#first tabletop i've ever played

[telizere]

I still have a second edition Cyberpunk 2020 corebook gathering dust somewhere. Just so you know.

A big Thanks, I Hate It to CDPR for the Fury Road cameo in Cyberpunk 2077, demonstrating the fact that Night City is a crapsack setting where even the slim, but tenacious hope shown in MMFR gets obliterated right out the gate (specifically the gate out of Biotechnica Flats). Seriously, fuck you very much for kicking me right in the feels and not even bothering to hide the characters' names (seriously, it's so on the nose it doesn't even count as an easter egg at this point).

Now that I've gotten this out of my system... I kinda want to make and play a character in tabletop Cyberpunk based loosely on Max. An ex-cop, skirting the edge of cyberpsychosis, avoiding making friends just in case he loses someone again and gets pushed over the edge, but actually in dire need of people who would nurture his remaining humanity.

[prokopetz]

Something that pops up in my notes from time to time is folks thinking I'm being excessively kind in my criticisms of Dungeons & Dragons, and I'm going to spin this off into a separate thread to address that without putting anyone on the spot.

First, if your own critique of Dungeons & Dragons is rooted in the idea that it's the Worst Game Ever, that speaks more to the limits of your experience than it does to anything else. Dungeons & Dragons in any of its iterations is far from the worst the tabletop roleplaying hobby has to offer – like, you have no fucking idea!

Second, I tend to be even-handed in my discussion of D&D's rules because, fundamentally, the rules are not the problem – or, at least, not the principal cause of the problem.

In many ways, the indie RPG sphere has never escaped the spectre of Ron Edwards, sternly pronouncing that the mechanical process of playing traditional RPGs causes actual, physical brain damage, and that this brain damage is responsible for the bad behaviour we often observe at the table. We don't say it that way anymore, but on some level a lot of us indie RPG designers still kind of believe it.

This is understandable. As game designers, we're naturally inclined to think of problems at the table as game design problems. When we see a problematic culture of play, our impulse is to frame it as something which emerges from the text of the game, and which can therefore be mitigated by repairing the text of the game.

Confronted with the obvious toxicity of certain facets of D&D's culture of play, we go combing through its text, looking for something – some formalism, some structure, some piece of rules technology – which we can point to and say: "this is it; this is where the brain-worms live."

The trouble is, this is not in fact where the brain-worms live. Certainly, the text of a game, particularly a very popular one, can have some influence on the game's surrounding culture of play, but that text is in turn a reflection of the culture of play in which it was written. The Player's Handbook isn't an SCP object, spewing infectious infohazards everywhere when you crack open the cover – hell, I'd go so far as to say that many of the problems of D&D's culture of play operate in spite of the game's text, not because of it!

Basically, what I'm saying is that I don't see any contradiction between being the sort of pretentious knob who writes one-page indie RPGs about gay catgirls talking about their feelings (which I am), and speaking favourably about this or that piece of rules tech from whatever flavour of Dungeons & Dragons is in favour this week (which I do), because I recognise that you can't game-design your way out of a problem you didn't game-design your way into.

The fact that one of the biggest problems facing the tabletop roleplaying hobby is something that can't be repaired by fucking around with dice-rolling procedures is a bitter pill to swallow for a lot of indie game designers, and I won't say I wasn't resistant to it myself, but it's something that's both useful and necessary to accept.

(None of this means that the text of Dungeons & Dragons in any of its incarnations is beyond criticism on other grounds, of course, and I've never been shy about highlighting those criticisms where they're warranted. The only way you're gonna arrive at the conclusion that I'm some sort of D&D apologist is if you're starting from the presumption that The Real Problem Is The Rules.)

[hannahmanderr]

Listen I just love Danny who is unnaturally good at the most seemingly random hobbies/jobs thanks to his ghost powers. The kind of thing where you wonder why he would even be doing such a thing in the first place, but he does it so strangely perfectly that you're left wondering why you ever doubted. It only adds to the mystery that is Danny Fenton.

Obviously the cheer AU is part of this, but there are so many other possibilities. I know I've seen people talking about him learning magic tricks and illusions and being terrifyingly good at it.

He gets roped into doing a stint as a stage hand during the spring play (bc detention doesn't work as a punishment, so Lancer has the idea of giving him "community service". It works better than expected, and Danny finds himself enjoying it). All the theater kids can talk about is how good he is at moving things silently, how he can creep about without being seen at all, how he can help set off some really dazzling special effects.

People on his block start to pay him to get into their crawl spaces for various reasons, because he manages to get in and out and maneuver about way better and faster than an actual professional.

All the athletes in the school start to wonder how he got so good at identifying injuries and helping remedy them, but he's just so fast and precise that they don't complain. More than one person jokes about how he should become a trainer.

After witnessing his tactical prowess during the events of "Pirate Radio," students start coming up to him to help them develop strategies for sports plays or debates or, in one case, a tabletop RPG campaign. He's not as good at figuring it out beforehand as he is at figuring it out in the heat of the moment, but that doesn't stop people. Dash can be seen more than once at the very edge of the sideline, asking him about certain plays.

Feel free to add on more ideas if you have them. I just love things that only add to the mystery that is Danny Fenton.

[ladytabletop]

Lady Tabletop's Primer for Getting into Tabletop Roleplaying Game Design Philosophy

Sam Dunnewold over at the Dice Exploder podcast has posed a fun question to his discord server: where would you tell people to start if they wanted to know more about TTRPGs and design?

First and foremost, I'd tell people to start with @jdragsky's article about Systems of Relation.

With the benefit of hindsight, I can now understand that the games we played on the playground were identical in nature to the tabletop RPGs I would grow up to play and help design.

Next, check out Thomas Manuel's analysis of the Axes of Game Design over on the Indie RPG Newsletter.

So the basic exercise is trying to figure out the standard axes or spectrums on which every game can fit. The idea is for these axes to be as descriptive and objective as possible.

Thirdly (and lastly for the purposes of this blog - it's entry-level, not comprehensive), check out this reddit thread about lonely fun.

The Lonely Fun is all of the stuff you do as a part of your hobby away from the table, in any way you might engage. For D&D 5e players, this is usually building complicated and elaborate characters on the page, pouring over the books for new races and subclasses, figuring out fun new combinations, and carefully crafting characters.

Read those? Now check out BALIKBAYAN: Returning Home by @temporalhiccup

Will we be able to outrun our Masters and those who hunt us down? Can we use our magic to bring about the rebirth of the city and all Elementals? ill this be our RECKONING or our HOMECOMING? That’s what we play to find out.

Why I make these particular recommendations below the cut.

All of these recommendations are hopefully all entry-level. I tried to stay away from any essays, blogs, or articles that reference game movements you may not have heard of or that require tons of reading before you can even read my recommendations. Some do have links to other stuff, and if you're enjoying the writing, definitely go down those rabbit holes! These are a tiny, tiny portion of my "TTRPG Homework" folder where I save essays, podcasts, etc that have helped me in my own game design journey. I'm always happy to share more, just ask!

The essay on Systems of Relation put into words something I had been thinking about the more I got into indie games/design: I've been playing my whole life, and ttrpgs are just another piece of that. I think it's crucial to break out of the framework of people trying to define play and games into neat little categories. Will I ever write a game as good as the ones I played in the backyard with my siblings? Probably not, but I'd like to find out.

Now that I've told you to stop trying to categorize games, we have an article about trying to categorize games. But I do like Thomas's assessment and examples of using game design axes. I think as designers it's important to figure out the things the game is trying to do and communicate, so that we can make sure it does those things well.

