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sanguinesorceress · 9 months ago

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Of course he would have discovered that hidden cache.

They were both plagued with an insatiable need to devour. Information, power, resources-- the list was seemingly endless. The difference between them being, where his moral compass was mostly true, hers was broken beyond repair. She would sacrifice without remorse if it meant the further acquisition of power, thus branding her a monster, a pariah, in the eyes of most.

A raucous of eerie laughter exploded within the room, echoing outward in all directions like the cracks of a freshly shattered mirror. His anger was palpable and it delighted her to see him so agitated. Her reply was simple, as it was the night they first met. “A lady never gives away all of her secrets,�� though she was far from a ‘Lady’ in the traditional sense of the word, and bore a greater likeness to the ‘Conniving Weaver' he accused her of being. When it came to individuals such as the Nethermancer, it was prudent to keep some things to herself, lest he find her deficient in terms of ‘usefulness.’ Their little game of mental chess was unyielding.

It felt like a lifetime ago, a hypnotic dream where her mind and body were not fully her own, but his accusation was indeed well founded. Malakortana was perfectly fluent in Nerubian, and had been for decades. “I imagine it was easy to find once you knew what you were looking for. Surely your felhound had no trouble digging it up with the enthusiasm of partaking in an arcane feast.” While she had been compelled to follow orders without question after she was raised from the dead, she also managed to create an accurate, detailed account of her time as a Nerubian 'handler' and stash it away for a rainy day. Evidently that day had arrived. Before he could chastise her further, the Sorceress raised a partially gloved, ashen hand, bidding he give momentary pause to his dissatisfied rant. “Very well… dearest ally,” she parroted, “…I shall indulge you.” The gilded, magical prison had been designed for that very reason, as made evident by his constant prodding for information. “But first, I will require you to release me so we can have a proper conversation… face to face.” She knew fully well he could study her work on his own, but a credit to his impatience, they both understood it would be far more efficient if she were present to aid him in his endeavor.

@nixalegos

The Sorceress would find she'd sprung a trap! Red runes appeared in the air before and around her, profane, yet somehow familiar runes that squirmed as if alive, ready to unleash whatever unspeakable magics they held, while the floor and ceiling above her whirled like clockwork. The platform had something written on it in chalk. "Say the magic words."

In the dead of night, when most of the living sought refuge in the land of dreams, a nightmare stalked one of the countless abandoned buildings within the Ghostlands. Long, spidery fingers skittered over spines of several leather-bound tomes, caressing each in turn before moving on to the next. Equal affection was bestowed upon each piece in her compendium, as though the act of merely touching them would draw forth the Sorceress’ inspiration. Rows upon rows of meticulously organized and pristinely kept spell tomes, historical accounts, maps, and scrolls lined the room –a mere fraction of her cloaked collection—as she knew it was unwise to keep everything in one continent, let alone one place. She had read them all, had memorized the majority of their contents, and partook in this ritualistic worship almost subconsciously whenever she found herself deep in thought. How much time had passed since her departure from the Shadowlands? Judging by the thin layer of dust, it had been quite some time since she had entered these abandoned halls, yet they remained, as always, undiscovered and untouched.

Or so she thought…

The Sorceress languidly paced the room, a scarlet wraith basking in its familiarity, as a whisper of crimson silk trailed in the wake of her muted steps. Those who might encounter her would likely dismiss her as an apparition, for there was no shortage of ghosts to be found in these derelict buildings. The moment her fingers came into contact with the tome titled, "Xorothian Mounts" however, his trap was sprung.

Red runes appeared in the air before and around her, profane, yet somehow familiar. They squirmed as if alive, ready to unleash whatever unspeakable magics they held, while the floor and ceiling above her whirled like clockwork.

There was no doubt in her mind’s eye who had done it. You see, in order to trap something, or someone, you had to know precisely who or what it was you were trying to contain. The more knowledge about the target you possessed, the better you were able to fortify your trap. The Sorceress took a moment to examine her own personal prison crafted by nothing short of a man with an unhealthy fixation.

The platform upon which she stood revealed something written in chalk. "Say the magic words."

A familiar quote came to mind, one from the very same book upon which the trap had been laid. ‘The subjugation of a Xorothian Dreadsteed is a true measure of power.’—Mor’zul Bloodbringer.

Bastard. It was always about power with him... always.

“Felsythe,” she hissed, nearly as impressed in that moment as she was irritated, “I didn’t think you still cared.”

