#campaign: strange lands

[eldritchaspect]

When was the last time your dnd character smiled?

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#art #artist of tumblr #dnd art #dungeon and dragons #dungeons and dragons character #oc artwork #original characters #small artist #campaign: strange lands #oc: nova #dnd5e #dnd #dnd 5e #dnd campaign #dnd character #dnd oc #dnd ocs #dnd stuff #dungeons and dragons

[thecharacterchronicler]

There Will Come A Ruler (1) || Coriolanus Snow x Reader (+18)

Outline: You agreed to a marriage of convenience with Coriolanus Snow to please your parents and be an asset in his campaign to become the new president of Panem. On your first wedding anniversary, the man who you barely spend time with and hardly know, tells you that he wants you to give him a heir.

Word count: 3’938

Warnings: pregnancy (TTC), marriage of convenience, explicit smut (+18)

(( Part 2 - Snow Lands On Top )) - ((Part 3 - Insatiable ))

You sat at your vanity, adjusting the necklace of pearls around your neck. The reflection in the mirror showed such an elegant woman, with the poise and grace expected of a future First Lady. You had even managed to master the art of making your fake smiles appear real, leading on everyone to believe that you were living a dream, even though things were nothing like what you’d let on in front of the people of Panem.

You repowdered your face, and brushed your hair to make sure you looked flawless before taking a deep breath and leaving the intimacy of your bedroom, the one only you slept in, to go downstairs and join your husband for dinner.

Tonight was one of the few nights he wasn’t working late or had a business dinner or event to attend. Those nights dining in your manor, just the two of you without any guests always felt strange since they were so unusual. You had a cook and a waiter, employees hired to serve you and care for everything so that the only thing expected from you was to show up, dressed and polished for the occasion. Not that Coriolanus would have noticed if you had showed up for this dinner in your pajamas and messy hair, he’d usually be too busy reading the newspaper or writing his next speech to even look at you during the meal. Then, you’d retire back to your bedroom and he would stay working late in his office until he too, would go back to his room, at the far opposite of yours in the opulent manor you resided in.

It had been a year of this routine, ignoring each other unless there were some peering eyes to scrutinize you or some important people to impress. You couldn’t say you were unhappy because what was there to complain about ? You lived in a gorgeous house, you had the privileges associated with being a powerful man’s wife and you were free to spend your days and money as you pleased, the only rule being to never, ever, do anything that could reflect badly on your politician of a husband. Days were sweet and easy. A lot more than what you had imagined when you were told that your parents had agreed for you to marry a complete stranger, just because it was an honor and a wonderful opportunity to be chosen as the fiancée of one of the most important people in Panem. The fact that you had never talked to Coriolanus Snow once before didn’t matter, the papers were signed and three days later, you found yourself walking down the aisle to a blond man, dressed in white as you were, to vow each other love and support until death brought you apart in front of a crowd of cameras, reporters and nosy onlookers.

You made your way to the dining room. With its large windows, it offered one of the best views on the garden and greenhouse, which were always well taken care of, not a single strand of grass out of line or a single rose withering without being cut off of its branch. The furnitures were simple, yet luxurious and the long table was perfect for you to sit at opposite ends from your husband. It was much easier for you to ignore each other, separated by two rows of empty seats and various dishes and platters scattered across the table.

The cook always made five courses meals , with refined food and expensive wine , and although it was only the two of you, tonight was no exception. The hors d’œuvres and entrees had been served already, red wine filling the crystal glasses on each end of the glass table. However, one thing wasn’t right…

“Mrs Snow.” Your husband greeted you, with the same politically warm smile you had mastered to do too by taking example on him.

You stopped on your way to your seat, unsure of what to expect. Despite the few meals you had shared in privacy, he had never been waiting for you standing by the window, with a glass in hand and a gorgeous rose in the other . Nor had he been so perfectly dressed and groomed for such an occasion. Usually, you could tell he had spent a long day working or attending events, his clothes always classy but his light hair frequently tousled and light purple lines under his eyes. This time though, it looked like he had dressed and prepared himself just for you, wearing his best suit and his blond locks perfectly combed back.

“Mister Snow.” You replied, observing him with a sucpicious expression.

“Happy anniversary.” He said, taking the few steps that still separated him from you to hand you the white rose he held. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, something definitely wasn’t right as he never had such caring gestures towards you if they weren’t witnessed by others. But you took the rose, politely thanking him. And surveyed the room carefully in search of a camera or an important guest you might have missed… But you didn’t find anything to justify his odd behavior. “I asked the chef to make your favorite dish for the occasion.”

You knew Coriolanus had no idea what it was, but the fact that he had been so thoughtful to ask should have been enough.

He pulled your chair for you, like the perfect gentleman he was but never bothered to be if it didn’t benefit his image, and you sat at the table, taking in the carefully presented trays of all the things you liked to eat in front of you.

The waiter entered to serve both of you, because since you became Mrs Snow, you apparently weren’t required to do the most basic things, such as filling your own plate with food yourself anymore.

Coriolanus raised his glass of wine to you, proposing to toast to the first of many years together before drinking a long sip out of his beverage. You knew you didn’t have a choice but to do the same, as etiquette dictated it, but his sudden acknowledgment of your existence was enough to make you want to throw your glass at his face and demand he told you what he was up to. But of course, you knew better than to cause a scene, even in privacy.

“I’m sure you’ll be glad to know sixty percent of the voters are favoring me for presidency.” He stated, with a proud smile you couldnt quite tell if real or forced. “Gaul says that with a few more efforts, I should be able to gain the majority, and then I’ll unquestionably win the elections.”

“That’s wonderful.” You replied, truly hoping Coriolanus will be elected to rule over Panem. It was the only thing he wanted and cared about, you didn’t want to imagine the depth of his misery if he didn’t make it. You also might have not known your husband intimately at all but, since you often had to accompany him for official duties, you had learned a thing or two about the way he’d address important business. “Is there anything I can do to help ?”

You saw him smile at your question. A genuine smile, letting you know you were asking exactly what he was hoping you would.

“Well, according to the surveys, I seem to have convinced most of the older electors . However, one part of the population seems to still have doubts about my program.” He explained, while the waiter refilled his glass of wine. “Apparently, families don’t believe I have their best interest at heart.”

“A few more events centered around children and education and I’m sure they’ll be acquired to your cause.” You said, understanding that he probably meant to ask you to accompany him more often to those, as a proof that he cared enough.

“Surely, but Gaul also suggested we start a family of our own to appear more relatable.”

You swallowed your wine with difficulty, the bitterness burning down your throat at his words. Your chest tightened, your heart pounding wildly.

“We agreed on having our first child after five years of marriage.” You reminded him, and by the way his pale eyes focused on you, you knew you were about to start an important business negotiation with him.

“Unfortunately, I need the support of these voters now, not in five years.”

“We signed a contract that detailed this topic very clearly.”

“And in that contract, you vowed to support me in my endeavors and give me two heirs at minimum. I don’t think getting started on our family now instead of later will make much of a difference to you.”

“You are asking me to carry and birth a baby but it won’t make much of a difference to me ?!” You snapped, raising your voice louder than you should have.

“What I meant to say is that you’re going to have to do it sooner or later. Might as well be now so you’re done with this part of your duty. It would benefit me greatly, and you too.”

You bit your lip to keep yourself from shouting at him. The way he was so detached about it all made you unreasonably angry. You had agreed to give him children and he was right, you knew that sooner or later you’d have to get it over with but in all honesty, it wasn’t the idea of being pregnant that gave you anxiety but the thought of what you had to do in order to achieve that.

You were good at putting up a show for the public, pretending to be perfectly in love and happy together but in truth, you didn’t even know this man. He was a stranger, living in the same house as you and that was about it. Imagining anything more intimate with him seemed preposterous.

“I’ll need to think about it.” You told him, and he nodded quietly. He was gracious enough to accept that answer for now but you knew he’d have things his way, wether you agreed or not.

●○●○●○●○●○●

You spent a sleepless night tossing and turning in your satin sheets, mulling over Coriolanus’ request. Damn Dr. Gaul and her bright ideas ! It already was her fault if you had been chosen to be Mister Snow’s perfect wife, an honor in the eyes of most but it felt oddly similar to being picked as a tribute and sent into the arena to you. You didn’t have much say in what you wanted then, you knew you didn’t have anymore to say now. You really were faced with only two choices; either agree and conceive a child, either take the risk of being replaced by a more willing - and less opiniated - new wife.

It took you until the next evening to finally accept that you only had one resonable answer to give him. Unfortunately, the hours seemed to pass by way too slowly since Coriolanus wasn’t home for supper that night, leaving you alone in the empty dining room with your thoughts. You had waited for him for a while, enjoying the cosy living room as night fell over the Capitol until you couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore and fell asleep on the teal sofa by the chimney.

When you woke up, the flames that had kept you warm were merly embers. You hadn’t noticed the difference in temperature, thanks to one of the house employees who had been thoughtful enough to cover you with a warm wool blanket. You rose up and stretched, deciding to finish your night in the comfort of your bed but when you walked passed your husband’s office, you noticed a light seeping from underneath the door.

After a gentle knock, you tentatively turned the knob to enter the room you had never been in before. Just like his bedroom, his office usually was a place you avoided in order to keep the distances between the two of you when you didn’t have to fake a happy marriage for others.

You weren’t too surprised by the luxurious items that decorated the room, the white couch and the very large desk in the center of the room were very much in Coriolanus’s style; classic and elegant. But what really caught your attention in this unknown territory was the man behind the desk, dishelved, with his tie undone and the first few buttons of his shirt opened. In a year of living together, you had never seen your husband look so… common.

“You’re awake.” He remarked, leaning back in his armchair and rubbing his eyes with one hand.

“And so are you.”

“I usually don’t go to bed before three or four o’clock.”

You glanced at the clock on the mantel of his fireplace, indicating three twenty five. You quickly did the math, realizing how little sleep he got since most days, when you got up and had breakfast at seven in the morning, he always already was off to his other office in town.

“Don’t you think you might be overworking yourself ?” You asked him, finally daring to fully step inside the room and approach his desk.

“It’s better than having nightmares.” He confessed, matter of factly before looking away from you, as if he hadn’t meant to say something so personal to you. “Did you need something ?”

You stopped in front of the white desk, standing with your thighs pressed against the edge. Even sitting, he still looked quite taller than you.

“I’d like a whole new wardrobe designed by Fabricia Whatnot, a pond in the greenhouse with koi fishes and to add some shelves to the library with more up to date books, mostly romance.”

Coriolanus’ intrigued pale blue eyes observed you, the ghost of an amused smile on his lips.

“And what will I get in exchange of all of this ?” He asked, although his smirk showed he already knew the answer.

“A heir.” You replied, with the satisfaction of at least gaining the most you could ask for out of the deal. His smile grew wider, and you wondered if it was a genuine one. It had to be. It seemed so much warmer than his other ones…

“Then you’ll get everything you want, sweetheart.” You smiled at him, genuinely happy with this outcome although the perspective of what was meant to happen next still terrified you.

He stood from his chair, eyes remaining fixed on you as he walked around his desk to join you on the other side. You felt a shiver run up your spine once he was close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his skin onto yours.

With a hand on each of your hips, he lifted you up to sit you down on the edge of his desk. He looked down at you, his face so close to yours and even if it caused your heartbeat to go wild, you knew he wouldn’t kiss you. He never did.

Instead, he finished unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, revealing his unexpectedly muscular chest, a vague testament left of his previous life as a peacekeeper in the districts.

He placed his white shirt on the desk next to you, careful to fold it neatly enough to avoid creasing before focusing his attention back on you.

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his hands on you again, first against the bare skin of your legs and slowly but unmistakably making their way up to your thighs, bringing your skirt up in their wake. A ragged breath escape your lips when his fingers trailed the elastic of your underwear, exploring the shape of it by following its lines until suddenly, the warmth and roughness of his fingers had slipped under the fabric and pressed directly on your skin.

