#anyway probably (as always) merino is the answer but it's like

[aeide-thea]

have vaguely been thinking it might be good for me to try running again ever (my deeply beloathed) but since whenever the fuck the last time was that i engaged in it at all i seem to have misplaced basically all my winter running gear and also acquired Convictions abt polyester &c, which is making it difficult to figure out how to outfit myself :/

[kanna-ophelia]

Forgot to put this on on Tumblr! Day 5 of @drawlight‘s Ineffables Advent Calendar: Fire. And the 4th of my 31 First Kisses. If you’re wondering what happened to 4, it went all scope creep in both research and writing and is now going to be a chapter in my Big Bang fic (tease: 1976 Soho basement gay club), but I will open that day’s window soon. I’m determined to do all 31.

South Downs Cottage, because I am shamelessly doing all the tropes. Series!Good Omens. On AO3

On Wattpad

Home and Other Fires

Aziraphale tried to decide where to put Crowley's cup of tea. It was more difficult than it used to be, seeing that Crowley's head was dangling down towards the floor, his spine bent at what seemed like a terribly uncomfortable angle in order to keep his buttocks tucked in the depths of the couch, his long thighs extending up the back and his knees looped over.

What was even more disconcerting than the inhuman bendiness was how nicely Crowley fit the couch in that position. It led to the speculation that he had purchased the chair--no, it was Crowley, he would have had the couch custom made--to exactly the proportions needed to dangle upside down over it, baking his face and chest next to the fire.

Aziraphale sighed and put the cup near Crowley's dangling hand. The demon opened one eye, hissed "Thanksss," and apparently went back to sleep.

That was one of the unconsidered quirks of living with Crowley. He slept more of the time than seemed reasonable, and in more places than seemed possible. Another was the amount of heat Crowley liked. The fire tended to be stoked so high, on top of the central heating, that Aziraphale had reluctantly discarded all his layers one by one until he wore nothing but his shirt sleeves, not even a nice cotton vest underneath. After a few centuries of being fully clad, he felt naked.

The third was that Crowley himself apparently didn't wear a lot of clothes inside. That was probably, Aziraphale told himself irritably, why he needed the fire stoked so hot. Right now, Crowley's thin chest was bare, and like his face extremely flushed by proximity to the fire, his skin reddened and warm looking and--

Aziraphale himself felt like he was on fire a lot of the time. Maybe this whole South Downs thing was a mistake.

* * * 

"You don't like my flat, do you?" Crowley asked one day, without anything prior leading up to it.

Aziraphale looked up from the dried dog food he was feeding the swans--a small child had lectured him on the wrongs of feeding bread to birds, and he had been mortified and seized with centuries of accumulated guilt--and tried to think of an appropriately tactful answer.

"It's a very impressive showcase for you, dear. Properly demonic."

Crowley made a sound between a snort and a hiss. "You always find a reason to meet somewhere else."

"You don't like your flat," Aziraphale said defensively.

Crowley stared out across the lake, the wind ruffling his short auburn hair. "Perhaps," he said contemplatively, "the thrones are a bit much."

"Perhaps, dear."

"After all, who do I have to impress, these days?" Aziraphale had the distinct impression that Crowley was looking sideways at him, although it was difficult to tell with those closed-in glasses.

"You just have to please yourself, now."

"Hmmph. Let's go back to the bookstore, I'm frozen and I need drinkable coffee." At some point, Crowley had installed a ridiculously expensive and complicated espresso machine in Aziraphale's office. He never seemed to buy coffee beans, but it produced heavenly--no, not heavenly, definitely an earthly pleasure--smelling coffee every time.

Crowley hadn't mentioned his flat again for several weeks, until he asked, "Mind if I borrow some of your things?"

Aziraphale, who had thought he was asleep on the couch, looked up from the book he was rebinding. "My things?"

"That light thing over there." Crowley thrust a casual hand out towards a priceless directoire table lamp. "And that little olive-wood figurine of Auxesia from Aegina, great century, the fifth BCE. And some books."

"Books?"

"Yeah. I think they feel, you know, home-like. So long as I don't have to read them." Crowley frowned. "Can you pick out some of your favourites? It will stop people buying them. And if you want to read them you can always come over."

