IsabellaRose

This is my solo game folder... I had to screen shot it 3x to get everything in... I haven't even played half of them.

I have a printed copy of Mythic. Can’t remember where I got it, maybe Drivethrurpg.com? I also have a PDF and since I’m a big spreadsheet weirdo I made my own copy of a bunch of the tables and forms in Excel.

Has anyone tried playing solo RPGs, or playing standard RPGs using something like Mythic GM Emulator to be able to play solo? I'm currently playing an idea I had where my character wakes up with amnesia and no ID in a small backwater town. She has an ability that will become apparent to her over time, but she is unaware of what it is, how it works, or that it's even there in the beginning. It just happens and she thinks it's just a lot of strange coincidence. For this solo game, I've set her ability myself rather than randomly generate it, and she has a sort of "instant turn-on/attractiveness" effect that sometimes works on people around her. I haven't put anything in stone a to whether it's a biological or magical effect, so the cause could be anything, and the random elements I generate during play will slowly bring me to an answer. For this game I'm using a very light Cortex ruleset with just a few base stats and several stress tracks. I'm using Mythic GM Emulator v2 with the Chaos Factor set to 5. I skipped the chaos factor for the opening scenes of 1. waking in a hospital, 2. meeting local medical, law enforcement, and social services personnel as she recovers, and 3. being discharged into the world. Now she's on her own in a small town where everybody knows everyone else, and they all knows she's "Amnesia Girl". Mechanically it's pretty simple to use Mythic - whenever I would ask the GM a question like, "is there anyone else at the community center when she goes there to find a room at the shelter for he night?", I take a guess as to how likely a yes answer is (50/50 in this case) and roll on the "Fate Chart" using the current Chaos Factor. Then I interpret the answer. For more randomness, I fed the mythic rules to ai and let it generate the possible yes, no, strong yes, and strong no responses ahead of time. Then I roll and I have an answer, and go from there. Mythic and AI combined have generated a few NPCs for me so far, but the only story thread I have so far is "who am i?" which I imagine would be the thing that bounces around inside your skull most often if you wake up with amnesia. I'm curious if this will be a superhero story, a spy thriller, a modern fantasy/magic story, or what. As a bonus, I've come up with a list of skills she may know that she could suddenly just "use" under pressure. If a situation requires a very specific skill, I'll roll randomly to see if she suddenly uses it and then we get a whole new mystery... why do I know kung fu? Where did I learn to evasive driving techniques? What were those words I just said and why did all the lights go out when i said them? Maybe she's magic, maybe she's a spy, maybe an alien... I kind of like not knowing for now.

fresh paint

sperm bank

spank! spank!

do me

dick around

THE CHALLENGE For this challenge – a stripper, actor, camgirl, stage magician, or other performer gives the performance of a lifetime. Tell us the story! Deadline Midnight (EST) , 16 August 2025 Limits 1 entry per person no strict word limit, but please try to keep it around 2,000 words- remember, everyone has to read these to vote Prizes 1st Place: 4,000 EcchiCredits 2nd Place: 2,000 EcchiCredits 3rd Place: 1,000 EcchiCredits

The poll is up for Challenge 42

land deeds

Fuck. When you do something well, it's easy to lean into it as your go-to response.

Guilty. I think that would be lovely. The next person would drink a glass of my homemade raspberry wine with me.