Lastly, I know 5e gets a bad rap (and it's gotten it from me, too!). But the concept of lonely fun has stuck in my craw since I first saw this thread. It's why some people prefer to GM (and therefore why GM-less games might not work for some people). Not all games are going to have lonely fun, but the ones that do are still going to appeal to people! This thread was key for me in terms of considering that no game is for everyone, and it shouldn't try to be, and also helped contextualize the enjoyment I get from the occasional high-prep game.

Balikbayan as a recommendation was a no-brainer for me. I'm not going to say it's the most elegant or tight of Rae's work, but it's the one with the most heart for me. The story this game wants you to tell is so clear, and as an introduction to "Belonging Outside Belonging" as a system/concept/design philosophy. This game really sings in its character concepts and emotional play.

If you've read this far, congratulations! I've been enjoying the DE podcast (even when I don't agree with some of the takes) and the discord has been a cool (if at times intimidating) place to hang out. I've had a hell of a game design journey this year and I'm so excited to keep learning, and to see what media other folks participating in this blog carnival recommend!

To sign off: my best advice to designers, especially those starting out can be boiled down to three things:

When in doubt, simplify or make it silly

The two cakes theory is your best friend - game design is not a competition

Not everything has to be finished. Not every part of the creative process is fun. Find the balance between these two truths (you're going to have to do that every day).

Best,

LT

[bogleech]

I wanted to ask, if you're into tabletop wargaming at all what do you think of necromolds? It's something made as a kid's first wargaming experience and it's a lot of fun where you use spellbook molds and clay to make your units and your unit limit is only decided by how much clay you have and then when you defeat a unit you get to smash it with a ring along with some really simple wargaming rules.

I've never gotten to play tabletop wargaming myself! I just admire it from afar. But it looks like this game would have absolutely blown my mind as a kid. Even the colors on the box. This is the most 80's thing I've ever seen come out in the 2020's.

[tlonista]

A whole mess of Astarion hurt/comfort fanfic recs

OK fine I've read so much Astarion hurt/comfort-adjacent fic that I should really put together an incomplete rec list. Be warned that with Astarion's canon backstory there's a lot of abuse and assault references of varying explicitness, so check the AO3 tags. I'm also limiting myself to one fic per author because otherwise I'd end up with several pages of Asidian and FlowerCitti. In case you're wondering, my personal contribution to the field is Seducere.

Ongoing Fics:

innocence died screaming by FlowerCitti

Comprehensive pre- and in-canon Astarion character study. Contains possibly the most heartwrenching post-Astarion-locked-tomb-era turn I've ever read. Very good.

Another Path by Asidian

A sweet Wyllstarion monster hunter x monster no-tadpole AU in which Astarion gets captured/rescued by Wyll straight out of a year in a coffin and navigates basic human kindness for the first time in a couple centuries.

Seen by ayvaines

Modern Bloodweave AU where Cazador is Astarion's cruel, controlling boyfriend and Gale is the kind D&D GM who's hosting them both in a game. As makes sense for a modern AU, it's a more-understated-than-canon take on Astarion coming to terms with the fact that he's in an abusive relationship, working out his feelings about Cazador through tabletop roleplaying, including some clever scenes dealing with the bleed of intense RPG sessions.

Heartbeats by LadyRagnelle

Canon-divergent Durgestarion fic where Astarion was recaptured by his siblings, memory-wiped, and then rescued by a team of companions he no longer remembers. A lot of well-executed (and sometimes surprisingly funny) angst around Astarion, charlatan that he is, trying to pretend he hasn't forgotten absolutely everything including how to be a non-level-1 rogue and have friends.

The stars began to burn by peregrinefeathers

Gale is trapped in fantasy nullspace and gets Astarion free of Cazador's clutches, after which they navigate an odd-couple relationship while trying to kill Cazador and pull Gale back into the physical world. Another classic "Astarion learns what human decency is" no-tadpole AU.

Memoir by IzzyIzGay

An Interview with the Vampire-style fic in which Astarion tells Gale about his time under Cazador, playing with that series' trademark unreliable narration and an unusually literal version of Cazador's creepy family dynamic.

Starved by neo7v

A modern non-magical Bloodweave AU featuring Astarion and the lonely degradation of a precarious service industry job! Only a few chapters so far, but seriously, it takes the "vampiric starvation" theme in a direction that's very mundane and miserable and compelling and it's one of my favorite recently started fics.

Unexpected Guests by Erandir

Another "get loved and cared for, sucker" no-tadpole AU featuring a non-Tav druid OC taking care of a lost Astarion who's escaped Baldur's Gate. Astarion and druids, the perfect foil.

Through The Night Dark And Drear by JJJSchmidt

Astarion is accidentally bargained off to an archfey by Cazador and taken to the palace of infuriatingly confusing fair folk magic! There's still a lot of story left to be uncovered, but I love the worldbuilding and fairy-tale premise.

snare by parsnipit

A Halstarion fic where Astarion never got tadpoled and the gang ends up rescuing him from Cazador, post-game, with his compulsions very much intact. Which leads naturally to hissing wet cat Astarion reluctantly learning to trust Halsin while they plot to take down Cazador.

One-Shots:

Quick Step by starkraving

starkraving's another person who could have made up a big chunk of this list, and this character study plays really well on the classic "how the hell does Astarion know how to be a rogue anyway" fandom conversation. My favorite entry in a good and growing series of Astarion-centered fics.

Gifts by Feena_c

Astarion gets caught by Cazador before the confrontation at the palace. Impeccable "Cazador doesn't realize Astarion didn't just come back to Baldur's Gate, he came back loved" vibe, as Cazador tries to break Astarion by taking away the gifts the tadpole gang gave him along the way.

What is Affection but the Absence of Cruelty by Aztec24

One of my favorite tropes is "Astarion tortures himself by obsessively imagining how awful these perfectly nice people will be to him," and this very much delivers. Featuring a rare two-Tavs-plus-Astarion throuple!

The Mimic by ForsakenFlyingCircus

This is really hurt-no-comfort, but I'm including it because it's a good super sad take on dehumanization with an awful Tav confirming all the worst things Astarion thinks about himself and the world, touching on the whole problem of sentient monsters in D&D.

Peel the scars from off my back by WitchyBee

A Spawn Family fic in the aftermath of Astarion getting Cazador's contract on his back - lots of antagonistic but grudgingly caring sibling interaction and Astarion being satisfyingly ambivalent about it all.

Complete Multi-Chapter Fic:

Just A Taste by NightmareGiraffe

The tadpole gang gets imprisoned at Moonrise Towers and Astarion accepts an offer from Araj Oblodra in exchange for their freedom. A very dark yet totally in-character elaboration on the canon blood merchant encounter, plus a cool dragonborn Tav.

The Accountant’s Guide to Taking Down an Evil Vampire Lord (and maybe bagging Astarion while you are at it) by Cinnamontails

A charming f!OC-who-isn't-Tav/Astarion longfic that combines hurt/comfort with het romance novel conventions, which I feel like is rarely pulled off.

And I know there's a ton I missed here -- god this fandom is big.

[thecoppercompendium]

As it's halloween, I want to talk about the first thing I ever published!

I've been designing tabletop stuff for years, primarily for D&D 5e, though not exclusively. I just never published any of it. It wasn't good enough, you know? I suspect a lot of aspiring designers can get behind that sentiment.

