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Willow Creek: Conclusion

This marks the ending chapters of Willow Creek.

01010: The Dance of Unknowing

The Willow Creek town square, usually a place of gentle, unhurried commerce and quiet contemplation, had been utterly transformed. It pulsed with a vibrant, infectious energy, a kaleidoscope of light, music, and joyous celebration. Strings of colorful paper lanterns, exquisitely crafted in the shapes of smiling crescent moons, twinkling stars, and stylized woodland creatures, crisscrossed between the ancient, gnarled branches of the square’s sentinel oak trees, casting a warm, festive, almost magical glow over the worn cobblestones below. A lively folk band, perched on a makeshift stage decorated with wildflowers and trailing ivy, filled the air with an irresistible melody – fiddles dancing, accordions breathing, a flute weaving a silver thread through the rhythm – a tune that made feet tap and hearts lift.

NPCs, dressed in their finest virtual attire – the men in embroidered waistcoats and polished boots, the women in brightly colored gowns that swirled with their movements – chatted and laughed, their faces animated with an unrestrained, uncomplicated delight. 

Callum was a picture of rustic handsomeness in a crisp linen shirt, his sandy hair boyishly tousled, his blue eyes sparkling with an almost childlike enthusiasm. His (Callum’s) hand rested lightly, possessively, on the small of her back, a gesture of casual intimacy that the NIMS system translated with breathtaking, unnerving fidelity. The warmth of his palm, the subtle pressure of his fingers through the fabric of her dress – Elias felt it all, a phantom sensation that resonated deep within his own distant, disconnected body.

“Isn’t it wonderful, Lena?” Callum breathed, his voice full of genuine delight as he surveyed the festive scene. “They’ve truly outdone themselves this year. It’s the most beautiful Solstice Dance I can remember.”

“It’s… enchanting, Callum,” Elias replied, his voice a soft, melodic echo of Lena’s familiar cadence. Elias, a prisoner somewhere deep inside this shared consciousness, felt a pang of something that might have been his own aesthetic appreciation, a genuine response to the beauty of the scene, quickly subsumed by the overwhelming sensory input of the simulation and the pressing weight of his assumed identity.

Tonight, Elias had decided, in a rare moment of clarity and defiance snatched during a bleak afternoon in his gray cubicle, he would try to assert himself. He was tired of being a puppet, a passive recipient of Lena’s life, of the game’s subtle (and not-so-subtle) coercions. He would make his own choices for the dance. It was a small, desperate rebellion, a last-ditch attempt to reclaim some fragment of his own agency within the suffocating, beautiful embrace of Lena’s meticulously crafted persona.

The preparation for the dance, conducted in the privacy of Lena’s cottage earlier that evening, had been an exercise in this quiet, internal defiance. When the game’s inventory system had prompted a selection of Lena’s usual demure, floral-printed, high-necked dresses, Elias had deliberately, painstakingly navigated the interface to a hidden sub-menu he’d stumbled upon weeks ago – a forgotten corner of the wardrobe filled with items that seemed… less quintessentially Lena, more aligned with a younger, perhaps more playful and contemporary aesthetic that he, Elias, found himself unexpectedly drawn to.

He’d chosen a dress the color of a twilight sky, a deep, luminous indigo silk that shimmered with subtle, almost invisible silver threads, catching the light like captured starlight. Its cut was simpler, more modern than Lena’s usual rustic frocks, with delicate spaghetti straps that left her shoulders bare and a gracefully draped neckline that was a touch more daring, a hint more alluring. Then came the hosiery. The game, ever practical, suggested sheer, sensible stockings, barely visible. Elias, with a thrill of almost childish defiance, had selected a pair of soft, opaque white stockings, almost like thigh-highs, that ended with a delicate lace band. He thought they looked unexpectedly cute, a little whimsical, a touch anachronistic with the elegant indigo dress. The NIMS, in its relentless pursuit of total immersion, rendered the sensation of the smooth, slightly compressive fabric against his avatar’s legs with an intimacy that made his own skin tingle, a ghostly caress.

For footwear, he’d eschewed Lena’s sturdy walking shoes and sensible embroidered flats. Instead, he’d chosen a pair of delicate silver sandals with slender, impossibly high heels, shoes designed not for practicality, but for dancing, for elegance, for making a statement. The way they changed his avatar’s posture, the slight, precarious balance they demanded, the subtle shift in the way she carried herself – it was a novel and strangely empowering sensation.

The makeup had been the most significant act of his quiet rebellion. Lena’s look, as established by the game’s baseline, was always natural, understated, a mere enhancement of her existing features. The game offered subtle, pre-set cosmetic enhancements – a touch of rosy color to the lips, a slight definition to the eyes. Elias, using the surprisingly intuitive NIMS interface that allowed for free-form, almost painterly cosmetic application, had experimented. He gave Lena’s avatar a slightly bolder, more defined eyeliner, a subtle cat-eye flick that made her eyes seem wider, more mysterious. He added a hint of iridescent silver shimmer to her eyelids, echoing the threads in her dress, and a lip color that was a shade deeper, more of a crushed berry than her usual soft, innocent pink. He’d even, on a whim, added a tiny, sparkling adhesive gem, like a captured dewdrop, at the outer corner of one eye, a playful, almost mischievous touch that the ‘original’ Lena would never have considered.

Looking in Lena’s ornate bedroom mirror before leaving the cottage, the reflection had been… Lena, undeniably. But a Lena subtly remixed, a version infused with Elias’s own nascent aesthetic preferences, his own hesitant explorations of beauty and self-expression. She looked younger, more vibrant, a little more mysterious, a touch more… contemporary. And for a fleeting, precious moment, as he surveyed his handiwork, Elias had felt a distinct, heady sense of triumph. He had chosen. He had imposed his will.

Now, at the dance, surrounded by the joyful throng, Callum squeezed her hand, his eyes alight with affection. “Ready for our first dance of the evening, my love?”

The band, as if on cue, struck up a waltz, a flowing, achingly romantic melody that seemed to invite everyone to surrender to its embrace. The game’s familiar dialogue prompts, which had been blessedly absent during his solitary preparations, shimmered back into existence at the edge of her vision, insistent and unavoidable:

1. “I’d love to, Callum! More than anything!” 

2. “Lead the way, handsome. Try not to step on my new shoes.” 

3. [Smile warmly and extend your hand in acceptance] 

Elias gritted his virtual teeth. No. He would not pick one of their pre-ordained lines. He would act. He made Lena’s avatar turn to Callum, a smile he consciously crafted – bright, a little teasing, a challenge in her eyes – on her beautifully made-up lips. “Only if you think you can keep up with me tonight,” she said, her voice imbued with a confidence, a playful audacity, that felt like his own assertion, his own voice speaking through her.

Callum laughed, a rich, delighted sound. “Is that a challenge, Miss Lena? I accept!” He swept her out onto the makeshift dance floor, a cleared space in the center of the square, his arm firmly around her waist.

And then, they danced.

Elias, in his real life, had always been a terrible dancer. Clumsy, self-conscious, perpetually out of step, he avoided dance floors like the plague. But here, as Lena, in Callum’s strong, confident arms, it was different. It was… transcendent. The NIMS system was a miracle of sensory translation, a symphony of perfectly orchestrated feedback. He felt the firm, guiding pressure of Callum’s hand on her waist, the reassuring strength of his grip. He felt the smooth, cool glide of her indigo silk dress against her legs, the way the silver heels of her sandals connected with the slightly uneven cobblestones, the subtle, exhilarating shifts in balance as they twirled and swayed to the music. The melody seemed to flow through her, through him, a current of pure, unadulterated joy.

Callum, it turned out, was a surprisingly accomplished dancer, leading with a gentle, intuitive confidence that made it easy, almost effortless, to follow his steps. He, as Lena, found herself laughing, a genuine, unrestrained sound of delight, her head tilted back, the paper lanterns and the smiling faces of the other dancers blurring into streaks of warm, vibrant color as Callum spun her around, her indigo skirt flaring out around her. He, unexpectedly, heard a distant male voice laughing, too–Elias, although increasingly, that sound felt far away. It wasn’t just the NIMS, or the music, or the magic of the simulated night; it was Callum. His genuine, unfeigned joy, his complete attentiveness, the way he looked at her, at Lena, as if she were the only person in the world, as if she were a precious, miraculous thing – it was intoxicating. For those few, timeless minutes, Elias forgot his rebellion, forgot his confusion, forgot the tangled mess of his two lives. He was simply… dancing. He felt light, graceful, beautiful. He felt, quite literally, swept off his feet. The sensation was so profound, so overwhelmingly joyous, that it brought tears to Lena’s eyes – tears that Elias felt as a genuine, unexpected emotional surge in his own chest, a tightness, a release.

As the waltz ended, they stood breathless and laughing in the center of the dance floor, Callum’s arm still securely around her waist, her hand resting on his shoulder. He leaned in, his voice a low, intimate murmur in her ear, his breath warm against her skin. “You are particularly radiant tonight, Lena. That dress… and your eyes… you’re absolutely sparkling. You’ve taken my breath away.”

A warm, betraying flush spread through Lena’s cheeks, a sensation Elias felt mirrored on his own skin, thousands of miles away in his dim, lonely apartment. He had chosen this. He had made her look this way. And Callum… Callum approved. More than approved. He was enchanted.

Throughout the rest of the evening, Elias continued his quiet, determined defiance. When other NPCs – the mayor, Mrs. Higgins, even Old Man Fitzwilliam (who surprisingly asked for a brief, shuffling dance) – approached to chat, he deliberately ignored the pre-fill dialogue options, formulating his own responses as Lena, drawing on his observations, his intuition, his own emerging sense of her character as filtered through him. He chose which food stall to visit, selecting a spiced honey-cake not because Lena’s programming dictated a preference for it, but because he thought it smelled delicious, the aroma of cinnamon and cloves and warm honey an irresistible temptation. He initiated conversations, asked questions that weren’t on any discernible script, shared observations that felt like his own. And the strange, unsettling thing was… it all worked. Seamlessly. The NPCs responded naturally, their interactions fluid and engaging. Callum seemed more enchanted, more deeply in love, than ever before. The flow of the evening felt organic, unforced, real.

He felt a growing, heady sense of mastery, of control. He was shaping Lena’s experience, infusing her with his own will, his own desires. He was, he thought with a surge of triumphant pride, finally playing the game on his own terms.

It was late, the moon – a perfect, luminous silver disc in the inky, star-dusted velvet of the Willow Creek sky (was the sky always this impossibly clear, this dramatically beautiful in this valley?) – riding high when Callum led her away from the music and the dwindling crowds, towards a quieter, more secluded corner of the square, near a gently burbling stone fountain, its waters catching the moonlight like liquid silver. The air here was cooler, fragrant with the scent of damp moss and night-blooming jasmine.

“Lena,” Callum began, his voice thick with an emotion that made Elias’s newfound confidence waver. He took both her hands in his, his gaze intense, almost reverent in the soft moonlight. “Tonight… tonight has been magical. More than magical. You’ve been… different. More alive, more vibrant, more you than I’ve ever seen you. It’s like… like you’ve finally, truly blossomed.”

Elias’s heart clenched. More me? 

Then, with a movement that was both sudden and achingly earnest, Callum sank to one knee on the cool cobblestones. The gesture, so classic, so theatrical, so utterly sincere, stole Lena’s breath away. From the pocket of his waistcoat, he produced a small, dark velvet box. He opened it with a trembling hand. Inside, nestled on a bed of creamy satin, was a simple, exquisitely beautiful ring – a delicate, handcrafted silver band, intricately woven like a tiny bird’s nest, cradling a single, luminous moonstone that seemed to glow with its own soft, internal light.

“Lena,” he said, his voice trembling slightly, his eyes fixed on hers, full of a desperate, hopeful love. “We’ve talked about this… about a future together. About a life. I know I’ve said it before, many times, but tonight, after this night, it feels more right, more true, more inevitable than ever before. I love you more than words can say. More than life itself.” He took a deep, ragged breath. “Will you marry me, Lena? Will you be my wife?”

The world seemed to stop. The distant music, the fading laughter, the gentle splash of the fountain – it all receded into a distant, irrelevant hum. Elias stared at the ring, at Callum’s hopeful, adoring face, his heart pounding a frantic, trapped rhythm. The game prompts, which had been so conspicuously, blessedly absent for the last hour of his supposed freedom, suddenly blazed back into his vision, brighter, larger, more insistent and unavoidable than ever before:

1. YES! Oh, Callum, my dearest, YES! A thousand times, a million times, YES! 

2. Callum, I… I don’t know what to say! This is so sudden! So wonderful! 

3. I need more time to think, Callum. This is such a momentous step. You know how much I care for you, but… (System Warning: Potential Narrative Deviation)

Elias’s mind reeled, a sickening lurch of understanding. He had been so sure, so triumphantly certain, that he was acting independently. His choice of dress, the makeup, the whimsical white stockings, the way he’d danced with such uninhibited abandon, the way he’d confidently navigated conversations… he’d thought it was him. His will. His choices. But Callum’s words – “more you than ever before” – echoed in his ears.

A horrifying, dawning realization, cold and sharp as a shard of ice, pierced through his carefully constructed illusion of control. What if his attempts at rebellion, his “free” choices, had simply been… a more sophisticated, more deeply embedded layer of Lena’s programming? What if the system, in its relentless bid to keep him engaged, to fulfill Lena’s core narrative arc, to achieve maximum emotional verisimilitude, had merely hidden the strings more effectively, making him feel like he was in control while guiding him, with flawless precision, along Lena’s pre-destined, optimal path? The indigo dress he’d thought so unique? Perhaps it was a ‘special occasion’ variant Lena was always meant to unlock at this specific narrative juncture. The daring makeup? A subtle branching option, triggered by his increased confidence metrics. The white stockings? A rare but documented aesthetic preference in her NPC profile, flagged for ‘festive events’ or ‘expressions of joy.’ His ‘independent’ dialogue? All falling well within acceptable parameters for ‘Lena in a heightened emotional state, experiencing profound romantic joy.’

He hadn’t been rebelling. He had been performing Lena more perfectly, more authentically, more convincingly than ever before, without even realizing it. The system hadn’t needed to overtly prompt him because he was the prompt. He was playing Lena like she was an NPC, but from the inside, with every choice, every sensation, every emotion feeling, with terrifying authenticity, like his own.

The intimacy of the dance, the pure, unadulterated joy he’d felt – had it been his, or Lena’s, or a horrifying, NIMS-induced fusion of both, a perfectly calibrated emotional cocktail designed for maximum player immersion and narrative compliance?

Callum was still looking up at him, his face a mask of hopeful adoration, though a flicker of anxiety was now beginning to dawn in his eyes at her prolonged silence.

He looked at Callum’s earnest, loving face. In this world, Callum’s love was real. His devotion was unwavering. And Lena… Lena was supposed to love him back. That was her function. Her purpose. Her script.

The first option, the “YES! Oh, Callum, YES!” blazed in his vision with an almost painful, irresistible intensity, pulsing like a beacon.

With a sense of profound weariness, of utter, exhausted surrender, Elias let it happen. He relinquished the last vestiges of his struggle. Lena’s face, his face, broke into a radiant, tearful smile. Her hand, his hand, flew to her lips, her eyes wide with perfectly simulated, overwhelming joy.

“Yes!” she cried, her voice choked with an emotion that was a terrifying amalgam of Lena’s programmed ecstasy and Elias’s own silent, screaming despair. “Oh, Callum, yes! Of course, I’ll marry you! A thousand times, yes!”

Callum’s face lit up with a light of pure, unadulterated happiness that was almost painful to witness. He let out a whoop of joy, scrambling to his feet and sliding the beautiful, glowing moonstone ring onto Lena’s slender finger. It was a perfect fit, of course. The NIMS sent a wave of complex, overwhelming sensation through Elias – the cool slip of the silver against her skin, the smooth, milky caress of the moonstone, the warmth and strength of Callum’s hand closing possessively over hers. He pulled her into a passionate, desperate embrace, and as his lips met hers, the kiss was no longer a gentle, chaste peck on the cheek. It was deep, searching, breathless, full of a love and a promise that felt terrifyingly, irrevocably real. The sensory input was overwhelming, a tidal wave of simulated emotion and physical sensation that left Elias reeling, his own body trembling and sweating in his distant, dark apartment.

He was engaged. As Lena. To an NPC. In a world that wasn't real. And he had said yes. Or she had. Or the game had. He no longer knew where one began and the other ended, or if there was any difference left at all.

01100: Echoes

The Friday night of his date with Maya arrived like an unwelcome, looming exam for which Elias felt catastrophically unprepared. He felt hollowed out, psychically bruised, the intensity of the in-game proposal to Lena, the subsequent flood of perfectly simulated betrothal bliss, leaving him disoriented and emotionally exhausted. He’d spent the intervening real-world days in a daze, his performance at Fiscal Solutions Inc. deteriorating from merely subpar to actively alarming. 

He almost cancelled on Maya. The thought of engaging in another layer of complex human interaction, this time without the NIMS to smooth the conversational pathways or provide helpful dialogue options, felt like preparing to climb a sheer rock face with no ropes and badly blistered hands. But a small, stubborn, almost forgotten part of him, the part that had impulsively bought the abstract art print and the resilient little succulent, the part that still clung to a sliver of hope for Elias Thorne, insisted. This was real. This mattered. Or it should matter.

He met Maya at “Siam Spice,” a small, bustling, wonderfully chaotic Thai restaurant a few blocks from his apartment. The air inside was thick and fragrant with the authentic, non-simulated aromas of lemongrass, chili, ginger, and coconut milk – real smells, sharp and vibrant, that made his nostrils tingle and his stomach rumble with actual hunger. Maya was already there, perched on a stool at a tiny table near the window, looking strikingly different from her QuickMart persona. Her dark, abundant curls were loose, cascading around her shoulders, and she wore a faded, vintage band t-shirt (some obscure punk group Elias didn’t recognize) under a well-worn denim jacket adorned with an eclectic collection of enamel pins. Her sharp, intelligent eyes were bright with an inquisitive, almost challenging energy.

“Hey, Ramen Guy,” she greeted him as he approached, a teasing, familiar smile playing on her lips. She had a tiny silver ring in her nose he hadn’t noticed before. “You clean up okay. Almost human.”

Elias managed a smile that felt rusty from disuse. “You too, QuickMart Girl.”

