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staticscreenwriting · 1 year

Text

maybe the night would take me home II Frankie Morales

Part 1 : "Divorce And The American South" & "The Thunderbird Inn"

a Frankie Morales Story inspired by the album "We Don't Have Each Other" by Aaron West and the Roaring Twenties.

A/N : This imagine series will deal with sensitive topics please see my tags for TW. Please proceed with caution. Also there’s mention of smoking and alcohol. English is not my native language, go easy on me please. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated

There's a hole in the wall and a square where the wallpaper is a lighter shade of beige than the rest. There probably used to be a painting or a mirror. The ceiling fan is missing one of its blades and there's a huge rip in the ugly brown curtain that's blocking the street lights from flooding the room.

He can just about make out the glow coming from the street light in front of his window. There used to be more color permeating the thin curtains and throwing kaleidoscope patterns into his motel room but people have started to take down their Christmas lights leaving him with just the ugly yellow of the street lamp.

The motel room is dull and gray and hopeless and broken and ugly and Frankie thinks it's fitting because that's exactly how he feels and really, he doesn’t mind it all that much.

The clerk at the front desk, he wants to say his name is Steve, is nice, and always pours him a cup of coffee whenever he finds Frankie sitting in the tiny lobby area of the Motel where the vending machines are. The coffee isn’t good but it’s warm and that’s enough these days.

“Long night?” he asks and every time Frankie nods and says “Sure has been.” Steve then grants him one of those smiles that lets you know the person is looking straight through your lie but they’re way too nice to call you out on your bullshit.

“Well, tomorrow’s a new day. Hope that one is better,” he replies, every time.

Frankie nods again knowing full well it won’t be.

He’s given Frankie a break on the rent this week.

“Look don’t you worry about it. Just make sure you pay me back with next week’s rent. I know you’re good for it.”

“I probably am.”

Steve was laughing then. He probably won’t laugh when he hears that Frankie’s coming up short again this week.

Back in his tiny motel room, his clammy hands grab the room's phone tightly. It will probably cost him a fortune to use it — again — though after throwing it against a solid brick wall, his cell phone is but a piece of junk left somewhere by the side of the truck stop.

He doesn't really need it anyway. Too many pictures and memories and shit he doesn't want to think about because he can’t get it back.

He takes another sip from the bottle. He thinks it's whiskey but he might be wrong. It all tastes the same these days.

Calling her won’t do any good and he knows but he can't help himself. It's like an itch that he just has to scratch. It's like a desperate need that he has to satisfy. It's like an addiction he has to feed.

It's 2 in the morning and she's most likely asleep and Frankie hates himself for waking her up. She's lost enough sleep as it is. But his mind is so loud and he needs to get all of these things off his chest. All the things he didn't say when he should have, when it counted, when it meant something, when she needed him to.

It's not the first time he's called either. He wonders if she'll ever pick up.

There's a perfectly clear picture burned into his mind of the first time he'd called her after he left. He had been stranded at some run-down truck stop that could've been the perfect location for the first kill in a horror movie. There was a bottle of water in his hand and the phone receiver in the other.

He can't recall how long he'd spent inside the phone booth reading her number out loud and trying to work up the courage to call her but he knows it's been quite a while. And when he did he was met with the dial tone. With every beep his heart sunk a little further, felt a little heavier.

" Hello this is Y/N, I can't pick up the phone right now but feel free to leave a message after the tone and I'll ring you back. Ok, bye. "

Her voice sounded so cheery and he remembers the tears threatening to leave his eyes at the sound of it. She hadn't sounded this cheery in a long long time and his heart broke knowing that was partially his fault.

" Hey Y/N, It's me .... Frankie. If you’re listening can you please pick up the phone? I know you're home. "

He could still recall her daily schedule better than anything, after all, they had been living together for years.

" I know where I went wrong. I really do. I uh— I'm at a truck stop. Not sure where I'm going yet but I'll call you. Please talk to me, baby. I love you. "

He remembers his heart breaking and breaking more and shattering and it hasn't been fixed yet. There's that little cynical corner of his brain that tells him it never will be fixed. All good things come to an end sooner or later and this is THE good thing in his life. She is the best thing. She was the chance he never thought he’d get. A shot at redemption.

That other day he found a bar just outside the township line. He goes most every night now whenever he can feel a bad night coming. All nights are bad nights now. The floors are sticky and the bar is dusty but the drinks are cheap and the barkeeper doesn’t bother to get him tangled up in any kind of conversation. All Frankie gets is a look of pity as he pours him another drink. Fuck, he didn’t know that he looks that pathetic.

The alcohol doesn’t numb his heart the way it used to. Back when he woke up in a cold sweat with visions of a life he tried so hard to leave behind he could always count on the inside of a bottle to make the demons disappear for a while. Then when that stopped working, the drugs managed to do it.

And then when he hit rock bottom, for some inexplicable reason, life chose to send him her and she made every other coping mechanism pale in comparison. Her love did not make the demons go away, or the fear, or the guilt. Her love made him realize that he could live a good life regardless. That even the worst parts of him are worthy of love.

He thinks she might’ve been wrong.

There's a half-empty pack of cigarettes laying on the nightstand. He hasn't touched them for a while. Got them at that same truck stop where he smashed his phone but only smoked half a pack before he remembered that promise he made her a long time ago, back when she had first told him, back when they were happy.

And he failed. Because for a while he’d felt like the reason he stopped smoking in the first place had vanished. If there was no one to promise something to, was there even a promise to begin with?

The cigarettes bring back memories of the second time he'd called her. It was right after he arrived here, at this very same motel. With the very same peeling wallpaper and the chipped door and the ceiling fan that is missing one blade and the carpet with the burn marks. The same motel he is basically succumbing in right now.

