#very use specific use of players me thinks

[grimm909]

Red Phone - Part 2

I ended up forgetting to include a very important fact here the first time I posted RP! It turns out that the story, in part, is inspired by a South Korean film called "The Call." I highly recommend watching it if you like horror and drama. It's even in the Netflix catalogue! I will also include this information in the first part and then in the third part.

I don't want to take too long here, so thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the comments you made! This always encourages me and makes me happy ☺️💖

Also thank you generously for your support @ryebread0605 😘

As always, english is not my native language. So I apologize if there are any errors.

Happy reading!

WARNINGS: age difference, non-con, kidnapping, horror, mental breakdown, murder, forced pregnancy

The red phone rings at four o'clock in the afternoon.

Sitting at your desk doing your college homework, you put your notebook aside and answer the phone that was on the table.

“Hello, Floyd!” You greet him happily after answering the call.

“Hey, you seem excited.” He notes your good cheer, while he himself continues to use a more relaxed and meek tone. “Did anything good happen?”

“Almost that, yes.” You momentarily remember the night you spent with Ace, but as quickly as that thought came, you immediately pushed it aside. “But also because I’m glad you called me.”

“Hey, I told you, didn't I? Would call to find out more about the future.”

“Of course, I remember.” You respond complacently and with your other free hand pull the notebook back in front of your face. “What do you want to know?”

“Hmmm…” The boy seems thoughtful on the other end of the line, faced with the infinite possibilities. “Who is the most famous player in the NBA today?”

“Do you like basketball?” You ask, pressing the keys.

“Yeep~” Floyd states in a more humorous tone, indicating that you had hit the right spot. “I also play. It’s one of my favorite hobbies.”

“Do you think about playing professionally?”

“I've already thought about that, as I've thought about many other things. But I know it’s a matter of time before it gets boring.”

“Ah, I understand what this is. I consider myself someone who is adept at several things, but can easily get bored of them and move on to something else.” You say, remembering the various things you liked to watch or play, before simply putting them aside after they became repetitive, boring or after finding something much more interesting.

“Eehh~ you read my mind.” He agrees excitedly.

“Another coincidence, then.” You play around and then go on to read information about some of today's most famous players, listening to Floyd humming happily on the other end of the line. “What else do you want to know?”

“About Jade.” He responds immediately. “What else did you find out about him?”

“In addition to what I said about him being a partner in that restaurant, there were many photos of natural landscapes. However, more specifically…”

“Mushrooms.” Floyd finishes his reasoning before you can finish it yourself. His annoyance on the other end of the line was noticeable in the tone of his voice full of disgust, as if each syllable of the word 'mushrooms' was already cursed in itself. “I thought this was just temporary"

“Let’s change the subject then.” You quickly think of an alternative, not wanting to ruin his good mood. “What kind of music do you like?”

“I like different styles, but lately I've been listening to some rock bands.”

“Cool, I like it too.” You say, and then a brilliant idea springs from your mind. “Tell me a band you like and I’ll show you a new song from them!”

"Serious? Hehehe!” Floyd seems ecstatic at the idea, laughing happily on the other end of the line. “It looks like we’re going to get along really well~”

[…]

You stayed talking to Floyd for over two hours, only hanging up when you told him you needed to study. He didn't seem happy about it, insisting that you continue talking about future events. However, you were firm in your decision and reassured him by saying that he could always call you the next day. Despite himself, the boy agreed because he couldn't force you to do anything. Floyd was just a voice from the past, after all.

The study, however, was a blatant lie. You had received a message from Ace on your digital cell phone, in which he asked you to go to a specific address to be together again. And now, with your mind a little more balanced without your hormones getting in the way of your reasoning, you weren't sure if you should do this.

A part of you felt quite dirty and a little guilty about having sex with a married man. To make matters worse, in the bed he shared with his wife for years. However, another part of you, that selfish and perverse part that existed in the darkest corner of your mind, felt terribly excited at the idea of ​​meeting Ace in secret and spending quality time with him again.

It was so wrong and exactly for this why it was so good.

Ace had given you his word of a future divorce and you clung to that as a safe haven, to try and convince yourself that this wasn't as bad as it seemed.

You still pondered for a few minutes, before responding to him with an “ok” and stating that you would meet him in an hour.

Without wasting any more time, you took a shower, put on one of your best clothes and put on makeup in a simple way with just a reddish lipstick on your lips and dark shading. Not wanting to pamper yourself too much, you knew that later your makeup would be completely smudged for not very holy reasons.

When you went downstairs, your parents obviously asked where you were going all dressed up and your answer was to say that you would meet some friends, without an exact time to arrive. Your father was even kind enough to offer you a ride, but you immediately declined the offer, saying the meeting place was nearby.

It was a lie.

After walking a few meters to trick your parents, you had to call an Uber to take you to the address. It wasn't a surprise when you realized the meeting place was at a motel.

You got out of the car and immediately saw Ace in front of the establishment, waving at him.

“Wow, you look beautiful.” He is surprised to see you, taking a long and blatant look from top to bottom, for a moment focusing on the neckline that left part of your breasts exposed, before looking back at your face.

"Thanks." You respond shyly and feel your cheeks heat up, clearly having a weakness for sincere compliments. “Can we go in soon? I don’t want someone I know to see me.” You look around worriedly, immediately wrapping your hands around Ace's arm to pull him towards the motel's glass door.

“Wow, someone is really in a hurry.” Ace mocks with a mischievous smile, still standing in the same place like a statue. He just moves to wrap arms around your body and pull her against his chest. You shiver when you feel the redhead warm breath against the sensitive skin of your ear. “Was our fuck the other day that good?” Ace whispers mischievously, his husky voice giving you awkward sensations.

However, the trigger for your face to explode red is when you feel a suggestive pinch on your ass. “Stop playing with me!” You scream, even though you weren't really angry, but rather embarrassed.

You move away from him and stamp your foot on the ground, upset by Ace's cluelessness. He was the one who should be most worried about being discovered or recognized by someone. Instead, here was Trappola, mocking your caution and messing with you to boot.

“Hahaha. Okay, okay.” He raises his hands up in surrender, but still laughing at your energetic reaction. “I promise I’ll behave.”

It was an obvious lie, but you still believe him.

Without further ado from Ace, he affectionately wraps a hand around your waist and walks with you into the establishment. The receptionist who was inside, behind a marble counter, takes a long and not at all discreet look at the two of you, visibly judging the obvious age difference. It didn't help that you looked more like a sixteen-year-old teenager than a twenty-year-old adult.

“Did you see the way that woman looked at us?” Ace asks in the middle of the room corridors after making payment and receiving the key.

“She was probably thinking about whether or not she should call the police.” You joked, giving a lighthearted laugh.

Ace snorted in annoyance at the joke, but he soon followed up his morally dubious humor with a chuckle as he looked at you.

“It’s here.” He says as he observes that the label glued to the key had the same number as the door, unlocking it and gesturing for you to do the honors of entering. “Ladies first.” Ace winks in amusement and you innocently fall for his joke, before walking through the door and feeling a second pinch on your ass.

“Ahh!” You let out a scream of surprise, but quickly composed yourself as you made an annoyed expression and turned to face Ace, who was laughing behind you like a stupid teenager. “You said you would behave.”

“Of course, but that’s outside.” He enters the room and locks the door behind him. “There’s no one else here for you to be scared of, right?” He asks in a whisper full of cynicism, as he slowly approaches you.

“Don't make fun of my face!" You scream, pretending to be angry to try and hide the embarrassment that spread across your face.

