#i have friends but i feel so isolated from them all. i feel like im going to completely fuck things up by trying to talk to any of them.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Hi there! I hope your having a wonderful day!

So i had a question, or more acuratly wanted to ask for some advice. Ive more or less recently started dming, mostly in the form of one-shots for my main group. And ive stumbled across the following issue: while i love the lore building and describing and rp-ing i really struggle with combat. I tend to get overwhelmed and forget about effects and skills, and struggle with coming up with 'battle tactics' (which is what our campaign dm suggested) or make it way to easy because i worry about the players being dissappointed by 'loosing'(eventhough they've mentiones they would love harder combat and would even be okay with a tpk if it was earned)

So do you happen to have any suggestions or ideas on how to practice running and organizing combat and/or scalling or ways to not get so overwhelmed?

(Im sorry if this isnt quite what you do, i just didnt really know who else to ask)

This is ABSOLUTELY what I do friend, every part of the dungeon mastering experience is worth talking about because that's how we improve.

If you're having trouble learning your way around combat you're more than justified: it's a whole second game, and strategic skirmish tactics requires a very different skillset compared to the collabrative storytelling rules you're just now getting a handle on.

First, lets talk about what combat in d&d is even FOR: Fights in d&d are really no different than any other challenge, they're a hurdle you as a DM employ to introduce drama to a narrative and engage your players, not all that different from a locked door or an obstinate NPC that needs to be convinced. The difference is that when you call initiative, you are shining a spotlight on the moment to moment decisions your party makes when time is limited and greatly raising the stakes: Seconds matter in combat, quick thinking matters, mistakes matter.

To use a simple example, recently I ran a road encounter where the party came across a gnomish merchant who's wagon had been attacked by predatory flightless birds. The question wasn't "can the party defeat the birds", I knew they could, the question was " Can the party defeat the birds before they eat this poor gnome who will be a friend/ally to them later"

The reason you're having problem with tactics and being worried about killing your party is that you're thinking about combat as its own isolated thing rather than a dramatic beat as part of a larger story. Most fights in D&D are NOT about attacking the party directly: Instead the baddies have something they want to accomplish (Take, devour, defend, slay) and it's a question of whether the heroes can stop them before they accomplish their mission. Combat only takes 2-4 rounds generally, which is a limited time for your players to put their thumbs on the scale and try to alter the course of events. Tactics are emergent out of goals, so think about what your minions would want to happen and how they would've gone about achieving it before the party comes by to wreckingball through their carefully laid plans.

Another example: An enemy force is attacking a castle the party are guests at, looking to secure hostages in preparation for a coup attempt by a rival noble. While the villains' over all job is to capture pieces, the initial wave of badguys are primarily concerned with slowing the party down to prevent them from interfering with the other attackers around the castle, meaning they'll fight defensively, potshots from cover and barring exits.

When you refocus the badguys' goals away from killing the players and towards things that push the plot in a particular direction (especially one the party would generally like to stop) you’ll have a clearer idea of what the enemies want to be doing, which not only helps you decide how they act, but also pick what enemies go into a fight.

If you're feeling totally overwhelmed another option would be to switch to a game system that focuses less on crunchy combat. It's drastic but everyone has game systems that fit better with their particular DMing style, especially in the early days when you're first developing. I'd highly recommend Forged in the Dark, or Powered by the Apocalypse systems, as they still have the punchy action-forward storytelling of d&d without having to manage much on the mechanics side.

[sukunasun]

Do you ever plan to write a fic with a grumpy reader? Maybe with Getou or any chara of your choice?

screaming from the top of a building: grumpy readers are so relatable and deserve more nuance than being labelled as ice queens and stone-cold bitches! there is much more to unfold beyond the harsh exterior. how cantankerous and irritable you are but nonetheless meant to be understood and loved.

quietly, you lay there stowing away as a recluse. you love your books and your crochet hooks. working away and making the most of me-time. people don't draw near. instead, they try prodding with sticks and hurtling stones for a reaction hoping it's a smile or a nice conversation between two, but there is no gambling and taking chances. no risking it 'depending on your mood' because the weather report calls for sunny skies and yet, the storming grey cloud above your head stays looming. permanently brewing.

you claim it's just your face, your attitude, and overall unapproachable aura that inhibits you from making contacts and connections. an RBF that can't be cracked. "she's so intimidating," is a grating sound. you have long since given up on explaining yourself or waiting for the chance to when the backstory and lore is too revealing. not exactly dinner party talk. you wish it could be as easy as saying "im hurt and heartbroken beyond repair. mothering fear and angst without needing comfort." it feels nice, well-deserved even to wallow in dread.

there's bound to be disappointment from unmet expectations thus, you've stopped having them altogether. it feels better than accepting affection with open arms. so wrong, so weird to be wanted, to be chosen. where's the catch? when will the other shoe drop? the cycle of starting over becomes tiring, tedious—a mechanical performance. a complex creature who requires better coping mechanisms and a man who won't stab you in the back. friends who'd stop poking holes in the reasons when you say no, yet again, to meeting someone new in this state: when bricks are laid and piled high up in uniformed rows surrounding, it warrants avoiding all forms of showing and receiving love after the years spent shaping the architecture of your defences.

then there's geto. with his charm and wit and the way he pries the person from underneath facades and fabricated masks. your fragile, rocking foundations built on sand he topples down with a mere smile, hardened fortitudes he crushes to dust, weaving within hairline cracks and exploring the caverns of your heart like no one has before. all without much effort, or rather, he doesn't need to exert himself when you fall so willingly.