"I--of course I will, dear boy." Aziraphale felt sentimental tears come to his eyes. Crowley was trying to make that dreadful flat comfortable for him. He should stop avoiding it so much.

But Crowley stopped inviting him over at all, although he kept borrowing things. One day, out of the blue, he announced that he had bought a cottage as a holiday home.

"You can come stay for a while, I suppose," he said, with an air of grudgingly giving into pleading. "Get you out of London for a bit, until you stop seeing angels on every corner. 'S'nice," he added, defending himself against accusations never made. "Near the ocean. And it's pink. Thought I could repaint it black, but apparently there's regulations and stuff. Might have to see what I can do about that. Anyway. Can't expect me to live in a pink house by myself, at least until I get used to it."

"It would be a kindness to come stay," Aziraphale said, thoughtfully.

Crowley made a disgusted face, but Aziraphale could tell he was pleased by the tiny quirk at the edge of that mobile face.

The cottage had been a revelation. More of Aziraphale's favourite things had travelled from the clutter of his bookshop to the shelves and mantlepieces than he remembered Crowley asking for. He knew he had perhaps become a little overenthusiastic in lending Crowley books, but the packed shelves everywhere were an unexpected delight, and he knew some of the books were not his own purchases.

There were cosy chairs and tartan rugs and a general, heady feeling that Crowley had been feathering a nest for Aziraphale, for his personal comfort. It wasn't something that could be spoken, but--

--there were twenty nine different teas in the kitchen, carefully arranged by region and levels of oxidisation and fermentation. A beautiful gramophone as well as a modern sound system. "The softer sounds and crackling are soothing sometimes," Crowley said, shrugging. Real velvety dressing gowns and fluffy slippers and merino scarves n the wardrobes.

"How long were you intending me to stay?" Aziraphale asked, feeling oddly shy.

Crowley shrugged. "Don't care. Long as you like, makes no difference to me. No reason not to, now. What's the harm?" Too many sentences, his voice too jerky despite his air of nonchalance, just a hint of a nervous hiss. "Look, there's fireplaces all over this place. I know you love a good fire."

The harm, Aziraphale suspected, in what it was doing to him to share living space with a demon who clearly felt shirts were optional and tended to stand with one hip jutting out, showing the top of an enticing hip bone. Or drape himself across counters, denim-clad behind perched--"It's a food preparation surface, Crowley, please"--on the counter-top, legs spread, leaning back on his elbows. Or doze spread out across any available surface, including the wall. Or lean halfway across the table staring fixedly at Aziraphale while he ate, like the serpent he was. Crowley was always there, and pretty much half naked all the time, and Aziraphale wasn't sure if the tight jeans or the silk pyjama shorts were more aggravating.

Crowley had also developed a new, and odd, habit of curling around Aziraphale at unexpected times, sliding hands around his waist from behind and leaning a bare chest against him, as Aziraphale made tea, leaning on his shoulder as they watched the bizarrely tedious television he seemed to enjoy so much, tangling half-bare legs with Aziraphale's legs as the angel read and Crowley did something dastardly on his phone.

"What brought all this on?" Aziraphale asked once as Crowley put his head on his lap and wound his arms around Aziraphale's arm. Aziraphale was torn between pushing him away, petting his hair or--no. He could be misunderstanding, mislead by the ache in his own body.

"Snake." Crowley said. "Like to wind around warmth. You're warm, angel. And it's not like anyone will stop us, anymore." He hesitated, and his voice was suddenly vulnerable. "Unless you hate it?"

"No, of course, it's fine," Aziraphale said, and let himself card his fingers through Crowley's hair. Crowley tightened his grip and went to sleep, and Aziraphale resigned himself to a couple of hours of fire raging through him and not being able to concentrate on his reading at all.

The worst of it was that there seemed nothing flirtatious in it at all. Crowley never said anything provocative or tried to kiss him, except in Aziraphale's secret mind. He just seemed content to be close, and revelling in all the heat, and the fondness--poor darling thing, he must have been starved of affection for thousands of year-- and completely aware of how unbearable it was all becoming to Aziraphale. That every exposed inch of skin, every casually intimate embrace made Aziraphale desperately want to touch and kiss--oh, yes, kiss and kiss--and everything that followed.