Ace was a damn smartass who wouldn't keep quiet until someone shut him up. And, apparently, you had no choice but to be that “someone.”

Going on the attack, you grab his shirt and pull him towards you, silencing him with a sudden kiss before another provocation leaves your lips. Ace seems surprised at first, but kisses back by opening his mouth and allowing both tongues to meet.

The warm kiss only lasts a few seconds before you pull away from Trappola and ask him to sit on the bed, who promptly does so with a palpable expectation of what you would do next.

Although you were shy at first, you need to swallow this feeling reluctantly to get closer to him and bend your body until you were close to the redhead's ear: “Take off your belt."

As expected, Ace did so quickly and let him fall to the ground, opening his legs in anticipation of what would happen in a few seconds. He stares at you with obvious longing, biting his lower lip as he waits patiently for you to make your next move.

Without wasting time, you kneel in front of Trappola and take your inexperienced hands to the fly of his pants. When you open it, Ace slightly lifts his hips so you can pull down his pants along with his white underwear with a heart print.

A giggle escapes your lips and you decide that you couldn't let this opportunity pass you by. “Little hearts? How cute." You scoff, feeling refreshed when you notice the blush that immediately appears on Ace's cheeks.

Revenge has never been so sweet.

You bring your mouth closer to his already half-hard cock and give Ace's glans a short lick. This one, who couldn't help but notice her pink lips as they approached the tip of his cock, the small and simple touch was able to make him let out a small sigh. He imagines beforehand, how your little mouth wrapped around his dick, would be so perfect to relieve him.

You slowly start to shelter Trappola's penis and taste it more intensely, realizing that the taste wasn't as bad as you thought it would be. A little more relaxed in light of this fact, you close your eyes and begin to make initially slow movements back and forth, only sucking half of his length. Of course you had never done that in your entire life, but at least you were aware that you shouldn't use your teeth under any circumstances. That had to be worth something.

Ace closes his eyes and subtly throws his head up when he feels that half of his member has been sheltered. And it got even better with those back and forth movements you started to make. Although slow, they were like a massage on his penis.

You looked up and enjoyed seeing him being so resigned, completely at the mercy of your whims. You also loved hearing him moan, and as much as Ace's beautiful sighs were similar to a beautiful symphony to your ears, you longed to hear more.

With that thought in mind, you used your tongue to focus on the most sensitive point, licking the glans greedily and from this action feeling a salty liquid in your mouth, which you identified as pre-cum. Your back and forth movements also became a little faster than normal, which made you get what you wanted as soon as the redhead's moans intensified.

You were doing your best not to interrupt the blowjob, but you weren't yet experienced enough to be able to breathe through your nose and suck Ace so eagerly. Inevitably, after a few seconds, you had to separate your lips from the redhead's cock to take a few sips of air.

“Don’t stop.” Ace dictates with the heavy breathing.

You quickly understand that it wasn't a request, but rather an order when he abruptly grabs your hair to bring you back towards his cock, forcing the entire length down your throat in a single thrust inside.

Poor, foolish thing you were, who mistakenly thought were in control of the situation.

You patted Ace's knee to make him let go of his head, but he wasn't paying attention, or was simply categorically ignoring you. Definitely the latter, as he starts to force his dick down your throat several times.

As you choked on his penis, Ace let moans and sighs louder than the previous ones escape your mouth, revealing the pleasure he felt in an explicit and exclusive way for you. And realizing that there was no way to get his dick out of your mouth without making him cum first, you have no choice but to try to relax your own throat so you can take him in.

Lost amidst thoughts of lust, possession and desire, Ace had nothing to complain about. The speed was incredibly perfect, frantic, and his tongue made the right movements to make him intoxicated to the point of disconnecting from the world and just moaning more and more, muffled but still loud. The redhead could feel that he was getting closer and closer to the peak, all through that inexperienced and delicious little mouth of you.

Holding his bottom lip with his teeth, Ace allows himself to melt into the mouth that he has come to love even more. Such pleasure is felt by the redhead, that he feels his vision become slightly blurred and dark, letting those fantastic spasms grace every cell of his body.

You swallow every drop of his semen, completely unwillingly. It wasn't horrible, but it was far from good. And after using your throat as a cum dump, Ace lets go of your hair and you finally free yourself from his cock, moving away from it and breathing heavily, tired after all that exercise you had done with your mouth.

“Ace, you’re an asshole.” You cursed him after normalizing your breathing, visibly upset. “Did you want to choke me with your dick?”

“Hey, I will reward you.” Ace smiles suspiciously gently, before grabbing your shoulders and pulling you into a kiss, not seeming to care about the taste of himself present in your mouth.

You feel like biting him as a form of revenge, but end up giving up because you do not want to break a contact as intimate and pleasant as that.

“Now it’s my turn.” Ace says seductively after breaking the kiss, licking his lower lip in clear provocation.

Oh, heavens, you were going to hell because of this man.

[...]

Floyd called you at two o'clock the next day, with just one more day to go until his probable death.

“Have you fixed the bike yet?” It was the first thing you said after answering the call.

“Yep~”

“You’re not going out with her tomorrow, are you?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay at home all day.” He soothes. “The only way I could end up dying in my own house is if a meteor hit it.”

“Be careful, okay?” You ask, afraid that something else might happen. “I really don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You’re so cute, worrying about someone you barely know.”

"Really? I don’t think that, I consider you a friend.” You admit it honestly.

“Eeehh, so you called yourself my friend without my consent?” The boy lets out a chuckle on the other end of the line. “Bad girl.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You speak awkwardly, the regret of your own words knocking on the door. Maybe it was too early to put a title on the relationship you had with the voice on the other end.

“Hehe, you took my joke too seriously.” Floyd comments relaxedly after noticing how worried you seemed. “I’m just kidding, kidding.”

“Phew.” A sigh of relief leaves your lips.

“Nee, nee~ what do you think will happen when the future changes?” Floyd asks, excited about the possibilities. “Do you think you’ll still be living on here?”

“Hard to say. But if your parents only moved because of the tragedy, then they will probably still be here.” You comment, not thinking much about it at first. “And me, well, in my old house or somewhere else. That's what I think at the moment, changes in the past can cause infinite possibilities in the future or even a time lapse, who knows…

“Boring~” Floyd grumbles. “You’re a nerd.”

“I’m not a nerd.” You defend yourself, outraged by the boy's derogatory comment. “I just love time travel movies. You never watched-…”

Your words die in your throat, a sudden, silent astonishment that makes you pale from one second to the next.

You finally realize that realizing an alternate future would mean never meeting Ace. Even the memories of the two of you together could be erased from his mind, as if they had never occurred. And in fact, they wouldn't happen.

From the beginning you knew that things could change and you hadn't cared so much about it, but now it was different. Maybe you didn't love he yet, but you definitely felt something for him that went beyond physical attraction, even before you had sex with Ace.

“Hey, you okay? You were suddenly quiet.” Floyd asks, his tone showing genuine concern.

“I need to hang up, sorry.”

You don't give Floyd enough time to ask why, before quickly hanging up the phone on him. You would apologize later, especially now that the boy would have all the time in the world to live a happy and comfortable life, at the expense of his memories with Ace.

Wait, were you really starting to regret possibly saving a life, just because of a passion that would predictably, one time or another, go wrong?

When you realize this, you feel even worse. It wasn't right to choose between the two, but here you were, which in the most disgusting part of your core you were rooting for, practically praying, that the next day nothing would change, even if it meant never getting any calls from your friend Floyd again.