@nixalegos

#nixalegos #sanguine sorceress #the conniving bitch #muah hahahahah!!!!

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buckleysims · 3 years ago

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first of all you have the nicest looking sims ive seen. the sims 3 is so ugly. Since I've gotten back into playing, I have been looking for everything I can ( all over the internet) to make it NOT ugly and your sims are the closest I have seen to the aesthetic I want. Beautiful work :))

Please have all the puppies because this is the sweetest message and you deserve them. ;-;

P.S. If you need help finding anything, please feel free to ask me. I am embarrassingly bad about answering my messages, but I am trying to be more responsive and I never, ever mind receiving WCIFs.

#Non Sims #Inbox #Rainy Day Cache #Never deleting #I feel like I should defend my favorite sims game #But...#I can't argue #Default replacements work wonders though #Skins in particular are vital imo #Also #Sims post incoming #Insert the 'it's more likely than you think' meme here

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mythauragame · 2 years ago

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Development Update - March 2023

Hi there folks, Miyazaki here with Mythaura’s development update for the month of March!

Topics covered include:

New Special: Panda

Beast Creator Contest Winners

Ko-fi Q4 2023 Concepts

Ko-fi Sponsored Items

More info available under the cut!

New Special: Panda

We’ve added our newest Special marking to the Beast Creator demo: Panda!

Panda has coverage on a beast’s limbs and eyes. This Special has a lot of fun layering opportunities with other Specials–be sure to play around with it to see for yourself all the potential it can bring!

Beast Creator Contest Winners

Thank you for all the great submissions to the Beast Design Contest! You all never cease to impress us with your creativity. For the March 2023 Beast Creator Contest we’ve got our three winners: iddq_tea, Zelie, and LMNas!

Our three winners will each have the rewards automatically applied to their accounts, and these three beasts will be featured on the homepage for Quarter 4 (April through June).

Keep an eye out for our next Beast Creator Contest–we’ll be gathering entries in June to display on our site for Quarter 1 (July through September).

Ko-fi Quarter 4 (2023) Concepts

It’s the first day of Quarter 4 (2023), which means we’ve got new Quarterly Rewards for Sponsors to vote on on our Ko-fi page!

Which concepts would you like to see made into official site items? Sponsors of Bronze level or higher have a vote in deciding. Please check out the Companion post and the Glamour post on Ko-fi to cast your vote for the winning concepts!

Votes must be posted by April 30, 2023 at 11:59pm PDT in order to be considered.

All Quarter 3 (2023) Rewards are now listed in our Ko-fi Shop for individual purchase for all Sponsor levels at $5 USD flat rate per unit. As a reminder, please remember that no more than 3 units of any given item can be purchased. If you purchase more than 3 units of any given item, your entire purchase will be refunded and you will need to place your order again, this time with no more than 3 units of any given item.

Hopefully in the future Ko-fi will offer the functionality to limit purchases per user, but for the time being we will be reviewing orders manually and reaching out to those who disregard these instructions.

Quarter 3 (2023) Companion: Shimmer Kelp-Dancer

Quarter 3 (2023) Glamour: Tainted Claws

Quarter 3 (2023) Solid Gold Glamour: Kirin

Ko-fi Sponsored Items

Daybright Peafox, Sunrise Peafox, Midnight Peafox

Sponsored by: Percy

Mythaura v0.13

Upgraded to Laravel 10.

Adjusted how sessions are handled to create better cross-domain performance.

Prevents actions from resolving in battle when the target is already defeated.

Admin CMS cleanups and adjustments.

Adds webhook to handle battle disconnects.

Adjusts validation method in pusher webhooks.

Created tool to collect debugging info on battles.

Added ability for admins to force a cache override when needed.

Adjusted UI to better handle when a beast is defeated.

Began initial balancing on battle.

Properly implemented surge abilities.

Refactored battle element icons.

Many various bug fixes and tweaks to battle UI.

Thank You!

We appreciate you sticking through to the end of this month’s updates!

May will mark one year from the time that the current dev team started work on Mythaura, and our May 1, 2023 update will feature a video detailing an integral part of the Mythaura gameplay loop: the battle system.

Mythaura’s player versus player (PVP) battle demo will go live with the June 1, 2023 update. We’re so excited to see everyone partake in this system, and look forward to your feedback!

See you around the Discord!