He reached between your legs rather gently, a finger slipping between your folds and softly tracing a few lines connecting your entrance to your clit He was being considerate enough to take things slow and prepare you for him, which was something you strangely didn’t expect him to do. Well to be fair, in all twelve months you had been Coriolanus Snow’s wife, you hadn’t given much thoughts to what intimacy might be like with him. Of course, you knew it would have to happen eventually, you had signed a contract after all but you usually avoided fantasizing about it.

You knew Coriolanus probably had an abundance of mistresses to please him whenever he wanted - or needed - them. He was a very good looking man. You knew that already, but seeing him as he was tonight, without much care to his appearance, was yet another proof of how devastatingly handsome he could be.

You liked the way he caressed you, it was the most intimate touch you had ever shared together, and it somehow felt nice to connect with him. But it also was pretty obvious that, even in a situation such as this one, he still was very much in control of himself and of every aspect of what was happening. It was unfair. If he was asking you to let go and was slowly but surely awakening your desire for him with the way his finger still circled your center, he might as well abandon his pretenses and enjoy it too.

Determined to help, you reached out for his pants, unbuttoning them before he could protest and pulling out the hardened length of his cock out of his underwear. It was so rigid and warm in your hand, dark veins running all along his shaft up to his pale tip, which was slightly glistening already. You looked back at him unable to conceal your surprise at how ready he was for you already. You hadn’t done anything to get him in the mood, nor had you removed a single piece of clothing yet but he already seemed to be throbbing with desire with the simple anticipation of what was about to happen.

You ran your thumb over his tip, collecting a drop of his precum with a blush creeping to your cheeks. He stared at you as you did, refusing to let any emotions show on his face but unable to stop himself from shuddering. It helped you feel more confident. With a soft smile for him, you used your other hand to undo the bow around your waist, which held your dress together. It came undone by itself, revealing your chest to him which caused his eyes to darken slightly.

A silent struggle seemed to take place in his mind, hesitating between following his plan as he had imagined it, methodically proceeding in order to procreate or giving in to the violent pulsion of pure lust he felt at the sight of your gorgeous body , taking you like a wild animal rather than pretending to be a gentleman.

You huffed in surprise when you felt his finger slip once more into your wetness before he pushed it inside you, as deeply as it could go. In return, you pumped his cock a few times, enjoying the sight of him trying to resist the pleasure it instantly gave him. He moved his finger in and out of you in synch with your own movements along his shaft before deciding that you were stretched enough to add another one and try to expand you a bit more. You moaned and immediately bite your lip to silence yourself, if he was being careful to not lose control over any of this then you were determined to do the same. But the way he smirked with satisfaction as the sound of your whimper of exctasy when he added a third finger inside you almost caused you to climax already.

You lifted your hips up, trying to move your body and get him to hit even deeper inside you which seemed to amuse him. He liked the way you were slowly starting to lose your mind over the intensity of the pleasure he was giving you.

You gently tugged on his erection still firmly squeezed in your fist, attempting to bring him closer so that he would understand that you were more than ready to take him, as big as he was.

His fingers left you, your walls pulsing with a need for more but instead of his cock pushing past your entrance, it’s his lips savagely crashing against yours that you felt. It was a messy kiss, full of unspoken words and concealed passion finally pouring out. A kiss that was nothing like the chaste, picture perfect, kiss you had shared on your wedding day.

The next moment, his lips were gone and he yanked you to the edge of his desk by a tight grip on your wet panties. They teared under the pressure of his movement and, with the fabric out of his way, all he had left to do was press his hips between your legs spread opened and slam his cock inside you. It was so sudden, your eyes rolled back with the intensity of it all for a moment.

A panted breath escaped his lips, letting you know you felt as good to him as he felt to you. He was trying to stay focused on you, trying to keep his first few thrusts slow and long but as soon as you moaned, the last of his restrain dissolved and he slammed himself back in, shoving his entire length inside you and hitting deep where you so desperately needed to feel him.

With one hand on your hip and the other reaching for your bra, he rocked you in rythym with his blunt thrusts and you definitely gave up on staying silent, letting your loud noises fill his office and probably resonate in the entire manor.

Your body tensed, clenching his cock so hard that you felt it even deeper and it sent you off the edge. Your legs trembled and your vision blurred as a wave of exceptional pleasure took hold of your entire being, making you feel dizzy and satisfied all at once. No matter the strength of the orgasm shaking your body, your husband kept thrusting abruptly in and out of you at the same pace for a bit longer until you felt his warm release filling you up and he collapsed in your arms, panting.

You brought your hands to his soft blond hair, gently playing with his curls as you kept your eyes shut and tried to regain your senses, your legs still shaking and your core still pulsating around him.

A moment went by during which you almost felt close to the stranger you had married, like you finally knew a very intimate part of him but as soon as he had managed to catch his breath, he pulled out of you and regained his flawless, controlled composure.

“Do you think it worked ?” You asked him, still lightly panting.

He put his softening erection back in his pants and reached for his shirt before taking back his place behind his desk.

“I think we should keep trying, just to be sure.” He replied, with a glance at you that clearly betrayed the excitement he felt at the idea of doing it all again with you.

Next in this series:

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus smut #corio snow #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus x y/n #coriolanus snow smut #tbosas #smut #smutty fanfiction #coryo snow #president snow #snow smut #tbosas smut #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x female!reader #spicy content

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: They sing going to war

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

While serving alongside the human forces during the Torus Campaign I learned much of their strange culture.

Their need to stack foods in elaborate combinations which they call a “Sandwich”, their constant need to play “The Game” without ever explaining what it is unless to tell you that you have lost it, and even their obsession with petting anything within arm’s reach with an almost religious like dedication; but the strangest custom I only witnessed during the final stages of the war.

We had just deployed over the world of Obidon III and were launching a joint ground assault with the human forces. Enemy resistance was expected to be heavy and many would not survive the drop, but command believed that if enough forces reached the surface of the planet they could establish a beachhead and allow the rest of the contingent to be brought in.

During the decent to the planet all I could do was keep my eyes closed and hope beyond hope that we would survive. I was so lost in this trance like state that my friend Septem had to physically smack me on the helmet to get my attention and tell me to turn my radio channel to frequency 13.

I was confused at first since that frequency was being used for our human allies but he insisted that I would not believe what they were doing. So I reset my radio in my helmet to frequency and what I heard was something I had never expected on a battlefield.

They were singing.

The frequency was chalk full of voices in such volume that I had to turn down the volume but it seemed like every single human that was part of the attach was joining in the song. My translator unit was trying to keep up but the sheer intensity of the humans singing was causing it to drop in and out, picking up every other word.

I wanted to listen closer to them but the enemy flak began pounding the outside of our dropship. Each detonation sent the ship rattling side to side violently. I had just retightened my straps when a shell burst just beneath us sending a shockwave through the ship so strong it sent several of my comrades flying from their seats into the opposite wall. They hit the wall hard and did not get back up when their bodies collapsed to the ground.

All I could think about was how this was the moment I was going to die. This was the moment my existence in this universe comes to its conclusion and I return to the dust and atoms of the cosmos. And as I tuned myself to this reality all I could hear were the humans still singing over the radio.

They must have been going through the same amount of enemy fire as he was and yet still they somehow were still able to sing as if nothing was wrong with the world. I got so focused on their singing that I forgot about my worries for such a time that I was startled when the dropship landed with a loud thud against the planet’s surface and the boarding ramp lowered.

The following battle was a grueling six hour run and gun with the enemy as we tried to carve out a safe LZ for reinforcements. I got separated from my unit on more than one occasion and wandered into the human designated areas in the confusion.

To my utter surprise the humans were still singing.

Clad in their blue and gold armor, they broadcasted their voices from their helmet speakers as they advanced street by bloody street. One of them took shelter with me for a time as we prepared to rush a fortified courtyard which housed heavy anti air emplacement. I nodded a greeting to the human who replied in kind, yet their voice never ceased in song. I saw them rush around the corner and take several heavy rounds to their chest, but the shells ricocheted off the armor leaving only scratches on the paint.

I watched in disbelief as this wild singing human leaped over the barricade and slapped a detonation charge on the anti-air weapon before leaping back as it exploded the weapon. They stood in the smoldering flames to take a moment to catch their breath when a sniper’s round from down the street struck them in the head and blew out a large portion of their cranium. It was the first time during the entire battle I had seen a human die but I did not have long to contemplate it as the rest of the humans charged past, still singing, in the direction of the snipers shot.

Another hour of combat and the landing site was finally secured and reinforcements were brought in to take our positions. What was left of the initial landing force were sent back to orbit and recover and regroup from their losses. Out of my people’s forces I was one of twenty soldiers to have survived. I imagined the humans had lost equally as many until the pilot remarked that additional shuttles had been dispatched to carry their force back up. It seemed that despite the intensity of the fighting only three of their warriors had fallen in battle; one of them including the warrior I had watched fall.

I was beyond myself.

These reckless warriors had somehow survived one of the most intense battles the campaign had seen and only lost three of their number.

Once back on the ship the first chance I could I sought them out for an explanation. They were quartered in the lower reaches of the ship, isolated from the other contingents onboard.

Outside their area were two guards still in full armor that initially would not let me through until one of them recognized me from the fighting in the city. I was then led inside and found many of the humans feasting and laughing. Two long rows of tables had been setup facing each other; between them were several fires each with a different animal being roasted over them. At the end of the rows stood three large pyres of wood which held three bodies atop each of them.

As I passed through the humans many ceased their laughter and looked at me, their clouded eyes with suspicion. We made it half way through the throngs when a giant of a human stepped forward and blocked our path. They demanded to know why I had been let it in; going even further to say they will throw me out personally if the answer was not good. The guard who had recognized me said I had witnessed the last moments of one of the fallen and would speak of their deeds. There was a long pause as the large human glared at me, his eyes as cold as the crescent moon of my homeworld.

The human finally relented and let out a loud boastful laugh, clapping me on my shoulders and welcoming me to the feast. Those gathered around cheered and similarly welcomed me now as the ceremony proceeded once more. I could barely say anything as I was seemingly pulled into the celebration. I drank, I ate, I laughed, I even boasted of my own achievements during the battle.

At the height of the feast I was called forward to speak of the final moments of the human soldier I watched die. I learned their name had been Moris Yu, and had served in the human contingent since the beginning of the campaign. I spoke of his final moments, of how he charged the enemy alone and had single handedly destroyed their war machine. I spoke of the snipers bullet laying him low to which all the gathered humans spoke as one “To Odin’s hall he flies.”

With that pyres were set on fire and the bodies slowly turned to ash. I imagine it had some significant ritualistic meaning in human culture but it was beyond me.

After the funeral I asked one of the soldiers the question I had come to them with.

“Why do you sing in battle?”

The human took a long huff from a wooden pipe and blew a cloud of smoke before answering.

“Long ago, my people were raiders and conquerors of the sea.” They began, “Our gods watched over us and should we prove worthy we would be sent to them to join them in their halls and fight alongside them for eternity.”

“There was one warband led by a giant of a man called Osmond Frig. He loved song just as much as he loved fighting, so he made his warriors sing during every fight as it made him happy.”

“They agreed to such silliness?” I asked, to which the human grinned.

“They did after he felled the first three men who laughed at him with a single blow from his axe.” They finished before continuing with their story.

“What was truly surprising was not the sight of these warriors singing, but rather the fact that they were rather good at it. It was said they could make the Valkyries themselves shed a single tear with their songs.”

“Eventually one of the gods, Bragi, noticed Osmond’s warband and took a liking to them. Much like the Valkyries he too was moved by their song and decided to reward them with his patronage. He used ancient magic and made it so as long as the warriors sung they would be impervious to harm of all kinds.”

