Could I ask what constitutes disrespect/bad player attitude at the ttrpg table? (SpongeBob-standing-under-falling-ice-cream-truck.jpg ASK SENT IN GOOD FAITH!!)
respect your dm as they're trying to facilitate the table. they put a lot of work into organizing and planning sessions and it's just polite to actually pay attention to them and follow their lead when they want to get into session.
be willing to invest in the story they're telling and the plot hooks they're putting in front of you instead of running the opposite direction. a good dm is going to want to connect you to the plot and you should be invested as well, it's a collaborative story-- both sides have to do their part.
dice roll badly. i roll infamously badly. try not to let yourself get too frustrated if you're not rolling the way you want to.
you and your players are on the same team. you can initiate scenes to help them rp that character development they want with their character, you can let them shine in a combat against their backstory rival. lift them up and they'll lift you.
try to keep conflict away from the table. conflict is only natural, but constructive criticism beyond addressing a trigger or asking to take a break during session is likely going to kill a session and should be left to when you have time outside the game.
the dm is on your team, they want you to succeed. it's just also their job to set up challenges in your way. you don't need to 'beat them'. wouldn't a game be boring if everything went your way and was easy? let them set up challenges both in rp and in combat and let there be losses, it makes the game more interesting.
also just by asking it shows that you're invested in being a good and pleasant player, which is more others!
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Pink and Green
I THINK I initially meant to write this as an excuse to use an icon border that Quen made. I did not end up making an icon at all, but this does explain pretty damn well why he's not on such good terms with Revon... and it's nothing Revon even did.
CWs for murder, injury, blood, strangulation, possessive/objectifying language, and death. Herba being Herba, you know.
His Mist is pouring out of his lungs nearly all at once, his mind not even half awake as his body.
And it's because of that fact that he doesn't realize he's horribly misjudged this situation.
Horribly, horribly misjudged.
Fatally, even - it's in the other villagers' systems almost before it's in their attacker's.
Everything around him is slowing to a near halt.
Oh no. No. No, they can't run -
But maybe whatever is attacking them has breathed it in too. Maybe...
Maybe the killing will stop. Much of the screaming has - the same screaming that woke him up - so maybe...
Regardless, as much as he despises it, he's pulling the knife from his belt and turning to stand his ground only to realize that the screaming has stopped because...
So has any movement.
So has any breathing. So has any life, save for a lone heartbeat not too far away.
His own pulse is racing, roaring in his ears - he never was trained as a Mythic and so attempting spells now are out of the question here.
All he feels he can do is wait.
So he stands there, knife in his hand, palms sweating and heart racing yet muscles stiff as a board. Only once he's asking himself what the fuck happened does he let his mask return to cover his face.
It seems like every single resident has been killed save for himself. Murdered, brutally, their expressions forever frozen in fear and agony - he hates how Soil beings don't simply disappear and he hates how all the faces and lifeless gazes are etching themselves into his memory.
There's a harsh zipping sound from a vine of some kind cutting through the air that does not even give him time to react or look to see what it is. No, it merely coils around him, binding his arms to his sides and pulling him straight backwards with the force of it.
His back slams against whatever he's been somehow tethered to hard enough to make him drop the knife in his hand.
And then there are pink eyes staring directly into his own, belonging to some sort of plant woman who just doesn't seem right.
The attacker in question, likely.
Her lips spread into a wicked grin before she begins to speak.
"If your hair weren't so vibrant, I might have mistaken you for somebody else," she says. "Why don't you take off that mask for me, darling?"
Slim, green fingers are picking up the knife, a clear show of who's now in charge here... granted, Sielu knew from the start combat was never going to go over well.
"Fuck off," he snaps. The vines seem to squeeze tighter, forcing some of the air out of him in a cough. Still, he refuses to relent. "Don't call me that."
"Isn't it such a shame you're part of this debt? I wish I could keep you as a permanent little garden statue, but sometimes beautiful things have to die anyway. I hope it was worth it."
"Worth- worth it? What is wrong with you?" he asks. He tugs, trying to test if maybe the vines are looser than he thinks, but they don't let go.
She doesn't answer his question, instead twirling his blade between her fingers. His eyes follow it, and it feels hard to swallow. "I've been wondering if blood looks as pretty against blue as it does white. I'm sure it doesn't, but it'll be a close second anyway, right?"
He doesn't get to answer before the knife is disappearing into his left shoulder and sending fire up his neck and down his arm. Even his fingertips feel the awful repercussions.
It hurts but he will not scream. Maybe he can get out of this still, and he cannot compromise his voice if that chance exists. And indeed his knife is pulled back out and dropped, his own blood staining once-untarnished silver. But he doesn't scream. He doesn't hang his head. He just grits his teeth and fails to fight a sob.
"You want to be quiet, hm? That's alright, darling. I'll make sure you're quiet forever. And I was right - white makes a much prettier scene. What a shame, though, your horns here are a lovely color."
Another vine wraps itself around his throat, almost immediately tightening to a point he can only gasp for air and even then it barely gets through.
No.
No, he doesn't - he doesn't want to die, not like this, not -
Not like this.
He lets his mask back, but even that doesn't do a damn thing and his lungs are already burning from a distinct lack of oxygen. He needs to breathe.
She's saying something but it doesn't matter. He can't make it out over the ringing that's started in his ears.
He needs air. He needs air and he doesn't have it and he can't get it. He can't get it and his head feels like it's going to explode, his chest is burning, and he can't even attempt to struggle.
All he can see are a pair of sparkling pink eyes in what's left of his own vision before it leaves him, sapped away just like the rigidity in his muscles as his consciousness leaves all at once.
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💜🎵 MY COSPLAY LINEUP FOR A MIKU EXPO CONCERT IN VANCOUVER! 🎵💜
One of my dream Vocaloid cosplays is a purple variant of V2 Hatsune Miku. Purple is my favorite color. Over the years, I’ve seen a generic purple Hatsune Miku wig online a few times and some artwork of V2 Hatsune Miku in different colors.
Seeing that Miku Expo concerts were happening again, I figured it was a good time to finally get a Purple Miku cosplay made and go to the concert with my friend, billionswilliams (IG)! 🤩 It’ll be the first time for both of us to go to a Hatsune Miku concert! While I’m a Gakupo fan, I still appreciate listening to different Vocaloid music and I’m curious to see how a hologram concert works!
🎼 Purple Miku: emiliegauvincreations (IG; Thanks again for making this for me! 🥹💜)
🎀 Hair Clips: I used this tutorial to make them - https://www.deviantart.com/xxayaneko/art/Hatsune-Miku-Hairclip-Tutorial-332622339
🎧 Headset: Originally, I made it for my Visual Kei Gakupo cosplay.
💮💈 Tattoo & Wig: FM-Anime
📷 @hannanodaa
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