He was less nervous the second time he'd called her, less nervous but more fucked up. Half drunk on cheap whiskey and half drunk on the infinite sadness he's felt ever since their life went to shit.

This time he didn't make himself believe she'd pick up. He knew she wouldn't and maybe that was a good thing. Frankie didn't want her to know he was shitfaced, that he tried to numb the pain with past vices he promised to leave behind.

" Hey Y/N "

As the words rolled off his lips there was no doubt in his mind that she'd still know. He sounded drunk. He hated it.

" Just wanted to tell you that uh — I uh I've been trying to quit. I went from a pack and a half a day to this e-cigarette bullshit. "

It had been a stupid idea, thinking this e-cigarette shit would do anything for him but it was worth a try. Everything was worth a try for her.

" It stops the coughing fits. I know that you always hated my smoking habit. I hope you can be a little proud of me. I know I don't deserve it. I love you, bye."

There was a time, Frankie thinks and scoffs, when he thought love was enough. What a fool he'd been. Now he knows that's all proper bullshit.

It isn't like he doesn't love her, he loves her entirely too much for his own good.

It's that too much love can destroy you. It eats you up from the inside out.

He can't keep himself from loving her though, and from holding onto that little spark of hope that she might still love him back. After all they've been through, all they had to endure, the thought that she might one day forgive him and love him again was the only thing still keeping him afloat. Without her, he'd sink. And maybe, he thinks, maybe love is enough. It's enough to make him go on.

There's a fly buzzing around the room, sitting down on Frankie’s arm from time to time. He doesn't have the energy to swat her away.

A little voice in his mind wonders what would happen if he just kept laying here. Maybe if he only lays here long enough, maybe the bugs will eat him alive. Maybe the night will swallow him and take him home. Maybe she’ll come looking for him.

His mind wanders off to places he tried hard to forget. To the tears and the pain and the way she didn't yell at him. Not once.

She didn't scream or yell or throw stuff at him. She just stared and let it all wash over her as if she was invincible.

He knew she wasn't. Knows she isn’t now. She wasn't invincible but she was too deeply wounded to care anymore and that was the most terrifying part of it all.

He wanted her to yell so he knew she still cared.

He thinks of the dream and how he saw himself, lifeless, alone. How everyone was looking at him as they lowered his casket into the ground. How his friends were there, his brother, his family, and even the neighbors. Not her though. She wasn't there.

His fingers are dialing the familiar numbers before he can even fully register what's happening.

There's the dial tone that he's grown to know so well lately. Three more and he gets to hear her voice.

Two.

One.

" Hello this is Y/N, I can't pick up the phone right now but feel free to leave a message after the tone and I'll ring you back. Ok, bye. "

Lies. She won’t call back. But that's okay, he understands why she doesn’t. Why she can’t.

" Y/N It's me again. Frankie. "

He combs his fingers through his hair nervously.

" Of course, it's me, who else would call you at this time? I'm sorry. "

He's been saying sorry an awful lot lately. Especially considering the fact that he hasn't been very generous with that word when it really mattered.

" I had a dream. About you. Well not exactly about you. Actually, you weren't in it and that's kind of the problem. "

Remembering the dream sends a cold shiver down his back.

" I uh — I was on a plane. I flew back north, no idea where I wanted to go. All I know is that I didn't make it there. Plane went down like it was made of paper. They were all at the funeral. My funeral. Everyone. Not you though. You — You weren't there Y/N. That scares me. I hope you'd come to the funeral. I'd want you there. "

He knows it's time. She's not gonna pick up anytime soon so this might be his only chance of ever getting to admit his faults of ever talking about the actual problem, the root of all the pain and heartbreak. It's not face-to-face but it's the next best thing. It's his only shot.

" Y/N, I know I fucked up. I do know. It's just after it happened. After — "

Saying it out loud will make it real. It will break his heart once again. He's an adult though and has been running from his issues long enough. This stupid urge to flee made this all so much worse.

Take a breath.

And face the reality.

" After it happened. When we lost the baby I just, I shut off. I shut you out and I am so sorry. I just, I needed to be strong for you but I wasn't. All I did was push you away. I never listened. I wasn't there. I should've been there for you to help you get through this but I was too busy keeping myself from bursting at the seams. Fuck, I was so selfish. If I could change the way I treated you, treated the situation, trust me I would. I would. I miss her so much Y/N and I never even got to meet her and I didn't want to put this all-consuming sadness on you so I pulled away. I didn't want to make you hurt even more than you already were but that's exactly what I did and I will never forgive myself for that. I hope you can though. I love you so much. "

There's a hole in his chest the size of a newborn.

It's the size of a little baby girl he never got to meet. A little baby girl he always imagined would have his eyes and her mother's breathtaking smile. A little baby girl he'd raise to be brave and generous and smart and wonderful.

There is a hole in his chest the size of a little baby girl and he knows it will never fully heal.

He should've been there for her, his wife, the mother of his child. He had tried so hard, so hard to hide his sadness and pain from her instead of embracing it with her by his side. He should've been there with her so they could hold each other above the waters. But he let her drown by herself and he would never fully forgive himself for that.

" I love you Y/N and I'm coming home soon I promise. That's if you still want to see me. I won't let you go through the darkness alone anymore though. I love you. "

He hangs up the phone and without a warning, the tears roll down his cheeks. They're the silent kind, the painful kind. But for once, since it all happened they're not entirely from sadness, a small part of him is feeling a little lighter now that he's faced reality. A small part of him cries tears of relief. A small part of him still believes that maybe things with his wife can work out again if only he can show her how much he cares and loves her. That he can hold her hand even through the darkest of times.

A small part of him knows that it can't get worse than this.