“So the warband grew in fame and glory as they went conquest to conquest, emerging from battles against impossible odds with nay a scratch on them. First across the northern seas, then across the continent of Europe, and then soon the entire world knew of Osmond; which is when they finally drew the attention of the king of the gods, Odin.”

“Odin watched these powerful warriors and wanted them in his hall for the eternal battle, yet despite every challenge they faced they emerged victorious. No matter what enemy Odin placed in their path or scheme he unleashed on them they refused to fall. Odin knew of Bragi’s patronage and tortured the god to reveal his secret and after seven days and seven nights Bragi told Odin of the spell he had cast and how it could not be undone.”

“But that was all Odin needed to secure his warriors.” The human said with a devil’s grin.

“During the midst of the most recent battle Odin took the form of a mighty warrior and stalked the fields for his prey. He waited for each warrior to catch their breath and cease their song before striking and slaying them, one by one. By day’s end only Osmond remained to fight Odin and though he sang long into the night he too eventually gasped for air and was slain.”

“So that is why you sing?” I asked the human. ‘Because you believe your gods will protect you?”

The human chuckled and nodded to the three pyres. “Did you not say that Moris was only slain after he ceased singing?”

I wanted to counter him with some logic, some reason grounded in reality, but I could not. I left that human area with a profound new perspective of myself in the grand scheme of the universe.

The next time I was in a combat drop my comrades laughed when I began singing. I wasn’t sure if it was good or not, but I hoped that in some way the human god would at least find me amusing and let me live another day.

#humans are insane #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01 #odin #bragi #norse mythology

[blue-blue-blooms]

A Little Crush   

Eddie Munson x Henderson!Reader

Part 1

Summary: In which Eddie develops a crush on the Henderson sister.

You weren't sure exactly when your life had gone to absolute shit. Was it when you found a strange, superpowered adolescent girl living in Mike Wheeler's basement? Was it when you walked in on a baby demogorgan eating your cat? Or was it when you were drugged by evil Russians operating under Starcourt Mall? You couldn't even remember a time when life was normal. If someone had told you that you would become best friends with Steve 'The Hair' Harrington and fight literal monsters from an alternate universe alongside Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan 'The Creep' Byers a few years ago, you would've laughed in their face. Now? You'd survived the most traumatising events of your life alongside these people. You were bonded for life.

The last few years had also made you closer with Dustin. You loved your baby brother and his weird friends, especially since you'd spent so much time babysitting them. But no amount of love could make you say yes to what they were asking of you.

"Please?" Dustin begged, following you down the hallway as you made your way to Ms. O'Connell's class.

"No! I have, like, three essays due this week, Dustin. I don't have the time to sub." You respond.

"It's only for tonight! Lucas can't make it and we really need a sub. We're nearly done with the campaign and Eddie will kill us if we make him reschedule!" Dustin pleads.

You were really happy that Dustin and Mike had found a safe space in high school. Lord knows those two idiots needed it. Freshmen year is probably the toughest of them all. You're new, scared, and lonely. You were really glad that they'd found friends, a place where they could be their nerdy selves and feel accepted. Hell, even you'd dabbled in their interests when you'd babysat them. DnD wasn't half bad, and not nearly as hard to undertand as you once thought. You'd spent many nights in Mike's basement playing with them. The first few times, you'd get your character killed in the first fifteen minutes. But after a while, you started making progress (even though you're convinced that the party was exceptionally lenient with you after you once burst into tears over getting killed off).

"I'll do your half of the chores for a week!" Dustin exclaims.

That makes you stop.

"A week?" You turn around to look at him, "Make it two weeks and I'll sub."

"Two? Are you insane!?" Dustin yells, making a few people lingering in the hallway turn and look at you both.

"Two or no deal, Dusty Buns," You tease, "And be quick, I'm late for my class."

"Fine!" Dustin says, "And stop calling me 'Dusty Buns'"

"Why? Is that nickname just for Suzy Poo?" You tease.

Dustin glowers at you as you walk off.

♡♡♡

"So, who's the DM?" You ask as you walk alongside Dustin and Mike.

"It's Eddie, Eddie Munson. He's a senior. Long hair, wears a hellfire T-Shirt, I talk about him constantly. God, do you ever listen to me?" Dustin claims exasperatedly.

"Oh! Eddie as in your new favorite older male best friend who Steve's weirdly jealous of?" You ask, "I've seen him around. Is he the one who jumps on lunch tables and yells a lot?"

"Yup." Mike responded, "He's a bit scary when he's revved up. Just warning you beforehand in case he comes off...a bit intimidating."

You nod.

"Hasn't he been held back, like, three times?" You ask.

Before either of the boys could answer, you reach the room. The first thing you see is the table where the game is set. There are three boys sat around, all with Hellfire T-Shirts on. Your eyes fleet from one to the other until finally landing on Eddie. You recognise him immediately from the amount of times you've seen him yelling in the cafeteria.

Dustin and Mike failed to mention how cute he was, you think.

His hair was long and wavy. He was wearing multiple rings. And he was covered in tattoos. You're pretty sure you saw a few bats peeking from under his sleeve.

"Who's this?" One of the guys asks, making all three turn around and look at you.

"This is Y/N! She's subbing for Lucas!" Mike says, the words spilling out fast and nervously.

Why the hell are they so jittery?

"Yeah, she's my sister! The one I mentioned a couple days ago." Dustin adds.

"Does she even know how to play DnD?" The other boy asks.

"Okay, excuse me, I wouldn't have come if I didn't know how to play," You finally speak, waving your hand a little to get their attention.

"So, this is your infamous sister?" Eddie finally speaks, his eyes landing on you, "You know, I thought he made you up. What's your class and level? Level One Elf?"

Elf? Is he mocking me?

"Are you mocking me?" You ask incredously.

"Is he mocking me?" you turn towards Dustin and Mike who immediately start gesticulating, probably asking you to shut up.

"My name is Aeren Sirenfall and I'm a level 14 chaotic good half-elf rogue. I will sneak behind any monster you throw my way and stab them in the back with my poison-soaked kukri. And I'll smile as I watch them die a slow...agonising...death." You say, your voice slow and hard as you glare at Eddie, "So, are we gonna play this stupid game or not?"

You're pretty sure you hear one of the boys mutter a 'she's terrifying' to Dustin.

You watch as Eddie's eyes slowly soften and a grin emerges on his face, "Welcome to Hellfire Club."

#eddie munson #stranger things fic #corroded coffin #stranger things 4 #stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff

[feminist-space]

Article by Fortesa Latifi:

"Being the child of an influencer, Vanessa tells me, was the equivalent of having a full-time job—and then some. She remembers late nights in which the family recorded and rerecorded videos until her mother considered them perfect and days when creating content for the blog stretched into her homeschooling time. If she expressed her unease, she was told the family needed her. “It was like after this next campaign, maybe we could have more time to relax. And then it would never happen,” she says. She was around 10 years old when she realized her life was different from that of other children. When she went to other kids’ houses, she was surprised by how they lived. “I felt strange that they didn’t have to work on social media or blog posts, or constantly pose for pictures or videos,” she says. “I realized they didn’t have to worry about their family's financial situation or contribute to it.”

Vanessa, who requested anonymity to speak freely about her family dynamics, says she helped create content for huge companies like Huggies and Hasbro when her mom landed endorsement deals. When she reached puberty and began menstruating, her mother had her do sponsored posts for sanitary pads. “It was so mortifying,” she says. “I just felt like I wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.”

Being part of an influencer family changed everything about her life, Vanessa says. “Sometimes I didn’t know where the separation was between what was real and what was curated for social media.” And her mother’s online presence indelibly warped their relationship. “Being an influencer kid turned my relationship with my mom into more of an employer-employee relationship than a parent-child one,” she says. “Once you cross the line from being family to being coworkers, you can’t really go back.”

...

Khanbalinov has had zero new offers since he took his kids offline. “When we were showing our kids, brands were rolling in left and right—clothing companies, apps, paper towel companies, food brands. They all wanted us to work with them,” he says. “Once we stopped, we reached out to the brands we had lined up and 99 percent of them dropped out because they wanted kids to showcase their products. And I fought back, like, you guys are a paper towel company—why do you need a kid selling your stuff?”

The law has woefully lagged behind the culture here, but there’s signs that policymakers might finally be catching up. In 2023, in addition to Illinois, three other states—New York, Washington State, and New Jersey—proposed bills to protect influencer kids. Contrast that with the flurry of legislative activity in just the first two months of 2024. Seven more states—Maryland, Georgia, Ohio, Missouri, California, Arizona, Minnesota—have introduced similar legislation. Some of the bills are going one step further to protect the privacy of the kids featured in this content. In some states, proposed legislation would include a clause that borrows from a European legal doctrine known as the “right to be forgotten”—it would allow someone who was featured in content when they were a child to request that platforms permanently delete those posts. None of the current legislation introduced, however, would outright bar the practice of featuring minors in monetized content.

...

The movement on this issue was glacial for years, but it finally feels like the ice has thawed. Much of that progress is thanks to activists like Cam Barrett (she/they), a 25-year-old creator (@softscorpio) who uses TikTok to talk about her experience of being overshared in their childhood and adolescence. Barrett doesn’t go by her legal name anymore because of the online history it’s tied to. “I love my legal name,” Barrett tells me. “I just don’t love the digital footprint attached to it.” Last year, Barrett testified in front of the Washington State legislature as a proponent of a bill to protect influencer kids. This year, they testified again—this time, in front of the Maryland legislature.

“As a former content kid myself, I know what it’s like to grow up with a digital footprint I never asked for,” Barrett told the Maryland House of Delegates Economic Matters Committee in February. “As my mom posted to the world my first-ever menstrual cycle, as she posted to the world the intimate details about me being adopted, her platform grew and I had no say in what was posted.” And yet, Cam says her activism has been healing.

For Cam and other influencer children, getting a paycheck won’t give them back what they lost—a normal childhood unobstructed by the cameras pushed into their faces. But it could be the beginning of some version of restitution. “My friends say I’m fighting for little Cam,” she tells me. “It feels very healing because I didn’t have anyone to fight for me as a kid.”"

Read the full article here: https://www.cosmopolitan.com/lifestyle/a60125272/sharenting-parenting-influencer-cost-children/

#children of influencers #influencers #children's rights #social media #fortesa latifi

[probablyasocialecologist]

Being the child of an influencer, Vanessa tells me, was the equivalent of having a full-time job—and then some. She remembers late nights in which the family recorded and rerecorded videos until her mother considered them perfect and days when creating content for the blog stretched into her homeschooling time. If she expressed her unease, she was told the family needed her. “It was like after this next campaign, maybe we could have more time to relax. And then it would never happen,” she says. She was around 10 years old when she realized her life was different from that of other children. When she went to other kids’ houses, she was surprised by how they lived. “I felt strange that they didn’t have to work on social media or blog posts, or constantly pose for pictures or videos,” she says. “I realized they didn’t have to worry about their family's financial situation or contribute to it.” Vanessa, who requested anonymity to speak freely about her family dynamics, says she helped create content for huge companies like Huggies and Hasbro when her mom landed endorsement deals. When she reached puberty and began menstruating, her mother had her do sponsored posts for sanitary pads. “It was so mortifying,” she says. “I just felt like I wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.” Being part of an influencer family changed everything about her life, Vanessa says. “Sometimes I didn’t know where the separation was between what was real and what was curated for social media.” And her mother’s online presence indelibly warped their relationship. “Being an influencer kid turned my relationship with my mom into more of an employer-employee relationship than a parent-child one,” she says. “Once you cross the line from being family to being coworkers, you can’t really go back.” Vanessa will never get back the childhood that she gave up for the family business—not getting any of the money she helped earn is just another disappointment, even if it was entirely unsurprising. “My mom never led me to think there would be anything. She would continually remind me that the money she was getting from the blog or sponsorships was going toward us anyway through basic needs and that should be enough.”