Anyway, at this point I was playing in a semi-regular game of, you guessed it, D&D 5e. However, our halloween session had a problem - we wouldn't have everyone, so we couldn't play the campaign. Talk of a oneshot sprang up. Dread was suggested - it was easy, designed for oneshot play, and required minimal prep.

I'd seen Dread played on Oxventure a few times and loved the idea, so I volunteered to run it. I wrote that oneshot on the most scrappy piece of lined paper you ever did see. I might still have it somewhere - if I find it I'll reblog this with a picture. I did not expect it to be good. I did not expect the amount of tension as the tower grew taller and taller. I definitely did not expect the amount of praise I got for my scrappy oneshot. It got me thinking.

The sketch in question

Over the next few days I drew up a sketch of the areas the group had explored and sent it to the group. Over the next few months, scrappy piece of lined paper in front of me, I began to type it up, format it. I was in no hurry, this was just for fun.

That was 2022. I published The Depths in April 2023. Since then I've published 17 more games and supplements. If you're looking for a sign to take the leap and publish something, consider this your sign. It's great fun, and the barrier to entry is much, much lower than you think.

All this to say - go make things! You won't regret it!

(If you want to get The Depths, or any of my other system-agnostic horror oneshots, they're all on sale for a few more days. You can also get one of them, Sleepwalking, at whatever price you choose at any point.)

[theresattrpgforthat]

Boo!!! Halloween Trick or Treat! 🎃

Oop! You scared me! Time to get tricked!

Say hello to @christiansorrell of Meatcastle Games!

Christian is the first tabletop designer that I've ever met in meatspace, which I think is so so neat considering his studio's name. They have a lot of really tightly designed adventures for various OSR hits, including Mothership, Liminal Horror, and Mork Borg.

Christian also releases his own unique projects. I've played A Sunless Space, which is a distillation of the main highlights of Andor into a single game session. Christian is also currently working on his own game, Tacticians of Ahm, which is heavily inspired by Final Fantasy, and includes a grid-battle system that should please anyone who loves moving little guys around on a map.

Finally, Christian does a lot of work for other creators, including editing - they've done work on HOME (a Mech x Kaiju game), Cloud Empress, and Green Horns, a weird space rpg, just to name a few.

[sabrinahawthorne]

It's time for... Tabletop Trick or Treat!!!!

The secretary bird stands in the doorway of an incongruously well-kept home, one leg lifted. After a moment, it thrusts its head to the side, out of your view. When it retracts, it holds a cracked, barely funcitonal smartphone in its beak. It drops the phone roughly at your feet. When you squint past the white-grey fuzz of cracks which comprise the majority of the screen, you can make out a webpage:

I should disclose here that I have a personal relationship with M. E. Smith. We've worked together before, and I often turn to them for advice when I'm too deep in the forest to see trees.

Nonetheless, I maintain that they're one of the most off-the-bat talented designers I've ever met. The five works currently on their page are in fact their first five works, and each of them are - to be blunt - fucking enchanting. Smith has a skill for packing flavor and color into few words that I envy. My personal favorite is Worlds In-Between, which I've had the pleasure of playing, and which I strongly recommend.

The bird screeches at you and sprints off down the road; there's a length of toilet paper stuck to one of its feet.

[cellythefloshie]

;; Tainted Love 500 Follower Celebration

Summary: The stars seem to align for the first time when you and Ross Colton meet up for drinks while the Colorado Avalanche are in town. But it's a dangerous game you're playing because the spark is still there and is hard to ignore even with the both of you being spoken for. Kinks & Tropes: CHEATING (putting this in all caps because I want to make sure it's clear. It is a very prominent theme in this fic), alcohol consumption, car sex, unprotected sex, no forms of contraception used, pull-out method, dirty talk Word Count: 4.5k+

I've got to get away from the pain you drive into the heart of me.

The cold, caught somewhere between a fall and winter wind, reddened your cheeks more than blush ever could. It stung as you walked through the quiet streets; you head down and the collar of your jacket popped in a desperate attempt to stay home. It was late, the only life seen in the bars and restaurants on either side of you as you passed. The streets were empty, the bustle of traffic long forgotten. The only vehicle was a single cab picking up patrons or dropping them off. There were still four hours until closing time. 

This, usually, was late enough for you to crawl into bed. You'd throw on a Netflix show, or listen to an audio book until you fell asleep. But you made plans. With your boyfriend out of town, you shouldn't have, but you did. 

You felt like you had to, because this might have been the only opportunity you had to see Ross. 

In town for one night only, and with his curfew broadened just because they had granted him more time to spend with his family, you couldn't say no. You never had said no to him either. The two of you shared a connection like you couldn't describe. Ever since you had first met on a dating app after one casual swipe in the right direction, you had clicked.

And even after the first date didn't work out, the encounter lasted no more than 5 minutes. You still kept in touch. You would get the occasional check in text. But beyond that, the two of you had gone your separate ways. 

You had your boyfriend, and months later he had his girl. And your respective relationships remained unbroken, fully committed. But in time, even after months of not speaking to one another, you always ended up in each other's messages. Just to catch up, nothing more, always innocent - or at least, that was what you told yourselves. 

And that's what meeting up in a bar you'd never been to would be. Just catching up over a drink. Nothing more. 

That was what you told yourself when you stopped at the front door, her head tipping back to look up at the dimly lit sign. Your body quivered with a shaky breath. 

Nerves? No. Ross never made you nervous. 

You knew what you were feeling, but you couldn't admit it to yourself. It was wrong. Yet, you did it anyway. 

You were greeted with a gust of warmth, a smile spreading over your face as you entered the busy bar. Bodies crowded around the bar top, music blared, and each television was broadcasting one sports event or another. 

Finding a table near the back, the broadcast talking about tomorrow's Devil's game was a welcome distraction. You watched it as you draped your jacket over the back of your chair, and as you glanced over the menu, you had pulled up on your phone with the help of the QR code stuck on the tabletop. It was a distraction more than anything. You almost always ordered the same drink, no matter where you went. You just wanted to look busy until Ross arrived. 

He announced his arrival discretely to not draw the attention of the surrounding people. He did it simply by speaking your name as his hand caressed over the small of your back in a featherlight touch. 

Your smile was too wide as you answered him, “Ross.”

Without thought, you stood up from your seat and threw your arms around him in a brief embrace. And he returned it, the strength of his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close. And for a moment, the two of you just stood there - just long enough to enjoy his embrace, but not long enough for it to be awkward. Then, your limbs fell away from him so naturally as you perched yourself back up on your chair. 

From there, you admired him as he rounded the table to sit across from you. Ross was over dressed in every sense of the word. He wore a white button down, your eyes drawn to the black buttons that trailed down his chest, and he shrugged off his sports coat, the color one you couldn't quite make out under the dim multi-color lights of what you deemed a dive bar. 

He draped the coat over the back of his chair, and his eyes that were bright with his smile found you. 

“I'm a bit over dressed, huh?” His question laced with a chuckle as he sat. 

You nodded. “Just a bit.” 

“Just came from dinner with the family,” he explained, as if you needed one. You weren't going to complain. He looked good in a suit. There were worse things you could get stuck looking at. 

“How was it? They must have been excited to see you.” 

And that was how the conversation began. So effortlessly, so naturally, as you moved from one topic to the next. His family, yours, how he had settled into Colorado, his girlfriend, your boyfriend. You talked about it all over a drink that quickly led to two. 

