#Rob plays the Fallouts

[puppmeo]

My favorite thing to do in an open world game that gives you quest pins is to do anything except the quests

[hustlerose]

as i slowly exit my "bethesda's writing and design are literally satan" era, i find myself less angry about their many missteps, and more melancholy about what might have been. fallout 3's pre-broken-steel ending, for example

everyone makes fun of that one moment. your super mutant buddy you just met tells you "we all have our own destinies, and yours culminates here. i would not rob you of that." like sorry player 1, you have to die here for no good reason because it's dramatically satisfying

i submit this ending pissed people off not because it's bad, but because it's the wrong ending for fallout 3. fallout 1 and 2 had endings and they felt just fine, but fallout 3 is not a narrative-driven game like those ones. it's a big fun sandbox that you play in to your heart's content. a bittersweet ending with hints of destiny is unwelcome here. even ending the game at the climax is a mistake. the only sensible ending to a bethesda game is "play til you stop having fun." so they did that ending instead, as dlc

what pisses ME off about the ending is that it's so inspiring. i can't help but wish i'd played the game that matched that ending. imagine a version of fallout 3 where all the characters talked like that. imagine the chosen one narrative was dialed up to 11, where every moment of narrative was suffused with tragedy and inevitability. imagine if more characters talked metatextually, musing on your role as player and protagonist. think about all the cool foreshadowing that could have been done to set up a tragic ending where you make the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good. you could wring so much moral complexity out of this moment, as it could force you to reflect on your charcter's choices. you are the most important character in this world. fate bends around your story. what if the other characters could tell, and had opinions on that fact?

i want to read that story god dammit! sometimes i think it's up to me. maybe i have to rip that great ending right out of fallout 3 and stitch up a whole new story around it. one that actually supports fawkes' dialog as its central theme

[greenconverses]

I’m big time upset about annabeth’s characterization in these new books. She looked for Percy for a year or something, did everything she did in HOO, she’s so amazing that she caught up on all of her school work (in fact she’s back on track to go to an ivy if she wants after everything that happened to her), she has all this extra time for Percy (having a boyfriend is time consuming enough without his quests), and then she’s so good at socializing with mortals and so popular…. Just to go to New Rome University (wtf is new rome university) and live in new rome. It makes me sad for her because I feel like RR won’t let her be bad at anything or awkward anymore and she just has to be this hyper competent angel gf all the time…

Oh also the way Percy is contrasted against annabeth in this new series makes me nauseous. I feel in some ways she only exists as this hyper-competent angel gf so that percy has something to "aspire to"… as though he hasn't proven himself a million times and deserves to constantly measure himself up against annabeth. It really just robs them both of their depth and motivation and mutual respect for each other that was so painstakingly built up in the original books.

I was telling @perseannabeth last night that while Annabeth had a lot of pagetime in Wrath, she felt like an utter non-presence other than the last couple of action scenes. And yes, it's because he keeps writing Percy as the only one with all the problems and Annabeth is the perfectest, smartest angel who is always right and can do no wrong, unlike stupid idiot Percy. Ha. Ha.

I do think a lot of the character issues in these books come from him avoiding or only introducing easily resolvable conflict with the main trio. Part of what makes Percy and Annabeth, well, Percy and Annabeth is that they have conflict. Conflict doesn't mean they have to be mean to each other or something terrible has to happen to them, but having them at odds with each other over something (anything) allows for interesting character development and growth.

Grover and Annabeth each get moments of "aw I kinda fucked up" in Wrath that are resolved with basically no effort because Percy shrugs it off or blames himself for their actions. I couldn't even begin to tell you how Annabeth's hubris played a part in the third act ghost fight, but apparently it did, so that's a thing he can brush off because teamwork is all that matters in the end, kids!

And the thing is, Rick is actually setting up a really good conflict with Percy constantly bottling up his rage and messy feelings, but he's too much of a coward to pull the trigger on it. Grover destroying the house and releasing the animals was the perfect spot to actually pursue that conflict and give everyone something to do other than mini quests. Percy could've yelled at Grover and Annabeth for failing to do what they had promised him, and then everyone could deal with the consequences (both of the initial mistake and the fallout of his anger) and make amends in a meaningful way. Instead, Percy has to grit his teeth and fucking apologize to Grover instead. (I'm gonna do a separate post about this because boy howdy do I have THOUGHTS on that.)

By making Annabeth the perfectest, smartest girlfriend ever for dumb dumb Percy, RR is basically removing the conflict that makes them interesting together. There's also the matter of conflict being one of Annabeth's main drivers. Conflict happens to Percy ("I didn't want to be a half-blood."); Annabeth looks for it. And now she's just along for the ride... as long as it doesn't mess up her studying schedule! Her job is school now. Don't get your hopes up.

Also, super controversial opinion ahead, but I think the show casting has contributed to how he's writing Annabeth now. He's deliberately avoided describing her in these books. It's all very vague impressions of her, to the point of Percy describing her having a "human face, human hair" when she turns back after the animal transfiguration in Wrath. No blonde hair. No gray eyes. It's weird.

(Note: I'm not saying the TV cast is wrong or weird, I'm saying it's fucking insane that this man is trying to retcon 15 books worth of character descriptions so his dumbass "actually we never SAID annabeth was white, you just perceived her as it!!!!" defense holds some water.)

[respectthepetty]

I would watch a whole series about Gun kissing all the boys. He deserves it.

Anon, I am very Pro Kiss-the-Homies, but after seeing this completely unnecessary and ridiculous fallout, I know in my soul that we have been robbed multiple times of Gun kissing his homies on screen because people are ridiculous.

*ALEXA! Play Adele's "Rolling in the Deep"*

Ang x Ko

We could've had it all!

GRAMBLACK!

We almost had it all!

KHATHA x DOME

We could've had it all!

BOON x CHAN

We almost had it all!

TODDBLACK!

ROLLING IN THE DEEP!

Like I know Only Friends had the ending it had because of branded pairs, but if I was denied ToddBlack because people would have thrown hissy fits about the kisses being spread out to all the homies . . .

102/10 ALANS

I need us to be better in 2024. If this was a group assignment, I would have thrown everyone under the bus during peer evals.

Quit sucking about dumb shit and start sucking your friends' faces.

Stop being weird about dumb shit and start being weird about your friends' lips.

Don't act strange about dumb shit and start getting normal about showing your friends affection.

And for God's sake,

KISS THE FUCKING HOMIES!

[emmettkane]

Nameless Raiders Suck (In RPGS)

You know the ones I’m talking about, the random guys in a game that only exist for you to smash, stab, and shoot. “Raider”, “Marauder”, “Psycho”, “Bandit”. Who are they? Why are they here? What do they want? What do they have to do with the story?

The answer is ‘nothing’ most of the time, but why?

I like video games, particularly role-playing games and, if we want to get specific, CRPGS: Fallout, The Elder Scrolls, Rogue Trader, and other notable inclusions. To start though, I want to hone in on Fallout 3 and 4. I’ve played every entry in the series outside of one (shudders), and there is a specific issue that Bethesda just can’t seem to escape: The Nameless Raider.