#social media #vlogger #influencers #sharenting #how incredibly fucking dire

[dailyadventureprompts]

Villain: The Hollow Lords

Though their reign was long thought ended, this circle of skeletal tyrants have returned from the dark depths of history to conquer the ream once again. Their awakening heralded by a tide of destruction and plague meant to destabilize the land and seed it with corpses to make up their army of undead.

Something is wrong with this story though, details that don't match up, an unknown will at work behind the actions of the lifeless villains. Whatever threat they may pose, an even greater danger pulls the strings of the hollow lords, a danger the party will confront all too soon.

Adventure Hooks:

Before they awaken, the hollow lords should be woven into the campaign as an innocuous background detail, a threat from a previous millennium which defined the heroes of that era. Forgotten today outside of festival traditions, old monuments, and the standing alliances between kingdoms, This sets a standard against which the party can measure themselves.

Scenario A sees the Hollow Lords emerging in the party's own realm, a wave of inexplicable disasters paving the way for the rise of an emerging threat just in time for our heroes to enter a new adventuring tier. In this instance it's about preventing the disasters from spreading/ the undead from establishing their foothold across a land the party has just finished journeying across. Our heroes will be stretched thin, People they know are going to suffer, and deliberate choices will need to be made about what they can save. Looking into the history of the lords only raises more questions, namely that many of them emerged from graves belonging to people who were born and died centuries after the original Hollow Lords were vanquished.

Scenario B has the Hollow Lords as an established threat, ruling over a Mordor like kingdom of darkness either bordering the party's own homeland, or being the party's own homeland if you want to get bleak about it. After our heroes defeat their first of the villains they receive a strange invitation, another of the Hollow Lords has broken partially free of whatever enchantment binds them and is pleading for help. If the party are willing to take a gamble, this rogue undead is willing to use all its dread power to aid them if they can figure out a way to put it to rest for good.

Though each was mighty or powerful in their own right, there was no unholy conspiracy that connected the Hollow Lords during their living years, at-least not on their part. Instead they were all called back to the mortal plane by a veiled necromancer who had some invisible claim on their soul. Stripped of their will, they were forced to act on behalf of this faceless puppeteer, allowing whoever it was beneath the skullmask and robe to carve out a kingdom while remaining in the shadows. Most troubling of all, those one or two Hollow Lords that were around for their first attempt at world domination also remember the veiled necromancer, speaking of a conspiracy centuries in the making.

Artist

#undead #villain #villain undead #darklord #mid level #disaster #warlock #villain warlock #high level #dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d #ttprg #pathfinder

[utilitycaster]

The narrative of D&D

Fantasy High Junior Year has made its exploration of the tropes, mechanics, and structures of D&D readily apparent, perhaps even more so than the earlier two seasons. This is unsurprising for a show in which the characters are, in-universe, extremely aware of their mechanics and indeed in a high school intended to develop them. And yet, while Brennan Lee Mulligan pokes at these structures, the story still rests squarely within them.

This is not accidental; in longer form narratives (and Fantasy High as an overall story certainly is one, though each individual season exists in a strange no-man's land of campaign length) there is a distinctive pattern to the D&D narrative, one that is outright stated in the player's handbook. D&D is a progressive advancement game; characters grow in power and in sociopolitical import as they level up. They begin, even at level 1, as exceptional people (no commoner stats for them) and are destined by the fact that they are in a D&D game for greatness. There are things D&D supports well; travel, social interaction, one-time skill use, and combat. There are things it does poorly, notably downtime and stories that are not built along the lines of heroic fantasy.

I think this is a value neutral statement, in that I think that trying to avoid playing D&D while playing D&D is a futile exercise; your character will become more powerful while playing it and the only way to avoid gaining this power is to play a different game. I also think that while D&D has the potential to comment on our world from a new perspective, as most speculative fiction does, and is certainly not without flaws, that conversation is one for a later date. The structure exists; like it or not, it exists. There are other games to play that support other stories.

Fantasy High is direct in its engagement: characters are aware of their classes. They learn about the conventions thereof in their high school coursework, and must justify their multiclassing, both with their current level of power in their base class as well as with what they have done (both narrative and mechanical justifications). The antagonists of Junior Year are the Rat Grinders, explicitly commenting on Experience vs. Milestone leveling; several characters provide an eye into such D&D player tropes as min-maxxing and focusing on RP vs only on the game and mechanical elements. The Seven, set in the same world, operates on a similar premise; the party risks being broken up because half are still in high school and they would not survive a split of that level. Adventurers at the Aguefort Academy must adventure, and both the humor and deconstruction come from the juxtaposition of the conventions of D&D with the typical life of a high school student. The characters do level up; they do become more recognizable; they do have to save the world, repeatedly.

A somewhat subtler deconstruction comes in the form of NADDPod's first campaign, or as it was introduced, The Campaign after the Campaign. As envisioned by Brian Murphy (a player in Fantasy High; it is perhaps relevant that the two shows both began production around the same time), the world in which it is set is grappling with the aftermath of the "campaign" of the three legendary heroes Alanis, Thiala, and Ulfgar, who had slain Asmodeus, among other feats. While this ended a war, it set off several crucial events. Most centrally to the story of NADDPod, Thiala, disillusioned with her role as the healer, broke her worship of Pelor and used the heart of Asmodeus to ascend to godhood; she would eventually become the final antagonist of the campaign. However, the death of Asmodeus also set off a power vacuum in Hell. NADDPod's third campaign is set two centuries after the first, and the new legendary heroes (the Band of Boobs of the first campaign) have been dealing with the aftermath of an extraplanar war of the gods; Mothership, the main antagonist, arose in Thiala's wake. This is all typical actions leading to consequences, but the idea that the butterfly that flapped its wings was the resentment of someone having to play the cleric is notable (and is directly contrasted by Emily Axford's Bahumia characters, who openly embrace healing and support casting, breaking Thiala's cycle while cleaning up her mess.) But NADDPod too is heroic fantasy, even with the science fantasy elements present in the second season, and even slots nicely into the PHB tiers.

Critical Role does not, per se, strive to deconstruct in the same way (though Matt Mercer does provide some direct retorts to Forgotten Realms lore, particularly that of drow). But like NADDPod, the consequences of past campaigns influence subsequent ones. Campaign 1 is very easily recognizable as a classic "gain influence and power" story, and while Campaign 2's heroes the Mighty Nein retain a refreshingly low profile throughout the story, it does still progress in a typical way, though in a rather more self-directed manner.

Campaign 3 is interesting, in that it initially deviates from some of the more classic tropes of early D&D, but ultimately succumbs (to its benefit, in my opinion) to the inertia of the heroic fantasy arc. Bells Hells do not work their way up from level 1 or 2 taking on odd jobs; they begin the campaign by joining up with a benevolent patron, and several party members have pre-existing powerful connections. They receive the use of a skyship by episode 22 and level 6 (something even Vox Machina considered having to steal at level 13) and inherit it not long after. And yet: despite this, and a pivotal set piece of the apogee solstice in which a comparatively low level party plays a part among many factions, following a brief split the campaign begins to run on more familiar tracks. For all the early privileges the team enjoyed and the theological debates they engaged in, they ultimately find themselves in a position identical to that of the archetypal Vox Machina: facing an evil wizard who, after a rushed solstice ritual mid-campaign, only partially unsealed a long-imprisoned ancient deity of manipulation and destruction and now wishes to finish the job. One must assume Delilah Briarwood is appreciating the parallels from within Laudna's psyche.

Worlds Beyond Number is a player on the scene to watch out for, especially because Mulligan has shown himself to enjoy playing with these tropes and his players are all immensely knowledgeable and experienced players (and in Aabria Iyengar's case, DMs) themselves. Rather like Bells Hells, two of its three characters are coming in already in storied positions, despite being level 2, and it will be interesting to see if it bucks the trend. I don't think it needs to. I think there's plenty of variety to be had within this subgenre, and I think a quiet pushing at the boundaries is frequently more effective than full-scale subverstion. But should that be the plan, it will take a lot of work; even with immense awareness of the path D&D sets forth it seems DMs - and players - tend to stay on it.

#i gotta make a separate like. website-based blog for shit like this i'm basically writing articles for free (which. they'd still be free) #cr tag #d20 tag #naddpod tag #wbn tag #i'd been thinking of this since fhjy got really into it and some joking around about c1 vs. c3 parallels motivated me to finally write it #anyway! hope you like it. #also i killed a very hilarious darling here expect a shitpost soon probably

[vizslasaber]

FRIENDLY FIRE ──── i.

summary: after landing on the umbaran surface, you butt heads with your fellow general—but get along swimmingly with your temporary clone captain.

pairing: captain rex x female jedi!reader

word count: 3.9k

warnings: combat/action, mentions of injury + death, krell being a bitch, reader with a name instead of y/n because i hate it

a/n: it’s back!!! previously i posted this series on my main, @brrmian, but i changed that blog’s username and have mostly shifted over to fanart and general SW content. i’ve decided to dedicate this new side blog’s content entirely to fic writing under my old username, posting reader insert on here and everything else on ao3! this fic will be updated sparsely but definitely more often than it was on my main. i’ve changed a few things regarding the plot of this series specifically, and i like it a lot more now!!

series masterlist | click here to add or remove yourself from the taglist!

You hadn’t wanted to leave the Temple behind—you still don’t, even lightyears away from the Core.

When the Jedi Council had first made you aware of the plan to have you and a Master you’d never met capture an Umbaran airbase with troops that were not your own, you had put up something of a fight. What right, you demanded, did the Chancellor have the right to simply pull a Jedi from their sacred duty for a trivial air-to-ground assault?

The Council had either not wanted to answer this question or had not known how to, so now you stand on a transport gunship with two clone troopers and an intimidatingly tall Besalisk Jedi Master by the name of Pong Krell. Both of you are holding onto the grab handles hanging from the ceiling; you’re gripping the handle so tightly your knuckles are slightly pale, but Krell looks perfectly steady.

Of course he is, you think bitterly. He has four arms.

The atmosphere of Umbara is breathable but strangely thick—fog seeps through the blast door openings, and the lights inside the gunship’s passenger bay seem to have dimmed. Your lightsabers bump against your hips and you wince slightly as sounds of frantic gunfire reach your ears.

This will be your first campaign.

You have seen death before, on missions as a Padawan before the war—but never on this scale, if the reports of your already-knighted friends from the Temple are anything to go by. You only hope that you will be assigned your own battalion soon, so you don’t have to go running around replacing wayward Generals.

It’s hard, standing at the side of an imposing Master, not to feel like a Padawan. The skin behind your right ear burns with the memory of the braid that had been there just last week, waiting to be sheared off as you prepared for your ascension to Knighthood.

While your battalion assignment is pending, Master Windu told you as you stood in the center of the Council Chamber, the Senate has requested that we send two Jedi Knights to replace Skywalker on Umbara.

Master Krell is already on-world, assisting Master Kenobi, but he will need another Jedi’s help if he and the 501st are to take the capital in Skywalker’s stead, Master Plo explained, his hologram flickering as he called in from some faraway world.

All due respect, Masters, you remember asking as you willed yourself not to tremble, but why me? I’ve never been anywhere near the front. I wouldn’t be much help.

Believe in your potential, we do, Master Yoda said. An opportunity for you to do good, the Force has given you.

And that, it was decided, was that.

Even now, after meditating on your anxiety for practically the entire journey through hyperspace, your nerves feel impossibly frayed. The transport jostles, but you only sway slightly, arm already holding onto an overhead handle for balance. There’s a shiny new military-issue commlink attached to your right vambrace. A morbid thought, of calling in a medevac for injured soldiers with this very communicator, crosses your mind—but you let it dissipate.