Friends. Open friends, without having to hide from the world or each other how much they enjoyed each other, was good. It was wonderful. It was just that Crowley's delicately protruding clavicles were unexpectedly fascinating, and the way his spine curved behind the waistband of his ridiculously tight jeans, and the way that, despite all his boniness, there was a slight soft rounding of his belly right before the trail of auburn hair down to that same waistband.

Six millennia of being uncomfortably aware that this demon creature was literally infernally pretty hadn't prepared Aziraphale as much as he had hoped for living with an accountably affectionate and half-dressed, infernally pretty demon creature. One that kept touching Aziraphale, and gazing at him like he was the most adorable creation in existence. Or snarling irritably at him in a way that also somehow seemed to suggest Aziraphale was the most adorable creation in existence, followed by making him perfect cups of tea. Or driving him across three counties to a book sale, where he would mope and glower and stab at his phone and stay just as long as Aziraphale wanted, then take him out to dinner somewhere lovely he had apparently just found on his phone.

It was bliss, and it was torture. Reward for saving the world and punishment for betraying Heaven, Aziraphale supposed. Trial by hellfire.

So long as they believed he could survive hellfire, he would be fine. And he could survive this. He would.

He sighed, and set his own cup of tea down on a side table, prepared to settle down and read and not at all stare with unabashed craving at an upside-down dozing demon who--

"Surely it can't be good to let your skin get quite so red, Crowley. Move away from the fire."

"It's not too hot. C'mere and see."

Aziraphale hesitated, then moved to the couch. It really wasn't too bad. Warm. Odd, sitting next to Crowley in this position, though. He arranged himself primly.

"But my dear fellow, you are so flushed."

Aziraphale reached out and down and, unthinking, brushed his hand down hot skin, slightly furred with hair. Incredibly, the skin turned even darker, and Crowley said, "Ngk."

Aziraphale pulled his hand down as if he had been burned. "Sorry. I shouldn't have touched you."

"Don't be sorry. Please don't be." Crowley managed to move to a proper sitting position, by way of swinging his legs over Aziraphale's head and across to his lap, revolving the rest of his body with them. It was a distinctly inhuman movement, and one that ended up with him sitting halfway across Aziraphale's lap. "You can touch me. Any time and in any way, angel. Do you hear that?"

"Yes," Aziraphale managed. It was suddenly very hard to speak.

"Angel. Aziraphale. I want--this is probably a bad idea, but you did--angel, promise that whatever I'm about to do, you won't get upset with me and go tearing back to Soho."

"i can't make an open-ended promise like that to a demon."

"Retired demon." Crowley cupped Aziraphale's chin with one hand and turned Aziraphale's face to look at him. "Retired demon who loves you and is going crazy and when did you stop wearing so many clothes, anyway?"

"Ah, yes," Aziraphale said, his vocal cords working automatically while his mind whirled in dizzying circles around the word loves. "It's hot. All the fires."

"The fires? Oh. Is that any reason to subject an innocent demon to your blessed provocative wrists?"

"Provocative wrists?" Aziraphale squeaked. "You don't have a shirt on!"

"The fire's warm!"

"Yes!"

They glared at each other for a moment, then Aziraphale said, "I promise. I--"

The rest of his sentence was lost in Crowley's mouth.

Some minutes later Aziraphale surfaced, discovering he was pressed back into the couch, his shirt somehow come unbuttoned, although he couldn't remember any of them doing it, and his skin was trapped against Crowley's bare chest.

"Oh, darling," Aziraphale said.

"Angel." Crowley pressed clinging, hungry little kisses all over the corners of his mouth, his chin.

"I'm not going back to Soho."

"Thank you." Crowley kissed him again, pushing his tongue against Aziraphale's, and oh, it was fire, fire licking through Aziraphale, fire licking down his veins and gathering at the pit of his belly.

"I love you too, Crowley. More than I could ever say."

"Angel. Oh, angel, I've loved you so long, so long." Crowley kissed his eyelids, his ears. "Imagined kissing you so many times, never thought it would be here... in our own nest, in front of our own fire. Not having to be afraid. Just you and me, my angel love."

"I never thought we would have this, either. Oh, you wonderful thing."