The Problem

They just litter the place! Guys with no names and an endless supply of bad Halloween decorations! They shoot on sight and do all sorts of unspecified crimes when you aren't looking, so it's okay if you kill them!

“It’s a first person shooter, you need guys to shoot!” I hear you cry. Of course you do! Radioactive wildlife, feral ghouls, and malfunctioning robots all serve as suitable, ethically unambiguous targets. Other people, though?

The problem isn’t that it’s impossible for people to turn to irrational violence, but that Bethesda’s Fallout assumes that they will, and in massive numbers! It’s myopic: humans are no better than monsters, waiting for the slightest chance to break the shackles of civilization and visit sick torture on anyone stupid enough to step outside. They all do it in exactly the same way too, for some reason. It is a world fundamentally afraid of strangers and one uninterested in exploring what actually causes violence, or how to actually stop it.

Some people are evil.

Killing them is the solution.

That doesn’t just open a moral can-of-worms that Bethesda prevents the player from meaningfully interacting with, it also serves as a grand and embarrassing series of missed opportunities!

See, there'd be nothing wrong with this if these games weren't sandbox RPGs, where the goal is to create a believable and interesting world to get lost in.

Why don’t the raiders form proper gangs with names and recognizable cultures? That could really make the setting feel put together! Why don’t they try to rob people through intimidation, rather than jumping straight to murder? What a neat idea for an encounter! Could some of them offer their services as bodyguards or mercenaries? I bet a well-heeled, unscrupulous player character would enjoy having a couple genuine goons at their beck and call.

This problem is persistent in Bethesda titles (Skyrim’s bandits and Starfield’s space pirates), but also in other CRPGs. The Outer Worlds tries to make something of its unnamed marauders in the “Peril on Gorgon” DLC, but even the non-marauder ‘outlaws’ riddling the base game are decidedly lacking in purpose and definition.

The Why

Why do this? If it’s such a great opportunity, why do studios continuously manufacture unnecessarily sentient target dummies?

As simply as I can tell? It’s cheaper, it’s quicker, and it’s what the average player has come to expect. That is to say: most people will ignore it. That’s not good enough for me though, I think they can do better.

The Solution

Bethesda isn’t the only game in town when it comes to sandbox CRPGs, and some studios really work to justify their baddies!

Rogue Trader’s ‘Anver’ gang slots well into the ecosystem of their home station, Footfall, and the chaos cultists you fight throughout the game tend to be involved in larger plots, serving the strategies of your vile enemies (or allies, you filthy heretic).

The Great Khans of Fallout: New Vegas are united by a hatred of the NCR and a kick-ass biker aesthetic. The convicts in Primm are a splinter faction of the better-organized Powder Gangers, and even the small groups in the south, the Jackals and Vipers, are given gang names and spawn within defined territories.

Wasteland 3 delivers a cavalcade of bandit factions of varying sizes and complexities, but they are all named and granted a defined culture: The Dorseys, Los Payasos, The Gippers, The Godfishers, and more.

The How

That's a lot of examples, but how do they do it? There are many factors when it comes to defining a raider faction in a CRPG. Let's examine one in detail:

Fallout New Vegas, The Fiends.

Just to the west of Vegas proper live a group called The Fiends: too poor for the strip, too violent for Freeside, and too wild for The NCR. These dispossessed stragglers have clung together under a small number of tough, cold-hearted, and downright cruel leaders. Strength is power, and the only way for the members of this group to survive is to exercise that power by robbing travelers, stealing what they can, and killing what they can't. This is their uniting purpose, their shared history.

They fashion armor roughly out of whatever they can find, mostly old fabric, scraps of metal, and rubber. The aesthetic is unified by a cow-skull on the helm of each warrior meant to signify their brutality and indicate their belonging in the group. This is their uniting appearance.

Their fortresses are repurposed from the old world and decrepit, ill maintained. you won't find a fiend outside of their stronghold of vault 13 and a handful of outposts, plus the regions surrounding. This is their defined territory.

Combining these factors, (faction purpose, aesthetic, and territory) it becomes clear to a player when they are fighting fiends and when they aren't. Their crimes are known, their sins are tallied. Quests which take aim at The Fiends are unique from quests centered on other outlaw factions, and this clarity makes contact with The Fiends special. Crucially, this attention has been paid to every outlaw faction in the game, and you get a unique encounter no matter who you're fighting.

The end result is a world that lives and breathes. Even if you choose to play as a righteous justiciar who puts down marauder scum on-sight, never interfacing with these groups except at the barrel of a rifle, the subtle differences give weight to that decision. After all, who cares how callous or vengeful your character is when your targets are just that? Targets.

So What?

That's just it! Games like these, sandbox RPGs, thrive on having worlds you can fall into! The bigger story matters, the style is important, but the details are what create that sensation. Raiders can just be targets, most players won't consciously notice the wasted potential, but imagine if they weren't. Imagine getting out-played because you didn't realize you were up against a more elite gang, or winning out because you did your research and came prepared.

Imagine pitting two tougher groups against one another so that you could pick through the wreckage, or joining a weak gang to build it up into a real powerhouse. Imagine softening one group into upstanding mercenaries, or smashing them and driving them from their territory.

Imagine what these groups could be like, and then imagine making them that way.

---

Thank you for reading! If you liked this essay and want to get more of my thoughts, follow me on Tumblr or Ko-fi, or wherever else. and if you want a say in what I talk about next, join up as a Bunker Goblin for just a buck a month!

[425599167]

Since Fallout: New Vegas is notorious for being buggy as hell, I think a compelling Watsonian explanation for it is that the player character was shot in the head, and brain damage is causing hallucinations. A lot of things start making more sense. Old World Blues is explicit about the bullets causing permanent changes.

This goes double for characters with Wild Wasteland enabled. Was there a gang of old women beating people up? Were those cyberdogs really playing poker? Maybe the miniature Deathclaw living in that doghouse isn’t real, and that’s why it isn’t dying no matter how much you shoot it.

Courier: Veronica, did we just fight a bunch of aliens?

Veronica: What are you talking about? They’re just some raiders.

Courier: Then where did this alien blaster come from?

Veronica: That’s a gauss rifle- a pretty high-end one, too- please stop pointing it at me.

That one Nightkin with the tumbleweeds: You want to buy wind-brahmin?!

Courier: Is he real?

Veronica: He’s real. He’s real and he’s robbing us.

This more I think about it, the more depth it adds to many of the Courier’s interactions with friends and enemies. Patching up ED-E after the robot got too damaged to know where it should go. Saving Rex from his failing organic brain. Helping Nightkin, especially Lily and Dog/God, suffering from their schizophrenia. Hearing Cass mention her heart condition, or getting Boone to open up. Christine struggling to read after her head was cut up in the Big Empty.

Stealth Suit Mk II: Starting combat... Just kidding!

Courier: Please don’t. *pulls out the Mysterious Magnum just in case*

Mysterious Magnum: *guitar chords nobody else can hear*

Courier: Shush.