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dragonmuse · 3 years ago

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Belivesinponds, and AsIsHerRight (and maybe others, my apologies if I left you off the list) wanted to know if Eddy ever told Izzy that she loved him too back then. And maybe does again. So this is closer to Sink to the Bottom era, when they’ve gotten very comfortable with each other again.

“Okay...okay,” Izzy sighed into the phone as Eddy approached him. “Yeah...yeah no, of course I wouldn’t fucking mention it. I’ll just pick her up like usual. Mhm. I’m not actually an idiot, thanks so much.....yeah...yeah...it’s fine. I don’t care.....yeah. 11? Fine. Yeah...yep.”

Eddy watched him, amused. Waited until he hung up, waiting for the incoming rant about whoever he’d been talking too, but instead, Izzy just rubbed his forehead and jammed his phone into his pocket.

“Bad timing,” he said, nearly apologetically. “You ready?”

“Are you? Seemed a little heated.”

“Wasn’t. Delly is in a mood. Pickle had her first run-in with a boy. It’s a whole thing.”

“Broken heart?” Eddy asked sympathetically.

“Yeah, all over some middle school douchebag.”

“Never seem like douchebags when it starts.”

“Guess not. Anyway, let’s go.”

It wasn’t a random ride today. Eddy had sat bolt upright in the middle of the night a week or two, a vintage memory rushing back to her in her sleep. She’d texted Izzy the next day and he’d agreed with her general sense of place. It wasn’t a big deal, just a little cache set aside for a rainy day, but she was almost positive they’d tucked other things in it. Keepsakes, maybe.

When they brought it up, they’d been sure that Izzy would blow it off or tell her just let him know when she’d found it, but instead he’d told her when he’d been around and here they were.

It wasn’t far out of the city bounds. One of the borderline min-cities that had sprung up as a bedroom community. The address hadn’t come back to Eddy, but Izzy was good with google maps and between the two of them, they’d pinned it to the right building. When they pulled up, the sight of the brick confirmed it, the odd black wash they’d put around the door was hard to miss.

“I think it was this side,” Eddy pointed and Izzy shrugged, but followed her down the side of the building. He was scanning the street, playing lookout and it was pleasantly familiar with none of the attendant danger to sour the mood.

It took her gently kicking at a few likely bricks before one rocked loosely beneath her toe.

“Hey!” She grinned at him.

“Can’t believe you found it the first time, let alone a second,” he shook his head.

“I’m just that good,” Eddy squatted down, winced, stretched her leg out at an awkward angle then started rocking the brick back out of place. Izzy took their back, watching the street.

“We were here for that scummy guy. Bruno. That was it. Couldn’t remember the name.”

“Were we?” Eddy couldn’t get leverage. “Got a knife?”

Izzy handed her a switchblade without turning around.

“He’d stiffed Hornigold on a payment. He sent us around to talk interest.”

“Oh! Bruno! The guy with the drippy nose. Those were early days.”

“Year three or four,” Izzy agreed.

“What the hell did I have that I think was worth stowing back then?” She laughed. “This’ll be good. Probably a six-pack and an I.O.U. to myself.”

“Maybe,” Izzy said and he sounded odd. Eddy frowned, but then the brick came loose distracting her.

“Okay, come on,” she stuck her hand into the gap, groping around. Then her fingers closed around something hard. “Ha!”

Carefully, she pulled out a small box. It was pretty, actually, some kind of wooden engraving in the top.

“Where’d this come from?” She held it out for Izzy to hold, along with his knife while she shoved the brick back into place.

“You lifted it by accident,” Izzy said after a second.

“Did I? Yikes, from who?”

“Hornigold.”

“No!”

“Yeah,” he held it back out to her as she got to her feet. “We were at his house, and you saw it on and end table. It wasn’t prominent or anything, but a couple of days later you got all cagey and said you had to ditch it in case he realized.”

“What a bonehead,” she sighed. “It’s amazing we survived anything. Should we open it up?”

“Not here,” Izzy wrinkled his nose. “Let’s go somewhere we can sit down.”

“Probably just some moldy cash,” they grimaced. “But yeah, okay.”

They found a cafe not far away, ordering drinks so they could hold down a table. Eddy put the box down between them after the waiter dropped off coffees.

“Okay,” they stared at the thing, suddenly a little nervous. Maybe it was the tension in Izzy’s shoulders which seemed to arrive slowly, but was now very apparent.

“Just open it,” Izzy gritted out.