You shake your head in denial, hating your own thoughts. It was still better to let go of his unspecified relationship with the redhead than to let someone die out of pure selfishness.

You weren't like that, you didn't want to be like that.

You drop the red phone on your desk and decide to leave the house to get some fresh air, convinced that this could clear your mind.

[...]

You were sleeping when the red phone rang at midnight.

Groggy with sleep, you struggle to get up from your warm and cozy bed, walking towards the desk where your phone rested.

you catch him, but don't answer. Possessing the knowledge that it must be that strange voice, it is your preference to not want to talk to him anymore after the incident with the doll.

“If you keep going, he’ll come get you.”

You remember the warning she gave and an unpleasant sensation rises throughout your bone marrow. You immediately decline the call and place the phone on the table again, returning to bed.

The moment your head hits the pillow, that's when that damn device resonates again. Annoyed, but also afraid, you get up again and this time open the back of the phone to remove the battery from inside, aware that this way no one else could disturb your rest or test your sanity.

You rest both objects on the surface of the desk and turn your back to go back to sleep, thus having a wonderful night's sleep without any further interruptions.

Or…

That would be the case, if the ringing of that cursed telephone hadn't resounded through the room again.

Your breath comes out ragged in sudden astonishment and your eyes widen in clear terror, remaining stagnant in place with nothing but the most genuine feeling of fear, almost as if that old device would swallow you whole if you dared to face it again.

But you have no choice.

Fearfully, you turn around, finding nothing more than the red phone itself continually beeping. Next to it, the battery that was supposed to stop it working when removed, but apparently not serving its purpose.

There were no monsters on here, but your terror doesn't calm down when you notice your bedroom window is open. And you don't remember leaving her like that.

You swallow hard and approach the window, looking through it to see if someone was snooping around your house. Luckily, finding nothing more than just the emptiness of the night.

You quickly walk away and close the window. In addition to locking it, cover the windows with the blind.

Turning your attention to the phone that continues to ring incessantly, from inside your wardrobe you take out a sweatshirt and use it to wrap the object, then storing it inside one of the desk drawers.

You go back to bed and try to ignore the muffled ringing, which persists for the rest of the night.

[...]

Floyd would die today.

Although you searched the internet for more information about his death, the time of the accident had not been specified, only the date and how it occurred. You could just wait for the boy's phone call or simply for an alternative time, in which you would end up waking up in your old house and perhaps with no memories of any of it.

Honestly, a phone call was much more desirable, despite the scare you experienced the night before because of it.

However, it is better to forget about past events and start checking your window every night before going to sleep, or you would become paranoid. In the end, a phone working even without a battery wasn't even as bizarre as the idea of ​​talking to someone from the past.

Your digital cell phone rings with a message notification and you realize it's from Ace, who once again asked you to meet him, this time at his house. You are quick to respond.

2: 14 PM And your wife?

2:14 PM Ace: She's at her parents' house with Alice. We can spend some time alone, what do you think?

14h14 PM Shouldn't you be working?

2:15 PM Ace: Day off, baby

14h15 PM It's okay then. I'll be there in thirty minutes

2:16 PM But be quick to open the door when I ring the doorbell! My parents can't see me coming into your house >.<

14h16 PM Ace: Ok

A huge smile adorns your lips and you let out small laughs of happiness, ecstatic at the idea of ​​being able to see him one last time before the weather probably changes.

But maybe you would still receive some calls from Floyd, so it would be appropriate to take the red phone with you to Ace's house. So, you do it, placing it inside a small black bag next to your digital cell phone.

You dress up in an average way so as not to arouse suspicion and then go downstairs, telling your mother that you were going to the library to study a little. Believing your lie, she just tells you to take care of yourself and releases you without any questions.

You walk through the front door, before checking to make sure your mother isn't close behind and running to the other side of the street. You ring the bell at the redhead's house, and it doesn't take him more than five seconds to open the door for you.

“I feel like I’m committing a crime.” You say in an amused tone, quickly stepping inside his house and feeling less alert the moment you hear him close the door.

“I missed you.” Ace states as he places both hands on your waist, inducing you to turn around and face him.

“It hasn’t even been that long since we were last together.” You refer to the day at the motel, involving your arms circling around Ace's neck. He leans in to press his lips to yours and you close your eyes in anticipation, receiving a gentle, loving peck. It takes a lot of your self-control not to give in when the redhead brushes his tongue against your lower lip, because you knew that he clearly already had ulterior motives in wanting to spice up that kiss. You would end up in his bed again, if you weren't more cunning than that naught guy. And although it was a really tempting idea, you didn't want all your romantic moments with him to be summed up just in sex, especially this moment, which could be your last. Therefore, you push him away by, gently pushing his chest and taking distance from his lips, looking him directly in the eyes. “Can we just watch a movie or something?”

Ace looks surprised at first, almost disappointed. But he's quick to cover it up, by softening his expression and giving you a smile so you wouldn't notice, even though it was a little late.

“Okay, fine.” Ace removes his hands from your waist, but he doesn't move away. Quite the contrary, the older man wraps an arm around your shoulders, guiding your to the sofa. “It’s not like I’m just with you for the sex.”

Although in a joking tone, the comment opens a hole in your head, making you wonder if that was precisely why he was with you.

A young, childless and disciplined girl.

In the middle of a scorching desert, you were like an oasis for Ace.

No, it wasn't the time to think that. You should enjoy the time you had left with him, poking this hornet's nest inside your mind was by far a stupid idea.

You sit on the couch, snuggled up against each other. Ace reaches for the controller on the coffee table and chooses a movie that he finds interesting enough that neither of you end up falling asleep.

Little by little, as the minutes of the film go on, you come to appreciate the moment of intimacy and your worries are quickly put aside. Every now and then Ace takes a strand of your hair to curl between his fingers, and if not that, he's stroking the top of your head in a gentle, affectionate stroke.

Although the content of the film is interesting, you can't fight the sleep that creeps into your mind. The previous night's poor sleep is one of the main reasons for this, but it doesn't help being so comfortably close to Ace, with your head resting on his shoulder.

In the end, both reasons are the right recipe for you to fall asleep.

[...]

You wake up by yourself after a few hours, for a moment disoriented about where you were and whether the time had already changed, until you realize that the ceiling you were looking at was Ace house and not your old house.

You notice that you are lying on the couch, without the redhead by your side.

“Ace?” You get up from the upholstery and raise your voice to call his name. Upon his call, it doesn't take more than a few seconds for him to appear at the kitchen door. "What time is it?" You ask worried, both because you know you can't get home too late, and because the redhead's wife could arrive at any moment.

“Five-fifteen.”

“Damn, I slept for almost three hours!?” You ask in a daze and quickly pull your digital cell phone out of your bag, seeing that there were some messages from your mother and three missed calls.

“You looked pretty tired.” The redhead says as he approaches you “Studying late?”

“More or less that.” You omit the truth. He would never believe that ridiculous story about talking to someone from the past. “I’m sorry, Ace.” You say, feeling guilty for not spending enough time with him. “I would like to stay with you, but now I need to go back or my mother will kill me.”

“Okay, we can be together next time.”

I don't know if we'll have one next time.

You think, still afraid of the possibility of forgetting him.

But Ace, oblivious to your problems, removes those thoughts from your mind — albeit temporarily — by getting close enough so he can press his lips to yours. Unlike the first time, you accept him willingly when he tries to intensify the kiss.

The contact of both tongues intertwining in an intimate union is quite fervent and passionate, but it also contains a small trace of desperation on your part, aware that perhaps this would be your last kiss with him.