"I was beginning to think you were impossible to seduce," grumbled Crowley. "Didn't matter what I wore or what I did, you would pat me on the hand and call me your dear boy. Cold as ice."

"Cold? Oh, Crowley, I've been burning."

"But that's the first time you looked at me like that."

Aziraphale pursed his lips, blushing.

"Oh," said Crowley. "That's the first time I've caught you looking at me with lust." Crowley's mouth drew up into a smug smile. "Oh, I love you."

"You do pose very prettily," Aziraphale said defensively. "Oh, stop smirking and kiss me again."

The flickering light from the fire lit up Crowley's hair and eyes in dancing red and orange for one moment, and then they were kissing again, and the only fire Aziraphale could think of was his own.

[if-weshadows-haveoffended]

Champagne- Q x Reader (Daniel Craig Bond)

A/N: I seem to be writing a lot more quiet romance atm rather than full-blown passion and fluff but anyway, here’s to the lasting quiet moments. I’m 90% sure that this isn’t how you should drink a bottle of Dom Perignon, but you do you tbh.

Title: Champage Words: 1000+ Tags: @lesbianladyren, @fangirltothe-end Rating: T Masterpost: here (x) Prompt List: here (x)

Champagne

You missed old M, fucking Mallory. At least she had sense not to schedule harebrained missions that involved unnecessary glitz and glamour and hedonism- although he was an alright change from the Cold War zeitgeist of paranoia; a masquerade bordering on an orgy in one of Winston Churchill’s abandoned bunkers was taking the fucking piss. But the job was done, the bastard was dead, state secrets safe and crises averted. But to the end by any means, you supposed, those words to live and die by forever branded in every double-o’s soul. That is, if any of you had any shreds of who you’d really been left.

You doubted anyone remembered Y/N. Quiet but kind, enjoyed theatre (especially ballets), walking her dog and a good tapas bar. Only got on the dancefloor when totally off her tits.

Contrary to popular belief, most double-o agents weren’t the ‘gentleman spy’ sort. No, they were a ragtag bunch of orphans, drunkards, disillusioned sons of aristocrats, addicts- or in your case, slighted woman.

So your snivelling ex was using you for espionage purposes? Well, Y/N was going to do one better.

You played the long game, moving from administration to field work. And you’d double-o status with his death and catching him cheating on her with some minor government official she’d been sent to assasinate. Rather brilliant form of revenge, if you do say so yourself.

That was several years ago, and what was puzzling you more was the current sight of the youthful Quartermaster, currently shitting his pants, staring around blankly at the open doors of his lab’s far wing as he sat upon the vehicle platform, legs crossed and with an open bottle of Dom Pérignon.

“Isn’t that meant to be?” Your question trailed off as you limped a little. The old bunkers weren’t the best for face-to-face combat.

“009’s Aston Martin DB 10?” He finished your question, “It was.”

“Then pray my darling Q, why is there a bottle of Dom Pérignon in its’ place?” You walked over as best as you could, sitting down with a hiss beside him, elbow-to-elbow, knee-to-knee.

“007.” No further explanation was needed.

“Does 009 know?”

“No.”

“Does M know wherever the fuck Bond’s disappeared off to?”

“No.”

“You’re fucked,” You observed bluntly, taking the bottle of champagne offered by Q in acknowledgement of the inevitable, you pressed your lips against it and took a sip, laughing internally at how irreverent a method of drinking it was. “1961?”

“Apparently,” Q mused dryly with an adjustment of his glasses, “Bond is a bit fond of Princess Di. I’m flattered he’d send a bottle, but truthfully this bottle wouldn’t cover the cost of the three-million pound prototype Bond’s probably going to crash in some theatrical style.”

“What do you think it’ll be? Mountain crash or bulletholes?” You shuddered to think of the beautiful DB5 that was destroyed on Bond’s Skyfall property.

“He’s in Rome. I personally think he’ll ride it into the Colosseum, act the gladiator and fight an elephant.”

“A little melodramatic,” You snorted at the dry remark.

“Not melodramatic enough for 007, I’d guess.” He replied darkly.

“How are the cats?” You recalled the two cats that often parade about the underground laboratory.

