#wildland fire shirt

[proppertacticalclothing]

Propper Tecasafe Wildland Shirt

The Propper® Tecasafe® Wildland Shirt is certified for use by the USDA Forest Service, delivers excellent arc flash and flash fire protection, and does so in a comfortable, lightweight and affordable fabric. Its inherent FR protection will never wash out or wear off and is hypoallergenic due to the exclusion of chemical finishes and coatings.

Features:

5.8 oz Tecasafe® Plus 580 fabric that resists melting, dripping or burning

Certified for use by the USDA Forest Service

UL certified to NFPA® 1977

3” Stand up collar with hook and loop strap

Inherent heat and flame resistance

Bar-tack reinforcement in all stress areas

Imported

[ahistoricdistraction]

A little guide to Firefighter clothing/gear for my fic "Burn it All Down."

It came up in a couple comments that people thought Henry wouldn't recognize Alex during the eventual reunion because of his gear, but that's not quite the case! What firefighters wear to fight structural fires is different than what they wear for wildland fires. Structural fire departments will have wildland gear as well (if they're in an area that warrants it) and just put on whichever they need depending on the call type they get. Wildland crews do not have structural gear, though. I could go a lot deeper into the differences if anyone is curious, but here's a visual example since that's what matters in the fic:

This is an example of a full set of structural gear. Thick pants and jacket, breathing apparatus that fully covers the face, heavy duty gloves, and very thick boots.

In contrast, here's what wildland gear looks like! It's much lighter weight, though the packs they carry can get very heavy, but the actual CLOTHING bits are just regular clothes made of specific fire resistant materials.

So if Alex is responding to a structural call, he'd be wearing the top set. If he's responding wildland, he'd wear the bottom set. If he's responding to any other type of call, he'd just be in standard work pants and a t-shirt with the department logo on it.

But yeah! Alex's face wouldn't really be obscured by any gear when he's fighting wildland!

[jungle-angel]

Sticky Faces (Miles Miller x Reader)

Summary: It’s a hot night and you and Miles don’t feel like heating up the house, so your only option is to go on a little adventure

Miles let out an exhausted groan, hating the fact that it was the Friday before Memorial Day and that the thermometer outside was already reading close to one hundred. Already, there were reports of wildland fire crews making their way deep into the wooded areas miles away from Lake Tahoe and wealthy out-of-towners from the cities were making their way too and from California and Nevada. 

He stuck a rag full of ice on the back of his neck, shivering as the coolness hit his reddening skin. Miles felt pretty awful, knowing the kitchen staff were probably roasting and Dan was probably chewing out the lazy stoner teenagers for not doing their jobs. 

“Hey!” chuckled a familiar voice. “Hey, wake up! Wake up!” 

Miles lifted his weary head to find his father standing right before him. “Jeez Dad, did you have to wake me up?” Miles mumbled. 

“Hey I didn’t want you falling asleep on the job,” Otis answered him. “Besides, I’ve had a day from hell myself.” 

“How?” 

“Working the pits at the NASCAR track all week in a hundred degree plus weather,” Otis explained. “Stepping on the tarmac made my boots almost melt.”

Miles made a disgusted face as he and his father bitched about their day. When he was finally good to clock out, the rotating desk clerk came to take Miles’s place. What a fucking relief at last.....!!!! Miles thought on his way out. 

Back to the rooms he went, relieved that he had the next two seasons off and to himself. The only thing he hated was that he, his mother, father, you and Benny had to hang around the hotel while you were busy packing the last of your things up to move to the Miller land in Montana. 

The rooms were quiet as could be, the low hum of the fan going while one year old Benny lay asleep under the blue, bronze and white knit blanket that Miles’s mother, Kathy, had made when he was born. He looked adorable as he lay asleep on yours and Miles’s bed, his little fists on either side of his head, sucking away on his pacifier and his little tufts of light blonde hair clinging to his forehead. 

Miles smiled and quickly slipped into your shared bathroom, turning on the cool water in the shower, letting out an obscene groan as the water cooled him down. 

“Miles?” 

“In the shower (Y/N)!” Miles called out. 

He hurriedly soaped himself up and rinsed off before wrapping a clean, white towel around his waist, stepping out into the hot, humid bathroom to find you rinsing your face in the sink. The bright smile that was on your face when you looked up at him was enough to make Miles blush, his face, his neck and his chest going red at the sight of you in a filmy, lilac colored sundress. 

“Hi handsome,” you purred as you wrapped your arms around each other.

“Well hello Mrs. Miller,” he chuckled as he pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. 

You gladly returned the kiss, reveling in the cool warmth of Miles’s body. You rested your head on his broad chest, the soft beat of his heart nearly putting you to sleep before a noise pulled you both from your sleepy state. 