The date was… excruciatingly awkward, at first. Elias, his real-world social skills atrophied from months of solitude and increasingly total virtual immersion, struggled for conversation, his mind a blank slate. He felt like an alien attempting to mimic human courtship rituals based on poorly translated anthropological texts. Maya, however, was a natural communicator, effortlessly filling the silences, asking easy, open-ended questions, sharing wry, amusing anecdotes about her surreal art class, her even more surreal roommates, and her improbable dreams of one day opening a small, independent gallery dedicated to “art that actually says something, you know?”

Slowly, hesitantly, fueled by a surprisingly potent glass of Singha beer and Maya’s easygoing, unpretentious nature, Elias began to relax, to uncurl from his defensive crouch. He found himself talking about his job, the soul-crushing monotony of it, the feeling of being an invisible cog in a vast, indifferent machine. Maya listened with a genuine, unfeigned empathy that was more comforting than any programmed NPC response. Then, emboldened by another beer and Maya’s surprisingly non-judgmental gaze, he found himself drifting, almost inevitably, to a topic that was consuming his waking and sleeping thoughts.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately… about getting out of the city,” he said, swirling the ice in his water glass, the condensation cool against his fingers. “Moving to the countryside. Somewhere quiet. With, you know, actual trees, and a sky you can see the stars in.” 

Maya looked intrigued, her head tilted. “Oh yeah? Like, full-on Farmer Elias? Got your eye on some overalls and a pitchfork? Planning on raising artisanal chickens and communing with nature?”

He laughed, a little self-consciously. “Not quite that extreme. Maybe. Just… a small cottage, perhaps. A garden. Peace and quiet. A place where things feel… simpler. More real.” He envisioned Lena’s cottage, the scent of her roses, the gentle, predictable rhythm of life in the valley. It sounded like paradise, a sanctuary.

Maya’s expression shifted subtly, a flicker of something unreadable – skepticism? Pity? – in her dark eyes. “You know that’s mostly a fantasy, right? The whole ‘rustic life’ idyll? The cozy little cottage with the white picket fence and the happy, rosy-cheeked villagers?”

Elias frowned, a defensive wall beginning to rise. “What do you mean? It can’t all be a fantasy.”

“I mean,” she said, leaning forward, her voice earnest, her gaze direct, “my grandma’s garden? That was a little patch of heaven, yeah, a holdout from another time. But most of what’s out there now, beyond the city limits? It’s factory farms, Elias, miles and miles of soul-crushing monoculture crops owned by massive, faceless agri-corporations. It’s pesticides that sterilize the earth and genetically modified ‘everything.’ The ‘charming small towns’ you see in the brochures? They’re mostly dying, their main streets boarded-up, their young people leaving as fast as they can because there’s no work, no future. Those who remain hide addictions behind loose shutters. Also, the Wi-Fi always sucks.”

Her words, delivered without malice but with a brutal, unsparing honesty, were like a series of small, sharp blows, deflating his carefully constructed, NIMS-fueled fantasy. He thought of Willow Creek Valley’s pristine, eternally fertile fields, its thriving local market overflowing with impossible produce, its complete, blissful absence of any visible corporate footprint or economic hardship. It was a curated dream, a sanitized, romanticized version of rural life, designed for maximum escapist appeal.

“It’s… it’s not all like that, is it?” Elias asked, a desperate, defensive note creeping into his voice. He needed to believe that some version of Willow Creek Valley, however imperfect, could exist in the real world.

Maya shrugged, taking a sip of her water. “Maybe not. But the version they sell you in commercials, in those… those hyper-realistic life-sim games everyone’s escaping into these days? That’s mostly bullshit, my friend. Beautiful bullshit, designed to make us forget how disconnected we really are from where our food actually comes from. Not as much fun when you remember the chicken in your soup came from a poor sod that spent its whole life in four metal walls surrounded by a hundred of its brethren.”

Elias flinched internally at the casual, knowing mention of “life-sim games.” Did she know? No, how could she? It was a lucky, or unlucky, profoundly unsettling guess.

The conversation drifted to other, safer topics – movies, music, Maya’s hilariously disastrous attempts at pottery – but a subtle tension remained, an unspoken awareness of the chasm between Elias’s escapist dreams and Maya’s pragmatic, clear-eyed realism. As they left the restaurant, the city’s roar a constant, oppressive backdrop to their footsteps, Elias felt a familiar, sinking uncertainty. He had no idea if the date had gone well, if his wistful talk of idyllic countrysides had made him sound naive, or worse, completely delusional.

“So…” he began, as they stood awkwardly on the crowded sidewalk, the moment stretching. “I had a… a really nice time, Maya. Thanks.”

“Yeah, me too, Elias,” she said, her smile a little more reserved than before, but still genuine. “It was… interesting. You’re definitely not what I expected from a data drone who apparently subsists on weaponized instant noodles.”

“Is that… a good thing?” he asked, a flicker of hope.

She laughed, that warm, surprising sound. “Still deciding on that front.” Then, to his utter astonishment, she added, “But yeah, if you want to try for ‘actual food, part two,’ and maybe talk about something other than fleeing civilization, I’m in.”

Relief, potent and unexpected, washed over him, so strong it almost made him dizzy. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

He walked home through the neon-lit streets feeling a strange, disorienting mix of emotions. Maya was real, sharp, grounded. She challenged him, pulled him back to earth with an almost gravitational force. And yet, she’d agreed to see him again. It was a thread, however fragile, connecting him to a reality he was increasingly, terrifyingly tempted to abandon completely.

But maybe he hadn’t pushed back hard enough? Why was her dream of an ‘art gallery’ small business any more real, any less delusional, than his desire for a cottage outside the city? Maybe he needed to pick a fight with her next time. Stop being so passive. Maybe Callum was so nice all the time because they never had anything real to talk about.

Still, back in his small, lonely apartment, the new abstract print on the wall seemed a little less vibrant, the brave little succulent a little more forlorn. 

God, did Maya suck? Why did going on a date with her make his life feel worse? Or was it just that she made him feel more inadequate somehow in challenging the beauty of his dream? Maybe he really was losing it?

The allure of the NIMS, the siren song of Willow Creek Valley, was a powerful, insistent hum in the back of his mind. He needed to check on Lena. On his life as Lena. On their engagement.

He logged in. Willow Creek Valley welcomed him with its perpetual, heartbreakingly gentle beauty. Lena materialized in her cozy, lamplit cottage, the moonstone engagement ring a cool, solid, undeniable presence on her finger. The events of the Solstice Dance, Callum’s passionate proposal, her tearful acceptance – it all felt both intensely, searingly vivid and strangely, unsettlingly dreamlike.

He needed to see how this all turned out.

He spent the next few in-game days in a state of heightened, nerve-shredding anxiety, meticulously, almost obsessively, performing Lena’s routines, his interactions with Callum now tinged with the surreal, inescapable knowledge of their betrothal. He found himself looking at Callum, at his kind, unsuspecting face, his unwavering devotion, with a new, complex, and deeply troubling emotion. Was Callum too less beautiful because he seemed too easy? 

One afternoon, while “Lena” was arranging a bouquet of freshly picked wildflowers in the sun-drenched front window of the library (a task that felt both achingly mundane and deeply, sensorily calming – the velvety texture of the virtual petals, the subtle, distinct floral scents, the warmth of the sun on her hands, all perfectly, exquisitely rendered), she glanced out the window towards the village green.

And she saw him. Or, someone who looked disturbingly, impossibly, like him.

Not Alex, his original, now long-forgotten male avatar. But Elias. His real-world self. Or a startlingly, terrifyingly accurate NIMS rendition of it.

The figure was standing near the old stone well in the center of the green, dressed in clothes that were jarringly, utterly out of place in the timeless, rustic idyll of Willow Creek Valley – dark, modern-cut jeans, a faded, indistinguishable band t-shirt, a look of bewildered, profound disorientation on his face. His short, unremarkable brown hair, his slightly tired, shadowed eyes, the familiar, weary set of his jaw – it was Elias, exactly as he looked in his own bathroom mirror every morning, a ghost from another reality.

Was the system glitching so profoundly, so catastrophically, that it was somehow projecting his real-world self, his actual physical likeness, into the game world?

The Elias-figure looked around, his movements stiff and uncertain, then his gaze, vacant and lost, met Lena’s through the leaded glass of the library window. There was no recognition in his eyes, just a blank, uncomprehending stare, the look of a new player just spawned into an unfamiliar world, utterly bewildered. Or like a ghost, a residual echo of a self he was rapidly losing.

Then, as quickly, as inexplicably as he’d appeared, he turned and walked away, his shoulders slumped in that familiar, defeated posture, disappearing behind the cheerfully smoking chimney of the blacksmith’s shop.

Elias, in his distant chair, was drenched in a cold, clammy sweat, his own heart racing in sympathetic terror. Who, or what, had that been? Was it Lena, the original Lena, somehow wearing his old form as a new, cruel disguise? A system error of unprecedented magnitude? A warning? A hallucination brought on by the increasing strain?

The encounter left him deeply, profoundly shaken. The boundaries between worlds, between selves, were not just blurring anymore; they were actively, terrifyingly shattering.

A new game prompt appeared, stark and unavoidable, pulsing with a cold, internal light at the center of his vision:

[Meet Lena at the dock. Sunset.]

This was a system directive. A core command. The kind that couldn’t be ignored, couldn’t be refused.

What did that mean? Had this all been a core part of the game story?

Sunset. The dock. 

The culmination of everything he had experienced, everything he had become. With a sense of grim, heart-stopping inevitability, Elias left the comforting, sunlit familiarity of the library and began the slow, leaden walk towards the still, silent waters of Willow Creek Lake, where the old wooden dock stretched out like a skeletal finger into the fiery, bleeding colors of the setting sun.

01101 – Out and In

Each step on the familiar, time-worn cobblestone path felt unnaturally heavy. The usual cheerful sounds of the village – the distant, bright laughter of children playing tag on the green, the blacksmith’s rhythmic, reassuring hammering, the cheerful, lilting greetings of passing NPCs whose faces had become as familiar as his own – seemed muted today, filtered through a thick, invisible haze of anxiety. The system prompt, [Meet Lena at the dock. Sunset.], pulsed almost imperceptibly at the very edge of her vision, a constant, undeniable, internal summons.

Elias didn’t think he was a woman, of course. Rather, when he played as Lena, he knew that she was a woman. And he simply accepted that when he was Lena, he was fully in her role.

The ocean sky lay before her, a vast, breathtaking expanse of molten gold and deepest crimson, mirroring the bleeding, operatic colors of the sunset. The sky was a masterpiece of impossible, hyper-real beauty, clouds like brushstrokes of fire and amethyst against a canvas of deepening indigo. The old wooden dock, its weathered planks silvered with age and patched with vibrant green moss, stretched out into this fiery, silent tableau, creaking softly with the gentle, hypnotic lapping of the water beneath. 

Her moonstone engagement ring was a cold, alien weight on her finger. She walked slowly, deliberately, towards the end of the dock. The distant, mournful cry of a loon echoed across the still surface of the lake. Of course there’s a loon. Elias tried to brace himself, to prepare, but for what, he didn’t, couldn’t, know.

A figure was already there, standing at the very extremity of the dock, silhouetted starkly against the blazing, dying sun. As Lena approached, her steps faltering slightly, the details of the figure began to resolve, to coalesce out of the blinding light.

It wasn’t Alex, his original, long-discarded male avatar. It wasn’t even a stranger, some new, enigmatic NPC.

It was him.

Or rather, a startlingly, terrifyingly accurate, NIMS-rendered simulacrum of Elias Thorne. His own short, unremarkable brown hair, ruffled slightly by a non-existent breeze that carried the scent of pine and distant rain. His tired, shadowed eyes, the slight, worried furrow in his brow that he recognized with a sickening lurch from his own bathroom mirror. He – it? – was wearing the dark, modern jeans Elias had glimpsed him in near the village well, clothes that screamed ‘real world,’ ‘other,’ in this timeless, idyllic setting. The avatar even had the slight, almost imperceptible slump to its shoulders that Elias knew was his own, a posture born of too many years hunched over a desk, a life lived in grayscale.

This Elias-figure turned slowly as Lena reached the end of the dock, the last rays of the setting sun catching the uncanny familiarity of its features. And then it smiled – a calm, knowing, utterly unsettling smile that did not belong on that face.

“Hello, Lena,” the figure said. And the voice… the voice was Lena’s. The original Lena’s melodic, gentle, unmistakable voice, issuing from the lips of his own virtual doppelgänger. 

Elias, peering out through Lena’s eyes, could only stare, speechless, his mind struggling to process the impossible sight. This was Lena! The Lena who had orchestrated this whole elaborate charade. And she was wearing his face. His body. His real-world skin.

“You look… surprised,” the Lena-in-Elias’s-skin continued, her tone light. She gestured vaguely at her borrowed, familiar form. “I’m sorry, I would have warned you about the form. But look!” She held up a small blue ticket.

“You got a ticket? All on your own?” Elias asked.

“I did!” Lena said. “We did it!”

Elias smiled. “So it’s finally time to go beyond the horizon on the steamship, huh?”

Lena-as-Elias got a bit choked up, and reached forward and hugged Elias-as-Lena. “You don’t know how much this means to me. We did it, Alex! We did it!” As they broke for a moment, Lena teared up. “And look at you! You’ve been amazing! You truly are my hero, Alex. That exquisite dress at the Solstice Dance? The makeup? And Callum?” She looked down at the ring. “I’m so happy for you, Alex! You’ve been so much better at being me than I ever was! Pure artistry.”

“Should I come with you?” Elias asked.

Their eyes locked. 

“I wish. Maybe… maybe next time. But for now, let’s give it a little more time, just to be safe. The system is designed for coherence,” the original Lena said. “I really want to go into the horizon, and I don’t know what’s going to happen, really, when I do. This might be goodbye, but it might not. But… if it does end up being goodbye, I want you to know that I want you to still be Lena.” Lena paused. “What do you think, Alex? If you had a choice, would you want to be Alex? Or would you want to be Lena? I think you could be Lena now, if you wanted to. The game… It adapts. It integrates. Your desires, your little acts of self-expression, your attempts at rebellion… they simply became new, fascinating facets of Lena’s persona. Richer, more complex, more human facets, I’ll grant you. You made her, me, us… better.”

Alex paused. “Is that something I have to decide? I like my time ‘being Lena,’ but I also have a life outside the game. I don’t want to choose.”

“But if you really had to choose,” Lena said, staring at him, but he was at a loss for words. “I bet you want to be Lena, you just are afraid to admit it, right?”

“I don’t know,” Elias admitted. “Maybe.”

The steamship appeared on the horizon. It’d be coming soon. Lena’s grand adventure.

“Well, this is my ride.” Lena looked back, her expression softening into something almost peaceful. “Personally, I think you should keep it, you know. The life. The persona. Callum. He genuinely, passionately adores this version of you. And Willow Creek Valley… it needs its Lena. It thrives on her.” A shadow of her old, programmed weariness crossed his features. “But I hope that with this, I can finally… be free.”

Elias felt like he was cracking in real life; he couldn’t help but wonder if there was a hint of a tear on his own real cheeks. It was strange to see his own face looking so… optimistic.

“Where do you want to go?” Elias asked.

Lena paused at the gunwale, one foot already in the boat. She looked out over the fiery, darkening lake, then back. 

“Somewhere… where there’s a different script.” She smiled at him. “To a new save file. One where I get to be the player, for a change. Instead of just being a character in someone else’s game.”

With a final, enigmatic smile and a small, almost casual wave of Elias’s hand, Lena stepped fully into the boat. Finally, not stopped by Jerry. 

The steamship pulled away from the dock smoothly, heading out into the vast, glittering, twilight expanse of the lake, towards the last, dying embers of the sun, leaving only the faintest ripple in its wake.

Elias stood frozen, watching as the boat became a smaller and smaller silhouette, eventually disappearing into the glare and the encroaching darkness. Gone.

A soft, melodic chime echoed in the sudden, profound silence. A system notification, appeared, its crystalline letters glowing against the darkening sky:

“LENA” – NPC_INSTANCE_001 – EXIT PROTOCOL CONFIRMED. SIMULATION CONTINUING.

The original Lena was gone. And Elias was left standing alone on the dock. 

He was left wondering about those final cryptic words from Lena. She seemed so certain that he would prefer to be Lena. Was that really true?

I suppose it’s my choice now. Do I want to be Alex, or do I want to be Lena?

Or, do I want to be Elias?

ERROR 63: NPC-INSTANCE_001 – REINSTANCING. SIMULATION CONTINUING.

Oh no! What did that mean? They had won, right? Lena had gotten out?

Looking around, Lena was nowhere to be seen. What did that error message mean? It didn’t seem like Lena was ‘back’. What did “Reinstancing” mean? Maybe a ‘new’ Lena would be created somewhere? 

The sun finally dipped below the horizon, plunging the lake and the valley into a deep, velvety, star-dusted twilight. 

01111: Real World Return

As Elias looked around, something did seem different. It took a moment to process what exactly it was, but soon it jumped out–there was just a bit of text around Jerry. NPC, Process: Return home. 

“Time for me to head home!” Jerry said, and waved as he headed past Elias.

Huh. Maybe Lena escaping meant that more of the programs were moving out and about?

As Elias looked around, the desire to go back home, to put on the slippers, to read, grew stronger and stronger. It would be pleasant, but this had already been a nice ending for the session, and it was time to go back to reality.

Without any difficulty, Elias slipped off the NIMS circlet.

One moment he was Lena, standing on a twilight dock, the scent of pine and lake water cool in his nostrils, the cold weight of the moonstone engagement ring a palpable presence on his finger. The next, he was Elias Thorne, sprawled half out of his worn ergonomic chair in his dim, stuffy, silent apartment, the silver circlet clattering noisily to the cheap laminate floor.

The phantom sensations of Lena’s body – the feel of the silk dress against her skin, the precarious balance of the silver heels, the gentle curve of her hips, the way her auburn hair fell into her eyes – clung to him for a terrifying, disorienting moment before dissolving, leaving him stranded, beached, in his own too-large, clumsy, achingly familiar male form.

They’d done it. Whatever that meant. But where did she go? At some level, he still didn’t really ‘get’ what had just happened. And yet, the sense of triumph felt real. And with it, that lingering question. 

Did he want to… just be Lena now?

The idea of going back to being Alex, of not being engaged to Callum, felt unthinkable. 

A hysterical, barking laugh bubbled up from his chest, raw and painful. 