The gunship suddenly makes a sharp dive, and your stomach swoops—you must be about to land. You spare a glance at General Krell, who has now let go of the grab handles and has crossed all four of his arms over his chest. For a moment, you’re almost tempted to ask how he manages to stay so balanced while the ship is moving, but then the blast doors slide open and the gunship lands in shadowy darkness.

The first person you see is Anakin Skywalker. He’s around your age, maybe a bit younger—despite having been knighted several years earlier, as one of the first Padawan victims of the Jedi Military Integration Act. Your Master, ever traditional even when the Order began to stray from its centuries-old teachings, did her best to keep you apprenticed for as long as possible, but even that eventually proved futile.

In the end, you and Anakin are practically of the same age, and yet he has infinite more experience than you. Uncertainty wheedles its way into your chest and slips a pin into your lungs; you’re holding your breath as you follow Krell off the gunship.

Being far shorter than the Besalisk, you have to jump down. When you hit the ground, you shiver at the misty atmosphere, watching as bioluminescent specks of dust fly up underneath your boots.

As the two of you approach, you hear the troopers of the 501st legion mutter amongst themselves, but you push it aside and focus on the pleasantries.

“General Krell. General Neridian,” Anakin says, smiling graciously. “My thanks for the air support.”

“Indeed, General Skywalker,” Krell replies, bowing politely. “The locals have proven to be more resourceful than we anticipated.”

“We managed to get here in one piece, though,” you add jokingly, and Anakin smirks, his eyes twinkling. You gesture to the troopers unloading the gunship behind you. “And we brought ration resupplies.”

Anakin nods appreciatively, then raises one eyebrow after a moment, looking slightly confused. “But—that’s not the reason for your visit.”

“No,” Krell admits. “The Council has ordered you back to Coruscant, effective immediately.”

“What?” Skywalker demands. “Wh-why?”

“The Chancellor...” you pause, searching for a word, before you settle on, “insisted that you return. The Council had no say on the matter.”

“That is all they would tell us,” Krell adds, though he doesn’t sound displeased.

“Well, I—I can’t just leave my men!” Anakin protests, and for the first time you notice the trooper standing at attention beside him.

He’s identical to all the clones you’ve met, of course, except for one detail—his hair is blond. You wonder vaguely if it would be polite to ask him whether or not it’s natural as you survey his armor. The pauldron on his left shoulder indicates a position of command, but he carries a sense of individuality in the Force that, despite your inexperience with working with them, you’ve come to realize every clone has. His helmet is painted with a distinctly Mandalorian sigil, but it’s not one you recognize.

His gaze is pointed directly ahead; he makes no eye contact with you. Probably just as annoyed at the change of plans as Anakin is, you realize.

Krell moves to speak, jolting you from your thoughts. You recognize Anakin’s agitation, however, so you calmly move to intercept.

“The Council would not just leave your troopers to fend for themselves—not that they aren’t perfectly capable of doing so, of course,” you add, which merits the barest hint of a smile from the trooper standing beside Anakin. “It’s just… well, the Senate needs a Jedi to be at the head of every campaign, and I guess they figured subtracting one of you would mean—”

“—adding two other Jedi,” Anakin says with a snort of derision. “Yeah… sounds like the Senate. But you guys’ll probably get it done faster anyway.”

“Don’t worry about a thing, sir,” interjects the trooper, and Anakin looks to him. “We’ll have this city under control by the time you’re back.”

“Generals, this is Captain Rex, my first in command,” Anakin says fondly, and you see something like pride show itself in Rex’s eyes. “You won’t find a finer or more loyal trooper anywhere.”

“I don’t doubt it,” you affirm earnestly.

“Yes, that is good to hear,” Krell agrees, then places a large hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “I wish you well, Skywalker.”

Anakin simply nods at him, then stops beside you and says, “I hear you passed the Trials.”

You gesture to your hair, now void of a Padawan braid. “Apparently so,” you reply. “Funny, I didn’t think you were one to get swept into the rumour mill.”

A grin, boyish and bright, springs to Anakin’s face. “Nah, I’m always one for good gossip.” His expression turns softer, then, and he puts a hand on your shoulder. “Seriously, though… congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you say, but he’s already approaching the gunship and taking hold of one of the grab handles. The ship is off within seconds, and you can’t help but feel apprehensive as it flies away, up into the fog.

Taking a moment to gather yourself, you turn to Rex and offer a polite nod. He returns it, then says, “It is an honour to be serving with you, Generals.”

“The honour is all mine,” you return graciously, and Rex looks like he’s about to say something else, but stops when Krell begins to speak.

“I find it very interesting, Captain, that you are able to recognize the value of honour,” he begins, then—almost as an afterthought—adds, “for a clone.”

Silence.

Your eyebrows shoot up, and as Rex stares at Krell in shock, you feel your armored chest tighten—with frustration or shock, you don’t yet know.

“Stand at attention when I address you,” Krell snaps, turning to face the other troopers, and as Rex obliges, you narrow your eyes and step forward.

“Master Krell,” you start, your jaw tightening, “I do believe it would be far more... prudent to show respect to the soldiers who have so graciously agreed to undertake this mission with us.” You tilt your head questioningly, sending your ponytail swaying. “After all—we are the ones who just arrived.”

A ripple of white-hot anger moves through the Force with lightning speed, but it’s gone before you can take time to process it. Now, all you can feel is something akin to gratitude, trickling like a cool waterfall from where Rex stands, back straight and eyes ahead.

“They agreed to nothing,” Krell counters, and you blink as his wide upper lip curls back to reveal a row of dangerously sharp teeth. “Do not forget, young one, that we are the Generals they serve under at present.”

“I...” you pause, momentarily at a loss for words, then clasp your hands behind your back and force your jaw to unclench. “I haven’t forgotten that. But I also haven’t forgotten that the only way to succeed in this endeavour is to work together.”

“And with what experience do you so kindly bestow this advice upon us, Knight Neridian?” Krell asks, and the question is like a bucket of ice water down the back of your robes.

You swallow, and search for the words to say, but none come. Cheeks burning with shame, you stare determinedly at the ground.

The tension in Krell’s Force signature disappears, as sudden as the crack of a whip, and he draws in a deep breath. You look up as the pouch-like piece of flesh under Krell’s chin grows in size and he begins to pace.

“Nevertheless,” Krell brushes off, acting as though none of your words register with him, “there’s a reason my command is so effective, and it’s because I do things by the book.” He walks past a soldier in an ARC Trooper uniform who has the number five tattooed on his right temple. The trooper doesn’t move as Krell passes him, but you can see a vein on his forehead bulge.

“And that includes protocol,” Krell puts in. He turns to you. “Have all platoons ready to move out immediately.”

You bristle. “I—I thought we were to make decisions together,” you protest, raising your chin defiantly.

Technically, there’s nothing to defy, seeing as you hold equal rank with Krell—but the Council specified in their briefing that this was supposed to be a learning experience, an introduction to combat before receiving your own battalion. And something about Master Krell demands respect, or at the very least obedience, despite the fact that you’re starting to want to do everything you can not to give it to him.

Krell simply huffs and turns around, his yellow eyes flashing, and walks away, leaving you surrounded by a platoon troopers.

You frown after him. “Well, now I know why Master Venn wished me good luck,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. Some of the troopers snicker, but you hardly notice.

Your former master, Esya Venn, had pulled you aside just before leaving. The look on her face had been nothing short of concerned, but you’d shrugged it off in the moment, even when she’d told you to be careful, Padawan. She never told anyone to be careful—it was simply a reflex to think twice about your actions around Esya.

But now you understand.

Scrubbing a hand over your tired face, you take a deep breath and turn to Captain Rex. “Shall we set off?” you ask, and he nods, promptly putting on his helmet.

“Move out, soldiers!” he shouts, starting down the path after Krell. “Come on, let’s go!”

You give Rex a grateful smile, and though you can’t see his face, you know he’s returning it. With one last glance at the battalion, you hurry to the front and fall into step next to General Krell.

It’s silent for some time. Krell doesn’t deter, no matter how dark it gets, and after a while you begin to grow uncomfortable next to him. The anger you’d felt in the Force earlier is dormant, but certainly there, and it makes chills erupt down your spine.

"I’m going to check on the Captain,” you say, and Krell only nods when you turn around and quickly find Rex, who’s walking about two meters behind where you previously were.

The Captain salutes briefly. “General.”

“Captain,” you reply politely, before glancing back at Krell. “I can’t help but notice that there’s—” you pause for a moment. Do these troopers know enough about the Force to have conversations with you about it?

Knowing Anakin, you realize, they probably do, so you clear your throat and continue. “I get a strange feeling from Master Krell,” you say quietly.

Rex’s shoulders relax just slightly. “How so, sir?”

You bite your lip and shake your head. “I don’t know, exactly,” you reply, then gesture vaguely in front of you, where Krell is half-visible in the murky fog. “The Force around him is unclear. It’s... hard to explain.”

“Hard to explain, as in it’s a Jedi thing?” Rex guesses, and you grin widely.

“Yes,” you say. “It’s a Jedi thing.” Reaching up, you curl a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I may not be a Jedi, sir,” Rex says after a moment, “but I think I know what you mean by strange feeling.”

“Quicken that pace, battalion!” Krell suddenly shouts over his shoulder, and you jump. “This isn’t some training course on Kamino.”

You sigh and raise your voice, turning to the troopers. “What General Krell means,” you call, pointedly shooting a glare at the Besalik’s back, “is that we must continue to make good time. Keep up the good work.”

Krell gives no answer, but you feel a ripple of frustration coming from his direction. There’s another thread in the Force, one of gratitude, but you can’t tell where exactly it’s coming from. You latch onto it nonetheless and file the feeling away for later, letting yourself make an easy pace just ahead of Rex.

“He certainly has a way with words,” you hear one of the clones say, and when you glance behind you out of the corner of your eye, you can see that the source is someone with similar armor to Rex’s. Another ARC, or someone of similar rank.

There’s a sigh. You think it’s from Rex. The troopers obviously don’t know you’re listening, so you direct your gaze ahead, keeping your pace steady.

“He’s just trying to keep us on schedule,” Rex explains, voice hushed and sounding a bit sheepish.

"By raising everyone’s ire?” the other trooper grumbles.

“Either way, he’s in charge,” Rex protests. “And we’ve got a job to do.”

“She’s in charge, too,” hisses the trooper, and you purse your lips, knowing he’s pointing to you.

Another sigh, again from Rex. “Just—treat them both with respect, and we’ll all get along fine.”

You’re about to turn around when your neck stiffens. It’s an instinctual reaction, like the Force tapping you on the shoulder—one that you’ve learned to interpret as a warning. Less than a second later, a loud screech echoes above your head.

“Ready your weapons!” Rex shouts, at the same moment you draw one lightsaber.

Faster than your eyes can process, a winged creature swoops down and grabs a trooper—but you don’t need your eyes. The cyan beam of your lightsaber casts a glow on the shadowy ground, and you jump upwards, landing on a large plant that allows you to swing from a vine and graze the blade across the wing of one of the creatures. It falls to the ground with another screech before flying away, relatively unharmed.

One to go.

You’re about to grab hold of a second vine and swing towards the other creature, but a flash of blurred blue and green makes you pull back—Krell beats you to it, landing on top of the creature and wrestling it to the ground.

“Wait—stop!” you shout as he draws his lightsabers, but it’s too late. He’s already skewered the creature mercilessly, and it lies dead on the ground, life blinking out of the Force in an instant.

You jump off of the large plant, landing on both feet, and hook your now deactivated lightsaber onto your belt. “Why did you kill it?” you demand, pushing past several onlooking clones.

“It is nothing more than a violent inhabitant of this area,” Krell dismisses, and you feel your jaw drop.