Once you finished sucking back nothing more than melted ice cubes from the bottom of your glass, you were cursing yourself for being such a lightweight. You could feel the buzz of alcohol coursing through you. The jitters in your hands, and the racing of your heart in your chest. One drink more and your brain would have fogged, but there wouldn't be another. 

It was late, and Ross was already asking for the bill. 

He paid it in full. 

“Thank you, you didn't have to do that,” you said as you stood up from your seat. Thankfully, you didn't waver on your feet. 

“You can cover it next time,” he said in such a way you believed him. 

But you knew there wouldn't be a next time. He would be flying back to Colorado after the game, and he had a girlfriend. You had a boyfriend. It couldn't happen again. It shouldn't. 

Together, you shrugged on your coats in the first awkward silence of the evening. Was this where you should say goodbye? Should you let him go on ahead and order yourself some water?

“Let me walk you to your car?” Ross’ voice cut through the silence. He had made up your mind for you. 

You nodded. “Yeah, sure. That'd be great.”

Keeping your head down, you left the bar together. Ross’ frame leading the way through the crowd that was now dwindling. It would be closing time soon. 

Stepping out into the cold air, you took in a sharp exhale. Its harshness almost left you light headed - or maybe that was the alcohol. 

You should have drunk some water. 

“I'm parked just up this way,” you told him and began the walk along the sidewalk with a casual stride. 

You walked together, your arms bumping up against one another with each casual stride. The contact left a soft smile on your lips, your gaze rising to look at him out of the corner of your eye. His hands had dipped into his pockets, and his collar popped to keep himself from the cold. And you stared for a moment, admiring how the city light reflected off his features. And how it ignited his too-perfect smile when he caught you staring. 

“You look amazing tonight,” his voice cut through the silent street, sending goosebumps to rise on your skin. 

Your smile tugged a little tighter at your cheeks. 

He shouldn't be giving you a compliment like that. You shouldn't have liked hearing them. But you didn't stop them. 

“Thanks, but I feel a little underdressed.”

Ross’ smile split wider, and a laugh erupted from his lips as he threw his head back. It was a laugh so comforting, so familiar, that it warmed your entire body as you came to stand in the empty parking lot where your vehicle sat alone. 

“This is me,” you gestured to the mid size SUV with the lazy sway of your arm. 

“Well,” he sighed out almost hesitantly, “it was really nice seeing you-”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah it was.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, smiles on your faces and your eyes fixated on one another. Unmoving. Not quite wanting to leave. 

Then, he was stepping forward, his arms encasing you in his embraces, and your arms winding around him in return. Your cheek rested against his chest, his warmth radiating to you as he held you. You stood there, your eyes shutting for a moment as you relished in the feeling of him. The feeling of his arms wrapped around your body. The feeling of his hands on your back, and one dipping down. Down to where your ass peeked out from the edge of your jacket. There he gave it a gentle squeeze, and you could feel his gentle exhale as your own was trapped in your own chest. 

He shouldn't have touched you like that. 

You shouldn't have let him. 

And you shouldn't have liked it. 

Drawing back slowly, you tilted your head back to look up at him. And Ross was looking back down at you. His bright eyes were half closed in a dreamy gaze and the corners of his smile had gone soft, leaving his lips slightly parted as he let out each exhale. 

It washed over your face in a blossom of heat, and smelt of the sweet alcohol on his tongue. Ross’ face was so close to yours you could practically taste it–no, you just wanted to. 

“Good luck tomorrow,” you muttered out a quiet goodbye, your limbs not ready to recoil away from his body yet. 

“You should come, I can get you a ticket,” he offered, his words a breath into your hair that ignited your skin as he spoke. 

“I might take you up on it,” you told him, but you wouldn't. 

“I'll see you soon,” Ross sighed, his words igniting your skin as he spoke. 

Yeah, sure you will. Was what you wanted to say. To mock him with those words and a hint of a laugh. Because you knew how this would go. You would go home tonight, and Ross would go back to the hotel room. He would ask if you made it home safe, and you would answer. But then you wouldn't hear from him for days, weeks, maybe months until you crossed his mind again, or he was left with the lonely opportunity to message you. 

Instead, you said nothing, and you smiled a soft, tired smile. 

It was then his hands fell away from you, his touch trailed down your curves, ghosting over the peaks of your hips before you were void of his touch, his warmth, and left numb by his absence. 

So suddenly you felt cold, empty as you stood there in the parking lot. Your head spun, your eyes shutting tight as you tried to process a single thought. But there, as you sought for reason, for logic, there was only action. 

Your arm lurched out before you could stop it, and your hand found what it was looking for as fingers wrapped around Ross’ wrist and dragged down to coast over his palm. Your fingers traced over each crease slowly until you could feel his fingers so close to slipping away, but then his hand captured your hand in return. 

The sudden grasp of your hands together had his body recoiling into your own. There was a moment of tension in your arms before Ross stepped back into his place in front of you. Then, he took another step, forcing you to step back again and again until you were trapped between his body and your car door. He didn’t say a word, and neither did you. You didn’t have to. You could see all of what he wanted to say in the look of his eyes and how they searched yours so desperately for what you wanted from him. 

But what was it that you wanted? 

You said your goodbyes, yet it didn’t feel like enough. It never did, and that was probably why you so desperately clung to any kind of relationship with him. To fill and satisfy a void your boyfriend left in you, but also in hope that one day have the satisfaction of being with him the way you always thought you might but never could be. 

You had always run to Ross in a sense, especially during hardships. He knew you better than most, and he knew more of your secrets than anyone - and you were the same for him. Through tears and through laughter, the love you shared was unique. Unlike any other. Tainted. So close to friendship, but there would always be more. 

And for the first time, it truly felt like you could finally cross those lines together. With his girlfriend back in Colorado, and your boyfriend away on business, it almost felt like fate that the two of you were left alone in New Jersey together. 

His girlfriend didn’t know you existed, but you knew about her. 

Your boyfriend didn’t know he existed, but Ross knew about him. 

The two of you knew every little detail of each other's lives with your partners and helped each other through problems in your relationships that no one else seemed to understand. And it all seemed to be for nothing as you stood there in the night just waiting, hoping that he would kiss you. 

You held your breath as Ross’ hand came up to stroke over your cheek. His touch was so warm, so gentle, that it left your every thought melting from your brain. You held no worry, only anticipation that coiled in the depths of your stomach and left your limbs to tremble. All you could focus on was his fingertips and how they traced every angle of your cheek, down over your jaw, and finally to your lips that quivered with an uneven breath. 

It left your chest aching as you held the softened gaze of his eyes as they moved in as he closed the distance between you. You managed a single jagged breath before it was stolen from you, the warmth of his mouth all consuming as the kiss started in what was the careful brush of his lips against your own. 

Then, it was like a dam broke. 

There was no innocence in how Ross kissed you. His teeth moved hungrily against you, mouth open, and tongues gliding along one another before teeth clashed and desperate inhales were taken before you both dove further into self indulgence. It left you dizzy, your body pressed firmly back into the dirty door of your car. There, Ross knocked your legs just a single step apart and wedged a single leg between yours. You could feel him against the inside of each of your thighs, and so close to their apex. With just the single tilt of your hips, you could have ground yourself against him. Instead, you fumbled in your coat pockets for your keys. 

Your fingers moved over the buttons blindly in your pocket, moving over one button and then the other until the lights flickered and you heard the locks disengage. The loud thud was like the gunshot at the beginning of a race. You couldn’t move your hands fast enough, and neither could he as you both reached for the same door handle, his hand gripped your, gripping it and pulling open. It sent you stumbling away from the door and into his body that helped you into the backseat of your car. 