You didn’t even know the drama program had a second storage room. The key the club secretary handed you was supposed to unlock the lighting closet… but the door you opened led somewhere very different. The space is small, close, lined with racks of costumes, layers of chiffon, lace, and tulle in every pastel color imaginable. Your sneakers squeak faintly on the polished floor as you step inside, the air thick with the powdery sweetness of fabric softener and something else… perfume, maybe. You’re halfway through awkwardly trying to put a ridiculous frilly dress back on its hanger when the door clicks shut. You turn slowly and she’s there... the drama department’s undisputed queen. Alpha female, leading lady, star of every production since her freshman year. Everyone knows her reputation: total immersion in every role, method acting so intense it blurs the line between performance and reality. She never breaks character, not even in the cafeteria. But right now, she’s not just the drama queen, she’s something else. Her eyes sweep over you, taking in your startled expression, the frilly dress in your hands, the fact that you are clearly somewhere you don’t belong. A slow, satisfied smile curls at her lips as she steps inside, shutting the door with a quiet, deliberate click. “You know,” she says softly, “I’ve been looking for someone to help me rehearse.” You swallow hard. “Rehearse… what?” Her gaze never wavers, a predator sizing up its prey. She strolls past you, brushing close enough for her perfume to cling to you. Then she begins leafing through the racks, pulling out pastel dresses, satin ribbons, lace-trimmed skirts. Each one is hung carefully on the mirror by the wall like a carefully chosen arsenal. “This next role of mine,” she continues, her voice smooth and unhurried, “requires… a wife. A subservient wife. Sweet, delicate, always dressed in frills and lace. The kind of wife who smiles prettily, speaks softly, and obeys without question.” She picks up a pair of delicate, ivory stockings from a shelf and lets them dangle from her fingers. Her smile deepens. “And lucky for you… I’ve decided you’re perfect for the part.” Her eyes lock on yours again as she closes the distance between you, step by deliberate step, until there’s nowhere left to back away. “Now,” she says, voice velvet and steel all at once, “be a dear… and take off those awful clothes; I have something much nicer for you to wear.”

Drop me a message, maybe I can help. I'm not the speediest with replies, real life keeps me busy, but I'd be happy to offer tips and advice.

Guilty. I actually blocked out a couple memories, which I only remembered about 10 years ago after living as if they'd never happened for almost twice that long. It's kind of weird when someone says something and that memory comes back. Almost retraumatizing, and then you get the added bonus of wondering what else your brain is keeping from you and when it will decide to spring some other memory on you that you'd blocked out. The next person has an actual, physical happy place they go when they need to destress.

fuck, to say apology accepted :)

fuck, just a lil bit, just to be polite.

fuck... we're married, after all.

fuck, as payback for killing me.

Marry, because I'd like to keep her around :D

Guilty, if cosplay outfits count? Technically clothing, but not really anything you can wear outside of that one specific event and Halloween. The next person wishes they still had something they lost a long time ago.

never once looked inward For years I told myself I was better than the things I did. Better than the nights I didn’t remember. Better than the names I never learned. Better than the girl crying in the rearview mirror, mascara running down her face. I told myself it didn't matter. I told myself I was just trying to feel something. Anything. I talked a lot about damage. About how I’d been broken, left, used. And I was. I had been. But I did some breaking too. I hurt people who were kind to me. Used them the way I felt used. Cheated on the ones who tried. Lied for no reason except to see if I could get away with it. I made vulnerability a trapdoor. Made tenderness a dare. I laughed at softness. Scoffed at the girls who waited for love as if it was supposed to arrive like a bus on schedule or maybe just a few minutes late. Even now I want to make this pretty. Wrap it in metaphor. Tell you about dresses I wore instead of the skin I shed. But the truth is I wasn’t the victim as often as I claimed. I put myself there knowing what would happen. I wanted power. Wanted it so badly I mistook cruelty for control. Mistook attention for affection. Mistook myself for someone I could trust. Now, I water the plants and feed the cats. I kiss one woman, over and over, like prayer. I try to remember how to forgive the girl who wore my face and never once looked inward. She thought she knew, thought she knew it all. She wasn’t a liar, not really. She was just a long, aching story I wasn’t ready to tell.

This one is definitely less Bukowski inspired, but it's newer and I haven't felt like the girl who wrote that old stuff for a long time. Who knows, maybe I finally found my own voice. if i could reach her There were too many nights, too many hands, too many back rooms thick with smoke and names I never learned. I said yes like it meant I was winning something. Like it would stitch me together instead of pulling me apart, thread by red thread. I wasn’t wild, not really. I was just tired of being nothing but bones and waiting. So I gave myself away like free matches in a bowl by the door, take one, light it, walk away. Now I sit with tea, clean pajamas, the quiet kindness of age, and I want to go back not to scold her, not to shame her, but to touch her face, say, it doesn’t have to hurt like this. Say, you don’t owe them your body just because you feel empty. She wouldn't believe me. She’d laugh, pull some stranger into her mouth just to feel something spark. But still, I’d sit with her in that place, hold her hair, and say her name like a promise someone should have kept.

I have too many stories that start like that.