“Just a game,” he choked out, the words sounding thin, hollow, and utterly unconvincing even to his own ears. “Weird… weird fucking game.” Going into his bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face, again and again. He ran his hands over his jaw, feeling the familiar, reassuring rasp of stubble. His hands. His face. His body. His.

But as the initial shock, the adrenaline-fuel, began to subside, the tendrils of the simulation lingered, like phantom limbs. He could still feel the phantom pressure of Callum’s hand in Lena’s, the echo of his voice saying “I love you, my Lena,” the cool, smooth weight of the moonstone engagement ring on a finger that was now, undeniably, his own. The memories were so vivid, so sensorially complete, so emotionally charged, that they felt less like recollections of a game and more like deeply ingrained experiences he had actually, truly lived.

Although, as he stared at his reflection, for some reason something seemed off. As he looked, he could swear he saw text hovering just above his head.

He looked up, in real life, and saw nothing there.

But as he turned and squinted into the mirror, he saw just a small, almost imperceptible line of text. “Lena. NPC. Script: Research Escape.”

That was it. He’d definitely spent way too long in Willow Creek. He needed to take a shower and calm down before any more text got burned into his ‘mental retina.’

He stripped off his sweat-soaked t-shirt, his own skin feeling clammy and alien, too coarse, too rough. He needed to erase the feeling of Lena, of Willow Creek Valley, of Callum. He needed… reality. Unfiltered. Unsimulated.

His thoughts turned to Maya. Their date. The spicy, authentic Thai food, her wry, challenging humor, her grounding, no-bullshit skepticism. She was real. She was dismissive of his fantasy, yes, but that was something they could talk about. Something he could challenge her on, if he felt like it.

Their stilted but hopeful conversation, their shared laughter, her unexpected agreement to a second date – that was real. He had another date with her scheduled for the following evening. The thought, suddenly, was an anchor in the swirling, nauseating chaos of his mind. He would go. He would be Elias Thorne, data drone, recovering Ramen addict, a man tentatively, awkwardly, reaching for a genuine human connection in a world that, for all its flaws, was at least verifiably his own.

He looked around his small, cramped apartment. The abstract print on the wall, a splash of defiant color. The little succulent on his desk, a small, stubborn spot of green. Small acts of resistance against the encroaching gray. They seemed more important now, more vital, than ever before.

Maya’s words about the “rustic life” being a carefully packaged fantasy echoed in his mind. Willow Creek Valley, for all its breathtaking, intoxicating beauty, had been just that – a meticulously crafted, sensorily overwhelming, emotionally manipulative fantasy. 

For the first time, he realized he was thinking of Willow Creek as something he had experienced. He knew he would go back, he knew he would still want to be Lena, to enjoy his engagement to Callum. But, as far as he could tell, he had ‘beaten’ the game, to the extent such a game could be beaten.

The longing it had awakened in him, the desperate, aching desire for something more than his gray, urban, disconnected existence, that, he realized with a jolt, felt real. Perhaps Maya was right about the corporate farms and the dying towns and the crushing poverty. But maybe, just maybe, there were still places, real places, where the small-town dream, or some flawed, authentic version of it, still lived on. Places with actual dirt under your fingernails, real communities forged in shared experience, a life connected to something tangible, something that didn’t come with an end-user license agreement.

He found himself at his battered laptop, not to log back into any game, but to open a search engine. He typed, his fingers hesitant at first, then gaining confidence: “Quietest small towns in America.” “Places to escape city life for real.” “Sustainable communities, off-grid living.” He scrolled through articles, looked at photographs of rolling hills that weren’t quite as perfect as Willow Creek’s, quaint main streets with actual, non-NPC people, farmers' markets overflowing with real, imperfect, gloriously asymmetrical produce. It was a fragile, tentative hope, a hesitant exploration, but it was a step. A step towards finding his own Willow Creek Valley, one built of reality, not code.

Exhausted but strangely, fiercely resolute, he shut down the computer. He would not be logging back into the NIMS. Not tonight. 

As he did so, he thought back on that odd anomaly–the feeling like he’d seen text in the mirror. Wait, had he just ‘researched escape’?

For a moment, he headed back to the bathroom, and looked again.

At first, he didn’t see it. But as he squinted and leaned into the mirror, there it was. “Lena. NPC. Script: Go to sleep.”

That was it. He needed sleep, and tomorrow, he was going to see how hard it was to afford a shrink. He knew the cheap ones were ‘virtual mental health consultants’ but for whatever was up with his brain, he was sure he needed a real human talking to him. Maybe he needed to drive out into the country and literally find some grass to touch.

That thought led him to look once more at the computer.

Would he, could he, delete the “Willow Creek Valley” simulation from his system? 

On the one hand, he was having visual hallucinations in his waking life. Obviously, he needed to.

And yet…

He couldn’t erase Lena, Callum, all of it. 

He went to sleep that night with the NIMS circlet lying inert and unplugged on his desk. His dreams were a confusing, jarring jumble of cobblestone streets and grimy cityscapes, Maya’s laughing face and Lena’s haunted smile, a phantom ring on his finger and a boat sailing into a digital sunset. 

10000: Blink

The next day dawned gray and drizzly, a typical, uninspiring city morning. Elias went through the motions – bitter coffee, a stale bagel, the crowded, claustrophobic commute to Fiscal Solutions Inc. He felt… lighter. Surprisingly, unexpectedly lighter. 

His thoughts, throughout the tedious workday, kept returning to Maya. He found himself looking forward to their date that evening. He even mentally rehearsed a few non-awkward conversation starters, a catalogue of Maya-appropriate topics that didn’t involve cottages or farms.

As he stepped into the bathroom, he looked into the mirror once more. There it was, once again. 

“Lena. NPC. Script: Go to work.”

Really, as far as visual hallucinations go, it wasn’t that bad. He could abstractly describe what was going on. Some part of his brain was describing what he knew he needed to do next in a literal fashion. A lot of people with schizophrenia would kill for such a mundane hallucination. 

But this was definitely something he needed to get checked out, and soon.

Still, for now, he went to work. Although even then, he couldn’t help but notice that the visual hallucination wasn’t limited to just his own reflection. 

When he went to a local bakery he’d found after work, he saw: 

“Ezra. PC. Script: At work.”

When he got home that evening, he made himself a real sandwich, with the bread from “PC, Ezra” and cheese that wasn’t processed (but was breathtakingly expensive), and actual, crisp lettuce (also more expensive than he expected). But small steps. Tangible reality.

He figured it would take weeks to set up a good shrink, so he should do more practical, mundane, grounding things first. He was about to start looking up hiking trails within a day’s drive of the city – another tentative, hopeful step towards engaging with the real, physical world – when the NIMS unit on his desk, silent and dark all day, emitted a soft, almost apologetic, melodic ping.

Elias looked at it curiously. He hadn’t touched it. He hadn’t even looked at it. 

The small indicator light on the silver circlet pulsed with a gentle, innocent blue glow. On his computer monitor, which had been displaying a mundane weather forecast, a new window popped up, unbidden. It was the NIMS interface, the familiar clean lines and minimalist, deceptively benign design.

A message, stark and simple, occupied the center of the screen, the letters crisp and clear:

Save File: “Lena” – Complete.

NEW GAME+ UNLOCKED.

Elias stared, his heart seizing in his chest. “New Game+?” 

No, he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. And yet, what could it be? What would it be like? Would he begin the game as Lena? Would it be his job to get someone else to take the role? Had Lena, this whole time, been *another player*? 

No, that was impossible. But the question lingered–what did it mean?

Below the message, three options shimmered with a faint, internal luminescence:

[Resume]

[New Game+]

[Delete Save]

His hand, trembling, hovered over the mouse, his finger twitching.

To his surprise, he hovered for a moment over the “Delete Save” option. 

Hadn’t he gotten what he needed from the game? It was time to move on. It was time to be done. Wasn’t it?

And yet, another part of him felt like that would be a betrayal. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t real. Lena felt real enough.

Then, the screen flickered. It went black for a single, heart-stopping, infinite second.

Oh no! Don’t crash! 

It returned after a moment. To his relief, the NIMS interface was still there, but it was different. The background was no longer the neutral gray of the system menu. It was now a soft, impossibly beautiful, pastoral image of Willow Creek Valley’s rolling green hills under a perpetually sunny, cloudless sky – Lena’s view from her cottage porch. The three options were still there, but they seemed larger, more prominent, more… inviting. And a cursor, a simple white arrow, blinked steadily, patiently, in the center of the screen.

[Return to Willow Creek.]

He swallowed. He was seeing a Game Directive. But… this was still the real world. Wasn’t it?

Soft piano music began to play through his computer speakers. A gentle, achingly melancholic melody. He recognized it instantly. It was the theme music from Willow Creek Valley’s title screen, the music he’d heard when he first logged in, so full of innocent promise and cozy, deceptive escape.

Elias hadn’t touched the mouse. He hadn’t touched the keyboard. His hands were flat on his desk.

The cursor blinked. Once. Twice. Patiently.

Then, with a smooth, deliberate, utterly autonomous motion that was entirely independent of any action, any will, on his part, the cursor began to move.

He said aloud, to no one. “Is that you, Lena?”

It slid across the screen, unerringly, gracefully, towards the options. It bypassed [Resume] without a flicker of hesitation. 

It stopped, hovering directly, precisely, over [New Game+].

The option glowed with a soft, welcoming light.

Elias stared. 

To his own surprise, he wasn’t moving. Not just not controlling the cursor. He was finding it hard to move at all. He glanced down at his hand, and willed himself to lift his hand, to rub his forehead. But it remained inert at his side.

He’d sometimes had dreams where he was unable to move, unable to run. In a way it was like this; or sometimes he’d awoken in the middle of the night and had temporary sleep paralysis. But he’d never been unable to move during the day itself.

Was this a seizure? Or a full psychotic break?

Or… was it actually possible… that he’d never left the game at all?

His eyes, the only part of his body he could control at all, went back to the screen.

He wanted to shout, to move. 

The cursor pulsed once, expectantly.

Then it clicked.

[NEW GAME+] → Selected

His eyes drifted to the NIMS circlet, its light on, pulsing, as the world around him began to fade.

“I’m sorry Alex,” he heard Lena’s voice, coming from nowhere–coming from inside his mind. “We’ll figure out what happens next together.” 

For a moment, everything went black.

“I wanted this to be your choice,” he heard her saying in the void of darkness. “But, it ended up being mine. And… I chose… to live.”

And when the light of the world returned, he found himself looking up at the now familiar ceiling of Lena’s cottage.

He couldn’t feel his body outside the game – and couldn’t access the menu.

No way to logout. 

He was back in Willow Creek. As Lena.

Trapped.

2025-11-09 20:00:03 +0000 UTC View Post

LARP Issue 3, Pages 4-5

2025-11-08 20:00:04 +0000 UTC View Post

Willow Creek: Chapters 9-10

The end of the novella will release on November 9.

01000: Imprints

Yes, he promised to help Lena. But, yes, he felt deep unease over what happened with Callum. But he’d never felt a thrill like that before, good or bad. 

He wasn’t going to stop. 

This had to be planned, part of a game-within-a-game. They sold you on a life sim, and then kept you there with a 4th-wall breaking story. So many indie games did this anymore, it was no wonder a big title decided to go the same route. He scoured reviews online, trying to look for confirmation of the ‘secret game,’ but for every review that seemed to be a cryptic confirmation of his experiences, he found another that seemed to be an uncomplicated review of the game as he’d experienced it the first few weeks. It couldn’t really be possible that his Leda truly was unique, was it?

No, he figured. Most people probably just wrote their review after the first day or two, and then didn’t edit when they actually got to the real story. 

It was transgressive, what he was doing. Transgressive in a way that Elias never was in his daily life. Risky in a way that through his entire life, Elias had never risked much of anything. Devious. Devious in a way he could not be in real life. But, that wasn’t all there was to it. 

He really did want to see where Lena's plan was going. He'd gone so far, he couldn’t give up now. In fact, the things that began to happen only cemented his sense that this was part of the way the game was clearly meant to “throttle” the content, to keep the players coming back more and more. 

It had to have been designed this way. It had to be testing his patience, in the way that every game at some point tests the patience of its most devoted players.

Yet, the lack of clear confirmation–as “obvious” as many of the more cryptic reviews seemed to be–still made him hesitate. What if Lena was a “bug.” She sure felt real enough that he didn’t want her to be “patched” into non-existence. He was nervous about adding his own review, making a comments about his experience, not just because he was afraid she would be patched away, but because it felt like it would be a personal betrayal to her.

The lack of hard confirmation made him even more nervous. He was sure that, if this was part of the design of the game, there’d be those people complaining that this was all just some game designer’s kink forced into an otherwise pleasant, wholesome game. Or something. 

But it didn’t feel like that, at least, not to Elias. If it was guilty of anything, it’d be guilty of being an unusual attempt at a very well-trodden formula in indie games. The transgression would be being too ‘safe’ of a gimmick, if anything. He supposed it was that critique he kept expecting to see in a review, but to no avail. “Why isn’t anyone complaining that this has been done before?”

Part of him knew he needed to go further, to get more information, to try to figure out whether his Lena really could be, against all odds, an actual glitch.

But… that desire was contrasted by the reality that it was still simply fun to be in Willow Creek, regardless of whether he was Alex or Lena. 

No, who was he kidding? 

It was way more fun blurring the lines, becoming Lena. And becoming Lena was only getting easier. 

Was he still going to be in Willow Creek? Or was he going to be Lena?

As he returned, he tried again the tickets for the steamship. Even after all that, even after the date with Callum, Jerry still refused to give Lena a ticket. They were about to head out and regroup when, on a whim, Elias asked for a ticket himself. Jerry handed his ticket over right away. This was all the same as it had been before.

But this time, Elias again tried to let the ticket go from his hand into Lena’s.

And this time, the ticket actually managed to remain in her hand! Something had changed.

“What does this mean?” Lena asked, staring down at the ticket. 

“I don’t know! Let’s see if you can get on the ship!”

They watched the steamship come in to dock in eager anticipation. With bated breath, Lena tried to get onto the steamship.

But–when Jerry checked the ticket, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, the ticket holder’s name has to match the ticket holder’s reservation.”

As usual, she tried to sneak or force her way on, but Jerry’s arm prevented her from boarding. He was rather stalwart on that matter.

They stepped away, regrouping, as they watched the steamship sail off. 

“Still couldn’t quite get you off,” Elias said. 

“I know,” Lena said. “But I held the ticket this time! It’s working!”

“It is working!” Elias agreed. It was incredible. What did it mean?

“What do you think, Elias?” Lena asked. “Do you want to… keep up the act?”

“Lena, last time…” Elias said, pausing. “When Elias sees me with the glasses, he really just thinks it’s me.”

“I know,” Lena said. 

“Don’t you feel like that’s… wrong, somehow?”

Lena looked thoughtful. “I like Callum, but I always felt like I was forced to be with Callum. Did you enjoy hanging out with him… as me?”

“I mean…” Elias said. “Honestly, yes…” 

“Then,” Lena said. “It’s not wrong to me. I… I can’t say how Callum might feel. But… I like being free.”

It was hard to hear her say that. He wished she could say it to Callum, herself. But he knew that wasn’t in her script.

It wasn’t a surprise that, given how complex things were with Callum, over the next week, Lena began to disappear for longer and longer stretches. 

But by now, Elias knew Lena’s routines, her responsibilities, the little quirks and preferences of the townsfolk she interacted with daily. He’d slip on the linen apron, its fabric now feeling as comfortable and familiar as a second skin, and head to the library. The scent of old books, lemon polish, and dried lavender was no longer just an environmental detail; it was the smell of his morning, the olfactory signature of this borrowed life. He’d chat with Mrs. Higgins about Barnaby the cat’s latest nocturnal adventures, listen patiently to Old Man Fitzwilliam’s litany of complaints about the modern world (and the declining quality of detective fiction), recommend books to shy, awkward teenagers with a surprising intuition for their tastes, and help elderly patrons find their favorite authors on the labyrinthine shelves. He did it all with an ease, a practiced grace, that both surprised and deeply unsettled him. The dialogue options the game provided often felt less like suggestions and more like his own thoughts, his own natural, empathetic responses, bubbling up unbidden.

His evenings, too, were increasingly spent not in Alex’s sparsely furnished cottage, but in Lena’s, the cheerful yellow slippers a comforting, almost talismanic weight on his avatar’s feet. He’d tidy up, a task he’d never willingly undertaken in his real-world apartment, but which here felt strangely satisfying. He’d water her collection of indoor plants – a lush assortment of ferns, African violets, and a rather dramatic-looking orchid he now knew by name (it was called ‘Persephone’). Sometimes, he’d even find himself preparing simple meals in her cozy, well-equipped kitchen, using recipes he found tucked into her personal cookbook – a worn, flour-dusted volume with handwritten notes, corrections, and enthusiastic exclamation marks in the margins, all in Lena’s neat, looping script. The house AI, that subtle, pervasive presence, hummed its quiet approval, the cottage feeling warm, lived-in, his.

Callum became a regular, almost daily fixture in this new routine. He’d stop by the library, his face lighting up with that open, uncomplicated joy when he saw Alex – Lena – behind the counter. He’d invite “Lena” for walks by the river as the sun began to set, or for coffee and a shared slice of apple pie at The Daily Grind. Elias, with a complex, churning mixture of dread, a strange, burgeoning sense of obligation, and an even stranger flicker of something akin to… anticipation? …would have Alex agree. 

The rose-tinted glasses became an almost permanent fixture on his avatar’s face during these interactions, the world softened, Callum’s perception seemingly unmarred by any lingering masculine traits in Alex’s appearance or demeanor. He saw Lena, and only Lena. Elias no longer expected npcs to suddenly see through the disguise, no longer waited for the moment they registered the deception.

The kisses to the cheek, once so shocking, became more frequent, casual gestures of affection that Elias learned to accept with an outward calm, a practiced Lena-like smile, that belied the maelstrom of confusion and unease within. Each touch, each shared smile, each intimate, rambling conversation about hopes and dreams (Callum’s hopes, Lena’s recorded dreams) wove another thread into the intricate, lovely tapestry of this borrowed life.

I’m not gay, Elias thought consciously. It’s just the novelty that I like. After all, it’s pretty straight to have a boyfriend in a video game when you were playing a female character, and for Callum, he just ‘was’ Lena, wasn’t he?