“Here,” you said. “You get yourself in some clean clothes. I think that branch finally broke off the tree and hit the porch.” 

Miles laughed a little and gladly pulled some clean clothes from the dresser, throwing on a pair of khakis and a peach colored button down with short sleeves. A sleepy little coo caught his attention and sure enough, there was little Benny, pushing himself up with his little hands, his face meeting Miles’s own and a little giggle erupting from the one year old.  

“Did you have a good nap?” Miles chuckled, picking him up.

Benny’s little head came to rest on Miles’s shoulder, still sucking away on his pacifier as Miles dug around for a little t-shirt for Benny who had fallen asleep in his denim shorts. 

You came back in, your face reddened from the sun and a thin layer of sweat coating your face and neck. “Stupid branch,” you muttered. 

“Did it hit the porch?” Miles asked.  

“Finally,” you answered. “Can’t get it off but we’ll wait.” 

“Good, because I think little man here is getting hungry,” Miles half laughed. 

You groaned with annoyance. “Miles, it’s too damn hot for this shit.” 

“I was thinking something entirely different.” 

You gave him a puzzled look, wondering what your husband could possibly be cooking up in his brain at a time like this. All the restaurants within a five block radius were either closed or packed full. 

“There’s a little corner store where the summer camps all go for ice cream,” Miles explained. “And I think this little guy is overdue for his first one. Dad’s crabby, Mom’s been treating heatstroke patients all day long.....so why not? Nobody has to heat up the house and cook.” 

And you, yourself, had begun to think that Miles’s brilliant little idea was a brilliant one. 

You gathered up a little bag and a picnic blanket while Miles slipped a little white t-shirt over Benny’s head and put his tiny sandals onto his feet. Once you found Otis and Kathy had returned from working at the hospital, the three of you journeyed right down to the corner store that the summer camps frequented during the season. 

You picked a shady spot under the trees in the grass, spreading out the blanket before you, Miles and his parents all got their pick of what they wanted. You and Miles couldn’t resist the thought of a grape flavored popsicle with huge chunks of blackberries in it, especially for Benny. 

“Well, this beats heating up the house,” Miles remarked after he had stolen a lick of Benny’s popsicle. 

“Better than having to take stuff out of the freezer too,” you laughed. 

You and Miles shared so many laughs that you couldn’t have possibly counted them all. Miles teased Benny by stealing one lick after another of his popsicle, the little one’s hands and face already covered in dark purple smears of juice. Miles’s lips had turned purple from the juice, the two of you laughing as you teased each other, exchanging sticky kisses with one another before Benny began to do the same with the both of you. 

And you couldn’t have asked for a better start to your summer. 

[lewmagoo]

Alright Leah since you asked for it, here it goes. It's an idea I've shared around before, but now I offer it to you for your input (lol).

Rhett and wifey have a pretty sizeable brood and one of their sons is at a point where Rhett gives him an ultimatum. You either join the fire service, the military or the police academy or you get out of the house. Needless to say, son picks the fire service, particularly, wildland fire crew.

He's enjoying himself, the bond he's got with his crewmates and even Rhett, wifey and the rest of the family are happy that their boy has his shit together and that he's getting his life on track.

It's the height of fire season and a rager is getting dangerously close to Wabang. Families are evacuated to the high school outside of town, but the fire crew stays behind to fight it however they can. Eventually it gets to the point where they have to pull shelters.

Outside of town in the gym at the high school, Rhett, wifey and the rest of the Abbott tribe are waiting to hear news of their loved ones on the fire crew, everybody's an anxious mess and no one knows anything about anyone's whereabouts. The doors open and in walks a lone figure, still in his yellow shirt, hardhat and field pack, his face is an ash and soot covered mess.

Tatum Royal Abbott is the only member of his crew to walk through those doors that night. The rest of his crew is hospitalized with severe injuries.

Tatum practically falls into his father's arms, burying his face in Rhett's chest a shaking, sobbing mess. "Dad I'm so sorry," he sobs. "I'm so sorry Dad."

Rhett can't even hold back his own tears. "I'm proud of you son," Rhett chokes. "I don't give a flying fuck what anybody else says or thinks. I'm proud of you."

forgive me as i elaborate even further because this idea is heart wrenching

you've never experienced terror such as this before. terror isn't even the right word for it. you're not quite sure if there are any words to describe this feeling. it's all-consuming, it's soul crushing. your babies are surrounding you. all scared in their own right. sullen faces, fearful eyes, looking to you and their father for guidance, for comfort. but how can you offer comfort during a moment like this? you don't even know if your son, your sweet, precious boy, is alive.

the atmosphere is grim. voices are hushed. small children are crying. mothers are whispering words of assurance to their little ones. there's one beside you. alyssa cash. she's only twenty four years old, with a three-month-old baby in her arms. her husband was part of your son tatum's crew. and as you look at her, your heart breaks. there is a very real possibility that the young mother will wind up a widow.

you force yourself to tear your eyes away from her, and instead, your gaze falls upon your husband, who was approaching you after he'd stepped outside for a moment to see if he could find anything out. and as you watch him move in your direction, your heart finds a fleeting moment of peace, because you know that no matter what happens, you will have him by your side, an anchor in the midst of treacherous waters.