A small part of him, a small part knows she loves him back. Even with that gray cloud hanging over him reminding him of the paperwork that might be waiting for him at home.

is dull and gray and hopeless and broken and ugly and Frankie thinks that things can only get better from here on out.

It’s 2am when he sneaks out of his room and past the lobby. Steve will forgive him, he’s sure of it. For the two weeks' rent and for not saying goodbye.

The world is fast asleep as his car takes him down the empty streets towards the bar he found some resemblance of comfort in for the last few weeks.

One last drink, he tells himself. But this one won’t be for the bad days ahead. This one will mark a page turned, a step taken.

“Whiskey?” the barkeeper inquires, already pulling the bottle from the shelf.

“Gimme a beer instead. Whatever bottles you have in the fridge is fine.”

No more words are exchanged as the barkeeper hands Frankie the cold bottle.

This one’s for the daughter he’ll never meet, he thinks, and the wife who shouldn’t love him no more but god does he hope and pray she still does. Even when he doesn’t deserve it.

He’s got half a tank of gas left and as soon as the bottle is empty he’ll make his way home.

Not the motel.

Home. Their apartment.

And he’ll face whatever is waiting there for him.

That’s the thing about losing everything — things can only get better from here on out.

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sonickedtrowel · 1 year

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Young!11/River kissing for a bet pls (extra points for featuring Amy and Rory) 💕

Omg Anon I thought this ask was lost to the sands of time but it's still here and if you are too, well, you're in luck!! (ao3 link)

“Tell me you saw that,” said Amy.

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific,” Rory replied. “I’ve seen a lot of things today, and I’m pretty sure I can’t remember half of them.”

“River and the Doctor! They are obviously shagging, right?”

“Do I really have to think about this?” Rory whinged. “I’ve got enough of a headache from all the alien memory erasure.”

“Come on. There’s no way you didn’t notice.”

“I, uh, did get that impression,” he reluctantly admitted. “I’m just not sure he knows it yet.” Amy snorted. “River said something to me, back when this all started. From her point of view, it’s... like he’s slowly forgetting her.”

“That’s horrible,” Amy said softly.

“Yeah. I wanted to say something helpful, you know? She can be a bit scary, but it’s obvious how this hurts her. But I don’t think there’s really anything to be done. Whenever he does work it out, it’ll already be in her past.”

“Poor River,” said Amy. “The Doctor’s a complete moron about this stuff. A big, genius, stupid moron. And even we needed a little shove. If Mels hadn’t said anything, who knows how long it would have taken us—”

The sonic whirred, and the tiny red bulb flashing amongst the instruments on the TARDIS console blinked out. The live feed went silent.

Alone with the humming of the time rotor again, the Doctor slumped over the console.

Well, fine, maybe he was a moron. But it wasn’t as if anything about this was easy. It hadn’t been easy when she died before his eyes, telling him not to dare change one line of their life together that he’d yet to live. It hadn’t been easy trying to keep her from winding her way into his hearts— in fact, he’d failed rather spectacularly on that front, despite his best intentions.

It wasn’t easy to begin, when he’d already seen the end. When he couldn’t change her future because it was already his past. Wasn’t it all set in stone already, then, no matter what he did? So how did it still feel like he was making a complete mess of everything?

Maybe it was past time he started clearing up after them.

___

“I won’t lie,” River called as he emerged from the TARDIS, “I was rather hoping you’d be back.” She was sat half-curled on her bunk, her back against the cell wall and her diary open on her lap. “How long has it been? A few decades?”

“Er, about half an hour?”

“Oh.” There was a quiet brittleness to the sound, her initial bravado faltering as she laid down her pen, and the Doctor noticed for the first time the red tinge around her eyes. “Me too,” she said softly.

River Song had never looked so uncertain. The memory of her warmth still tingled on his lips; the blaze of joy that had spilled out of her mind and suffused every place they touched. How quickly and utterly he’d doused that exquisite glow with a thoughtless word. He wouldn’t dare think River fragile, but something was on the verge of breaking here, if he didn’t handle it with the proper care.

No pressure. The Doctor took a deep breath and gripped a bar of her cell, pausing in the still-open doorway. “I was, uh, hoping I could give that another go.” His cheeks felt so hot there was no doubt he’d turned a very unattractive shade of tomato.

“Doctor,” she said, placating, her gaze dropping to her lap as she sat up and valiantly cobbled together a façade of composure, “you don’t have to—”

“I want to.” He forgot how to swallow for a moment, but basically managed not to audibly choke on his own tongue. What was worse than tomato? Molten lava? The distance between them was humiliating. He couldn’t have such a mortifyingly sensitive conversation shouting across a room. Somehow, when he forced his unreliable legs to carry him jerkily over the gulf between them, it was only a couple of steps.

The Doctor sat down on her bed. He made sure not to think about the fact that he was sitting on her bed. River watched him, frozen and wide-eyed.

“River, I— I want this,” he managed to wrench out. You. Us. Even as he made her an offering of his pride, his tongue couldn’t seem to shape the truer words. He desperately hoped she understood. No, no, that wasn’t good enough. He reached out, taking both of her cold hands in his. “River,” he repeated, the word creaking past his lips, raspy and low. A plea and an admission. He was tired, so tired of fighting it. It hadn’t worked, anyway. He was done for. And every time he ran away, he only hurt her more.

He lifted one hand to tuck her spectacular hair behind her ear, and her eyes fluttered ever-so-briefly shut. She still hadn’t moved; she seemed almost afraid to breathe. Miscalculating their relationship like that must have been shockingly painful for her. She’d reached out to touch him and been burned. The urge to reassure her gave him courage enough to speak again, but god knew what was going to come out of his mouth when he did.

