Mental Health Awareness Month occurs in May, and wow did it pass quickly this year. It hardly seems like enough time for a topic so vital for so many. Beyond this, addressing mental health need not be limited to a specific month, especially when we as a society sorely need to shift our view and way of addressing mental health and reduce the stigma. We invite you to join us as we share some RPG moments that elicit specific, personal emotions. May these moments and responses help us all sit more comfortably in our emotions and reflect on what they’re telling us.
Spoiler warning: There are some details below that may be considered spoilers for some games, so keep that in mind as you read!
Intro by Hilary Andreff
Table of Contents
Moments of Joy
Post-Credits Scene
Valkyria Chronicles Remastered
by Kyle Cantelon
When I think of a gaming moment that brought me a lot of joy, I immediately gravitate to JRPG couple Welkin and Alicia Gunther. There’s something so very satisfying about seeing their arcs intertwine to become one.
Conflict brings them together as war tears their homeland apart. We watch as they go through the awkward flirting phase, where messages get misconstrued and signals get crossed. We see them come to each other’s passionate defense in times of need. Their story helps to humanize a much greater one involving racism, war, and loss.
Ultimately, peace reigns allowing the two to settle down and achieve their dreams. They retire from the military and help rebuild their hometown.
Welkin becomes a teacher who spends his weekends on nature walks with local children. Alicia becomes a licensed baker whose bread draws customers from far and wide. On the same day Alicia receives her baker’s license, she marries Welkin and takes his name, becoming “Alicia Gunther.”
Lastly, after the credits roll and we learn the fate of all of our Squad 7 heroes, a “mini-Alicia” climbs out of the bread van to greet her “Papa,” Welkin. Alicia and “Papa” join hands with their daughter, Isara, named for Welkin’s adopted sister slain in the war, and the three of them walk off to enjoy another beautiful, peaceful sunny day.
Even though heterosexual cis-gender is the most frequently depicted romantic relationship in RPGs, few RPG couples receive the heartwarming closure that Welkin and Alicia do in Valkyria Chronicles. Going forward, I hope to experience not only more relationships like theirs, but more diverse and LGBTQIA+ friendly ones as well. In the wake of Pride Month, it’s worth saying we all deserve joyful, feel-good representation.
The Final Battle Against Giygas
by Nick Mangiaracina
When I think about joy in an RPG, I always think about the first RPG I ever beat, EarthBound. In the final battle, there’s a point where no amount of damage will actually hurt Giygas. You’re just stuck in this loop of dealing damage with the battle failing to progress on the next turn while Giygas taunts you. As a child, this was especially confusing. What was I doing wrong? I tried about everything I could think of to move the fight along, but nothing worked. So, out of desperation, I used the ability I had been ignoring almost the entire game because it never did anything useful in a fight. I prayed. Suddenly, I got some text I had never seen before.
“…Please give us strength, if it is possible… Please…”
“……………. Somebody… help us…”
The screen went black and I was treated to a little scene of Dr. Andonuts, the miner, Mr. Saturn, and Apple kid getting together in Mr. Saturn Valley.
(All of the Mr. Saturns felt a new, startling feeling they had never experienced before, and they all started praying for the safety of Ness and his friends.)
My jaw dropped. I had experienced the narrative moment they wanted me to experience: in a last ditch effort, I tried the one thing that did nothing all game. Soon, just about everyone I had met on my journey was praying for the safety of Ness and his friends and dealing damage to Giygas. The overwhelming joy I felt, not just from knowing I was beating the game but experiencing the narrative beat made such an impression on me that it lit an undying love for gaming inside of me that hasn’t gone out since. Thanks Nintendo, APE, HAL Labs, and most importantly, thank you, Shigesato Itoi.
Moments of Sadness
Yellow Lilies Floating Through Time
Final Fantasy VII / Final Fantasy VII Rebirth
by Tim Rattray
There’s no dearth of ink spilled about Aerith’s death by Sephiroth’s sword and the impact it had on ‘90s gamers. Well, here’s some more.
Like many people who played Final Fantasy VII in the 2000s, I went in spoiled about this gut-wrenching twist, which in turn made me believe I’d be invincible to its devastation. Alas, I was not. I couldn’t help but adore Aerith’s character, and my healer-seeking RPG sensibilities had her as a permanent member of my party up until her demise. Her loss impacted me on a personal level that caught me off-guard and became reinforced by her notable absence in battles throughout the second and third discs.
I tried to tuck this experience away in my pocket, yet every time I saw her death mentioned, my heart would pang. Aerith had become a specter looming that I was struggling to repress. This amplified immensely once I played Final Fantasy VII Remake. The life that game brought to Aerith made her feel like a real person to me, to the extent that I couldn’t imagine her death occurring again in future entries. I was—in spirit—that guy on Reddit denying every claim that she’d meet her untimely fate again, even if logically it was always going to happen. Enduring these endless conversations was one the most painful gaming-related experiences I’ve ever had, so much so that I had to block out most fan-driven Final Fantasy VII Rebirth conversation leading up to its release. It tugged at my sorrow too deeply.While I won’t delve into spoilers for Rebirth, it helped me overcome this sadness and replace it with acceptance. But perhaps that’s a story for another time (though you can read why I loved the game’s ending).