It was a spacious SUV. One you had slept in the back seat of on a road trip years ago. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it was what you had, so it would do. You crawled up the length of the bench seats, giving Ross room to climb in behind you - but there was no space left between you when you heard the door shut firmly behind him. 

His hands were quick to find your body, his grasp so firm on your hips to draw you back into him. Your bodies were a knotted mess as you tried to get situated in the back, the driver’s side seat digging into your front, then your side, and finally your back as you threw your leg over his to straddle him. With his warmth back between your thighs, you stripped off your coat to try to ignore just how hot he made you. Tossing it aside, your hands were freed to explore. Your hands found his body, your touch stroking over the angles of his own face as you kissed him, tasted him. 

You were sure you had kissed him once before, but it had been so long you had forgotten the taste he left on your tongue. It was intoxicating, coaxing a moan up your lips as your hands found their place to rest knotted in the dark wisps of his hair. You toyed with the locks that would threaten to curl if they were only a little longer, as his hands trailed down the curves of your body. Ross caressed just under your breast, his thumb curiously reaching up and grazed just shy of your pert nipple that was pressing into the inside of your bra with the desperation of wanting to be touched. Then, his hands dipped lower over the circle of your waist, the rushed movement wrinkling the fabric, leaving the small of your back exposed. 

Touching your skin was like adding gasoline to an already raging fire. It sent Ross’ lips wandering from yours as his fingers stroked your soft, exposed flesh. His kiss traveled down over your chin, tickled your neck, and found your collarbone with a playful nip. It sent your heart racing. 

He knew you would like that. 

But you had to be careful. 

“No marks,” you breathed out, your eyes shutting as you tried to ignore why that had to be. 

“Yeah,” he breathed out quickly, “yeah, got it.”

With your exchange, it brought you both to a pause. Your chests heaved for breath, and your eyes seemed to look at everything except at each other. A decision needed to be made. You could stop before things could get any more complicated, or Ross could take off your shirt as he so desperately seemed to want to as his hand dragged along its delicate hem. 

You bit your lower lip firmly as you tried to look out the already fogged window. You could see the rainbow of colors that were the city lights shining through each drip of condensation. Focusing on a single droplet, you followed it down to the edge of the window and took a breath that escaped you with a sigh.

You knew what you wanted to do, but before you could say anything, Ross’ voice filled the air, “We don’t have to-”

Your head snapped to look in his direction. “You don’t want to?”

“That’s not what I'm saying,” he answered slowly, his teeth biting his own lip as his eyes fixated on yours. 

You knew what he was getting at. You were nervous, hesitant, but you knew you wanted this. You just needed the assurance that he wanted you as badly as you wanted him. 

“Ross…” you breathed out his name. It was the very beginning of the thought that threatened the very tip of your tongue, and that was left strangled in your throat as you felt Ross grip the swells of your hips. 

He held you firm in each hand, and with that hold, he guided you back and forth over his lap. Your hips angled instantly, grinding your needy core over the expense of his lap. You moved to and fro with his moments, and quivered at the feeling of his stiff cock beneath the thick seam of your jeans. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked you, his words slow and clear. He knew what he wanted, but he needed to hear it from you, too. Ross needed you to make the decision on your own, and to hear it from your own lips, even if he had already made up his mind for himself. 

“I-” you gasped out, your heart beating up into your ears like drums. It pulsed through your body, right through to your core that throbbed against the stiff outline of his cock. 

You should have told him to stop. 

You should have pulled your coat back on and sent him on his way. 

But you didn’t. 

“Don’t you dare,” you answered him after a moment, your voice stern, “just,” you took in a long inhale, “let’s be quick - unbutton your pants.”

Your bodies strained in the tight place as you both fought close quarters to undo your pants. You leaned back against the driver's seat to try to get the angle just right to work your jeans down, while Ross pressed down onto his heels and lifted his hips up high to work his hands just low enough for his cock to spring free. 

And while his pants rested around his knees, and that’s all he needed to do to be ready for you, you struggled. You let out a frustrated huff as the head of the driver’s seat dug into your back, and your arms fought the tight denim down your hips. The awkwardness left you slipping. Ross’ hand was quick to catch you before you could fall awkwardly onto him and his stiff cock that was so exposed, hard and ready for you to take him. 

“I got it,” Ross’ words were a rushed promise, his hands gripping the fabric and pulling them down your legs until they rested on the floor of the car with your shoes - but your panties they remained. You watched as Ross admired them for a moment. The simple pale colored lace that looked gray in the darkness. 

Your core clenched as his finger toyed with them, pushing and tugging at the fabric as he lured you back in close to him. And when you were a mere breath away, his finger dipped beneath the fabric and dragged along your slick core, if only just to tease you as he pulled the damned fabric to the side. 

“I wish I could enjoy you, the way you deserve to be enjoyed,” Ross hummed out, his hand guiding you forward to hover above the very tip of his cock. 

You nearly quivered at his words. Many times, he had told you how he would fuck you. How he would enjoy tasting your sweet cunt on his tongue before leaving you moaning as you took his cock like the slut girl you were. But there was no time for those luxuries. 

Angling yourself over his cock, you took hold of it in your cold hand carefully. The hiss that left his lips left your grinning, but it was him that was left with the last laugh as he thrust up into your wet cunt, leaving you overtaken by a pathetic whimper that came with the feeling of taking his cock inside you for the very first time. 

“You like that?” Ross asked you in a whisper, his hands remaining firm on your hips to guide him along his cock with the slow roll of your hips. 

You nodded feebly, your mouth opening to tell him just how good his cock felt, only to unleash a moan instead. 

“Look at you,” his grin grew, “so pretty as you take my cock, and taking it so well you don’t even have the words to tell me - and you’ve always been so good with your words,” he purred, “such a shame really.” 

Ross reached up with his hand, his fingers stroking over your lips as you were left on the verge of another moan. One you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of having just yet. 

“I like when you tell me what a dirty slut you are,” his thumb tugged at your lower lip playfully as he thrust up hard into your cunt, coaxing that moan you had choked back into the depth of your throat, “but you sure do have a pretty moan.”

Your core clenched around his cock at the compliment, your hands lurching forward to grip at the leather head rest behind him. 

“Shut up,” you spoke through grit teeth. 

“Oh?” he raised a brow up, his heels digging into the floor again and thrusting so deep your body couldn’t physically take him any further. “You don’t like when I talk dirty to you?”

Your core clenched again, then you gasped, “no, I-”

You moaned again, your entire body reverberating with the sound. 

“You’re so close, I can fucking feel how desperate you are on my cock.” Ross didn’t bite his tongue. He liked to see you so close to the verge of pleasure, practically melting in front of him, and your cunt flexing around him. 

With weak legs, you met every single thrust, but it wasn’t enough. Not for him and not for you, either. 

Ross gripped the fleas of your ass firm in both hands and used it as leverage as he lifted you up and guided you to lay out on the leather seats all without leaving the warm wet embrace of your cunt. With you sprawled out, Ross gripped your hips and guided your legs to wrap around his hips just right. Every thrust made you tingle, made you moan, and soon your toes were curling, your body near recoiling with pleasure. Yet, he thrust through each wave, through every flex of your core, sending his eyes rolling back in his own pleasure. 

“I’m close,” he choked out, your heart suddenly racing with panic. 