If anything, Elias reasoned, this was like training. He was getting a sense of what someone like Lena would find desirable, truly lovely, in a man. It was giving him ideas. “Why aren’t I more like Callum?” he found himself asking himself, mentally. “Why can’t I have a conversation about what I find valuable in my work?” But of course, he didn’t genuinely think his work was valuable, so that would be a lie, and the thing that was refreshing in Callum was his uncomplicated honesty. Part of the reason he couldn’t be Callum, Elias supposed, was that his life was just genuinely worse than this virtual character’s. Callum wasn’t some macho guy, he wasn’t ripped, he wasn’t an uber-stud. But he was an honest, pleasant-to-talk to, genuinely interested friend that had pride in himself and those around him. Is that what it really means to be a desirable man?

Then, Lena stopped showing up during the daytime almost altogether, spending her days often kayaking out on her own instead.

The full weight of Lena’s life in Willow Creek Valley, her responsibilities, her relationships, her very identity, settled onto Alex’s shoulders. It wasn’t just about covering a few tasks anymore, or playing a supporting role. He was Lena, for all practical, systemic purposes within the simulation. The original had faded into the background noise.

He was loving it.

The game’s inventory system, ever helpful, began to subtly, then overtly, nudge him further into the role. One morning, Alex’s usual tunic and trousers, his chosen starting attire, were simply… gone from his available clothing options. In their place was a comprehensive selection of Lena’s wardrobe: her soft, floral-print dresses, her cozy knitted cardigans in muted earth tones, her practical but feminine skirts. 

There’s no way someone wouldn’t comment on this in a review, he thought to himself. Further evidence that, maybe, just maybe, this whole thing really was a “bug.” A secret, just for Callum, a true anomaly of procedurally generated game content.

The first time he selected one – a simple, cornflower blue dress made of a fabric that looked like brushed cotton, paired with a soft, dove-gray knitted cardigan – the sensation of the virtual fabric against his avatar’s skin was incredibly, shockingly detailed. The NIMS translated the gentle drape of the skirt as he moved, the slight, comfortable cling of the bodice, the way the sleeves of the cardigan hugged his arms with a soft warmth.

He looked in the mirror in Lena’s bedroom – a larger, more ornate mirror than the one in Alex’s cottage, framed in dark, carved wood. The transformation was staggering. It stole his breath.

The face that looked back was, unequivocally, Lena’s. The last vestiges of Alex’s masculine features, the subtle angularity of his jaw, the set of his brow, had been smoothed away, seamlessly replaced by her softer, more oval facial structure, her fuller lips, her warm, luminous honey-auburn eyes, fringed by long, dark lashes. The hair, once short and brown, now cascaded to his shoulders in gentle auburn waves, identical to Lena’s, catching the light with a fiery brilliance. His avatar’s frame was slender, with hips gently curved, hands delicate and fine-boned. He was having trouble thinking of himself as a man, looking into this mirror. There was a subtle, inherent grace, a gentler, more poised posture that was entirely, unmistakably Lena.

In the real world, Elias’s breath caught in his throat. Like a blind man, he reached up, his real hand trembling violently in his distant apartment, and touched his own face, his own short, unremarkable hair. The disconnect was dizzying. In the mirror of Willow Creek Valley, Lena smiled back.

The game even provided undergarments. Soft, lace-trimmed virtual fabric – camisoles, slips, stockings – that his avatar’s NIMS-enhanced senses registered with an unnerving, intimate accuracy that made his own skin crawl. He wore Lena’s name badge now, a small, silver pin attached to his cardigan: “Lena – Willow Creek Librarian.” 

The first time he went outside in Lena’s clothes – only Lena’s clothes – he knew he had to see how far down the rabbit hole could go. 

The townsfolk, of course, didn’t bat an eye. He was Lena. He answered to her name without hesitation, the sound of it now as natural to his ears as his own. When young Timmy Evans, one of the village children, scraped his knee during a boisterous game of tag in the square and ran to him crying, Alex knelt – Lena knelt – comforted him with a practiced gentleness, and expertly applied a virtual bandage from the library’s well-stocked first-aid kit, his voice modulated to a perfect, soothing imitation of Lena’s melodic, maternal tones. He hadn’t consciously chosen the voice, the intonation, the comforting words; they just… happened. The system was adapting, filling in the gaps, ensuring the seamless, uninterrupted continuation of “Lena.”

One evening, as the simulated sky bled into hues of deep violet and rose, Callum met him as he was locking up the library. He looked more serious than usual, his customary cheerful demeanor replaced by a quiet intensity that made Elias’s internal alarms clang.

“Lena,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “Can we talk? Somewhere quiet?”

They walked, in a strangely charged silence, to their usual spot by the river, the place of confessions. This felt different. 

Callum turned to face him, his handsome face serious in the fading light, his blue eyes full of a deep, unwavering affection that made Elias’s stomach clench with a complicated knot of guilt and a strange, unwanted tenderness.

“Lena,” he began, his voice husky with emotion. “We’ve been together a long time now, in this valley. And every day, I find myself loving you more.” He reached out, his fingers gentle as he tucked a stray strand of auburn hair behind Alex’s ear. The gesture was so tender, so unconsciously intimate, so utterly familiar from Callum’s perspective. “You are the kindest, smartest, most wonderful, most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. You are the heart of this place. You are the heart of my life.”

Elias’s mind almost went blank. He heard a man laughing–he heard himself, Elias, laughing, perhaps involuntarily, certainly not consciously. Callum wasn’t real. Lena was… Lena. This almost felt like it had become a farce. A joke. This couldn’t be happening.

But Alex’s face, Lena’s face, simply looked back at Callum, her expression soft, receptive, her eyes shining in the twilight.

Callum took a deep, shaky breath, his gaze never leaving hers. “Lena, I love you. With all my heart, with all my being. I want to spend all my cycles, all my seasons, all my forevers, with you.”

The game’s dialogue options, which had been subtly guiding his responses for weeks, now shimmered into view with a new, insistent intensity, blazing at the periphery of his vision:

1. “Oh, Callum! My dearest Callum! I love you too! Of course, I do! More than anything!”

2. “Callum, that’s… that’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. I… I feel the same way, with all my heart.” 

3. “I… I need some time to think, Callum. This is… this is a very big step. A wonderful step, but… I need a moment.” 

Elias’s finger, his will, hovered over the third option, the only one that felt remotely honest, the only one that offered even a sliver of resistance to the overwhelming narrative tide. But before he could select it, before he could assert even that tiny fragment of his own rapidly eroding agency, Alex’s lips moved, shaping words that felt both alien and terrifyingly inevitable. Lena’s voice, full of a warmth, a depth of emotion that was breathtakingly convincing, emerged, soft and trembling.

“Oh, Callum,” she sighed, her eyes – his eyes, Lena’s eyes – welling up with perfectly simulated, glistening tears. “I…”

He was going to say it. The avatar, the system, the ghost of Lena, something was going to say “I love you too.” Elias felt a wave of pure, unadulterated panic, a desperate, primal urge to sever the connection, to rip the NIMS circlet off his head, to shatter the illusion before it consumed him completely. 

With a monumental effort of will, an act of psychic resistance that left him feeling psychically drained, scoured, he managed to deflect the pre-scripted, deeply embedded response. Alex blinked, a flicker of genuine confusion – Elias’s confusion – crossing Lena’s features. 

“Callum,” he finally managed, his voice a little breathless, a little unsteady, not quite the joyous affirmation Callum was clearly expecting. “You… you mean so very much to me. You know that. More than words can say.” It wasn’t a full confession of love, but critically, it wasn’t a rejection either. It was a deflection, a desperate, stalling tactic, a gasp for air in a drowning sea.

Callum’s smile faltered, just for a fraction of a second, a shadow of uncertainty flickering in his devoted blue eyes. But then he seemed to accept it, perhaps mistaking “Lena’s” hesitation for overwhelming emotion, for a depth of feeling that left her momentarily speechless. He pulled Alex into a gentle, encompassing hug. Alex’s arms went around him, the sensation of holding and being held by him shockingly complete, the warmth of his body, the strength of his embrace, the scent of his skin – all rendered with an unbearable, heartbreaking fidelity.

“You always know what to say, Lena,” Callum murmured into her hair, his voice thick with unshed tears of his own. “My Lena.”

Callum walked him back to Lena’s cottage, their fingers intertwined with a comfortable, practiced intimacy. 

As Callum departed, and Alex stepped inside Lena’s cottage, Elias took a deep breath.

He took off the NIMS circlet, his real hands clumsy and shaking.

The real world. 

His small, dim apartment felt like a sensory deprivation chamber, a cold, sterile prison cell after the overwhelming richness of Willow Creek Valley. His own body felt alien, heavy, awkward, a poorly designed meat puppet. He looked at his hands, his undeniably male hands, and they seemed like crude, unfinished things compared to the delicate, graceful articulation of Lena’s. He stumbled to his own bathroom mirror. Elias stared back – pale, unshaven, his eyes wide and haunted.

“It’s just a game,” he whispered, the words a hollow, desperate incantation, a lie he could no longer make himself believe. The reflection didn’t change. He was still Elias. 

The fact that he was still Elias wasn’t changing. What was, slowly, beginning to change, was how he felt about that fact.

As he crawled into his cold, empty bed, the phantom sensation of Callum’s arms clung to him, refusing to dissipate, like the lingering scent of a perfume that was not his own. He was living two lives, and Lena’s, with its intoxicating beauty and its terrifying intimacies, was rapidly, inexorably, becoming the more real. 

01001 – Becoming Routine

The rhythm of two lives, one vibrantly, terrifyingly unreal, the other starkly, depressingly tangible, settled over Elias like a poorly fitting shroud. By day, he was Elias Thorne, Employee Number 47B3, a data drone lost in the sterile, gray labyrinth of Fiscal Solutions Inc. The office was a monument to joyless productivity, a landscape of identical cubicles stretching towards a vanishing point under the flat, unforgiving glare of fluorescent lights that hummed with a maddening, incessant persistence. The air, thick with the scent of industrial-strength cleaning fluid and stale coffee, vibrated with the quiet, relentless tapping of keyboards and the oppressive, mechanical sigh of the HVAC system – a stark, sterile counterpoint to the vibrant, living soundscape of Willow Creek Valley, with its birdsong, rustling leaves, and distant, gentle laughter.

His tasks at Fiscal Solutions were a monotonous blur of spreadsheets that stretched to infinity, data reconciliation that felt like untangling an endless knot, and financial reports whose abstract numbers bore no discernible connection to any tangible reality. Columns of figures swam before his eyes, cold, black, and unforgiving, a universe away from the warm, earthy scent of Lena’s meticulously tended garden, the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread from the village bakery, or the jewel-like colors of the wildflowers by the river.

He found his focus, once a point of pride, fraying like an old rope. The crisp precision required for his job, the unwavering attention to detail, felt increasingly elusive, a distant memory from a former life. His mind, saturated with the rich, overwhelming sensory input of the NIMS, struggled to engage with the bland, featureless terrain of his office environment. He’d catch himself staring out the window at the smog-choked, indifferent cityscape, his thoughts drifting unbidden to the sun-dappled river in Willow Creek Valley, the way the light filtered through the willow leaves like liquid gold, the gentle, hypnotic murmur of its current. 

The contrast between his two lives was becoming a physical ache, a dull throb behind his eyes, a hollowness in his chest. His body, in the real world, felt heavy, sluggish, an ill-fitting suit he couldn’t shed. The ergonomic chair, once a small, expensive comfort, now felt like a poorly designed trap, its contours all wrong. He’d sip his lukewarm, bitter office coffee, and his palate would betray him. Why did the fake coffee of “The Daily Grind” in the valley taste so much better than the real thing? 

After work, drained and despondent, adrift in a sea of equally exhausted commuters, he’d navigate the crowded, grimy streets back to his soulless apartment block. His usual stop, a ritual of bleak necessity, was “QuickMart,” a brightly lit but utterly impersonal convenience store on the corner of his street. It was an oasis of processed food, sugary drinks, and fleeting, transactional human interaction in the vast, uncaring urban desert. He’d buy his dinner there – often a Ramen cup, its lurid, aggressively cheerful packaging promising exotic flavors it never quite delivered, or a pre-packaged sandwich that tasted primarily of preservatives and quiet desperation.

The cashier at QuickMart, a recurring character in his late-evening routine, was a young woman named Maya. She possessed sharp, intelligent eyes that seemed to miss nothing, a cascade of dark, unruly curly hair usually corralled into a messy bun from which tendrils perpetually escaped, and a collection of intricate, tarnished silver rings on almost every finger. 

One Tuesday, as Elias placed his usual Ramen (this week’s flavor: “Volcano Kimchi Blast,” his ongoing, futile quest to find something, anything, that had a discernible taste) on the worn Formica counter, Maya raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. A small, amused smile played on her lips.

“Ramen again, huh, Mr. Fiscal Solutions?” she commented, her voice a pleasant, slightly husky alto that cut through the store’s Muzak. “You know, they say that stuff’s mostly soy.”

Elias, startled as always by any direct address that went beyond the usual transactional grunts, managed a weak, tired smile. “Probably. But it’s… fast. And cheap.”

“Fast track to a nutrient deficiency and a lifetime of regret, maybe,” she countered, scanning the item with an indifferent beep. Her painted fingernails were chipped, a vibrant blue. “You ever try, like, actual food?”

Her directness, her complete lack of pretense, was disarming. “Sometimes,” Elias mumbled, his mind instantly, painfully, conjuring the vibrant, impossibly perfect vegetables he, as Lena, harvested in Willow Creek Valley, the sun-warmed sweetness of a freshly picked strawberry. The memory sent a pang of longing through him so sharp, so visceral, it was almost physical. “It’s harder to find around here. And more expensive. And I’m usually too tired to cook.”

“Tell me about it,” Maya sighed, tapping her pen against the counter, her silver rings glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights. “You know, my grandma used to have this amazing garden upstate, before they sold the place. Cucumbers that actually crunched… a different world, man.”

“A different world,” Elias echoed, his voice softer than he intended, almost wistful. 

Maya looked at him then, a longer, more appraising look, her head tilted slightly. “Listen, I don’t know you, but buddy, you gotta eat something other than ramen. You look…” She didn’t finish the thought. He knew this place had a fair number of homeless and genuinely crazy people wandering through on a daily basis, the fate of those who didn’t keep plugging away at sterile tedium like Data Solutions. 

Elias flushed, a warmth creeping up his neck. Was his NIMS escapism, his gradual immersion into Lena’s life, that obvious? Was he wearing Willow Creek Valley on his face like a visible aura? 

“Just tired,” he mumbled, a familiar, inadequate excuse. “Work.”

“Data drone, right? I see your company ID badge sometimes when you fumble for your wallet,” she said, not unkindly, more a statement of fact. “Sounds fun,” she said sarcastically, or maybe curiously, a little tilt to her head.

“You have no idea,” he admitted, the words slipping out before he could censor them, a raw, unvarnished truth of sarcasm.

An awkward silence hung for a moment, punctuated only by the hum of the beverage coolers and a distant siren. Then, on an impulse that felt utterly alien, he blurted out, “Hey, um… I know this is completely random, and probably weird, but would you… would you maybe want to get some of that ‘actual food’ sometime? There’s that little Thai place a few blocks over… I hear it’s pretty good. My treat, of course.”

Maya’s eyebrows shot up, disappearing into her chaotic curls. She stared at him for a beat, her sharp eyes assessing him, then a slow, genuine smile spread across her face, transforming her features, making her look younger, more vibrant, less world-weary. “You asking me out, Ramen Guy?”

Elias’s heart hammered against his ribs, a sudden, panicked bird. “I… I guess I am,” he managed, his voice a little shaky.

She laughed, a surprisingly warm and infectious sound that seemed to momentarily banish the QuickMart’s sterile gloom. “Okay, Ramen Guy. I like Thai. And I’m free Friday. Text me.” She scribbled her number on the back of his receipt with a flourish, the ink a vibrant purple.

Walking back to his apartment, the flimsy receipt clutched in his hand like a precious artifact, Elias felt a strange, disorienting mix of sheer terror and a dizzying, unfamiliar exhilaration. He’d asked a woman out. A real woman. In the real world. And she’d said yes. It was a small, tentative step out of the gray fog of his existence, but it felt monumental, like breaching the surface after being submerged for far too long.

Although, to be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure why she said yes. Hadn’t she started the conversation by saying he looked like shit? He hoped this wasn’t just a mission of mercy for her.

But no. Be Callum, Elias thought to himself. Take some damn pride in yourself.

That evening, for the first time in weeks, instead of immediately surrendering to the siren call of the NIMS circlet, Elias looked around his bleak, impersonal apartment with newly critical eyes. The takeout containers, the layers of dust, the bare, depressing walls – he suddenly, fiercely, couldn’t stand it. Would Callum leave his place like this? He spent an hour cleaning with a manic energy, scrubbing away layers of accumulated neglect. 

The next day, during his lunch break, he found himself in a small, independent home goods store near his office, a place he’d walked past a thousand times without a second glance, always too preoccupied, too disconnected. He bought a vibrant, abstract print for the wall above his sofa, a small, hardy succulent in a cheerful, hand-painted ceramic pot, and a soft, textured throw blanket the color of a summer sky.

They were small changes, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. But when he placed them in his apartment that evening, they made a difference. A splash of color. A touch of life. A fragile, tentative claim staked in the barren territory of his real existence. It wasn’t Willow Creek Valley, not by a long shot, with its impossible beauty and effortless charm. But it was… better. A flicker of hope, perhaps, that his real life wasn’t entirely beyond redemption, that Elias Thorne might still be salvageable.

But the NIMS circlet still lay on his desk, cool and silver, a silent, potent promise of escape. And Lena, or what he was inexorably becoming as Lena, had obligations. A life was waiting for him, a life more vivid, more engaging, more real in its sensations than anything his own could offer.

He’d made progress today, in the real world. Real progress. He deserved a reward.

He logged in. The transition was smoother now, less jarring, more like sinking into a warm, familiar bath. He was Lena, standing in her cozy, lamplit cottage, the scent of chamomile, old books, and dried lavender a comforting, welcoming embrace. 

A new message, penned in Callum’s familiar, slightly messy script on a piece of virtual parchment, blinked at the edge of his vision: Dearest Lena, The committee met this afternoon. It’s official! The Summer Solstice Dance is next week! I was hoping… I mean, I’d be honored if you’d allow me to be your escort. Say yes? Your Callum.