You pull away after a while, both because you need to breathe and because you need to leave. Ace smiles at you and gently tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, before walking away to go towards the window, checking if there was anyone on the street who might catch you leaving his house.

“All clear.” Ace warns.

At the green light, you immediately go to the door and open it, saying goodbye to Ace with a sharp pain in your chest.

You wished this wasn’t the last time.

Crossing the street and opening the door of her house, her mother and father were already waiting for her on the sofa in the living room.

It went without saying how much your mother started arguing the moment she saw you stepping foot in the house, asking why you had a cell phone when you didn't even answer a damn message. Your father also sided with her, but in a milder way, just advising you to pay more attention and not spend so much time on the street.

After listening to all the complaints that your mother had to say to you, you went up to your room and took the red phone out of your bag after locking the door, checking if there was a missed call on it too. Nothing.

You placed it on the desk and sat in the chair, deciding to wait for a call from Floyd while killing time by scrolling through your laptop.

[...]

The red phone rings at midnight.

You don't answer, knowing it's that strange male voice, rather than your friend Floyd — who hadn't yet shown any sign of life.

Maybe it was already too late to wait for a call from him. Who knows, perhaps his death was accomplished, even after all the warnings and advice given.

This makes you feel really bad, feeling not only bitter and sad about the possibility that he really died, but also guilty for having for a moment wished for that to actually happen.

The feeling of remorse covers him like a heavy blanket. Sudden tears escape your eyes and you wonder how you could have done more to help him.

Even in mourning, the stranger on the other end of the line doesn't stop, much less respect your pain.

As the seconds pass, the tinkling becomes more and more unbearable, like a macabre orchestra playing the march of the gates of hell as they open.

You grab that cursed device and answer the call.

“What the fuck do you want?” There is no trace of fear in you, other than the purest and most genuine anger. When there is no response other than a panting breath on the other end of the line, you ask in a more shouty manner. “WHAT DO YOU FUCKING WANT!?”

When there is still no response, you lose patience and hang up the phone. To prevent the tinkling from bothering you, you do the same process as yesterday: wrapping it in a sweatshirt and throwing it in the desk drawer.

You lay down to sleep and the tears return.

[...]

The next day, you feel as exhausted as before, as if your body hadn't gotten enough rest. However, you were fully aware that all this fatigue was not from your body, but from your own mind, shaken by Floyd's death.

You had simply convinced yourself that he would never call again, especially after waking up and realizing that you were still in the house you bought a few months ago, without any sign of change in the present.

You try to let it go, try to convince yourself that you did what you could and that Floyd probably didn't listen to you enough, leaving on his motorcycle even after all the warnings.

Apparently, blaming the victim of the tragedy herself was the only way to feel better, to not feel as helpless and guilty as she was now.

You try your best to put on a neutral expression on your face, pretending everything was fine and heading downstairs to have breakfast, even though your stomach was upset and your throat was completely blocked. You needed to pretend or your family would ask what the problem was, not wanting to be pressured with questions.

Your eyes hover over your mother and father, who were sitting near the kitchen counter. You wish them good morning and sit next to your father, half filling the glass that rested on the table with orange juice, then taking a slice of toasted bread and bringing it to your mouth, biting a piece. It's the best you could eat, without probably ending up vomiting.

You can't taste anything after the stress of these last two days, which finally came to a head last night after all that shedding of tears. You try your best to focus on the taste, but you don't taste anything other than the sweetness of the bread and the sourness of the juice. Each swallow is forced, your throat vehemently refuses each bite and it hurts.

You look at every corner of the kitchen, trying to distract yourself — from the pain and the sudden urge to cry — with anything that is remotely interesting, so that your active brain can have some daydreaming.

Don't think about Floyd. Don't think about him.

You think about him, while you argue with your own mind not to do this, so that it gets distracted by something.

Get distracted by something. Something. Think of something. Start a conversation.

His eyes continue to move, like prey looking for a way to escape its hunter. However, you were not prey, as you were just trying to escape your own tears and bitter emotions.

The guilt continued to haunt you, already rooted in you like a dark stain embedded in soul, just like that strange stain above the ceiling.

Stain… dark?

“Mom, has the ceiling always been like this?” You ask, aware that you had never noticed that before.

“That question again?” You don't understand what she means by that, as far as you knew, you had never even noticed that stain. “Yes, it has always been like this. But I keep telling your father to fix this.” She expresses obvious annoyance, staring directly at her husband. This one, who just pretends not to hear it.

“And what happened to him?” You look more closely, the stain snaked its way across the ceiling to the kitchen door as if a very large and disgusting snake had passed through there and left a trail of soot.

“I already told you that too.” She looks at you like you're an idiot asking the same thing twice in a row. And, apparently that was it, although you weren't aware that you'd ever asked those questions. “Don’t you remember that the house was falling apart when we first came to visit?” No, the house wasn't falling apart as far as you remembered. It just looked abandoned, nothing more. “The purchase was cheap because of the state, but the renovation ended up costing a lot, anyway.”

As if your body is being controlled by invisible wires, you rise from your seat and are driven purely by morbid curiosity. Your feet walk on the ground while your eyes wander through the air, following that soot snake that goes far beyond the kitchen, realizing that it also spreads to the ceiling of the living room, climbing the walls of the stairs to the bedroom hallway. It's horrible.

Regardless of how inattentive you were sometimes, your house had never been like that.

It was as if it had simply changed overnight.

Thank you for reading this far! Constructive criticism is always welcome!

I will only be back in January or February.

Bye~💖

[sports-on-sundays]

i NEED some pedri enemies to lovers where the reader is dating joao felix and he is really abusive to her and when pedri finds out in a party he defends the reader

got your back / Pedri González

Summary: Pedri x female!reader - Pedri hates you. Well, that is, until he's faced with a situation to genuinely be concerned with you. Then? Of course he doesn't hate you!

Warnings: mention of sexual abuse/crossing boundaries, discomfort, language, unwanted physical/sexual action being pushed, mention of sickness, having to fake happiness/being fine, physical abuse, anxiety, fear, don't read if you could be sensitive to anything here- I'd hate to hurt anyone or bring back any pain or anxiety anyone might have - read at your own risk!

Author's Note: I got nothing against João, so instead of using him, I just made the guy an unnamed La Liga player, because I don't want to paint anyone in a terrible image, and I'm sorry if I have done that in the past, but I don't feel comfortable with it. I hope this makes sense and you understand! Thanks for the request!

Requested?: Yes.

You and Pedri hate each other. You've known each other forever, and from the very beginning, your personalities clashed. At times, things were better, but after fallout after fallout in your friendship, it's come to a point where both of you decided that what's done is done, and it's likely just the best for both of you to leave each other alone and stay out of each other's lives.

You don't think about Pedri. Not often, anyway. Now with your new relationship, too, anyway, and all the struggles that are coming with that, you're glad you don't have to worry about all the arguments you and Pedri used to have.

Your boyfriend really wanted you to come to this specific match, though. Against Barcelona. You tried to explain to him that you really would rather not go to a Barcelona game to watch him, simply because of the stress of possibly running into Pedri, though you know how unlikely that really is.

But with your bad luck, who even knows?

Well, the match goes alright, but, admittedly, your boyfriend's team gets hammered by Barcelona, so you suppose you're supposed to be disappointed.

You're walking out, waiting to meet up with your boyfriend, when suddenly, your bad luck strikes.

Of course.

Well, it really has nothing to do with luck, or the lack of it. Though you don't know that. You don't know that Pedri made the effort to find you when he saw that you're at the game.

To you, your bad luck is just making you run straight into Pedri.

