EXPLORING IDENTITY THROUGH GAMEPLAY:

THE INTERSECTIONS OF TABLETOP

ROLE-PLAYING GAMES, GAME DESIGN,
AND QUEERNESS

BY EMILY MORRIS

A ninety-point research portfolio

submitted to the Victoria University of Wellington

in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the

degree of Master of Design Innovation

Te Herenga Waka – Victoria University of Wellington

School of Design 2022

Supervised by Dylan Horrocks and Sarah Maxey

 ABSTRACT
Tabletop role-playing games (TTRPGs) are an effective vehicle for exploring

facets of personal identity, but are a product of masculinity and have historically

only catered to heterosexual, cisgender, white men. LGBTQIA+ players have

long been ignored as a minority in the TTRPG sphere, particularly those that

have more intersectional and marginalised identities. Based on the opinions of

331 queer TTRPG players and concepts surrounding roles, identity, character

creation, game design and queerness, this research portfolio discusses how TTRPG

design can better meet the need for LGBTQIA+ identity play and exploration via

queer mechanics, systems, themes and premises instead of mere representation

and tokenism, and provides an example of a play-tested game designed by such

principles. This will allow game designers to gain a better understanding of queer

game design, and rainbow players’ wants and needs in this ever-expanding field of

research and design.

2
 CONTENTS
Abstract ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 02

List of Figures ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- 06

Chapter 1: Introduction ------------------------------------------------------------------ 08

1.1 Motivation & Positionality --------------------------------------------------- 09

1.2 Background ------------------------------------------------------------------- 1 1

1.3 Research Overview ----------------------------------------------------------- 13

Chapter 2: Literature & Precedent Review -------------------------------------------- 16

2.1 Defining TTRPGs ------------------------------------------------------------- 17

2.2 Defining Queerness ---------------------------------------------------------- 20

2.3 TTRPGs & Identity ----------------------------------------------------------- 22

2.3.1 Playing Roles: Role Theory, Pretend Play, & Identity ------------------ 22

2.3.2 Framing Reality: The Person, Player, & Persona ----------------------- 23

2.3.3 Trying it on for Size: Identifying Possible Selves

in Liminal Spaces ---------------------------------------------------------- 26

2.3.4 Playing with Identity: Character Creation ------------------------------ 28

2.3.5 The Gap: Bridging the Actual & the Ideal ------------------------------- 31
2.4 TTRPGs & Gender ----------------------------------------------------------- 32

2.4.1 The Original Demographic: The Othering of Non-Men ---------------- 32

3
 2.4.2 Threatening Masculinity: The Monstrous Feminines & Queers ----------- 34

2.4.3 In Recent Years: The Current Demographic & How it Has Changed ------ 37

2.4.4 Designing For & Beyond Gender ---------------------------------------------- 40

2.4.5 The Gap: Embracing the Other ------------------------------------------------ 42

2.5 TTRPGs & Queerness ----------------------------------------------------------- 43

2.5.1 A Tale of Masculinity: The Hero’s Linear Journey -------------------------- 43

2.5.2 Queering TTRPGs via Structures, Consent, & Collaboration --------------- 45

2.5.3 Queer From Conception -------------------------------------------------------- 48

2.5.4 The Gap: Queering Games & Experiences ------------------------------------ 50

Chapter 3: Aim 1 Methodology ---------------------------------------------------------------- 52

Chapter 4: Objective 1B Results --------------------------------------------------------------- 57

4.1 Quantitative -------------------------------------------------------------------- 58

4.2 Qualitative ----------------------------------------------------------------------- 61

4.2.1 Game Design -------------------------------------------------------------------- 61

4.2.1.1 Systems, Mechanics, & World-building -------------------------------------- 61

4.2.1.2 Authentic Design Process ------------------------------------------------------ 63

4.2.1.3 Flexibility, Fluidity, & Freedom ----------------------------------------------- 64

4.2.1.4 Safety, Control, & Consent ----------------------------------------------------- 66

4.2.2 Game Environment ------------------------------------------------------------- 67

4.2.2.1 Players & Party ------------------------------------------------------------------ 67

4.2.2.2 GMs & DMs --------------------------------------------------------------------- 69

4.2.2.3 Comfort, Communication, & Respect ---------------------------------------- 70

4.2.3 Game Content ------------------------------------------------------------------- 70

4.2.3.1 Diversity, Inclusion, & Representation --------------------------------------- 71

4.2.3.2 Narrative & Themes ------------------------------------------------------------ 72

4.2.3.3 Characters, Queerness, & Identity -------------------------------------------- 73

Chapter 5: Aim 2 Methodology ---------------------------------------------------------------- 75

4
 Chapter 6: Objectives 2A & 2B Design Process & Results ---------------------------------- 79

6.1 Pre-conception ------------------------------------------------------------------ 80

6.2 Conception ----------------------------------------------------------------------- 82

6.3 Iterations 0-1 -------------------------------------------------------------------- 84

6.4 Iterations 1-2 -------------------------------------------------------------------- 90

6.5 Iterations 2-3 -------------------------------------------------------------------- 97

Chapter 7: Discussion & Conclusion ---------------------------------------------------------- 107

7.1 Discussion ----------------------------------------------------------------------- 108

7.1.1 Summary, Implications, & Interpretation of Outcomes -------------------- 108

7.1.2 Strengths & Limitations -------------------------------------------------------- 110

7.1.3 Improvements & Extensions -------------------------------------------------- 112

7.1.4 Applications --------------------------------------------------------------------- 113

7.2 Conclusion ----------------------------------------------------------------------- 114

Ludography -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 116

Bibliography ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 119

Appendix A: Anonymous Internet Survey Questions & Flow (Screenshots) ------------- 133
Appendix B: Anonymous Internet Survey Results (Graphs) ------------------------------- 144

Appendix C: Playtesting Consent Form ----------------------------------------------------- 158

Adjoining Document I: Interwoven TTRPG Rule Book

Adjoining Document II: Interwoven TTRPG Additional Resources

5
 LIST OF FIGURES
Figure 2.1 Elements of TTRPGs ----------------------------------------------------- 19

Figure 2.2 Person, Player and Persona Overlap ------------------------------------ 24

Figure 2.3 Visualising liminal space ------------------------------------------------ 28

Figure 2.4 The fruitful void ----------------------------------------------------------- 46

Figure 2.5 Queering TTRPGs through systems, mechanics, and themes ------- 51

Figure 6.1 Interwoven’s physical liminality ---------------------------------------- 89

Figure 6.2 The fruitful void structure (profile) ------------------------------------- 93

Figure 6.3 Interwoven’s fruitful void ----------------------------------------------- 94

Figure 6.4 Interwoven’s fruitful void structure (profile) -------------------------- 94

Figure 6.5 Initial Thread card design ----------------------------------------------- 99

Figure 6.6 Interwoven related paraphernalia illustration ------------------------ 100

Figure 6.7 Interwoven character illustration -------------------------------------- 101

Figure 6.8 Interwoven front cover -------------------------------------------------- 102

Figure 6.9 Interwoven Central Thread card front & back ----------------------- 103

Figure 6.10 Interwoven spread 1, play example page & section heading page --- 104

Figure 6.11 Interwoven spread 2, regular rule page & Thimble page ------------ 104

Figure 6.12 Interwoven Thimble safety cards front & back ----------------------- 106

Figure B.01 Participant age responses (Q1) ------------------------------------------ 144

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 Figure B.02 Participant LGBTQIA+ identification responses (Q2) ---------------------- 145

Figure B.03 Participant experience with any TTRPG responses (Q3) ------------------- 145

Figure B.04 Participant ethnicity responses (Q28) ---------------------------------------- 146

Figure B.05 Participant gender identity responses (Q29) -------------------------------- 147

Figure B.06 Participant experience with queer TTRPGs responses (Q4) --------------- 147

Figure B.07 “Queer” TTRPGs mentioned in responses (Q5) ----------------------------- 148

Figure B.08 Queer identity exploration during TTRPG play responses (Q8) ----------- 149

Figure B.09 Preference on playing queer-focused TTRPGs responses (Q12_1) -------- 150

Figure B.10 More queer-focused TTRPGs needed responses (Q12_2) ------------------ 150
Figure B.11 More queer identity exploration TTRPGs needed responses (Q12_3) ---- 151

Figure B.12 Playing queer identity exploration TTRPGs responses (Q12_4) ----------- 151

Figure B.13 Preference on playing with all-queer characters responses (Q12_5) ------ 152

Figure B.14 Preference on playing with all-queer players responses (Q12_6) ---------- 152

Figure B.15 Character creation importance responses (Q13_1) -------------------------- 153

Figure B.16 Character relatability responses (Q13_2) ------------------------------------ 153

Figure B.17 Character wish-fulfilment/ideal self responses (Q13_3) ------------------- 154

Figure B.18 Character gender identity exploration responses (Q13_4) ----------------- 154
Figure B.19 Character gender expression exploration responses (Q13_5) -------------- 155

Figure B.20 Character sexuality exploration responses (Q13_6) ------------------------ 155

Figure B.21 Self-conception changed via character responses Q13_7) ------------------ 156

Figure B.22 Character bleed responses (Q13_8) ------------------------------------------- 156

Figure B.23 Character importance responses (Q13_9) ------------------------------------ 157

7
 CHAPTER 1:
INTRODUCTION

8
 1.1
MOTIVATION &
POSITIONALITY

Initially, before I began this Master’s thesis, I was interested in looking at the

connection between second language acquisition and tabletop role-playing games

(hereafter TTRPG/s). I first discovered TTRPGs in high-school, and have loved

them ever since. However after delving into existing literature surrounding TTRPGs,

several pieces surrounding ideas of identity, games, and representation caught my

interest. Inspired to look at a very specific facet of identity—queerness—I began

searching for links between queerness, identity, and TTRPGs, of which I found very

little. My research grew and blossomed out of this gap in existing literature, into

something far greater and more complex than I could have ever imagined.

As a queer person, my identity has always been something I have struggled

with and something I have lost sleep over. But it is also something I am immensely

proud of and something I am grateful for. In saying that, my queerness is rooted in

able-bodied whiteness. My experiences as a queer Pākehā (New Zealand European)

in Aotearoa New Zealand are based in privilege compared to many other queer

people across the globe, and I whole-heartedly acknowledge those privileges and how

they may have affected my research.

This research comes from a place of love: of queerness, of design, of games,

of characters. Of story, of growth, of heart, of bravery. Of difference, and of self-

9
 exploration, and of the people we keep inside our heads and hearts but may never utter

aloud—both ourselves, and others. This research has led to an outcome I wish I had been

able to play when I was younger to better understand other people and myself. It is a love

letter to the queer game designers and academics who have come before me, and to those

who will inevitably come after.

10
 1.2
BACKGROUND

TTRPGs have been a popular pastime in recent decades, allowing players to

experiment and role-play with common elements of magic, fantasy, and adventure.

But they also provide a relaxed environment for players to experiment with, uncover,

decode and clarify their identity (or, alternative identities and possible selves)

(Hollander, 2021). For many queer players, participation in TTRPGs are a safe way

to navigate and explore their own gender and sexuality (Codega, 2020). Yet, even

with the flexibility for play to be experimental, TTRPGs historically have rarely been

geared towards anyone other than cisgender and heterosexual players, illustrated

by the almost complete lack of inclusion of queer content in role-playing game

(hereafter RPG/s) source material up until the mid-2000s (Stenros & Sihvonen,

2015).

There are a number of TTRPGs and other RPGs that have been released in

the past decade that spotlight specific LGBTQIA+ themes and characters. However

there is not only a gap in the TTRPG market for a game that actively allows and

encourages players to explore queer identity freely, but a gap in existing research

detailing how such a game could be designed. There is an increasing amount of

research surrounding the intersection of queerness and games (see Pulos, 2013;

Rogers, 2020; Sundén, 2009; Youngblood, 2013; among others) as well as surveys

11
 and reviews explicitly focusing around inclusion and/or exclusion of queer content in games

(see Shaw & Friesem 2016; Stenros & Sihvonen, 2015), yet there is a lack of research about

game design in relation to queerness, TTRPGs and identity.

What makes a TTRPG queer? How can a TTRPG play with identity? What do

characters have to do with it? How do these questions and ideas overlap? There are many

questions involved in this new, rarely-investigated area of research and literature, however

this thesis aims to answer the following question first and foremost: how may a TTRPG be

designed to allow queer players to undertake exploration and forge a better understanding

of their own identity through character creation and role-play?

12
 1.3
RESEARCH
OVERVIEW

Research question: How may a TTRPG be designed to allow queer players

to undertake exploration and forge a better understanding of their own identity

through character creation and role-play?

Aim 1: To investigate how queer young adults may currently use TTRPGs to explore
and understand themselves and their identity.

• Objective 1A: Analyse existing queer and heteronormative TTRPGs and

literature surrounding TTRPGs, queer players, and identity play, and the
differences and commonalities between them.

• Objective 1B: Gain information on what kinds of existing TTRPGs and

game design aspects queer players i) enjoy most, and ii) find most worthwhile

in their identity play and exploration.

Aim 2: To explore how a queer TTRPG may be designed to effectively allow and
encourage queer or questioning players to play with and explore their own identity.

• Objective 2A: Design and produce a prototype TTRPG.

• Objective 2B: Play-test with individuals and evaluate using qualitative
methods whether the TTRPG was successful in its aims.

13
 In order to answer the research question and its related aims and objectives, this thesis is

structured in a chapter-based, sequential fashion, split into two parts to clearly address the

different research aims and subsequent results. Each chapter and associated contents is

outlined below.

Chapter 2: Literature & Precedent Review

This chapter first defines TTRPGs and queerness, followed by examining ideas, concepts,

themes, and previous literature surrounding the core aspects in this research: identity and

TTRPGs; the exclusionary history of TTRPGs; and queer game design. Additionally, this
chapter analyses a range of different existing TTRPG precedents, ways in which they are

successful, and how they relate back to ideas of queer identity play and exploration.

Chapter 3: Aim 1 Methodology

This chapter defines the methodology and methods used in Objectives 1A and 1B of Aim 1 of

the research question, primarily involved in researching and collecting information relevant

to the question to help address Aim 2. It also details the rationale of the sample selection

and related methods (internet survey and types of data analysis) used in fulfilling Objective
1B.

Chapter 4: Objective 1B Results

As Objective 1A was addressed in Chapter 2 through a literature and precedent review, this

chapter addresses the results of the survey carried out as part of Objective 1B and looks at

these results in two parts: firstly, quantitative data surrounding the overall demographic and

context of the sample size; and secondly, the qualitative data thematically coded and then

sorted into categories, sub-categories and themes detailing queer TTRPG players’ opinions
surrounding TTRPGs. Concepts discussed in this chapter, along with previous concepts

investigated in Chapter 2, form the basis for Aim 2.

14
 Chapter 5: Aim 2 Methodology
This chapter defines the methodology and methods used in Objectives 2A and 2B of Aim 2

of the research question, involving putting the research and knowledge generated in Aim 1

into practise through iterative design methods to design, play-test and iterate upon a queer

TTRPG.

Chapter 6: Objectives 2A and 2B Design Process & Results

As Objectives 2A and 2B reference back to each other often, this chapter covers the rationale

and design process of the queer TTRPG produced and concepts included, the results from

the different rounds of play-testing, and the iterative design decisions undertaken because of

said results in chronological order from pre-conception to end result.

Chapter 7: Discussion and Conclusion

This chapter discusses the summation and implications of the research undertaken

and relates it back to previously identified concepts, ideas and theories surrounding

identity, TTRPG design and queerness. It also expands upon the strengths, limitations,

improvements, extensions, and applications of the research undertaken and new knowledge

generated, as well as a personal reflection of the research as a whole.

15
 CHAPTER 2:
LITERATURE
& PRECEDENT
REVIEW

16
 2.1
DEFINING TTRPGS

Games and play are universally intrinsic to humans, and have a place in every

culture; Huizinga (1949) asserts that play even precedes culture and human society.

Ganguin (2010) posits that games are different to work as they focus on and are

associated with enjoyment (as cited in Ifenthaler et al., 2012). However, trying to

define what is and what is not a game is near impossible, given the wide scope of the

category (Elias et al., 2012). Oblinger (2006) suggests instead that “games should be

thought of as a family of related items; they are not all alike—they are not designed

for the same audiences, nor do they incorporate the same features of game play.”

Role-playing games (RPGs) form their own category within the family

of games, and there are four subcategories of RPGs: tabletop/pen-and-paper

(TTRPGs); live-action role-play (LARPs); computer role-playing games (CRPGs);

and massive multiplayer online role-playing games (MMORPGs) (Dormans, 2006).

RPGs are “inspired by simulation games and performing arts” and operate via a

“shared narrative process” (Daniau, 2016). Lortz (1979) defines RPGs as “any game

which allows a number of players to assume the roles of imaginary characters and

operate with some degree of freedom in an imaginary environment” (as cited in

Fine, 1983). Mackay (2001) defines RPGs as “an episodic and participatory story-

creation system that includes a set of quantified rules that assist a group of players

17
 and a gamemaster in determining how their fictional characters’ spontaneous interactions

are resolved” (p. 5). There are many different definitions of RPGs, since RPGs are—as

forementioned—a category and range of games rather than one specific type, and each one

differs greatly from the next (Deterding & Zagal, 2018). RPGs are, however, still a relatively

new type of game in popular culture; Bowman (2010) states that 1974 was the “pivotal

year for the inception of RPGs” as this was the year that the “first coherent [RPG] system,”

Dungeons & Dragons (hereafter D&D), was released to the public.

TTRPGs are usually headed and run by a player who assumes the role of Gamemaster

(GM)/Dungeon Master (DM) and is responsible for the setting of the game, the plot, the
rules, and all characters who are not represented or played by the other players (non-player

characters, or NPCs) (Cover, 2014; Dormans, 2006). The rest of the players generally

assume the role of one specific character (player character, or PC) that they either create

themselves or pick from a pool of pre-designed ones, depending on the type of RPG being

played (Dormans, 2006).

People take part in RPGs for a myriad of different reasons, but one of the most

prevalent reasons is that players enjoy immersing themselves in fantasy and exploring

themselves without consequence (Dormans, 2006). Players also play to create their own
narratives in collaboration with others, simultaneously being the actors, authors and the

audience in an immersive world of their own (Bowman, 2010; Ewalt, 2013; Lancaster, 1994).