A random coyote: *appears to be swimming through the ground*

Courier: Eeeeuuuuggghhh no no no NO. Arcade! Help!

It adds another layer of contempt for Caesar’s Legion and their anti-medicine stance. Caesar’s brain tumor appears similarly debilitating, but instead of recognizing that people need to aid each other to survive, he clings to his infallible image. He can only save himself using medical technology he outlawed, and he wouldn’t let anyone else be helped by it. The Courier has plenty of mixed feelings about gunning down Fiends who’ve taken too many drugs to know what they’re doing, and debates how much sympathy to show the Think Tank after witnessing their psychological decay.

The Courier is a brilliant, unstoppable force who needs friends to help navigate the strangeness of the wasteland.

[newvegascowboy]

I'm also a lifelong fallout fan. I have fond memories of playing Fallout 3 and New Vegas with my brother, taking turns with the Xbox controller, but I do wish bethesda had kept up with the themes of the original games. There are some critiques happening with Rob-co and Vault-tec, etc, and how they hurt people, but Fallout 4 in particular was very "AMERICA FUCK YEAH" which is just not what fallout is.

If I were to direct it, I would have changed so much of it tbh.

Speaking of fallout being gay, how much queer representation do the games actually have? Because I can't think of any off the top of my head. It's been years since I've played any of them tho

I relate to that a lot! My first exposure to the fandom was watching my brother play 3 when i was a kid. Then I played it myself as a teen in prep for 4, which came out right after my birthday. Fo4 is probably the only game i have 1000+ hours in, so all my critique comes from a place of genuine love.

And to answer your question: not a lot. I can think of 4 character in fnv: Arcade Gannon, Major Knight, Corporal Betsy, and Jimmy, the former legion slave. I guess if we're being generous, that Legionary as well and Cass, considering her one controversial voice line. Not counting the courier, because the bisexual perks are totally optional.

Im not counting any of the fo4 companions as queer. I dont think a character being playersexual is bad ir problematic, but i also dont consider it canonical representation. None of them ever mention having a past same sex lover, and the only lovers ever mentioned are opposite sex, in the case of Maccready, Deacon, Nick, (and i dont want to list all the fridged wives). You could view Danse's relationship with Cutler as being homoerotic, and i headcanon that as well, but there is no textual evidence to base that analysis. Again, not counting the sosu because all queer relationships are optional, and you can go through the whole game without running into anything overtly queer. I guess there are a few unnamed couples in settlements (county crossing and oberland station) that are implied to be queer, but again. Nothing overt.

Not to mention, KLEO's "Im a woman baby" and Deacon being a woman are played for jokes, so. I think Beck in 76 is nonbinary and uses they/them (yayy fellow nonbinary) but i dont know much about 76 to say for sure. I guess that's progress.

[bikwin5]

You. Don't. Fucking. Get it. Do you? Nintendo had one of their star mascots in a perfectly healthy and loving relationship and they fucked it all up. When you play Donkey Kong Country 1 (which has aged like MILK, BTW) and go to Candy's Save point he looks at her in a way like no one else on the island. DK had his little buddy, he had his friends, he had his perfect girl, everything was perfect. Nintendo actually respected Rare's legacy after they left by using her in games like DK Jungle Climber. But no, Retro Studios just had to fuck it all up and not only remove her from the games but retcon EVERYTHING before that, so every other DK game before Returns might as well not exist. And the resulting fallout is that she isn't in any new games, the theme park, the Mario Movie, any promotional renders, nothing. DK and Candy had the perfect relationship and they took it all away. They have robbed Donkey of his happiness.

[papakhan]

Other than the horrible feeling inside his skull, Manny Vargas felt… good. Better than he had done in weeks. His cheeks were sore from laughing, his throat ached from talking, but his heart soared. The warm feeling in his chest was more than just alcohol. It was nostalgic, being back with the Khans. Their songs were just the same as Manny remembered. All cheering and dancing and swinging eachother around. Not even the man in the checkered suit sitting sourly in the corner could dispel the feeling of joy in that room.

I wrote ANOTHER Manny Vargas fic this time featuring Benny :) this takes place during the main story of FNV when the Khans and Benny stay at Manny's place in Novac

I'm also gonna mirror it right here

“Do not let Jessup buy any of those fuckin’ toys.” McMurphy said as he trudged up the stairs.

Not even a second passed after the door slammed, and Cliff waved one of those ever-so-tempting Dinky the Dinosaur toys, “Aw now don’t listen to him. You’ll never forgive yourself if you walk away now!”

Cliff Briscoe deserved some credit, he was completely undeterred by the sight of half a dozen Khans piling into his shop. In fact, he was delighted to see them. Most shopkeepers kept wary eyes on Khans, waiting for them to slip something into their pockets. But not Cliff Briscoe.

“No dice,” Benny said, pushing his way to the front, “We don’t want any of your junk, pal.”

Briscoe’s eyebrows knitted together as he scanned Benny. The Mojave dirt had somewhat diminished the crispness of Benny’s suit, but it still screamed ‘Hot Shot Casino Owner’ no matter how many days in a row he’d worn it. Though nowadays that seemed more like ‘Hot Shot Casino Owner After Wrestling With Six Khans’.

Still, ever resolute, Cliff pushed on, “Well… what are you looking for?”

“We’re not looking for anything, get it?” Benny snapped, and Jessup scowled at him.

“You got any slugs man? Twenty gage.” Jessup asked, leaning on the countertop to run a finger along the dinosaur’s spines, eyes wide with temptation.

Benny tutted, “And how are you gonna pay for that, genius?”

Jessup snapped upright. He shoved his face in Benny’s, lips pulled back in a snarl, “Get the fuck off my back.”

Benny’s mask cracked as he jolted away from Jessup, like snatching a hand away from a dog about to bite. Cliff eyed the pair hesitantly. One of the other Khans laughed. Jessup held fast, his stance daring Benny to get closer.

Benny was many things, but he wasn’t stupid. He raised his hands after a moment, placatingly, “Fine, do what you want.”

Jessup wrinkled his nose, then spat on the ground between them. Both Benny and Briscoe pulled a face, though Briscoe’s quickly disappeared as Jessup turned back to face him. Benny stalked away to another corner of the store, ignoring the Khans jeering at him. One of them elbowed him, Destiny--or ‘Eyepatch’ as Benny had taken to calling her in his head.

“Serves you right, dumbass,” She snickered as she flicked the lapel of his suit jacket, “Hasselin’ Jess when he ain’t sleepin’ right.”

Benny swore he’d never hit a woman, but he smacked Eyepatch’s arm away without thinking. She returned the favour by jabbing him in the ribs. Benny recoiled away, taking a learnt-- slightly out of practice --defensive stance.

“You hit me again girlie, and none of you are getting paid.” He hissed.

“I’m just playing, man. Don’t have to be so stuck up all the time.”