"anything?" you mouth, and he shakes his head solemnly. your other children clamber towards him, flooding him with questions about their brother. you can see the turmoil in his eyes, and you know what's happening. "give your daddy some space," you gently instruct your children, and they step back. instead, it's you who reaches for him, pulling him aside, just out of earshot.

"i can see it in your eyes. don't you dare blame yourself," you whisper, reaching up to hold his face in your hands. "i'm the one who forced him to make a choice. he's out there because of me. if...if somethin' happens to him, i'll never forgive myself." the despair in his voice brings hot tears to your eyes. "don't talk like that. we have to hold onto hope while it's still ours to hold onto."

even so, you pull him close, and you stand there in the middle of that high school gymnasium, holding each other, weeping quietly. rhett had never been one for overt displays of emotion, except for when it came to his children. becoming a father was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him. he freely and proudly let his emotions show in front of, and because of, his babies. but this time, the tears he shed were not tears of happiness or of pride. they were of grief. he couldn't lose his boy. he just couldn't.

but that moment of grief you shared is interrupted by the sound of the gymnasium doors swinging open. you both turn, and you're met with the sight of your son. the sound that comes out of your mouth is a cross between a sob and a gasp. your husband breaks away from you, reaching toward his son. and tatum sees his father. the moment he does, he crumbles.

rhett rushes for him, sidestepping those around him. once he reaches him, tatum careens forward into his father's arms, sobs jarring his entire body. "my boy," rhett whispers, clutching tatum to his chest. "my boy." and he feels his son grab onto his shirt, clutching the fabric between his trembling fingers. "i'm sorry, dad!" he cries, "i'm so sorry!" but rhett won't hear any of it. he pulls the boy back, hand on the back of his neck, forehead pressed against his. "don't you apologize, boy. 'm proud of you, you hear me? that's all that matters."

and then rhett feels a gentle hand on his back, and you're there. tears are streaming down your cheeks. your son's pain is also your pain, and it cuts deep, like a dagger plunged into your chest. "my baby," you whimper, and you hold him. and rhett holds you both. and your other children gather around you, sharing in your relief that tatum is okay. that he's alive.

but those around you don't get to partake in that same relief. you would all soon come to find out that tatum was the only one to make it out physically unscathed. the rest of his crew is hospitalized, many of them in critical condition. and your son, your darling boy, is left to shoulder the guilt, the utter self-hatred, that follows. it brings him to his knees. and you watch as it brings rhett, your strong, immovable, mountain of a man, to his own knees beside his boy.

he's not going to let him go through this alone. and neither are you.

[housewifebuck]

I'm not american but maybe you know? Why do they sometimes wear the yellow uniforms instead of blue? I tried googling it and one site says it's for better visibility but then why would they ever wear blue and another said it has to do with their rank but bobby has also worn yellow?

Hey! Are you talking about the Nomex uniforms they wore in the crossover episode? Those were wildland fire shirts specifically for ground work during wild fires. If you mean the tan vs black bunkers, there is functionally no difference and it’s really a matter of department preference. There are pros and cons to both. Tan bunkers seem to be more popular with volunteer departments in my experience because they are marginally cheaper but black seems to be preferred overall mainly because the contrast between the material and the reflective aspects is greater making them more visible in low visibility environments. Not all departments update all their gear at once so sometimes there is a mixture of colors within one station.

[wildbornsiren]

Shelly, if it's ok by you....might I share a Rhett Abbott blurb with you?? It's kind of long so I apologize if it's really lengthy. I've shared it with people before, but I thought you might really like it too.

So I watched Only The Brave a while back and all I could think about was Rhett x Reader's oldest son and his spitting image, being a bit of a troublemaker growing up to the point where Rhett gives him an ultimatum......you either go into the fire service, the military or you're out of the house. Son opts for fire service since it'll keep him somewhat close to home and chooses the wildland fire crew since he loved being out in the woods as a kid.

Rhett's son absolutely loves the field of work and bonds really easily with his crewmates. Rhett and wifey! reader are prouder than ever of their son because finally.....FINALLY, he has his shit together.

It's the height of fire season in Wyoming and the crew gets a call that a rager started a bit further north of Wabang and holy hell is it a RAGER! The crew goes in to take care of business but pretty soon it gets to the point where the crew captain orders shelters, the fire is raging out of control. All around it's absolutely terrifying.