“River,” he muttered again, maybe just because he’d always loved the way her name felt on his tongue. He brushed the backs of his fingers feather-light over her face, then his hand slowly lowered, hovering hesitant between them. “Can I…”

“Yes,” she said, though it came out as a breath without sound, and she cleared her throat. “You can touch me.”

Her whispered words sent a startling spike of heat through him, and almost before the Doctor knew it he was kissing her, slowly; scarcely moving but to lean in and cradle her face in his hands. He did his best to take in the little details: the slight friction of her lips sliding soft against his, the stifled whimper she exhaled over his cheek. He pulled back just enough for a shared breath to warm the air between them, for his nose to brush hers, then kissed her again. When he dared to trace over her lower lip with his tongue, she sighed contentedly as her lips parted. Surely it had been this lovely before, too, but the shock had gotten the better of him. Now he felt he could just melt into her; forget everything in the universe but how good it was to finally let himself love her.

She’d been generous with her permission, so he didn’t hesitate to slip an arm around her back and pull her closer. The warm, solid shape of her under his hands, pressed to his chest, was intoxicating. It was baffling. He was a fairly indiscriminate hugger, but he’d always been too terrified to touch River like that— maybe afraid once he started, he’d never stop. And good job he hadn’t, because this was not what it was normally like. This was… bigger. And the more he kissed her; the more he leant over her for a better angle and his palms pressed into her back and she shifted her body beneath him, making a ragged, desperate little noise in her throat; the more he realised this was very quickly becoming something he hadn’t exactly planned on. Of course, he could stop any time. River was following his lead, accepting whatever he offered but making no demands of her own. That didn’t seem fair. She deserved so much better than he’d given her.

“You’re, uh. Sure I can’t convince you to come with me?” he muttered in her ear, and he actually felt her shiver. Mental note of that, check.

“I really shouldn’t…” she whispered, but the ellipsis was audible, hanging in the air between them.

“I’ll have you back before they miss you. And, ah, Amy and Rory have gone to bed.” Not that he was implying they were going to require privacy, or anything— no, actually, maybe that was exactly what he was saying. Thankfully not aloud, although somehow he felt like River knew just what he was thinking anyway.

“Hang on,” she said, squinting off into the near distance with a frown, “I’m just figuring out how weird something is.”

“Um, okay.”

“Mm, decided I don’t care. Let’s go.”

Sneaking River out of prison (which surely shouldn’t have been so easy to do— what kind of operation were they running, anyway?) and into the darkened TARDIS console room made the Doctor feel, for some reason, positively giddy. (It was also completely unnecessary, because it was his ship, and his companions had gone to bed, and there was also no reason she shouldn’t be there with him just like she had been an hour ago, anyway— except that it all felt very different now.) She was holding his hand, and that was another completely mundane thing he did with friends and acquaintances every day without a second thought, but which suddenly seemed unusually intimate and warm and wonderful when it was River. He couldn’t seem to stop giggling, which might have partly been nerves, and partly the unnecessary sneaking, but was mostly because he was, actually, ridiculously happy.

River kept shushing him, but she was laughing too, which made him laugh more, which made her laugh and shush more and then, in a moment of wildly impulsive bravery, he backed her up against the console and kissed her. That stifled both their giggles, as she let out a long sigh and wrapped her arms around his neck. She really was outrageously, staggeringly, miraculously wonderful. It was nice to just let himself think that for a moment, without five tonnes of weight attached to it; without all the shadows it cast. Instead, just for now, he thought: They really could have been doing this all along? He was definitely a moron.

“...and you really think this is going to work? Challenging him to a bet?”

“Worth a shot. Believe me, he’s a sore loser. That’s how I got him to go to Space Florida.”

“Um, what is that?” River groaned mournfully.

“Ah, probably bumped into Amy’s nanorecorder, it was somewhere on the console,” the Doctor muttered over the dull chatter.

“Could you please shut it off?” she whinged, which seemed a bit out of character, but he obligingly fumbled one-handed over the controls for it in the dim light. He didn’t find anything immediately, but he did crane his head to the side enough that he wound up pressed into River’s neck, and her skin was so very warm and soft under his lips as he breathed her in. The sounds she made in response to that were even more enticing, and he forgot all about whatever it was he’d been looking for, until the echoey chatter came through again, louder:

“Oh, you should’ve seen him the first time I met River. Before that, I sort of thought he was asexual? But, not like a person is— like an amoeba. But then he was trying to be grumpy with her and obviously kept coming up with horny instead.”

River burst into riotous laughter as the Doctor choked on air, searching frantically along the console for the stupid bloody little lightbulb — but then River hopped up onto the console and wrapped her legs around him, beaming at him as she pulled him down for another kiss and, well. A little more humiliation was really a small price to pay.

“Oh, no. Um, retreat. Retreat!” Rory was urgently whispering, but it didn’t sound as faint as it had before.

“What? Is that— oh my god!” Amy shrieked.

Reluctantly, the Doctor pulled back from River, breathless and blushing, and almost immediately locked eyes across the console room with Amy. Who was not talking to Rory in their room, but instead standing beside him in the corridor entrance, looking scandalised and delighted whilst he very deliberately averted his eyes.

“They do not need our help, clearly,” Rory said, trying to tug her away, but Amy whooped and cheered instead of following.

River covered her mouth, shaking with laughter.

The Doctor sighed heavily, mustered up the few remaining crumbs of his dignity, and commanded, “Ponds, out!”

“Right on the console, Doctor, really!” Amy shouted back, grinning wickedly. “Well done, River!”

“Out!” he repeated, a bit more desperately. Amy’s boisterous laughter finally started to fade away down the corridor as he groaned and buried his burning face in River’s shoulder.