Benny ignored her, pretending to be very interested in the signed baseball cards framed on the wall instead of rubbing where she’d jabbed him. What he wouldn’t give to drop these idiots tonight and make his own way back to Vegas. But it was too many days away. He couldn’t risk sleeping unguarded. At least if the Khans robbed him in his sleep, he’d know where to start looking for the chip.

Not that they would. They weren’t exactly loyal, but they kept their word. It was almost nostalgic. The old style of honour big gangs like the Khans believed in. What the Boot Riders used to believe in. Not much honour left on the Strip these days, even Benny could see that.

He had to wonder if this ‘associate’ they were banking on lending them a room subscribed to the same worldview. As they’d approached Novac, McMurphy had raised an open palm to the dinosaur. He hadn’t elaborated much. ‘An old friend’, he’d said. Benny had heard some muttering from the other Khans, a couple of names he hadn’t heard before. It seemed that some were not as excited about this reunion as others.

The bell above the door jingled and a hush fell over the store.

“Oh, hey there Ranger Andy,” Cliff said cheerily, words that made Benny’s head jerk up. A fucking ranger? Here? Seriously?

Benny eyed each of the Khans, trying to guess which would step out of line and start shit with a ranger. None of them moved an inch, their gazes fixed on the Ranger who was wearing his full uniform and leaning heavily on a cane. All except Jessup, who kept his back to Andy and Benny. The Ranger licked his lips, glancing around at all the Khans in the tiny room.

“Uh, howdy Cliff. You alright there?” The Ranger spoke carefully, watching Cliff like he was waiting for him to blink SOS.

“Oh you know how business is these days, but I’m just fine.” Cliff replied cheerily, entirely oblivious to the look the Ranger was giving him, “I haven’t had any more of those holotapes you like, but I still got plenty of Dinkies!”

Benny watched Jessup, glaring at the back of his head waiting for any twitch. As if just staring at him could root him to the spot. Jessup may have had the old-style honour of the Boot Riders, but he didn’t have the obedience. But Jessup only glared at the countertop.

“Right.” The Ranger said, standing his ground, “Sure Cliff, you just let me know.”

Another door opened up above and a hot breeze blew in, carrying with it a pair of gruff voices. One belonged to McMurphy, and the other belonged to the assumed “friend”. No one in the room moved as the voices got closer until McMurphy reappeared and frowned at the stand-off, only to roll his eyes at the sight of it. No help there then.

“Friends of yours, Vargas?” The Ranger said.

“Uh,” This Vargas stepped out from behind the taller McMurphy and glanced at the gathered group, the bright blaring red of his beret the first and only thing Benny noticed, “Yeah, sorry Andy, forgot to tell you.”

“You’re not in the army anymore, son, you don’t need to check guests in with me,” Ranger Andy sounded miles more relaxed now than he did moments ago, “I can’t tell you what company to keep, was just a surprise on my afternoon visits, is all.”

Eyepatch beside Benny glared daggers at Vargas. The word ‘anymore’ had Benny’s ears pricked. An army boy, friends with some Khans? Benny didn’t like the NCR, but he was never one to turn down gossip. The way he heard it, they recruited just about anybody, and former raiders were a particular favourite of theirs. Like House to the gangs of The Strip, cushy digs could buy loyalty from a lot of people.

Not that Benny would sell out for anything less than what House came a’knocking with. He could at least rest easy knowing he would never scrub out his own identity for straw army cots and marching laps at the crack of dawn. No no no, it took far more than that. He had what some might call ‘standards’.

Vargas-- or “Manny” as the other Khans took to calling him, led their little band across the courtyard, earning even more raised eyebrows than when McMurphy had done the same earlier. Benny kept his head down, knowing his suit was loud enough on its own. He chewed on the information he’d gathered on Manny so far, which admittedly wasn’t much. A lot more attached to his clothes than the Khans seemed to be. Less scant leather, more cable knit red sweater. 

As Manny worked on unlocking the door to his apartment, Benny’s eyes trailed to Manny’s boots. Soft leather, scuffed and dirty. Not one who took his soldier training to heart, it seemed. And, judging by the tattoos peeking out from under Manny’s long-sleeve shirt, not one who took pride in his old gang ink. 

Manny pried his door open and ushered the group inside. The room was small and dingy, a bed, kitchen and diner all rolled into one, but compared to how Benny had been sleeping these past few days, it was a palace. Benny revelled in the soft carpet floors underfoot, considering how he’d felt every rock and bump in the road through his dress shoes. His eyes fell immediately on the double bed as Manny hurriedly picked up sheets from the floor and rearranged the pillows. So this visit was not expected, Benny realised. The single bulb overhead buzzed to life as McMurphy flipped a switch. Benny eyed him too, McMurphy was very… comfortable here. Like he’d been here many times before.

“Sit down somewhere, jeez,” Manny said and the Khans took that as a cue to flop onto the couch and promptly start fighting over space. Great. Five Khans, one ex-Khan and Benny between one couch and one double bed. 

Benny glanced skywards again, squinting at the bulb. If Manny Vargas had electricity, did that mean…

“You got one ring-a-ding pad pal,” Benny said, sauntering over to Manny as he tidied up a stained mug and bowl that looked as if they’d been out for days, “Think you can answer my prayers and tell me you got hot water too?”

Manny stared at him like it was the first time he’d noticed there was a non-Khan amongst them. Though knowing he was a sniper, Benny could say with some certainty that it was an act. He didn’t even process that Manny might be staring at him like that for the nonsense words that’d just spilt from him. Manny looked down at Benny’s dress shoes, then back up at his slicked hair. Though slick with his own grease now, more than the pomade he’d applied days ago.

“You gonna pay my water bill, buddy?”

“You’re guarding the town all day and they still make you pay bills?” Benny probed, “Sheesh pal, they’re really wringing you dry.”

This time, Manny laughed. He dumped his cup and bowl in the sink and raised his hands in mock surrender, “Alright, you got me. I don’t pay for the water. But my landlady will get mad with me if we use too much.”

“Oh come on, now you’re just teasing me,” Benny said.

“Look man, I don’t even know you--”

“See! Exactly! You don’t know me! So why don’t you and your friends play catch up while I scrub the grime off my poor skin, whaddya say?”

Manny sighed, chewing the inside of his lip in what Benny hoped was serious consideration. His dark eyes flitted to the Khans like a cry for help. 

“Please baby, just give me an hour alone with the shower.” Benny clasped his hands together, “Shall I beg? Look, you'll get the Ben-man down on his knees. I'll do it but it won't be pretty,” 

“Yeah go on! Beg!” Jessup crowed from the couch, “I wanna see!” 

Benny stopped to glare daggers at Jessup. Then turned back to Manny and flashed his best puppy-dog eyes. Manny pursed his lips, then glanced over at the Khans, grinning, and for a moment Benny was afraid Manny was about to make good on the begging act. But instead, Manny shrugged his shoulders and nodded to the bathroom.

“Go for it, man,” 

“I could kiss you.”

“Yeah, you don’t need to do that.”