They wait out the blow over.

The landscape is a scorched and blackened mess.

Families and friends of the crew are waiting in the gym of the Wabang High School with no knowledge of where anyone is.

The entire Abbott clan is waiting there, Rhett, Wifey, Cecelia, Royal, Perry, Amy and the other kids in the clan, waiting to hear of where the oldest Abbott son is. Everybody is an anxious mess, including Tatum's twin brother, Tanner, trying to keep each other calm and assuring each other that he's ok.

The gym doors open and the helicopter rescue walks in with a young man still in his gear, his red hard hat, yellow jacket, black field pack, face and neck coated and smeared in black ash.

Tatum Royal Abbott is the only one to fully walk through those gym doors that night......the rest are all in the hospital with severe injuries.

Tatum walks towards his family, almost stumbling and that's when they see him cry for the first time, his father catching him before he can have a chance to fall. Rhett has never seen any of his family this vulnerable, let alone his own son. He holds Tatum and lets him bury his face in his chest and sob until his eyes are burning. Rhett doesn't care that people are staring or giving them dirty looks in the case of the local gossips. He's only glad that Tatum, his and wifey!reader's son, their baby boy, is alive and in front of them.

"I'm sorry dad," he sobs. "I'm so sorry......I'm so sorry."

"I'm proud of you Tatum," Rhett murmurs. "I don't give a single flying fuck what anybody else here thinks......I'm proud of you."

Tatum cries even harder that night, because for the first time in a long time, he hears that from his dad. And it's not long at all before Rhett himself starts crying, shedding tears from how proud he is of his son.

Admittedly, I haven't seen Only The Brave (I do not have the emotional strength for that movie.) I like this headcanon, and it feels very Rhett--very much in line with his character. Just Rhett sinking to his knees holding his boy, his baby boy (because no matter how old he gets, that's still Rhett's baby), letting him cry it out. Arms tight around him, holding him, sheltering him from anything that may try to hurt him here. He doesn't care about the soot, the smell or the snotty patches on his shirt--all that matters is his son is here, safe and in his arms. And that's the best fucking thing he could ever ask for.

[candytshirt]

Celebrating Women Wildland Fire Shirt

https://nextlevelshirt.com/product/celebrating-women-wildland-fire-shirt/

[dougtfs]

The Healer

Art by Antios Kalkares

Story by Douglas Benjamin

“Keep an eye on the faun,” Anthony said, clambering down from the oxcart.

It was nearly dusk, though the heavy canopy of the forest had plunged us into near-dark for most of the day. We were heading back to the village with our precious cargo, but the old ox was tired and slow and there was no hope of completing the journey before night fell. 

I turned to look at the figure lying in the hay on the back of the cart. His arms were bound behind his back with a leather strap, pinned in place on either side of his furry brown tail. His legs, also bound by a strap, were covered in a shaggy brown fur that nearly obscured his hooves. Two large ears framed his bearded face, tall black horns jutting from his forehead. Lying on his side, he scowled at me, and said nothing.

As Anthony gathered stones and kindling for a campfire, I climbed into the back of the cart.

“Can you speak?” I said, though I’d already asked and received no response when we first came upon him that morning. The faun had been snared by one of the rope traps that we’d set to catch bears. I wanted to set him free, but Anthony insisted we bring him home. The horns of a faun, he said, would make us rich.

As I moved closer to the faun, he jolted back, nearly falling off the back of the cart. His body was thick and muscular, broad, like that of a manual laborer. His shoulders were wide, his arms bulky and strong. His chest was larger than any I’d ever seen. I tried not to stare between his legs, where soft, shorter hair framed a thick cock. 

But he was also injured, I could see. The leather strap around his arms and chest had cut into him, and he had a red abrasion on his torso that had started to bleed.

“Oh no,” I said, reaching for my pack of provisions. “I’m sorry -- let me help.” I removed a vial of red liquid, and the faun’s eyes widened, his nostrils flared. He struggled against his bonds.

“It’s okay,” I said, “I won’t hurt you. Relax.” I unstoppered the vial, and released a few drops onto my thumb, then pulled open my shirt and rubbed it on my chest. It glowed red on my flesh, then evaporated.

“It’s healing,” I said. “Magic. See? It won’t hurt.”

He narrowed his eyes.

I released a few more drops onto my thumb and reached out with my hand. The faun didn’t move, so I edged closer until I could make contact with his skin. The red drops on my thumb connected with the cut in his chest and he emitted a soft snort, grimaced, and then looked down to see the glow of the healing liquid heal the abrasion on his skin. The glow traced a line across his muscular chest as the bloody wound closed and vanished.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “Are you … are you okay?”