Even Heroes Break
by Audra Bowling
Mass Effect 3 elicits many feelings, largely due to its controversial ending. But having played it twice, I noticed another aspect of the plot the game handles brilliantly: the dismantling of Commander Shepard from a notorious and almost fabled figure others view as a mythic savior to a human who is hurting, bogged down by the weight resting on their shoulders.
ME3’s story is hopeless from the get-go, with the Reapers annihilating star system after star system. Sure, there are small victories achieved by Shepard and their crew, but they’re tempered by cost: a friend or comrade lost, planetary-wide casualties, another mission somewhere else failing at the same time, etc. I can’t forget the game’s start when Shepard is racing through a battle-stricken Earth, failing to save a child right in front of them. Nor can I forget the sudden radio silence on the Asari homeworld, Shepard telling the bleak news to someone anxiously awaiting a more hopeful outcome at the Citadel. In those moments, you see the cracks forming on Shepard’s heroic facade. You gradually realize that they can’t do everything right all the time.
There are many moments in ME3 meant to hit hard, but the quiet scenes of Shepard trying to compose themselves before they completely break arguably hit hardest. They’re intentionally sad and bleak, reminding you that even those who appear unshakable and in control aren’t always. To me, that portrayal of its all-too-human hero is the narrative’s saving grace.
Moments of Catharsis
“Has your journey been good? Has it been worthwhile?”
by Mike Salbato
These words broke something in me. A floodgate of emotions that I didn’t fully realize existed gave way upon hearing the question. How do I Answer?
To talk at length about Venat is one of Final Fantasy XIV‘s biggest spoilers, but I can say she describes herself as a fellow traveler to our Warrior of Light (Tess, in my case), one who enjoys seeing the world and its myriad people, and vitally, cares deeply for their well-being.
Leading up to this scene, Tess and I share details about our journey with Venat, who is an intent listener. Listening, in general, is an undervalued skill. We, or perhaps society, seem to place more value on speaking. In games, we typically play the hero, charting our course and that of the world around us. Along the way, others ask us to help by slaying monsters, inspecting low-poly grapes, and more. And help them we do! Because we are the heroes, and we shoulder that burden that nobody else can, pushing aside how that weight affects us. It’s not really that others are poor listeners or don’t care about us — they are simply focusing on the present situation.
When Venat asks us to share our tale, she doesn’t want the big heroic deeds that others will know. She wants to know the things in between. The day-to-day moments that, for her, make life interesting. She offers to listen, asking this question, and for Tess and I, time stopped.
Venat’s reason for being is the joy and happiness of all people, so logically, Tess and I are included in that. But there’s a difference between knowing a thing and witnessing it. Venat stands before us, sincerely asking us if our life has been worthwhile. If we are happy. And nothing matters to her more. In a world where Tess and I give our all for others, asking nothing in return, that question blindsides us. There’s no easy Answer, but the fact that she’s asking — to say nothing of how long she has to wait for the Answer — means the world.
Don’t Give Up
by Audra Bowling
There’s so much to unpack when discussing the emotional journey that is Omori, but the moment that truly stood out to me is a choice you can make during the final boss battle and what happens immediately following it.
“Don’t give up” sounds so simple on paper, but there are many reasons why it is one of the most difficult things to do. Sunny has been through a lot to reach this stage. You’ve uncovered the truth behind what happened in the past and how those tragic events shaped Sunny and his friends. They’ve gotten some closure, but the full truth still eludes some and haunts others. Sunny’s been running from it the whole time, needing to come face-to-face with the consequences. Who knows what the future holds with everything out in the open? How terrifying it is to be on the precipice, to face harsh truths while trying to pick up whatever pieces possible? It’d honestly be easier to avoid it forever, if you could, to stop the hurt.
But Sunny chooses not to give up, to face the past head-on. By doing so, he overcomes his own doubts, fears, and guilt. He literally embraces them and all they represent, both in the present and in the unknown future. He doesn’t know what’ll happen next, or if he’ll ever be forgiven by others or himself, but he chooses to take that step, hopefully on a path toward healing.
It’s a powerful, moving scene—a truly cathartic release in a game so full of pain, loss, and hurt beforehand. It’s beautiful and heartbreaking all at once for everything it represents, yet the chance for hope is there too—for growth, empathy, and understanding. This moment in Omori stayed with me long after witnessing it.
Moments of Anger
Problems with Pineapples
by Lucy Gray
I like to think of myself as a rational being, capable of realizing there is nothing gained from unwarranted anger. Sure, I’d get upset when a boss battle wasn’t going my way, but fury over a game?
Never.
Well…
Look. I was young(er), a bit foolish, giddy at having just gotten my hands on a Super NES Classic. My friend had long extolled the joys of Secret of Mana, and here I was (with her watching, no less), rocking my way through Gaea’s Navel, the music of the Dwarven town only slightly grating on my nerves. Finally, it was time for the first proper boss battle…Tropicallo.
A plant.
With bombs.