Eddy flicked open the latch which went reluctantly and then opened the box. There was a roll of cash, shoved unceremoniously in the corner with a rubber band around it that broke when she picked it up and set it aside. The roll had been tucked that way for so long, it stayed curled up despite the death of its restraint.

There was also ring in there, thick and badly made with an imprint in the top of a fox face.

“Jack’s,” she remembered and they both stared at it until Eddy dropped it back into the box. “Think Anne would want it?”

“...are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah, bad idea,” she agreed. “We’ll toss it. Doubt it’s worth anything.”

Beside that there were yellowed papers, folded up into neat squares. She set those aside, and found a knife underneath them. A nice one with a wooden handle. Her old nickname was carved into it.

“Okay, I’d remember this,” she decided. “And I definitely don’t.”

“I bought it for you,” Izzy’s attention was on the papers. “Some shop in some weird little town. They did handmade wood things. Thought you’d like it, but I don’t- guess I lost my nerve about giving to you. When you were freaking out about the box, I dropped it in. Something for you to find later.”

“Huh.” Eddy smoothed her thumb over the engrained ‘B’. “Guess I found it too late.”

“Just a relic,” Izzy agreed. “Blade is probably rusted. Wasn’t very good to begin with.”

She dropped it back in the box, then reached for the notes. Izzy sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“What?” The first one unfolded reluctantly.

It was weird. Just her handwriting saying ‘Pick up a bottle. -E’.

“Fuck,” Izzy scrubbed at his face.

The next one was her handwriting again, ‘Password: 45123, what an idiot’.

And another ‘Went for a walk, back in an hour.’

And another, ‘imagine if we just walked out now, what would happen?�� then there was Izzy’s spiky letters ‘we’d get fired. Or murdered. Or both.’ then Eddy again ‘could be worth it’.

There were a dozen of them all told. None of them with any particular meaning. Just little notes, dashed off in seconds, forgotten about just as quickly. Izzy wasn’t making anything like eye contact any more, shoulder hunched forward, hands in his lap.

“Okay,” she started folding the notes back up. “So these were you too?”

“Yeah,” he said roughly.

“Why?”

“Because-” he groaned. “Jesus fuck, Eddy, you know why.”

And she could see him, twenty-one or so, laid over his older self. The tightness in his eyes that had never relaxed, his boxer’s stance, and smooth hairless jaw. He had been so tight at her heels all the time. Had he gathered these notes like fallen fruit? Shuffled them together? He’d cared enough to make sure they’d get sealed away along with cash and one of Jack’s underthought castoffs.

“This was mine though. You’d know I was going to find it.”

“Meant to go back,” he sighed. “I’d get the knife too. Have a better spot to hide the notes. Wound up with one too.”

“What happened to those?”

“Burned them. When you took over the business. Along with some other shit that we didn’t need hanging around.”

“Oh,” she put the notes back into the box, more carefully. “You know, it’s one thing to hear you say it, but shit like this...”

“Say what?” Izzy did finally look at her. She caught his eye, let him make his eye contact. She wouldn’t blink today.

“You told me that you used to love me. In the alley, all those years ago.”

“That how I put it?” He grimaced. “I still did then.”

“Not now?” She checked.

“Does it stop?” His eyes had always been so dark. They weren’t even brown, a lighter, more mixed up color than that, but in her memory they came through as nearly black. “Just grew up. Changed.”

She had to smile at that. “Aw. You still care.”

“Yeah, of course I fucking do,” he huffed. “Is this news?”

The notes were each folded perfectly evenly though they were all on different kinds of paper. When she restacked them they were a pile of careful squares, the writing facing inward on each of them.

“I care about you too,” she told him.

“Figured that out,” he shrugged. “Not like you to stick with something you’re not invested in.”

“Not an investment.” It was her turned to look away. She turned the words over and over, trying to find the right way to phrase them. But maybe there wasn’t a right way. “I loved you too. Back then. As much I could love anything.”

“Bullshit you did,” he said without any emotion at all. “Don’t rewrite history now. Doesn’t do us any favors.”

“But I did,” she closed the box, forced the latch back. “I was a scared kid too, you know.”

“Never looked it.”

“Couldn’t. Couldn’t falter. Couldn’t make a mistake. I had to be perfectly confident. Maybe I even was sometimes, but I was terrified too.”

“Fuck, who was steering the ship then? Cause I was scared out of my mind half the time.”

“We managed. Probably the fear that kept us alive. The confidence sure didn’t.”