“Why ask this,” the faun said, startling me. After his silence all day, I didn’t think he understood. He had an accent I could not place. “Do you wish for answer? Or for someone to pose same question to you?”

“I …” My words caught for a moment. “I was trying to be nice.”

“Nice! Human nice,” the faun scowled, turning away from me. “You are false. Heal before you kill.”

“We’re not going to kill you,” I said. As he turned away, I could see there was another cut on his back. I dropped more of the healing fluid onto my palm, and pressed it against the back wound. “What’s your name?”

He grunted, straining against the pain of my touch as the cut on his back healed. I stole a glimpse at his perfect round ass before he relaxed his rippling muscles and muttered, “Monachikos.”

“Monachikos,” I said, my hand lingering on his back. “I’m Eidos.”

He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Eidos,” he said. “Means ‘kind’ in Fae.”

“My mother was a healer in Icho,” I said, “back when the city was a crossroads between the Wildlands and the Mortal Reach. She had a lot of Fae clientele. One of them named me when I was born, the story goes.” I realized my hand was still on his back and I pulled it away, brushing his tail.

The faun was studying me more closely now. “And your father?”

I shrugged.

His nostrils flared and he took a deep breath in, then nodded, but said nothing.

“Anthony says we’ll be back in the village by tomorrow afternoon,” I said. “He wants to … forgive me … take your horns. He says they’re magic.”

“Your mate is correct,” Monachikos said, closing his eyes.

“He’s not my mate,” I said.

Monachikos snorted and smiled for just a moment. “Good,” he said, then opened his eyes, seemingly embarrassed at what he’d just said. “Good that he … I am sorry. I speak too fast. I try to say good, good that he is not cruel husband to you.”

I snorted with a quiet laugh at that. “Oh, he’s cruel to me,” I said. “Anthony’s cruel to everyone.” I glanced to the side and saw Anthony clumsily trying to strike a fire in a circle of stones.

“But you,” the faun said. “You are Eidos. Kind.” He inched up closer to me in the hay. In the dim light, I could see a curious expression on his face. His ears, furry and broad, were cocked towards me, and he took another deep breath as though taking in my scent.

I leaned back against the side of the oxcart, close to him. “Will it hurt, cutting your horns? We can numb them like we do for goats.”

“No,” Monachikos said. “It will not hurt.”

I reached out to touch one of his dark black horns, and his eyes followed my hand. He did not pull away as I ran a finger along it. “You’re sure?”

“Afterwards will hurt,” he said. “Without them, I am not magic. I become human.”

“Oh -- I didn’t know that,” I said. “Will they grow back?”

He exhaled heavily, his eyes closed, and rested his head on my leg. I stared down at the masculine creature’s face in my lap, rubbing a hand along the horn and then through his hair. I could see that his eyelashes were wet.

“One day, maybe.” he said, almost whispering. “Can regrow with help from a mate. I have no mate.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, grasping for words. “Being human … it’s not bad.”

He opened his eyes, looking up to me, and tears fell from them.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to …”

“You are so sad,” he said, gasping for air. “I feel it. I feel you. I feel pain. Your whole life. Sadness so vast it is your whole body.”

I said nothing. My hand stroked his hair. He stared up at me. Neither of us spoke for some time.

“So you’re a healer too,” I said at last.

“Not of the body,” he said. “But yes. I listen. I find what hurts.”

“So what did you find?” I asked. “What hurts me?”

“Being human,” he said.

I closed my eyes. There we sat in silence. I ran my hands through his hair, felt his hard smooth horns, and then lowered my hand to his bristley beard, his broad neck, his furry chest. I felt his heartbeat. It matched mine.

“Roll over,” I said, pushing him roughly to the side. He obeyed, rolling onto his chest to expose the metal latch on the leather straps that bound him.

I squeezed the latch, and the straps unfurled. His arms were released, and I did the same to his legs.

“Go,” I said, glancing back to Anthony still fussing with the campfire.

“Come with me,” Monachikos whispered.

“I can’t -- I’m mortal, I can’t enter the Wildlands.”

Monachikos shook his head. “Idiot,” he said. “Do not let sadness make you stupid. Can you not see?”

“See what?” I said.

He lunged for me, grasping my head in his strong wide hands, straddling my body with his furry legs. He pressed his face to mine, opening his mouth, and I opened my mouth to accept him. His tongue was forceful, his breath earthy, and his grasp softened and grew tender as we kissed.

I felt my cock stiffen as did his against my abdomen, an electric thrill that surged throughout my body. There was a tightness in my temples, a tremble in my legs, and my feet cramped inside my shoes. Something was happening to me. Something magic.

The faun caressed me, his hands unlacing my shirt from collar to navel and then pulling it down off of my body. I felt flush with heat, felt the friction of our furry chests pressing together, and I fumbled with my pants to pull them from my legs. 