“There, there, sweetie,” she said, patting his back sympathetically. “They’ll see worse.”

“That… is really not terribly comforting, River.”

“Yeah. You have no idea.”

#dr fic #11river #doctor/river #yes i wrote YET ANOTHER DOTM fix it #what of it #all my fics recently have been the same i dont care #no im lying i do i need to switch it up asap lol

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blue-kyber · 11 months

Text

Ok, BEHOLD!

The short story that took me cumulative days to write and polish down to 2000 words, and once finished, forced me to take a brain break day where I had a bad headache and body aches through half of it after a terrible nights sleep. Condensing is NOT easy.

Please enjoy the spoils of my hard labor of sleepless nights, stress, screaming, frustration, obsessing over 1 paragraph for hours, because it just didn't sound right, mental agony, and blood.

I hope you like it. Please let me know.

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

THE PARK

Sam never walked through Wisteria Park if he could help it.

Sure, the community prioritized its maintenance and reputation as one of the safest places in town - its deep heritage made it the pride of the community - but his avoidance didn’t stem from that.

In fact, the park could fit snugly within a heartwarming romcom.

Joggers enjoyed its well-lit meandering paths day or night, people relaxed in the cooling shade of its trees, children played in a colorful playground near a duck pond, and sunlight warmed a grassy knoll ideal for viewing firework shows.

But what truly made it special grew within a grove at its heart; an ancient wisteria tree with lacy lavender boughs sheltering an old Victorian gazebo.

Everyone loved it.

Except him.

It gave him the creeps.

All his life, he could feel an ominous aura permeating the entire ten acre blob-shaped hole of nature in the middle of town.

It legitimately frightened him to the point where he refused to go in.

People dismissed his reactions as ridiculous, invalidating what he felt and couldn’t block. He became known as the weird kid afraid of a park.

As he grew up, he learned to keep quiet and lie while forced to endure it in isolation.

It was torture.

So, he poured it into stories instead. Sam quickly found solace in writing.

By twenty-two, his debut novel had gained more literary cold shoulders than lead in a pencil factory.

Today marked the arrival of the latest copy/pasted ‘thanks-but-no-thanks.’

Dejected, he headed to the corner cafe with that knife in his chest to drown the pain in copious amounts of caffeine and his work.

The rumble of a brewing storm expertly accented his mood.

His phone pinged.

He opened it…

And stopped.

The text originated from his own number.

Sam: Go through the park.

“What?”

Confused, he read the timestamp.

July 24. 7:10pm.

Same day, same time. Next month.

Someone had hacked his phone.

Sam: Who is this?

Imposter Sam: You’re gonna love this; I’m you.

His brown eyes narrowed in irritation, “Oh, you picked the wrong phone, pal.”

Before he could finish a masterfully worded evisceration that would make his English professor proud, another text popped up.

Imposter Sam: You’re standing in front of the main path right now.

I know, because I stopped there last month to tie my

shoe.

He looked down. Sure enough, his laces came undone, “How in the–”

He tied them.

Sam: Whoever you are, this isn’t funny.

Imposter Sam: It’s not a joke.

Sam: Alright, “Future Me,” tell me something only I would know

about myself.

Imposter Sam: The ‘SHRRRIP’ sound of velcro feels like steel wool

scraping your spine.

The storm’s booming crescendo hit with orchestral precision.

He’d never told anyone to save himself from further public humiliation. Imposter Sam couldn’t possibly know about that - let alone that exact description.

Future Sam: Believe me now?

Sam: …I – HOW?!?

Future Sam: Dig through your Nerd Wheelhouse. You’ll figure it out.

Now stop staring at your phone like you lost your only

Brain cell and MOVE.

You’re running out of time.

“I’m hallucinating,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “I gotta stop staying up ‘til 3am.”

Future Sam: You’re stuck taking a mental inventory of your sanity, aren’t

you. Check your ‘crazy’ meter later.

MOVE!

Not once in his life had he felt torn about entering the park until now, which meant there might be something to this.

He took a deep breath. “I gotta be outta my mind.”

Bolstering his courage, Sam ripped the roots of his feet from the sidewalk and entered Wisteria Park.

A cloud of unease instantly engulfed him.

He could feel the villi of that mysterious force creeping over him with each step.

Despite feeling like a hunted Ichabod Crane, he followed the path’s gentle undulation through the landscape’s tenebrous vibe.

The storm’s unwanted ASMR didn’t help.

Sam: This is a horrible idea.

Future Sam: Keep walking, Samwise.

By the time he reached the grove, the storm had reached him.

He stopped at its entrance over an arching bridge where the path met a broad ring of interlocking paving stones.

What loomed ahead made his pulse quicken.

Bathed in the yellow light of antique lamps, dead-center in the grove, beat the heart of that eerie force.

The gazebo.

A miasmic cloud of disturbing energy oozed from its white hexagonal frame.

Its decorative flourishes showcased the majestic purple curtains of the wisteria behind it.

Warm internal lights glowed on its ring of benches, and a lamp illuminating the tree created a picturesque scene of idyllic romance befitting the aesthetics of a Jane Austen novel.

He didn’t want to go near it.

Future Sam: Get in the gazebo.

Sam: NO.

Fuck you.

Me.

Fuck me.

Future Sam: You’re surrounded by trees in a severe thunderstorm, you

colossal dork.

Get in the gazebo.

He’d rather eat carpet tacks.

The storm opened up a deluge.

With no other form of protection, he had no choice but to shelter inside the gazebo.

Sam’s quivering hand gripped the wooden rail. He swallowed hard, stomach in knots, pulse racing, and up the old stairs he went with the heavy steps of a man sentenced to die.

The hairs on his forearms and back of his neck rose at the creak of the cedar floorboards’ haunting greeting.