“Mix of both?” Izzy hazarded.

“Not the point though,” she sighed. “The point was I loved you back then. Maybe not the way you love me, but I did. You were mine and that meant something.”

“All right,” he nodded very slowly. “That’s...I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Me either,” they admitted. “And I do still love you now, you know. You’re a half-decent friend these days.”

“Fuck off,” he smiled at her. “You’re okay too when you’re not being a flake.”

“I am not a flake,” she scooped up the box and stuck it in her pocket. The cash she’d leave behind for the waiter. Let them get an unexpected tip. “You’re just anal retentive.”

“Don’t see why both can’t be true.”

“Fuck. Off.”

The conversation redirected to other possible caches. Eddy was sure that was the last of them, Izzy started reeling off places to confirm she’d gotten them. There were a few question marks left behind, other trips to take in the coming weeks. The rest of them would just be cash, once notably a gun, and another time a photo.

Eddy would keep the picture too though Izzy snapped a shot of it with his phone. The two of them, closer to thirty than twenty, both of them looking away from the photographer, drinks in their hands. Eddy’s arm was slung over Izzy’s shoulders, and they were both laughing at something not pictured.

She framed it and set it amid the other pictures in the front hallway, next to a shot of Alma and Ingrid sitting poolside and beneath one of Frenchie and Roach in full drag running after an ice cream truck.

Something to look at when she pried off her shoes at the end of the day. A reminder of the journey.

#leda house and the kraken verse #ficlet #eddy teach bonnet #izzy hands

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wavywebsurf · 2 years ago

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Most of these guyz dont really have lore aw fuck like the ones that do ill explain here ig

So duskbi is probably an alien he travels from place to place does he remember his home planet no he doesnt hes really cocky XD

Rendawns an angel whos just vibin. I think hes biblically accurate

Nebby is a god. Nothing else much to say(that sentence made no sense-)

Indus is literally just a guy he is a human (he actually is like just a human im.not joking) hes just a bit weird. Totally normal. Very normal

Summer is just a wreck she escaped a cult she has ... so much trauma. She needs a hug...

R0Z3 GUY conducts an interdimensional train his work day is verrry norkal time but it feels like 4EVA. also you dont need a ticket, neat

RNA is some guyz oc. He is so silly and his backpack is MAGIC :DDD he can pull literally any out of it. Anything

Cache is so fucking pissed he is a staunch believer in aliens and tries telling people all the time. Nobody believes.

Orb just got thrown into our dimension he is ... very confused. He is going through it he has no clue whats happening

#out of place/orb #bringer of infinity/nebby #all aboard the dimensional train!/r0z3 guy #rainy day doodle/rna #summer day cult runaway/summer #amongst the stars/duskbi #the singularity/indus #sunset angel/rendawn #aliens are real!!/cache

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art-of-manliness · 2 years ago

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Sunday Firesides: Life Is for Living

In the classic Aesop’s fable of the ant and the grasshopper, the ant works through the summer, storing up food for the winter, while the grasshopper spends his days making music. When the colder months arrive, the grasshopper starves, while the ant lives comfortably off his cache. Yet, one does wonder if the ant did not experience another kind of hunger himself — pangs of yearning for all the warm, sunshine-filled fun he missed while toiling underground. Frugality, a drive to accumulate resources and a reluctance to spend them down, makes for an excellent approach to economics, to budgeting and household management. But as a life philosophy, as an overarching ethos, it is greatly impoverished. While parsimoniously focusing on building one’s security and preparing for a potential rainy day can be prudent, it can also lead to the worst kind of waste. Vacation days held onto, in case they’re needed, until the arrival of the new year, when they disappear forever. An expensive sweater rarely put on, to make it last, until after only a few wearings, it goes out of style. Expressions of affection carefully rationed out, to not take a romance too fast or spoil a child, until the relationship turns to ashes. Retirement savings hoarded up, until the account holder dies, right along with his dream of traveling the world. Living a flourishing, fulfilling life requires mastering the balance between some of the most difficult tensions of human existence. Anticipating a coming winter, without neglecting to bask in the glow of an eternal summer. Cultivating the field of one’s resources, without waiting until after the harvest to start enjoying its fruits. Laboring with insect-like industry, without becoming a music-deprived drone. Compiling one’s reserves, without ever forgetting that — Money is for spending. Clothes are for wearing. Love is for giving. Life is for living. The post Sunday Firesides: Life Is for Living appeared first on The Art of Manliness. http://dlvr.it/SpMRQw

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barbiemonamie · 2 years ago

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Gaetan étant très bricoleur, il a fabriqué une petite luge pour sa petite Capucine.