The most obvious design precedent for RPGs is the aforementioned original TTRPG,

D&D. D&D was created by Gary Gygax and Dave Arneson, inspired by combining Lord

of the Rings and other Tolkienesque elements with wargames (Mackay, 2001). D&D was

ground-breaking in popular culture and started a craze for various types of RPGs, such

as LARPing and TTRPGs (Bowman, 2010). D&D involves a complicated set of rules and a

complex game system that can be applied to many different games and campaigns. This is
part of what made D&D so popular initially, combined with the fandom aspect of the types

of popular media that inspired the game (White et al., 2018).

18
 D&D’s inception and initial release inspired many spin-offs that attempted to improve

the game. Mark Rein-Hagen’s Vampire: The Masquerade (hereafter VtM) (White Wolf,

1991) uses a “storyteller system” with the GM assuming the role of the Storyteller, and while

the gameplay surrounds PCs who take the roles of vampires who manipulate society, the real

focus is on telling a good story through role-play. This may well be why VtM is one of the

most successful RPGs in history (White et al., 2018); while it involves classic D&D-inspired

TTRPG elements, it is designed with an emphasis on story and narrative rather than action

and combat.

A TTRPG may generally be broken down into different components (Figure 2.1). The
four broadest elements (player, role-play, themes and systems) combine into more complex

facets (for example, themes and systems create the mechanics, whereas the systems and

role-playing creates the context of the game), and these facets overlap again to create some

of the most key and unique sub-facets of TTRPGs (for example, narratives and mechanics

create the progression and action in the game).

Figure 2.1

Elements
of TTRPGs

19
 2.2
DEFINING
QUEERNESS

This thesis refers to ‘queer’ people and ‘queerness’ as umbrella terms, encompassing

all non-heteronormative gender identities, gender expressions, romantic

orientations, and sexualities (Rodríguez-Rust, 2000); in short, all those who

identify as anything other than heterosexual or cisgender, including people who are

questioning or unlabelled in terms of any facet of their identity. ‘Queer’ has been

chosen in most instances over the acronym ‘LGBTQIA+’ (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual,

Transgender, Queer/Questioning, Intersex, Asexual/Aromantic/Agender + all others

not defined or represented) due to its conciseness and widened usability as a verb

and adjective in addition to a noun and noun modifier.

However, I recognise that while some academics and LGBTQIA+ people have

taken to using the word and label ‘queer,’ some other people may be uncomfortable

with the term due to its former status and usage as a derogatory, homophobic

slur (Barker et al., 2009), which is extremely valid. The capacity in which I use it

is a reclaimed umbrella term of identity (Jagose, 1996). Thus, I acknowledge the

(sometimes radical) political activism associated with the term and the field of queer

theory in general (Rand, 2014).

There is much literature surrounding queerness, queer identity, and queer

theory, and to attempt to cover it all here in a concise manner would not do such

20
 ideas justice (see Butler, 1990, 1991, 1993; Foucault, 1978; Prosser, 1998; Sedgwick,

1994; and Warner, 1994, among others). In short, queerness and queer theory have been

described as a “zone of possibilities in which the embodiment of the subject might be

experienced otherwise” (Edelman, 1994, p. 114), and hence resistant to definition (Jagose,

1996). As such, queerness may be seen as liminal (Harper et al., 2018), existing in and

between definitions and concepts (Sedgwick, 1994). Queer identities, as described by queer

people, are constantly overlapping and in flux (Ruberg & Ruelos, 2020); malleable, fluid,

and flexible, beyond the strict and binary notions of gender and sexuality that hegemonic,

normative society upholds (Barker et al., 2009).

21
 2.3
TTRPGS &
IDENTITY

2.3.1 Playing Roles: Role Theory, Pretend Play, & Identity

We all play roles and role-play in everyday life, regardless of whether we’re aware

of it or not (Deterding & Zagal, 2018; Lancaster, 1994; Waskul & Lust, 2004). Roles

also play a key part in our personal identities in terms of what social roles we occupy

in society, specifically how we see ourselves (self-conceptions), how others see us,

and how we believe others see us (Biddle, 1986; Burke, 2013; Gecas, 1982; Thoits,

1995). Much of our identity revolves around maintaining said social roles and living

up to the expectations and characteristics attached to them: daily, we perform our

roles and all the different parts they require, to both others and ourselves (Goffman,

1959; Leary & Kowalski, 1990).

As children, we engage in and adopt a host of different roles through

immersion in pretend play (Lancy, 1996), which helps form the basis of our identity

(Bowman, 2010), particularly in terms of social competence such as self-regulation

(Nicolopoulou et al., 2009). Nicolopoulou (1997) states that through narrative-based

activities such as pretend play, children not only play to represent the adult social

world, “but to make sense of it—both factually and emotionally—and to find their
place in it” (p. 157).

Pretend play fosters identity; children not only play for enjoyment, but also as

22
 practice for the future (Miller, 1973; Senge, 1990; Sutton-Smith, 1997) and possible future

identities (Ibarra & Petriglieri, 2010). Play creates and gives meaning (Lindqvist, 2001),

including to possible future identities and the currently-forming identity. Pretence in social

pretend play and fantasy play allows children to develop an understanding of other people’s

thoughts, feelings, beliefs (Astington & Jenkins, 1995; Schwebel et al., 1999; Youngblade

& Dunn, 1995), and theory of mind (Taylor & Carlson, 1997). This results in children

starting to differentiate others from the self (Mayes & Cohen, 1996). Therefore playing and

experimenting with roles through pretend play can help children develop understanding

and empathy towards others and other identities (Canning, 2007), as well as develop and
explore their sense of personal identity.

But play doesn’t stop after childhood. Even as adults, we still play and experiment

with roles, and therefore with our identities (Ibarra & Petriglieri, 2010). As Bowman (2010)

states, pretend play in childhood allows children to switch between many alternate roles

(real or unreal), but as we mature, we begin to try to develop a more coherent identity,

and therefore self-concept, to fit in with society. TTRPGs offer a risk-free environment as a

medium to explore and practise roles without having to conform to society’s standards.

Even outside of what we may define as ‘games,’ we try on roles as we navigate through
society and/or from job to job, either to clarify our identity through more serious identity

work or to experiment for enjoyment through identity play (Ibarra & Petriglieri, 2010).

2.3.2 Framing Reality: The Person, Player, & Persona

Fine (1983) identified the “three basic frames” that exist in fantasy TTRPG gaming, based

on and extending Goffman’s (1974) Frame Analysis, which Waskul & Lust (2004) then

expanded upon: the person, who exists in the primary framework of the real world; the

player, who exists to control the persona and adhere to the rules of the game; and finally,

the persona (whom Fine terms “the character”) who exists in the game-world, entirely

distinct from the player identity and frame of awareness. During TTRPG play, the three

frames operate in Fine’s interpretation of pretence awareness context (see Glaser & Strauss,

23
 1964) in which the individual in each frame pretends they are merely unaware of the others.

Waskul & Lust posit that the idea of the person, player and persona is also clearly present in

Goffman’s Frame Analysis.

Higgins’ (1987) self-discrepancy theory identified three basic domains of self: the

actual self, the ideal self, and the ought self. Wright (2006) suggested that Higgins’ self-

discrepancy theory be applied to investigating the effects of role-play-based programs;

building upon that, I suggest these three domains relate to and can be applied, in a sense,

to Fine’s three basic frames in the context of RPGs. The ought self is the person, who has

roles and responsibilities in the real world far away from the gaming table, with expectations
attached to those social positions (Biddle, 1986; Ibarra & Petriglieri, 2010; Thoits, 1995).

The actual self is the player, engaging in the rules of the game with the other players,

stripping away all other roles other than the game player. And the ideal self is the persona

or character, who may be any combination of: the actual self (the player), the ought self

(the person), and/or another self entirely (Figure 2.2) (see possible selves in 2.3.3) (Reta,

2020). Bowman (2010) states that “players can alternately embody a version of their Ideal

Figure 2.2

Person,
Player, &
Persona
Overlap

24
 Selves by projecting characteristics they do not believe themselves to actually possess, or

by over-accentuating aspects of their Actual personality [through their character]” (p. 138).

Playing out this ideal self as the persona may then allow the player and actual self “to either

adopt such traits or to avoid them, depending on his or her response to events and emotions

in-game” (p. 145). DeHart’s 2008 study on TTRPGs and identity revealed that, at least in

the case of one player, creating and playing a character in an RPG that she wanted to be

perceived as in the ‘real world’ (her ideal self) allowed her to retain and carry “some of the

feeling with her, back into the ‘real world’ [and her actual self]” (pp. 43–44).

Having the opportunity to explore and try on facets of one’s ideal self (or alternate
identities) within the safe bounds of a fictional world while still interacting with others

in that shared space is a unique trait of RPGs (Bowman, 2010; Deterding & Zagal, 2018;

Hollander, 2021; Nephew, 2006; Osborne, 2012). DeHart (2008) also comes to this

conclusion:

RPG play offers an ability to explore identity that is just not possible in the ‘real’

world. In the group, a player can cast aside common patterns of behavior and try out

new expectations. […] RPGs offer players ways to better explore who they are now,
and who they want to be, both in character and within the gaming group. (p. 54)

Nephew (2006), in a similar vein, suggests that the connection between the player

and the character (persona) is self-reflective, and referencing Freudian concepts and Mulvey

(1994), states that character creation in role-play is a form of wish-fulfilment:

In playing a character who is very different from the player, however, more is

sometimes betrayed about the player’s unconscious desires than would be had he
reproduced himself accurately in fictional form. […] In this way, a player’s perception

of self is reflected in his character. (p. 124)

25
 2.3.3 Trying it on for Size: Identifying Possible Selves in Liminal Spaces
As formerly mentioned, identity play is a term that refers to the concept of the fluid nature

of the self and the process of exploring possible new selves and identities; it takes place

in the liminal space “between fantasy and reality, on the boundary between dreams (i.e.

the possible selves in our heads) and reality (i.e. the concrete possibilities available in the

world at any given time)” (Ibarra & Petriglieri, 2010). The concept of liminality is to be both

betwixt and between roles, states, and/or identities, first conceived by van Gennep (1908) in

regards to primitive rites of passage, and later extended upon and better defined by Turner

(1967) to apply to all situations, “in which people are suspended in social space” between

roles, identities (Ibarra & Odaru, 2020, p. 474), or thresholds.

Many scholars agree that play itself takes place in a liminal space: Winnicott (1971)

conceived that play exists as a state of mind within the transitional space between the inner

and outer reality; Huizinga (1949) described play as taking place in “temporary worlds

within the ordinary world, dedicated to the performance of an act apart” (p. 10); Salen

& Zimmerman (2003) built upon Huizinga’s work, expanding on the idea of “the magic

circle”—one term in a list Huizinga uses to describe the different playgrounds in which play

takes place—stating that this magic circle acts as a boundary or frame in which play occurs

in a specific time and space, one that is “both limited and limitless. In short, a finite space

with infinite possibility” (p. 95).

Referring back to Fine’s (1983) frames in TTRPGs, identity play during TTRPG

participation, therefore, takes place in the locus of all three frames: in the small yet infinite

gap where the real world and the game-world overlap, and the ephemeral moments where

the person, player and persona may happen to combine.

A key aspect of identity play is the exploration of the threshold between current and

possible selves, and the therefore-created liminal space (Ibarra & Petriglieri, 2010). Possible

selves are a concept identified by Markus & Nurius (1986), in which they are ideas of what

individuals would or would not like themselves to become in the future, derived from

26
 versions of the self in the past, and therefore act as an incentive for future behaviour:

They are different and separable from the current or now selves, yet are intimately

connected to them. Possible future selves, for example, are not just any set of

imagined roles or states of being. Instead they represent specific, individually

significant hopes, fears, and fantasies. (p. 954)

In identity play, these possible future selves represent ideas of what we as individuals

could become through further play and experimentation:

Ashforth (1998) posited that individuals hold desired possible selves at a distance,

“playing with” their identification with them until the point when they can adopt them

with confidence that they will be accepted as authentic. The distancing combined

with the “just for fun” element of play facilitates a feeling of safety within which the

individual can freely experiment with the identity in question. (Ibarra & Petriglieri,

2010)

The concept of identity play runs parallel to the concept of playing and performing

characters in RPGs; Lancaster (1997) notes that through the act of performance, many

possible selves can take shape and play. DeHart (2008) identifies the “space between” in

RPG gameplay where this occurs: “between reality and fiction, and between self and other.

Here, they can move about ‘free’ of social/cultural rules and roles” (p. 40); much like in

identity play, RPGs create a liminal space in which possible selves can be tried on and

explored, offering lenses into different identities and, therefore, different lives, without

consequence to the present self.

In RPGs—referring back to Higgins’ (1987) self-discrepancy theory—as we explore

our characters/personas, we are therefore exploring our ideal self through the empathetic

27
 looking glass of any multitude of possible selves (Osborne, 2012). In such a liminal yet

uncharacteristically safe space, the line between player, person, and persona can blur and

provide a ripe opportunity for identity play, growth, and confirmation (Figure 2.3). Within

this space, fictional experiences that occur can feel real and bleed into reality, as if it were us

(the player) performing them rather than our character (DeHart, 2008).

Figure 2.3

Visualising
liminal
space

2.3.4 Playing with Identity: Character Creation

In terms of design precedents, it could be argued that all TTRPGs that require character

creation invite players to play with identity and therefore identify with their characters,

generating empathy (Shepherd, 2021). Noteworthy character creation processes and

systems, then, should yield more fruitful precedents than individual games.

D&D and its system have been heavily developed since its initial release, but one

28
 of its most attractive draws has always been its character creation system, and the vast

amount of freedom and choice associated with it—the character creation system is not

so much made up of rules, but merely guidelines (Evans, 2012). Players can create their

character by assigning statistics, choosing their race and class, creating a backstory and

choosing an alignment, amongst other characteristics. While D&D itself has generally had

a troubled history in regards to inclusion and representation of people other than able-

bodied, white, heterosexual, cisgender males, particularly in terms of sexism (see section

2.4) and racism (Long, 2016; Shepherd, 2021), the ability to design your protagonist and

experience the narrative of the game through their (and simultaneously, your) eyes set the
game in a league of its own at the time of its release, identifying itself as a form of interactive

narrative media. Valid criticisms of the character creation process have been voiced, both in

terms of the character sheet itself (Rients, 2014) and the choices one must make to create

a character, particularly regarding race (Heine & Prémont, 2021; Lawrence, 2018), but it is

still worthwhile acknowledging the steppingstone from which far more inclusive and diverse

TTRPGs and character creation processes have emerged. D&D’s character creation system

offers a near unlimited amount of choice within the bounds the game has boxed itself into,

making it an appropriate yet rudimentary tool for identity play in TTRPGs.

Powered by the Apocalypse (hereafter PbtA) is the name and mark of “ludic

etymology” (Berge, 2021) that all games inspired by the TTRPG Apocalypse World

(hereafter AW) (Baker & Baker, 2010) adopt—although PbtA is also referred to elsewhere

as both a TTRPG engine and system, albeit not a formal nor restrictive one. One of the main

hallmarks of the PbtA system is the inclusion of “playbooks” that players choose to generate

their character; said playbooks are, themselves, roles that are critical to the overarching

narrative of the game. Players of PbtA games, therefore, do not only play the role of their

character persona, but also a specific role and archetype in the story. In AW, for example,
there are 11 different “basic” playbooks consisting of roles such as “The Battlebabe,”

“The Gunlugger,” and “The Skinner.” While these roles are more prescribed and do limit

29
 freedom somewhat, there is still plenty of choice within each playbook for the player to

explore; examples are usually given for each section (name, skills and abilities, equipment,

etc.) but players are not only limited to those examples. They also generally steer clear of

ideas that tend to be more problematic in the realm of TTRPGs, such as race and gender,

instead shelving much of the character’s presentation under the heading of “Looks,” and

allowing the player to either describe such details about their character in their own words

or pick vague ideas from a non-extensive list, depending on the game. The PbtA playbooks,

therefore, are a worthwhile example of game design that gently guides the player in making

character creation choices that fit within the bounds and contexts of the game, while still
allowing some degree of flexibility. This allows for identity play to take place firmly within

the fantastical contexts of the game and system. PbtA playbooks also prioritise backstory

and relationships to other characters, differentiating them further from more traditional

TTRPG character creation processes.

Belonging Outside Belonging (hereafter BoB) is an RPG engine designed by queer

game designer Avery Alder, first used in the game Dream Askew (hereafter DA) (Alder,

2013/2018), which draws from the PbtA system yet is distinct. The game employs a No Dice,

No Masters (hereafter NDNM) system of play in which all players have an equal amount of
power around the table, and the game takes place through conversation with more of a focus

on shared narrative creation rather than statistics and numbers. In terms of design and

identity, BoB is a noteworthy engine as it is more focused on the ideology and content of the

game rather than specific rules or formats that should be followed like most other TTRPG

engines or systems. BoB games are “about a marginalized community attempting to live just

outside the boundaries of a dominant culture” (Alder & Rosenbaum, 2018). While individual

characters are still utilised, a key aspect of BoB games is focusing on the community the

characters share and exist in, and therefore how their identities connect to that and each
other.

30
 2.3.5 The Gap: Bridging the Actual & the Ideal
Identity play is a relatively recent and unpopulated area of research, especially when

distinguished from other concepts such as identity work (Ghaempanah & Khapova, 2020).

Even less exists on the concept of identity play in regards to TTRPGs. In much literature

surrounding RPGs and TTRPGs, the idea of possible selves is mentioned either explicitly

or conceptually, but little exists on how games may be specifically designed to explore the

idea of possible selves regarding (and therefore encouraging) identity exploration and play.

Could this idea be harnessed in a TTRPG through game design to actively encourage players

to partake in identity play, and allow them to explore possible, idealised selves outside of

their actual selves? Is it possible to design TTRPG play to take advantage of the liminal space

it resides in, and unlock the potential of the ephemeral?

31
 2.4
TTRPGS &
GENDER

2.4.1 The Original Demographic: The Othering of Non-Men

Historically, RPGs (including TTRPGs and other types of RPGs, and even digital/

video games) have rarely been designed by or for people outside of their core

demographic: white, heterosexual, cisgender males (Nephew, 2006; Schröder, 2008;

Shaw, 2009; Sihvonen & Stenros, 2018). Peterson (2014) suggests this is to do with

the original market intended for the first TTRPG, D&D: wargamers.