He bit his lip to keep from screaming from the brain-tingling sensation flowing through him.

Rain needled on the conical roof.

The gazebo protected him from the raging storm, though he felt anything but.

He shivered.

Sam: You’d better have a damn good reason for subjecting me to this.

Future Sam: I do. Wait here.

And while you’re doing that, think about the right thing to say.

“For what?!”

He clutched clumps of his shaggy brown hair, “What am I doing? I’m in the middle of a cursed park in a cursed gazebo, texting Future Me,” he shouted at the ceiling, “who’s being annoyingly cryptic!”

He exhaled, “I need a distraction.”

He sat in the middle. If he had to be stuck here, he might as well get some work done.

The sound of feet splashing through puddles spiked his anxiety.

A woman around his age ran into the grove, scanning the ground.

He set his phone down and moved to the top step, “Hey, Miss?”

She looked up, pushing her cropped brown hair back, “You didn’t find a house key around here, did you?”

“No, but you might want to get in here. It’s not a good idea to be outside right now.”

“I know.” She sighed in frustration, “Alright. Gimme one minute.”

“Seriously. Get in here. I’ll help you look later–”

SIZZLE-CRACK! BOOM!

A brilliant bolt of lightning seared through a nearby hickory tree in an explosion of heat and sound, splitting it in half.

Sam hit the floor unconscious.

When he came to, his world became a mess of confusion. A loud ringing filled his ears.

Trembling, he pushed himself up to a sitting position.

He touched his ears, wincing in pain. His fingertips came away with blood.

The shock wave had ruptured both eardrums.

A small hole burned through his right shoe.

Lightning… He’d be struck by lightning.

He wasn’t even fully outside, but the girl–

“The girl,” he gasped.

Sam struggled to his feet, grabbed his phone to call 911, and stumbled out of the gazebo into…

“What…?” Breath caught in his throat as he stared in awe at frozen chaos.

Raindrops formed motionless curtains of silver beads.

The wisteria halted in mid sway.

Even the dying thread lightning paralyzed amid a heavy spray of wood shards.

His eyes followed the jagged streamer up to the graphite clouds, illuminating everything in a ghostly periwinkle hue.

Nothing moved.

Except him.

Time had come to a complete stop.

He passed his hand through the raindrops, sending water fanning out in a zero G effect. “Whoa.”

He clicked record on his phone, angling it to show himself before turning in a slow circle to capture everything. No one would ever believe this.

His heart lurched when he spotted the girl hovering an inch above the ring - directly in the path of the tree’s suspended death descent.

Time began to crawl as though it could no longer hold its cryonic state.

The deep groans of popping and snapping permeated the cotton in his ears.

Sam reacted on instinct.

He dashed through the slow motion no-man’s-land of raindrops and shrapnel in a race against the tree. With strength fueled by adrenaline, he scooped her up and bolted back.

Time resumed the moment he entered the gazebo.

The tree crashed to the ground with a seismic boom that rattled his bones, taking out two lamps in a shower of sparks.

He lifted his head when the cacophony settled.

The decimated hickory tree narrowly missed the gazebo.

Sam sat on the floor among a few wood shards and the muffled, apathetic patter of rain, staring in wide-eyed shock.

“...Holy shit…”

His phone next to him recorded everything.

Something had stopped time long enough for him to recover, and save her.

No… Not something.

Him.

What he’d sensed all his life wasn’t a malicious force, but a thin point in the fabric of space-time.

Motion from the girl snared his focus.

He tucked his hoodie under her head. Blood darkened the fabric from a deep gash on her right temple.

“Oh no. Oh god.” He grabbed a handful of napkins donned with story notes from his pocket, and pressed them to the wound. The shine of her blood covered his hand.

He called 911.

Her face twisted in pain, “Ow,” she squeaked.

“Stay still. You’re gonna be ok. Help is on the way,” He took her hand, “Can you hear me?”

“Barely,” she whimpered.

“What’s your name?”

“Kayla.”

His voice wobbled as he tried to smile with his adrenaline still off the charts, “I’m Sam.”

“Hi, Sam,” she rasped.

He felt her grip tighten when she began to cry, “I’m not going anywhere. You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he shrugged, “Sorry.”

“What…happened?”

He glanced at the destruction, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Please?” She struggled to stay conscious.

If it kept her awake, so be it.

“Ok.”

—-

The ambulance lights reflected on the wet street as it rushed them to the hospital.

Kayla lay on a gurney receiving care.

Sam sat with a shock blanket over his shoulders and a bandage around his ears. His whole body hurt coming down from the adrenaline and trauma.

A paramedic applied burn cream over a lichtenberg pattern on his foot.

Sam grimaced, “Will she be ok?”

The paramedic used speech-to-text on his phone, “She will be, thanks to you. Her phone took most of the charge. You both took an indirect strike, so go easy.”

“I felt so helpless. All I could do was talk.”

“Whatever you said kept her fighting. Words have consequences, Sam,” he secured the bandage, “You saved her life.”

He slumped with a heavy breath and opened his phone. He’d forgotten about his future self in the chaos.

Future Sam: I got a chance to change things.

I hope you found the right thing to say.

The reply box grayed out.

He had changed not only Kayla’s future, but his own.

He grinned.

This would make one hell of a story.

“Sam?”

He couldn’t hear her, but he recognized the shape of his name on her lips.

The paramedic let her use his phone to translate, “About what happened...”

He braced himself for the inevitable.

She spoke into the phone, then showed it to him.

His heart skipped.

He looked from the screen to her, searching for the lie in her smile, but found none.

She’d given him more validation in three words than he’d received in a lifetime - words he’d never heard, and didn’t realize how badly he’d needed to hear them.

Words that changed his life forever.