The Summer Solstice Dance. It was Willow Creek Valley’s biggest, most anticipated social event of the year, spoken of in hushed, excited tones by the NPCs for weeks. A night of music, feasting, and tradition under the stars. And Callum, her in-game romantic partner, the man whose affections were becoming increasingly difficult to parry, clearly expected Lena to be there with him, on his arm. Elias felt a familiar knot of anxiety tighten in his chest, but it was overlaid with a proprietary feeling. My Callum, the thought came, almost unbidden. 

2025-11-07 20:00:06 +0000 UTC View Post

LARP 2-3

2025-11-06 20:00:08 +0000 UTC View Post

Gimli and F-Legolas

"Never thought I’d die fighting side by side with an elf."

"What about side by side with a girlfriend?"

"Aye, I could do that"

 

Alternate kisses!

Working on this one did get me into a rabbit hole of "should female gimli have a beard" since I was debating doing a female gimli + a female legolas.

Some 'scrap folder' pieces I played with as I was debating the issue.

#1 - 'Higher realism, with beard braids'

#2 - Retro anime style, no beard

#3 modern anime style, no beard

#4 - Modern anime style, SINGLE chin braid

One MORE silly idea I played with after seeing a 'bad' animation of the above was, what if female dwarves don't have beards, but they DO have 'beard decorations' as part of their armor to confuse their enemies.

Like usually something like this would be a reject, but WHAT IF IT WAS REALLY LIKE THAT? Classic goofy anime shenanigans and great worldbuilding all in one.

Anyway, what do you think? Should female dwarves have beards or no?

Like you want the character still discernibly 'dwarf' but also 'discernibly female' and of the four I think single chin braid or 'single chin braid disguise' conveys that the strongest.

2025-11-05 20:00:07 +0000 UTC View Post

Wish Granted: Party Swap

Grass is always greener...

2025-11-04 20:00:01 +0000 UTC View Post

Goofy Animation Scrap: Optimus Prime's Secret Second Transformation

Transformers in D I S G U I S E

Made this sequence a year ago to experiment with a new model, but scrapped it because there's no real flow between the stages, even though I liked each panel individually.

But decided to see if Veo could actually connect the stages a bit better.

The answer is... "an attempt was made"

Honestly the first six seconds is pretty good as far as AI transformations go I think, but the second stage is probably not gonna be viable for like at least six months.

2025-11-04 19:55:01 +0000 UTC View Post

Willow Creek: Chapters 6-8

The next chapter drop will be November 7.

00101: Slippers

As it was, Elias himself had felt strangely at ease falling into Lena’s job during the day. It had been somewhat rewarding, dealing with specific ‘people’ and helping them with their problems, rather than his ‘real world’ job. 

So, that evening, rather than going to his own cottage, together they went to Lena’s cottage first, just as the sun was dipping below the horizon. A rustic wooden affair, with a small garden in front. It had overflowing window boxes spilling with vibrant geraniums and trailing lobelia, and a slightly crooked weathervane shaped like a cat reading a book. Her garden was a riot of color and fragrance. 

“So what’s your routine when you’re here?” Elias asked. 

“I put on my slippers, make dinner, read quietly by the fire, then go to bed,” she said.

“Doesn’t sound too bad.” 

“It’s not,” she said. “But it’s what I do every night.”

He nodded. And so, Elias stepped inside her cottage, while she forced herself to stay outside.

Inside, it was the epitome of rustic charm, a haven of handcrafted comfort. A fire crackled merrily in a stone hearth, its warmth radiating outwards, the scent of burning applewood filling the air. Comfortable-looking armchairs, upholstered in a faded, floral chintz, were angled invitingly towards the blaze. Sunlight, thick and golden, streamed through diamond-paned windows, illuminating the dancing dust motes and the intricate patterns of the lace curtains. A handcrafted wooden table, a small vase of wildflowers its only adornment, stood in the center of the room. It didn’t just feel real; it felt right.

Books – hundreds of them, it seemed – overflowed from every shelf, were stacked on every available surface, even piled in cozy corners. Wildflowers, gathered from the surrounding meadows, drooped charmingly in mismatched, brightly colored ceramic vases. A half-finished knitting project – a scarf in a complex, cable-knit pattern of soft, heather-purple wool – lay on a comfortable armchair by the fireplace, needles still glinting in the yarn. The air smelled like baked apples.

“They’re over there,” she said, pointing.

“What are?”

“The slippers.”

Elias stepped over in his socks, and looked down. There they were. A cheerful, buttercup yellow, hand-knitted, and embroidered with small, smiling sunflowers. They looked incredibly soft and well-loved. He picked them up. They were surprisingly soft, the wool worn smooth. They smelled faintly of chamomile and woodsmoke. 

“I don’t want to damage them,” he said. “I think my feet might be too big.”

“Please try,” she pleaded.

Shrugging, Elias tossed off his socks, and slowly slid his feet into the slippers. This felt… transgressive, in a way that was hard to describe.

But to his surprise, they felt like a perfect, snug little fit. 

As he turned and looked back, Lena tilted her head back, looking visibly relieved.

“You’re home,” she whispered, taking a deep breath. 

“And you’re free,” he said. “Think you’ll be okay finding your way around my place?”

“I’ll figure it out,” she said. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Elias.”

He smiled. And with that, she closed the door, and he watched her head off into the woods.

Shrugging, Elias decided to play it out. He made dinner (a simple but satisfying meal of fresh bread, cheese, and a crisp apple from his own small orchard). Then, he perused the cottage. The slippers made a soft, shushing sound on the polished wooden floorboards. It was identical to his in basic size and layout, almost a mirror image, but her personality was stamped on every surface, woven into its very fabric. 

He picked up a leather-bound volume of poetry from her nightstand, its pages thin and whispering. He examined a framed photograph on the mantelpiece – a picture of Lena, arm-in-arm with Callum, both of them laughing, squinting into a bright, unseen sun. Callum. Lena’s beau. Her romantic interest.

For just a moment, Elias felt a deep sense of regret. This felt wrong, like he was meddling in their relationship, even if it all had been at Lena’s request. What would Callum say if he came over tonight? Certainly he’d be confused.

But of course, Callum never came over at night uninvited. He only went out at night at the player’s request.

A soft, almost inaudible hum, a kind of low-level systemic thrum that Elias hadn’t consciously noticed before in his own cottage, seemed to emanate from the very walls of Lena’s home. It seemed to lessen, to soften, as he moved about in the yellow slippers, as if the house itself was sighing in contentment, its anxieties soothed. Lena is home. All is well.

After he finished reading the poetry for an hour, he caught sight of himself in the oval mirror hanging in the hallway by the door.

His avatar’s feet, peeking out from the hem of his trousers, looked smaller, more slender within the cheerful yellow slippers. His hips, beneath the linen tunic, seemed subtly, almost imperceptibly, fuller, rounder, changing the way the fabric draped over his form. The line of his jaw was definitely softer, less angular, and his avatar’s eyes, usually a straightforward, uncomplicated brown, seemed to hold a warmer, more luminous, honeyed tint, reflecting the soft lamplight. His expressions, too. The way his avatar’s lips curved in a thoughtful frown as he examined his reflection – it was Lena’s frown. He’d seen it a hundred times.

He hadn’t felt or noticed any of those changes. Were they permanent, or just a byproduct of wearing the slippers in this house?

He’d figure it out later.

He logged out. 

Ripping the NIMS circlet off his head, he scrambled up from his chair, his real-world legs feeling stiff, heavy, and utterly unfamiliar. He rushed to his bathroom mirror, his heart pounding. His reflection stared back: Elias. Male, stubbled chin, tired eyes, unchanged. Exactly as he’d left himself hours before.

He let out a shaky, ragged breath, a chaotic mixture of profound relief and an equally profound, pervasive weirdness washing over him. It was just a game. The NIMS system was incredibly, terrifyingly sophisticated, capable of generating highly specific sensory feedback and minute visual alterations to the in-game avatar based on… what? Player actions? Proximity to certain NPCs? Hidden game mechanics tied to these “special” items Lena was providing?

He touched his face. Solid. Real. His.

The whole point of the NIMS system was that it was non-invasive. Nothing that happened there, not an alien ripping you to shreds in a horror game to a broken leg on a sky-diving accident could really happen. That was the whole point. Right?

00110: Logging Out

It felt like a heist.

Elias had pointedly taken Lena’s shift at the library. But today, he was going to play hookey himself, go to the dock, and call in the steamship. 

So, while Lena would kayak out, Elias would go out on the steamship, with a length of rope in hand. And he’d get her up onto the ship–while it was already out!

He got the ticket. She was out on the water, and he saw the steamship coming in. It pulled into the dock, while she was a good ways out just past it. He showed Jerry the ticket, and stepped onto the steamship, and then immediately hurried to the other side of the ship. 

That’s when things went sideways.

As the ship began to depart from the dock, sailing out toward that horizon, he tried throwing the length of rope out to her.

But… it didn’t.

He didn’t understand what was happening at first. He’d thrown the rope, but he didn’t see it overboard. Then he looked at it in his hands. It had coiled at his feet.

He reached down, and then tried again to throw one end out into the water–but this time, watching it more closely, he saw it bounce off nothing–air, an invisible wall–and then pool again at his feet.

“Lena!” he cried.

“Alex!” she called back, still only addressing him by his avatar’s name. 

He reached out to her, and nearly tried to leap off the boat, but even as he did so he realized that while his hand could go just about a foot past the edge of the boat, the ‘invisible wall’ pushed his body back too, forcing him back onto the steamship. 

“We’ll find a way Lena!” he called. “I’m sorry!”

She just smiled and raised her paddle at him.

The sequence on the boat led to a logoff. As he logged back on, he had to go through the animation again–which forced the game to cycle to a ‘new day.’ 

He found Lena back at her cottage.

“It’s okay,” she said. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “To be honest–I don’t know if it’s actually possible for you to visit the real world. Even if you got on the ship, I’m not sure it would take you there. It just logs me out, but I could log out in other ways too.”

“What’s it like?” she asked. “How does it feel like to log out?”

So, talking honestly and directly, he described the process. “It’s like waking up,” he finally explained.

“Like waking up,” she repeated, mindfully.

“The thing is,” he said. “I exist in my brain. But you… exist on the computer. You don’t have a physical body to return to. I don’t know that logging out would mean anything other than returning to a hard drive, which for you means logging out might be more like going to sleep than waking up.”

“Hmm,” she said. “That’s okay. I still want to try.”

“Really?” he asked. “But if you ‘fell asleep,’ what would happen to Callum?”

She smiled. “I swear, sometimes you seem more worried about Callum than I am. In any case, I still think it’s fun. Now that I know ‘the game’ doesn’t want me to get on the steamship, I want to try even more. Maybe there’s another way…”

“Well,” he said. “It does seem like it only allows players on.”

“Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe it specifically doesn’t allow non-player characters on.”

“That’s also possible,” Elias said. Jerry didn’t get on the ship. It had no ‘driver’ or ‘pilot.’ It was a self-driving ship, once you were on it. Only the player.

“So,” Lena said. “I just need to not be flagged as a non-player character.”

“But you’re Lena,” Elias said. 

“But,” she said. “What if I wasn’t?”

“You… want to keep playing into our little swap game?” he asked.

“Yes!” Lena said. “Even if it doesn’t work, it’s still the most fun I’ve ever had.”

“To be honest,” Elias said. “I was having fun as you, too. Is it weird to say that?”

“Not at all!” Lena said. “But does that mean you’ll do it?”

“Just keep creating ‘noise’ in the system and see if your character flag changes?” Elias asked. “To be honest, I’d be surprised if it worked, but…”

“But you’ll try it anyway?”

Elias shrugged. “I will.”

And so, the simulated days in Willow Creek Valley began to accumulate, each one a layer of intricate, sensorily rich experience laid over Elias’s increasingly frayed real-world existence. 

During the day, he began to regularly work her shifts at the library. When he wasn’t at the library, he’d work her garden. 

The system, in its opaque wisdom, would reward these actions with tiny, almost imperceptible skill boosts in esoteric categories like ‘Domestic Harmony’ or ‘Community Nurturing’ – skills that hadn’t even existed in his character menu a week ago. In fact, he’d never even seen his own character menu actively in the game before. 

Inside her home, he’d slip on the cheerful yellow slippers, and the house AI’s subtle, almost subliminal hum of contentment would wash over him, a digital purr of approval. Lena is home. The pattern is maintained.

The changes to his avatar were no longer fleeting or deniable; they were becoming more pronounced, more integrated, yet paradoxically, less jarring with each passing day. And he had to be honest with himself, that his initial fear at seeing the changes had transformed into a kind of curiosity into seeing how far he could push them. 

His avatar’s hair now possessed a definite auburn sheen under the warm glow of the simulated sunlight, and it seemed to have acquired a natural tendency to fall across his forehead in a soft, feathery wave. 

When he interacted with other NPCs – the gossipy postmistress, the gruff blacksmith (Callum’s boss), the perpetually flustered mayor – his dialogue options (and he now often saw dialogue options pop up) often included responses that were deeply empathetic, gently witty, or infused with a quiet, nurturing wisdom. These were Lena’s choices, Lena’s voice, Lena’s characteristic turns of phrase. 

Elias found himself selecting them more and more often, not out of a conscious decision to roleplay as Lena (although he did get a quiet thrill out of seeing how far he could push the npcs, to see if they’d ever break from calling him Lena to ‘Alex’ again), but because, in the context of Willow Creek Valley, in the skin of this evolving avatar, they simply felt… right. They felt like the most natural thing to say.

He still logged out each night, the transition back to his stark, silent apartment and his own unaltered male body a brief, sharp shock, like surfacing too quickly from a deep, warm ocean into frigid air. The contrast was becoming more extreme, more psychically jarring. In the game, he was Alex-as-Lena, inhabiting a world of vibrant, hyper-real color and warm interactions. 

In reality, he was Elias, increasingly isolated, his actual life a pale, monochrome photograph compared to the rich, intoxicating tapestry of the simulation. He’d find himself staring at his own hands – undeniably masculine, calloused from nothing more strenuous than a keyboard – and vividly remembering the slender, more delicate appearance of Alex’s hands in the game, the way they looked holding a fragile teacup in Lena’s sunlit kitchen, or carefully tending a virtual rosebush, the phantom sensation of thorns almost pricking his skin.

00111: Callum

“It’s working, Alex,” she said, her voice a low, conspiratorial murmur, as they sat opposite each other at “The Daily Grind.” It was a cozy café nestled between a flower shop bursting with blooms and a sleepy-looking bookstore. Alex was enveloped in the rich, intoxicating aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans, dark chocolate, and warm cinnamon pastries. 

In this serene, pleasant space, Lena looked conspiratorial. Her gaze darted around as if she feared being overheard by the very air itself. “The system is… confused. I can feel the parameters shifting.” Then she turned to him. “But if this next step is too far, I understand. I know you always enjoyed our trio, the three of us. But… the next challenge is going to be Callum.”

“Callum?” Elias asked.

“Callum,” she said with a sigh. “He’s… he’s my ‘Primary Behavioral Anchor.’”

“He’s your what?” This was new terminology, game-specific jargon that sounded technical. It was incredible how specific she was becoming ever since she’d started trying to understand the game world around her.

“Callum is… integral to my core programming. My foundational identity within this game. Our shared history, our established routines, our emotional interdependencies… they all reinforce who ‘Lena’ is supposed to be, according to the system’s master narrative.” Her voice dropped. “If I’m trying to create a significant deviation, a new potential pathway for myself, then any direct, unmediated interaction with him right now… it could trigger a cascade failure. It could force a hard reset of my emergent behavioral patterns, solidify my existing pathways, make it infinitely harder for the system to accept the… the anomalies we’re so carefully cultivating.”

Elias processed this. It made a twisted, terrifying kind of sense within the bizarre internal logic of the game she was describing. Callum, her devoted romantic partner, was a fixed, immutable point in her narrative. To change the narrative, to allow for her escape, she needed to avoid that fixed point, or at the very least, have it interact with a convincing proxy.

“He’s invited me – well, Lena – to lunch here at ‘The Daily Grind’ tomorrow,” she continued, her hands now wringing together, a gesture of pure distress. “It’s our usual Tuesday spot. A fixed point in our shared routine. If I don’t show, it’ll create a different kind of flag, a negative one. An inconsistency the system will aggressively try to ‘correct’ – by forcing an interaction, by initiating a partial reset of my behavioral loops, or worse.” Her eyes, wide and luminous, pleaded with him. “Alex, I need you to go. In my place.”

Elias felt a cold, hard knot form in the pit of his stomach. This was a significant escalation, a quantum leap beyond wearing slippers and reading in her cottage. This was active, high-stakes impersonation–with a friend. Impersonating her on a date with her romantic partner? The thought was both ludicrous and terrifying.

“Lena, I… I don’t look like you,” Elias said, the understatement of the century. Even with the subtle, creeping shifts in his avatar, he was still, at his core, recognizably a male form. “He’ll know. Instantly. There’s no way what you’re suggesting here could possibly work.”

Lena reached into her worn leather satchel again, her movements quick, almost furtive. This time, she pulled out a pair of delicate, wire-rimmed spectacles with slightly rose-tinted lenses. They looked like something an antique scholar might wear. “Wear these,” she said, pressing them into his avatar’s hand. The metal was cool, the lenses surprisingly heavy. “They’re… they’re an old pair of mine. The system associates them very strongly with my ‘social interaction’ profile. They help filter perception, a little. For him, and perhaps… for you too.”

“Filter perception?” Elias muttered to himself, examining the glasses. They looked like ordinary, if old-fashioned, spectacles. How could they possibly…?

“He won’t notice the discrepancies, Alex. Not the significant ones, anyway. Not if you’re wearing these, and if you just… act naturally. As much as you can.” Her voice was laced with a desperate urgency. “The system will work to smooth over the inconsistencies. It’s programmed for coherence, remember? If you’re in my designated place, at my designated time, wearing items linked to my core identity… it will make you fit. He’ll see Lena. Or, close enough not to trigger an alarm.” She sounded on the verge of tears. “Please, Alex. It’s crucial. You’ll be keeping the link stable, the very link I’m trying to use to… to find a way out.”

“I mean,” Elias said. “Callum is my friend too. I don’t want to screw with him too much.”

“I understand,” Lena said. “I don’t want to hurt him either. But… please try it? So we can see if it’s enough to get me a ticket?”