How wargames shaped D&D has been addressed by multiple academics and

RPG historians in far more depth (see Ewalt, 2013; Peterson, 2012, 2014, 2018,

2020; Trammell, 2018), but put simply, D&D was originally conceived as a game at

the intersections of strategic warfare simulation games (wargames), science-fiction

and fantasy literature, and the cultures associated with them (Deterding & Zagal,

2018; Peterson, 2020). Thus the original market for D&D consisted of two groups

of people: those who played wargames, and those who were avid readers and fans of

science-fiction and fantasy fiction.

In 1974, the same year as D&D’s initial release, the publication Strategy &

Tactics reported that the number of female wargamers was approximately 0.5%;

the “Great Lake Gamers Census,” also in 1974, came to this exact conclusion as well

(Peterson, 2014). Virtually the entire demographic of wargamers were male, and

therefore so was D&D’s target market.

32
 This is shown clearly in the first few editions of D&D, of which several studies have

extensively analysed and criticised the rulebooks of (see Garcia, 2017; Pinkston, 2019; Stang

& Trammell, 2020). This section will heavily draw on Pinkston’s (2019) dissertation on

representation in D&D.

As Pinkston identifies, from D&D’s very conception in its first edition, Edition 0

(1974), anyone who was not male-identifying was essentially ‘othered’: masculine pronouns

were exclusively used in referring to players, characters, and other entities, with no inclusion

of feminine, third-person, or other pronouns.

The 1977 Dungeons and Dragons Basic Holmes Revision (hereafter D&DB) did
begin to address this disparity, but poorly. Some incorporation of feminine pronouns and

character examples were present in the rulebook, however there was “still a generalized use

of the masculine as the neutral” (p. 77). It was assumed the target audience was and would

always be almost strictly male. Female character examples in D&DB were “limited and

bound by conventional gender norms and stereotypes regarding females in active roles and

gameplay of the time” (p. 78).

While females were referenced more in D&DB than in Edition 0 (in which there

were no direct references, save for two illustrations), these references are little more than
performative.

...these occurrences take the form of the “token other”, in this case, “the token

female,” a form of Tokenism. [...] While they perhaps do not provide any real

diversity, or change in the text, the female examples are simply provided as merely

covering the basis of including the female in case of repercussions from audiences.

(Pinkston, 2019, p. 79)

In this same vein, in the Advanced Dungeons and Dragons 2nd Edition Player

Handbook (hereafter AD&D) (1989), the following passage by Cook addressed pronoun

33
 usage in the book in an attempt to quash any criticism immediately from its publication, but

inadvertently highlighted how anyone who does not identify as male and uses masculine

pronouns is othered by both the game designers and the game itself:

The male pronoun (he, him, his) is used exclusively throughout the AD&D game rules.

We hope this won’t be construed by anyone to be an attempt to exclude females from

the game or imply their exclusion. Centuries of use have neutered the male pronoun.

In written material it is clear, concise, and familiar. Nothing else is [emphasis added].

(p. 9)

Nephew (2006) describes how women are often othered in RPGs, “which effectively

empowers their male counterparts by devaluing those women” (p. 129). Referencing

TTRPGs such as Empire of the Petal Throne (Barker, 1975), Call of Cthulhu (Petersen,

1981), and Pendragon (Stafford, 1985), she highlights how many traditional TTRPGs are

intrinsically misogynistic, even though both the designers and players could remove such

blatant expressions of prejudice easily even given historical settings (already inaccurately

imbued with fantasy elements).

2.4.2 Threatening Masculinity: The Monstrous Feminines & Queers

Apart from gatekeeping non-male players from the table, one of the most blatant ways

that TTRPGs like D&D simultaenously appeals to its primary demographic and distances

them from all others is through the idea of monstrosity. Stang & Trammell (2020) argue

that D&D’s (and particularly, Gygax’s) portrayal and language regarding monsters and

monstrosity reeks of misogyny, homophobia, transphobia, racism, and xenophobia:

Gygax’s understanding of monstrosity includes any identity, subject position, or body

that is different from that of the assumed ideal straight, White, and male player. [...]

It sets all bodies apart from those of the player and defines them as abject, always

34
 already monstrous, as well as placing them along a specific moral axis—the wicked

and horrible. (p. 742)

For example, the only illustration depicting ‘female’ characters in D&DB (1977)

features three harpies (the body of an eagle, and the head of a woman) with bare,

“exaggerated breasts. Since there are no other female forms in this D&D edition player’s

handbook, the exaggerated female form is shocking, perhaps even grotesque, in line with the

other male and monster figures throughout” (Pinkston, 2019, p. 82).

As Pinkston (2019) and Stang & Trammell (2020) demonstrate with D&D’s monsters
in its various Player Handbooks and Monster Manuals, feminine-presenting beings and

feminine characteristics are viewed as monstrous, not only because they are different to

D&D’s initial demographic, but because they threaten masculinity—a key aspect of D&D, of

which the rules actively encourage through militaristic and misogynistic lenses to this day

(Nephew, 2006; Trammell, 2018).

The concept of the monstrous feminine is hardly new: Creed’s (1993) definition of the

term—placed within the contexts of horror films, feminism, and Freudian psychoanalysis—

“speaks to us more about male fears than about female desire or feminine subjectivity” (p.
7). The idea of the monstrous feminine is based on Kristeva’s (1982) concept of abjection,

which Creed used to define monsters:

It is not then an absence of health or cleanliness which makes something abject, but

that which perturbs an identity, a system, an order; that which does not respect limits,

places or rules. It is the between, the ambiguous, the mixed. (p. 127)

Thus, anything that disrupts the norm may be seen by said norm as monstrous.
However, it was not only women who were (and, arguably, still are (Stang & Trammell

(2020)) viewed as monstrous through the lens of TTRPGs and D&D’s many editions. When

35
 queer content began surfacing in TTRPG rulebooks in the late 1980s, it was commonly

depicted as dark, villainous, and monstrous behaviour, reserved for those characters who

were traitorous or deceitful (Sihvonen & Stenros, 2018; Stenros & Sihvonen, 2015).

Creed (1993) also identified the idea of queerness as monstrous, although not so

explicitly, as when males are viewed as monsters, they are viewed as feminine. Dallas J.

Baker (2010) elaborates on this by suggesting that:

The effeminate male is constructed as monstrous precisely because he refuses

traditional masculinity; because he is somehow not a man at all. More to the point,
the effeminate male is monstrous in that he signifies an abject (queer) desire; he

transgresses the border between normal and abnormal genders and sexualities.

(pp. 83–84)

Just like women, queer people threaten ‘masculinity,’ and the power structures that

help to uphold it; thus, we are made to be abject—to be othered, to be monstrous. Not only

are we shunned from the game, but from the playing table altogether.

Ideas of the monstrous queer are not new; in many forms of media, queer-coded
characters are often (and have historically been) cast as the villain, the antagonist, and/

or the monster (see Benshoff, 1997; Brown, 2021; Hutton, 2018; Martinez, 2015; Russo,

1981; Vrtis, 2022). Returning to RPGs, in Stenros & Sihvonen’s (2015) study on queer

content in English-language TTRPG sourcebooks from 1974–2005, they also identified

examples of the monstrous queer; the darkest inclusions by publisher Task Force Games,

who in Central Casting: Heroes of Legend (1988) specifically listed “transsexual, asexual,

gay, [and] bisexual” identities as “sexual disorders and examples of terrifying dark sides of

personality.” This homophobia and transphobia leaked into their subsequent games, such as
Heroes Now! (1991).

Stenros & Sihvonen (2015) also reference the 1984 TSR Code of Ethics, pointing to

36
 evidence that queer players and content were essentially banned from the world of D&D

from the game’s conception up until the mid-1990s, under the guise of abnormal (abject)

sexual perversion, even if it wasn’t explicitly stated: “Rape and graphic lust should never

be portrayed or discussed. Sexual activity is not to be portrayed. Sexual perversion and

sexual abnormalities are unacceptable.” Versions from 1982 (Peterson, 2018) and 1994

(Lowder, 2018) contain similar wording. The view that sexualities other than the normative

heterosexual were “abnormal” and therefore not to be included or represented in-game,

further pushes the monstrous queer narrative. Poet Junot Díaz sums up this concept of

monstrosity and the abject hauntingly well (as quoted in Donohue, 2009): “...if you want
to make a human being into a monster, deny them, at the cultural level, any reflection of

themselves.”

While the publisher White Wolf was one of the first to include queer content in a less

harmful light in its first game in the World of Darkness (hereafter WoD) series, VtM, which

actively encourages sex and sexuality in the game, it still fed into the idea of the monstrous

queer (although, in a way that makes sense given its context) by playing into the fears of

parents and creating a “dangerous” form of entertainment (Nephew, 2003). Yet, it was an

important step forward in welcoming people other than males—women and queer people—
into the realm of RPGs.

2.4.3 In Recent Years: The Current Demographic & How it Has Changed
The demographic that engages in TTRPGs has undoubtedly shifted since D&D’s debut in

1974. Various surveys and market research sources show a steady increase in the percentage

of non-male TTRPG players since the mid-1970s (Brace, 2012). A recent study by Trygstad

(2019) found that out of a sample size of 400 D&D players, 20% were female, and 6.5%

were either non-binary (2.75%), transgender (1.25%), preferred “to self-describe” (1.75%),

or preferred not to answer (0.75%) (although the number of transgender players may be

higher, as the survey options for male and female may not have specified cisgender). While

Trygstad found unsurprisingly that the largest demographic remained white, heterosexual

37
 men (30%), more than 25% were a gender other than male, and 28.5% said their sexuality

was not heterosexual or straight.

Official statistics from the current publishers of D&D, Wizards of the Coast, support

this trend of figures: in an infographic regarding player demographics for 2020, 40% of

D&D players were female, and <1% were “other/non-binary” (although this low figure may

be due to the sample selection and method).

This may be due to the rise of newer, more inclusive TTRPGs; after 2000, more

queer content began surfacing in TTRPG sourcebooks, largely due to specific publishers

like the aforementioned company White Wolf, who “considered queer people a part of
their audience” (Stenros & Sihvonen, 2015). Most notably, games such as Green Ronin

Publishing’s Blue Rose (hereafter BR) (2005), a romantic fantasy TTRPG aimed at female

players, include a good deal of queer representation and inclusion, minus the monster.

That is not to say the idea of the monstrous queer or feminine can’t be subverted;

Alder’s Monsterhearts/Monsterhearts 2 (hereafter MH) (2012/2017) explores what it

means to be young and queer. The game combines monsters, love, horror and angst in

typical teen horror genre fashion, and the idea that sexuality and attraction are elements

the player can’t control is central to the game: “when you play, you explore the terror and
confusion of having a body that is changing without your permission,” an experience that

many queer people find themselves going through (especially during their teen years,

like the characters in the game). “The monstrosity of these characters is literal: they are

vampires, werewolves, witches, and more. But their monstrosity is also allegorical, standing

in for experiences of alienation, shame, queerness, and self-destruction” (p. 7). Alder plays

with the idea of the monstrous queer and uses it and related mechanics as a metaphor for

how society makes queer youth see themselves while allowing players to discover what is

truly monstrous, thus creating a queer, self-reflective lens for heteronormative, masculine
society itself to look into as they view themselves as ‘monsters’ of equal (or even greater)

making.

38
 Part of the draw of MH is that the game is not focused around a combat system like

many TTRPGs historically have been. The game may include instances of physical violence,

but that is not core to the game. Dragon (2021a) argues that combat-focused TTRPGs

effectively silence the audiences and players that do not identify with such violence, and only

perpetuate who gets to tell such stories in the first place. More and more TTRPGs released in

the past 10 years are similar in the fact they do not have a combat system, particularly some

of those that do involve queer content and themes. This move away from combat-based

games also distances the militaristic masculinity typically associated with them; essentially,

leaving the entire wargaming aspect of TTRPGs behind (or keeping elements of it but not
as the focus of the game), and therefore the original audience. Without an abject being to

destroy and declare victory over, TTRPGs offer a much more unique focus on collaborative

story-telling and personal identity experimentation that other types of games are not able to

offer.

TTRPGs have made good strides in representation, inclusion, and diversity since

1974, in terms of game content, character creation, and demographic. Even in the latest

edition of D&D, Dungeons & Dragons 5e (2014), gender and queerness are addressed, albeit

in a clunky and pandering manner:

You don’t need to be confined to binary notions of sex and gender. The elf god

Corellon Larethian is often seen as androgynous or hermaphroditic, for example,

and some elves in the multiverse are made in Corellon’s image. You could also play a

female character who presents herself as a man, a man who feels trapped in a female

body, or a bearded female dwarf who hates being mistaken for a male. Likewise, your

character’s sexual orientation is for you to decide. (Mearls & Crawford, 2014, p. 121)

Even so, the earlier versions of the game and their prominent exclusion of women and

non-male characters and players seem to have set a precedent that can still be seen in the

39
 market, gaming groups and game design today; one that non-male/queer game designers,

writers, artists, scholars, players and fans everywhere are still working to undo.

2.4.4 Designing For & Beyond Gender

Aside from the aforementioned games, there is a quickly-growing treasure-trove of new

TTRPGs that may serve as design precedents, exploring interesting themes of gender,

queerness, and occasionally the ‘monstrous’ aspects of either or both.

Another game of Alder’s designed in collaboration with Mark Diaz Truman, The

Deep Forest (hereafter TDF) (2014), is based on one of her previous games, The Quiet Year

(hereafter TQY) (2013/2019a). TDF is a cartography RPG based on the idea of a community

of monsters, regrouping and healing “after driving off the human occupiers” (p. 3). It is

a game about decolonisation, but also the idea of the monstrous queer; about how “the

ways that otherness and monstrosity are sometimes reclaimed or leveraged in the process

of coming to know ourselves” (p. 9). TDF is poignant and provides a fresh viewpoint on

how some queer people may view and come to terms with themselves and their queerness,

without oversaturating the story or mechanics with stereotypical themes and tropes, making

it a valuable design precedent. It sits quietly, and it makes its statements while being based

in the wider context of community-building and fighting colonisation.

Sleepaway (2020a) is a game written and designed by queer game designer Jay

Dragon of Possum Creek Games and uses the aforementioned BoB system designed by

Alder. Sleepaway is a queer horror TTRPG in which you play a summer camp counsellor,

traumatised by a shapeshifting cryptid, meanwhile:

...in the outside world, people grow increasingly alienated from their own identities,

trapped in a miasma of advertising and corporate branding. Isolated from civilization,

this summer camp is a beacon of safety, a refuge for misfit kids defined by their

marginalization.

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 The camp, as well as the game itself, are spaces “disconnected from the systems of

the world...and tied to that is its relationship with gender” (Dragon, 2020b). Sleepaway

discards binary and normative definitions of gender, as it takes place in a utopian world;

players never have to specify whether their characters are cisgender or transgender, and

their gender is to be chosen, described and “based on abstract concepts and sensations that

resonate with you, which are sometimes in some way gendered” (Dragon, 2020c). Many

gender identity options intersect with concepts of nature and the setting of the game, and

the list of pronouns to choose from opens up a world of possibilities, making character

creation a beyond-euphoric queer experience, even for those who are not queer. Sleepaway
is a brilliant design precedent when looking at gender identity and the relationship between

gender, nature, and monsters in TTRPG settings.

Wanderhome (2021b) is another BoB game by Dragon, in which the players play

travelling animal-folk and go on a journey together, far removed from any sort of combat-

related system or narrative. Like Sleepaway, Wanderhome approaches gender in a fluid and

non-binary way: “...while you may occasionally notice options that use gendered language,

these are chances to either embrace, reject, or ignore the presence of that gender. Journeys,

as liminal and complicated environments, are spaces for queer self-reflection” (p. 17).
Each of the character playbooks in Wanderhome asks players to decide, among other

things, two characteristics they are and two they are not from a small list. Every playbook

includes two gendered, characteristic terms that the player may or may not choose:

“Masculine” or “Feminine” (The Caretaker, p. 48 & The Pilgrim, p. 80); “Handsome” or

“Beautiful” (The Dancer, p. 52); “Strong And Manly” or “Properly Feminine” (The Firelight,

p. 60); “A Man” or “A Woman” (The Fool, p. 64, The Poet, p. 84, & The Teacher, p. 96);

“Mothering”/”Maternal” or “Fatherly” (The Guardian, p. 68 & The Shepherd, p. 92);

“Manly” or “Womanly” (The Peddler, p. 76); “A Boy” or “A Girl” (The Ragamuffin, p. 88);
and “Lady” or “Gentleman” (The Vagabond, p. 100). This gives all players, regardless of

which playbook they choose, the ability to play with and explore gender if they wish without

41
 forcing it upon them or inherently basing the entire game around it (although, if all players

decided that they wanted to make that a major plot point, the game would be able to easily

accommodate that). The ability to play with gender and gendered characteristics in such a

unique way makes the game a foundational design precedent when it comes to dismantling

heteronormative TTRPGs.

2.4.5 The Gap: Embracing the Other

The core market for TTRPGs has been, and still is, the white, heterosexual, cisgender male.

This demographic has consistently been catered to since the mid-1970s by upholding values

of (often toxic) masculinity and the patriarchy; by viewing non-males as ‘the other’, as

abject, as monstrous. By devaluing and degrading them in-game, and then barring them

from the table. But since then, the market has changed; people who do not identify with the

main demographic have begun to make their meaningful appearances in TTRPGs and the

like, and thus have shown up to the table, ready and eager to engage.

While some scholarship exists on the changing demographics of TTRPG players as

previously referenced, there is a lack of scholarship, research and data that focuses directly

on the players that have largely been ignored for most of the short academic history of

RPGs: queer players, and their experiences with TTRPGs (both heteronormative and

specifically queer). There is opportunity for exploration and new research in this field,

especially regarding identity and player-character relationships.

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 2.5
TTRPGS &
QUEERNESS

2.5.1 A Tale of Masculinity: The Hero’s Linear Journey

It would be amiss to not mention the impact of fantasy and science-fiction literature

on TTRPGs and their history, as along with wargames, these were the main elements

that came together to shape the first TTRPG, D&D (Deterding & Zagal, 2018),

and many after. Oliver (1995) states that “role-playing is a man’s game. It’s true

statistically. [...] the proportion of males buying role-playing products will ensure

that games continue to be designed for a predominantly male audience—a [vicious]

and unfortunate circle” (p. 59). In line with the previous section, he continues that

related genres to RPGs such as fantasy literature also have had a predominantly male

audience (at least in the context of the mid-1990s).