"why don't we do something else tonight, dinner and a movie?" he questions when you call again. right after work when the stress is at an all-time high and he's...well, you don't know what he does, but he makes himself available for you. he'll admit it's made him feel special being the only person let in, when everyone else has to scavenge for scraps, he's a privileged selected one. seen the glimpses of the warmth you possess when laid bare and sated.

such a skill he has to wring out the truth. still, you go on with the "i like being alone," answer. a mantra, a repetitive hymn to soothe the sting and sharp clawing against the chest til it no longer feels so. numb and sore aches it leaves behind. 'you'll regret it when you realize i'm too much for you,' stays clogged in your throat. he'd only admonish you for such thoughts. 'that's not true' he'd say, but you know better than to believe that.

"i get it," geto replies, feigning casualness when he's not a stranger to isolation and avoidant habits. sometimes he wished he wasn't exposed to a mirror of his own makeup. a paragon of performative indifference and detachment. "i'll leave when you want me to," he reassures you, but was that a wavering you hear in his voice? you don't dare assume because he makes things easy. not the kind to complicate, nor commit. say the word and he'd give you all the solitude you need. dodging the serious questions and serious labels. friend, boyfriend, guy-im-sleeping-with. he doesn't care for them because you don't.

maybe he's just referring to the task at hand, used to forgoing aftercare and post-orgasm cuddles for a late-night drive home. excluding that one time you allowed him a night on your couch. he won't stay if your hand comes up to his sweaty chest, pushing him away before he's had the chance to pull out and slide the worn condom off. it keeps him at a distance and he takes it as a sign that this is as far as intimacy goes—no kissing on the lips, no secrets and sweet nothings, your moans don't escape and neither do his plethora of dirty speeches, stifled and gritting in a tight-lipped prison—there is no room for it at all.

the last thing you need is to dispose whatever is left of an already flimsy resolve. becoming vulnerable and exposed to his rejection or the knee-jerk reaction when he touches you—when the strap of your dress falls at an angle, he instinctively chases after the smooth slope of shoulder with his lips, pressing soft kisses there and everywhere else simmering with anxiety, humming pleased and contented to taste the nerves slipping away, sinking his teeth in and feeling the flesh give to his possession—a longing that courses through and wrenches around your heart tight. you're so selfish to follow after his hands, to feel them feel you. they should be upon another but he grabs and gropes greedily like he can't wait any longer.

"or you could let me stay," he offers.

"the couch makes your back hurt," you reply.

"your bed is big enough for two," he counterclaims. doing what he does best. it's not the first time he's tried to hint at more, waiting for the opportune moment when you're putty in his hands, relenting to him.

"we can't," you gasp when he slips two fingers past your dripping folds. the smirk he wears hidden in the crook of your neck. "why–" you claw at his forearm tucked between your thighs, clenching around his limb for leverage while he makes you squirm and jolt with every nudge against your gspot. "–why me?" why an unpleasant, unfriendly, unwanted woman like you, haven't you suffered enough? why does he choose to torment you with his favour while seeking for yours. you remind yourself there's no place, no space for him here. you like the way things are no matter how painfully lonely it gets, you like the cool touch of your sheets and the emptiness your fingers trail over in the mornings. it's what you know, what you settled for. since when do two people meet and see each other for themselves, choosing to stay for long after the thinly veiled ugliness is stripped away. how do you tell him you're starting to grow accustomed. almost adoring. you've flown too close to the sun before, how do you deal with the fallout when you're inevitably lurched into the suffocating and slow descent towards earth?

in the last few seconds cresting upon your climax, suguru feels it building around the edges of your jittering limbs. head lolling back as you choke, fighting back your moans. your hips thrust in time, chasing after his fingers. he settles them as deep as he can, pumping fast and pressing down against your clit til it hurts, til the hard pressure causes your juices to drip down his fingers, squelching and making a mess.

fuck it, he knows it's the only time you'll have him this close so his arms brace you, supported by his strong chest, crushed by his biceps, suguru coaxes you, "i don't care how far you push me, or how much you pretend, i want you and i know you want me too—"

you shake your head, resisting, stop it, stop uncovering me. he talks of your lust as if some incontrovertible proof, you won't give in. with indefatigable, unwavering effort you set the record straight. "i don't like you like that," lying right as you're about to explode from pleasure, not the kind that feels like a firework, shooting silent and bursting forth, but you seize every muscle in his hold. choking on your breaths and feeling it tighten and coil in your stomach, in your toes, compact and revving, it releases like an engine. rolling and roiling so unyieldingly it makes your ears ring, suffocating you til your vision goes black, and a scream forces it way past your lips.