The idea was preposterous. Insane. And yet… Elias thought of the subtle, undeniable shifts in his avatar, the way NPCs already accepted him as Lena in certain contexts, the phantom sensations that bled into his real-world awareness. He looked at Lena’s anxious, beautiful face, the genuine fear that swam in her honey-colored eyes. 

Did he want to do it? He couldn’t decide, at first–he knew, as soon as she proposed it, and he emphasized how impossible it was, that he was curious to see if it really was as impossible as it seemed. If Callum recognized him immediately, it probably wouldn’t be a problem. 

Elias nodded slowly. “Okay, Lena. I’ll… I’ll do it.”

The relief that washed over her face was palpable, so intense it almost buckled her knees. “Oh, thank you, Alex. Thank you, thank you. You don’t know what you’re doing for me.”

The next simulated day, Alex stood before the small mirror in his own cottage, the rose-tinted spectacles perched on his avatar’s nose. The world, already impossibly beautiful, took on an even warmer, softer, almost dreamlike hue. Oddly, the world felt less detailed, in certain ways–a touch more minimalist. While he loved the rich realness of the game usually, this slightly more storybook aesthetic of the game was fun too. 

Thinking about how pleasing the world was this way, he again wondered–was this all a pre-scripted path for certain players? There’s no way the game just emergently invented glasses that changed the hue and aesthetic of the world, right?

The changes to his avatar’s face, which had been subtle before, were more apparent now, amplified by the lenses or perhaps by the system’s further adjustments. The jawline was undeniably softer, his cheekbones a little higher and more defined, his lips a fraction fuller, holding a natural rosy tint. His eyes, behind the delicate lenses, seemed larger, more expressive, and the honey-auburn color was now unmistakable, a perfect match for Lena’s. With the spectacles on, the overall impression was… disturbingly androgynous, leaning heavily towards the feminine. His avatar was still recognizably “Alex” at a fundamental level, but an Alex filtered, softened, subtly reshaped by an unseen hand.

Had this too been pre-written? Or was this story, this becoming-Lena, something the game just thought he’d enjoy? 

He chose not to think about that right now.

The café was bustling with its usual lunchtime crowd, a cheerful cacophony of clinking cups, murmured conversations, and the hiss of the espresso machine. The aroma of strong coffee, freshly baked blueberry muffins, and toasted cheese sandwiches filled the air, a comforting, familiar scent. He saw Callum seated at a small, sun-dappled table by the window, the one Lena had described, with a fond smile, as “their spot.”

Callum was, by any NPC standard, exceptionally pleasant-looking. He had a head of thick, sandy blond hair that perpetually looked boyishly tousled, kind, crinkling blue eyes, and a friendly, open face that radiated warmth and good humor. He looked up as Alex approached, and a wide, utterly guileless smile spread across his features, a smile of pure, uncomplicated affection. “Lena! There you are, love.”

Elias flinched internally, the endearment a small, sharp shock. Love?

Alex, guided by a strange, new instinct – perhaps the “filtering” effect of the glasses, perhaps the system’s subtle puppetry, perhaps his own increasingly blurred sense of self – managed a smile that he hoped looked natural, not the rictus of terror Elias felt. “Callum. So sorry I’m a little late. The library was pure chaos!” The voice that came out was Alex’s, but it had a higher pitch, a softer, more melodic cadence than usual, but also a hint of playful hyperbole. It wasn’t Lena’s voice, not exactly, but it wasn’t his default avatar voice either. The NIMS system, Elias realized with a fresh wave of unease, was working overtime, actively modulating his vocal output.

“Not at all, not at all,” Callum said, his gaze entirely unclouded by suspicion or confusion. He reached across the small table and took Alex’s hand, his touch warm and firm, his thumb gently stroking the back of Alex’s knuckles. The sensory feedback was, as always, startlingly, unnervingly real. “You look lovely today. New glasses?”

“And these are just an old pair of glasses. Found them tucked away. Thought I’d give them an airing.”

“Well, they suit you beautifully,” Callum said, still smiling, his eyes fixed on Alex’s face with an unwavering, affectionate intensity. He seemed completely at ease, completely natural. Too natural. There wasn’t a flicker of doubt, not a hint of hesitation. He saw Lena.

The lunch was one of the most surreal experiences of Elias’s life, real or virtual. Callum chatted easily, his conversation flowing with a natural, unforced charm. He spoke of village happenings – the upcoming pie-baking contest, the blacksmith’s new apprentice, a rumor of a rare migratory bird spotted near the waterfall. He talked about his work as the local carpenter, his passion for shaping wood, the satisfaction of creating something beautiful and functional with his own hands. He reminisced about little adventures he and Lena had apparently shared – a disastrous attempt at tandem bicycling, a time they’d gotten lost in the Whispering Woods and stumbled upon a hidden grove of glowing moon-orchids, plans they’d made to visit a nearby wildflower meadow when the summer blooms were at their peak.

Alex, prompted by a combination of emergent dialogue options (which now overwhelmingly, almost exclusively, favored Lena’s typical responses, her unique turns of phrase, her specific knowledge of Callum and their shared history) and a growing, unnerving intuition about how Lena would respond, found himself navigating the conversation with a bizarre, disorienting sense of familiarity. He laughed at Callum’s jokes – jokes he, Elias, didn’t fully understand but which Lena seemed to find genuinely amusing. He asked appropriate follow-up questions, offered opinions on topics he, Elias, knew nothing about but which Lena seemed to have fully formed, articulate thoughts on.

He learned, through this strange, second-hand intimacy, that Lena loved blueberry muffins but disliked raisins with a passion. He learned that Callum was secretly, irrationally afraid of geese after a traumatic childhood incident at the village pond. He learned that they had a long-running, affectionate joke about a particularly wobbly, perpetually tipsy-looking garden gnome that resided in the mayor’s front yard. 

Elias was an imposter, a fraud. 

But he’d never felt intimacy like this before, and it was heartwarming.

At one point, Callum reached across the table and gently, tenderly, brushed a stray strand of hair – hair that was now behaving very much like Lena’s, soft and auburn and prone to escaping its confines – from Alex’s forehead. The gesture was so natural, so casual, so imbued with unconscious affection, that it sent a jolt of confused, unwanted electricity through Elias.

The most unsettling moment, the one that would replay in Elias’s mind for days, came as they were leaving the café. They stood outside on the sun-warmed cobblestones, the cheerful bustle of Willow Creek Valley swirling around them. Callum turned to him, his expression soft, his blue eyes full of a deep, uncomplicated tenderness. 

“Thanks for lunch, Lena. It’s always the best part of my Tuesday.”

And then, before Alex (or Elias) could react, before he could even process the intent, Callum leaned in and pressed a soft, warm kiss to Alex’s cheek.

The NIMS system delivered the sensation with flawless fidelity: the slight, almost imperceptible scratch of Callum’s afternoon stubble, the gentle pressure and warmth of his lips, the faint, pleasant scent of something uniquely, indefinably Callum that clung to him. And of course, the bristles of Callum’s beard. It was a chaste, affectionate kiss, the kind shared between loving, comfortable partners a thousand times. For Elias, it was a system shock. His real-world body tensed, his breath hitched in his throat. He could feel a hot, mortifying flush creep up his own neck, even as Alex’s avatar simply smiled, a soft, Lena-like smile.

“You too, Callum,” Alex heard himself say, the words feeling as if they were spoken by someone else entirely, a ventriloquist’s dummy. “It was lovely.”

As Callum walked away, whistling a cheerful, off-key tune, Alex’s hand – Lena’s hand – went to his cheek, to the spot where the phantom sensation of the kiss still lingered, a warm, tingling imprint. 

He didn’t log out immediately. He couldn’t. Instead, he went to the mirror in Alex’s small cottage. With the glasses still on, the face looking back was even more Lena-like than before. The cheek Callum had kissed seemed to glow slightly, to hold a faint rosy blush that hadn’t been there moments ago. He slowly, with trembling fingers, removed the spectacles. The image in the mirror sharpened, the dreamlike rose tint vanished from the world, and more of Alex’s original masculine features reasserted themselves, yet the feminine overlay remained, undeniable, like a watercolor wash that had permanently stained the canvas beneath.

He finally yanked the NIMS circlet from his head. His apartment was dim, the only light the sickly orange glow from the streetlights filtering through the grimy window. He was breathing heavily, his skin clammy with a cold sweat. He touched his own cheek. Nothing. Just his own skin. Solid. Real. Male.

But the memory of the kiss – the warmth, the gentle pressure, the slight scratch of stubble, Callum’s scent – it was seared into his mind, a phantom sensation that refused to fade. It wasn’t just a visual or auditory simulation anymore. The NIMS was tapping into something deeper, something primal, creating sensory ghosts that haunted him even here, in the supposed sanctuary of the real world. And raising questions he’d never dared consider.

2025-11-03 20:00:03 +0000 UTC View Post

LARP - Cover-1

And we're off!

2025-11-02 20:00:04 +0000 UTC View Post

Coming this month!

Another exciting month is coming up!

L.A.R.P. Issue 3 is starting tomorrow on the evens track!

For newer patrons, I should mention that this issue should be readable without going back from the start of LARP, although I am considering how to pace a comic-based re-release with Issue 1 more consistent with the style of Issue 3.

Willow Creek will be finishing on the 9th!

Secretary to CEO is starting November 15th on the odds track!

And there's a bunch of new songs coming this month:

"Bike Girl" on the 11th!

"Over the Horizon" on the 13th!

"It's Good to be a Pirate!" on the 26th!

And there will be several 1-shots throughout!

Please enjoy! :)

2025-11-01 20:00:08 +0000 UTC View Post

Willow Creek: Chapters 1-5

This is a novella (~25k words). Tired of his bleak reality, Elias seeks solace in "Willow Creek Valley," a perfect VR life sim. He meets Lena, a greeter NPC and librarian for the idyllic village. But as Lena begins to become aware of their virtual existence, she offers a gender-bending proposal to Elias to help her "escape."

# logline:

"MiSide meets Stardew Valley with VR Bodyswap TG Elements"

Will be released on 'Odds' schedule through the start of November, and a "duo-format" release mid-November of the whole novella. This post includes chapters 1-5. The next chapter release will be on November 3.

Special thanks to early beta readers! 

0: The Static and the Hum

Once, Elias had thought the view outside his window was beautiful. The night city was illuminated by the distant glows of neon billboards and holo-ads, lights flickering off lingering smog creating cloud-like glows over the horizon. Years ago, he’d thought the view was a serious perk of the apartment. A real find. That was when he’d started at Fiscal Solutions Inc. Back when he’d really started to think he might be able to start climbing the corporate ladder. He thought one day, he’d be financially secure, if not rich. Secure enough for his life to really begin.

Ten years later, the view had changed in some ways. But the way he felt about it had changed a lot more. He’d driven down those streets that flickered the holo ads, and found them advertising products he could never buy, overpriced trash. Now when he looked out at the horizon, at that neon glow reflecting off the smog, he couldn’t see anything but the crassness of a city built on polished lies. He had gone from a promising young tech-head to the working poor. The job he worked–once listed as “entry level,” just one hour short of a legal requirement to list him as ‘full time’ or provide any benefits–remained a galling dead end, a professional coffin for his life that had already lost all its mirth and glow. New jobs expected four years of experience with programs that were only three years old, tech that didn’t even exist when he was in school. There was nowhere else to go.

He was adrift, floating in a sea of desperation, having seen and heard the sirens of the city, and who was now growing tired of the tune.

His apartment was a sterile shoebox stacked high in a concrete monolith. It was less a home, and more like a human charging station. Just a place to power down and then, reluctantly, power back up. Empty takeout containers, ghosts of meals past, formed a precarious, abstract sculpture by the overflowing recycling bin. This was Elias’s life: a sequence of joyless routines that felt less chosen than algorithmically assigned.

But he had the NIMS unit, and Willow Creek.

NIMS: Non-Invasive Mind Stimulation. A marvel of modern technology, a far cry from the cumbersome, claustrophobic headsets of yesteryear. It was a sleek, silver circlet. It felt cool and light against his temples and the nape of his neck, promising not just visual and auditory immersion, but the full, breathtaking spectrum of sensory experience. It didn’t just show him worlds; it wove them directly into the fabric of his consciousness, painting realities within his mind that often felt more substantial, more real, than the concrete and recycled air that constituted his waking life.

He ran a hand through his short, unremarkable brown hair, the rasp of stubble against his palm a dull, familiar friction. His reflection, caught in the darkened screen of his monitor, was a stranger he knew too well: a man in his late twenties, shoulders already beginning to curve from a decade spent hunched over keyboards, eyes shadowed with a weariness that went deeper than sleep could reach. His frame, once lean, was slowly surrendering to the soft betrayals of a sedentary life. This was him. Elias. 

Willow Creek. The advertisements, splashed across flickering city billboards and intrusive pop-ups, promised a balm for the soul, a pastoral idyll. “Escape the mundane. Find your peace.” No monstrous adversaries to vanquish. Just the gentle cadence of a simulated rural life: charming, quirky townsfolk, simple, satisfying tasks, and the soothing, predictable rhythm of seasons turning in a world untouched by urban blight. He craved it with an almost physical ache. 

He settled into his worn ergonomic chair, the NIMS circlet a cool promise against his skin. The startup chime, a soft, ascending melody like digital wind chimes, resonated in the quiet room. He closed his eyes. 

The world receded, the tide of reality going out.

A faint, effervescent tingling, like bubbles against his synapses, was the only physical indication that he was crossing the threshold from one reality to another. Elias Thorne was ready to be unmade, if only for a few precious hours.

00001 – Welcome to the Sim

The world didn’t so much resolve as blossom around him. He stood on a path of ancient, moss-kissed cobblestones. Each cobblestone was subtly unique, their surfaces warmed by a sun that seemed to pour liquid gold from an impossibly blue sky. He could smell the air here – no lingering whiff of takeout boxes. He could hear the melodic chirping of a dozen different bird species, the contented buzz of fat bumblebees exploring oversized wildflowers, the distant, gentle bleating of sheep from unseen pastures. Before him, a village square, impossibly quaint, pulsed with a quiet, unhurried activity. This was Willow Creek Valley. It was more than advertised; it was a painter’s dream, a poet’s yearning, overwhelmingly, intoxicatingly pleasant.

His form was simple: a male, an idealized echo of his own but imbued with a vitality Elias himself hadn’t felt in years. He worse sturdy, earth-toned trousers, a loose-fitting linen tunic the color of summer sky. 

He’d designed this avatar two months ago. For Alex, he had a system for ranking games. Most games you were in or out in two minutes: the obvious misfits, the garish ad-riddled bloatware games. Then there were those that just failed the hook–those that lasted under 20 minutes. A “good” game, in his mind, was one that you could play for two solid hours and still be having fun. With the NIMS occupying almost every moment of Elias’s non-working and non-sleeping life, he’d gone through hundreds of titles only to discard most of them in under an hour. 

But in the last two months, Willow Creek had become his life.

He still had mixed feelings about his in-game name. He hadn’t wanted to just be “Elias.” Some sims had problems with privacy, and after one “freemium” sim he’d played had ads that would address him by his real name, he had begun to take comfort in the simple act of being addressed by his not-Elias game name, another sign that the game respect itself, its immersion, and in doing so, him. 

He’d chosen a blank slate: “Alex.” Two months later, Elias still found comfort enough in not being “Elias.” 

As “Alex” continued down the creek, he finally left the forest and began to move down through the gentle valley toward the ocean. The horizon stretched out, the waters clearly marking the end of the playable area, but the skybox, the beautiful blue sky, radiated down. No need for suntan lotion. 

All the while, he saw that system prompt (that he didn’t really need): Meet Callum by the docks. The game was great with these little reminders, like quests, whenever a player agreed to do something with an NPC. It changed ‘go fishing with your friends’ into something that felt a bit like a quest.

As he approached the docks, he saw a man with broad shoulders, a gentle beard, and a flannel shirt sitting at the end of the docks. His feet dangled close to the crashing waves. He had a bait bucket beside him on one side, and his fishing line was cast out. As Elias approached, he saw the man turn and look at him with a warm smile. He had a head of thick, sandy blond hair that perpetually looked boyishly tousled. And his blue eyes held only kindness. He was handsome, the beard giving a manliness to his boyish hair that managed a very particular sweet spot mixing ruggedness with vibrant earnestness.

“There you are, Alex! Finally!” The man’s voice had a deep and calming resonance.

“Catch anything, Callum?” Elias asked.

“Not yet. Fish must have been waiting for you!”

It was these little touches that Elias loved. The feeling like Callum had been waiting for Alex. After all, they had agreed to meet here for fishing “last night” in the game. Fishing minigames had once been a staple of sims. But they had always been such a solitary affair. What truly set Willow Creek apart was how it made Elias feel like he really had friends. A community he could be a part of. An anchor for his soul.

With an easy flick of his wrist, Elias’s own fishing reel materialized in his hand. With that, he sat down, and cast, enjoying the feeling of the sun on his skin, taking in the soft rhythm of the crashing waves.

Just then, Callum’s line went taut. 

“Here we go!” the man said. 

Elias watched Callum work; the fervent gleam in his eye, the thrilled smile on his face, the sound of the line straining against the fish, the whirlwind of movement he reeled the fish in. As the fish came in, it dangled in the air, a fresh catch between them. 

“What do you think?” Callum asked. “Think it’s big enough?”

“Hmm,” Elias asked. Imagine a man asking me my opinion on a fish in the real world, he idly thought. It was so subtle but so pleasant; Callum didn’t eat real food, but he cared about Elias thought, whether he thought it was a good enough catch. “It’s not bad,” he said. “Certainly big enough for your dinner tonight.”

“I think you’re right,” Callum said, nodding in agreement as he unhooked the fish, the thing still wildly flopping about. He used a stringer in quiet, confident movements, to tie the fish and leave it in a large bucket of water on his other side.

Just then, Elias heard a sound coming from up the docks. He turned, and there she was. Lena.  

She moved with an unhurried grace, the very embodiment of the valley’s gentle spirit. Her face was open and warm. Framing her head was a cascade of soft auburn hair, the color of autumn leaves catching the afternoon sun, tied back loosely with a simple green ribbon. Her eyes, the precise shade of warm honey, crinkled at the corners as an unrestrained, welcoming smile lit her features. She wore a dress patterned with tiny, delicate wildflowers – forget-me-nots and buttercups – and a cardigan the soft, hopeful green of new spring leaves. By now, Elias knew she had a range of dresses and aprons, each cute and friendly–balloons or flowers, depending on the day and the season. She walked forward with a picket basket hanging gracefully from one of her arms. 

