttime, especially if you’re camping.

Thermal Leggings: Perfect for wearing under your trekking pants or during the night when temperatures drop.

Head and Hand Gear

Woolen Cap/Beanie: To keep your head warm in the cold.

Sun Hat/Cap: For daytime treks to protect yourself from the sun.

Gloves: Woolen gloves for winter and lightweight gloves for autumn and spring treks.

2. Footwear

Your choice of footwear can make or break your Chopta adventure, as you’ll likely be trekking and exploring uneven terrains.

Trekking Shoes: Sturdy, waterproof trekking shoes with good grip are essential for navigating rocky and sometimes slippery trails.

Comfortable Sandals/Flip-Flops: For use around the campsite or guesthouse after a long day of trekking.

Woolen Socks: Keep your feet warm during cold nights. Carry extra pairs in case they get wet.

Quick-Dry Socks: Essential for treks to prevent blisters and maintain foot hygiene.

3. Backpack and Daypack

Rucksack/Backpack (40-60 liters): A spacious, lightweight backpack with multiple compartments is ideal for carrying your essentials. Make sure it has padded straps and a hip belt for better support.

Daypack (15-20 liters): Useful for short treks, carrying water bottles, snacks, a camera, and other essentials.

4. Camping Gear (If Not Provided by Your Package)

If your travel package doesn’t include camping gear, consider bringing the following items:

Sleeping Bag: A compact, lightweight sleeping bag rated for cold weather is essential if you plan to camp in Chopta’s meadows.

Sleeping Mat: For added comfort and insulation from the cold ground.

Tent: If you’re trekking with a group and plan on setting up camp, carry a lightweight, easy-to-pitch tent.

5. Trekking Essentials

Trekking Poles: These provide stability and reduce the strain on your knees, especially during steep descents.

Headlamp/Flashlight: A must for camping and trekking in low light conditions. Opt for a headlamp to keep your hands free.

Reusable Water Bottle: Hydration is key when trekking at high altitudes. Consider a lightweight, reusable water bottle or hydration bladder.

Energy Snacks: Pack lightweight, high-energy snacks like nuts, dried fruits, energy bars, and chocolates for a quick boost during your trek.

Sunglasses: Essential for protecting your eyes from harsh sunlight, especially at higher altitudes.

Sunscreen: Choose a high SPF sunscreen to protect your skin from UV rays, as the sun can be quite strong at altitude.

Lip Balm: To prevent chapped lips caused by the cold and wind.

Multi-Tool/Swiss Knife: Handy for small tasks around the campsite.

6. Toiletries and Personal Care

Toilet Paper: Essential, as it might not be readily available in remote areas.

Hand Sanitizer: For maintaining hygiene when soap and water are not available.

Wet Wipes: Useful for freshening up when showers aren’t an option.

Biodegradable Soap/Shampoo: Choose eco-friendly products to minimize environmental impact.

Toothbrush and Toothpaste: In travel-friendly sizes.

7. Health and Safety Essentials

First Aid Kit: Include band-aids, antiseptic wipes, cotton, gauze, adhesive tape, pain relievers, anti-inflammatory tablets, and any personal medication.

Personal Medications: Carry enough of your prescription medications, and bring extras in case of delays.

Anti-Nausea Medicine: Helpful for those prone to motion sickness during the drive to Chopta.

Insect Repellent: To keep bugs and mosquitoes at bay, especially during forest treks.

Electrolyte Packets: For hydration and to combat fatigue during long treks.

Altitude Sickness Medication: Although Chopta is at a relatively lower altitude compared to some Himalayan treks, it's wise to be prepared if you plan to ascend further.

8. Tech and Gadgets

Camera: To capture the stunning landscapes of Chopta. Don’t forget extra batteries and memory cards.

Power Bank: Essential for keeping your phone and other electronic devices charged, especially in remote areas where power supply may be unreliable.

Travel Adapters: If you’re bringing electronic devices, ensure you have the right adapters for charging.

9. Travel Documents and Money

Identification: Carry valid ID proof, like an Aadhar card or passport, as you may need to show it at various checkpoints or while checking in to accommodations.

Travel Permits: If visiting protected areas around Chopta, check if you need any permits.

Cash: ATMs are scarce in remote areas, so carry enough cash for small expenses like snacks, local guide fees, or souvenirs.

10. Miscellaneous Items

Plastic Bags: To separate wet or dirty clothes from the rest of your luggage.

Notebook and Pen: For journaling your adventure or noting down important information.

Lightweight Towel: Quick-dry towels are ideal for travel.

Small Sewing Kit: For emergency repairs to clothing or gear.

Packing Tips

Pack Light: Only bring what you need. Chopta's terrain is rugged, and carrying unnecessary items will only slow you down.

Use Waterproof Bags: Pack your clothes and electronics in waterproof bags or zip-lock pouches to protect them from rain or snow.

Roll Clothes: Rolling clothes instead of folding them can save space and prevent wrinkles.

Conclusion

Packing thoughtfully for your Chopta adventure is crucial to ensure a comfortable and hassle-free experience. By covering all the essentials—from clothing suited for the mountain climate to trekking gear and personal care items—you’ll be well-prepared to enjoy everything this Himalayan gem has to offer. With the right gear in your backpack, you can focus on exploring Chopta’s stunning landscapes, majestic peaks, and tranquil meadows to the fullest!