*

When Manny stepped into the dim light of the motel courtyard he pressed his back against the door of his room and took a steadying breath. The pleasant buzz of alcohol had started to creep towards a messy blur. He wasn’t a young man anymore, drinking every night on leave. When was the last time he’d had a drink?

Manny scrubbed his face, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes in the hopes of stopping the feeling of the world rocking around him. Or at least stop it enough to keep from being violently sick on his own doorstep.

Other than the horrible feeling inside his skull, Manny Vargas felt… good. Better than he had done in weeks. His cheeks were sore from laughing, his throat ached from talking, but his heart soared. The warm feeling in his chest was more than just alcohol. It was nostalgic, being back with the Khans. Their songs were just the same as Manny remembered. All cheering and dancing and swinging eachother around. Not even the man in the checkered suit sitting sourly in the corner could dispel the feeling of joy in that room.

And tomorrow they’d be gone. He sighed into his hands.

“You okay Manny?”

Manny lifted his head to see McMurphy leaning against one of the posts that held up the balcony, cigarette between his fingers.

“Uh, yeah,” The alcohol made his tongue heavy in his mouth, “Yeah I’m… okay.”

“You sure?”

Manny pushed away from the door and made towards the post opposite McMurphy’s. He wrapped an arm around it and then remembered himself, straightening up to lean more casually and not like a total lightweight.

“I just needed some air,” he said.

McMurphy watched him out the corner of his eye, and even in the dark Manny could see the twitch of his lips smirking upwards. He brought the cigarette to his lips and sucked, the tip glowed ember.

“Me too,” McMurphy’s words came out in a curl of smoke.

They stood there in silence, nothing but stale smoke drifting between them. It had been a long time since Manny had talked with McMurphy. Going on ten years now. He remembered that leather jacket, before it was so beaten and soft, recognised old patches and paint under the new. McMurphy, like Jessup, was exactly as Manny had left him, but at the same time an entirely different man. Like a faded photo. Tired and worn but familiar.

“Do you remember when we climbed around in those old buildings, back in Vegas?” Manny asked.

“When we hopped rooftops when we got in trouble with your mom?” McMurphy chuckled, “Yeah, I remember.”

Manny snorted, “Oh man, after I ‘donated’ one of her old world plates as target practice. I thought she was gonna kill me!”

“So did we,” McMurphy flicked ash from his cigarette, still smiling, “Here I thought Khan moms were scary.”

Manny laughed again and fell into an easy, comfortable quiet. He glanced over at McMurphy, who was staring skywards. Manny followed his gaze to the millions upon billions of stars up above. It was what he missed the most after Mr House took Vegas back from the Khans. Maybe the Khans survived House’s onslaught of securitrons and bankrolled gangs, but the night sky did not. The stars never shone the same after he switched on the lights. Manny didn’t have the head for science to understand why, but even out here the sky was never quite the same. 

“Can you still read the stars?” Manny asked absently.

“‘Course” McMurphy replied, Manny could still hear the smile on his lips, “Harder closer to Vegas but, I can still see what I need. Always know my way home.”

Home. That’s what he missed. A home he could never go back to, with a night sky he’d never see again. Home was what the Khans had. Wherever they pitched that night, that was home. And here he could feel it, their warmth and joy and love despite it all. Novac had none of that, not anymore, not since House, not since the NCR, not since Carla. Manny’s home was gone. Like his family, his friends, his night sky, all gone. 

“You okay man?” McMurphy’s gentle voice drifted to him like smoke on the wind.

Manny’s eyes prickled and he could feel hot tears on his cheeks. Goddamn it. He scrubbed them away with the back of his hand. But he was already caught.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

The quiet from McMurphy stretched on and Manny’s cheeks burnt hot with shame. His head swam with alcohol and his heart ached. It hurt! A burning pain that tightened his throat and forced a sob from his mouth when he tried to laugh it off. The gravel crunched under McMurphy’s boots as he closed the gap between them and wrapped his strong arms around Manny without hesitation. And Manny cried. He couldn’t remember the last time he did. He cried and McMurphy held him close, rubbing circles into his back and shushing him gently. 

McMurphy smelt of clean sweat, leather and cigarettes, with just an undertone of amber. He was taller than Manny, and his jacket was soft and worn. Manny wrapped his arms gingerly around his chest as he tried to get his breathing under control and not snivel all over the friend he hadn't seen in a decade.  

“It’s just so-- shit,” Manny managed.

“Tell me about it,” McMurphy said.

“I keep screwing things up. I feel like I-- I threw away everything and for what? A shit job, no friends, my family hates me! I wake up every day and I think is-- is this it?! Is this all I have left? One shitty hotel room and twelve hours of standing around on my own?” Manny rambled, “Okay-- I had one friend here. One! But his wife hates me so he’s barely allowed to talk to me and now she’s taken off back to Vegas and he thinks I ran her out of town! Is this it?”

“C’mon man, you’re barely thirty. You’ll be fine,” McMurphy pulled back, his hands on Manny’s shoulders, forcing Manny to look at him, “I promise. You’ll be ok.”

“I just…” Manny sighed, “I feel like I’ve wasted all my chances. I fucked things up with Vegas, I tried to have my cake and eat it too with the Khans and-- you know what happened there. And then the only good thing I did in the army was… leave.”

“Yeah, and it takes guts to do that,” McMurphy said, “Look, Manny, you think anyone else in that room can say they’ve done all the things you have? Anyone in this town? You’ve been a son, a raider, a soldier, a citizen, a guard-- all before you got even one grey hair. Not even that beat-up old ranger can say that.”

“But--” 

McMurphy prodded Manny square in the chest, just over his heart, “You got guts, and you got skills. Ain’t nothing else you need. You want friends? Well you got one right here--” McMurphy pointed a thumb at himself, “and I know Jesse’s always gonna have your back no matter what.” 

Manny scrubbed his eyes on the sleeve of his sweater. This time, when he laughed, he didn’t stop by accident, “Hey. Good to know we’re still friends.”

“Sure we are.”

“Even after everything?” 

“Even after everything.”

*

Manny woke with a strip of light in his eyes and a weight on his chest. It would be more pleasant if his head wasn’t throbbing. Manny scrunched his eyes up to block out as much of the morning sun as possible as he tried to think of the name of who he was in bed with. It wasn’t unusual, he’d taken men to bed before. Passers-by mostly, someone he wouldn’t have to look in the eye every time they bumped into each other in the gift store. He’d learnt his lesson there.

Then the night before started to creep into Manny’s memory. The Khans who came to stay.

“Shit,” Manny hissed to himself. He peaked down at the arm draped over his chest. McMurphy. Okay, McMurphy being in bed with him was a good sign. He had the integrity to refuse any drunken kissing from Manny, at least. Especially in a room full of other Khans. Manny squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to any god that would listen that he didn’t embarrass himself last night.

“Hey hey wakey wakey baby, about time too. I just sent your hair-challenged friend off with a line about you powdering your nose,” Benny called over, making little effort to keep his voice down, “But before you go, how abouts you wake up one of your pals so we can split before the heat sets in.”