“I believe you.”

#writing #writeblr #writers of tumblr #The Park - and original speculative fiction short story #written for a contest. The subject was 'words have consequences.'#That could be interpreted any way wanted. The story had to contain that phrase.#The picture is of the Springlake gazebo in potters park NJ #The midjourney one I made because I couldn't find an exact replica of what I saw in my head #wasn't used here because... AI.#It's messed up in ways only AI can provide but has the vibe I was looking for.#Regardless it won't be posted here. Sorry.#After I wrote the story I spent a full day looking for gazebos that matched. The potters park gazebo came the closest.#There was nothing I could do about finding a gazebo with a wisteria tree behind it. Again...sorry.

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doubleddenden · 2 years

Text

Rather than sleep, I'm gonna talk about a Pokémon fan game I recently beat:

Realidea System

Like Opalo, it's another Spanish fan game, this one focusing more on aesthetics and mechanics with a little less under the hood in terms of new Pokémon, but still having a lot to offer story wise and game wise.

Spoiler, 8/10 for the good stuff, but a point docked off for incomplete translations and just a tad too many mini game issues.

More under the cut

So Realidea System came out around September I think, and the main you'll see right away is a gorgeous art style with bright colors and very intricate tiles. Every location looks cozy af or scary where appropriate, and it has a ton of different aesthetics that it works very well with for each.

Also, unlike most fan games, there's talk portraits for the story that help convey who is talking and the emotion conveyed- this is actually very pleasant tbh, and there's a lot of good designs you can better appreciate due to it. Tbh I have issues reading, and sometimes it's hard to tell who is talking via text alone. This actually helped me a lot more than the creator probably intended, but it's something I'm still thankful for.

The sprite work, what's made for the game anyway, also looks very good and has a unique but simplistic style with eye catching shading and colors. I'm actually pretty jealous of it and sort of taking notes from it, because there's not a lot of the same style of shading as the gen 5 or 4 sprites, but the style still works in its own way. I'd almost compare it to a 2d cell shading style, but idk if that's accurate? I like it, I'll say that. Not to mention that there's a lot of fun Overworld sprites that convey just as much if not a tad more emotion than the portraits.

The sprite work also extends to fakemon. Now I am a little bit disappointed that there were so little new Pokémon to experiment with, I'm not gonna lie. There's the starters, a legendary, and... about 5 or 6 variants. That's it. However, obviously they went with Quality over Quantity, which I can respect. Each of these are really well designed and excellently sprited, and most importantly fun to use! I chose the water starter, and it's ability and 2 signature moves are really fun in a fight and can potentially let it sweep.

Continuing off of this, to make up for the lack of new Pokémon, there's obviously a huge variety of old Pokémon to choose from, including lots of starters such as Chikorita and Rowlett. Megas also make a return, and some regional variants appear too.

Now on the technical aspect, there's a lot of cool shit under the hood, mainly the Realidea System that is the heart of the game's story. What this does is replace the HM mechanics (hallelujah), such as the Fly mechanic, which is now Teleport (although it functions exactly like Fly), and Surf, which now just happens as soon as you touch the water without any prompt needed.

The RS also comes with a couple extras that require certain points attained from using items on your pokemon or just generally bonding with them. Some of these include a repel system that repels as many steps as you use, a heal system that basically functions as a Pokémon Center, and an automatic level up feature that functions as a Rare Candy. The last two were actually very helpful for my journey and filling out the dex.

Outside of the RS there's codes you can put in at the Pokémon Center to sort of help with grinding, which can exist if you want or just completely bypass it by changing the levels of any Pokémon in your party up to the highest level in your team (be mindful that this will not trigger evolution, the Level Up feature will tho). Honestly, it feels dirty, but I actually do like this feature just so I can keep everyone around the same level. The EXP all works in conjunction with this btw, about like the Switch games function without making the game too easy. Basically all of this is to ensure you can just catch a new little guy and bam, he's already caught up, and grinding just isn't a thing anymore, so you can just be on your happy little way.

You can also remember moves on your own from the party menu, which honestly is just very helpful and makes it so you don't miss any by using the level up trick. If you're so inclined, you can also change the nature's of your pokemon via 3 heart scales from the party menu.

Basically a lot of tedious bs is completely ironed out, letting the game be fun without too many hold ups beyond a puzzle.

But speaking of puzzles... good lord there's a lot of mini games. Mind you they're doable, but a lot are kind of trial and error, especially the ones that require the ability to read and understand Spanish. You may think "oh just Google translate," and you'd be correct in assuming that does help with a good portion. But I'm not lying when I say that there's a section dedicated entirely to PUNS. It was fucking hilarious just trying to guess what's going on, but also frustrating. Even without the Spanish though, the rhythm games kill me.

The translation is also just not complete. I'd say 70% complete, because you still get bits of Spanish in normal gameplay and a good many puzzles are only instructed in Spanish. Not to mention the journals are ALL Spanish, so i had to have some friends help me read it. What is finished is about 95% decent though, with only a small handfuls of grammatical errors or odd translations, so kudos for that.

Now, characters and story. The story is about standard fair for a normal Pokémon game, but there are some interesting twists here and there. In cooperation with gorgeous visuals and art, the story is told pretty well and is really immersive. The characters too are also very entertaining and hilarious, and also have a fair bit of depth. I have to say I found myself attached to Elliot, Owen, and Alba, which is very strange since I'm usually not one for rivals or Lilly type characters. There are some groan worthy moments, cliche bits, or some not so ideal things done, but I do think it's a passion project someone put a lot of heart and soul put in.

Oh, and this game is hilarious. Check everything that looks interactive and you'll see what I mean.