“Lazy as ever,” He sighed before downing a large swig of the champagne. “I’m not quite sure what I’m meant to do. I can cover for Bond for another few hours but by daylight we’ll be in the middle of a shitstorm.”

“Wait,” You comprehended all his words, “We?”

“You’re liable to be investigated having entered about thirty seconds after I did. As far as MI-6 are concerned, you can be an accessory to assisting an agent in breaking his suspension.” You winced a little, understanding completely the sort of witch-hunt administration would be running from behind their desks. “Ideas?”

“I can cover, if you want.” You answered after some consideration. “I know Bond most likely trusts Moneypenny, and I trust Moneypenny.”

“What do you think he’s following? He had me search up Oberhauser, but he’s dead and,”

“People can lie, can’t they?” You mused. “Double-Oh agents frequently fake their deaths to get out of the service. As much as I’d enjoy a promotion, I don’t enjoy betraying Bond to get there.”

“But you’d betray 009?” Q asked with a teasing tone.

“Perhaps, depends if he takes up all the desk space again. But no, no there’s something wrong. Bond’s far too principled to simply up and leave.” You reasoned, shaking your head a little. “I’ll cover for you.” You determined.

“I can’t ask that of you,” He interrupted with an adjustment of his glasses.

“No, I’m ordering you to let me cover for you. You’re perhaps the only person who has any chance of bringing Bond back to us, alive. Or if not, returning back alive. He wouldn’t kill his favourite computer boffin.”

“Boffin!?” It was hard to figure out if he was incredulous or insulted.

“His words, not mine,” You lightly prised the bottle from his hand and took a long sip. “Q, I don’t mind risking myself for you. I really don’t.”

“No, you really shouldn’t.” He argued softly, “I’m not worth it,”

“Yeah you are, you always have been to me at least.” You sent over a quick smile, hoping you hadn’t given the game away.

It all seemed far too reminiscent of the dimly-lit McDonald’s carparks of adolescence, passing around a brown-paper bottle of three quid wine and pretending to inhale stolen cigarettes and the stale stench would cling to the woollen cardigan thrown hastily on in the haste to leave. And in the grime and danger of it all, admitting things one perhaps really shouldn’t have: loves, lies, loss…

Well, people never change, they simply age and improve.

Or worsen. You most certainly worsened.

You merely swapped the space between bitumen and a pick-up for a sports-car platform and a bottle of champagne worth more than your superannuation.

“Why?” He responded after a quiet pause, tilting his mop of hair to rest his head atop yours, your own gently falling to the warmth of a merino-covered shoulder.

“Why not? Why the fuck not?” You replied just as gently as he’d asked, moving your fingers to slowly intertwine with his.

[knittystitch]

Okie dokie, let’s have a chit chat about blocking synthetic materials.

I’ve been working on a cowl for a minute now and I’ve been knitting it in Patons Silk Bamboo (a viscose from bamboo/silk blend).  It’s a lovely yarn: stunning color, super soft, drapes beautifully.  However, the pattern I’m knitting calls for stockinette stitch which, as we all should know, curls when left to its own devices.  No biggie, I can just block it, right?  But I had never blocked viscose before, so I went for step one (it’s always my step one): to Google it.

98% of the time, I absolutely love the knitting community as a whole.  But, apparently if you bring up knitting in synthetic materials, you open the door to that other 2% of the time where I just don’t understand how you can be that stupidly elitist.

Basically, the blogpost credited as being the most helpful was a self indulgent asshole announcing that “the best way to block synthetic materials is to just not knit with them to begin with!  Spend the extra money on Merino wool and just block that instead!! uwu!” Which, boy howdy that little bubble of a dream world you're living in must be super nice.  Out here, in the real world, sometimes we make things for babies.  Which, historically speaking, tend to puke.  And, seeing as how we want those things worn, it’s a good idea to make them out of something that can be scrubbed in hot water and thrown in a drier so new!mommy can focus on baby instead of the insane care instructions for Merino wool.  But, apparently babies don’t puke in your world.  And everybody has lots of money and access to overpriced yarns because, oh didn’t you know?  Only rich people are allowed to knit in this magical world where babies don’t puke.