“Pull out,” you told him, voice stern, “I’m not, fuck I’m not on the pill. Pull out.”

“What?” he seemed shocked, his cock still buried deep inside you for a thrust, then another before he pulled out and found the warm embrace of his own hand. 

You lay there, panting, legs still quivering, as he worked himself through his climax. His face softened, his body arching over you as he painted the inside of your thighs and the leather seats with his cum. 

“Should have given me a heads up,” he panted out after a moment. 

“Would it have changed anything?” You countered. 

His head shook, “no, but I would have gotten you to suck me off or something-”

“You wish,” you shoved him playfully, “now, get your pants back on.”

Ross settled back into the seat the two of you had started in, but you remained laying there for a moment. You were seeing stars as you stared up at the ceiling, your one hand dipping between your legs and swiping over your cunt to make sure there had been no accidents before you put your panties back into place. Then, each of your moments had to be deliberate. The cum on the inside of your thighs had already begun to dry, but the cum on the seats was still hot and sticky. You couldn’t risk getting it on any of your clothes. It would have to be something you had to clean up before you got home, but first, you had to say your goodbyes. 

You pulled your pants up slowly in silence, then your shoes before you heard the door open and the cold night air infiltrated the car. It sent a shiver coursing through you, your hands desperately reaching for your coat as you slipped out of the car behind him. 

“Are you good to drive home?” Ross asked slowly, his hands in his pocket. 

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Message me when you get in?”

You looked to your empty driver seat, “yeah, just-” you sighed gently knowing you would be going back to the apartment you shared with your boyfriend even if it was empty for the next week, “don’t be surprised if you’re blocked in the morning when you try to message me.”

Ross’ feature faltered into a frown. “Regretting me already?”

Your heart sank. You didn’t know how to feel, or how you would feel in the morning when you had the night to fully comprehend the choices you had made. 

“Regret you? Nah, never.” You gave him a reassuring smile as you stepped in, your hands on his chest as you pressed up to give him a goodnight kiss. It was a soft, gentle kiss, one that had you pulling back like the gentle rise and fall of waves until he pulled you back in with both hands and kissed you deeply, making sure that you left with the taste of him on your lips. 

Then, you got into the driver's seat of your car, and brought the engine to life with the turn of your key. It reeked of sex, of cum, but it was nothing a good wash and a new air freshener couldn’t mask - but even then as you sat there, your eyes fixed on Ross as he stood there in the parking lot, watching you leave, you barely noticed the smell. No, the heavy feeling in your chest was too distracting. This time really felt like a goodbye. And not just a goodbye for now, but a goodbye forever. 

[littlestpersimmon]

I just discovered your art and you have *such* a uniquely gorgeous style! It's so soft and so vivid at the same time that looking at it feels like wandering into a childhood daydream. I'll absolutely be keeping an eye on your future commission slots - take care! <3

thank you! it really means a lot to me. I like "living in the past", or like, I always try to draw these distant memories I have of sitting near dad while he played a bunch of tabletops with his friends and making my own version of all the stuff they did. There was a lot of dark fantasy and warhammer, but my first real and vivid memory was when my dad took me to see the two towers at the cinemas- I just remember thinking about lord of the rings over and over.. Eventually watched Bakshi's cartoons and read all the books. When we were homeless, my mom gifted me a copy of Beren and Luthien and for the longest time, that book was the only possession I've ever had.

And I guess looking back on it, everything from my childhood seem so much brighter and more. Saturated. And drawing is the only gateway I can make back to those memories and stories. And the only way I can truly connect with people.

Here's my childhood copy of the hobbit!

[goodluckclove]

In Defense of Self-Inserts

This is written in response to an ask sent from the Always Delightful @fukurouonthesea, who asked for my thoughts on creating unique characters in regards to a tabletop game character they're building. My first thought on getting this question is that Fukuro likely assumes unique characters are a subject I know things about - good to hear! Good that people assume I know things! That works out well for me.

So I can speak more on the perspective of writing characters for prose and scripts rather than TTRPGs. I recently finished my first campaign, but I was sort of tricked into playing by my wife who was DM-ing and ended up going the whole time with a joke character I really couldn't find any actual dramatic pathos in*. My next attempt will hopefully be more intentionally-crafted. But also still probably chaotic. I tend to lean that way, apparently.

But characters! How do you do them? Or, more accurately, how do I do them? There's a ton of paths to get to the same goal of Cool Guy That's Fun To Read About, but I'd love to take this opportunity to put off actually working on Migration Patterns for a while longer and instead ramble about something I've been wanting to dive into for a while.

Self-inserts are actually super useful! They're great! All of my characters are self-inserts and virtually no one has ever commented on that! I genuinely don't think they've noticed!

(this is a long one)

What is a self-insert, really? The definition I'm the most familiar with in writing is a character drawing (maybe even heavily drawing) from yourself as the author. I saw people back in the day get very mean about self-inserts, considering them an overlap with the Original Sin of Mary Sue-dom. It's 2024, though, and these days Mary Sue is primarily a term used to describe female characters that a critic personally doesn't like. Still, I've had a TON of writers come to me worrying about writing self-inserts, and I'm consistently confused.

Maybe it's because I've been doing this for long enough that I've built up an immunity to the dumb nonsense people say online posing as "Objective Writing Advice". Maybe it's because I'm a huge fan of Kurt Vonnegut, a man who straight up wrote himself as a side character in a few of his most notable books. I've never gone that far, but I absolutely pull from my own life and identity for all of my characters and it consistently works.

I think when a reader points out a character as a self-insert, it's a reflex of seeing someone with notably less nuance than the rest of the cast. This character - let's name them Goobis - is written with the near-explicit intent to be just super cool. It's an instant turn-off for me in a written work if there's one person I can just look at and immediately know they're crafted to be the fandom darling. Goobis might have faults, but if they do, they're pretty cool faults. They're things that could definitely be bad if pushed to a thematic height (Caring too much, over-protective, self-sacrificing, a level of snark that's guaranteed to make impressionable fans slightly insufferable for a few years), but they aren't.

Goobis, typically, gets kid gloves in terms of the treatment of the story. Plot Armor, maybe. Or they might be a Plot Martyr that has every bad thing ever happen to them and everyone around them is either an old-timey villain or a kind cardboard cutout that weeps oh no poor Goobis!! Both are fine. There's an audience for both, clearly. But from what I've seen those are the types of characters that typically get readers - myself included - to think they're a form of wish-fulfillment.

You can do wish-fulfillment in writing. You should do that at least one, it's nice and good for bone health. But man, there are a lot of writers (Including adult ones that I've known in my real life) who can benefit from - like - distance, man. Draw from yourself and your life, but unless you're ready for a conversation maybe don't be one-to-one accurate.

I have a relative who got a masters in creative writing. I found his novella online and aimed to read it and send him my thoughts as a show of support, only to find that it was actually unbelievably pretentious and I honestly couldn't get through it. What drew my attention, though, was that the main character was dealing with the grief of his father, who died literally the exact same way my relative's actual father died.

I caught it immediately and I think I whispered "oh no" out loud. Like, what are you doing dude? Your mom read that shit, and she had to see you describe an entirely accurate depiction of how her fucking husband died that is such a weird move. Processing grief through writing is great - but change some fucking specifics, you weirdo. Make it a mom instead of a dad, or maybe an uncle or grandpa if you're keeping the patriarch thing. Change the reason why he needed surgery, or the medical complication that caused his death. Maybe don't name the exact hospital where your Dad died in this non-autobiographical work. Fucking hell.