"Y/n!" Pedri says as soon as he sees you, stopping in front of you.

You roll your eyes, looking away from him, murmuring simply, "Why are you talking to me."

He stares. Those stupid, stupid eyes, sharply bearing into you. He snorts, saying, "Jeez. Because I know you?"

"Didn't we agree it'd be best to go our separate ways?"

He stares, before snorting, saying, "Doesn't mean I have to treat you like a stranger."

You bite your lip, looking up. "After what you've done to me, I'd rather like it to be that way, actually."

He stares, almost dumbfounded, before the anger sets in. "Oh yeah, and what have I done to you? Get over yourself, you're acting as if I traumatized you! It was never that bad!"

"Pedri, I don't want to talk to you," you say simply, shoving past him as you see your boyfriend start heading down the hall towards you.

He snorts, shrugging, and snaps, "Well, alright, then! You fuck off, too, if that's what you want me to say back!" And with that, you both walk away, feeling angrier than you really have to be.

"He was bothering you?" your boyfriend asks, raising an eyebrows, his arms snaking around your waist.

But it doesn't provide much comfort, considering that probably part of the reason you reacted so harshly towards Pedri is because of the stress already welling up in your chest about your boyfriend himself.

He's over half the problem. In fact, he might be one hundred percent the problem, or at least close to it.

You don't want to be here. You don't want to be at your boyfriend's flat, either. In fact, all you want right now is to be in your own home, alone, in bed, with your pajamas on and a blanket enveloping you.

But instead, you have a drink in your hand, are wearing a black, lacy dress, and are thoroughly exhausted with having to stand there, arm linked with your boyfriend's, looking nice and pretty next to him.

It painfully feels just a little bit too much like all clout.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he hadn't done what he did to you last night after the match. He had forced you to do things you certainly weren't comfortable with. Especially not only four months into dating. It was too much for you.

Maybe for other people, it wouldn't have mattered. Maybe other girls would have actually loved that.

You? You've been feeling sick to your stomach for the last twenty-four hours, completely uncomfortable with your boyfriend, and having to fake it all the while. That hasn't been the first time something like this has happened. This time was just the worst.

You should've seen it coming. It's like on top of it all, regret is nawing at you as well.

The night is superficial and empty already, but your stomach lurches as soon as you get a glimpse of none other than Pedri González. You turn your head away, hoping for him to not recognize you, feeling even sicker than before, if that was even possible.

Your fucking luck, huh.

It's then, that, though you really thought things actually couldn't get any worse, that they really do.

Your boyfriend leans in and whispers close to your ear, "You look pale. Bored?"

You swallow, shrugging, "I guess."

"The night's still young, but there's nothing here for us." His hand on your lower back slips down a bit. You swallow as he continues, "We could step out and spice it up a bit."

Your jaw clenches. "Oh, no, that's okay..."

He chuckles. "Trying to be all neat and prissy? Don't play that game. C'mon," he murmurs, taking your hand and starting to lead you away through the groups of people around at the party.

"No, no, really... it's okay..." you murmur weakly, feeling dread and, frankly, fear sink in.

No, no, no. Not this again.

What's he going to do?

He seems to ignore you as you slip into a narrow hallway where some bathrooms are. Not the main bathrooms, though. You didn't even know there were bathrooms back here.

So no one promises to come this way.

Which means it's completely private.

You swallow.

It's then that he pushes you against the wall, getting close, and murmurs, "I could make this night very interesting for you, honey."

You turn your head away, looking down, towards the floor. "U-hm... You sure this is a... safe idea?"

"No," he grins. "I know it's fucking dangerous. But I also know it's a fucking good idea. Now, stop all this coy shit."

With that, he grabs your chin, shoving it up, making the back of your head hit the wall. "Ow-!" you murmur, your face crinkling with a quick grimace.

He hums. "Oh, get over yourself. You know you want this just as much as I do..."

"I-" you begin, but are interrupted by his lips meeting yours in a rough kiss.

It doesn't even feel good.

Your brain is screaming, your head pounding.

Fear grips your chest.

He moves his body against yours in a disgusting way, and every single cell in your body frantically searches for some way to make it stop.

It's then that you feel his hand stroking your thigh, grabbing at the bottom of your dress. You pull away long enough just to say desperately, "No- Please, no- Not here... please."

But he slaps your thigh, hard. You bite back a yelp as he murmurs, "I can do what I want to y-"

"And I can do what I want to you, too!" a voice suddenly says, before, in a flash, you watch as a hand slaps itself across your boyfriend's face. He stumbles back, which means you stumble forward, but there are arms there to catch you.

Not your boyfriend's, though- he's holding his face, looking absolutely shocked at-

You turn to see who has his arm around you from behind.

Pedri.

"What the hell?!" your boyfriend roars.

"Ask yourself that, asshole! Didn't she tell you to stop?"

"None of it is your business!"

"It is when you're doing it in a public area, for God's sake!"

You watch as your 'boyfriend' gulps and murmurs, "Let go of her."

"How about we stop talking as if Y/n isn't here? Y/n, do you want to fucking stay with him?"

You stare ahead, feeling so caught off guard by what has just happened, and the question that Pedri is apparently proposing for you to decide.

As unfortunate as it seems to you, you know which of them you trust more, despite all the trouble you've had with Pedri over the years.

"Listen," you say to your boyfriend, swallowing back tears. "I think you just better go now... I'll pick up my stuff from your flat in a few days... I think it'd be best- best to just end it here, now. I just don't think I'm the kind of person who's right for you."

As you ramble on anxiously, the rage builds up in his eyes more and more, before he yells, "Fine!" slaps you hard across the face, and leaves, walking off.

You stand, staring, your eyes watering in pain. You swallow.

"Y/n, are you okay?"

"I- I don't know."

Pedri folds you into his arms. "You can come back with me to my hotel room, if you want."

You sniff, holding back tears, before nodding. "I- Okay... Let's go."

Once there, you broke down. Sat on Pedri's hotel room bed and cried. And he sat there with you, being that shoulder to cry on. And your rivalry and friendship fall outs and all the other garbage between the two of you seem to slowly fade away. For now. At least just for tonight.

It's the least of your problems.

Now you lay, staring at the wall. You hear Pedri exiting the bathroom. Walking across the room. The weight on the bed shifting as he gets on.

"Y/n..." he says gently.

"Yeah?"

There's a few moments of hesitation, before he says softly, "Mind if I lay with you."

Now hesitation on your part. "Go ahead."

You feel him lay down next to you. His arm gently, tentatively wraps around you.

You lay together, in silence for a while.

"I'm sorry," Pedri suddenly says after long enough.

"For what? You helped me."

"For every single thing I did wrong over the years. I'm sorry for the fact that every time, I screwed it up again."

"It wasn't just you. I was fifty percent of the problem."

"I guess I just... I just like you a lot, you know? I just don't know what to do with that. I didn't realize it until you've been out of my life for six months now."

You nod slowly.

"I'm glad I found you when I did."

"I am, too," you say simply back.

"Seeing him do that to you... That... it's like all I could feel was pure... rage."

You don't have much to say to that, so just whisper softly, "Thank you... for helping me."

He nods slowly. Pulls you closer.

You don't mind. This kind of thing; it feels comforting. Not scary.

You lay there in more silence, before Pedri says softly, "Can we try this again?"

"Can I trust you?"

He sighs. "I think I finally realized how much I can't live without you. How much I care about you."

You snort, yawning. "If I didn't know better, I'd think that almost sounds romantic."

More silence, before he finally says, "Maybe it is. But even if it were, would that even matter right now?"