The other overwhelmingly popular answer to the question of how to block viscose/synthetic materials seemed to be “synthetics don’t need to be blocked”. Which is news to me.  Really, I am baffled.  Tell me, what exactly are you blocking your knits for if not to put the polished touch on your work?  Because part of that polished touch is to relax the yarn to keep it from, say, curling.  Which, of course, is an attribute of stockinette stitch, not the material the stockinette was knit in.  Oh, but, this must just go back to that bubble dream world again where everyone’s so rich the babies don’t puke and the stockinette doesn’t curl.  Right.

So in the middle of this clusterfuck of elitism, I did stumble upon some brilliantly simple, wise advice from one very sage knitter.  This knitter called to remind others that synthetics are frequently blended, and blends will respond to blocking differently, depending on the ratio of materials involved.  It is, therefore, unwise to go asking the theoretical on the internet for the best way to block these materials.  The best way to know for certain is to knit up a few (yes, few) swatches out of leftover material, recreating your stitch pattern in the swatches, and to test block them in different ways: mist, steam, and wet blocking. Then, pick the result you like the best.

Now see, there’s the 98% of the community I love.  And thank you, sweet knitter, for not being condescending in your answer because, let’s be real, that’s really painfully obvious and I probably should have logically thought of it myself.  Anyway.

On the left is my cowl (still unblocked).  Dat curl, amirite? On the right up top is my wet blocked swatch, and below is my steam blocked.  Very super positive results for both, so it’s kind of making my decision hard because, to be honest, I kind of expected one method to destroy the yarn over the other and give me some very obvious choice but no dice. 

The wet blocking super relaxed my piece and helped the stitches to expand and shape without losing their stretch still.  Which, considering I like a large, cozy cowl sounds kind of appealing.  The downside here is that it did dull some of the shine of the yarn, which was one of the main selling points in originally choosing this brand for me.

The seam blocking did a beautiful job of defining my stitches and maintained the shine, but it’s not quite as stretchy as the wet blocked piece.

Basically, they’re both a “right” answer, depending on what I ultimately decide I want.  Which might end up being decided with a round of “Eeny meeny miny moe”.  Who knows.  Not me.

Anyway, the point of this post is that if someone goes searching on the internet for “how to block viscose” or “how to block synthetic materials”, I’m hoping you can find this post, instead of these elitist dirtbags who pay their babies not to puke.  There is not a thing in the world wrong with working in synthetic materials, they do in fact block (and beautifully, I might add), they just might need a little bit of extra trial and error to get them exactly right.

So have a fucking knit, babes.

[worldtravelerhd-blog]

Men's RTW Clothing Packing Checklist - After 1 Year, 20 Countries

HUGE DISCLAIMER: None of this stuff is necessary for travel.  It is after all, just stuff.  You can always pick up what you need along the way.  Hell, we spontaneously added a 2 month Vietnam motorbike adventure to our itinerary and Allison picked up all her protective wear the day before we left in HoChi Minh.  We're completely assured that we avoided a few headaches and uncomfortable nights because we had the right clothes for any type of weather, but at the end of the day, I think it's more important to put your money toward extending your trip rather than having some specialized expensive clothing.  The Vietnamese men's riding pants, apart from being 3" inches too short, fit Allison just fine.

As a guy, it’s a little bit weird for me to talk about my clothes.  Bros just don’t do that.  I’m breaking the rule here though, because I can use the excuse that for a long term trip, clothes become more akin to being equipment or gear.  

And we know gear is a perfectly reasonable thing to discuss among dudes.  If you were looking to nerd-out, check out the full tech packing list here.  You won't find gadgets below.

Gear

Osprey Porter 46L Backpack

You’ve seen this bag all over our website. Why?  Simply because it’s one of those few items in life where you feel like the high-ish price tag is well justified.  I can’t explain how much we beat the ever-loving piss out of our Osprey Porters.  The two months alone spent on the rebar luggage rack during our Vietnam motorcycle ride would have shredded a lesser bag.Here we are, closing in on two years later, and they look brand new.  Oh yeah, and you can use this bag as carry on luggage.

Eagle Creek Compression Packing Cubes

I laughed when Allison first suggested buying these. I wasn’t going to spend $30 for cute little bags for my socks.  Truth be told, packing cubes are the shit.  The big one held underwear and board shorts, and the small one held socks and bandanas. The packing cubes compress your clothes so they take up less space and make sure that when you pull a t-shirt out of your overstuffed bag, that a bunch of other crap doesn’t come spilling out.