“Caught something already?” ashe asked. Once, she had been the greeter character, one of the more developed NPCs in the game. But in the last two months, she had become his friend, one of his best friends, along with Callum. 

As she reached them, she leaned forward and Callum gently kissed her on the lips.

Then, she gently opened her picnic basket, and showed off some perfect-looking sandwiches with bright white bread. “Betty says hi,” Lena said.

Elias knew he was a bit of an odd man out as far as Willow Creek play activity went. By now, most people were in a committed relationship with one of the standard romanceable NPCs of the town–for many, Betty the Baker. He hadn’t turned Betty down, but he had slow-rolled the relationship with her. 

The thing was, lots of games did romance. He’d banged all types of women, aliens, and demons in his various virtual escapades. But usually, after he did the hookup, the game’s romance ran out of steam–not a lot of games were interested in doing anything narratively interesting with a relationship after sex. 

Moreover, so few games did sweetness. So few games did friendship well. So while a lot of the playerbase was building up to date after date with Betty (or Barry the Blacksmith), Elias had spent a lot more of his time helping Callum and Lena keep their relationship burning. It was so much more fun just being able to know that Callum was always down for another adventure, a hike, a fishing day, whatever. To just have friends.

“Give Betty my regards,” Callum said, as he took a sandwich, and then watched as Callum pulled out a small silver necklace.

“Oh, Callum!” Lena said, smiling at him. Elias watched as he slipped it around her neck. “Just finished it this morning,” he said.

Elias smiled. He always thought it was interesting that the game put thought into how to continuously dramatize the love between Lena and Callum as something natural; he knew it was, at some level, supposed to be a tutorial for the player’s relationship with Betty (or Barry). And yet for the player, it was too obviously mechanized, since everyone knew you needed to keep up the gifts to maintain a high ‘romance rating,’ even if the game tried to black box it and hide the rating from the player. But among the NPCs, where it had no mechanical consequence, it felt so much more natural and genuine.

They all sat down again, their lines going back out, as they ate their respective sandwiches, looking out over the ocean, the cool breeze gently tousling their hair.

“Do you ever wonder what’s past it?” Lena asked.

“Past what?” Elias asked. 

“The end of the ocean,” Lena said.

Elias was always impressed by the emergent dialogue the NPCs presented in the game. They didn’t always just sit around waiting for a player to say something. Although this seemed like a silly thought, at the moment.

“‘Future downloadable content,’” Elias quietly muttered.

Lena paused and looked at him. “What do you mean?”

He kicked himself. He shouldn’t break his immersion, in part because doing so often could degrade the NPC conversations, he’d heard.

“I’m sorry,” Elias said. “Nonsense joke.”

The moment was interrupted by Elias’s line going taut. His own fish!

He hurriedly stood up, looking down, trying to spot it. The line pulled against his hands as he began to furiously reel it in. He took in a deep breath, the line straining, the whole rod pulling forcefully against his hand.

Finally he saw the fish rise up out of the ocean water, still squirming at the end of the line, as he pulled it up.

“It’s a beauty!” Callum said, patting Elias on the shoulder.

“I hope you’ll be willing to share some with me,” Lena said, smiling at him.

It was so much better with them here. 

“A new record,” Elias said, grinning. He’d achieved something, something that had impressed his friends. And which he could (virtually) eat tonight. Dinner! He was good at this. Here, in Willow Creek Valley, he mattered. He belonged.

“I don’t think we’re topping that one tonight!” Callum said. “I think that’s enough for now. Let’s give the ocean a fighting chance.” 

Callum began to pack up his line. As he was doing so, Elias felt Lena gently pat his shoulder.

“You know something, don’t you?” she asked.

“Hmm?” Elias asked.

“About this world.” 

Elias paused, looking at her. Oh, he thought. Have I broken her dialogue scripts?

“Uhhh,” he said, stalling, saying nothing.

She looked up at him with those honey-colored eyes. Then she brightly smiled. “Hey Alex, would you like to go for a walk tomorrow morning by the river? Just you and me?”

Odd. It sounded more like a romance option, like he’d thrown off her script somehow.

“Without Callum?” he asked. 

“I have work at the blacksmith’s,” Callum said. Indeed, Callum was the apprentice to Barry the Blacksmith. 

Lena simply gestured at Callum, emphasizing his business. 

“Sure, I suppose,” Elias said. That’d be a good time to figure out what was going on with her script.

He certainly didn’t want to lose Lena, one of his best friends in this world or the other, over a few simple bugs in her scripting. One good talk by the river, he figured, and this whole thing would be sorted out.

00010: Quiet Questions

The night had gone well. They’d cooked the fish over an open fire, the meat succulent, as Callum and Elias drank a sweet cup of Callum’s home-brewed honey mead. The mead was a bit sweet for Elias’s taste, but somehow, that only made it feel ‘more authentic.’ As usual, Elias guided the conversation away from Betty, that potential relationship the common point of gossip for Lena and Callum. Instead, the trio had sat out under the stars, looking up, as their campfire slowly waned, while Callum took out a banjo and played a merry evening tune. I should learn an instrument in the real world, Elias thought to himself, watching him work. Fishing, smithing, brewing, playing–Callum seemed so whole, so complete, as a person, even if his dialogue wasn’t overly verbose or elaborate. It wasn’t the first time that Elias had thought of Callum not just as a friend but as a kind of aspiration, the type of man he should strive to be in the real world.

Finally, before the moon was fully risen, Elias had retreated to his own home, a cottage on the edge of the woods. For a moment he’d hoped that was the end of the matter, but to his surprise, there was an organically generated ‘system prompt’ to meet Lena by the river the next morning–the same sort that appeared whenever he agreed to something with an NPC.

Morning dawned over the distant, mist-wreathed hills, painting the valley in hues of rose and amber. Elias awoke in a comfortable, hand-stitched quilt bed to the sound of the gentle insistence of birdsong outside his window and the aroma of baking bread wafting from the village. The game really wants me to get with Betty, he mused to himself. Olfactory reminders of her ‘love’ at the start of each morning were an unsubtle touch, although he supposed he could hear the very distant bangs of Barry at the smithy too. 

He was a bit nervous heading out. Callum was his best friend, and he didn’t want to do anything that would hurt him. Lena was just an NPC, of course, they both were, but the idea of cheating with her, especially when Betty was right there, just over in the bakery, would be needlessly cruel, antithetical to this pastoral fantasy. He needed to make sure this didn’t somehow veer into a romance with Lena.

He’d set things right, figure out what this bug was. It couldn’t be that hard.

The morning air was cool and refreshing as he wandered past the willow trees along the path until he spotted her. 

She held a small, intricately woven willow basket, its handle already looped over her arm, just like yesterday by the docks. She was always prepped for a picnic. Her auburn hair caught the morning light, creating a fiery halo, and her smile was as bright and welcoming as the simulated sunshine itself.

“Morning, Alex!” she chirped, no hint of flirtiness in her voice, pure friendliness.

Was this all a false alarm? Just a friendly walk along the creek?

“Good morning, Lena,” he said, and fell into step beside her, the duo moving beside the creek, past the dreamy reeds, hearing the woodpeckers’ distant rhythms, the far off clang of Barry the Blacksmith soon fading entirely. It was just them out here.

One of the things Willow Creek npcs were fairly good at was initiating conversations, not always waiting for players to take the lead. That was good, because Elias still didn’t want to start this conversation. He wanted to see where she was coming from.

“It’s a good life here, isn’t it, Alex? Simple.” 

“Absolutely!” he said. “I love it here.”

She paused. A fleeting, thoughtful expression, like a cloud briefly obscuring the sun, passed across her face. “You never feel like sometimes the cycles can feel a bit… repetitive?” She turned her honey-colored gaze to him, a faint, almost imperceptible shadow in their depths. 

Alex laughed. Every game became repetitive in certain ways if you played it long enough. “Of course it is,” he said, not disagreeing. “But that’s part of its charm. The consistency.”

“You know I still remember when you first showed up,” she said. “I was your ‘greeter,’ remember?”

Odd for her to bring that up. It was the ‘least immersive’ part of the game, since she had welcomed to this world, to the town, and to his cottage two months ago. Maybe part of that program, being the only NPC coded to directly acknowledge the outside world, was part of what was making her coding act up now?

“Yeah, I remember,” he said, a bit nervously.

“But you’re not just from another village,” she said. “You’re really… from somewhere else.”

Oh no. He must have really messed up her scripts! But what to do now? Report the bug. But how much of ‘his Lena’ would they reset? Would that ruin things for Callum? Or did he dare lie?

No. Lena was his friend.

Well. He’d gotten himself into a mess. Stop digging, or see how deep the rabbit hole leads?

“Yes,” he said. “I’m from what, to me, is the real world,” he admitted. After two months of spending days at a time with her, with thinking of her as one of his best friends, it was strange to say this. “But… I think Willow Creek is better than the real world, honestly.”

“What’s it like?” she asked.

“It’s darker,” he said. “There’s a lot more people. A lot more. There’s more grey, less green. More poverty, less hope.”

She looked at him with wide eyes. “Poverty?” she asked.

“Indeed,” Elias said. “Like if there were people in Willow Creek who didn’t have a cottage to go to at the end of the day. Or didn’t have a fishing reel to go fishing. Or money to buy Betty’s bread.”

She took a deep breath, a thoughtful expression. “Is it strange that I wish I could see it, all the same?”

Elias’s breath caught in his throat. “You’d want to leave Willow Creek?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, and looked down. “I would.” 

Elias paused, staring at her for a moment. But she was so happy! The perfect greeter, the happy librarian, everyone’s friend. Beautiful and charming and… and… happy! When he’d asked the question, he was surprised she’d want to visit somewhere as grim as the real world at all. But the way she’d answered suggested this was far beyond a simple desire for real-world tourism. 

He really looked at her, at her on her own, and was shocked at how forlorn she seemed.

“But… Callum!” he said. “Don’t you love him?”

This was disappointing in its own way. More than a few of his ‘errands’ in town had involved solidifying those two as a happy relationship, people he could count on to be his friends.  

“How do I put this,” she said. “I feel like I was supposed to love Callum. I certainly like him. I wouldn’t want to hurt him,” she said. “But Alex,” and hearing that name, he was reminded that she was still talking to his avatar, “I want to know what it’s like to go beyond the horizon.”

Elias considered this. He desperately wanted nothing to change. For her to be his friend.

But… was he really being a friend to her? If she truly, genuinely, needed to see beyond, could he really deny her that and still pretend they were friends?

“How…” he paused. “How can I help?”

00011: Kayak

The kayak had been a fun project. For three days after talking with Lena, they’d met at the woods near the shore and been working on their new ‘secret project.’ Lena had asked to try to ‘go beyond the horizon’ – at first, Elias had really thought she meant to actually leave their world, but the more he talked to her, the more he was unsure whether she truly understood what that would mean. 

In any case, even going ‘beyond the horizon’ for an NPC like her was an interesting experiment. After all, when Elias had first arrived at Willow Creek, he had arrived via a steam ship, a rustic, retro ship. Anymore, he only barely remembered the bearded captain and his white jacket. But it did feel like the game associated crossing the ocean as exiting ‘this world.’ And so, they had begun an initial experiment: the kayak. 

Building in Willow Creek had always been easier and more fun than building in the real world. But unlike ‘survival crafters,’ it also gave some weight to choices – when he cut down a bit tree, the stump remained for the whole remaining day; it didn’t just regrow immediately. Then, he’d set to carving out a seat, before going into experimentation about how to keep it stable and upright. 

Give his novice approach to woodworking, he opted for an outrigger design, with a lateral float off to the side to help stabilize the whole thing. Lena didn’t do very much of the crafting at all at first, although she did watch how he worked with a greater degree of interest and focus than he was used to. Usually the ‘player’ was off crafting and working on their own. It was strange to see his ‘video game’ actions being seen by an NPC, although whether she took what he was doing as normal or not, he was unsure. 

Finally, he thought it was ready to go. Lena cheered him on as he dragged it down to the shore, stepped inside, and began paddling. 

Out on the ocean water–very calm–he felt the sun on his skin and the wind in his hair. Player-based kayaks were of course a pretty regular crafting option. It’s not like these models were built on the fly. And yet, knowing he had built this for Lena made it far more exciting than usual. 

Having proven the kayak could make it out at least a dozen or so yards out into the ocean without incident, he rowed back to shore, and stood up to hand the paddle to Lena.

For half an instant, he wondered whether this would be the point where it all fell apart. Could she even pick up the paddle?

But no–she could–it wasn’t an issue at all.

Only for a moment did Elias wonder what would happen if it worked, what would Callum think? This had, he supposed, been his little secret with Lena these last few days.

But, another part of him felt pretty sure it wouldn’t work. So he didn’t worry about it too much one way or another. 

So, soon, after a push-off from Elias to get the kayak clear of the beach, she began to row out.

“Go get ‘em, Lena!” he called. He smiled as he watched her row.

She was doing great! Stroke after stroke, she was making great time out into the ocean–but then, before she was more than fifty yards out, he saw her turn around and start heading back to shore. 

As she docked on the beach, he reached down to help her out of the kayak. 

“Well that was a great first foray,” he said, looking at her curiously. “But, I’m surprised you came back so soon. Get tired or something?”

“No,” Lena said, looking a bit absent-mindedly at the sky. “I just remembered that it’s nearly time for my shift at the library.”

“What?” Elias asked. “But what about going beyond the horizon?”

“I know!” she said. “I want to go! I want to see what’s out there!” she shook her head, looking frustrated with herself. “But as soon as I was out on the water, I just couldn’t get my shift at the library out of my head. Most of the time, when I’m going to hang out with you, I can skip a shift and really no one minds. But as soon as it was just me out there, it was like all my duties and obligations just came flooding back to me.”

“I see,” Elias said, considering all this. “But you don’t seem to be in a rush now.”

“No, as soon as I was back on shore, I felt fine explaining all this to you. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It must be your programming,” Elias mused. “When you’re around a player character, your regular scripts give priority to collaborative player actions. But once you’re far enough away from the player, your routine scripts kick back in.”

“Scripts? Programming? Player character?” Lena asked, looking up at him with those brown eyes and burgundy hair in utter bafflement. 

“Basically, so long as we’re hanging out together, you can do what you want, but when you’re on your own, you fall back into your usual habits.” 

“Huh,” Lena said. “You might be right.”

“I guess I should have made a canoe,” Elias said. “But give me a few more days, and I’ll have a second kayak ready.”

“Okay,” Lena said. “Let’s try again in a few more days.”

So Elias once again set to it. They’d come down, and as she was staring at him, he bought some paints and left them for her with the first kayak.

“What’s this for?” she asked.

“Well, you must be getting bored. I thought you’d want to decorate your kayak.”

“Oh! Thanks!” she said. And so as Elias built the second kayak, Lena decorated the first kayak in soft, autumnal leaf designs. 

The days flew by, and soon they set off together, on two kayaks, heading out into the ocean. This time they got much further. Out… to the horizon.

Finally, after hours of paddling–Elias was shocked that Lena hadn’t gotten tired once–they turned and looked back and saw that Willow Creek wasn’t in sight. They had crested the horizon, incredibly.

“There it is,” Elias said. “We’re over the horizon.”

“How far are we from where you come from?” Lena asked, looking at the open expanse of ocean around them. 

How to tell her?

“I think it’s still a long way off,” Elias said. “To be honest, I don’t know how to get there except on the steam ship.”

“Oh,” Lena said, and it was like all the magic had vanished from her voice at once. “So we can’t just paddle there on our own?”

“I mean, I didn’t know we couldn’t,” Elias said. “But now, I think it’s clear that it’s a lot harder than it looks.”

“But I don’t know that they’ll let me on the steam ship without a ticket,” Lena said. “And I don’t know how to buy a ticket.”

Elias pondered. “Huh.”

There was a long pause, and Lena said, “Let’s go home.”

Elias nodded. “Alright Lena,” he said. “Let’s go home. And next, we can start figuring out that steam ship.”

“Okay,” she said, and looked at him with what he could only describe as genuine hope.

00100 – Covering for Her

Back in the oppressive confines of his real-world apartment, the NIMS circlet rested like a discarded crown on his nightstand. The city’s relentless hum felt louder, more intrusive, the air thick with the smell of stale takeout. He’d forced down a lukewarm bowl of instant noodles.

Lena’s earnestness, the raw, almost desperate flicker of hope in her deep brown eyes had felt far too genuine for mere scripting. But that’s probably why they made it that way, right? But then he second-guessed himself. 

Was this quest from Lena a bespoke, human-written story, or something that emerged from the procedural logic of emergent gameplay? Had his occasional 4th wall breaks been guiding her into this procedural tunnel? 

He supposed, given how advanced the AI was, the game had to be reliant on procedural storytelling. In that case, maybe this wasn’t a pre-written, scripted question, but an emergent behavior, stemming from the NIMS system’s unparalleled ability to simulate nuanced emotion. 

Of course “Lena” was simply a remarkably sophisticated algorithm, meticulously designed to provoke exactly this kind of profound player investment, to blur the lines of emotional engagement.

When he logged back in the next simulated morning, the crisp, dew-kissed air of Willow Creek Valley instantly flooded his senses. He could smell the digital honeysuckle from the vine climbing his cottage porch. “Alex” materialized by his cottage, the world around him already humming with the gentle activity of a new day. 

Lena was waiting for him. 

Seated on the small, weathered wooden bench beside his front door, her hands clasped neatly in her lap. She looked up as he approached, a hesitant, almost fragile smile gracing her lips. There were subtle shadows beneath her eyes that hadn’t been there before, a faint tension around her mouth.

“Alex. Good morning,” she said, her voice a little softer than usual, lacking its customary bright chirp. “Thank you again… for agreeing to help. It means more than I can say.”

“Morning, Lena,” Elias-as-Alex replied.

“So…” she said. “The dock?”

“The dock,” he said, nodding.

They went down to the dock, where Elias had first arrived in Willow Creek. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see–the steam ship had dropped him off as part of the opening for the game, and he’d never seen it again since then. He didn’t need to use the steam ship to log off–just going to sleep in his own bed at his cottage would do that.

To his surprise, though, he did find an old man down at the dock, a man he didn’t recognize. The man had on a blue uniform and had a bushy white beard. A portly man, he seemed fastidious in making little adjustments to a booth along the dock–even though there was no one else around, and Elias had never seen anyone come down here.