Geatan porte un gros pull à col roulé fait main (avec une vieille chaussette) , un pantalon beige et des bottines noire.

Coline porte un ensemble et des bottines en fausse fourrure fait main avec le manteau en fausse fourrure de Skipper Party pair n°3297 de 1972.

Capucine porte un jean avec des baskets blanches hautes, le manteau de Kelly Rainy Day Play Fashion Avenue. Ainsi qu'une écharpe fait main et un serre-tête cache-oreilles fait main également.

#family #famille #enfants #barbie fashion #barbie world #barbie mattel #barbie #barbie photography #barbie dolls #barbie ken #barbie kids #doll aesthetic #doll photography #doll diy

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winter-fox-queen · 4 years ago

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Albatross

Summary: Frankie wants to give you your dream vacation, but he’s not sure if it is worth the price.

Warnings: Female reader. (He calls her his girl, and she wears a skirt in one scene.) Angst. No smut. I thought I would finally write smut, this was going to be a very different story where they were AT the place already, but. No. Angst with a nice ending because I can't leave Frankie to suffer too long.

Thanks to @autumnleaves1991-blog -- you are awesome and this picture is lovely.

1,870 words.

Frankie didn’t lie to you. Not about this, at least.

Well.

Not really. He was working extra, taking extra shifts. Except for right now. Right now, he was in a cabin in the middle of a state forest, one of the very few things he’d bought with the money. A place to hide. To be at peace.

It was not working. The money felt like a weight. Half of each share had gone to Redfly’s family. Half had gone to each man. He’d hoped for freedom. This was anything but.

I shouldn’t have hidden it in the cabin. He once watched a TV show about Escobar, seen that one of the caches of money he’d hidden outside had gotten moldy. So Frankie had gone into the cellar. Dug up a section of the dirt floor. Made a proper hiding place, kneeling in the dirt, mixing up quickcrete and placing stones until the cellar was paved in with stone pavers. Three were loose. Only one had a reinforced box with another box and a bunch of money that could change his life but he can’t even look you in the eye and explain that he has it.

So here he was, sitting on the weathered wood bench in front of the cabin you did not even know he owned, resting his cheek on his fist, looking at the cabin of his damned dreams like it was a haunted death trap from a B horror movie.

He signed, grabbed the magazine he’d dropped on the ground earlier, flipping it to an article you’d been sighing over when you thought he wasn’t looking. The ultimate romantic getaway, with tiled pools and greenery and luxurious accommodations and candlelight dinners.

“That’s pretty,” he’d said over your shoulder as you looked at the main picture of the article, a swimming pool tiled and beautiful – all Middle East and mysterious looking, making you think of romance and beauty.

“I love it,” you admit. “I’d never get to go…but it is beautiful. Have to win the lottery.” She grinned at him.

He looked it up online, curious. Frankie the pilot/mechanic couldn’t afford it. Not even with extra shifts and only one beer on Fridays and watching every penny.

The other Frankie could.

So that was why he found himself in the cellar. If you knew which paver it was to start from, and which direction to go, it was just a knight chess move, probably obvious and stupid, but he did not trust himself to remember any other way. He pried it up carefully so not to scratch the stone and give away the hiding place.

He stared at the hole. The carefully wrapped money. He fumbled for his phone, and by some miracle the call went through.

“Hey Frankie.” Pope’s voice sounded tired, but warm. Not quite there.

“If you really, really love someone, is it OK to lie to them?”

Pope didn’t think before he replied. “Of course not.”

“If you really, really love someone and want to do something to make them happy, is it OK to lie about where you got the money for it?”

That stopped Pope. Pope, instead of being split focused was now, 100%, listening. “Frankie…”

Frankie, waiting, crouching by the hidden safe, phone to one ear, other hand relaxed on his knee. Waiting. Frankie was very good at waiting.

Pope sputtered a little, tried to think of what to say. Finally. “Yeah, Frankie. It’s OK.”

It’s what he wanted to hear but it wasn’t the truth and he knew it. “I’ve never loved anyone like I love her. I’ve never wanted anything in my life like I want her, want her happiness. But there’s this whole chunk of my life that she doesn’t even know about. I look at this damned cabin and I think, she’d love it up here. Her car broke down and she needed to buy a new one, and I could have bought her a fucking car so she wouldn’t have to worry about payments.”