You shrug, looking back at him with sleepy eyes. "I reckon not. But it might matter someday."

He smiles softly, kisses your nose, and silences himself fully before sleep takes the both of you.

[confusionism]

"Every now and again," he answers, pulling the front door open and welcoming her into the cafe's warmth. If he could give this place a more specific name it would be his 'home away from home.' Over the years, it's been one of the better — and cheaper — spots to run to when he finds himself overwhelmed. He can't say why he feels like sharing, "I, uh— the odd jobs I used to take took me outta the city sometimes. Reminds me of where I grew up." By this, he mostly means the quiet, how you definitely couldn't fit those from his current career into this small space. Between the exposed wooden rafters above and the gentle holiday music in the air, voices resound more as whispers.

Aiden makes well on ordering two cocoas topped with Anna's exact request, then turns to her with his head tilted toward the glass beside them. Just behind it is an assortment of freshly-baked goods, the scent of which blend together with that of hot beverages and the fire at the far side of the room. "You're up, Ricci." Easily the most valuable player he's had. "What other plays are you making?"

As for himself, he's never had much of a sweet tooth. Still, he's sweet on her and requests for an assortment of little cookies, some shortbread and others topped with tart jam. After handing over some cash, he skips over taking the change, instead giving thanks and then leading the way to his favorite spot: a table right beside a back window, the view of features the trees they'd driven past and the very city they'd come from. Given the lead he has, he pulls one chair out for her before taking a seat on the opposite side. He doesn't think much else of the gesture. It's only polite, in the same vein as telling her,

"Thanks for taking me in. Promise I won't take any more years outta your life." The idea of spending Christmas with her family is still intimidating, but also enticing; his brain locks in easily. "How long are we staying? Through the new year?" But he also doesn't want to sound expectant or as though he's complaining. He quickly adds, "—Or is it, like— you celebrate that somewhere else?"

Her hand clap together, a toothy-smile on full display. She's never inauthentic, despite what some might think, and her reaction is genuine. Anna wants to bring him home to her family - not as a prize she's won, or proof she's picking a good guy for once. But because of this new feeling, warm and safe, that bubbles up around him. "I'm so excited." She gushes. Lifting a brow, she considers lying, before ultimately giving in. "We are, but don't worry. I'm a master at it. I'll carry the team. Be your star player." As if she's built anything like the men on his roster.

"Oh my God, yes." Anna affirms. "Every year I watch my dad and brother try to do it, and it knocks a year off my life." Not the most coordinated, despite their good figures. The offer is Aiden's way, Anna recognizes. It's grounded, supportive, and made with all the best intentions. Just like everything else about him, it's the moon and the stars. Blinking, Anna simpers. It's perfect, pulled straight out of a Halmark movie without being too performative in its quaint nature. "Do you come here often?" She can see it, the type of understated getaway that Aiden would go to. The exact opposite of a celebrity hotspot that her exes frequented.

"Nowhere else I'd rather be." Tauntingly, she lightly elbows his ribs. "Tonight, anyway." Taking his cue, she opens her door as soon as they park. "Cocoa, come to think of it. Marshmallows and whipped cream." Anna never subscribed to the bland diets of other models. She'll have her fun, and adjust as needed. Whatever guilt her agent may lay on is foregone, as she makes a beeline with Aiden towards the shop. "We leave on the 23rd." She informs, waiting in the queue beside Aiden. Peering back, she adds; "I'll call. Have them make up the guest room." Another way of saying, Anna expects it to be modest and chaste. Whether it's for Aiden's benefit or hers, she's uncertain.

[ikram1909]

What does Laliga know 🤨

[yellowocaballero]

Been a fan of your fics for YEARS. I was just telling my friend how despite how much I read fics I never actually love them, with some of your fics (especially TMA) as the exception. Felt the need to reread some of them and saw you reblogged some ISAT fanart. So. Any thoughts on ISAT you'd like to share?

Hope you have a wonderful day!! So happy I found your fics again!!

I avoided answering this for a while because I was trying to think of a way to cohesively and coherently vocalize my thoughts on In Stars and Time. I have given up because I don't want to hold everybody here all day and I have accepted that my thoughts are just pterodactyl screeching.

I love it so much. I have so much to say on it. It drove me bonkers for like a week straight. I have AUs. It's absolute Megbait. They're just a little Snufkin and they're having the worst experience of anybody's life. Ludonarratives my fucking beloved.

I am going to talk about the prologue.

The prologue is such a fascinating experience. You crack open the game and immediately begin checking off all of the little genre boxes: mage, warrior, researcher, you're the rogue...some little kid who's there for some reason...alright, you know the score. You're in yet another indie Earthbound RPG, these are your generic characters, let's get the ball rolling.

Except then you realize that these characters are people. You feel instantly how you've entered the game at its last dungeon, at the end of the adventure. They have their own in-jokes, histories, backgrounds, adventures. They get along well and they're obviously close, but not in a twee or unrealistic way. They have so much chemistry and spirit and life. I fell in love with them so quickly.

But Sif doesn't. Sif kind of hates them, because they will not stop saying the same damn thing. They walk the same paths, do the same things, make the same jokes, expect Sif to say the same lines. They keep referencing a Sif we do not see, with jokes we never see him make and heroic personality he never shows - they reference a Sif who is dead - and Sif can't handle that, so he kills them too.

They become only an exercise in tedious frustration. Sif button mashes through their dialogue, Sif mindlessly clicks the same dialogue options, Sif skips through the tutorial, Sif blows through the puzzles. Sif turns their world into a video game. Sif is playing a generic RPG. Sif forgets their names. They are no longer people with in-jokes, histories, backgrounds, adventures. They're the mage, the warrior, the researcher, and...some random kid.

I did not understand the Kid's presence at first. I had no idea what they contributed to the game. They didn't do anything. As a party member in a video game, they're a bit useless. Why is the Kid there?

Because Sif's life isn't a video game. Because the kid isn't 'the kid'. They're Bonnie. Bonnie, who the party loves. Why is Bonnie there? Because they love them. There is no room for Bonnie in the boring RPG that Sif is playing. And then you realize that Sif is wrong, and that they've lost something extremely important, and that they'll never escape without it.

Watching the prologue before watching ISAT gave ISAT the most unique air of dread and horror, because you crack open ISAT and you see the person Sif used to be. You realize that Sif used to be a person. Sif used to be the person who made jokes, who gave real smiles, who interacted with the world as if they are a part of it. And you know you are sitting down to watch Sif lose everything that made them a person, to lose everything that made them a member of this world, and turn them into a character in a video game who doesn't understand the point of Bonnie at all.

At the climax of the game, when the others realize that something is deeply wrong and that Sif physically cannot tell them, they realize that there is nothing they can do. So Bonnie declares snacktime. And for the first time they have snacktime.

What is snacktime? Classic JRPGs don't have snacktime. There's literally no point to a snacktime - not in a video game, and not in Sif's terrible life. It's not fixing this, because nothing can fix this. But Bonnie gives Sif a cookie and Sif eats it.

It's meaningless. It's a cutscene. It didn't save Sif and it didn't change a thing. It will make no difference in the end.

But it did make the difference. It made all of the difference in the world. Bonnie is a character who you really don't understand the point of before you realize that Bonnie was the entire point.

ISAT is about comfort media. Why do we play the same video games over and over again? Why do we avoid watching the finale of our favorite shows? What is truly comforting: a story with no conflict, or a story where you always know what is about to happen? Do you want to live in a scary, uncontrollable world, or do you want to play Stardew Valley? Do you want a person or a character?