Manny scrubbed the sleep from his eyes, only half understanding the words that had just spilt from Benny’s mouth, “You saw Boone?”

“Boon, is it? Not sure if he really looked like a boon I’d want. Unless what I wanted was a plank of wood.” Benny huffed smoke out the door, squinting into the rising sun, “What time did your shift start anyhoo?”

“Shit.”

Manny tossed away the covers and shot from the bed. McMurphy groaned beside him, covering his head with the arm Manny had abandoned. First Manny looked for his clothes, only to find that he had fallen asleep still wearing them. All save for his boots, which were neatly paired at the end of his bed. Manny plopped his ass on the bed and shoved his feet into his boots, pushing away the vague recollections of McMurphy prying the boots off him as Manny drunkenly insisted on sleeping with them on. 

Great. The first time seeing his childhood friends in years and he’d gotten drunk and acted the fool. What else can go wrong today? What about angering Boone even more? Sounds just perfect.

Manny gave up on his laces, standing up and setting a ginger hand on McMurphy’s shoulder. McMurphy made another sound that could have meant anything from “What do you want?” to “Go away”.

“Hey man, listen. I gotta go but-- thanks for last night. I really mean it. I hope I see you again soon, okay?”

He hoovered for half a second as McMurphy shifted, rubbing grit from his eyes. Before the man could wake up fully, Manny leant down and pressed a kiss to his temple. Then he straightened and fled from the room, pushing past Benny to run towards the dinosaur.

“Manny?” McMurphy croaked.

Benny blew smoke out the door again, watching Manny half jog, half stumble in his unlaced boots, “He’s gone, pal.”

[ciel-of-vault-111]

Am I the only one who wants to see a fallout game in NYC? It is such a cool area! It could be isolated, being an island after all, and it has multiple iconic landmarks that could be changed to fit the fallout vibe! Central Park could be a rad-filled jungle! Times Square could be a major settlement, with the new year’s ball at the center! Broadway could have adds for fake plays, like, “Vault Boy: the musical” or, “Rob! The RobCo story” Madison Square Garden could be an ice area, because it’s a hockey rink! And, what if the villains were Wall Street executives, who traded people as stocks?! There main base could be the NY stock exchange! So many possibilities!!’

[celestialastronmy]

The Portrayal of Religious Trauma and Spiritual Abuse: Kate Marsh's Story

Let's dive into the heavy topic of religious trauma and spiritual abuse through the lens of Kate Marsh's disturbing experiences in Life is Strange. Fair warning - this gets pretty dark and covers sensitive subject matter around mental health, abuse, and religion. But it's an important conversation to have.

I'll try to break it down in sections, Kate was a kind, religious student at Blackwell Academy who was viciously bullied and slut-shamed after a video of her making out with several guys at a party surfaced online. The emotional fallout was devastating for the vulnerable, sheltered Kate who turned to her faith for refuge.

But the devout church group she was a part of largely turned their backs on her at her most desperate time of need. Rather than supporting and protecting one of their own who was victimized, many in the community embraced a cruel "she had it coming" mentality filled with harsh judgments and rejection.(Mainly her mother and Aunt) It's a sickening injustice that sadly rings true to the experiences of religious trauma survivors.

Religious trauma is the psychological damage caused by severely negative religious experiences, often involving emotional manipulation, toxic teachings, and authoritarian abuse from a faith community. Spiritual abuse takes it a step further by leveraging the faith beliefs against the person through tactics like shunning, shaming, blaming, and enforced deprivation.

And that's exactly what seemed to happen to Kate. When she needed her church the most, they failed her miserably. She was essentially spiritually abandoned and abused at her most vulnerable point by the one place that should have been her ultimate safe haven. No wonder she became depressed and suicidal.

Toxic Purity Culture Playing a Role

A major factor that enabled Kate's spiritual abuse was the deeply engrained "purity culture" mentality that sadly permeates many conservative religious circles. Placing extreme, repressive emphasis on sexual purity before marriage for women while glorifying female submissiveness, modesty, and chastity as moral virtues.

The blaming and shaming of Kate seemed directly tied to this subculture that essentially slut-shames any woman who doesn't rigidly conform to those outdated, sexist standards of feminine purity. Rather than showing compassion to a young victim of exploitation, they turned on her with unbridled judgment and alienation for the perceived sexual "sin." It's dehumanizing victim-blaming crap that can utterly demolish someone's mental health and self-worth.

Frankly, the community's reaction reeked of misogyny masked by feigning moral superiority over Kate's sexuality. An undercurrent of the age-old condemning "she was asking for it" dismissal of sexual assault that has enabled abuse against women for centuries.

Lack of Support Exacerbating Mental Health Struggles

With her church circle reinforcing the vicious bullying through their ostracization and shaming, it robbed Kate of what could have been a core support system to help her through the trauma. Having that foundation ripped out from under her only exacerbated her deteriorating mental health and feelings of existential despair.

In healthy faith communities, spiritual support is meant to be a therapeutic anchor helping guide people through severe crises with acceptance, compassion, and affirmation of self-worth. When that lifeline is cruelly replaced with damnation, dejection, and reinforced self-loathing, it can trigger or worsen clinical depression, PTSD, anxiety, and suicidal ideation.

The spiritual abuse Kate endured represented a profound emotional betrayal compounding her already staggering psychological distress. With the roots of her identity and personal value system embedded in those religious bonds, having that ripped away left her feeling profoundly insignificant, unworthy, and alone.

Clearly, her community failed her abysmally in her hour of greatest need. The very sanctuary meant to provide unconditional acceptance, safe harbor, and trauma-informed care through a spiritual framework kicked her to the curb instead based on a deeply flawed fundamentalist sexual ethos.

Unhealed Trauma Perpetuating a Vicious Cycle

The heavy implication seemed to be that Kate's virgin/whore complex wasn't properly processed or healed from her traumatic experiences. Which is understandable given how spiritually adrift she was abandoned by the one faith support system she invested everything in.

Without a safe outlet to properly unpack the acute shame, rejection-sensitivity, objectification, existential brokenness and myriad other complex emotions involved in her ordeal, it's no surprise she sank deeper into despondency and self-harm reinforcing patterns.

With virtually no healthy framework to recontextualize what happened and rebuild her self-worth, she remained stuck in a purgatory of unhealed trauma and spiritual abuse aftershocks slowly tearing her apart.

That's what makes the cycle of religious trauma so insidious and damaging. The very sociological underpinnings that are meant to affirm someone's humanity within a belief system get hijacked as weapons to degrade and dehumanize them. It fundamentally distorts their entire sense of identity, purpose, and cosmic belonging.

Breaking the Cycle through Awareness and Support

Which is why greater mainstream awareness around religious trauma and its mental health impacts is so crucial, especially for practices that enable spiritual abuse and toxic fundamentalism. The more we can shine a light on these cycles, the easier it becomes to recognize the warning signs and intervene before vulnerable people get systematically stripped of their dignity.

Ultimately, it's about providing a compassionate environment that deconstructs shame, learns from past mistakes, and rebuilds supportive networks for those in crisis based on healthy spirituality and belonging.