The hero-tale most often associated with fantasy (and therefore used in

traditional TTRPGs) is described by Le Guin (1999) as “the establishment or

validation of manhood. It has been the story of a quest, or a conquest, or a test, or

a contest. [...] the establishment of manhood in heroic terms involves the absolute

devaluation of women” (pp. 163–168). She continues: “To begin to imagine freedom,

the myths of gender, like the myths of race, have to be exploded and discarded” (p.

179).

Oliver (1995) argues that TTRPGs such as D&D that are designed around

the structure of the hero-tale involve a “cycle of questing, testing and reward” (p.

43
 62), of which the material gains mirror and encourage character development through

experience levels. That is to say: characters are designed to develop through action, success,

and reward, rather than emotional connection and role-play interactions. Emphasis is

placed on skill rather than personality, ability rather than emotions, and power rather than

empathy. The physical shell of the character and the summation of their strength is deemed

more important than the memories they hold dearly and the personality they develop

through role-play and narrative; an idea which echoes the concept of fragile masculinity in

its entirety, and with it, heteronormativity. “Adopting this pattern is implicitly accepting

the value system of the hero-tale, and this is not a pattern which allows room for ‘womanly’
heroism” Oliver (p. 62) concludes, a statement which Alder & St Patrick (2013) would agree

with: “Stats, levels—these are straight mechanics. [These are] linear journeys: from not

powerful, to more powerful, to more powerful, to most powerful-est, where you will succeed

and get what you want and probably a girl” (12:08).

Alder (Kiraly, 2014) also defines such straightforward ideas, cycles, and storylines as

heteronormative, especially when compared to queer lives which are infinitely more fluid

and unexpected. She argues that:

...[queer] diversity is not well-reflected in linear and hierarchical mechanics like stats

and levels: starting at level one, having a strength of eighteen, continuing to succeed

in the world as a hero until you are level twenty and have a strength of twenty-four—I

don’t think that does justice to telling stories about queer lives. (23:30)

This echoes Oliver’s (1995) thoughts around designing games to not be so combat-and

mechanics-focused, and instead, highlight character development and interaction through

role-playing: “most of the battle [of redesigning TTRPGs for a non-male audience] is already
won if writers of scenarios can realise that heroic struggles do not need to be external” (p.

66). Therefore, how can game designers specifically design TTRPGs to appeal to, include,

44
 and authentically represent queer players, themes, and ideas?

In a presentation with St Patrick, Alder (2013) states that mechanics, systems, and

game rules are subjective and politically charged; even if they are objectively true in the

fictional world of the game, they are not objective in the real world, nor do they come from

a neutral standpoint. As game designers, our lived experiences, thoughts and ideals inform

the rules and systems we come up with, whether we’re aware of this fact or not. The same

is true with all types of games. Therefore if the people designing the TTRPGs we’re playing

aren’t queer-identifying (or at the very least, allies), Alder (Kiraly, 2014) states then we’re

not playing queer games—we’re playing straight games with straight mechanics, regardless
of how much ‘queer’ content and representation is present in-game.

2.5.2 Queering TTRPGs via Structures, Consent, & Collaboration

Alder & St Patrick (2013) posit, “we need to queer more than just the cover art in order to be

talking about queer games.” It is not enough to sprinkle in queer characters to pander to an

audience; such instances are understandably not queer games in Alder’s eyes. The question

is how: how can game designers go further than simply queer inclusion and representation?

Ruberg (2020) and Dragon (2021c) both describe queer games, and game design, as
a playground for exploration for players. Instead of imploring rigid narratives and specific

mechanics the players ‘must’ use to understand and play the game, queer games should be

intentionally designed in a much more fluid and flexible way to allow players the freedom

to interact with the game concepts and system/s however they feel compelled to, not just by

following the game rules as written. Salen & Zimmerman (2003) describe game design as

a type of second-order design: “as a game designer, you can never directly design play. You

can only design the rules that give rise to it” (p. 168). Baur (2019) echoes this sentiment in

the specific context of TTRPG design: “design, then, is the creation of play experiences at a
remove from play itself. That is, as a designer, your work enables new experiences in play

for others” (p. 11). Returning to the metaphorical framework of TTRPG as a playground,

a playground has no rules; it is the relationships that players foster and explore with both

45
 others and themselves (“player interaction”) that dictates play (Berge, 2021). As queer

TTRPG designers, we should not be designing nor writing for our audiences to experience

the specific type of narrative we want; we should be designing systems that encourage

players to disregard rules, play around with mechanics, and abstract any idea of the game to

better personalise and represent the experience they want to take from the game. We should

be designing with such an intention from the beginning, and that is an example of what

makes games queer.

The idea of fluidity, not only in-game structure and approach, is an important aspect

of queer game design altogether (Kiraly, 2014; Alder & St Patrick, 2013). Alder (Kiraly,
2014) also identifies a myriad of different ways that game mechanics can be designed

queerly, generally concerning the concept of fluidity. She mentions the “fruitful void”

(Figure 2.4), an RPG theory concept first coined by Edwards (2005) and later expanded

upon by game theorists and designers such as Baker (2005), who identified its presence in

his own game, Dogs in the Vineyard (2004/2005).

Alder defines the concept of the fruitful void as a game structure in which the

mechanics (procedural elements of the game) lead into each other while circling around

Figure 2.4

The fruitful
void

46
 what the game is really about, yet may never address in as many words nor define a

mechanics for:

I feel like the fruitful void is the queerest idea in game design theory I’ve ever

encountered. […] queerness is ultimately about exploring fruitful voids, and about

circling those nebulous, unknown areas that we haven’t [had] a lot of experience in

defining. (20:55)

The fruitful void is an intriguing game structure as it almost forces players to address
what the game sourcebook does not and come up with their own answers and ideas, thus

making each instance of play unique to the players engaging in it.

Berge (2021) identifies a selection of alternate queer game structures that intersect

with the playground structure, based on queer TTRPGs that “do not necessarily create,

demand, or imply queer play. The structures explored here are queer because they open

possibilities for players to safely “bring-your-own-queerness” to the table.” Such structures

cultivate outcomes like “encouraging emotions,” “showcasing messy characters,” “clarifying

the power (and danger) of fiction,” “recognizing tension between the community and self,”
“reframing violence,” and “building support between characters,” all of which are queer

outcomes in their own rights. One of the structures discussed describes the various safety

tools which many queer TTRPGs actively include in the design of the game instead of

adding on later as an afterthought. These tools include but aren’t limited to the “X-Card”

(Stavropoulos, 2013), “Script Change Tools” (Sheldon, 2013), and “Lines and Veils”

(Edwards, 2004). Such safety tools not only help players to navigate boundaries, active

consent, and sensitive content but also help to make a larger amount of queer content

possible, “defining the narrative playground through shared, consent-based rulebuilding”

(Berge, 2021).

In a similar vein, Alder (Kiraly, 2014) and Alder & St Patrick (2013) both mention

collaborative queer world-building and creating queer utopias as another way to queer

47
 TTRPGs. The idea of the queer utopia goes further than just making sure a variety of queer

characters are represented in-game, but breaking down the normative world and rebuilding

it in a way that is inherently queer, together “as queer people, sitting down, and imagining

a better world” (Kiraly, 2014, 3:06). This practice of collaborative world-building and

narrative creation references back to Alder’s own NDNM style of gameplay, which actively

seeks to balance power between all players instead of handing all the power over to a GM

and the chance of a set of dice. Thus when it comes to queering TTRPGs, designing for fluid

play and collaboration is of utmost importance: collaboration between players, collaboration

between player and rulebook, and collaboration between player and character—between self
and possible selves.

2.5.3 Queer From Conception

While inherently queer TTRPGs are still relatively new to the RPG market, some stand-

out games include such queer structures and concepts that may act as inspiring design

precedents for future games and game designers.

Our Mundane Supernatural Life (hereafter OMSL) (2018/2021) is a two-player one-

shot RPG by game designers Vee Hendro and Hayley Gordon, and the premise of the slice of

life game is to experience a single day in the shoes of a supernatural creature and their loved

one, doing ordinary things while juggling the not-so-ordinary struggles of said supernatural

being. OMSL has no GM, and the two players work in collaboration to create characters,

plan out their day, and then live through it together. It has a heavy focus on role-playing

and improvisation instead of combat-based simulation like many TTRPGs and utilises a

playground-type structure by encouraging players to do whatever they like in the game,

whenever they want. OMSL makes room for and showcases mundane queer existence, and

that is all. The game hints at the concept of the fruitful void; after your day is finished and

both characters fall asleep, what happens next? What was the point of the game? Was there

a point at all, other than to experience a nice little slice of life outside of your own? OMSL

is a worthy design precedent, particularly because it does not place importance on how

48
 excellently you vanquish monsters or how quickly you level up; it is simply an explorative

lens into the entirely normal lives of two people, their relationship, the day they spend

together, and the quiet moments in between, thus queering the normative structure and goal

of almost all other heteronormative TTRPGs.

Variations on Your Body (hereafter VoYB) (2019b) is a collection of “four pervasive

games” by Alder, and are solo RPGs that should be played “in the margins of your life,” some

of which explore and are about queerness specifically, but all employ a type of playground

structure. The rules of all four games are generally quite simple; these are games to be

played alone, and sometimes with others, but mostly alone. They are self-reflective, and
most are to be played quietly in everyday life instead of in a single, stationary sitting. In

particular regard to queerness, Brave Sparrow (hereafter BS) is a standout; the game, as

the title suggests, is about the player rediscovering their sparrow body by ‘training,’ such as

collecting feathers, and completing ‘missions,’ which are up to the player to determine. BS

is a “hyper-earnest trans allegory” (Alder, 2020) and is about navigating the human world

in everyday life, knowing that you do not fit in with everyone else. It is a game of personal

exploration, courage, and bravery in the face of doubt, uncertainty, and hegemonic society.

All of the games in VoYB approach the concept of RPGs differently; there is no character, it
is you (the player) playing yourself (or, a version of yourself). The person and player overlap

to form the persona, and all four games are designed to create experiences and meaning to

carry with you back into the real world, making VoYB an inspiring design precedent.

LOGAN: An Autobiographical Tabletop Game (hereafter LOGAN) (2021) is a

TTRPG in which you play the author, Logan Timmins, as he goes through many stages in

his life. You have the opportunity to play through an equal number of ‘Peace,’ ‘Growth,’ and

‘Turmoil’ scenes intercut with ‘Milestone’ and ‘Self Care’ scenes at regular intervals. The

game doesn’t hesitate to explore themes of pain (explicitly queer or not) such as suicidal
ideation and self-harm, but nor does it hesitate to explore pure, unfiltered queer joy and

pride, and the dips and valleys in-between. The statistics in LOGAN are of particular

49
 note; they represent more abstract and non-quantifiable aspects of your Logan, such as

“Otherness,” which is extremely fitting for a queer TTRPG by a queer game designer and

writer. The game also takes place in a fashion that is a nod to the non-linear; while there is

a certain structure of what types of scenes you play through, you get to choose the specific

scene, providing a multitude of options for the storyline and increasing replayability.

LOGAN is a key design precedent when it comes to a game that is not afraid to shy away

from some of the harder and heavier topics associated with life in general, while still

prioritising player safety (such as the mandatory ‘Self Care’ scenes and contents warnings at

the beginning of each scene).

2.5.4 The Gap: Queering Games & Experiences

It is not enough to add in a few token gay characters to make a TTRPG (or any game, for that

matter) ‘queer.’ A game is queered through the system, mechanics and themes it employs,

therefore affecting almost all aspects of the game itself, regardless of whether the players

or characters are queer (Figure 2.5); queer narrative possibility is key to a queer TTRPG

(Berge, 2021). Creating fluid game structures, like Ruberg (2020) and Dragon’s (2021c)

playground structure or Edwards’ (2005) fruitful void; removing heteronormative aspects

such as physique-related stats and combat-based experience levels; and placing emphasis on

metaphorical mechanics (Alder & St Patrick, 2013) and concepts that disrupt the normative

gaming experience, like the queer utopia, safety tools, and non-linear storylines are several

ways that TTRPGs can be designed (and redesigned) to become queerer.

There is an increasing amount of research surrounding the intersection of queerness

and games (see Pulos, 2013; Rogers, 2020; Sundén, 2009; Youngblood, 2013; among

others) as well as surveys and reviews explicitly focusing on inclusion and/or exclusion of

queer content in games (see Shaw & Friesem 2016; Stenros & Sihvonen, 2015). Likewise,

while some literature exists around queer game design and designers (see Berge, 2021;

Ruberg, 2020), there is a lack of literature bridging the gap between queer game design

and queer identity exploration, specifically through a design-focused lens, and how such a

50
 TTRPG could be designed to not only open up queer narrative possibilities but encourage

exploration of self, possible selves, and possible identities. This is what this thesis aims to

do.

There are multiple needs for such research; firstly, to discover how queer TTRPGs

may be designed for queer audiences by queer designers, helping to attempt to give queer

players both the representation and type of games that allow them to be unabashedly

themselves, unhindered by normative statistics and hegemonic ideals. Secondly, to provide

a safe space for queer/questioning people (specifically adolescents) to explore and practise

with possible selves and try on different facets of queer identity in a fun, engaging way.
Thirdly, to explore how TTRPGs can purposefully harness the concept of liminal space to aid

in such identity play with possible selves.

Figure 2.5

Queering
TTRPGs
through
systems,
mechanics,
and themes

51
 CHAPTER 3:
AIM 1
METHODOLOGY

52
 3.0
AIM 1
METHODOLOGY

See Research Overview for Aim 1 and Objectives 1A & 1B.

Key methodology: quantitative & qualitative research for design

Key methods: literature review, precedent review, anonymous sur-
vey, thematic coding

Objective 1A was addressed by conducting a literature review around existing

research and design precedents that are relevant to the objective, with a specific

focus on identity play and roles; the history of TTRPGs and how the people outside

its target demographic were treated and viewed as; and queer TTRPG design,

structures, mechanics, and outcomes. In identifying, evaluating, comparing and

synthesising existing literature and precedents, a deeper understanding of the

current climate surrounding queer TTRPG players and their experiences with such

games (new and old) was achieved (Fink, 2019).

Objective 1B was addressed by undertaking an internet survey in October

2021, aimed at queer young adults who had at least some experience with TTRPGs

(see Appendix A). The survey results were then collated (see Appendix B), analysed,

and thematically coded (where appropriate) following a research for design

methodology to help enable and guide the design of a queer TTRPG (refer to Aim 2)

53
 (Downton, 2003).

Such established research methods and the methodology of qualitative research

for design were most suitable for my investigation as fluid and personal concepts such

as queerness and identity (and particularly, identity play) cannot possibly be accurately

measured and explored solely through quantitative data. However, some quantitative data

was useful in terms of defining the demographic and its initial thoughts, thus dictating that

my investigation follows a mixed-methods approach (Ponto, 2015; Tashakkori & Teddlie,

1998) while most data analysed and evaluated was through more of a qualitative lens via

thematic coding; it was less important to generalise a whole population or social group of
people’s experiences and more important to take in each individual’s complex experiences

(Vaughn & Turner, 2016) and how they might apply to create key concepts for queer game

design.

The survey’s participants were determined via convenience sample, in which

participants opted in and self-selected into the sample (Schonlau et al., 2002). The survey

participants remained anonymous and therefore their identity was and will be protected,

not only for their safety, security, and privacy, but to create a more open environment

where they were more comfortable to honestly share experiences, opinions and answers
that weren’t attached to their name and self, rather than presenting their best self possible

(Best & Krueger 2008). The reason for choosing convenience sampling for this survey

questionnaire was to receive as many answers as possible that were rich in content while

distributing the survey and conveniently recruiting participants.

The risk of traditional convenience sampling is sample selection bias, in that the

participants to whom the survey was advertised may not represent the full demographic

being researched. This was mitigated by not asking specific individuals to consider

participating, and instead, the survey was distributed to a range of groups of relevant
participants who met the sample criteria.

The survey collected results from adults aged 16 years and older who were queer in

any capacity (regardless if they were ‘out’, ‘questioning’ or ‘closeted’), whether that was

54
 related to their gender identity, gender expression, or sexuality. The survey also required

participants to have at least some knowledge of and experience with TTRPGs and/or other

types of RPGs. The survey was primarily aimed at New Zealanders aged 16-35 but was

advertised in Facebook groups etc that included people of all ages from other countries,

and thus invited anyone who fit the other criteria to take part. Participants of all ethnicities

and cultural backgrounds were invited and encouraged to consider taking part to gain as

much data from a sample that was as diverse as possible, given the scope and bounds of this

research and thesis.

Recruitment took place online in October 2021, and advertisements were distributed
in relevant Facebook groups such as TTRPG Diversity New Zealand, Dungeons & Dragons

Aotearoa NZ, Melbourne LGBTQIA+ TTRPGs, and Dungeons & Dragons & Diversity.

These groups were chosen as all fulfilled at least one of the two main characteristics of

sought-after participants: a connection to TTRPGs, or identifying as queer in some capacity.

While groups like Dungeons & Dragons Aotearoa NZ only explicitly satisfied one of the

characteristics sought, I believed that there was a good chance that people who qualified

as a participant for the survey could be a member of any of the groups. All advertisement

posts were discussed with and granted consent by the relevant admins of the groups before
posting.

The survey was conducted via Qualtrics, and was split into four sections:

1. Assessing the participant’s eligibility for the survey (3 closed answer questions) and

gathering some base data that would provide a brief overview of the demographic surveyed

(2 closed answer questions). These questions ensured that identifying participants would

remain impossible, while still making sure that the participant themselves knew whether

they were eligible to participate. Answers to any questions that did not meet the eligibility

criteria would not allow the participant to continue to the next question.
2. Questions regarding the participant’s personal experiences with queer TTRPGs (1

closed answer question, 7 open answer questions). This section aimed to gather information

on past experiences the participant has had with queer TTRPGs, specifically what games

55
 they’d played, what they enjoyed about them, game mechanics they liked, and anything they

would change.

3. Questions regarding whether the participant agreed or disagreed with a range

of statements about TTRPGs (3 matrix-styled sections of 6, 7 and 9 statements). The

participant selected one of the following answers to each statement: “agree”/“somewhat

agree”/“indifferent”/“somewhat disagree”/“disagree”/“don’t know”. The purpose of this

section was to gather the participant’s opinions on queer TTRPGs; character creation and

player-character relationships; and basic TTRPG preferences such as length, game system,

tactile elements etc. There was also a text field at the bottom for participants to expand on
any answers they gave if they wished to.