“I know,” Pope muttered, but Frankie is on a roll.

“And the one damned thing I’ve ever seen her really, really want and it’s this damned vacation and I can give it to her. I can fucking pay for it, but if she finds out how it’ll ruin everything. She won’t be able to enjoy it. The memory will be ruined. I can’t fucking win. What good is it, if I have this, and I can’t even use a little of it to make my girl happy?”

Pope, picking words, both because he’s not sure what to tell Franlie and because he is paranoid about anyone (doubtful) listening in. “Maybe…maybe that is the good. You can’t…make it better, right? But you can…clean it. Make good memories for your girl. Do good things for the people you love.” Pope sighed. “I can’t…I can’t bear it, either, you know? I save it for a rainy day, but…”

“I didn’t think the guilt would last so long,” Frankie said.

“No.”

“Maybe I should tell her.”

A pause. “I can’t think of any way to tell that story without things going to shit.”

“I don’t like lying to her.”

“No.” Another pause. “Please don’t tell her unless you know you can trust her.”

“She won’t blab.” Frankie glared at the phone.

“Don’t get insulted on her behalf. Everyone you love could get hurt…including her.”

Guilt seized his heart so hard he wondered if he was going to have a heart attack, right there.

“You OK, man?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” He said through numb feeling lips. “I’m ok.”

He slipped his phone in his pocket, reached in, and took what he thought he could use, and carefully hid everything again.

Then he got very devious.

You can put up to 15,000 on a prepaid Visa gift card. He went to a place where people were smart enough not to ask questions, or even care. One of those places where you want to wash your clothes after you leave.

Then he called the resort. “Look, I have these friends…” he said, “I want to treat them, but they can’t know who I am…” The prepaid card was as good as a credit card.

And then he went home, and waited for you to check your email. Sweating.

And, obscurely, jealous of himself. Super fucking jealous of himself, the more he thought about it. Like, he hated the mysterious benefactor who was about to make the love of his life so happy.

He wanted to be the one. Wanted your eyes to light up and know it was because he’d been able to provide for you, he’d been able to make this happen. He closed his eyes and swallowed it. It was stupid and selfish…what did it matter, who got the credit as long as you got this? As long as it made you happy? Frankie would be there, seeing your smile when you stood next to that glorious tiled pool, watch you dabble your toes shyly in the water, as if to ask, can I really have this?

And it did.

“Frankie!” You came in, sat on his lap. Your arms were warm around him, you made a soft and perfect armful as he wrapped himself around you, let your lips peck happy kisses all over his face.

“What is it, baby?”

You pull back. “You know. The trip.”

Frankie raises his eyebrows, all innocence, starts to protest, but you silence him with another kiss.

“I know, baby, who loves me enough to put so much effort into planning things like this. The surprise is nice, but you know I’m not dumb.” You toss aside his cap and run your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp gently, and Frankie sighs softly, his eyes shutting a little. He opens them again when your hands cup his cheeks.

You look very serious. And a little sad. Which hits his Oh Shit button, hard.

“You didn’t have to go to all this effort, baby. You really didn’t.”

“Well, I…” he tried to think of something to say, but settled for, “I love you. I love you so much, you don’t even…”

This earns him a kiss on the forehead. Then you say, “I know how you got the money.” And his blood runs cold. Before he could marshal some sort of reply, you continue, “Come on, Cat. Long hours. Extra shifts? I know that the people down at the field are not the most upstanding of people. But…baby, it’s so dangerous.”

It doesn’t take him much to put the pieces together. “You think I’m running drugs?” It comes out as an incredulous squeak.

You nod. “It makes sense. This dream – literally a dream vacation – is not cheap. And I never expected it. You know that? I enjoyed day dreaming about going with you because I love you and I want to take you all over the world…” You sigh. “I just want to see the beautiful things of this world through your eyes.”

This time, Frankie does the silencing, with a gently thumb over your lips. “Sweetheart, I didn’t…”

You kiss the pad of his thumb. “You gonna try and tell me this money came on the up and up? Baby, I know how much you make.”

You look at each other for a long moment. You, work skirt hiked up so you can straddle his thighs, sitting closer to his knees, Frankie, his hands gentle on your hips so you don’t fall.

“I could tell you,” he says, softly. The words running underneath But I don’t want to and you might not like it.