Kate's isolation was one of the most heartbreaking parts of her story. If she'd had access to affirming support systems equipped to empathize with her pain and guide her through it based on universally human values like grace, acceptance and resilience, perhaps the outcome could have been different.

Because at the end of the day, faith is meant to provide sanctuary and healing from suffering - not be another source of torment. Kate deserved so much better than to be discarded and shamed by the very community that should have fiercely protected her.

Hopefully through greater empathy and open discussions on religious trauma, spiritual abuse and their horrific toll, we can learn how to cultivate spiritual environments that truly embody the unconditional love they preach - especially for those who need it most.

[mosswolf]

It is a pervasive condition of empires that they affect great swathes of the planet without the empire's populace being aware of that impact - indeed, without being aware that many of the affected places even exist. How many Americans are aware of the continuing socioenvironmental fallout from U.S. militarism and foreign policy decisions made three or four decades ago in, say, Angola or Laos? How many could even place those nation-states on a map? The imperial gap between foreign policy power and on-the-street awareness calls to mind George Lamming's shock, on arriving in Britain in the early 1950s, that most Londoners he met had never heard of his native Barbados and lumped together all Caribbean immigrants as "Jamaicans.' What I call superpower parochialism has been shaped by the myth of American exceptionalism and by a long-standing indifference in the U.S. educational system and national media to the foreign, especially foreign history, even when it is deeply enmeshed with U.S. interests. Thus, when considering the representational challenges posed by transnational slow violence, we need to ask what role American indifference to foreign history has played in camouflaging lasting environmental damage inflicted elsewhere. If all empires create acute disparities between global power and global knowledge, how has America's perception of itself as a young, forward-thrusting nation that claims to flourish by looking ahead rather than behind exacerbated the difficulty of socioenvironmental answerability for ongoing slow violence?

slow violence and the environmentalism of the poor, rob nixon

[apomaro-mellow]

Wingman Nancy 6

Eddie whistled. “Lookin’ good, Harrington.” 

“It is a special occasion”, Steve said, letting Eddie into his house.

Eddie closed the door behind him and grabbed Steve’s hand, making him lift his arm. “Come on, give us a twirl.”

Steve blushed. “Eddie...”

“Give daddy a twirl~” Eddie turned him around and made Steve show off the red and white striped shirt and tight, bright jeans. “Look at you. You know exactly how good your arms look in that shirt.”

“I think they look even better here”, Steve said, wrapping them around Eddie’s waist.

“They look good wherever you wanna put ‘em, baby. Bet you could bench press me an’ shit.”

“You’re not gonna distract me. Rob and Nance will be here any minute.” And just yesterday Eddie had gotten him with the classic ‘I bet you’re not strong enough to carry me’ and what should’ve been an afternoon cleaning the garage was spent making out on the couch. Not that Steve would ever complain when the end result was him kissing Eddie.

“Any minute doesn’t mean right now”, Eddie said, leaning in.

While they were in the house, they were very visible to Robin and Nancy, who were about to knock on the door.

“I’m not going in there while they’re like that”, Robin said.

“Do you find it surprising at all, how fast they’ve moved?”, Nancy asked.

“Nope.”

“Huh...I mean we could probably-nevermind”, Nancy shook her head quickly.

“We could-we could do something like that, right?” Robin laughed nervously, then coughed to cover it up. “Be, uh, you know, horny t-teens?”

Nancy couldn’t help but think about the last time she let go in this house. What happened and the fallout and the consequences and-

“No pressure though! I know you’re probably all new to this ‘liking girls’ thing and to be honest it’s not like I have a plethora of experience I mean I know what I’d like to do? In theory? But I get it if you’re not read-”

“I know what I want to do with you”, Nancy confessed. Everything else about this was so out of her wheelhouse, what was one more thing? And it wasn’t like Robin herself would ever make her feel bad about it. She had spent more than one night, letting her imaginations and her hands run wild.

Robin swallowed. Nancy stared as she bit her lip.

“Come on.” Nancy grabbed her hand and barged into the house. Steve and Eddie broke apart, doing very poorly to pretend they weren’t just making out.

“We’re taking the guest room”, Nancy said, pulling Robin up the stairs.

“What about bowling?”, Steve asked.

“Bigger fish Steve!”, Robin called out as she was lead away.

With a smirk, Eddie went to the living room and put a record on, for once not caring what sound came out. He was content when it turned out to be jazz. Then he turned back to Steve.

“For their privacy, and ours.” He then dove onto the couch and made grabby hands for Steve. “C’mere.”

Steve rolled his eyes. He supposed bowling could be done on another night.

Upstairs, Nancy took Robin to the guest room and locked the door. They both sat on the bed, hands in their laps. Robin grabbed Nancy’s hand.

“You sure you want this? Want...me?”

They heard the music playing downstairs.

“I should be asking you that”, Nancy said, squeezing her hand.

Robin took a breath. “Only one way to find out, right?”

Nancy nodded and turned towards Robin more. Slowly, they leaned in towards each other, trying to give the other a chance to back out if they didn’t want this. Then their lips touched and it only took half a second for them to fully melt into it. Whatever worries they had melted away.

Nancy let Robin push her down onto the bed and when she tried to pull away and apologize or slow things down, Nancy grabbed her by the back of the head to bring her in for another kiss. Her heart jumped when Robin’s hand brushed against her chest. Nancy put her hand fully on her chest, letting out a small gasp when Robin squeezed.

Even through layers of clothes, it felt electric. Was it a bit immature to forego evening plans in favor of just sitting in a room kissing? Perhaps. Especially when just one floor below was another couple doing the exact same thing? Well to be quite honest, continuing to go to the bowling alley and pretending to be interested in playing when all you want to do was get your hands on your date and show them how much you wanted them....

Acting a certain way because of the rules put forth instead of the way you wanted to be

was bullshit.

END

And another one done! Thank yall for joinin’ me on this one :) For more older kid shenanigans, go HERE. And if you want more ronance, head over HERE

Tag Team

@goodolefashionedloverboi @rainydays35 @desert-fern @alienace @homohomohoe @savory-babby @gothwifehotchner @gregre369 @estrellami-1 @l0st-strawberry @dreamlandforever @justforthedead89 @hallucinatedjosten

[fallout-lou-begas]

why should i read ikroah (i want to hear the pitch)

It Keeps Right On A-Hurtin' (@ikroah) is a story about coming back from the dead for revenge, and being afraid it might be the only thing you have that was worth coming back for.

It is a fancomic of the video game Fallout: New Vegas, set in a post-post-nuclear-apocalypse on the cusp of a geopolitical free-for-all, and subverts the power fantasy potential of the open-world role-playing game by making the single most consequential person in the Mojave Desert somebody who has never felt more powerless in her life: Agnes Sands, a prickly and taciturn package courier.