4. Questions regarding the participant’s opinions on TTRPG design and what they

find most important (3 open answer questions). The final section was broad and allowed

participants to discuss whatever they wanted concerning TTRPG design.

All questions except the first 3 questions in section 1 were optional to answer. If the

participant felt uncomfortable answering a specific question, did not understand what the

question was asking or just didn’t want to answer, they could leave the field/matrix blank

and move on to the next question.

All questions focused on positive or neutral experiences, which helped to mitigate

all risks of emotional trauma in recalling negative experiences. Negative experiences (like

experiencing homophobia, transphobia etc) were not mentioned nor alluded to at all in the

survey questions.

All open-answer questions (text entry field) were thematically coded by identifying

key codes in each answer, collating all answers under each code, and then summarising

the key findings from each in regard to the question asked, developing themes, theories,

and ideas in response (Rivas, 2012). This open-ended approach, while time-consuming in
terms of analysis, resulted in more unexpected, organic, and dynamic answers from each

participant and the entire sample, instead of the survey directing the type of answers it

wanted to receive.

56
 CHAPTER 4:
OBJECTIVE 1B
RESULTS

57
 4.1
QUANTITATIVE

The survey generated 331 complete and eligible submissions, which far exceeded

expectations when the survey was first distributed. In terms of notable base

demographics, 83.69% of participants (n=277 out of 331) were between the ages of

16-35 (Figure B.01). 95.77% of participants (n=317) were LGBTQIA+, and the other

4.23% (n=14) said that they were questioning/unsure/may be part of the LGBTQIA+

community (Figure B.02). The two largest specific ethnicities that participants

belonged to were New Zealand European (n=210) and Māori (n=28), as expected,

due to the survey mostly being advertised in New Zealand-focused Facebook groups

(Figure B.04). The most common gender identity participants mentioned was female

(n=80), of which most specified they were cisgender. This was closely followed by

non-binary/enby (n=75), a label that was often combined with other identity labels

such as trans masc/fem, genderfluid, genderqueer and/or agender, whereas only 54

participants identified as male (again, of which most specified they were cisgender)

(Figure B.05). This demographic information is notable and valuable as it signifies

that the data collected from this survey wasn’t swayed by an overwhelmingly

cisgender, heterosexual, white male audience (the historical demographic for

TTRPGs, see literature review), and therefore more accurately conveys the opinions

of a better representation of the queer TTRPG player community.

25.98% of participants (n=86) reported they had played a queer TTRPG before

58
 (Figure B.06), while the majority had not, even though all participants identified as queer or

questioning (Figure B.02). This statistic highlights the vast lack of queer TTRPGs given the

number of queer players, especially in terms of mainstream games; when asked what queer

TTRPGs participants had played, while 51 different TTRPGs were mentioned by name, the

top 5 most mentioned TTRPGs accounted for 52.53% (n=83) of given answers (n=158)

(Figure B.07): D&D (all editions including homebrew campaigns); MH; Thirsty Sword

Lesbians (Walsh, 2021), DA, and WoD games (including VtM). 43 queer TTRPGs of the 51

were only mentioned once (n=31) or twice (n=12), most of which could be considered indie

games. Possibly the most interesting result was that D&D was the most common answer,
given that no official editions of D&D are inherently queer nor employ queer mechanics.

This demonstrates a dire need for more queer games in the TTRPG market, as do other

results (84.29% (n=279) of participants either agreed or somewhat agreed that there should

be more TTRPGs that focus on queer experiences or narratives, Figure B.10; and 90.03%

(n=298) of participants either agreed or somewhat agreed there should be more TTRPGs

designed for queer identity exploration, Figure B.11).

Character creation was specifically asked about in the survey due to the person/

player/persona frames, and the liminal space ripe for identity play and exploration of
possible selves that occurs when said frames overlap. The overwhelming majority of

participants (97.28%, n=322) either agreed or somewhat agreed that character creation was

an important part of their TTRPG experience (Figure B.15), and (92.71%, n=305) agreed

or somewhat agreed that their characters were important to them (Figure B.23), thus

highlighting the importance of the player-persona relationship. The survey results confirm

the idea that character creation and identity play in TTRPGs involve the creation of possible

selves: the vast majority of participants (92.73%, n=306) agreed or somewhat agreed that

they create characters in TTRPGs that they related to in some way (Figure B.16), and a
majority of participants (69.18%, n=229) also agreed or somewhat agreed that they create

characters in TTRPGs they wish they could be like in real life (Figure B.17).

59
 When asked if such games helped participants to explore and experiment with their

identity in any way, the majority (61.54%, n=56) of participants who answered the question

(n=91) answered yes, and 10.99% (n=10) answered maybe/somewhat (Figure B.08). This

result backs the idea that TTRPGs can help with identity play and exploration (Bowman,

2010; DeHart, 2008; Deterding & Zagal, 2018; Hollander, 2021; Nephew, 2006; Osborne,

2012), specifically queer games with queer identity. Results (86.06%, n=284) showed most

participants either agreed or somewhat agreed they would play a TTRPG designed to allow

them to explore their queerness and identity (Figure B.12), thus demonstrating a reasonable

interest in and demand for this concept.

The results also show that many queer players already do take part in identity play in

TTRPGs and explore their gender identity (Figure B.18; 77.95%, n=258, agreed or somewhat

agreed), gender expression (Figure B.19; 80.30%, n=265, agreed or somewhat agreed),

and/or sexuality (Figure B.20; 72.64%, n=239, agreed or somewhat agreed) through their

characters. The results also hint at the transformation of identity play to identity work

(Ibarra & Petriglieri, 2010) and the concept of bleed (Boss, 2007), specifically “bleed out,”

in which the experiences of the character in-game may affect and bleed into the player and

person outside of the game (Bowman, 2013; Montola, 2010): the majority of participants
agreed or somewhat agreed that character creation had taught them something new about

themselves (Figure B.21; 74.85%, n=247), and/or a character they had played before

influenced part of their life in some way (Figure B.22; 65.35%, n=215). These findings

display the real potential that intentionally designing for queer identity play in TTRPGs may

result in real benefits (such as identity work and clarification via bleed) for players taking

part.

60
 4.2
QUALITATIVE

This results section will summarise the different types of themes identified through

thematic coding and analyse how they relate to queer TTRPG design, given the

context to which question each theme applied. Codes were divided into themes and

then sub-categories, which formed three broader thematic categories: game design,

game environment, and game content, all of which intersected at times.

4.2.1 Game Design

This category covers all themes to do with the way the game and the structure of

the game are designed, including but not limited to: the game system, mechanics,

worldbuilding, moves, actions, clarity, flexibility, safety, and the design process

of the game. Overall this category covers 4 sub-categories made up of 43 different

identified codes.

4.2.1.1 Systems, Mechanics, & World-building

This sub-category of themes pertains largely to how TTRPGs are designed to be

played and the way that TTRPGs work, particularly in regards to the enjoyment

of queer games and queer identity play. Participants identified that the way queer
TTRPGs are designed is key to enjoying play (“I think exploring different dynamics

to the standard dungeon/lovecraft crawl [made it more enjoyable]”); specifically in

61
 the context of creation processes (character, world, narrative etc) and the overall feeling or

“vibe” of the game, and that systems that provide more freedom to explore and experiment

instead of something more prescriptive are more enjoyable. One specific system that

appeared in multiple answers as directly contributing to game enjoyment was PbtA; this

makes sense as a large proportion of queer TTRPGs are designed for PbtA, as it is a system

heavily based around role-playing and storytelling. One participant mentioned “I’ve found

that PbtA works best for our group. It’s the first system we tried after D&D, and [it’s]

allowed for the most interesting exploration of character for us.”

Likewise, mechanics were mentioned often, and multiple participants stated

that what sets queer TTRPGs apart from heteronormative games is that there are “less

mechanics for fighting, [and] more mechanics for social interactions or internal growth.”

Combat is sometimes still present, but queer TTRPGs are generally more focused on the

story and narrative overall as opposed to more simulation-type combat and mechanics, as

many participants “[preferred] things to be less mechanics-based, with the story action less

constrained by rolls, and as flexible as possible.” This highlights the recent move away from

masculine, militaristic games as mentioned previously, and demonstrates that there is a

demand for games that do not spotlight such elements.

More explicitly queer mechanics and moves were mentioned in regards to identity

play, such as how the mechanics in MH encourage identity exploration by simulating the

feeling of being unable to control attraction and preference, much like in real life, but in a

safer and controlled fantasy environment where such desires can be acted upon in a more

experimental fashion, allowing players to “[explore their reactions] to being attracted to

different genders.” Similarly, participants also mentioned that magic systems and moves

in some games (transformation and shapeshifting magic especially) can have parallels to

transgender themes and experiences, which can create an ample opportunity to explore
transgender identity and alternate identities safely.

Related to the idea of safety, world-building and creating the precedent for an

62
 intentionally safe setting in-game was a theme present in regards to the importance of

designing queer games for queer players. Participants said that aspects of worldbuilding

such as classes and social structures should be carefully designed so that they don’t contain

any real-world prejudices or oppression that would affect not only queer players, but any

player in general based on their identity. Likewise, “[hard-coding] diversity and inclusion in

the development of the world” is key to creating an inclusive queer TTRPG.

4.2.1.2 Authentic Design Process

This sub-category of themes discusses the authenticity of the design process, regarding the

game designers, their intentions, and the way that they design queer TTRPGs. Participants

had real concerns about who should design queer games; many agreed that “having queer

people lead the design and creation of the game/story so it can be made without worry [and]

have it stand as its own.” “Sensitivity consultants” should also be referred to when exploring

specific identities outside of the designer’s own. Additionally, the designer/s should be

able “to [decentre] themselves from the narrative” to encourage the broadest spectrum

of inclusivity and exploration possible, and not let their personal experiences, biases and

privilege affect the game itself; this is a concept that Baur (2019) mentions, that TTRPG

designers should not conflate their own needs (and experiences) with the audience’s needs

(and experiences).

Similarly, participants explained that proper research and consultation should

take place when designing a queer TTRPG, particularly one that focuses on specific queer

experiences instead of just enabling queer narrative possibilities. Multiple participants

stressed that the designer/s should “talk to those with similar experiences in real life, so that

[they] can get a good range of perspectives to build the TTRPG off” and thus consult with

queer people to make sure their stories aren’t being misconstrued. This relates to the idea of

tokenism which was also specifically mentioned, as participants said they want designers “to

avoid being tokenistic and writing material so [they] can tick the ‘queer box’ off.”

The theme of audience and target demographic appears also in this sub-category.

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 Participants believed that when designing a queer TTRPG, it is imperative to keep the

target audience in mind, and that a lot of what players will be willing to explore and

experience depends on the player themself: “...some may want a more realistic setting

where homophobia and transphobia exist, however, for others TTRPGs are ways to escape.

Therefore, allowing for the diverse intentions behind playing in TTRPGs is important.”

Making sure the game caters to differing wants and needs is crucial, as is providing the

flexibility within the game design to do so, relating to Ruberg (2020) and Dragon’s (2021c)

TTRPG playground structure concept. Furthermore, participants recommended designers

to “get actual queer people to give feedback when designing the experience and gameplay,
as well as heteronormative people (unless your target demographics are solely the queer)”

and to “continue talking to a range of queer folks as you develop game ideas, and adapt

accordingly.”

4.2.1.3 Flexibility, Fluidity, & Freedom

This sub-category of themes addresses the need for queer TTRPGs to be intentionally

designed to be flexible, fluid and free for players to interact with, change, and edit, once

again referring back to Ruberg (2020) and Dragon’s (2021c) proposed TTRPG playground

structure. Participants stated that when designing a queer game for queer players, aspects of

the characters should be flexible: “people’s identities (and society) are constantly changing

and in flux, there’s no point in having cookie cutter stereotypical characters.” Allowing

things to change and simply exist without being fixed is a must when it comes to identity

exploration, specifically as queerness is not easily definable or categorisable (Jagose, 1996;

Sedgwick, 1994).

This applies to the game itself as well: to some participants, many aspects of a queer

TTRPG with more of a prescriptive storyline such as the plot, setting, endings etc must be

open to interpretation and expression as well as “open-mindedness;” “[the game should

have] multiple endings as everybody’s experience is different with different decisions

and identities.” Participants noted that they value the ability in a TTRPG to encourage “...

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 the players to shape the experience themselves and tell the stories they want,” especially

when it comes to queer narratives and experiences being explored. Everyone deserves to

see themselves and their experiences represented in games they enjoy, so purposefully

designing parts of the game to be easily customisable without hindrance is key to steering

TTRPGs away from the heteronormative precedents that have heavily influenced most of the

market.

In addition, participants said that it was extremely important that queer TTRPGs

should “allow flexibility by the GM and players to adapt the game to suit their needs and

play style.” Some players may be neurodivergent or have learning difficulties, so being
able to adapt parts of the game to suit the players while still enjoying the experience the

game aims to give is of high importance. On this note, accessibility should be taken into

consideration during the design process of the game by not only offering and designing

alternative styles of play but encouraging players to apply their own to the game without

penalising them for it. Some participants also mentioned it’s important to allow players

the freedom to “…bend the rules and have fun (e.g rule of cool rather than strict Rules As

Written [RAW]) to enable characters to try new things and develop relationships and ideas.”

In terms of accessibility, several participants said that sensory issues affected their TTRPG
experiences, with one preferring RPGs with similar themes only, and the other preferring

online games in a quiet environment:

I end up avoiding very physical games just because I play online which allows me to

play in a quiet environment. This is due to my sensory issues as an autistic person.

Due to the huge overlap between the autistic and trans communities, sensory issues

might deserve future exploration, but I would not throw out otherwise fun parts of

your game just because of this concern.

This is important to keep in mind when designing a game; how do you design a game

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 (or maybe specifically a game mode) that still encourages queer identity exploration while

also catering to people who may have sensory issues that prohibit them from playing in the

same way others do?

4.2.1.4 Safety, Control, & Consent

The final sub-category of the Game Design category focuses on issues surrounding safety,

why such issues are important, and ways that safety tools can be implemented in the design

processes of queer TTRPGs. As Berge (2021) identified, the inclusion of safety tools and

concepts like active consent makes for not only a safer gaming environment but allows for

a larger breadth of queer content possibilities, thus aiding in identity play and exploration.

Participants also identified this sentiment, even though the term “safety” or related

language was never mentioned in the survey (Appendix A) or recruitment advertisements,

demonstrating the importance of such safety protocols in TTRPG design and play.

Participants stated that certain measures and aspects of safety should be “...built into the

base game to ensure that even if a possibly triggering topic comes up in-game, it is handled

in a way that protects both the players and the [GM]” (specific examples included “traffic

light systems,” “content/trigger warnings,” “post-its,” “lines and veils,” “session zero” etc.).

Without such safety tools, games may become overwhelming or even dangerous for some

players to continue taking part in, depending on the content.

Safety and control are not only important in managing the risk of incidents; it also

is important in creating an environment in which “...everyone knows it’s a safe space to

explore your sexual and gender identities.” Participants mentioned that either being in

control of queer exploration and discussion in-game and/or the game facilitating a safe

space for such exploration was a key factor for them being able to undertake such identity

play and take part in a queer TTRPG in the first place:

...getting to narrate and control certain important parts of my character’s journey

[was important]. If I’d not been offered those opportunities, I would have been very

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 uncomfortable with a character arc that was so close to home, but because I had the

control I could run as close to the wind as I liked.

Also in this vein, participants said that “...ways in which to facilitate open

communication about queer issues and player comfort during the game” are incredibly

important, especially so that players can safely discuss what they are/aren’t comfortable

with. As such, queer TTRPGs should be designed to purposefully facilitate these

conversations and make use of safety tools that foster safe and controlled play and

exploration before and during the game, to keep all players safe.

4.2.2 Game Environment

This category touches on some of the safety aspects brought up in the game design category,

expanding into ideas surrounding what happens outside of the in-game world and around

the table, such as players and party, GM/DMs, power hierarchy, trust, collaboration, and

respect. Overall this category covers 3 sub-categories made up of 18 different identified

codes.

4.2.2.1 Players & Party

Participants stated that the people they played with heavily impacted their play experience.

Many stated that they preferred playing with queer people playing queer characters

(albeit non-exclusively, for most participants: “I find playing with non-cis, non-het, non-

monogamous people or allies is overall a much better experience because we are all more

accepting of each other and our experiences at the table”). Some participants preferred

playing “...with a higher proportion of queer people, as they’ll ‘get’ more of the concepts/

threads of any queer narratives without having to break out into a quick discussion/

education session” regarding issues that non-queer people may not fully understand or
even be aware of; some participants answered that an entirely queer party (or, a mixture of

queer people and allies) made them “feel [the] safest” to act out their desires in-game, or to

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 create the character they wanted to truly represent them without facing prejudice or shame.

However, a similar amount of participants stated that the identities of the people they were

playing with often didn’t matter, nor the identities of the characters that they played: “...

everyone should feel included at whatever table they’re at and be allowed to make characters

that are similarly diverse.” The most important factor is “the attitude of the group one

plays with [rather] than what the game focuses on, whether or not the players are actually

queer-identifying.” These findings reference back to quantitative data from Q12_5 (34.85%,

n=115, of participants were indifferent and 37.27%, n=123, agreed or somewhat agreed that

they preferred that all players in their group to be queer, Figure B.13) and Q12_6 (32.63%,
n=108, of participants were indifferent and 47.43%, n=157, agreed or somewhat agreed that

they preferred that all characters in their party to be queer, Figure B.14). Therefore, it could

be concluded that it varies from person to person whether they want to play exclusively or

not with a queer roster of players and characters, and so queer TTRPG design should not

assume one or the other.

Given these findings, it is important to note that while some queer players have no

preference for playing with exclusively queer players/characters, participants stressed

that the people with whom you play are the most important factor of a TTRPG: “creating a
safe, open, welcoming space that allows everyone to have fun telling a story and having an

adventure. [Role-playing] in any context is quite a vulnerable experience, so building trust

between players is important.” This is something that often games cannot be designed for, as

the player chooses the game and not the other way around. Games can try to get across the

importance of open communication and mutual respect between players and include tools

to open up those conversations, but ultimately it is the player who decides to play the game

with whoever they choose. Therefore, providing space in the rules to allow players to bow

out of the game at any time for any reason without consequence and setting the precedent
for safe and open play is of paramount importance.