Shifting some surface-level details from events in your life is, often times, enough to make it so people directly involved in these events can read them and not even realize what you're referencing. You can also tweak a certain event slightly to fictionalize it even further, while still having the honesty of your real life experience. I dropped out of school while starting the same creative writing program my relative graduated from. What if I stayed? What would my life look like? What would my writing look like? Would I still even enjoy writing? The concept of sliding door moments is a fascinating one to me and it's something I think about a lot.

On a more internal level in terms of character, you know more of yourself than anyone else in your life. You know your fears and your faults. You know what makes you lovable - or what people say they love you for, or what you'd like them to love about you. You probably know things about yourself that are so painful and trembling that you assume that if anyone else finds out about them they'd immediately realize you're worthless as a human being. If you don't know any of that, maybe you should. Internal contemplation - or external though something like therapy - is absolutely beneficial in a ton of ways, including for your art.

People are complicated. Everyone is complicated, and the average person as the most experience with their own network of identity. And in my own work (The only craft I can really speak for), putting at least a touch of myself in the characters I create has really caused people to engage and relate to them.

And it's weird, because I can't really think of any major faults that any of my characters have. At least, not in the way a lot of newer writers describe character faults - like some rubber stamp easily marked in the center of a person's forehead. There are things about the cast of my series Songbird Elegies that I see as struggles that either have to be processed or managed. Someone might be self-loathing, or struggle with emotional intimacy, or have a temper that will absolutely steer them wrong. They might be impulsive to a degree that is no longer Quirky Cute. That's not great.

But growing writers will sometimes make a fault out to be a thing that you can see very clearly in a person above anything else. As if you can point at a guy on the street and say BAM - SEXIST! Which - yeah, you can do that. I can have brief interactions with people I don't actually know and come away thinking that someone is stupid or lazy or irresponsible or any number of bad qualities. It's only if I got to actually know them - either though a relationship or just somehow following their lives as an outside observer - that I'd learn they slipped through the cracks in school so deeply that they just stopped caring, or they went through a loss that resulted in them choosing to survive instead of actually live.

Your worst qualities weren't predestined from birth. The Meyers-Brigg is absolute nonsense mainly utilized by the military and most major corporations. There are things you might hate about yourself that once served to protect you. This is true for everyone you see, but when you're just starting out in art it might be hard to see that. That's why it's so helpful to first draw from yourself.

So draw from yourself to whatever degree you want. Give Goobis your sense of humor, but maybe use it as an opportunity to explore why you're so quick to joke and what doing that might be avoiding. Have Goobis experience the same childhood birthday that irrevocably changed the course of your life, but maybe change what year it happened and make it a close-up magician you found instead of a Spiderman Impersonator. In fact, consider seeing what would change if it was Goobis' innocent little brother who stumbled across Spiderman's dead body instead of Goobis themself. If you're willing to be honest - not excessively self-deprecating or praising, just honest - you'll probably be surprised how many people see themselves in the people you write.

God that was long. I hope that helped maybe? Helped someone?

*It was an eldritch horror wearing a cowboy Hat of Disguise to look like a bulldog. His name was Socks. He ended the campaign traveling to early 2000s Philadelphia and kidnapping an NPC with him. This was after Socks paid for the NPCs Wizard school education, then paid for the NPC to become a potter after crossing paths again, and then sacrificed the NPC to be an immortal slave to a Time Spider. In the climax of this campaign Socks used the Teleport cantrip from Wizards101 to banish the final enemy to the Tomb of the Beguiler. Things went off the rails real quick.

[dare-to-dm]

I normally stick with one character per campaign, but recently subbed in a new one in a Starfinder campaign I'm playing in. I liked my first character, but mechanically she ended up being less fun than I had hoped. The DM's been great about it.

Curious about what other people's experience has been!

[mallowmaenad]

yknow ever since i read the mlp ttrpg book my mind has been transfixed on the section on the wealth mechanic (an abstraction of currency and resources to acquire items because i dont think anyone is gonna focus on economy in their magic friendship horse campaign) and how players shouldn't worry about their ponies reaching 0 wealth because in Equestria everyone's needs are taken care of.

Like, this might be because I've experienced homelessness and unemployment first hand but mlp:fim is a very capitalist piece of fiction in a lot of ways, rarity is a successful business owner with three different locations, fluttershy sometimes can't afford certain necessities, the princesses are basically government utility magical girls that live in huge castles save for twlight that moves into a library. Applejack is frequently concerned about her finances to the point where it heavily affects her decision making. If Equestria takes care of its poor then why is Applejack so concerned about her orchard doing well to the point of hurting herself with the workload and spending her time at the grand galloping gala selling her products?

Is the aid ponies received similar to our own? Is it any better given the setting and the insistence that the poor, unemployed and homeless have no need to worry? What is the infrastructure in place? What is pony assisted living like? Clearly if the Apples can keep living on their property even when they don't make enough money Applejack does not have enough faith in the system to support her family with food and utilities.

And the thing is like, clearly I'm overthinking this and an easy answer is given its contents as a whole clearly the ttrpg is not rigidly canon to the show, but looking at the tabletop, it presents managing finances as a mechanic, and then draws attention to the idea that your pony can lose their job, lose all their money, lose major resources and methods of income, but that everything would be okay, which isn't the case in the show the game is emulating. It doesn't give any answers as to how or what happens besides a simple sentence or two about how nobody in Equestria suffers from their poverty, which even outside of this conversation leaves a weird major gray area on both sides of a role-playing game with a major focus on personal character struggles.

[thelonelyshore-if]

Do you have recs for similar horror/spooky vibes as your IF? I just played Scarlett Hollow after reading of one of your posts, and obviously your IF is incredible, so I'm hungry for anything else you'd recommend. Books, movies, short stories, anything.

Ooooh I'm very excited and intimidated by this ask haha. Every time I'm asked for things I like I forget every piece of media I've ever consumed.

First off, thank you for the compliment; you're super sweet. And I hope you enjoyed Scarlet Hollow! It's one of my favorite games of all time <3

I'm gonna throw my recs under a cut because. Well. It Got Long.

For these recommendations, I'm going with a mix of similar vibes (small town/atmospheric/mystery) and also just stories that are really influential to me!!

Video Games: Oxenfree (amazing atmosphere, really fun mystery, strong character relationships), Control (stunning visuals, really cool creatures/lore, the way it plays with reality is just......), Slay the Princess (very much so a different type of horror, but by the same studio that made Scarlet Hollow and has incredible vibes). Honorable mentions to Silent Hill & Alan Wake; both are series I haven't personally played that I know have very similar vibes to my game!!

Other IFs: The Fog Knows Your Name (can't recommend this one enough, amazing vibes and a great mystery, genuinely one of my favorite IFs), The Passenger (eldritch horror, fun to play someone that isn't entirely human), and as for WIPs, Such Happy Campers (I'm so hooked on the mystery and the characters, plus great atmosphere).

TV Shows: Midnight Mass (small town horror, incredible plot and visuals, a HUGE inspiration for TLS) and also Haunting of Hill House (genuinely breathtaking, an amazing cast, a great mystery & sense of creeping dread), Over the Garden Wall (the atmosphere and emotional core of the story are incredible), The Twilight Zone (instrumental for my development as a horror fan, especially surrealist horror), Gravity Falls (more light-hearted than everything else, but still small town horror). Honorable mention for Twin Peaks, which I haven't seen (yet) but also to my knowledge has very similar vibes!