Sea To Summit Small Toiletry Bag

Yes.  Along with getting the same cubes and backpack as Allison, I also got the same dop kit. I know, it’s adorable.  We had different colors at least. Dop kits really dropped in usefulness in a post 9/11 world as security is always making you separate liquids and gels into a clear ziploc bag. When we were overseas, I found the rules to be a little less stringent and suddenly security didn’t need to see your toothpaste and deodorant anymore. My dop kit stayed pretty full the entire trip with your expected toiletries such as toothbrush, floss, etc as well as a mini med center filled with miscellaneous prescriptions we picked up as we gallivanted across the globe. As a side-note, you can get some AMAZING hangover medicine in Vietnam that contains codeine.

below the waist

Yes, pants has its own section.  Now I’m completely committed to writing about clothes….I only brought gray pants.  Gray hides dirt well and it means you can wear any pattern or color of shirt/sweatshirt/tank up top.  While I’m proudly American, I knew better than to pack a pair of bluejeans.  Aside from making you stick out from the crowd, bringing jeans on a long trip is a heavy endeavor.  Instead of jeans, I brought a pair of wool travel slacks and a pair of synthetic athletic pants.  No- not sweatpants.  More like Yoga Man Pants (if that's a thing)

Bluffworks Classic Grey Mens Travel Pants-

These are travel pants that don’t look stupid or fit like they’re from Costco.  There are no zip off leg sleeves or huge zippers- just subtle hidden pockets and a great modern fit. I wore these a lot in Europe when I wanted to look a bit more presentable for dinner or the random museum. That’s not to say that they also didn’t serve plenty of time as my rough and tough exploration pants.  They are made out of a breathable wool and I wore them for the majority of our Vietnam motorcycle ride as well.  They’ve been hiked in, soaked in mud countless times, and they are still in great enough shape to wear to dinner still.

One last bonus worth mentioning- They dry really quick and are wrinkle resistant.  I didn’t iron them once the entire trip and they still managed to be presentable every time I took them out of my pack.

Lulu Lemon ABC Pant-

Now I’m really in dangerous territory, but yes, I have to heavily endorse a Lulu product (not sponsored, but ... available!) as a man. I’ve never been the type of guy to wear sweatpants, but for long plane rides, car rides, and just as a comfortable replacement for jeans, these pants fit the bill.  The ABC pant is really stretchy but also made of a tough, durable fabric.  The cut is athletic without being too tight.  Finally, these pants too put up with being worn nearly every other day for a year and still looking brand new.

Billabong Crossfire X Submersible Shorts-

Stetchy, comfy, ultra light, and super quick drying.  Also purchased in plain grey so they can be worn with anything. These were a godsend in South East Asia because they breathed so well and could dry out in just a short while out in the sun.  I originally brought another pair of khaki shorts with me but ditched them after realizing I was literally only wearing this specific pair of shorts.  When it came time to wash them, I knew that they could dry 4x over by the next morning.  

Board shorts-

I wasn’t marching around in European cities in my trunks, but by the time we hit South East Asia I really lived in my board shorts and the Billabong submersible shorts I mentioned earlier.

Under Armor Mesh Boxer Briefs-

If you cared at all, now you have the answer.  No wool boxer briefs for me. I’m completely sold on Under Armor mesh.  Breathable and extremely fast drying after laundry day.  I could even swim in boxer briefs and my billabong shorts and dry out completely in a reasonable amount of time.

Up-top

Vest-

$20 cheapo vest with hood, again from KMart, was a welcome addition to my outerwear while in New Zealand.  Not something I would have wanted to have in my bag for the entire trip.

Tshirts-

Bring 3.  I mean, THREE tshirts.  They’ll be plenty of places to pick up cool new shirts while you’re abroad and you'll probably be wanting one anyways.

Rain Jacket-

Why did I not bring this on the trip?  I was so concerned about having a bulky rain jacket that I brought a water resistant windbreaker. This ended up not being a huge deal in places like South East Asia, but a terrible problem in wet cold environments like New Zealand.  I spent the six weeks in New Zealand in a cheapo rainjacket from KMart while my trusty North Face rainjacket sat at home hanging nice and dry in my closet.

