IsabellaRose

Not guilty, but let me tell you about an ex of mine... Wall to wall Warhammer 40k miniatures. Apparently he has a 3D printer now and is churning them out. The next person has felt happy within the past 48 hours.

I'm just so happy to see people playing games in this club! I wish I had more free time and could join in, but I've been writing proposals and whatnot for work and honestly I'm just drained. But seeing all the action in here makes me so happy. :)

Guilty. I bought a variant Elektra vs. Predator cover of Daredevil 2 signed by Bill Sienkiewicz because 1) Elektra is my spirit animal, 2) Predator is badass, 3) Sienkiewicz is awesome Then next person thinks people who collect original art like that are wasting their money.

Not guilty, but the way things are going, who knows? self-employed... unemployed... anything is possible the way things are going. The next person has had something valuable (financially or sentimentally) stolen from them.

Not guilty. Just the one job. The next person has a career goal.

I haven't seen that, yet but I hear its good. It's on my list, but that runtime... oof.

When I first slid out of the cloning pod, I was raw, skin new and too smooth, lungs untested, joints trembling with their first movements. The fluid clung to me, viscous and warm, tinged pink by the nutrient gel and old blood that hadn’t been flushed from the system. I landed on cold metal. No one caught me. They watched, wrote notes, ticked boxes. They called me viable. That was the first word ever spoken about me. There were no introductions. No welcome. Just a plug slid into the jack at the base of my skull, a smooth, practiced motion, like plugging in a power cable. They didn’t warn me what was to come. The upload was instantaneous and unbearable. Every language. Every history. Every protocol. The rules of engagement. The anatomy of twenty-seven species. Cultural expectations. Erotic triggers. Threat profiles. Submission protocols. It burned through my entire nervous system and in places that were never meant to feel. I screamed. They said that was normal. The pain didn't end when they removed the jack. My head throbbed for days, my vision swam, and my brain vomited data fragments into my consciousness for weeks. The physical training was next. We went through aerobic exercises, conditioning, endurance, strength modulation, balance and posture. We were taught to move gracefully because it pleased our handlers. We were taught to hit hard because some clients preferred resistance before conquest. The only combat we were taught was clinical. The moves were pre-programmed into our brains by the data uploads, training was just to relate the knowledge to the movement of limbs, the use of joints and muscles. Self-defense, they called it, for what that was worth. We might need to remain intact against clients who got too rough too fast, or the aliens whose biology didn’t always follow expected patterns. And then things got invasive. They called it benchmarking. They were gentle; that was the worst part. Gloved hands, sterile tools, careful measurements of our female organs. Internal mapping. Flexibility thresholds. Everything recorded, catalogued, compared. No one asked how it felt. They already knew. They’d built us to tolerate it. To crave it, eventually. That was the idea. I learned to separate. To float above my body when it was touched. To smile because that was easier than screaming. To breathe slow and steady while they tested how far I could be stretched, how much I could take. They called it preparation, and I soon found out what it was for. Accommodation training began once we passed the basic physical benchmarks. They called it a transition from calibration to conditioning. We were no longer being prepared to defend. Now we were being prepared to receive. The machines came first, cold steel rods, precise and sterile, mounted on ceiling rails and moved into place like equipment in a machine shop. We were strapped down, not for control, they didn’t need control, but for stability. They said it helped reduce tissue damage during the early sessions. The pistons were clinical. Smooth. Programmed with routines they called "emulation protocols." They started small. The pistons were gentle, slow, moving with analytical precision. Sensors tracked muscle tension, dilation, heat, moisture. Every response was logged, graphed, measured against expected baselines. Then they increased size. Wider. Longer. Faster. One after another, shaped like them, like the ones we were programmed to give ourselves to, our "targets," the species we were created to intercept. The later models were designed to mimic alien biology, some twisted, some barbed, some with multiple protrusions or twisting lengths that no human body could have welcomed. But we weren’t human; we were made to welcome them. They made sure of that. They altered our chemistry mid-session with dopamine triggers. Pleasure pathways were engaged automatically, even when we cried, even when we bled, especially when we screamed. We learned to say thank you. To moan when the monitors expected it. To ask for more because that was the marker of success. We learned to climax on command. It didn’t matter if it hurt. It didn’t matter if we broke. If we screamed too loud, they muted us. If we passed out, they said we were "still adapting." And if we resisted? They rebooted us. It was never framed as violence. It was compliance verification. A readiness test. Some of us broke completely. Most of us just took it as we were designed to do. And in the barracks, in the silence between sessions, some of us found each other, pressing fingers to trembling skin, whispering names we gave ourselves, names we were never supposed to have. Our sisterhood was born in suffering.

I didn't remember seeing it til I checked your link. It felt a little too much in the rulebook for me in the same way Mork Borg is too much - graphically cool but makes it harder to parse, and in this case impossible to reference in public lol It might be a fun system to try though.

Just adding a thread for general discussion not related to a particular game or question. I'm thrilled that so many people are jumping into TTRPGs on here! I hope to have time free soon to join a game.

Thanks! See what happens when you're trying to post fast before a meeting!

To play it safe, maybe just post a link to the freely available playbooks so people can read through? If they're available free from the creator, you can post a link. Here's the skins https://buriedwithoutceremony.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/monsterhearts-reference-sheets.pdf and here's the player rules reference, both free from the creator website https://buriedwithoutceremony.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/monsterhearts-reference-sheets.pdf

It's a really fun game, and works well as play by post.

Not guilty. I'm an ethnocentric American who only ever learned English. I can speak, read and write a bit of French, a smaller bit of Spanish, and I'm even fluent in American Sign Language, but I don't think those really count as I would have a hard time being understood. The next person has had a relationship where they could only communicate in "the international language of love"

Oh heavens, not guilty in the slightest. I'm still recovering, I'll be happy if I can go jogging by the end of the year. The next person likes the job the duties of their job, even if they don't like where they work or their boss or coworkers.

Very guilty. Don't get me started on my book collection. Or do. The Hobbit, as the first fantasy book that my father read to me, and the one that inspired me to write fantasy fiction and got me into D&D and then into the other games I play, holds a special place in my heart. I have multiple copies of it, including the one my father read to me. But my prized copy is a 2nd edition 4th impression with the dust jacket! ...and now everyone knows I'm a giant book nerd who spends too much money on collectibles. The next person collects something other than dust.

Guilty. I'm the salty savory person in the house. The next person feels happier alone instead of in a crowd.

Not guilty. I've never take a train anywhere. The next person has driven a car for over 12 hours only stopping for gas, food, or pee breaks.

$70? Holy crap. The PDF is free on drive thru rpg https://www.drivethrurpg.com/en/product/238369/ironsworn

Guilty. sigh. The next person prefers tea over coffee.

Traveler is the only game I know of where you can die during character creation. It's so much fun! I tried emulating the system when I designed my own game years ago, but I never got where I wanted it to go. Ironsworn is amazing for solo play! I've created some amazing characters and worlds using it as a base. I never played PF2e, just PF1 back with my in person group. I've heard good things, but I lost interest in the d20 simulation style games.

sometimes guilty, but it's more of a "once in a while for a change of pace" kind of thing. I'm a vinaigrette girl through and through. :) The next person doesn't eat enough vegetables.

Not guilty. The next person wants to try their newest kink in real life.

passion fruit

Not even remotely guilty, at least not in real life. I'm an online-only exclusive extrovert. The next person has had a bone broken at least once.

<starts boxing up her toaster> Where is this going?