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 4.2.2.2 GMs & DMs
This sub-category discusses the importance that GMs and associated roles have on queer

TTRPGs and safe play. Some participants specifically placed the differences between queer

TTRPG and heteronormative TTRPG experiences upon the GM’s shoulders; they believed

that a GM that focuses on queer ideas, narratives and exploration in-game makes all the

difference, as opposed to one that has a more fixed and heteronormative mindset (“…a lot of

it is the GM grokking with a certain game - I feel like you could probably run an incredibly

straight game of Thirsty Sword Lesbians if you have a very cis-hetero-normative mindset”).

Additionally, they summarised that a GM needs to be respectful and open-minded for a

queer TTRPG to be enjoyable: “The main factor I enjoy the most is how my GM plays [queer

TTRPGs and characters respectfully] and not stereotyped.”

Perhaps this is why so many recent queer TTRPGs employ a GM-less system, such

as OMSL and the games that use Alder’s NDNM game approach: several participants

stated that GMs have less power in many queer TTRPGs and there are more “attempts to

level power [imbalances] at the table” which makes the power distribution feel more equal

overall. By levelling and dismantling hierarchies, players may be more likely to speak their

mind and steer the game in the direction they want to explore, without fear of de-railing the

game or threatening what would usually be a GM’s role.

Some participants said that the most important part of any TTRPG is “collaborative

storytelling” and “the collective narrative.” The ability to create and tell a cohesive story as a

group is one of the most attractive and unique parts of the genre of TTRPGs, and should not

be underestimated. Queer TTRPGs should emphasise “the nature/importance of cooperative

storytelling, not positioning the GM as the opponent of the players (unless the specific

system/game calls for that).” Therefore when designing queer TTRPGs, designers should

consider if the game does need a GM, DM, or facilitator of some sort; many games do need

one to keep the story on track and keep things balanced, but plenty of narrative-based games

with a heavy focus on role-playing do not always need someone “in charge,” especially if the

game prioritises collaboration.

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 4.2.2.3 Comfort, Communication, & Respect
This sub-category pertains to how a TTRPG can be designed and thus transformed into a

place where players can play comfortably. As mentioned previously, a more equal spread

of power across the table also leads to more open communication, comfort, and trust;

participants said that open and clear communication between players is a very important

aspect of any TTRPG. “Open honesty and communication,” “not feeling hierarchical,” and

expressing boundaries, concerns, questions, and consent is vital for a TTRPG to be played

successfully and safely (especially one that deals with darker topics, or more sensitive

aspects like personal identity). Similarly, ensuring respect between players is key so

everyone can indulge in “the freedom to play a character that [they] want to play in a way

[they] want to play them, with no judgement of who that character is, what they sound like,

how good [they] are at role-playing them.” This creates a more open, comfortable game

space overall, and is something that should be addressed when designing any TTRPG, not

just queer games.

Some participants said that this may be done by setting a precedent in the game

rules from the beginning; in terms of a queer TTRPG designed for identity play, that may

mean ensuring everyone understands and expects identity play to take place at some point

during the game so no one is blindsided or is unaware of what’s happening. Not only would

mentioning this upfront allow players to discuss what they are/aren’t comfortable with, but

it would also plant the idea in the player’s mind that such a game should be used to explore

parts of identity that they may not have thought about before or have been hesitant to play

around with. Thus, setting the intention of the game clearly, from the beginning (both in the

design process and in the final product) should help guide both the designer and the player

without restricting either.

4.2.3 Game Content

This final category explores more of the ‘fluffier’ aspects of TTRPGs, and the content of such

games: diversity, representation, narrative, themes, character, queerness, and identity.

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 Overall this category covers 3 sub-categories made up of 77 different identified codes.

4.2.3.1 Diversity, Inclusion, & Representation

This sub-category addresses how queer TTRPGs can explore different types of diversity,

and why it is imperative to do so. Participants mentioned that having far more options and

depictions of often under-represented characteristics (“…[such as] character descriptions

that [try] to avoid Eurocentrism as well as heteronormativity, intersectional awareness…”)

for character creation and NPCs set queer TTRPGs apart from heteronormative games,

which have historically ignored most intersectional identities and representation.

Intersectionality was also mentioned very frequently; participants said that it isn’t enough to

simply design for queer players, but to “[make] sure that there is a range of other identities

and diversity within the TTRPG” (such as but not limited to race, disability, mental

health, neurodiversity, weight etc.), and how those aspects form an “intersectional queer

experience.” As such, a TTRPG that markets itself as queer and diverse should not only limit

itself to one type of queerness; it should focus on a whole spectrum of identities, particularly

those who are often misrepresented or not represented at all in similar media. This may be

addressed in-game by ensuring that there are no restrictions when it comes to character

creation, and plenty of examples of different, intersectional characters in the rulebook or

similar.

Many of the themes that fall under this sub-category also intersect with one of the

previous sub-categories, Authentic Design Process. Participants said that there is “no

one queer experience” and “queerness is not universal,” and games shouldn’t dispute

this. “Many queer experiences are vastly different,” especially those who belong to more

marginalised communities and have more intersectional identities. Therefore if a designer

was to create a queer TTRPG, it would be important to realise and respect this idea, and

make sure to cater to all types of queer experiences (or at least leave them very open to

interpretation). Additionally, participants said that it was imperative to make sure that

if any specifically queer themes and experiences are included in a queer game, they don’t

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 “[lean too] heavily into stereotypes” and tropes, and are represented fairly. Accurate and

genuine representation, designed and written with good intentions and empathy, will appeal

to queer people and players (and make the game more “relatable/representative of real-life

experiences”).

4.2.3.2 Narrative & Themes

This sub-category of themes pertains to the parts that narratives and themes play in queer

TTRPGs, and how they should be designed in tandem with mechanics. Many participants

said that they prefer “a balance between mechanics and narrative that allows players the

freedom to play the game without having to constantly worry about the rules at every turn.”

Participants reported that by making sure different parts of the game work together in a

more streamlined manner with “slim mechanics,” games are easier to play and become

immersed in. Once again, by departing from simulated wargame-type TTRPGs and

moving deeper into the realm of role-play and improvisation, the more this change seems

to appeal to many queer and marginalised players. Participants noted that the narrative

that queer games tell is often more enjoyable to them and tended to highlight specific

LGBTQIA+ issues and themes that they could relate to, which set them apart from more

heteronormative TTRPGs: “it is a lot easier to feel immersed in the world [you] are creating/

playing in. [It’s more] enjoyable being able to relate to themes on a personal level in fantasy

settings.”

Specific narrative themes that were mentioned throughout the survey results included

found family and whānau (te reo Māori for family). Participants answered that found family

and the encouragement of it within queer TTRPGs is something that makes queer TTRPGs

different and unique; “…in my experience, the queerer the gaming group, the more NPCs

they adopt into their found family.” It could be said that putting more emphasis and creating

mechanics for things such as character interactions/relationships etc creates the opportunity

for found family exploration far more easily as opposed to more heteronormative games;

as such, emphasising found family over biological family is something that unsurprisingly

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 appeals to queer players, who often have more experience with the idea of choosing their

family over their blood relations than straight people do (although, this is obviously not the

case for everyone).

Sex and romance were other narrative themes specifically mentioned in regards to

designing queer TTRPGs; participants explained that while a queer TTRPG may lend itself

better to sex and romance, “your game does not have to be about sex or have erotic art to

enhance queer themes.” Sex and romance may (and in some instances, should) be part of

the narrative of a game focusing on queer themes and experiences, but should always be

optional, especially in their explicitness to cater to all types of players and keep everyone
safe.

4.2.3.3 Characters, Queerness, & Identity

This final sub-category of themes explores queer identity play through characters and

character creation, and how bleed affects this. Participants stressed the importance of their

characters, and that characters are emphasised differently in queer TTRPGs; there is more

focus on “diversity,” “representation” and “depth” than statistics and strength, referring

back to the idea that there is a demand and market for TTRPGs that favour story over (or

in balance with) mechanics and simulation aspects. Participants often cited that being able

to create a diverse collection of characters with a wide breadth of options to choose from

(particularly gender options, such as in Sleepaway and DA) and then being able to develop

and explore those characters is enjoyable, particularly in regards to identity exploration.

Some participants said that due to the character creation process even in

heteronormative TTRPGs, they often played and explored gender, sexuality etc with and

through their characters before they even realised that they were queer. This kind of

unconscious exploration suggests how much of a useful tool TTRPGs can be in terms of

solidifying and experimenting with personal player identity, even if it isn’t specifically

designed for such use. Beyond this, some mentioned that playing characters with specific

gender identities (such as non-binary) helped them to come out: “I realized and accepted I

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 was non-binary through playing a non-binary character in a TTRPG. Some of the inklings

had been there in the back of my mind before, but it helped me come to that place with

myself and express it to my friends, who were around the table with me.”

Some participants said that creating and playing heterosexual, cisgender characters

helped them to realise that they didn’t relate to them, encouraging them to explore their own

identity further: “Playing characters who identify as cisgender women but may view their

gender through a different lens to me due to the nature of a fantasy/historical TTRPG has

been immeasurably helpful in conceptualising my own views on my own gender.” Several

stated that they often created characters they didn’t relate to or didn’t wish they were like in
real life because they wanted to explore something else entirely. Participants also mentioned

that they wanted to create and play a character that was the opposite of themselves, or one

that could act and express themself in ways the players couldn’t do in real life. While some

of this may relate and extend to queerness (and the fact that some queer people can’t feel

free to express their authentic selves in real life due to safety reasons), this also extends to

learning to generate empathy for others (Alder, 2019b; Canning, 2007).

Participants mentioned that often traits or aspects of the characters they create and

play bleed through to influence their real lives (Bowman, 2013; Montola, 2010), as explored
in the quantitative data previously. The way that this concept intersects with gender

identity/expression and sexuality is interesting; several participants specifically mentioned

the terms “confidence” or “assertive” and while they didn’t mention gender or sexuality

explicitly, perhaps the freedom felt when role-playing a character that is so unapologetically

queer could help attribute to this sense of confidence/assertiveness that bleeds into the

player. Therefore in queer TTRPG design, it’s important to leave space for such freedom

when it comes to character creation and to allow both players and characters to be open and

confident with their queerness instead of forcing it to be smothered.

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 CHAPTER 5:
AIM 2
METHODOLOGY

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 5.0
AIM 2
METHODOLOGY

See Research Overview for Aim 2 and Objectives 2A & 2B.

Key methodology: qualitative research through design

Key methods: iterative design, play-testing, interviews

Objectives 2A and 2B involved iterative design methods to design the TTRPG,

notably play-testing, in which selected participants that met the desired demographic

(young adults 16 years or older) actively tested and experienced specific aspects

of the TTRPG at its different iterative stages and fidelities, and provided feedback

to improve the game while it was still being designed and iterated upon (Choi et

al., 2016). While play-testing is more relevant—and is often used in reference—to

game design, it is similar to prototyping, which is often done rapidly and at low cost

(and therefore lower fidelity) and focuses on specific aspects rather than the whole

product to get feedback that may be implemented faster more effectively, before

the designed product enters production/a higher-fidelity outcome (Camburn et al.,

2017; Hanington & Martin, 2012). While play-testing/prototyping during the game’s

development, play sessions were held and followed by an unstructured, discussion-

based interview with play-testers. This resulted in some qualitative data that was

compared to create conclusions about whether the TTRPG was successful in its goals,

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 in terms of both design and game content (Fullerton et al., 2004).

Objective 2A resulted in a final prototype of the designed TTRPG (which was as high-

fidelity as possible given time constraints), iterated throughout its conception and creation,

with the design of the game informed by the results of Aim 1. Objective 2B resulted in play-

testing feedback data and further TTRPG iteration, of which the data was qualitatively

synthesised and analysed to deduce if the game was successful in its goals and aims, and

acted as a guide for improvement for such game design.

The mentioned methods and the key methodology of qualitative research through

design were most suitable for this aim, to put the knowledge generated from the Aim 1
results into practice and demonstrate their potential when applied to an actual TTRPG,

as well as future potential. Research through design is a methodology in which theory and

knowledge are generated due to the design process (Downton, 2003; Stappers & Giaccardi,

2017; Zimmerman et al., 2010); as such, iterative design informed by both the results from

Aim 1 and play-testing feedback to create the final prototype helped to form new knowledge

as to how future queer TTRPGs should be designed and what queer game designers should

keep in mind when designing.

The play-testing participants were determined via convenience sample. Participants

were already known and convenient to me, so they were not anonymous at the time of play

but all consented to play-test (see Appendix C). Feedback given and analysed is presented

in this thesis anonymously. The play-testing participants were adults aged 16 years or older,

some of who were queer-identifying and some of who weren’t, to gauge a wider array of

opinions. All participants also had at least some knowledge of and experience with TTRPGs

and/or other RPGs so that they could compare the play-testing session to other games they’d

played before.

Due to both time and COVID-19 restraints, only two play-testing sessions with
different participants occurred; ideally, more would have taken place to further develop and

iterate the TTRPG and gain more data, but as the prototype serves as a proof of concept of

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 the results from Aim 1, I deemed the two sessions sufficient for the purpose of this thesis.

The play-testing sessions occurred in March 2022 in Wellington, New Zealand.

After play-testing, the participants were engaged in an unstructured, discussion-

based group interview about their experience, how they found the game, and what they

thought could be improved. Originally a questionnaire was to follow the interview, but as

most aspects of the questionnaire asked about were covered in the interview, I deemed it

unnecessary to record the same data twice. An unstructured interview format was decided

most appropriate to make the experience more casual and comfortable for play-testers,

while still gaining relevant information (Hanington & Martin, 2012), to help wind down
from the game, as both sessions spanned at least an hour of focused talking and interaction.

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 CHAPTER 6:
OBJECTIVES
2A & 2B
DESIGN PROCESS
& RESULTS

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 6.1
PRE-CONCEPTION

When I first started this research, I believed I was going to create a TTRPG based

on queer experiences to help give queer players an outlet in which to chiefly explore

the queer aspects of their identity. As such, many of the internet survey questions

from Objective 1B were focused on the idea of queer experiences being represented

in-game. However, when analysing the results from the survey, many participants

raised questions and concerns about queer experiences being portrayed as narratives

and/or themes, mostly due to valid concerns around authenticity and accuracy.

Some participants had also mentioned that they disagreed with the use of the

word ‘queer’ as a monolith, and said that all queer experiences were different and

dependent on intersectional identities; not all queer experiences will be the same,

and they rarely are.

I concluded that unless I was designing a TTRPG about one specific queer

experience, my own (like Timmins’ LOGAN (2021)), then it was going to be

impossible to authentically design a queer TTRPG to be used for identity play that

was relatable to and could be played by all types of queer people.

Therefore, inspired by Ruberg (2020) and Dragon’s (2021c) concept of

the playground structure, Alder & St Patrick (2013) and Alder’s (Kiraly, 2014)

identification of queer mechanics, and Berge’s (2021) concept of queer games and

mechanics creating the opportunity for queer narrative exploration and play, along

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 with the results generated from Objective 1B, I set out to design a queer TTRPG that allowed

players to explore whatever narrative and experiences they wanted to, within a queer system

utilising queer concepts of identity.

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 6.2
CONCEPTION

Due to the common themes analysed by thematic coding in Objective 1B, it was

apparent that the TTRPG needed to be narrative-based, as many participants

stressed the importance of story, plot, and narrative, and also mentioned story-

based systems such as PbtA. I wanted to embrace this fully and move away from

more linear, pre-established systems like D&D’s d20 system, which are systems and

mechanics more firmly rooted in heteronormativity and masculinity (Alder & St

Patrick, 2013; Oliver, 1995).

I also knew I wanted to design a contained TTRPG; a game playable in as little

as (and usually in) one sitting. Conscious identity work (and exploration, and play)

can be an exhausting experience at times (Mischenko, 2005), and so to contain it in a

one-shot style of play seemed most appropriate.

Identity play in TTRPGs wouldn’t be possible without the characters and

personas that players experience the game-world through; our characters act as

possible selves that allow us a glimpse into different identities and versions of

ourselves. This concept, combined with the results from Objective 1B that showed

that more than 90% of queer players surveyed would both describe their characters

as important to them and character creation as an important part of their TTRPG

experience, inspired me to base the TTRPG around the idea of character creation but

queering that process somewhat. Characters are developed through the experiences

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 we share with them (DeHart, 2008); so why not make that the core premise of the game and

form our knowledge of their identity through such shared experiences (shared fantasies,

if you will) instead of cherry-picking their characteristics from the start? By creating a

character through attempting to control what they and we experience in real-time, could

Fine’s (1983) frames of TTRPGs start to blend, and therefore intentionally harness the

power of liminality—the same type of liminality that queerness exists in—to encourage

identity play and possibly even bleed? These ideas, results, and theories formed the basis for

my TTRPG design.

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 6.3
ITERATIONS 0-1

With said basis, intention (to design an authentically queer game) and target

demographic (queer/questioning/curious players, 16 years or older) in mind, I

started designing this narrative-based TTRPG by writing, naturally. The introduction

for the game came easily, and with only a few minor edits and changes from the

original draft, the rest of the game quickly took shape.

The TTRPG is called Interwoven; as the title suggests, the premise of the

game lies in the allegorical extended metaphor of weaving and related acts (such

as braiding and sewing). This symbolism was chosen for several reasons: firstly,

the act of weaving has long been associated with the metaphor of the creation

of stories and worlds (Kruger, 2001) and the idea of fate (Bek-Pedersen, 2009),

which fit aptly with the heavy focus of narrative crafting and storytelling in the

TTRPG. Secondly, weaving, textile production, and needlework are all related

areas that have historically been considered feminine (Pristash et al., 2017) and

unimportant woman’s work despite their important role in human cultures (Kruger,

2001), directly contrasting the connotatively masculine audience and purpose of

wargames and military simulation games, like many classic TTRPGs are based upon.

This acknowledges the othering that people who are more or less removed from

traditional heteronormative masculinity have faced in TTRPGs. Thirdly, weaving

and associated acts can be linked to the ideas of connections of time (past, present,

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 and future) and identity (ancestry, self, and future generations) (Mac Aulay & Waru-Rewiri,

1996).