“But…” you start, at a loss for words. “The Code decrees—”

“The Code,” Krell says coldly as he turns to stare at you, “allows for self defense.”

You draw yourself up to your full height, switching off your lightsaber with a snap-hiss before hooking it back onto your belt. “That’s not what—”

Krell’s lightsabers deactivate loudly, cutting you off, and he returns them to either side of his belt before turning away and continuing on the path. “Anyone else want to stop and play with the animals?”

No one answers, but you feel your fists clench as if of their own accord.

This is going to be a long night.

Umbara’s plant life is fascinating. Observing the bioluminescent life forms is the only thing that serves a proper distraction from both the grumbling clone troopers and the pit of apprehension in your stomach. You’d been walking for twelve hours, give or take, and every time you’d tried to suggest a break to Krell, he’d snapped at you.

This can’t be allowed, you think bitterly, skipping over a glowing pink tree root, boots skidding on the dark purple ground.

You chew on your bottom lip and glance at the clones behind you. They are understandably worn out, and even with the extensive survival training Master Esya drilled into you as a Padawan, you were starting to get tired, too.

“Sir,” says a voice from behind you, and you jump, expecting in your exhaustion to see Krell—but it’s just Rex.

“We’ve been keeping this pace for almost half a rotation,” Rex points out, sounding vaguely nervous. “The men are... starting to tire. General Krell is...” he tilts his head, expressionless visor unreadable. “You know.”

You muster a smile, hoping you look at least a little like Master Enya, and nod.

“I know, Captain,” you say, and he shifts slightly, as though his blue-painted pauldron is uncomfortable. You can’t blame him. Running a hand over your ponytail, you blow out a breath and frown at the puff of air that appears in front of you. “Let me talk to him. Tell the men to start searching for a good spot to camp for a few hours.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Rex giving an affirmative thumbs up to the troopers behind him, but by then you’re already approaching Krell, clasping your hands tightly behind your back.

“Master Krell,” you start, and Krell turns his head just a bit. “I’ve told the men to scout for a place to rest. I reviewed the mission plan on the way here, and we can spare three hours without being delayed, possibly more—”

“The men don’t need rest,” Krell interrupts, and you feel your cheeks flush with anger. “They need resolve to complete the task at hand.”

“Apologies, Master,” you say, squaring your shoulders as frustration heats your neck and face. You breathe deeply. There is no emotion, only peace. “But I don’t think the men will be on their best game when we reach the capital if they don’t take some time to gather themselves.”

“That they need to ‘gather themselves’ is a sign of weakness,” Krell cuts in, stopping and turning to face you with a sneer. “That is not what these clones were bred for.”

Not far away, many of the soldiers bristle at Krell’s choice of words, but you keep your focus on the yellow eyes staring you down for the second time that night.

“They weren’t bred to be mindless droids, either,” you argue, crossing your arms over your chest and making sure to keep your voice even. “And in case you’ve forgotten, even battle droids need to recharge. If we march on the Capital without any sort of break first, I promise you, this mission will not go as planned. Exhausted and underfed soldiers are a guaranteed disadvantage.”

Krell studies you, a sneer forming on his lips. “I see you take after your Master’s incessant need to get the last word on anyone she disagrees with.”

You scowl. “I beg your pardon, but Master Venn is—”

He ignores you, cutting past where you stand and walking away. “Do what you wish, Neridian,” he dismisses, then walks away to stand by a glowing tree.

A sigh escapes your lips, and you close your eyes. It’s becoming harder and harder not to snap at him—but you know what the Order’s teachings require of you. Emotion, yet peace.

You grimace as Krell retreats to the back of the line, then turn back to the troopers nearby and give Rex a nod. The captain returns it in what you hope is a grateful manner, then calls for the men to make camp at the top of the ridge your group has been climbing.

By the time you gather all the troopers together, the battalion has put together a hasty campsite, with half the troopers having fallen into a fitful sleep and the other half keeping watch while eating as many rations as the limit allows. You frown and approach the trooper you heard Rex talking to earlier, his Force signature familiar from when you were eavesdropping. His helmet is now sitting in his lap, being meticulously cleaned with what little supplies the battalion has on hand.

You study the soldier. He has a tattoo on his right temple, and upon studying it, you realize it’s the same ARC trooper who’d been glaring at Krell when you stepped off the gunship. You wonder what significance the number five has to him.

Taking another step forward, you clear your throat. “Trooper,” you begin, and the soldier looks up curiously before abruptly shooting to his feet and snapping off a salute. You wave a nonchalant hand. “No need for that. I only wanted to ask a favor—can you gather troopers to stand watch? Six at a time, tops, and make sure they take turns so everyone can rest. That includes you.”

“You got it, sir,” says the trooper, and you smile.

“Sorry, I don’t believe I caught your name...” you say, then, and the trooper blinks.

“Oh, uh—it’s Fives, sir.”

“I see,” you reply, gaze flickering to his tattoo and back again. “Thank you, Fives.”

You retreat to your own tent soon after, shrugging off your vambraces and arranging them neatly next to your bedroll. This wouldn’t be the shortest sleep cycle you’d had, what with the nature of your apprenticeship at the temple—but not the longest, either.

From what you can hear inside your tent, the camp is silent. Slowly, you poke your head through the canvas flaps to find exactly six men—as you’d requested—sitting in the center of camp. Farther away, at the outskirts of the circle of tents, sits Master Krell’s hulking form. In spite of yourself, you frown.

“General?” asks a sudden voice above you; letting out an involuntary yelp, you scramble backwards before stopping at the sight of Rex standing near the entrance to your tent.

Embarrassed, you stand up, brushing off your cream-coloured robes. “Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “I could swear I’m not usually so jumpy, I don’t know what—” you look up and stop short.

Rex has removed his helmet.

His blond hair isn’t a surprise this time around, but close up, you’re struck by how tired he looks. There are smile lines at the corners of his eyes, but his face is cast in exhausted shadows.

You wonder if a full night’s sleep is something he’s ever had, or if the training regiments on Kamino prepared him and his brothers for this kind of halfhearted sleep cycle. Curiously, you study him.

Rex’s eyes are golden-brown in the dying light of this shadowy planet. They’re the same shade as all the troopers in the immediate vicinity. And yet, as you stare into them, something in you stirs as your Force signature brushes against his—something you know you’re not supposed to feel.

“Er, General,” Rex repeats, jolting you from your faraway thoughts. “I just wanted to let you know—the scouts are detecting a clear journey from here on out. We have approximately four hours to kick back, as predicted.”

Hurriedly, you turn away and clear your throat awkwardly. “Very good, Captain,” you mumble. “Thank you. You’re—erm, free to go and rest.”

For a moment, Rex looks surprised, but he composes himself seconds later. “Thank you, General,” he says. “But I—”

“Not up for debate,” you interrupt, holding your hand up. Bemused, Rex blinks, so you shoot him a reassuring smile. “You said it yourself: the soldiers need rest. You’re a soldier, yes?”

Rex opens his mouth, probably to say something about him being a Captain, but you lower your hand to rest it on his shoulder. The kind gesture seems to quell him, so you continue. “Don’t exclude yourself in that. Rest well, Captain.”

When you turn and reenter your tent, you don’t catch the way Rex’s eyes linger on the closed flap for far longer than they should, heat prickling up his neck as the remnant of your touch burns itself through his pauldron.

“You too… General.”

series masterlist | next chapter >

taglist: @pinkiemme @the-lady-of-stars @anaklnky @sweetsunflowerkisses @sarasxe @buckethead-over-heels @frietiemeloen @leotatombs @revengeisaconfesionofpain @hoeneyhoeney @idoubleswearimawriter @inkstainedhandswithrings @rollyjogerjones @mandosboobiez @my-own-oracle @mikaslobby @neekid @bloody-valkyrie @spacegiirl @itspauvr @dindadjarin @xlovingheartsx @seriowan @lucyysthings @dont-trust-humanity @danger-xylophones @bonesaldente @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @gaylucanis @obaewankenobis @kriffclone @living-that-best-life @snojii @ur-trash-brock @illiniana @generaldumbbitch @raekixsworld @blueberry-9-pancakes @aquaamethyst96 @stormweather99 @arctrooper69

#captain rex x reader #star wars #captain rex #captain rex x reader fluff #captain rex x you #captain rex x jedi!reader #jedi reader #reader insert #x reader #sw fanfic #sw fic #captain rex fanfiction #umbara arc #darkness on umbara #star wars: the clone wars #star wars the clone wars #fives #tcw #clone wars #rex x reader #rex x you #tcw rex #vzs friendly fire

[genericpuff]

Not related to lore Olympus but this discussion seems a bit uhh strange. Some of the comments are calling Mattie bites a right woman hater. If you don't believe me,check this out.

https://www.reddit.com/r/webtoons/s/4zaDi6fWos

god okay I feel like I'm opening Pandora's Box with this shit but I have lots to say about it so... yeah fuck it, let's do this, I'm brave-

So I can absolutely agree with OP's sentiment that BlackLightJack's content has become uh... more aggressive and mean-spirited , and don't get me wrong, that was always sort of his vibe, but now it feels like he's straight up just weaponizing his fanbase and like... y'all know how curt I get about LO here, I can be a real asshole about it, even I think what BLJ is doing feels really shitty, immature, and frankly just uninformed? Because most of his videos are just him pout-screaming profanities into the microphone, like I know this is gonna sound nitpicky and petty but I can literally hear it in his voice that he's enunciating his words the same way an 8 year old would so that spit would land on the person they're yelling at ("STOOOOOOOOO-PPP-UHHHHH") and lately his content just feels like what it used to feel like being in CoD lobbies back in the day. Him having the name 'webtoon killer' just gives me such a sour taste in my mouth. Like... this feels like some kind of Batman villain in the making LMAO

But maybe no one wants to hear that opinion from someone like me who's literally called themselves the "far superior off brand" as a gag LMAO and that's fine honestly if you think I'm full of shit, this is also just my opinion!

But like... and I know I'm being an asshole going 'b-but-!' but... BLJ is also building an entire ass monetized platform off his vibe and using that platform to specifically go after Canvas series and creators. And let me tell you, while many would argue "well it's just the webtoons that are grossly negligent / breaking Webtoons' ToS / etc.", his fanbase is also constantly just sending him new comics to read and trash on and I feel like it's only a matter of time before he goes after a completely innocent creator whose only crime was being not great at webcomics which... shouldn't be viewed as a default crime punishable by pitchforks. That sorta already happened with the Fulcagay situation, I don't know Fulcagay and he almost definitely wouldn't know me, but he's a fellow Canvas creator who I've run into and shared a space with, and BLJ's original comments about him just felt incredibly off-base and volatile without giving even a shred of benefit of the doubt. I get the sense BLJ doesn't know about Hanlon's razor ("Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity") because EVERY video he does about every comic and creator he's addressing assumes maliciousness always.

This is the same shit we got with Youtube creators like Leafy who became infamous for just taking the piss out of everyone until they took it too far. Like, take it from me, it can be VERY easy to get so entrenched in being an asshole and taking the piss out of everything that completely innocent people get hit with splash damage, and if you're not willing to take responsibility for that, then you're gonna look like a bigger dick than the people you were aiming for. This pee analogy working for y'all? 😆

As for what Matty Bites has to do with that, I don't really get it? Like maybe I'm just misinformed here, maybe I haven't watched enough of her stuff, but she's never given me anywhere near the amount of red flags I get off listening to even one episode of BLJ. Matty feels like someone who actually reads and analyzes and researches the stuff she's criticizing in a way that's relatively harmless with her own flair sprinkled in (and her humor is hilarious btw, her opening skits are great LOL); BLJ meanwhile feels like he's constantly one opinion away from starting a #victimofcancelculture campaign because he's just trying to be as edgy and angry as possible LMAO (and ironically they're both often criticizing the same thing, but it goes to show how delivery makes a hell of a difference when it comes to dishing out criticism)

All that said, if there is something with Matty Bites that I'm missing here, I'm fully open to being informed because I haven't watched many of her videos and there could just as well be something that I've missed. But I don't think she's anywhere near as hostile as BLJ tends to be, I don't think Matty Bites' comedic video editing and sassy commentary has ever resulted in creators actually being attacked and bullied like BLJ's have.