Monchikos pulled away, grinning, and yanked my pants down to expose me. To my shock, my legs were covered in fur like his, and as the pants passed my feet, I saw my toes darken, felt them curl, tighten, and form tough black hooves.

I looked back up to face him, shocked, and felt the tightness in my temples again. I reached up and felt them -- horns growing from my head.

“What … what did you do,” I gasped. I felt a flicking sensation above my ass, and knew I’d grown a tail. 

“I am healer,” he said, beaming.

“You turned me into…”

“No. I restore.” he said. He moved closer and kissed me once more. I returned the kiss, wrapping my arms around him and holding him as tight as he held me.

“We’d better go,” I whispered to him.

“We go,” he whispered back. “Home.”

[multifandomhoodies]

For the fan fiction ask! Wildland Fire AU: 1, 3 , 4 and 8!!?? Please! I'm just starting to catch up on my reading and am dying over this series!!!!

1. What inspired you to write the fic this way? Okay so I have a LOT of respect for wildlane firefighters and after doing research into smokejumpers for a project in school that took an existing interest into something a lot more and just wildland fire in general... I got really into watching hotshot crew vids and saw all these moments and I was like. Oh I need to write abt this. And with the xwing pilots dynamic and Finn and poe being who they are and just these super interesting characters I just. Wanted to put them in this world! Also I'm just an idiot who thinks oscar isaac and John Boyega would look SO good in the fire resistant nose bright yellow shirt and green pants.

3. What's your favorite line of narration?

This one! The missed glances! The light pining! The mutual feeling of love!! In the woods!!

4. What's your favorite line of dialouge?

This scene was one of the first I thought of honestly, I know it's not the most interesting in terms of dialogue but I LOVE how it fits this scene.

8. Did any real people or events inspire this? Yes!! Smoke it flies/the main fic of the series was definitely inspired by actual hotshot crews, particularly the Midewin hotshots, the Tatanka hotshots and Entiat hotshots. I have nothing but respect and admiration for those folks!!

Darkness is a harsh term was inspired by my crew in a way - in that fic poes dealing with missing his crew and I wrote that when I was missing my (mostly) non fire related crew. Love is stored in working together and having meals together and camping out together so what I was missing was what Poe was missing too.

Thanks for asking!!! I love talking abt this series hdjdjd

[runfast-runfar]

Quarantine days

8/23/20

✨I have so much homework already.. 🙃 ahhh

✨I have SIX lecture videos for 1 class already and it’s not even the end of a week in session lol But honestly my teachers seem pretty cool and I like most of the content so that’s good!

✨Needless to say, today was a pretty uneventful day. Woke up at 7:30, laid in bed for a bit snuggling with Thea, then got up at around 8:30 and started my homework.

✨Then I did homework for most of my day. I got 5 out of six of the lectures watched and notes taken. Then I got one of the readings for the Athens unit done (I have maybe 4 readings in total).

✨Then tomorrow I have to watch the last lecture and do the rest of the readings for that class, then I need to move on to another classes homework!! How do you even keep up man!!???!?! 😓

✨Anyways, did homework until midday, then walked downtown to pick up a few things. Bought this new shirt and cardigan a few days ago and I love them :))

✨Came home and did homework for another 2-3 hours before taking a break to go run. But it’s SO bad today with the smoke so I came back home and did a 50 minute yoga class instead. Honestly, I might prioritize yoga over running for the next week or so bc I needed the mental focus and calmness.

✨After yoga I went on to wildland-elements Etsy to buy a few headbands and I was so overwhelmed I ended up just buying all 5 colors I couldn’t decide between lmao. But she has some seriously cute stuff that I 10/10 recommend! It sells so fast though so you’d have to jump on it!

✨It’s almost 8:30pm now and I’m just taking a break from homework. I’m going to finish this post up and then finish the last reading I’m on and call it a day.

✨While I was doing homework at my desk I had this amazing sunset view which made me so happy 🥰 the fires are awful happening right now, do NOT get me wrong, but during fire season in California we seriously get the craziest sunsets. The picture doesn’t do it justice... it was NEON pink!!!

✨Hope you’re all well and have a good week ahead of you guys!

[falke-scribblings]

Summer Nights [Thematic Thursday 07.08]

For this week's entry, I did some more worldbuilding with my ZFD characters.

Those few teammates who weren't already zonked out were in the common area, taking up all the seats around the TV and loudly following the dizzying play-by-play of the year's treeball finals. Carteret searched for Riles' antlers among them, and wondered where they'd gotten the beer.

"I didn't know you were a fan," said a familiar voice from behind her.

Beck turned to see her partner for the first time all day. "You know I don't know how it works."