neither high-pitched nor guttural, it reverberates so soothingly, "im sorry!" you cry. for being this way, for using and tossing him aside, for wanting more. you sob with your head thrown back while suguru hums right against your ear. sounding pleased and pleasured with your admission.

slowing his fingers in time with your panting breaths, he questions "do you really think i wouldn't like you?" it's not the right time to do this but he can hardly bear it, he longs for truth, "do you not believe me?"

looking upon his face through half-lidded eyes, you see that interrogative spark in his expression, his arms never letting go. a tense anticipation takes shape. the air is thick with the scent of damp skin and something else—his shampoo, his cologne, you chase after it for more, pressed into his chest, it only takes one whiff to get a fill, the same way you cling to the corners of pillowcases and duvet covers for that little bit.

what has changed? he makes you act a fool, forlorn and fumbling around in the most fatuous ways. i want you he said so clearly. and it warms your being like never before. there is an urge to make excuses, accuse him for being in lust, he only said it in the heat of the moment, ensnared by a need for possession.

but there is no point in looking back.

"i believe you," you say, noses bumping and slotting close when your lips betray your better judgement, or rather, your unfavourable one. "i'll try." is the best you can offer.

[non-un-topo]

More cishet observations from the past month at work:

- They really fucking buzz off of the TERF wizard book series

- Their favourite place on Earth is Florida (why???)

- If you tell them you're an artist, they will ask you if you've ever "tried out AI"

- They will joke about OCD a lot

- They absolutely hate their bodies and will take any opportunity to talk about food in a toxic way (bonus points if they compare their body/food to yours)

- They hate their spouses and think that this is funny

- They. Do not. Have interests. (Besides the TERF wizard book series)

- They don't watch movies or TV??

- If they have kids, the way they talk about them makes it sound like it was genuinely the worst decision they ever made

- If they don't have kids, they will still fucking talk about having them

- They don't like cats??

In other weird news, I'm gendered correctly at work and I pass to the point that cishets actually talk to me like I'm a cishet guy.

[uchiha-gaeshi]

Does anyone else suffer from the disbelief that they are their age?

[ecrireverie]

okay lol mini rant in the tags sorry i just HAD to get this off my chest 😭 sorry if this is very incoherent and poorly worded or structured or whatever i'm just. pretty out of it and i cannot really think to write this properly. well, that or i am probably just illiterate actually. Yeah that's it lol

[teplejtrouba]

my psychiatrist confirmed that i am in fact autistic

[graff-aganda]

I keep thinking about this (and it's not exactly a high bar to reach or anything) but the way Biosphere handled the gender/sex stuff was like the perfect blend of in character for two middle aged cis dudes (from the story perspective) and also being mindful/aware/respectful of transgender people (from a more meta perspective, though somewhat in the story also) and it honestly just kind of impressed me.

[c0pernicus]

my besties boyfriend is someone i rly dont enjoy interacting with for a variety of reasons but i also dont know how to talk to him about it without it being A Thing and he keeps trying rly rly hard to be friends with me . miserable existence pain and agony what do i do chat

[saeshiraw]

tired girl hours i’m just ranting bcos i don’t have enough time to cry

[chalupaconspiracy]

.

[mainfaggot]

the last time i felt emotionally fulfilled in a friendship was when i was 15, and before that when i was 13. im turning 21 next month

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[phagodyke]

my flatmate asking me the day before "do u want to hang out w me and [old friend] everyone else cancelled so I can invite u now" is not the heartfelt offer she thinks it is :^/

[glitterghost]

It's a good night to night drive to some Bad Omens because the sad shit feelings have hit and well, this is how we're going to cope. That and food.

[theonewhopoops]

I've gotta say, it's bizarre to me to see Portal content in recent times. Like, almost to the point of squicking me out.

Back when Portal first came out, all our theories centered around Glados being Chell's mother. It was basically considered canon with all the clues and the widespread acceptance of the theory - to the point that discussion was often met with at least one "oh yeah this was confirmed by [xyz evidence or official content]"

So when I see Portal content NOW - almost 20 years later - and fans see Glados and Chell as lesbians who are into each other? It's. Very bizarre to say the least.

I was INTENSELY involved in Portal 1 and 2 fan boards as they came out in 2007 and 2011, and to my knowledge never saw discussions about them being anything other than mother and child. So I guess my question is - where did that theory emerge? Were there fellow queers in the fandom right from the beginning who saw it like this? Or was it like, newer fans entering after all the initial raving died down, so there was more space for them to have a different interpretation?

Anyway. I don't really have a point, I'm just observing, but I had to make my own post; I can't really interact with actual Portal posts these days because they're almost exclusively about incest in my eyes, BWAHAHA!

[houseofwolvess]

i hate the come-down period after doing literally anything fun at all at any point in time. i went to a movie theater on friday and then to a convention on the following weekend, which was incredibly fun! i loved it! but there's always a come-down period, where everything feels awful because i know im going to be stuck in my house again, rotting away like always, unable to do anything outside of these walls for who knows how long. its hard to keep doing things i enjoy if i know that im just going to feel awful afterwards.