Overall I think anyone who builds a platform or audience off criticizing content (and this includes me!) needs to practice responsibility and accountability in what they put out and what they choose to focus on and criticize. It can be really easy to accidentally use "criticism" as a get-out-of-jail-free card to just be a bully. It can be really easy to wind up leaving your criticism so unrefined and surface level without any deeper reflection that you never actually open your mind to anything and you just end up echoing out hate speech without even intending to. And it can be really, really easy to ruin your own palate from willingly consuming nothing but shit all day.

Just to quote some very famous words from a fictional character that absolutely apply here:

#ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything #webtoon critical

[eldritchaspect]

A new(ish) look for a freshly reinstated memory.

Instagram || TikTok || Youtube (Coming Soon) For commission info, please dm me anywhere My ORIGINAL artwork. Please do not steal, repost, or omit credit.

#art #artist of tumblr #dnd art #dungeon and dragons #dungeons and dragons character #ilustration #oc artwork #original characters #small artist #campaign: strange lands #oc: nova #dnd5e #dnd #dnd 5e #dnd campaign #dnd character #dnd oc #dnd ocs #dnd stuff #dungeons and dragons

[piratefishmama]

I Wish | Part 5

It felt like he was underwater.

Everything moved by so quickly, the sounds of an applauding audience, the greeting of their host, the friendly back and forth his friends engaged in. His friends attempted to pull him into and failed because he’d checked out the moment his backside hit the cushion, it all sounded so muted, all muddled together.

He sat on the couch, nobody questioned it, although Jeff gave him a curious once over before he took the lone chair closest to the host, allowing Eddie to sit between Dougie and Gareth, safe, secure, protected by the scrappy little one and the big protective one.

It wouldn’t have been too far from the truth to assume him fragile enough to need protection.

The Host was lovely, just as Steve had predicted, just as he'd promised. The host held up a little foam board prop with an image of what Eddie assumed to be an album cover printed onto it, asked questions that Jeff answered.

If anyone thought Eddie's awkward quietness was strange, nobody mentioned it.

Even the host, whose job it was to engage with them all seemed to realise that Eddie wasn’t quite right in the moment, so he naturally glossed over him, let him be to give the others in the band the limelight.

They couldn’t pin point when it started, and so there was no point in trying to bring him out of it there and then and risk a blow up that could have the appearance cancelled.

It was only after the laughter inducing back and forth regarding a broken arm Gareth sustained on their last tour thanks to an unfortunately aimed stage dive, well into their interview now, that the spotlight finally landed on Eddie.

“So, Eddie!” Eddie jerked to attention, eyes snapping to the host as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar “A little birdy told me that you and the rest of corroded coffin, are all seasoned Dungeons and Dragons players, is that right?” Eddie’s eyes widened a fraction further, as the audience cheered, forcing Eddie’s gaze away from the host to the audience in surprise.

It was… something to be excited about, now? Their nerdy little game, that’d seen them ostracised society, caused panic among the god fearing crowds, and had suburban mothers clutching their pearls overdramatically, was something to be excited about?

The muddied sound seemed to clear just a little. He knew this. He knew DnD. Even if they hadn’t played for a while, even if they had played recently and he just didn’t know, he could spin something with that!

What many in the audience would have called Eddie’s signature toothy grin lit up his face, and for the first time during that interview, he seemed to come alive. “Hell yeah we are, Jimmy! Although many a lost little sheep have come and gone from those hallowed halls of my legendary domain, we’ve been playing since middle school! Garebear not so much, he came to us in high school, guided by my good man Jeffinner over there with a character that so utterly not him that he died way too fast in the game to have been any note.” Jeff rolled his eyes at the nickname, but seemed happy that Eddie was finally talking.

“That was how we became friends really!” Gareth chimed in “Me an Eddie anyway, he thoroughly wiped the floor with us on my first campaign so I thought that was it, they were kickin me out, but NOPE he cornered me and helped me out rolling another character in one of the empty labs, made something way more myself, it was… really cool of him. It was my first year of high school, first attempt at making friends, I was terrified an he just… he’s always been really good at that, bringing people in, making them feel accepted.” An if Eddie felt himself getting just a little choked up at how fond Gareth spoke of him, well… that was between he himself and him.

“Well GOOD, because few of my friends an I, have been playing a campaign—” the audience collectively oooh’d as the cameras opposite them swung around to face a now lit up set of what could only be a campaign mid-way through. The map was down, the DM screen was set up, the mini’s were placed, dice were available, there were even character sheets and binders full of information on them resting neatly at each station along with drinks and snacks. It looked like a party had just got up and left mid-campaign. “—An we’re kinda new to it! But I’ve seen on your Instagram that your narrations are something of legend… so I think, we would all just love it if you’d DM a little for us.” Interest piqued, Eddie looked back to the host. “I simply do not have the gravitas to pull this off the way it ought to be done.”

He didn’t know what Instagram was, but he sure as shit knew how to DM something.

“Race you” was Eddie’s only comment, before he was up and scrambling over like a kid who’d just been greeted by a mountain of presents under a Christmas tree, definitely not the 50-something year old ex-addict he now was, earning laughter from the audience that felt real instead of prompted.

For the first time since waking up in that older, weathered body, Eddie felt like maybe not everything had to be bad about that possible future. At the very least he still had DnD.

He made it to the table first, granted he was the only one racing, but he set himself up at the head of the table behind the DM screen and immediately got to work while his bandmates found their own seats for the cameras and their audience. He skimmed through the pages in front of him, the scene their host had set up, the campaign they were working on, or at least what little notes they had on it as it clearly wasn’t a full campaign.

Just a set piece, an activity to fill the time, something to do, but Eddie could work with it.

“Oh hell yeah…” Eddie crooned to himself as he looked over the notes, it wasn’t much, but it was more than enough, he had a town name, he had a list of NPC’s both living and deceased, he had notes on his bandmates new characters, he even had a little script to make his own for the scene itself, but best of all… he had the details of the enemy. Something he hadn’t heard of before, something that didn’t exist yet in his own time, something that definitely didn’t belong in a little snippet scene like that one. It looked to belong in something long, but… soaking in the details of it… he was gonna fuck his friends up when he got home.

“That doesn’t sound good for us” Gareth sighed with a gentle shake of his head, already counting down the minutes before his poor little gnome would meet his inevitable end. Poor thing only had a few hit points left, which was curious considering their mini’s appeared to be situated at the gates of of a simple town by the sea. No dungeon to be seen.

“Tell me about it” Dougie groaned, head in his hands

“Alright alright, are we ready boys?” Their host seated himself on the left of Eddie, his own sheaf of papers in front of him, looking exactly as Eddie had done initially, like a kid at Christmas.

Eddie looked up over his screen, a glint of mischief in his eyes “dim the lights please! Spotlight on me, I require atmosphere.” The lights dimmed save for one lone warm white spotlight on him, the star of mayhem to come.

“Was nice knowin you, gents” Jeff sighed, already accepting the fate of his poisoned ranger. This poor party were in dire straits despite there being no clear villain, or any potential followers of it to be seen on the board.

“The Haunting bell of the town square clocktower rang thrice, echoing through the misty din of Rainwund Harbour’s early morning air” Eddie lifted the mic on his jacket closer to his lips and with the back of his throat, made a sound not dissimilar to the chime of a clocktower bell, once, twice, a third time, and then silence “You walk the deserted lamp lit cobblestone streets, your once sure footed steps wearied, your bodies strangely tired, worn, exhausted, trudging your way through eerie silence until you come upon your destination, The Seabird Inn…” He smiled with a devilish glee, the point of his canine tooth brushing his bottom lip, cheek dimpling with the pull of his smile if any of them felt comfort before he smiled, it was gone now. “Roll for Perception.”

#PirateWrites #IWishFiclet #Steddie #No Upside Down AU #Genie!Steve #PLS keep in mind i have NEVER played DnD lmao #i'm going off of online resources and guess work #i'm sure y'all will know exactly what kind of monster is lurking in that snippet

[christiansorrell]

Play-By-Blog #0: Cloud Empress

My first Play-By-Blog (of Luke Gearing's The Isle) just recently wrapped up, and now, we are getting the next one going with Cloud Empress: Land of Cicadas! If you missed our run through The Isle, you can find all of the entries here.

Recently, I ran a poll to see what folks were interested in for this second Play-By-Blog and the voting was an exact tie between Cloud Empress and Mausritter, but since I'm the one doing all the writing, I was the tiebreaker and chose Cloud Empress and its hexcrawl, Land of Cicadas, as a new twist on the Play-By-Blog format and because the game has a set of solo rules in which you create and play as an entire party, not just a single character.

If you aren't familiar with Cloud Empress, here's a quick description straight from the game's product page:

Cloud Empress is an expansive, Nausicaa-inspired fantasy campaign setting for the Mothership Sci-Fi Horror RPG. Cloud Empress places you in a world ruled by the patterns of giant magical cicadas. Cloud Empress creates a new Earth, thousands of years in the future inspired by Hayao Miyazaki’s Nausicaa in the Valley of the Wind, Frank Herbert’s Dune, and Hiromu Arakawa’s Full Metal Alchemist.

The full rulebook for the game is FREE over at DriveThruRPG.

Land of the Cicadas takes this world and opens it up across a large hexmap, allowing us to explore the Lowland Wastes (Cloud Empress's take on a farflung future American Midwest) during the summer of the Century Brood and 29th Expedition (an ongoing military incursion from the Cloudling cities).

If you missed the last Play-By-Blog, here's an idea of how it works:

I write up the situation, NPCs, and more, just like a DM/GM.

You vote in the poll to help decide the party's next course of action.

I roll the dice, resolve actions, and write them up in the next entry.

So on and so forth for the rest of the adventure!

With all that said, let's get into Party Creation, vote on our first decisions, and get this whole thing started! Thanks for coming along for the ride.

We'll be generating 3 characters for our starting party. For the sake of our first poll and the number of base Jobs available in Cloud Empress, I'll take the top 3 most popular results and roll up a character for each (unless the All Random option wins the entire poll, in which case all characters will then be randomly rolled). So if Sellsword gets 8 votes, Lordling gets 4, Magician gets 3, and Courier gets 2, I'll roll up a Sellsword, a Lordling, and a Magician.

For variety's sake, we won't double up on Jobs (unless All Random is chosen, in which case it would be possible to get doubles of a Job within the party).

In Cloud Empress, there are 4 different Jobs available to characters:

Sellswords can handle themselves in a fight, but long to find a home. The long lost fighters and gritty mercs of the Wastes.

Lordlings are groomed to lead and strike fear into those around them. Strange and privileged, they stand out among the Wastes.

Magicians sacrifice their bodies to cast dangerous spells. Esoteric but powerful. There are no old Magicians.

Couriers are scrappy travelers who’ve witnessed the best and worst of the world. The salt of the chalk-covered Earth.

After we have our characters, we'll get our starting location and our initial job - the focus of our travels across the Land of Cicadas - from the Solo Procedure tables. Then, we'll be off!

#meatcastle pbb #ttrpg #indie ttrpg #ttrpgs #rpg #fantasy #science fantasy #science fiction #worlds by watt #cloud empress #play by blog #play by post #land of cicadas #polls #choose your own adventure

[jointhepartypod]

Welcome to the World of Verda Stello! 🌱 🏴☠️

Campaign 3 of Join the Party is set in the world of Verda Stello, the great green ringed world. This fantastical land is filled with approximately human-sized plant and bug people (give or take some 2 foot tall fruits and giant vines) called the Greenfolk. The main source of life for Verda Stello is the Cascade, a massive waterfall that pours over the whole inner ring of the world.