Movies: The Thing (isolated horror, incredible atmosphere, fantastic body horror), Coraline (unreality, things being not quite right), and It Follows (not actually my favorite movie lol, but I love the sense of being out of time it conjures). Most of my favorite horror movies aren't actually all that similar to my own project, but the first two Scream movies, Alien, and Nope are some of my favorites <3

Books: I've forgotten every single book I've ever read, but I'm a life-long Stephen King fan. The Mist, Under the Dome, and Salem's Lot all inspired Lonely Shore one way or another. Also a big fan of Misery, Needful Things, 11/22/63, and The Stand. My all-time favorite short story is The Lottery by Shirley Jackson, which also includes a town where something is very wrong.

Other: Originally TLS was a Monster of the Week campaign I ran; which is one of my favorite ttrpgs. So if you're into tabletop and/or horror, I highly recommend checking it out!!

[athreehundredthirtythree]

A Story About Veilguard & Me

I normally pop on here, at infrequent intervals, to mindlessly reblog DA memes and art from mutuals. I very, very rarely post at all, and almost never in my own words. This time, though, I have to. And you'll have to forgive me--what I'm going to say might sound unkind or like I'm not giving the game a fair shake. Also, there will be MAJOR spoilers, and I'm going to get very personal. It will be long.

All this to say, I don't expect anybody to actually read it. Or care, for that matter.

But sharing is a part of grief. And I need to tell you a story.

My parents divorced when I was a kid, and my father moved 1800 miles away (approx. 2900 km for people who live in sensible countries), so my uncle was a formative figure in my life. He was snarky, sarcastic, brilliant, and kind. He was the sort of person who all the neighborhood kids considered a father figure. He was my first DM in my first tabletop RPG, and my first video game was Baldur's Gate, played as I sat on his lap. I made the decisions and he moved the characters and clicked things to make them happen. He was my first Valentine, sending me a Vermont Teddy Bear on Valentine's Day when I was a little girl. I'm in my 30s. I still have that bear. His son, my cousin, had prom the same night as mine since we went to the same school. But my uncle made sure to come over to my house to see when I was ready and tell me I looked beautiful. He was my father in all but name. When I was little, he brushed my hair and tucked me into bed at night, telling me story after story, improvised on the spot just for me.

When I was in college, he got sick. I was the last to know. My entire family knew before I did. My uncle apologized, said he hadn't meant to tell me last. He'd assumed my mom told me. She hadn't because she "hadn't wanted to upset me during the semester." I was upset, but, hey, at least I knew now. And my uncle was doing well and responding to treatment.

Some years passed. I had a kid. Then the worst loss of my life, followed a few months later by another kid. All the while, my uncle's health was in decline. I had to watch him go from being a bright, vibrant presence in my life, a sun I could guide myself around, to a husk of the person he was. But I would talk to him a lot. I tried to get him into Critical Role when he got too sick to play D&D anymore, so he could still keep it in his life. But my aunt couldn't figure out how to make the podcast work, despite my written instructions, sadly. Instead, I told him about anything I was doing--now I was telling him the stories, for a change: about my life, about my kids, about how we were all doing fine.

Everyone told me he was doing okay, he was in a status quo. He'd never get better, but at least he wasn't getting worse. Cold comfort is still comfort.

I came home after the holiday party at my job a few years later when my mom pulled me aside for a chat. My uncle's health was failing, she said, and my entire extended family had kept that from me because they didn't want me to be upset at work. I had a job to do, Mom said, and she wanted me to be able to focus.

It was as she was telling me this that she got the phone call. My uncle was dead.

Her lies made it so I never got to say goodbye in a way he could hear.

I will never forgive her that.

And she knows it. I've told her. And all she can say is she's sorry, but she made the best decision she could at the time. For the sake of a job I don't even have anymore.

All this to say: I hate Dragon Age: The Veilguard.

In this game, the writers at Bioware have just made me relive one of the worst things that ever happened to me. For the sake of a fun little plot twist.

It's not a fun little plot twist. It's not an extra twist of the fictional knife for pathos points. It is a real thing that happened to me--a light in my life went out and I lost a chance to say goodbye when it would have mattered because of someone else's lies.

Dragon Age was, bar none, my favorite video game series, and I have an encyclopedic knowledge of its lines and lore. I have loved it since the moment I booted up Origins. And now I don't know if I'll be able to play any of the games again, knowing how it ends for a character who, by every metric but height and hair color, is a dead ringer for the uncle I lost. Who was a comfort when my uncle died--I don't have my uncle anymore, but Varric was always there, a click away, endlessly supportive, with a one-liner and a story, so reminiscent of the presence I will forever miss.

Is that stupid? Sure. But who said grief has to be smart? I make no apologies.

The fact that Solas can be forgiven for this, can ride off into the sunset with a romanced Lavellan, and Varric's narration sounds approving of it... feels like a judgment. Varric's lines about it being "[his] decision, [his] sacrifice. And you [Rook/player] don't get to take that from me" feels like a very personal "fuck you." It feels like Varric, as an unromanceable character, despite fandom clamoring to smooch the dwarf since DA2, is more disposable than Solas. Fuck it, it's not like anyone loved him, right? It's not like he was integral to anyone's story.

I am aware that Bioware doesn't know I exist. I'm a random schlub on Tumblr, and people who've been callously lied to about a death in reality are a vanishingly small group of people, not an important bloc to consider. But if the entire company had set out to make a game to hurt me personally, if they'd had a vendetta against me and wanted to break my heart--and not in a fun, engaging fictional way like they usually manage, but in a way that reminds me of a very real grief and hurts in a very, very real way... this is the exact decision they would have made. To not just kill him, but to lie about it for the whole game. I could have been okay with a Varric death in this game. Hell, I intentionally bring him with me to do "In Hushed Whispers" in DAI so I can see the terror demon toss his corpse into the room for the extra pathos. Death in stories happens, particularly ones with stakes as high as this one.

But writing that affects you, that makes you feel, makes you think, makes you cry--it's only good as long as it's in good fun. And there's a vast gulf between "a story that made me cry" and "a story that made me fucking despair because I just realized I can't remember what my uncle's voice sounds like anymore and I'll never hear it again." Between "a story that gave my favorite character a send-off in a way I disliked" and "my uncle will never meet my son, and I just got a big, fuck-off reminder of that fact." And Veilguard is the latter.

I wish I could say I loved the game. I wish I could say the ending brought me the closure I never got. But closure is a lie; the wound doesn't close. You just learn to compensate. The story cracked my heart along fissures that will never heal. And it hurts as badly now as it did the day I lost him, when I found out how much my family, my own mother, lied to me and I lost out on the chance to say goodbye in any way that mattered.

A gentle reminder to any writers out there who've made it this far: remember your readers, your players, your audience all bring their own context to your story. A fun twist to you because you watched The Sixth Sense over the weekend can be deeply, heartbreakingly painful to a player, because they bring their own life to whatever tale you tell. Take care with how you treat your characters; they're fictional, sure, but that doesn't mean they're disposable--because what happens to them can matter more than you think to an audience member in grief.

Next month, it will have been five years since he died. A milestone and a tragedy. The son my uncle will never meet is sitting on my lap as I write this and try desperately to remember what his voice sounded like. And this time, there's no one, real or fictional, to offer that missing presence. Because knowing how the story ends changes how the beginning feels.

Thank you for reading.