You are sharp. That’s one of the things he likes about you, how much you see. It’s also one of the things that scares him the most. Finally, “Are you in danger?”

Frankie shakes his head, once.

“Is it…is it the reason why sometimes you get so sad?”

One nod. A little smile. He watches you digest this. Make a decision.

The delicate hands come up to frame his face again. You look him right in the eyes. “You are a good man. I don’t know what happened, and maybe, someday, you can tell me. But you are good and kind and I love you.” And you kiss him again, this time so fiercely that his thinks it’s going to bruise, and he’s fine with that.

You lean back again. “Humph. Well. If you’d not already paid for it, I’d probably save the money to pay on the car.”

“No take backs.” He grins despite himself.

“Rats.” You grin back. Slide off his lap. “Now to call Darla and see when I can take off, and then we are buying you a new swim suit.” You bounce on your feet, then turn to go for your phone.

Frankie leans back against the cushions with a groan. “I do not need…”

You peek around the doorframe. “You are not going to a five star resort in purple swim trunks with catfish on them!”

“They were a present!” he calls after your retreating form, and grins at the ceiling.

It’s going to be alright, he thinks, feeling lighter. It’s going to be alright.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x fem!reader #writer wednesday #pedro pascal #my fiction

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pcttrailsidereader · 3 years ago

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Avoiding the Preventable

On my first PCT hike I was a little younger and a lot more naive. I was with my two friends and we were in the Cascades doing something we had never done before. We were spending a month walking from the Columbia River to Rainy Pass in Washington state. It was late June when we began our journey. The rainy times are not completely done by then. Needless to say there was plenty of early summer snowmelt bringing fresh water cascading out of the mountains.

We drank freely and often from the streams we found along the way. The water was cold, crisp, and delicious. Soothing to parched throats and reinvigorating to tired bodies. All was just fine until about a week after we returned to our respective homes. A week after slowly integrating back into 'normal' life I began to not feel so great. Severe abdominal cramps, diarrea, and general fatigue were keeping me sidelined. I wasn't sure what was happening to me. Whatever it was it wasn't good.

I got to a doctor who had recently studied parasitic diseases and recognized my symptoms as giardia. To be sure he had me do a lab test but got me going on a strong medication to clear the intestinal cysts that make giardia so nasty. The meds turned things around pretty quickly. Gladly I was feeling more like my normal self in a few days.

The lesson learned was, 'DON'T drink the water!'. I knew that my future adventures in the mountains would include some form of purification or filter system for any water I was intending to. drink. I clearly knew I DID NOT want to experience giardia again if I could help it. That was the start of a long history of making sure I was being sensible about drinking water in the backcountry.

This has led me practice everyday preventative actions to keep myself and others as safe as possible. These days we are really concerned about preventing the spread of Covid 19. We also don't want the flu, or the common cold, especially when we are so far from home. Even out of doors it is still important to cover your mouth when coughing or sneezing. None of the above mentioned infections stop at trailheads. You can reduce your risk of Covid with measures like being fully vaccinated, wearing a mask where appropriate, and staying outside. Even before the Covid outbreak many PCT hikers were fist bumping up and down the trail as both a greeting and preventable measure.

Gastrointestinal issues are an often preventable cause of wilderness medical emergencies. By washing your hands you can decrease your chances of contracting stomach ailments. Norovirus is a particularly contagious virus. Outbreaks have occurred on trails around the world. Simply washing your hands frequently with biodegradable soap at least 200 feet from water sources can make a real difference towards preventing many health issues. Illness often begins suddenly and lasts about 1 to 2 days, with stomach pain, nausea, diarrhea and vomiting. Plenty of time to ruin a wilderness experience. Noroviruses are found in the stool or vomit of infected people and on infected surfaces that have been touched by ill people, such as pipe gates or containers of water at a cache.

Washing your hands, or at least using hand sanitizer can lessen the opportunity for a virus to strike. Other strategies include not sharing food or drinking from the same water bottle. Try not to touch your eyes, nose, or mouth. Finally, boil or chemically treat water as most filters will not remove viruses alone.

This probably reads like a horror story. Well, if you get sick you will be starring in one. No one wants that. I was so happy in my misery with giardia to be home and not miles from a road and a ride out. Taking a few preventable measures can keep you moving in the direction of your dreams down the trail.

#Giardia #Covid 19 #Norovirus #Safe water #Clean Hands

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