Okay, I can do this. How hard can it be to dodge some bombs and hit a pineapple with a head attached?
Turns out? Very hard. I don’t know what happened, but for some reason, the game never spawned Tropicallo within reach of my very dinky little sword; instead, it would force me into a corner with the vines pinning me as bombs fell. I died.
No problem, I’ll try again.
I died.
AGAIN.
Three times, I tried. Three times, the reaper came for me. By that third time, a desperate scream tore through me, and I chucked the controller across the room. How could I lose to a stupid, overgrown, phallic plant?!
My poor friend gingerly patted me on my quivering shoulder. “Want me to try?”
I nodded, convinced the game was bugged, and she’d have it just as bad.
She beat it in less than a minute, and I have never lived that controller toss down, to this day.
I Hate Flowey
by Aleks Franiczek
It’s easy for a game to cause frustration; it just needs to be bad or annoying. But anger is different. It’s less trivial and often more personal. Not many videogames have made me feel true anger, and I’ve succumbed to many cheap deaths. But one little fictional flower made my blood boil.
I was playing Undertale for the first time as a pacifist. It seemed to be what the game wanted. I killed Toriel by accident once and immediately loaded my save after feeling terrible. I made friends with all the lovable monsters, went on a few hilarious dates, and thought I had earned myself the game’s good ending when I Spared Asgore after enduring his reluctant onslaught. Then, a vine showed up and pierced Asgore as a look of pained disbelief sat on his face. It was Flowey. He cruelly mocked my expectation for a happy conclusion, said he would kill my friends, and after hearing his stupid, evil laugh my game crashed.
…
In that moment, I truly hated Flowey. I immediately booted Undertale back up, seeking revenge. He continued to taunt me. Then I suffered through Photoshop Flowey, a boss fight brilliantly designed to feed your feelings of hatred by making you feel weak and small. But, of course, I wasn’t going to let this bastard get away with killing my story through his meta garbage, so I fought and died with Determination until I got the better of him.
The game then presented me with a choice: Fight or Spare. For the first time in Undertale, I hit Fight with the intent to kill. I murdered Flowey—brutally. It felt wrong, but it felt great. Then I got the true pacifist ending and felt bad for him in the end. Undertale sure is something.
Moments of Fear
The Faceless Visage of Suicidal Ideation
by Neal Chandran
Content Warning: Suicidal Ideation
The rise in suicidal ideation among young people is truly frightening. Knowing that many young people want to end the lives that have barely begun chills me to the bone. This brings me to a sobering scene of suicidal ideation late in Revelations: Persona. It shook me to my core when I saw it about 25 years ago and still does upon reflection.
After saving the world from a villainous corporate titan, Revelations: Persona’s quest continues (assuming you didn’t get cut off by the bad ending) with the new focus of saving a deeply troubled friend from herself. This portion of the game, where the party explores the anguished mind of their friend Mary, shows us that the most life-crippling terrors reside within us. Mary’s invidious self-loathing and intense feelings of worthlessness twisted her mind into an inescapable collage of nightmares (in the forms of dungeons and demons) where even her friends fear to tread.
Several powerful scenes exist in this arc of Revelations: Persona, but one was truly harrowing. Mary, wearing a blank, faceless mask, views herself as undeserving of a self, unworthy of love, and nothing but garbage to everyone, including her closest friends, to the point where she… Few video game entities unnerved me more than that simple yet haunting image of a faceless girl (who had become a close in-game friend) adamantly declaring, “I should kill myself!”
Journeying through Mary’s troubled mind in Revelations: Persona was disquieting, but that ultimately inspired me to become more empathetic. Mary’s full story arc reminded me to always take a moment to check in on those I care about, no matter how busy I get, because if they know they’re not alone, they won’t be scared.
Moments of Accomplishment
Supporting Heroes Being Their Best Selves
by Hilary Andreff
I treated Valkyrie Profile like it was Spiritfarer before that game existed. I fancy myself a supportive type who’s willing to give a boost of support to help others along their way. Being there for others has always been a core value for me. So naturally, when I was privy to some of the most intense, dramatic moments in my Einherjars’ lives as they died and were recruited for battle in Valhalla, these instincts kicked into overdrive. Under no circumstances would I let anyone transfer to Valhalla without setting them up for their best chance of success.
If one of my heroes had a prized item in life (especially the weapons), you’d best believe I spent precious time going back to claim it before sending them off. The entire game is a countdown to Ragnarök and I still considered this of the utmost importance. If a hero had a trait, like being unable to swim, hindering them in their further adventures, they would not set foot in Valhalla until my Valkyrie could mitigate this obstacle. It didn’t matter what hero qualities Freya asked for or if the game expected them to go in that chapter.
Valkyrie Profile also has a strange and wonderful personality stat system to boost character Hero Values. I always maxed it out, sometimes before contributing points to stats that actually affect battle. All I’m saying is that my spear girl Aelia’s going to have her highest Confidence value while rubbing shoulders with Thor and Freya. The payoff for this care and attention was the deeply satisfying extra scenes in each Sacred Phase where I could see my heroes thriving and accumulating additional hero points.