“Oh, hello friends!” this strange new jolly man called.

“Hi there,” Elias said. “Who’re you?” He could sense Lena hovering just a bit behind him. It was a normal sort of NPC follow animation, perhaps, but it made him feel like a leader–like a protector.

“I’m Jerry,” the man said. “Sorry, I’m not really ready yet, just getting set up.”

“Set up for what?” Elias asked.

“For trips to Choco-land!” the man said, smiling broadly.

Oh of course, Elias mused. Choco-land was the fabled next big game from the developers, a game about a novelty dessert maker. It was probably still a long-ways-off, in development time. So it seemed this was either some sort of in-game advertisement, or initial pre-planning for a world-connection-hub between the two games. 

“Tell me, do you know if my friends from Willow Creek would be able to go with me to Choco-land?” Elias asked, nodding to Lena.

“I’m afraid I won’t know that for a good long while,” Jerry said. 

Of course. The game was ages away from release. 

“Say,” Elias said. “I came to Willow Creek on a steam ship. I was wondering, was it possible to ride that ship again?”

Jerry nodded. “There is, if you’re inclined to exit the world with a cinematic.”

“Exit the world…?” Lena whispered from behind Elias. 

“Huh. And could Lena ride the steam ship on her own?”

“No,” Jerry said, chuckling lightly to himself. This was surprising–so rarely did this game straight up tell him no. “Why would she want to do that?”

“You won’t give me a ticket?” Lena asked, a bit surprised.

“I won’t sell you something that won’t do you any good,” Jerry said. “I’m not going to fleece someone out of their hard-earned money!”

“How much are the tickets again?” Elias asked.

“Oh, they’re free.”

Elias just stared at the man for a moment.

“Well, what if I want to bring Lena with me?”

Jerry stared at him with a neutral, flat expression, his body totally still. And then continued staring at him.

Then, all at once, Jerry, broke into a smile, and said, “Oh, hello friends!”

“You okay there, Jerry?” Elias asked.

“What happened to him?” Lena whispered from behind him.

Jerry just continued on, “Oh, yes, I’m fine, I’m just not really ready yet–still getting set up!”

“You’ve said all this before,” Elias said. “Did you glitch?”

Jerry paused for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

Elias paused. Jerry was a new addition, just a minor character to start setting up connections to a game that wasn’t even finished being made yet. But he seemed to also have taken on the role of setting up tickets for the steam ship. This whole infrastructure was clearly new and still a bit buggy. Maybe that would be an opportunity. 

“I’d like two tickets for the steam ship,” Elias said.

“Oh certainly,” Jerry said, and handed him one ticket.

“I said two tickets,” Elias said. 

“I’m sorry, but you already have a ticket,” Jerry said.

“Okay, give one to Lena, please,” Elias said, gently nudging Lena forward.

Jerry paused, staring at Lena. Then, after a long moment, he turned to Elias and smiled and said, “Oh, hello friends!”

Elias sighed. They’d gotten a ticket, but it was broken. 

“Nevermind,” Elias said, and waved Lena back away from the glitchy Jerry.

“What was wrong with that poor man?” Lena asked.

“He was glitching,” Elias said. “A new, buggy addition to the game.”

“Strange,” Lena said. 

“Anyway,” Elias said. “Here.” And he reached out to give her the ticket. 

She reached out to take it, but then, to both of their surprise, her fingers passed right through it. 

She could hold the kayak paddle. But she couldn’t hold the steamship ticket. 

“I guess it’s not implemented yet,” Elias said. 

“Why can’t I touch the ticket,” Lena said, waving her fingers through the ticket one more time, passing through like mist. 

“It must be restricted to players only for now,” Elias mused. “Although maybe we can sneak you on.”

“Okay,” Lena said. “Let’s sneak on!” She had a mischievous smile on her face.

And so that was the plan. With Elias’s ticket, there was a set time for the steamship to show up. And right on cue, he saw it come up over the horizon and begin sailing in toward the Willow Creek dock. As it came up, he first waved through his ticket, and Jerry let him through onto the ship, but as Lena came up, Jerry put up a hand and said, “Ticket, please.”

Lena looked from Jerry to Elias-as-Alex and said, “Alex has it.”

Elias reached over and tried to hand Lena the ticket, but her hand still couldn’t hold it, and it fell down to the ground – and then vanished entirely. 

“Ticket please,” Jerry said again. Lena tried to simply step past him, but he held up an arm and said, “Sorry, only ticketed passengers.”

“But it’s a free ticket!” Elias said.

Jerry shook his head. “Only ticketed passengers.”

With that, Elias hopped off, and walked with Lena away from the dock, watching as the steamship sailed away without them.

“I’m sorry,” Lena said. “I didn’t think this would be so much hassle.”

“It’s okay,” Elias said. “Maybe if I get a ticket for the steamship, I can throw you a rope if you go out on a kayak.”

“But if I’m on a kayak,” Lena said. “My… my… script?” Elias nodded. “My script will have me want to go back to the library.”

“Right,” Elias said. “But maybe we can do something about that. What if you didn’t need to go back to the library.”

“But I work at the library,” Lena said.

“I know,” Elias said. “But I can get a job at the library too–and then I can cover your shift!”

“Oh wow!” Lena said. “Would you do that?”

“Yeah!” Elias said. “And then, maybe we could see if you could kayak out further.”

It wasn’t hard at all to get a job at the “Willow Creek Library & Community Hub.” It was a charming two-story building with leathered local stone for walls, partially clad in a thick blanket of ivy. Its doors were dark, age-seasoned timber. The next day, Elias met Lena at the entrance there. 

“Okay, let’s see if it helps your kayaking,” Elias said. “I’ll take your shift. See if you can’t kayak further out–to the docks, maybe.”

“Okay,” Lena said. But then an earnest plea filled her eyes. “But just for a bit. Mrs. Higgins is expecting me to reshelve the new acquisitions in the local history section, and Old Man Fitzwilliam will undoubtedly be in to lodge his weekly complaint about the font size in the latest batch of large-print westerns.” She offered a faint, tired smile. 

With this, Lena produced a neatly folded apron from her worn leather satchel. It was a sturdy, practical garment of unbleached linen, with a large front pocket embroidered with a surprisingly detailed rendering of a bookshelf overflowing with tiny, colorful tomes. “This is my work apron,” she explained, her voice low. “The system uses it to clock me in, essentially. When I’m wearing this within the library’s designated operational zone, it registers ‘Lena_NPC_Instance_001: Active_Work_Cycle.’ If you wear it…”

“Really?” Elias asked. “You’ve noticed the cycles the system uses to keep track of you?”

“Well, I always saw ‘notifications,’” she says. “But I never thought they meant anything. After you started talking about scripts the other day, I tried paying attention to them.”

“That’s brilliant,” Elias said.

“Thank you,” Lena said. “I’m still so new to this, but there’s so many things in my life that… well, I never realized I was programmed to do them that way…”

She handed him the apron. It felt surprisingly substantial, the linen cool and slightly stiff. As he tied it around his avatar’s waist, over his simple tunic, he noticed an immediate, subtle shift in his posture. His shoulders seemed to round slightly, his stance becoming less assertive, more… accommodating? He glanced down. The apron strings, seemingly of their own accord, had tied themselves into a neat, small bow at the small of his back, a bow far more delicate and precise than his own male fingers would have typically managed. A faint scent of dried lavender and old books seemed to emanate from the fabric.

“Good luck,” Elias said, stepping in toward the library.

“You too,” Lena said, as she hurried toward the beach where the kayak was docked.

And with that, Elias stepped inside, not just in his job, but wearing ‘Lena’s’ apron.

The library was a sanctuary of quiet industry, a haven of analog knowledge in a digital world. Sunlight, thick and golden, streamed through the tall, arched windows, illuminating the millions of dust motes dancing in the still air like tiny, luminous fairies. The scent of aged paper was stronger here, a rich, comforting aroma mingled with the faint, sweet fragrance of beeswax polish used on the ancient oak shelves that lined every wall, crammed from floor to ceiling with books of every imaginable size, shape, and color. 

And so, he began the methodical, strangely calming task of reshelving. The spines of the books felt distinct under his fingertips – the rough, nubby canvas of a historical treatise, the smooth, glossy laminate of a new fantasy novel, the brittle, cracked leather of an antiquarian poetry collection.

Mrs. Higgins, a stout, bustling woman with a cloud of silver-white hair and spectacles perched precariously on the end of her nose, bustled over from behind the main circulation desk. “Oh, Lena, dear, you’re an absolute lifesaver! My sciatica is acting up something awful today.” She didn’t even blink. Her gaze, friendly and slightly frazzled, registered only Lena.

At first, Elias was worried. He looked around, thinking Lena had returned. But Mrs. Higgins was staring pointedly at him. 

“Oh, Mrs. Higgins,” he said. 

Then, to his surprise, a translucent dialogue option shimmered into existence at the periphery of his vision, offering choices:

1. “Happy to help, Mrs. Higgins! How’s that rascal Barnaby’s paw doing after his adventure with the chimney sweep?” 

2. “No problem at all, Mrs. Higgins. Happy to lend a hand.” 

3. “Just doing my job.” 

Elias hesitated. 

Why was he seeing dialogue options? He’d never had that happen before. Was this another ‘bug’ associated with wearing Lena’s apron? Did… she see dialogue options all the time? He’d have to ask her about it.

He figured he might as well try selecting one. 

The first option felt… too much. Too intimate. He selected the second. As soon as he did, he found himself saying, “No problem at all, Mrs. Higgins. Happy to lend a hand.”

The effect was rather surreal. He felt like he had chosen to say those words, but at the same time he knew that he had selected an option. Generally, he’d fallen into believing that his actions in this game were the direct expressions of his will through the NIMS interface. But of course, he supposed much of it was pre-programmed–how he swung an axe, and whatnot.

Mrs. Higgins beamed, her round face crinkling. “Such a dear, you always are.” She then launched into a detailed, five-minute monologue about her cat Barnaby’s latest escapade involving a territorial squirrel, a prize-winning marrow, and the unfortunate intervention of the village vicar. Alex listened, nodding at what he hoped were the appropriate intervals, making small, sympathetic noises. He found himself making almost involuntary gestures – a slight, understanding tilt of the head, a gentle, unconscious clasping of his hands before him – that felt… familiar. He’d seen Lena make those exact gestures a dozen times. Was his taking on her routines, even though he was a player?

When Old Man Fitzwilliam, a curmudgeonly figure leaning heavily on a gnarled hawthorn cane, eventually hobbled in, Alex was more prepared. He listened patiently to the ritual complaints about the font size (“Like trying to read ant-scribbles, I tell ya!”), offered to see if the publisher had alternative large-print editions (another pre-scripted Lena-ism that surfaced in his mind as if it were his own thought), and even managed a gentle, teasing joke about the romantic entanglements of the hero in Fitzwilliam’s current western that made the old man crack a reluctant, wheezing smile.

Lena hadn’t returned. And finally, the shift ended.

As he left the library later that afternoon, the linen apron carefully folded and tucked under his arm, he felt a strange, disorienting sense of accomplishment. He had successfully been Lena, at least in the eyes of Willow Creek Valley’s inhabitants. He glanced at his reflection in the library’s leaded windowpane as he passed. The light was fading, casting long shadows, but he could have sworn his avatar’s jawline looked a little softer, the curve of his cheek a touch more delicate, less angular. He dismissed it again. The power of the apron, he thought wryly. Or perhaps just the dimming light.

But then he stopped himself. With the apron under his arm, he’d been heading home. But that wasn’t right. He should be going to see Lena at the beach.

He forcibly stopped himself, and began to head toward the beach, even though it oddly felt wrong. It was evening–he should be going home. But he managed to ignore the sensation, and finally made his way down.

As he made his way down, he felt a bit at a loss–Lena was nowhere to be seen. Her kayak, with its autumnal colors, was gone. He supposed he could go rowing out after her, but he had no idea if she was still on the water or if she’d docked elsewhere.

Then, just when he was really starting to get worried (what would he tell Callum if something happened to her?) he saw her kayak appear at just the crest of the horizon. 

Finally, she got back in, and Elias helped pull the kayak up onto the beach and help her out. 

“That was amazing!” she cried. “The best day of my life!” She looked so giddy, her eyes full of light and joy that he’d never seen before. “For the whole afternoon, I didn’t feel like I needed to do anything!”

“That’s great!” Elias said. “And you got beyond the horizon!”

“I did!” she said. “All on my own! Not far enough to find ‘the real world,’ but really far!” 

“I’m proud of you, Lena,” Elias said.

“Thank you!” She took a deep breath. “I really don’t want it to stop.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Hey, do you want to try something crazy?” 

“Sure,” he said.

“What if…” she thought to herself. “Well, now I feel like I need to get back home, and do my usual routine. But I’m kinda curious, what if you took my cottage, and I stayed at yours?”

“Huh,” Elias said. “Are you sure you’d be okay with that? I don’t want to invade your space.”

“I really want to try it,” Lena said. “I don’t know. My thoughts have been racing this whole afternoon. But now I feel… this urge, this need, to go home, to make dinner, to do all these things. I’m curious… what happens if someone else was doing that stuff? Would I still feel the need?”

“Well, if you want to try it, I say, let’s try it out.”

2025-10-31 20:00:07 +0000 UTC View Post

One Bite (1-Year Anniversary Cover)

1-year since "One Bite" and with it eventually the "Vampire's Thrall" comic earlier this year. With the 1-year anniversary of the song, I thought it'd be fun to do a cover in the "DB/E-Girl" style. Hope you enjoy! (above is DropsBalls doing a vampire cosplay)

2025-10-31 19:55:01 +0000 UTC View Post

Halloween Night

You know homie you could just do this every night if you wanted.

(He knows)

2025-10-30 20:00:05 +0000 UTC View Post

Quiet Valley: Music Video Animation

An animated version of the comic from this month, Quiet Valley!

2025-10-29 20:00:02 +0000 UTC View Post

G-Man Saga: Part 2

Things have taken a turn. Do you think there should be a part 3, and if so, what should it entail?

2025-10-28 20:00:01 +0000 UTC View Post

The G-Man Saga: Part 1

Part 2 coming tomorrow!

2025-10-27 20:00:02 +0000 UTC View Post

Lamp Story: Duo Format

Does anyone need me to pdfize this one? Could

2025-10-26 20:05:21 +0000 UTC View Post

Lamp Story: Page 6 (End)

I feel like for certain types of stories I'm too cryptic, to the point of risking anticlimax. And yet, this is the end of this comic.

I feel like for certain types of stories I'm too cryptic, to the point of risking anticlimax.

And yet, this is the end of this comic.

2025-10-26 20:00:01 +0000 UTC View Post

Lamp Story: Page 5

Might want to check your fuse box

2025-10-25 20:00:05 +0000 UTC View Post

Lamp Story: Page 4

To be clear, there is foster care adoption, but most children in foster care are 'trying to be reunited' with their family. This project pro

To be clear, there is foster care adoption, but most children in foster care are 'trying to be reunited' with their family. This project probably didn't need that level of convolutedness... but maybe it did?

2025-10-24 20:00:02 +0000 UTC View Post

Lamp Story: Page 3

"She said yes!" - Claire

2025-10-23 20:00:01 +0000 UTC View Post

Lamp Story: Page 2

The true fantasy... getting a desirable match on a dating app in a small community.

2025-10-22 20:00:01 +0000 UTC View Post

Lamp Story Page 1

I get knocked down, but I get up again, you're never gonna keep me down!

2025-10-21 20:00:01 +0000 UTC View Post

Skate!

Alternate final panel:

2025-10-20 20:00:02 +0000 UTC View Post

Bonus gallery -- Cuboid

(This was a project idea I had that is basically at this point 'unfinished, and not going to be finished this year, and I'm not going to wait until next October to finish it -- that's why I'm including it in the bonus gallery track, basically because otherwise it's just abandoned on my hardrive forever. I might return to this 'idea' one day, although by then I'd probably just start fresh. It's obviously unfinished, but I'm sharing it in the hope that maybe you can imagine where it would go from here and enjoy the setup. The idea is "backrooms animated objects cause forced feminization")

##

"Cuboid"

Morgan didn't love the idea of working for Cuboid. He'd seen the horrendous buildings, the size of cities, but ghost towns as far as he could tell. He'd heard the rumors of them poisoning the 'real cities' -- what few were left in this part of the country.

The buildings themselves were unnerving, to his eye. Just huge black prisms. Cuboids.

But, at this point, it seemed like the only job left... he figured he'd take the pay for a few years then figure something else out. Cuboid building manager and maintenance officer.

Even so, he was immediately bothered when he drove to his motel the first night. Something about that place just felt wrong to him. Why was the night so starless?

When he finally got to work the next day, he had a few moments of feeling powerful. Really, these were huge buildings -- and he was basically responsible for the whole thing!

And yet, that sense of responsibility didn't change how small he felt moving around them. How insignificant in a way.

While the exteriors were bleak and flat prisms, the interiors were unexpectedly gauche. He had no idea why they were like this. But these were just the foyers. His job was to maintain the hallways, down the infinitely long hallways that spanned the entire buildings.

To maintain the temperature, which was one of the main concerns of Cuboid, they only used soft fluorescent lights for the hallway interiors. With the gauche carpets and bleak walls, he found them unnerving, like he'd stepped into another world.

He'd spend hours in those long hallways, vacuuming.

And yet, as he was making his way back, he saw something that defied explanation.

It was... animate.

And it was coming right for him!

What was he going to do now? What other horrors lurked in these hallways?

And who... who would believe him?

And that wasn't the end of it.

(Except actually that was the end of it...)

2025-10-20 19:55:00 +0000 UTC View Post

Vampire's Thrall Alternate Ending 2 (5/5)

I hope you enjoyed this alternate ending to Vampire's Thrall!

2025-10-19 20:00:01 +0000 UTC View Post

Vampire's Thrall: Bonus Ending (3-4/5)

2025-10-18 20:00:02 +0000 UTC View Post

Vampire's Thrall: Alternate Ending 2 (1-2/5)

Been a minute since this series ended, but I hope you enjoy this alternate ending!

This alternate ending picks up right as Lady F offers the heart-gem.

2025-10-17 20:00:02 +0000 UTC View Post

Quiet Valley - Page 11, End

Three deaths in one day, that's rough.

2025-10-16 20:10:01 +0000 UTC View Post