Jonathan Riles was big for a whitetail deer, big-chested instead of lanky, with soft brown eyes and short-shorn antlers for the wildland season that made him look a little bit like an antelope. He'd cleaned up, too, and now wore yet another obscure band-logo t-shirt. That she still hadn't seen him exhaust his collection was quite the feat, considering they spent all their time together out here.

He was also fairly good at reading her mind: he had a beer in each hoof and held one out to her as a greeting.

"Thanks."

"It's not bad, for the lightweight stuff. Someone out there likes us."

"For now." Beck tapped her bottle to his and took a swig. He was right, it was passable. Cold, too, which was just right after a day of digging in the dirt. "Where have you been all day?"

"Survey group," he said. "We went up Bosch Canyon just after breakfast to check out the old scar."

"Oh, so all you did was hike."

"There's a little more to it than that."

"Notes." She wrinkled her muzzle. "Give me a rake, not a clipboard. How's it looking?"

"Desiccated," Riles said. He glanced at the TV, where a squirrel was pirouetting through some slow-motion bit of midair athleticism. "But we knew that. The only upside is there's nothing much left in there to burn if it comes to it."

"There's plenty downslope." Beck thought back to the helicopter ride into base. "And if a fire there finds its way over the ridge we'll be on structure defense again."

"Your favorite." He grinned at her affected scowl. "Did you eat?"

"As much as they would give me." She tilted her head toward the barracks. "I was going to pitch camp somewhere, if you want to come with."

"What, outside?" Riles asked. He raised his eyebrow at her. "Like we just did for the last three days?"

"Three days of prep work isn't anything like the thick of it, you know that." Beck indicated the unadorned walls, flickering with flat light from the screen. Her long tail twitched. "You're going to be sick of having to be here by midseason. And trust me, by then it'll be so bad out we won't have a choice."

"Yeah, and you already are sick of it." He looked her up and down. "Okay, then. Where?"

Beck tipped the bottle to her muzzle and smiled past it.

[vanrambling]

Writeblr Life week day 6: Characters

Now this is the sh*t!

I love my characters so much and I wish I could do them justice with this post. 

For Cannibals Ball we have on this corner...The protagonists!

Homer: Short on height, yet far-sighted detective. A refugee that was adopted in London by the Families. He is a self-proclaimed cynic that doesn’t like to spend more than is necessary, loves beer, black coffee and hoarding all the knowledge he can gets his hands on. Black hair, dark brooding eyes. He as a strong sense of justice and is obsessed with finding the truth. 

Virgil: The happy/extrovert side of Homer. Easygoing, suave, relaxed. Picture...David Tennant’s Crowley, but bright shirt and a bit more dark skinned. He likes, men, women... people! He knows how to party and always knows where the party is. But don’t be fooled by his Happy Go Lucky facade. He is as cynic as Homer if not more, the only person he trusts is Homer and is foolishly in love with his fianceé, Angelina. He accepted his role in the Families to achieve his goals. And has very poor coping mechanisms that border on addiction. 

Cybelle: A dream girl. Literally. Try not to get lost in her color changing eyes. A mystery to be solved by the pair of detectives. (spoilers)

Vamp: A traveling lady of the night. Not a vampire, but she definitely got her nickname for a good reason. She decided to travel the world along with Rosa, a long time friend of hers, sometimes lover, sometimes rival. Because of her line of work she has encountered Virgil more times than she would like to remember. 

Christine: A forensic doctor and on-and-off lover of Homer. She likes heavy classical music (heavy metal) and into decrypting data and hoarding it as much as Homer. She loves Homer’s tiny dancing cactus.  

Chejov (maybe Anton? I haven’t decided yet): Has a gun. Homer hates him. Virgil’s partner in fighting crime and most times in partying. 

On the other corner we have the Antagonists:

Amelia: A woman of mystery. Member of the Parisian Families. She is very private and is not happy to welcome the pair of detectives in her turf. 

Cyrano: Head of the Parisian Families. 

Tertium: Young Hunter investigating privately the case for a third party. Very much into Virgil. He is good handling sticks. 

Fifth: Young Hunter investigating privately the case for a third party. Very skilled. a silent troll. He is good with hatchets. 

And that's just the first book. 

A bit of spoiler for the Next one. Cult of Fire.

The resonants are split in three factions. 

We have the Guardians. People coming from a Families program where they gather kids with abilities to experiment on, train and create soulless bodyguards for the Family heads. Most have energy or metal based abilities.

The kids. Resonants that are awaiting to become Guardians or are awakening to their abilities. 

The Cult of Fire: People from the wildlands. Gathered from tribes beyond the wall following Vesta, the fire woman. Most have fire related powers. 

Vesta: The leader of the cult. She is a red haired woman who has burn scars in her body that glow and ache when she uses her powers. But she is certain that her way will protect those that live in the wildlands. 