Oh oh, there's also a very well managed side quest system. Tons of side Quests pop up and are easily found in the overworld, so that's a bonus if you're like me and hate having to hunt a specific NPC.

Lastly, the music: i believe the music is mostly original, which is amazing because every town and route sound magical in some way, and the original trainer themes are very, very good. When I say prepare yourself for the champion, I mean that in so many ways but ESPECIALLY the music. My one grief is yet again the reuse of the BW gym theme. I think it's okay, but I was really hoping for something original. But what is here is awesome.

Overall it's a fun time and a lot of effort went into this. There's a lot of fun poked at the series (especially towards Kanto) and the entire game feels like a fun adventure. I hope to see another project by this dev, maybe with more fakemon? Please? That's my favorite part of playing fan games.

Anyway, 8/10

#pokemon realidea system #pokemon fan game #den reviews stuff #doubled plays games

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skitours · 2 years

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Some hideous Arabs

We were received, on a rude jetty, by some hideous Arabs, who kept us away at a respectable length by long rods; and by them we were conducted to our prison. Passing several grated passages, at the extreme end of one of which we saw some green acacias, waving in cruel mockery, we were introduced to a court-yard, surrounded by eel windows, grated with massive iron bars. We were all thrust in together, — Christians, Jews, and Moslems,— and told that we might choose our cells. These were stone rooms, about ten feet square, perfectly bare and empty. The thin priest, for some reason, got a room to himself; but when I pictured his thin, spare, angular form lying upon the hard ground, I shuddered. About myself I was less anxious on this point, for the decks of the steamers had inured me to sleeping upon boards ; and I had a thick capote of camel’s hair, which I had fortunately bought at Constantinople. But still the place was so wretched and desolate, that when I sat down on my knapsack and looked about me, I felt sadder and more completely beaten down than ever I recollect having done.

There was nothing to be met with everywhere but lime — hot, glaring, half-slaked lime, which in itself, dazzling in the sun, was enough to give ophthalmia. We could see nothing from our window but a large hot grating, like the front of an immense wild beast cage, and beyond this another, with the top of a hot lofty white wall for the horizon. A huge desieeated, one-eyed Arab, shot some hot tainted water from a goat-skin into a hot tub, for our supply; and there were, beside, two hot tanks to be used for general washing. Finally, the very ground was some composition of hot lime; the hot smoke of the sanitary fumigations — something between brimstone and bad pastiles — almost choked us; and there was no shade anywhere private tour istanbul.

At noon, we were allowed to write into the town for what we might require; and we also sent various letters to our respective consuls, to the board of health, and to the agent of the Austrian Lloyd’s Company. These were taken from us with long implements, something between scissors and steak-tongs, and then cut through and fumigated as though we had been travellers for the diffusion of plague and cholera, but there was such a delay in sending them into the town, that we were thrown upon the liberality of one of our fellow-passengers, — the Count Stefano, —who had friends in Alexandria, for a meal that night. Our supper eonsisted only of dates, bread, and questionable water. As the lost traveller, dying of thirst in the desert, has only visions of enormous lakes of water, so I could think of nothing but Cyder-cup and Badminton, and Wenham lee.

Towards afternoon

The thin priest got on better. Towards afternoon, a sister from some convent — a beautiful creature of nineteen, who ought to have known better — presented her beaming self at the grating of the conversation passage, and told him that a supper and bed would be sent to him in half an hour. Bless her sweet face! it came so like an angel’s amongst the demoniac groups on every side of us, that, for the short time she was there, at least, all our misery was forgotten. As she went away, the priest told her that he was sure we should be at liberty the nest morning. Her white teeth flashed in a parting smile, and then she left us, once more, to our despair.

At six, we were all locked up for the night, and we selected places to lie down upon, on the lime floor. But sleep was out of the question, and the Arabs kept up such a harsh and constant screaming, that we could do nothing but lie awake, turn from one side to the other, in the hope of finding an easy position, and think of horrible things. The fleas and mosquitoes continued in full activity throughout the night; and, with the first blush of morning, the flics, who still remain one of the plagues of Egypt, came in swarms, and flew at once to settle in our eyes, according to their custom, bearing with them from the natives who thus cherish them, and are actually taught to do so from infancy, the virus of ophthalmia.

The next day we contrived to hire some mattresses to put on the floor j’and these, with a light crate, or coop, made of palm-sticks, for a table, completed our furniture. We also got some dinner ordered, but as it had to come some distance, everything was quite cold when it arrived. This, however, was of little consequence. We made our toilets at a general stone tank in the yard, and then came back to grumble, until it was time to be locked up in our cells; for, as 1 have said, there was no shade, all day long, in the yard, and the very air appeared to be chiefly composed of hot lime- dust.

#Some hideous Arabs

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bookingvacation · 2 years

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Some hideous Arabs

Towards afternoon

#Some hideous Arabs

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festravels · 2 years

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Some hideous Arabs

Towards afternoon

#Some hideous Arabs

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kazanlaktravels · 2 years

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Some hideous Arabs

Towards afternoon

#Some hideous Arabs

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goodaytours · 2 years

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Some hideous Arabs

Towards afternoon

#Some hideous Arabs

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balkanholiday · 2 years

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Some hideous Arabs

Towards afternoon

#Some hideous Arabs

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atozholidays · 2 years

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Some hideous Arabs

Towards afternoon

#Some hideous Arabs

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privatetrip · 2 years

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Some hideous Arabs

Towards afternoon

#Some hideous Arabs

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xtours · 2 years

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Some hideous Arabs

Towards afternoon

#Some hideous Arabs

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bookingtripsbg · 2 years

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Some hideous Arabs

Towards afternoon

#Some hideous Arabs

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tratravels · 2 years

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Some hideous Arabs

Towards afternoon

#Some hideous Arabs

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