When I beat Earthbound for the first time (and if you don't know, the prologue/ISAT battle system is just Mother) and watched the ending cutscene where the characters part ways and say goodbye...I felt a little bit sad. I wanted them to be together forever. But that's something only characters could ever be.

[infizero]

any time u say ralsei is cute or sweet or whatever ur playing right into his trap btw. not ralsei’s trap, toby’s

[blueskittlesart]

oh dear god has my totk theory breached containment

[risingsunresistance]

i think more worldbuilding should include more numbering systems. like obviously when creating a fake world or language our first thought is to take the basic 0-9 and make a representation of those, but does it actually make sense for your people here to be using base 10? what about base 2, base 16, other systems we use and systems we dont commonly use? what would make the most sense in the context?

[gibbearish]

am finally back home and can say without a doubt that i am just fundamentally not built for long distance travel however the train was much nicer than planes

[blujayonthewing]

reflecting on how all of my other DMs have gone above and beyond to lovingly weave my and my friends' backstory elements into the larger worldbuilding of the campaign by contrast to all of the ways Elyss' DM has gone out of his way to suppress or excise any influences her family may have ever had on anything and I'm genuinely near tears over it

[thydungeongal]

GMing doesn't have to be a chore and can in fact be extremely fun and rewarding but there are certain learned behaviors and attitudes that make things harder on the GM. Here are just a few tips on how to make the job easier on the GM which also may have the side effect of making the game more fun for everyone:

Everyone should make an effort to learn the rules. The rules are not there to make the game unfun and they are not a necessary evil, they are there to help carry the game so the group doesn't have to do all the work. And everyone taking part in learning the rules means the GM doesn't always have to be the one to remember how a rule works.

To that end, drop the "GM is the final word on the rules" attitude. This places the GM on a pedestal and can actually run counter to the idea of players learning the rules. If the GM has carte blanche to run over the rules it disincentivices players learning the rules because they can't actually rely on the text, and now you're right back to the GM having to carry the whole game. It is entirely okay for players to remind the GM how the rules should work and the group should agree on a method for dealing with rules disputes, and spot rulings should not rely on the GM making a unilateral decision but should rely on some kind of consensus.

Communicate your desires to the group and be willing to compromise; respect each other's prep. You may want a game that focuses on a long-form narrative but the GM wants to run an episodic series of largely unrelated singleton adventures. The GM is the one who is bringing the game, so ultimately be willing to compromise on your vision of the game and respect their prep. Ultimately, if the GM does not want to run the exact type of game you want and you can't see yourself having fun in the type of game they want to run, you will be doing everyone a favor by recusing yourself from the game.

Related to the above, communicating your desires should be an ongoing process. End each session by talking about what you want to do next and where you think the game should go. This will also make it easier for the GM to prep ahead.

This relates to learning the rules: pick a game that actually supports the type of game you want to run. Trust me, whatever time you think you will save by sticking to a game you already know you will make back by not having to fight the rules all the time and actually letting the rules take an active part in carrying the game.

You can literally just use prewritten adventures. Not every campaign or adventure needs to be custom-tailored for your specific group. Using prewritten adventures means that someone's already done a lot of the prep for you.

And finally, don't prep any more than you need to: there is this persistent myth that GMs need to have the entire campaign and world planned from the word go to begin with. While there is nothing wrong with expansive worldbuilding as such, you don't need to prep anything beyond what is strictly necessary. If you're running a wide open sandbox you can get by with a rough sketch of the world and only write things in as they become relevant. If you're running a megadungeon your players don't have to know that you've only prepared the first level for the first session, as long as you have a cohesive broad strokes plan that is perfectly fine. If you're running an episodic campaign, well, you don't need to have anything beyond the next episode prepped at a time, but of course having a rough plan can help.

Of course a lot of this is very opinionated and game specific: some games actively resist authoritative GM prep and want to involve each player equally in setting up the situation, and that's actually great, and in those types of games you should remember that the game is explicitly telling everyone to be involved in the prep. And once again, listen to what the rules have to say: they're there to tell you what the game wants you to do.

[14dayswithyou]

What is Ren's schedule for the 3rd of November? I want to go on a date.

If he's not free, then no worries, I've got lots of overdue projects to keep me company (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

(Just finished one lmao)

Oh, I just realized that I also have a question! What type of a Minecraft player is Ren/[Redacted]?

(Definitely not asking this because I want to draw it lol)

⌞♥⌝ Ren is the "stay and build the home" kind of Minecraft player — unless you ask him to do the mining — and takes his role very seriously. Give him any kind of housing aesthetic and he'll easily replicate it by the time you come back from collecting materials. Just... Don't ask him why your Minecraft beds are next to each other. You also didn't ask for this, but I think Ren would use a Haruko-themed skin specifically for his avatar!!

[REDACTED] makes children cry by using hacks in Minecraft Bedwars. Otherwise, they're off in creative mode to build a shrine/monument in Angel's likeness. Their Minecraft skin is literally all black (I'm talking #000000) with Angel's name/initials hidden underneath the head. Because of this, mining with them is like a genuine horror experience — especially when he holds down the shift button while inside a cave.

[rainbowangel110]

OH MY GOSH GEEK YOU ARE AMAZING

A Deal With The Devil

So lately I’ve been thinking that maybe this is how it all went down on Kris’s end!

Happy Halloween and Happy Anniversary, Deltarune! 

EDIT: There’s also a short follow-up comic: Some Self Reflection

[wanderer-six]

THE GALA - A Clone Dating Sim

You are a Jedi General. The Council has assigned you a very important mission: the infiltration of a Separatist gala on Raxus. But you will not be going alone--you are allowed to bring a date on this adventure. In the heart of enemy territory, who will you count on to watch your back?

PLAY HERE: THE GALA

Ideal play experience is on desktop! (I think you can play on mobile it just looks a lil yuccy)

Clone bbs x Fem!Jedi player FEATURED CLONES: Sergeant Hunter, Tech, Crosshair, Wrecker, Captain Rex, Commander Wolffe, and ARC Twins Fives & Echo

RATING: 18+ MINORS DNI - The paths can be SFW or NSFW depending on your choices (2nd option is always the NSFW one!) - general warning for smut if you make those choices, more specifics below the cut!

Additional (less relevant) info beneath the cut!

HAPPY MAY 4TH! ENJOY MY LOVES~~

COMPREHENSIVE WARNINGS LIST: In general, lots of flirting, innuendo, pet names. Established relationship for all

Hunter: LOTS of flirting (he is a whore), p in v sex

Tech: Oral (f receiving)

Crosshair: Fingering

Wrecker: Not much for him honestly, implied canoodling (p in v), oblivious boy ♥

Captain Rex: dirty talk, praise, oral (m! Receiving)

Commander Wolffe: rough! p in v

Fives & Echo: Multiple clones (no clonec*st), lots of flirting, Echo is self conscious!

-ART ASSETS I drew all of the Clone art! I found the most nakedest screencap I could of any of them (SURPRISINGLY DIFFICULT) and then traced the base, then looked for Star Wars Male Fashion (WAY FUCKING HARDER) to draw on them and dress them up! I think for Hunter and Fives/Echo I just went crazy but for all the rest lmk if u can spot who I stole the outfits from, i deadass dont remember at this point For Background art I found them all on google images - from what I recall, it's mostly concept art and screenshots from games! -ENGINE I made this in Twine, an incredible tool for making text-based games! I highly recommend looking into it. It's really easy to use and there are a ton of tutorials online!