This allegory acts as the base context for the TTRPG; related terminology (Splices,

Threads, Lengths, etc) inspired and formed the basis for the mechanics of the game, and

this also bled into the different styles of gameplay created as well as the art for the game. I

chose to use such a rich and complex allegory as a key part of the TTRPG due to the success

of Alder’s allegorical games, MH and BS, as well as Alder & St Patrick’s (2013) comments on

metaphorical mechanics as being key to queer game design and meaning-making:

…our identities—the way we express those identities, the labels we attach to those

identities—they’re layered, they’re complicated. Those signifiers we use of identity:

they mean many things at once, they mean many things in different situations or

moment-to-moment, or when we’re interacting with different people. It doesn’t do

[anything] to our lives to have mechanics that all have single, concrete pieces of

meaning, that have singular definitions…we can have mechanics and make them

mean many things at once. (18:46)

The central premise of the game has remained the same from Iteration 0: originally

designed as a two-player game, the player plays The Frayed, a soul who has lost their

connection (and therefore, all memories) to themselves and physical body, and the other

player plays the GM role, The Needleworker: a mysterious, mystical being who helps The

Frayed. In Iteration 0, this lost connection was due to the character’s untimely and/or

unfair death and the character’s soul searching for the closure or resolution it needed to

move on; however, I quickly became aware that the game was a lot darker than it needed

to be, and also began to lean a little too closely into the “Bury Your Gays” trope in popular
media—a literary trope that usually involves pointlessly killing off one or more queer

characters shortly after a queer couple get together, or to advance a heteronormative

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 character’s storyline (Tzikas, 2018). Also known as “Dead Lesbian Syndrome” as the trope

disproportionately affects female characters, this historically served as a way for queer

authors to write about queer characters without appearing to ‘endorse’ the LGBTQIA+

lifestyle and tendencies (Hulan, 2017), however still occurs in many popular forms of media

today, usually by white, cisgender, heterosexual men (Tzikas, 2018). The danger of this

harmful trope, specifically with WLW (women-loving women) characters and audiences, is

that “the message this sends to those individuals struggling with their identities is that WLW

may find happiness, but it is short-lived and perhaps requires a bulletproof vest”

(Waggoner, 2018).
This was the opposite of the message I wanted to inspire with my TTRPG, so between

Iterations 0 and 1, I rewrote the context of the introduction and overall game slightly

to focus on ideas of memory and connection rather than life and death. In Iteration 1,

The Frayed (the player’s character) is a soul that has lost its connection to its physical

body prematurely; it is up to the player to try and repair this connection by sharing and

experiencing different memory fragments with their character, and thus try to work

out what happened in the first place for the connection to split and fray. This is how the

character is created: through experiences, instead of a bland character creation template.

This connection is the central aspect of the mechanics of Interwoven and is named

The Silver Cord, after the metaphysical and spiritual concepts. In some texts, the silver cord

(also referred to as the life thread, or the sutratma, in this context) links the physical body

to the higher self (Bailey & Khul, 2012). Alternatively, some believe the silver cord (also

referred to as the astral cord in this context) connects the physical body to the astral body

(Crookall, 1981). The term was first used in Ecclesiastes 12:6-7 in the Tanakh, and translates

as such:

Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be

broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern. Then shall the dust return

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 to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it. (Eccl, 12:6-7,

King James Bible)

In the context of Interwoven, The Silver Cord draws from the astral projection

definition. I debated including a term with religious contexts (however tenuous) given

the complicated history of queerness and organised religion (see Adamczyk & Pitt, 2009;

Hasbany, 2013; Johnson & Vanderbeck, 2014; among others), however as the game has

nothing to do with religion and more to do with ideas of individual spirituality and identity,

I deemed it appropriate to use.

To reconnect The Silver Cord, the player must experience (and the character, relive)

seven different Splices; memory fragments from the character’s life. Splices act as small

slices of life and are determined by the three different Threads (prompt cards) the player

pulls at random for each Splice: Outer Threads determine one or more aspects of the

setting; Inner Threads prompt exploration of a personality trait; and Central Threads

inspire the plot (or part thereof) that takes place during the Splice. In Iteration 0, each

Thread gave a single prompt with no room for alteration, however in Iteration 1, this was

changed to enable a greater range of narrative possibilities: each Outer and Central Thread
contains a prompt that has two options the player can choose between, and each Inner

Thread has three options. Out of the 30 different cards for each type of Thread, 27 contain

different prompts, and 3 cards are blank, allowing players to come up with their own

Threads, associated prompts and options if they wish. Once the player has decided which

exact prompts and options they want to use in their Splice, it begins.

Once each Splice has been played out, the corresponding Central Thread is placed

face-down in front of the player. As the game progresses and more Splices are experienced,

more Central Threads are placed; these form a chain stretching out from the player,
visualising The Silver Cord that the player and character are building and experiencing

together.

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 In Iteration 1, I introduced Anchors; cards with broad, archetypal character qualities

that the player chooses from before the Splices begin. These Anchors serve as a base

modicum of context for the player to begin building their character through the Splices

instead of jumping in blind. At the beginning of the game, the player is to place their chosen

Anchor card roughly 7 card lengths away from them; the Central Threads then bridge this

gap over time, connecting the player to the Anchor; The Frayed to their physical body; and

the player to their character.

Additionally, symbolised in this linkage, Interwoven itself becomes both a physical

and metaphorical diagram for connecting parts of the self, representing the different
layers of meaning through the very same frames that Fine (1983) identified, and Waskul

& Lust (2004) expanded upon: in the real world, the person ends the game with a trail of

cards connecting them with their character’s personality archetype. In the game world, the

character’s soul is connected by The Silver Cord to its physical body. And around the table,

the player is connected to their character through the Splices played. That is to say: the

person is connected by the Threads, Splices and The Silver Cord the player played with to

the persona/character they were trying to reach (the Anchor). Through these stacked layers

of meaning, not only are the three frames explored but the idea of the liminal space in which
identity play takes place has been materialised in a corporeal format (Figure 6.1).

The idea of linking cards was inspired by Hendros’ (2021) Villagesong, a contained

one-shot TTRPG in which players (who play village leaders) collect ‘Change Cards’ for

events that occur in their village; each card features two lines of song at the bottom, and at

the end of the game, each player reads out the song of their village in chronological order

of the events that occurred in-game. The idea of linking cards and having them symbolise

something other than just their original purpose (in Villagesong and Interwoven’s cases,

generating random events in-game) is an innovative use of a tactile element that adds depth
and layers of meaning to the play experience.

88
 Figure 6.1
Interwoven’s physical liminality

89
 6.4
ITERATIONS 1-2

Iteration 1 was play-tested with one queer player and one GM, The Needleworker

(played by myself). The game was played in full from beginning to end to test if the

game worked (which it did), made sense to the player (which it also did), and to

see what needed improvement. After the conclusion of the game, the participant

reported they enjoyed playing the game:

…my favourite part of the game was how well the story seemed to flow and

come together, kind of the whole aspect of just being able to fully explore my

character’s life and identity in a way that made sense for the character.

The heavy focus on narrative and storytelling throughout the game seemed

to pay off, as while there was plenty of room for the participant to explore whatever

they wanted to in the game (partially dependent on which Thread cards they ended

up pulling), the narrative aspects, game system and overall structure all worked in

tandem to support each other and helped push the game along. In terms of queer

identity play, plenty of queer characters were introduced without making the game

stereotypical or campy, and while the participant didn’t end up playing and creating

a specifically queer character, they did mention in terms of queer identity play that:

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 …it’s so open with where [Interwoven] could go and the paths you can take to fully

explore queerness or anything you want to explore the identity of your character. It’s

very much geared towards the player being able to go in whatever direction they wish,

which I found really fun.

Overall, Interwoven ran from beginning to end smoothly, but there were multiple

elements that I iterated and/or added into the game between Iterations 1 and 2.

One minor issue that arose during the first round of play-testing was that while the

participant’s chosen Anchor personality archetype helped give a little context to start with, it
was hard to jump right into role-play without establishing the world that it was taking place

in. We defaulted to the modern world, and while this wasn’t a bad thing, I wanted to bring in

more worldbuilding elements to appeal to a larger audience of TTRPG players.

Inspired by Alder & St Patrick’s (2013) ideas of building queer utopia and dystopia

into queer games, I designed and added a section of the game before the Splices begin

dedicated to worldbuilding; 4 sections of 7 questions each ask players to discuss and create

aspects of the world together, including an entire section on queerness and how that’s

perceived in the world. This is the most explicit mention of queerness within the game
itself; all other Threads and such can be interpreted queerly if the players wish (due to some

participants in Objective 1B mentioning they didn’t want queer content “forced” down their

throats, and would much prefer the option to include queer content rather than having to

play it), but only in the worldbuilding section are players asked to consider queerness. This

sets the precedent that Interwoven can (and perhaps should) include queer content in it, but

ultimately it is up to the players if they want to play with that or not.

Another issue that came up was that the participant didn’t mention their character’s

name or pronouns in-game until the fifth Splice was explored, which did hinder the
connection between player and persona a little. To remedy this, another smaller section was

added in which players are encouraged to choose a name and pronouns before the Splices

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 begin, although these can change at any time:

Choose a name and some pronouns before the Splices begin. Your name and

pronouns may change if you feel like they don’t fit you at any time without

consequence. Growth and exploration is natural, after all, and we should never be

disadvantaged for becoming our true selves. (p. 42)

By specifying that key parts of character identity can change at any time, this begins to

fulfil many queer players’ desires for a TTRPG that is inherently fluid, flexible, and free (as
identified in Objective 1B). In this same vein, the game’s non-linear format also fulfils this

need. Between Iterations 1 and 2, more emphasis was placed on the rules that as each Splice

occurs, the player can switch the Central Threads in their Silver Cord around to try and

work out the order in which the Splices took place.

This was a deliberate design decision to emulate the non-linear nature of queer

identity; as Alder & St Patrick (2013) and Alder (Kiraly, 2014) mention, queer lives are

not always linear in the same way heteronormative lives are, and so games can be queered

by representing this in some way. Splices occur in Interwoven at different times in the
character’s life and can happen in any order, and the act of rearranging and making sense

of these different memory fragments is key to unlocking the end of the game. This relates to

my own perception and experiences of queerness. Personally, much of my coming to terms

with my own queer identity was done similarly: by reflecting on key moments in my life

later, sometimes years on, and piecing these different moments together to work out who I

am now. Call it retrospection, hindsight, a ‘lightbulb moment;’ the exact terminology doesn’t

matter, but the act of such a non-linear journey to discovering queerness and identity is

something that many queer people appear to share, and so to represent that in Interwoven
successfully was (and is) important to me.

Additionally, another change that took place due to the play-testing of Iteration 1

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 was the ending of the game. As Interwoven is a contained one-shot game that focuses on

character creation, I initially designed the endings so that the player could decide to either

‘merge’ with their character and fully fix their Silver Cord and take them into other games

(hereby using Interwoven as a Session 0 tool), or to let them go. While playing, choosing

between these two endings after the seventh Splice felt a little abrupt, especially as both

endings are pre-written in the same style as the introduction. Therefore, I added in a new

mechanic: Knots.

Knots, as the name suggests, symbolise those Splices that aren’t resolved or come to a

sudden end. While playing the game, these are represented by placing a single Knot counter
on top of the Central Threads in The Silver Cord. Once all Splices have been played through,

the player and The Needleworker must decide which Knot to resolve and play through it

before choosing between the different endings. Not only does this added mechanic bring

the game to a more structured end and adds to the non-linear aspect of the game, but it

also hints at the queer game structure of the fruitful void (Figure 2.4) (Kiraly, 2014; Baker,

2005; Edwards, 2005) as discussed in section 2.5.2. However, in Interwoven, the fruitful

void takes on a new form. Instead of a more cyclical structure that keeps repeating itself

(Figure 6.2), with each Splice and associated mechanics, the structure of the game begins
to spiral downward to focus around the nucleus of the game (Figures 6.3 & 6.4), which is:

why did The Frayed’s Silver Cord break in the first place? While the game never asks this

question in such detail, the mechanics lead the player to first ask and then attempt to answer

this question, which brings the game together and employs another technique to queer the

structure of the TTRPG.

Figure 6.2

The fruitful
void structure
(profile)

93
 Figure 6.3

Interwoven’s
fruitful void

Figure 6.4

Interwoven’s
fruitful void
structure
(profile)

94
 Finally, after the first round of play-testing, two alternative game modes were

designed and introduced. As previously stated, from Iteration 0 the game was designed for

two players (The Frayed, and The Needleworker (the GM)). During the first complete play-

test, I thought of ways more or fewer players could be introduced, and whether a GM was

necessary.

The first new game mode was designed for solo play; the reasoning for introducing

a solo method was that identity play can often be a very personal exercise, and sometimes

people might not be in the safest space to partake in identity play with others. A solo

method of play allows an individual to play Interwoven as more of a journaling game than
a role-play-based game, with all of the explorative identity elements involved but less of the

unpredictable (and oftentimes, overwhelming) nature of improvised role-play. The game

plays out similarly to the original game mode but is played through writing journal-style

entries instead of verbal role-play with another person.

The second new game mode was designed for two or more players, and the inclusion

of a Needleworker is entirely optional. The game progresses in the same way as the original

game mode, except there are fewer Splices per person and Shared Splices are introduced,

where the Splice focuses on multiple characters instead of just one. Additionally, a new
mechanic is introduced: Red Strings. Inspired by “The Red Thread of Fate” (紅線) from

Chinese folklore (Williams, 1976) and other East Asian narratives (González & Wesseling,

2013), these unbreakable, invisible red threads link people who are pre-destined to be

together, similar to the Western concept of a soulmate. In recent years, Western literature

has used the concept to refer to the process of adoption and related narratives (González

& Wesseling, 2013): “An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet,

regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but will never

break.” (Ellison, 1996, as cited in Kellie, 2008).

In Interwoven, this concept is referred to as Red Strings, which connect each of the

players’ characters in a myriad of different ways, from lovers to enemies, best friends to

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 family; any strong relationship can be symbolised through these unbreakable Red Strings:

Red Strings connect spiritual bodies to one another; they’re invisible to human eyes

and physical bodies, but that doesn’t mean they’re any less real. […] You may share a

Red String with just one person, or multiple people at the same time; you may all be

linked to each other, or people in your group may only be linked to some. (p. 22)

Red Strings must be negotiated and explored in tandem with each player’s own Silver

Cord, which adds layers of depth and complexity to this otherwise similar game mode.

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 6.5
ITERATIONS 2-3

With the above changes made to the game, Iteration 2 was then play-tested with a

group of players. Only the first parts of the game were tested, as the rest of the game

had been played smoothly previously. The main focus of the play-testing session was

the worldbuilding section, which hasn’t been tested before.

Overall, the session ran smoothly; completing the worldbuilding section

(which was held by myself as a facilitator, asking the questions set out in the rules

and prompting discussion from the play-testing participants) took roughly an hour,

but over the course of the session an entirely playable, vivid world was created. The

world was set roughly in the 1980s, in an alternate timeline to the present world

in which New Zealand’s colonisation played out very differently, where Te Tiriti

o Waitangi (the Treaty of Waitangi) was translated accurately and co-governance

between British and Māori caused a very different New Zealand to develop over

time. This divergence gave context to many of the other questions asked, specifically

those in the ‘Queerness’ section; the participants decided that there was no such

thing as heteronormativity in the world that was built, and that the pronoun “ia”

(the sole third person pronoun in te reo Māori) was to be the default pronoun used,

as it doesn’t assume gender. This broad cultural context influenced aspects of the

community as well, such as having larger whānau (extended families) and a more

community-focused approach rather than society being individual-focused.

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 After the session, all participants agreed that the world they had built was rich and

full of narrative possibilities, and each of them agreed they could easily see themselves

playing in the world. They also all agreed that they enjoyed the overall worldbuilding process

and that it was refreshing to create the world as a group rather than just relying on a pre-

determined one from a rule book or a GM’s imagination. By sharing in the creation of the

world and building the foundations for a collaborative narrative process from the beginning

of the game, this set a positive precedent for the type of experience that Interwoven aimed

to foster.

One issue that was brought up by some of the participants was that while the
worldbuilding was fun and thorough, it almost felt separated from the rest of the game.

Between Iterations 2 and 3, I altered the worldbuilding section slightly and renamed

the questions so they would be referred to in-game as Fibres; small, tangential pieces of

information that combine and weave together to form the groundwork that The Silver Cord

and all other parts of the game build upon, acting similarly to the Anchors. Re-branding the

worldbuilding section so it had a more obvious connection to the extended metaphor woven

through the rest of the game helped to connect the different parts of the game together.

Apart from this issue, there wasn’t anything else that the participants identified as
needing changing. Re-branding the Fibres was the final step in adjusting and testing the

rules of the game; the rest of the changes from Iteration 2 to the final iteration, 3, were

mainly based on the visual communication design aspect of the game.

Before this, however, I wrote a series of interconnected play examples for the

rulebook. In a way, the play examples were one of the ways I personally play-tested the game

to make sure it made sense from beginning to end, and to make sure both the rules and the

tone of the game were properly communicated to readers and players alike. Inspired by

Dragon’s (2021b) play examples in Wanderhome that include casual neopronoun usage and
Alder’s (2012/2017) straight-forward play examples in MH that set the tone for play and

discussion, the play examples in Interwoven form an easy story of their own to follow along

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 with so that playing the game is even easier.

In terms of graphic design, I had originally pictured Interwoven visually in an old-

fashioned crossover of traditional tarot card design, vintage illustrations and antique

weaving diagrams, with all the different elements merging to create a strong visual

metaphor that supported the rules and text of the game. As I began designing, however, I

realised that this visual aesthetic was beginning to date the game (Figure 6.5)—something

I was trying to avoid for a multitude of reasons: firstly, so that the target demographic of

teenagers and young adults would be attracted to the game; and secondly, so the game

stayed clear of the visual connotations surrounding older TTRPGs and other games that
have historically excluded (if not ridiculed) players outside of the white, heterosexual,

cisgender male demographic.

Figure 6.5

Initial Thread
card design

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 Thus I opted to discard that visual aesthetic entirely and attempted a more modern

style of design that many traditional TTRPGs seem to be wary of embracing. Inspired by

interestingly visually designed games such as the grungy horror graphic design of Nilsson &

Nohr’s (2020) MÖRK BORG, the soft and gentle design of Hendro & Gordon’s (2018/2021)

OMSL, and the sweetly-illustrated yet accessible design of Dragon’s (2021b) Wanderhome—

all of which notably veer away from traditional TTRPG design—I wanted to make sure

aesthetic was balanced with accessibility.