Debris Becket. Mad scientist. Very driven. Very smart. Very twisted. Obsessive. Really likes her lab coat and her 

Elmer. Homer’s Family head. Same with this guy. It’s complicated. 

And even further down the line....

The Hunters. A group dedicated to exterminating anomalies.

The Valkyries. But that’s still far away. They are the Thorny Rose hit team.

The raiders on the colonies. Jean used to be a clone but he didn’t agree with her cloner.

This is a bit of my characters and into my world. And Tomorrow we delve into the inspirations for this. 

[name-me-regret]

Lost to the Flames 2/20

Chapter Two: New Kid In Town

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - “Here comes a new kid, new kid in town Yeah, he's new to the neighborhood Check-check-check him out I heard he dates that red-headed girl with legs for days Let me tell you about them red-headed girls All they do is complain, all day Or talk shit all day, complain, hey

I hear he's the talk of the town Quit lookin' at me sideways, ladies let's all calm down No, don't, don't count me out

Welcome to the neighborhood, he's the new kid in town...”

~Talk of the Town - Elle King

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ -

Bobby Nash got off battalion truck and headed toward the training grounds. He needed a new recruit, and while he would have loved to have a probie, the transfer firefighter from Oregon Fire was too good a chance to pass up. If his scores were to be believed, and Bobby certainly did, then Bobby wanted him on his team. Plus, Deluca had gone to the 122 and Tommy had transferred to the 217.

So, he needed someone with training in rope and ladder rescues. He had Jennings on temporary loan due to her firehouse undergoing repairs after one of their probies had accidentally ran the fire truck into one of the posts, almost knocking it down and making the whole building unstable. Now, the repairs were almost finished and Jennings would be returning to her firehouse, so he really needed someone.

It wasn’t guaranteed that he’d get the recruit, but either way Bobby wanted to see his skills. He smoothed a hand down the front of his uniform shirt, since he was on shift in less than an hour. The C shift Captain knew where he was and would cover him until he returned.

When he arrived, he saw that the man had already put his gear on, the hood and helmet shielding his head and face. Either way, they were too far away at the moment to properly see him anyways, but they’d have time to meet him after he finished. Although, he hoped it didn’t take too long, since he didn’t want Capt Osborne to have to cover him for too many calls.

Although, Sunday’s didn’t tend to be too bad, as far as calls went. Bobby wasn’t superstitious, but even he wouldn’t tempt fate by saying the Q word.

Bobby came upon Miranda Williams first, Captain of the 221 and a strongly independent woman. The man admired his fellow Captain and had worked well with her whenever there was a big emergency scene that required more than one fire crew to be present. As he greeted her, Taresh Mehta walked over toward them, the Captain of the 133.

“This should be good,” the Indian man chuckled. Before they could ask what he meant, the instructor blew the whistle and they watched as Buckley flew through the obstacle course. It almost seemed like he was flying, even with the added 50LBS of weight from the gear and oxygen tank.

“He’s mine,” Miranda spoke up. “I need someone on ambo, so if he has even a shred of training as a paramedic, then he’s coming to the 221.”

Mehta hadn’t taken his eyes off the man as he moved with ease through the course. “We’ll see where he’ll be assigned. The hot shot will probably ask not to be assigned to me,” he said with a smirk, not sounding upset in the least. “Either way, I wanted to watch this.”

Bobby frowned in confusion. “Do you know him?” Mehta, while a newly minted Captain, had been with Cal Fire almost straight out of high school. He’d been one of the first Indian Wildland firefighters in California, and out of the three of them, he’d likely have heard of the Oregon firefighter. It seemed that by the way he was sure the other wouldn’t pick his station, that the man knew him personally, or at the least, professionally. He also wondered at the nickname.

Mehta nodded. “Oh yeah, I worked with him on a fire last year. He was a probie for the smoke jumping unit in Redmond, Oregon. They were a crew that helped with that big Klamath Fire.”

The other two nodded, since they had heard of it. A fire had started in Klamath National Forest, just northwest of Hornbrook, California. It had been a small blaze that had soon turned into an unstoppable fire that they’d had to call crews from out of state to help, especially crews from Oregon since the fire had been on the border of both states.

“The fire had spread where we couldn’t get our trucks in. We’d been pushed to our limits and the chief had asked for volunteers from Oregon Fire, since our nearest crew were already fighting three other fires happening simultaneously. A smokejumper crew from Oregon was the only one not busy, and was in the air in minutes. The jump was dangerous, and the risks of getting impaled by the trees or landing in the middle of the inferno was high. Then we hear the plane’s engine, flying close to the ground and we think that the pilot is a madman because visibility is almost zero with all the smoke.”

Read the rest on AO3.

[proppertacticalclothing]

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