After being robbed of her cargo and shot in the head, Agnes' journey to find the man who killed her features a nagging feeling of futility, complicated feelings about violence, the (post-(post-))apocalypse as a lens for interpreting life and death and transformation, a gnarled depiction of life as a transsexual in a commonly hostile world, two women pushing 40 with a weird gay thing going on, sympathy for cowardice, and ever-improving art including a revolving door of talented guest artists—all told in short, character-driven issues that each encompass a single vignette.

Prior knowledge of the source material is not required to follow or understand the plot of the comic, though it's very intentionally playing in and conversing with that pre-existing fictional world.

(anon if this convinces you to read @ikroah then you have to tell me)

[open-hearth-rpg]

Coming Back: Fallen Campaigns & Rebirths

From Age of Ravens

CAN CAMPAIGNS AGE WELL?

This first part of the year sees me coming back to two longer online series I’ve run before. The first is the third and what I plan to be the final arc of our Godbound campaign. This is after a long break, with the second arc happening in mid-2022. At this point they have hit the higher levels there and I want to close out some of those stories. It’s been a great couple dozen sessions and I love these characters, but I want to get that some resolution. 

The other is Fearful Symmetries, a Trail of Cthulhu campaign set in 1930s England, with the characters as magicians fighting a secret war. We finished the first story in March of last year. We took advantage of the real world time gap to give the characters a gap as well. Session one was a “getting the band back together” episode. In it we got to see how each investigator had dealt with the fallout from their arcane showdown. It provided a solid baseline the characters have been able to play off of. 

Last year I also returned to a Hearts of Wulin mystery series with two new cases. We managed to reconnect with the big picture threats and story, even though it’d been over a year since we’d played last. We plan on coming back to that for another mystery later this year. Likewise we’re planning on coming back to our Girl by Moonlight game– three months wasn’t enough so we’re going to add another two months to wrap the story. 

Here’s the thing: I have never, ever been able to do this with a face to face game. Every single hiatus or break for a campaign has resulted in that campaign dying out. And it wasn’t just me, I saw this happen to other GMs in the area. My late friend Barry was notorious for this– starting amazing high concept campaigns with energy, but then “taking a short break” which meant we’d never play again. 

Another one, Rob, had something of the opposite problem. He would run long, multi-year campaigns. Then at some point he would take a break for burnout or to recharge his batteries. Inevitably he never returned to these campaigns, leaving them so close to the finish line the players could see it. He would tease folks with the possibility of going back and finishing their stories, but never would. 

And I’m not innocent of this. But it has been a while since I “paused” a game as a way of ducking out. Now if it isn’t working I say that and call it or tell everyone and then steer into some kind of finale. That, like Barry and Rob above, comes from me as a GM not feeling it. 

MORTAL BELOVED

But then we have those games that I wanted to return to. The ones which never got finished because circumstances worked against them. Or the inertia of things pulled us away. Or the people changed in the intervening period. These I really mourn.

I ran a dynamite short Star Wars series which was intended to be the first movie,in a “new trilogy” (before the new trilogy actually came out). This Episode VII  absolutely clicked and I planned to do Episode VIII after a short break for another game. But by the time it was possible, that gaming group had reorganized. Other GMs’ new games took up the nights and players available. We never went back. 

We had a great Exalted Dragon-Blooded game that we had to hold off from because two of the players went through a divorce. We tried coming back to it, but the one member of the couple who returned clearly wasn’t feeling it. So we ended up dropping it. A similar thing happening with a wuxia game, using Storyteller, I ran with a great trio of players. When one of them unexpectedly decided to stop playing because he and his wife had issues, we had to close that down. Because he never actually told us, we never got to do a finale session. 

And, of course, COVID has killed a couple of my games. We had a long-running Sunday group, going on twenty years, but we ended that. Another campaign had been running for almost four years. I asked about transitioning to online, but one of the players (ironically the one who had kibosh’ed the wuxia game) refused to play online. So we went on hold, but I knew we would never come back. The other two f2f campaigns which we transitioned to online survived. One, 13th Age, eventually shifted back to in-person after a year and a half. The other remains online. 

But online games, somehow, have managed to survive these breaks. We’ve gone back and picked them up without missing a beat. I had a long-running Mutants & Masterminds campaign online where we broke up each arc with a different game. And it worked– each time we came back folks knew the world and were excited to play again, even if it’d been many months. 

BREAKING POINTS

So why?

I have theories. First, having an accessible, shared body of material really helps. Character keepers remain– people don’t can’t file away their characters sheets and lose them. They don’t feel like artifacts of something lost. You can review your own character and remind yourself who everyone else played. Keepers offer a strong, complete snapshot of where the game ended. That’s especially true if someone kept a running log of notes. An NPC tab with pictures goes a long way to reorienting people to the setting and situation.

Second, it is easy. You set a schedule and share links. It’s all there, ready and waiting for you. If someone can’t return you can hide their character in the keeper. Maybe they will come back eventually. It's easy to slot in new players to these kinds of ongoing campaigns. 

Third, you can return exactly to the space you left. You return to an online call– a timeless zone. Things may have changed, but generally you can fall back to a sense of familiarity. That goes a long way to establishing continuity. 

Fourth, it overcomes a certain inertia which applies to all online games. I’m a generally shy person; when I have to go somewhere physically, I don’t dig it. My brain looks for excuses not to go out into public. Online play clears away some of that. 

Fifth, online play– at least in our community— is built on a certain social contract. Players sign up for games– something which asks for a modest commitment to play on their part. That’s combined with a waiting list which means that if folks can’t show up, other people can be slotted in. That combines to create a pressure to actually show up or at least to work to make sure other people have access to those slots. Ironically I think that makes people more likely to show up. The act of just having a system makes it more likely folks will consider their attendance and participation.  

LAST EPISODES

Are there lessons we can take from those for non-online games going on breaks or hiatus? Maybe? I suspect having a shared folder– maybe of scanned documents and materials– would make it easy to come back. Likewise keeping a copy of everyone’s character sheet. NPC image collections can help as well– maybe with Pinterest sub-boards. Starting again online and then moving back to f2f might be a good way to gauge if everyone’s still on board. It might also be good, even if the game was more casual before, to set up a calendar and some kind of sign ups. That helps support and remind community members.

I have a handful of games I really want to go back to. In the past I would have considered those dead and buried, but know I’m not go sure. 

[dono-cho]

I do want to draw more HCs but have been playing Kenshi lately (it reminds me so much of old Fallout!!) 🥲

But! Will decide to sort of briefly write it here, it's about Dismas before the events of Darkest Dungeon 1.

15 years ago he rose up to become a bandit chief around the area, the Gutter Rats as the thieves call it. Thing is, that was Vvulf and his Wolves' turf too, and there was a gang war.

Funniest thing is that the D-man never carried about the power or influence but rogues flocked to him because he was just too damn good at robbing and killing.

Also in that 5 years of gang war (before a delicate balance of peace was achieved) Dismas kind of like, showed a bizarre talent for tactical strategy, it's the main reason how the Gutter Rats kept alive so long with the smaller size of influence they control

It did carry over to how he manages the Hamlet and their civilians and heroes, just one of the strange skills Reynauld notices he has