The illustrations take inspiration from modern astrology diagrams and continuous

line drawings, hereby referencing back to the allegory of weaving and associated acts that
Interwoven is based around. Queer and intersectional characters are portrayed in some

illustrations (Figure 6.7), and weaving- and sewing-related paraphernalia are depicted in

others (Figure 6.6). This imagery is consistent throughout the rulebook and helps to support

the allegorical nature of the game. Other parts of the game, such as the cover of the rulebook

(Figure 6.8) and both sides of the Thread cards (Figure 6.9), draw more heavily on the

aforementioned modern astrology diagrams and geometric shapes inspired by modern tarot

cards and oracle decks, subtly referencing the ideas of fate and spirituality that are present

in Interwoven.

Figure 6.6

Interwoven
related
paraphernalia
illustration

100
 Figure 6.7
Interwoven character illustration

101
 Figure 6.8
Interwoven front cover

102
 Figure 6.9

Interwoven
Central
Thread card
front & back

Accessibility was a primary concern, especially in terms of legibility. To make sure

the rules were as easy to understand and read as possible, I divided the rules into smaller

sections and sub-headings so that each small mechanic or rule of the game could occupy

its own page/s, accompanied by blank space (often partially occupied by swooping semi-

continuous line illustrations) to make sure the sheer volume of text isn’t overwhelming

for readers. Clean and clear typefaces were chosen (titles in LAFOGLE, text in Khmer MN

Regular/Bold, and play example text in Minion Variable Concept Medium/Medium Italic)

in appropriate sizes to aid legibility.

Colour played an important part in this respect; to help establish a pattern

throughout the book and make navigating and understanding the rules easier, four types

of pages were designed using a combination of colour and typography (Figure 6.10 & 6.11).

Section headings in dark navy with large type in cream were used sparingly to separate and

signify different sections of the rules; cream pages with dark navy text make up the majority

of the book and contain the rules to play; light blue pages with dark navy text in italics signal

play examples and separate them from the rules; and finally, light green pages with dark

103
 Figure 6.10
Interwoven spread 1, play example page & section heading page

Figure 6.11
Interwoven spread 2, regular rule page & Thimble page
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 navy text (again, used sparingly) notify readers of the game’s safety tools, named Thimbles.

The use of light green was deliberate for a multitude of reasons: firstly, the book

design was almost solely in dark navy, blue, white, and cream tones, which—while

contrasting well, and represent spirituality in colour symbolism (Feisner, 2006)—needed

an accent colour to break the colour scheme up slightly and provide a break for the reader’s

eyes. Secondly, the safety tools are an irrevocably important part of the game, and so they

needed to be differentiated from all other content easily and quickly. Finally, I wanted the

safety tools to be seen as important but not scary or intimidating, especially to players who

may need to use them; drawing from traditional colour theory and symbolism (Feisner,
2006) by using a soft green instead of a more stereotypical red or orange, the colour would

make the tools appear more approachable through feelings of peace and calmness.

This bled through to the card designs as well; along with the different Thread,

Anchor, and Offcut (NPC) cards, two double-sided safety cards were designed (Figure 6.12);

an X-card, inspired by John Stavropoulos (2013), that players can touch at any time to

temporarily stop the game and/or indicate any content they’re not comfortable with; and

a pause card, inspired by Beau Jágr Sheldon (2013), which players can touch at any time

to temporarily pause the game for any reason. To refer back to the Thimbles as outlined
in the rulebook, the two safety cards are the same shade of light green (and are the only

cards in this colour) to signify their importance yet approachability. Designing the game to

actively include safety tools as an active part of play instead of just mentioning them as an

afterthought was one of my primary objectives, to ensure that Interwoven curates a safe

space for players to play in.

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 Figure 6.12
Interwoven Thimble safety cards front & back

106
 CHAPTER 7:
DISCUSSION

107
 7.1
DISCUSSION

7.1.1 Summary, Implications, & Interpretation of Outcomes

This research investigated the intersections between TTRPG design, queerness, and

identity, and sought to answer the question: how may a TTRPG be designed to allow

queer players to undertake exploration and forge a better understanding of their own

identity through character creation and role-play?

In addressing Objective 1A, a literature and precedent review helped to define

and connect related concepts such as: identity play (Ibarra & Petriglieri, 2010);

frame analysis (Fine, 1983; Goffman, 1974; Waskul & Lust, 2004); self-discrepancy

theory (Higgins, 1987; Wright, 2006); possible selves (Lancaster, 1997; Markus &

Nurius, 1986); and liminality (Huizinga, 1949; Salen & Zimmerman, 2003; Turner,

1967; van Gennep, 1908; Winnicott, 1971) to queer players and queer TTRPG

design (Kiraly, 2014; Alder & St Patrick, 2013; Berge, 2021; Dragon, 2021c; Ruberg,

2020). I additionally demonstrated the exclusionary past of classic TTRPGs such

as D&D (Long, 2016; Nephew, 2006; Pinkston, 2019; Schröder, 2008; Shepherd,

2021; Sihvonen & Stenros, 2018; Stang & Trammell, 2020) and how there is both

a market and demand for queer TTRPGs (Trygstad, 2019). This was then proven

by undertaking a survey of 331 queer TTRPG players and both quantitively and

qualitatively analysing the results using thematic coding to address Objective 1B: the

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 results validate the need and worth of a queer TTRPG that encourages players to explore

facets of queer identity (gender identity, gender expression, sexuality, etc.) through wider

narrative possibilities.

Said results also helped to inform the iterative TTRPG design involved in addressing

Objective 2A. By identifying what was most important to the queer players surveyed

(mechanics, authenticity, fluidity, safety, play environment and tone, diversity, narrative,

and character) and combining these priorities with inherently queer game structures (Baker,

2005; Berge, 2021; Dragon, 2021c; Edwards, 2005; Ruberg, 2020), mechanics (Kiraly,

2014; Alder & St Patrick, 2013) and tools (Sheldon, 2013; Stavropoulos, 2013), the TTRPG
Interwoven was designed and iterated upon to help aid queer players with identity play and

exploration in a safe yet fun and relaxed environment. Objectives 2A and 2B were addressed

in tandem as the results from the play-testing carried out with participants helped to iterate

and develop Interwoven.

Objective 2B’s play-testing results showed that Interwoven carries a great amount

of potential for queer identity play for queer and questioning players, particularly due

to: the form of character creation and world-building processes undertaken in-game; the

range of narrative possibilites the player/s can explore without altering the game system
or mechanics; and the accessibility and clarity of the game’s visual design in terms of

communicating the rules and style of play. Therefore this research answers the research

question by demonstrating different components of queer design and how they can be

applied to a TTRPG through a proof-of-concept prototype, resulting in the possibility for

queer identity play and exploration if players decide to persue that.

By combining aspects of game design theory (Bowman, 2010; Fine, 1983; Waskul

& Lust, 2004), role theory (Biddle, 1986; Burke, 2013; Gecas, 1982; Goffman, 1959; Leary

& Kowalski, 1990; Thoits, 1995), self-discrepancy theory (Higgins, 1987; Wright, 2006),
and frame analysis (Glaser & Strauss, 1964; Goffman, 1974), I have not only visualised the

liminal space that identity play takes place in during TTRPGs (DeHart, 2008; Osborne,

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 2012) (see Figure 2.3), but have also expressed it both metaphorically and physically

through the game design of Interwoven (see Figure 6.1). By identifying, expressing, and

purposefully harnessing the use of such liminality (as a space where anything is possible

without consequence yet everything feels real, despite real-world limitations) (Huizinga,

1949; Ibarra & Petriglieri, 2010; Salen & Zimmerman, 2003; Winnicott, 1971), the same

overlapping area that queerness exists in (Harper et al., 2018; Ruberg & Ruelos, 2020;

Sedgwick, 1994), Interwoven acts as a medium that unites player and persona, player

and person, and person and persona simultaneously, thus encouraging the exploration

of possible and Ideal selves (DeHart, 2008; Osborne, 2012; Reta, 2020) and creating the
opportunity for bleed to occur (Boss, 2007; Bowman, 2013; Montola, 2010). In summary,

I have shown how such concepts can be united and expressed both physically and

metaphorically through a tangible format like a TTRPG, and in doing so have additionally

queered the game, system, and mechanics with overlapping measures of meaning (Alder &

St Patrick, 2013), demonstrating the great potential that TTRPGs have for not only queer

identity play but secondarily in expressing theories beyond the game itself.

Overall, this research for and through design (Downton, 2003; Stappers & Giaccardi,

2017; Zimmerman et al., 2010) culminated in new figures and findings related to queer
players, TTRPGs, and their preferences; new visualisations of existing concepts and

theories; and a new and unqiue TTRPG (Interwoven) that consists of a new game system

and related mechanics. This research was undertaken through a design lens (which began, in

places, to branch out into queer theory, gender studies, and game studies), which is part of

what makes this research valuable and unique, contributing to the growing area of literature

surrounding queer TTRPGs, game design, and identity play via TTRPGs.

7.1.2 Strengths & Limitations

This research has multiple strengths, most notably in that in addressing Objective 1B,

there were 331 unique and applicable survey participants who completed the anonymous

internet survey distributed in October 2021. Such a wide range of participants, and therefore

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 opinions, resulted in a much larger pool of answers than initially expected. This meant

that quantitative demographic data recieved and analysed was more representative of the

general demographic of queer TTRPG players overall as opposed to a smaller sample size,

and that there were far more themes and sub-categories to identify in the qualitative data

via thematic coding. By gaining rich data from so many queer players, the survey and results

showcase a more accurate viewpoint of what queer players look for and enjoy in TTRPGs,

without an overwhelming majority of heterosexual, cisgender players influencing the results.

This helped to authentically and accurately design a queer TTRPG in Objectives 2A and 2B

based around real queer players’ opinions, likes, and dislikes.

Even given these strengths, this research had limitations too. As previously

mentioned, the survey was advertised in a number of New Zealand-based (and one

Australian) Facebook TTRPG groups. While there were some overseas participants, this

meant that a large amount of data came from New Zealand participants (63.44% (n=210)

identified as Pākehā New Zealand European, and 8.46% (n=28) as Māori, totalling in at

least 71.90% of participants identifying as a New Zealander) which is disproportionate when

compared to the proposed percentage of New Zealand TTRPG players worldwide (while

worldwide demographics for TTRPGs are near impossible to source, a survey study of 1006
TTRPG players by DND Research in 2020 found 69.88% (n=703) of participants were

from North America, whereas only 5.07% (n=51) were from Oceania, and 0.70% (n=7) from

New Zealand specifically; however this study didn’t focus on queer players). Even given the

large sample size of participants, the sample size was still biased in some aspects due to

geographical location and associated differences, and therefore isn’t entirely representative

of the full demographic of queer TTRPG players worldwide.

Additionally, due to the sheer size of qualitative data that had to be thematically coded

and analysed, this took far more time than I had budgeted for while researching. Analysing
the data took several months, therefore taking up time I had originally planned for Aim 2’s

objectives: further play-testing and iterative design of the TTRPG. This, combined with the

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 ongoing difficulties caused by COVID-19 in New Zealand during this time period (November

2021 to June 2022), resulted in less play-testing than desired, which did limit the results of

whether Interwoven did result in identity exploration for queer participants. While play-

testing participants identified the possibility for queer identity play and exploration, this was

not formally proven as such as a direct result of the game, Interwoven.

Despite these limitations, this research has still researched and developed related

theories and concepts, explored and demonstrated the importance of queer TTRPGs and

identity play, and has examined ways that TTRPGs can be queered from conception.

7.1.3 Improvements & Extensions

Improvements to this research could involve surveying a different demographic of queer

players that is more representative of queer TTRPG players worldwide to see if there are any

differences in what queer players value and enjoy in queer TTRPGs, and their experiences

with identity play and related areas. This could involve different methods of survey

distribution and sampling to cast a wider yet more accurate net representative of a broader

demographic—possibly with a larger percentage of North American participants, with

younger participants, and advertising to players who may not be involved with Facebook

groups and/or D&D. Additionally, decreasing the amount of open-answer, text-field

questions in the survey and including more matrix-style statement questions would help to

streamline the data and make analysing such data a much quicker, easier process.

Extensions of this research could and should focus on testing queer identity play

and exploration through TTRPGs; possibly looking at the differences between more classic,

heteronormative games versus queer games, and how the difference in game design affects

the ability to explore identity. Other extensions could look at identifying and exploring other

facets of queer TTRPG design (as well as queer game design in general), different types of

identity play, and different ways in which deliberately designed liminal space can affect and

influence game play. Ideally, these extensions would be through a design-focused lens, but it

would also be worthwhile to extend these areas of research through other applicable lenses

112
 and contexts (such as queer theory, gender studies, feminist lens etc.) to see what other

knowledge and concepts could be applied, and the resulting findings.

In terms of my own research, I will continue testing and developing Interwoven and

explore options for possible commercialisation of the game once further play-testing occurs.

7.1.4 Applications
The theories and results found from this research have many possible applications, from

being used foundationally in future research and studies to inspiring queer game designers

about ways to design queer TTRPGs (and possibly other types of games). Additionally, it has

generated a wide breadth of quantitative and qualitative data from queer TTRPG players

that many game designers and academics may find fruitful.

The value of this research and its possible future real world applications lies in the

players that play and make use of queer games. By demonstrating the possible market and

need for inherently, mechanically queer TTRPGs (especially those designed around the idea

of encouraging identity play and narrative possibility), hopefully more queer game designers

and publishers will create, publish and produce more queer TTRPGs, adding to the

flourishing collection that has begun to sprout up over the past ten years and pushing queer

games further into the mainstream market to appeal to everybody, not just queer players.

We’ve played straight games for so long—let’s (or at least have the option to) play something

different, something beyond binaries and limitations: something queer.

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 7.2
CONCLUSION

This research aimed to explore the ways in which queer identity, identity play,

and TTRPG design intersect and how these intersections (along with other ideas,

concepts and theories) can be leveraged to design a queer TTRPG that encourages

queer identity play and exploration. By researching these ideas in depth, collecting

and analysing mixed methods data on queer players and their experiences with

TTRPGs, designing a queer TTRPG using queer game design components and then

iterating and play-testing said TTRPG (Interwoven) with different participants,

this research arrived at the conclusion that yes, not only is queer identity play

possible to encourage and deliberately design for, but should be designed for, given

the discovered possible market for it: 90.03% (n=222) of participants agreed there

should be more of such games, and 86.06% (n=284) of participants would play such

a game.

Carrying out this research emphasised how, even given the TTRPG industry’s

short history, players who don’t identify with or fit into the hegemonic and

heteronormative idea of masculinity have rarely been represented nor invited to play

such games (especially D&D) until much more recently. Personally, this highlighted

to me just how much heteronormativity and masculinity sways not only popular

culture but society in general, and has made me even more determined to challenge

those notions. By designing for queer players—for queer people—yet allowing

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 everyone with an open mind a seat at the table regardless of their intersectional identities, I

hope to continue designing queer games and carrying out queer research unapologetically.

We are here, we always have been, we always will be, and we’re not going anywhere.

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 APPENDIX A

133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
 APPENDIX B

Figure B.01
Participant age responses

144
 Figure B.02
Participant LGBTQIA+ identification responses

Figure B.03
Participant experience with any TTRPG responses

145
 Figure B.04
Participant ethnicity responses

146
 Figure B.05
Participant gender identity responses

Q4 - Have you ever played (either as a PC or a GM) a TTRPG that had queer
themes as part of its central plot/premise?

Figure B.06
Participant experience with queer TTRPGs responses

147
148
Number of times mentioned

0
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
Dungeons & Dragons (al l editio ns, inclu des h omeb rewed)

40 37
Mons terhearts

23

9
Thir sty Sword Les bians
Dream As kew

Figure B.07
77
Wo rld o f Darknes s (i ncl udes VtM)
Fiasco
Sleepaway
Wand erhome
Al ice is Mi ssi ng
Bl ue Ro se
Dread
Crucib le
Masks
Mobi le Frame Zero: Fi rebrands
Pathfind er
Prepari ng for P ar is
Queerz !
The Qu iet Year
The W atch

333222222222222
Yazebas Bed and Br eakfast
Acros s Thi s W asteland Wi th You
Ag ents of HUE
Ar changel Dati ng Simul ato r
Basi c Witches

“Queer” TTRPGs mentioned in responses

Be Gay Do Crimes
Bl ades i n the Dark
Call of Cthulh u
Ci ty of Mi st
Fall of Mag ic

TTRPG Title
For th e Honour
Grand Gui gnol
Kid s o n Bro oms
Lich craft
LOGAN: An Autob iographi cal Tab letop Game
Mons ter of the Week
MÖRK BORG
Nobi lis
NO LOVE'S LAND
Numenera
Pyris cence
Ryuutama: Natural Fantasy R olepl ay
Queer Tabletop Role-Playing Games Mentioned

Starcro ssed
The Strange
The Deep Fo rest
Q5 - [Continuing on from the last question,] If yes, please list which one/s.

Three Gob lins i n a Trenchcoat

Under Hol low Hil ls
Urban Shado ws
Svart av Kval , Vit av Lus t
Wi ckednes s
7th Sea
1111111111111111111111111111111

#iHunt
8

Other homebrewed games

3

Game not s peci fied

 Q8 - Did the game/s help you to explore your own identity in any way?

Maybe
11%

No
26%

Yes
62%

Don't know
1%

Figure B.08
Queer identity exploration during TTRPG play responses

149
 Figure B.09
Preference on playing queer-focused TTRPGs responses

Figure B.10
More queer-focused TTRPGs needed responses

150
 Figure B.11
More queer identity exploration TTRPGs needed responses

Figure B.12
Playing queer identity exploration TTRPGs responses

151
 Figure B.13
Preference on playing with all-queer characters responses

Figure B.14
Preference on playing with all-queer players responses

152
 Figure B.15
Character creation importance responses

Figure B.16
Character relatability responses

153
 Figure B.17
Character wish-fulfilment/ideal self responses

Figure B.18
Character gender identity exploration responses

154
 Figure B.19
Character gender expression exploration responses

Figure B.20
Character sexuality exploration responses

155
 Figure B.21
Self-conception changed via character responses

Figure B.22
Character bleed responses

156
 Figure B.23
Character importance responses

157
 APPENDIX C

158