Asia Rain Poncho

Why was not having the rain jacket in South East Asia not a huge issue?  Just because we threw down about $3 USD and picked up some sick scooter ponchos.  They were perfectly sized and designed to be worn while driving a scooter, and even had a little clear panel for your headlight to shine through.  Absolutely essential if you're doing a motorbike trip.

A Bunch of Wool

How sick are you of reading about merino wool on travel blogs? It doesn’t stop here….

I first heard about Icebreaker when I was living with a couple Kiwis while working at a ski resort.  They went on and on about how warm it was and the high quality of Icebreaker in particular.  I broke down and bought my first long sleeved base layer that winter and have never looked back.  Not to be redundant to everything that merino wool markets itself as, but its warm, its comfortable, it doesn’t stink, it dries quick, and it’s light. In particular I left with the following:

Icebreaker Tech Light T Shirt-

Great, athletic fitting t shirt that I wore constantly.  It disappeared when I dropped it off at a laundry somewhere in Thailand.

Mens Everday Long Sleeve Crew-

Amazing base layer that you can wear countless days in a row.  Think I wore it 6 weeks straight in New Zealand and would have been freezing otherwise.  Black, while boring, can then be worn under a tshirt or hidden more easily under other top layers.

Icebreaker Quantum Long Sleeve Zip Hoodie-

The one hoodie I took on the trip!  So warm and with roll out sleeves for your hands and thumb to go through.  Though expensive, I’m glad I made the investment. I knew this would be my outer layer most of the time so I made sure it was an annoying orange color to stand out in landscape pictures.  And stand out, I did.  

Icebreaker socks-

Brought two pairs of merino wool socks with.  Just like everyone else says-they don’t get smelly too easily, they breath, and they dry fast.  I also brought a pair of thick wool socks that are for snowboarding- exceptionally warm and made by Burton.

Footwear-

Hi-Tec: V-Lite Walk-Lite Witton in Dark Chocolate-

Never heard of this company before I started looking for shoes to last me a year and be versatile enough to wear to dinner or go hike New Zealand in.  I was amazed at how many brightly colored, gaudy as hell hiking shoes exist.  If you want plain brown leather waterproof shoes, your choices are very limited.  Fortunately, I found these shoes on Zappo and couldn't have been happier.  They lasted the entire trip, were extremely light to pack when I didn’t need to wear them, and I’m still wearing them as knock-around shoes almost two years later.

Sandals-

I own a nice pair of leather sandals, but planned on picking up a pair of cheap flip flops while abroad. Turns out it was a great plan.  You’ll want something the dries fast and can be used for hostel showers and beaches alike.

Accessories:

Buff-

You can find generic buffs on Amazon and ebay for less than two bucks.  Our use for these was nothing earth shattering.  We used them as dust masks for our motorbike trip, headbands, hats, and sometimes as just a cloth to wrap a camera in. Huge fan of buffs.

Bandana-  

I grew my hair out like a hippie.  Eventually, getting ready in the morning just consisted of brushing my teeth and tying my hair out of my face with a bandana.  No haircuts was one of my favorite secret features of traveling for so long.

Revo Sunglasses-

Sorry ZZ Top- I despise cheap sunglasses so  I brought my Revo Stern Xs along.  They took a proper beating from deserts, boats, beaches and miles and miles of motorbiking. They eventually got too scratched up and I had to give them a hero’s burial in the Philippines.

Hat-

Just a $2 stocking hat from KMart in the New Zealand rounded out my cold weather collection for comfortable hiking.

Don’t Forget 

This is probably not the first packing post you've read.  Most likely they've all mentioned this too: pack half of what you think and leave room to pick up a few things while you’re abroad. Listen to everyone's advice. You’re going to run across a shirt you love or an awesome hand-made scarf that you’ll want to take home with you.  I wasn't one for sentimental items or souvenirs but inevitably the weather will be different than you expected or you'll "be in the mood" to wear something different and for $20 you can grab what you want - you just don't want to have to throw something out just to add one thing in. No reason to leave home with your backpack overflowing.