AN: Thank you so much for playing! Please let me know what you think, I had so much fun making this✨✨ it is so phenomenally cringe but I hope you all enjoy ♥ (also if you spot any bugs or typos, please feel free to let me know and I will fix!!)

TELL ME YOUR FAVORITE PATH I like Rex Crosshair Wrecker the best I think

"""taglist""" - @shinyshayminflower @starrylothcat @pb-jellybeans @jediknightjana

[jessica-problems]

Seeing @thydungeongal constantly wrestling with people interpreting her posts about D&D in ways that seem completely alien to me has convinced me that there are actually multiple completely distinct activities both being referred to as "playing D&D" Before we begin, I want to stress that I'm not saying one of these groups is Playing The Game Wrong or anything, but there seems to be a lot of confusion and conflict caused by people not being aware of the distinction. In fact, either one works just fine if everyone's on the same page. So far, I think I've identified at least two main groups. And nobody seems to realize the distinction between these groups even exists. The first group of people think of "Playing D&D" as, well, more or less like any other board game. Players read the whole rulebook all the way through, all the players follow the instructions, and the gameplay experience is determined by what the rules tell each player to do. This group thinks of the mechanics as, not exactly the *whole* game, but certainly the fundamental skeleton that everything else is built on top of. People in the second group think of "Playing D&D" as referring to, hanging out with their friends, collaboratively telling a story inspired by some of the elements in the rulebooks, maybe rolling some dice to see what happens when they can't decide. This group thinks of the mechanics of the game as, like... a spice to sprinkle on top of the story to mix things up. (if you belong to this second group, and think I'm explaining it poorly, please let me know, because I'm kind of piecing things together from other people saying things I don't understand and trying to reverse engineer how they seem to be approaching things.) I think this confusion is exacerbated by the fact that Wizards of the Coast markets D&D as if these are the same thing. They emphatically are not. the specific rules laid out of the D&D rulebooks actually direct players to tell a very specific kind of story. You can tell other stories if you ignore those rules (which still counts as "playing D&D" under the second definition, but doesn't under the first)And I think people in both groups are getting mad because they assume that everyone is also using their definition. For example, there's a common argument that I've seen play out many times that goes something like this:

A: "How do I mod D&D to do [insert theme here]?" B: "D&D is really not built for that, you should play [other TTRPG] that's designed for it instead" A: "But I don't want to learn a whole new game system!" B: "It will be easier to just learn a whole new system than mod D&D to do that." A: "whatever, I'll just mod D&D on my own" And I think where this argument comes from is the two groups described above completely talking past each other. No one understands what the other person is trying to say. From A's perspective, as a person in the second group, it sounds like A: "Anyone have some fun inspirations for telling stories about [insert theme here]?" B: "You can't sit around a table with your friends and tell a story about that theme! That's illegal." A: "But we want to tell a story about this theme!" B: "It's literally impossible to do that and you're a dumb idiot baby for even thinking about it." A: "whatever, jerk, I'll figure it out on my own."

--- Whereas, from B's perspective, the conversation sounds like A: "How do I change the rules of poker to be chess, and not be poker?" B: "uhhh, just play chess?" A: "But I already know how to player poker! I want to play poker, but also have it be chess!" B: "what the hell are you talking about? What does that even mean. They're completely different games." A: "I'm going to frankenstein these rules together into some kind of unplayably complex monster and you can't stop me!" ---

So both people end up coming away from the conversation thinking the other person is an idiot. And really, depending on how you concieve of what it means to "play D&D" what is being asked changes considerably. If you're only planning to look through the books for cool story inspiration, maybe borrow a cool little self contained sub-system here or there, then yeah, it's very possible to steal inspiration for your collaborative story from basically anywhere. Maybe some genres are kind of an awkward fit together, but you can make anything work with a little creativity.

If, however, you are thinking of the question in terms of frankensteining two entire board games together, then it becomes a massively difficult or even outright nonsensical idea. For example, for skill checks, the game Shadowrun has players roll a pool of several d6 at once, then count up how many rolled above a target value to see how well a character succeeded at a task. The whole game is full of specific rules about adding or removing dice from the pool, effects happening if you roll doubles, rerolling only some of the dice, and all sorts of other things that simply do not translate to rolling a single d20 for skill checks. On a basic level, the rules of the games work very differently. Trying to make them compatible would be much harder than just learning a new game from scratch. Now, neither of these approaches is exactly *wrong*, I guess, but personally, I find the rules of TTRPGs to be fascinating and worth taking the time to engage with all the weird little nuances and seeing what shakes out. Also, the first group, "TTRPG as fancy board game" is definitely the older and more widespread one. I kind of get the impression that the second group largely got into D&D through actual play podcasts, but I don't have any actual data to back that up. So, if you're in the second group, who thinks of D&D as basically a context for collaborative storytelling first and a game second, please let me know if I'm wildly misunderstanding how you approach D&D. Because I'm pretty sure it would save us a whole lot of stupid misunderstandings.

[watcherintheweyr]

I can't believe I'm writing this

To open up with: IT IS ABSOLUTELY OKAY AND VALID TO BE DISAPPOINTED BY THE LACK OF WORLDSTATE CUSTOMIZATION IN DRAGON AGE THE VEILGUARD. I have my own disappointments about it!

Ok? We have that covered? We good?

Cool, moving on.

To people who are genuinely, hatefully angry, saying we will now be 'forced into Bioware's worldstate' (when this year alone they've stated there is no 'canon' worldstate more than once), or saying that none of our prior dragon age choices matter, I need you to take a step back and walk with me for a second, okay?

For starters: John Epler stated that one of the reasons they narrowed the choices is because they DO NOT want to invalidate the worldstates of their longtime players. However they also don't want to alienate newer players who don't have the history and lore of the past choices. It's a narrow line to walk.

Secondly, I want you to really look at the choices made by your Hero, Champion, and Inquisitor. Which of those choices genuinely affected NORTHERN Thedas, not Southern Thedas, to the point it would linger for years afterwards? Which of those choices weren't things that specifically affected or altered the sociopolitical Southern Thedas climate and landscape in lasting ways?

The Well? Kieran?

That only leaves that if your Inquisitor drank, they now have knowledge from ages long past... that Rook doesn't need. Rook has a direct line into Solas' history and a possible Veiljumper background, unlocking those very secrets on their own.

It's entirely likely and probable that the Well's fears and threats were a red herring. Think about it. We as a gandom have spent TEN YEARS worrying about the Well, about Solas, about Mythal.

Come June 2024, we're slapped in the face by the big bads of Ghilan'nain and Elgar'nan.

Morrigan likely isn't going to be close and friendly with Rook- so there's likely not much reason for her to tell us about her child or husband if she has them.

The rulers of Southern Thedas aren't going to affect us. We aren't tackling the current world ending crisis from the position of a leader of armies like the Warden and Inquisitor, but as leader of a small task force. The Southern Divine doesn't much affect us either- nor do Southern mage politics or templar politics.

Because Rook is an entirely new perspective.

Because Rook is in an ENTIRELY different sociopolitical climate/landscape.

I DO think there should've been ways implemented to specify your Inquisitor's bonds and personality. I'm HOPING maybe there still are that we haven't seen. But otherwise?

My Warden is free. I can say she's cured her Calling and is wandering the world with Zevran.

My Champion can retire into total obscurity with his husband or be quietly helping said husband destroy the slave trade. Either way.

Your history and choices in Thedas still matter. Your heroes still matter.

They just aren't Rook's focus.

Take a breath please. And stop sending death threats to the devs bc what the **fuck.**

EDIT:

further context from the devs on Bluesky