Over time, the Cascade dried up, leaving all the Greenfolk scrambling for water. But the waterfall revealed the entire center of Verda Stello was a great salt sea, dotted with countless unknown islands, and a prophecy about an Infinite Lake that can save the world and a Salmon that grants your deepest desire.

This kicked off the Tide, a pirate era that has raged for 50 years. People are still searching for the lake and the salmon, and the Tide shows no sign of stopping now.

Find out more about Verda Stello and Campaign 3 here!

The Hothouse

Country’s Motto: Why Suffer When We Can Strive

Known for their ingenuity and extensive construction, the Hothouse is the technological hub of Verda Stello. Hothousers believe that finding the best way to do something is its own greatest reward (except for letting everyone know that you did it with a plaque or statue or signature). You might recognize Hothouse architecture with the incorporations of big windows or a solarium, amplifying the sun to do extra work for you. The ruler of the Hothouse is The Builder, someone who is recognized as the best and the smartest through a series of public and brutal competitions of mind and might.

The official Hothouse Flag was designed by the first Builder, Appleton the Original. The triangle represents the hothouse, as you might have guessed, but the doubled triangle is a symbol of so many values that Hothousers hold dear.  Appleton was known for his patience and care when erecting and planning the major monuments of the Hothouse capital, so scholars and politicians say the doubled triangle meant, “measure twice, cut once.” But it can be interpreted as broadly as “quality over quantity” or “do it right the first time,” as double-paneling the triangle is stronger than many triangles in a line. What is most intriguing is the intersection of the symbolic hothouse and the sun itself, putting them in concert, or at least as two parts of the whole. The construct is not subservient to the sun. In fact, they are relatively the same, as a sibling or partner encouraging the other to be better than they could have been alone.

Open Fields

Country’s Motto: Reap What Is Sown

The people of Open Fields feel the deep connection between themselves and the ground, giving themselves strong perseverance and belief. This allows them to stare at the strangeness of existence in the face, such as how they can harvest produce and greens for sustenance even if it looks exactly like them. Open Field families show this devotion by naming themselves after virtues (in a Puritan sort of way) and both fervently praying and farming.

Unfortunately, there is no definitive account of how the Open Fields’ flag came to be. Many leaders have invoked various legends and parables, usually involving a poor potato farmer, resistance of temptation, and then divine inspiration. One version of the story says the pattern appeared in a bowl of mashed potatoes, when the butter and the mash was swirled together in the bowl. Another version supposes the farmer tried to harvest one of his crop but could not, and only through the collective strength of the entire farmer’s family and friends did they put the largest tuber ever recorded, with the design outlined in the eyes of the potato. The only record of the creation and adoption of the current design comes from the journal of a monk known as Saying-Thank-You-Meaningfully-For-an-Unexpected-Gift-No-Matter-What-It-Is. It seems that Saying’s closest friend at the monastery made woodcuts as a hobby, and created the sun-on-top, shovel-on-bottom image. That night, Saying wrote in their journal, “Saw an interesting image today. Must be the divine.” The colors–especially the deep red, unique in the flags of Verda Stello–and how it became the symbol of the entire country, remains unknown.

Kingdom of the Crags

Country’s Motto: We Cover All

The Crags is the most Game of Thrones out of all of the countries. They find strength in dealing with adversity and sacrificing comfort for something greater. They explore their land, find the great thing that it does, and work with it (whether obsidian from lava or a fruit that gives you the strength of 10 in a mountain or a glowing mushroom in a crevasse). Over time, many families have formed into houses and territories, which has then led to a revolving door of kings and queens as the houses vie for power. As the Craggish saying goes, “Everyone has their purpose, and the royals are dying.”

The modern version of the Crags flag (say that five times fast) was established over six hundred years ago, at the signing of the Brevi Pax. Short for “brevi pax pugnantibus,” or “short peace between combatants” in middle Folkish, it was supposed to be a document that finally codified the system of governance in the Crags and illustrated all rights for Craggish citizens regardless of ruler. At the time of its signing, it was just Pax Pugnantibus, but the Brevi was added after Queen Opaline V was slain by her three sisters only ten days after the document was signed.

Although the peace did not remain, the rights of citizens stayed, as well as a specific agreed-upon design for the Craggish flag, The purple emphasizes the strength of the ruling families, while the white V and the black background stands in for the hard landscape where the people make their homes. There’s an interesting optical trick too; the sprout is in the dead center, but the crag makes it seem lower; what appears worse to others is exactly where the Crags knows is best.

Many of the sigils of the houses in the Crags use inversions or additions of this flag to bolster their claims for royal legitimacy, but they do not risk changing too much as would alienate themselves from the existence of the state. They are not above the kingdom and the Rocky Seat, as there would be nothing to rule.

Overstalk

Country’s Motto: Carry Your Roots

The future lives in Overstalk, but it might linger as more of a dream than actually getting it done. Overstalk is the home of the philosophers, a quixotic solarpunkish country. This led to a vibrant merchant culture, so you buy what you need since we’re philosophizing over here. The beating heart of Overstalk is the Stacked City of Skyreach (think the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, but a whole city), where radical but sometimes dangerous ideas flourish and fester.

The historians of Overstalk delight in explaining the symbology of their flag to others, as the metaphor of each color and symbol were, if you will pardon the pun, dyed right into it when the Fourth Congress of the Representatives commissioned local textile artist Cablin Pogostemon to create it. On the left side, the yellow represents the warmth and energy of the sun (but modern philosophers would argue that the top band is ascribed to the mercantile success of the region). The cream is the color of a yellowing page of a book, representing study, while the gray is the smoke of incense, representing spiritualism. As the cream and the gray interest each other and the yellow, you cannot forget the mind for the spirit or vice versa, and they are both integral to day-to-day living (or for modern interpretation, business dealings). The right side is the vertical expansion of Overstalk, as high as the stars themselves. 

This is the only flag in Verda Stello to use green, which some suppose signifies Overstalk’s high view of themselves as compared to the other countries.

Maybe Cablin knew this when they designed the flag, as it came with explicit instructions to never be hung up-and-down, with the stars at the top. It is considered a deep political insult to hang the flag in this way… but it has been accidentally turned during some particularly prickly international visits.

#ttrpg #actual play #actual play podcast #D&D #Dungeons and Dragons #DND #dnd homebrew #campaign 3 #hothouse #overstalk #the crags #open fields

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

10 - The Sanctity of Children

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (Slow Burn), Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 13.1k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, slow burn, pregnancy, discussions of pregnancy and child birth, funeral and character death, child death and child illness, allusions to past emotional child abuse, panic attacks, mentions of warfare, smut, p in v, execution

Notes: Things are heating up in this war campaign so strap in. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here.

The memory you had of turning fourteen years old was full of such an odd series of events that you hadn’t understood for a long time. Being in King’s Landing at that time was getting to be tiresome, it had been a year and a half since you had been in Winterfell, and in that time you found yourself in some hot water. Or at least, hot water for a girl like yourself who never opened up to a soul. You had been writing boundless letters to Jon and Robb both but it was reading one from the former that had punched you in the gut. 

It didn’t say anything egregious other then a line near the end telling you he missed you. At fourteen you read that way too many times as a lightness in your heart settled in. Your father at one point had come into your room to ask what you were still doing up and you came way too close to him finding what you were reading, shoving it under your covers before he could see it. Insisting that you were just restless and couldn’t sleep yet before pulling it back out when he shut the door. 

Smirking to yourself, you would wonder if he would be impressed with how much you had improved with a sword. You had also wondered if the ward in their father’s care would make fun of you or not though. The Greyjoy’s small rebellion lasted the better part of two months but it had taken your father away from you and into the sea to destroy the Iron Fleet, leaving Lord Stark and King Robert to sail onto the Iron Islands and end things swiftly. Part of the surrender deal was Balon Greyjoy’s last living son was to leave with Lord Stark and serve as a ward. 

Robb had mentioned he had an attitude but that he couldn’t really blame him, instead he had sympathized with struggling to fit in. That was a year and a half ago however, and you wondered between the now three of them if whatever skills you had acquired would look like a joke to where they were now. Your cousin Joffery, the eldest child of the King, had told you it was stupid for girls to play with swords and that no one would ever want to be with an ugly girl who would fight too. 

You had wrote to Jon all about the fight you got into with him for that one, how you had been lectured heavily by your father despite the fact that the most hurt he got was being knocked into the mud after a bit of a scuffle. Jon had gotten you harder far more times just training you in the basics. You had hoped he wouldn’t have changed his mind, wouldn’t think you were stupid like your cousin did. You hoped with a childish intent that he may have thought about you like you were him.  

But he was already sixteen and no doubt had found far more girls his age, and far prettier ones at that to fawn all over him. You hadn’t even bloomed yet, according to your handmaidens no boys his age wanted to be with a silly girl who wasn’t even a woman yet. It was a strange feeling, and you had no one to talk to about it, you wished your baby sister had been born years earlier so she could at least read and write to you about it.

But you hadn’t gotten to fester in such a new, and first time crush for long. It was the middle of the year when your father told you. He said that at your age, you should expect to have your womanly blooding come to you soon and it was important you do not share that with people. He was strict when he sat you down in his office, telling you without room for question, “Do not come to anyone except for me. Not your uncles, not the guards, not your handmaidens. You tell me and keep it to yourself otherwise.” 

He hadn’t said why, nothing about when your mother explained the process to you made it sound like a dirty secret. She said all women go through it, why was it to be kept hush you didn’t know, but you knew you were to listen. He wasn’t a man with much will to bend the rules, your father. So the day you woke up having bled through the night, you intended to keep that rule. 

Leaping out of bed at the shock before you remembered what it was, you wrapped a thin overcoat around you to cover the bleeding nightshift, bending under your bed to grab a blanket you knew was kept there to hide the sheets before anyone came in. Only when you unravelled the blanket, one of the older handmaidens had walked in. “Oh gods be good, congratulations child.” 

You narrowed your eyes but she walked right past you and stripped the sheets from the bed as you stood in frustrated protest. Glancing up to you she looked at your attire, “Get dressed child, you cannot visit the Queen like that.” 

Your eyebrows raised and face twisted in confusion, “Visit- why?” 

There was barley a chance to speak before she was shoving you to the other side of the room to get dressed. You had been the only girl the Queen could try to dote on for a while, previous she hadn’t had Myrcella yet and even now she was only two years old. Trying very hard to whip you into shape as a proper highborn lady of the court and always finding ways to make it so.

Unbeknownst to you, she had informed your handmaidens that when you bled for the first time, they were to send you to her. Using the guise of your mother not being here, so she would be the only to steer you into womanhood. 

As you walked into her quarters, you could see little Myrcella on the bed. Her blonde hair grew long and quick as her mothers, done up at that moment into pretty ringlets on the side of her head as she played with an array of toys spayed out in front of her. The Queen herself looking far more immaculate then you ever could hope to be, but there was a kindness on her face that at the time, you didn’t have quite the right level of skill to sniff out if there was a degree of falsity in it. 

Strangely enough, in those days, the kindness was genuine. Just not the agenda that came after. 

Sitting you down at the chair across from her writing desk, she offered you some water. “The first can always be a bit difficult, if there’s a lot sometimes you may even feel a bit woozy.”

You shrugged a shoulder as you glanced between your glass and the Queen, “It wasn’t that. Just more...” as you trailed off she tilted her head in question before you finished. “I didn’t think it would be painful.” 

The Queen was sympathetic, but the smile on her face was one of much greater knowledge. “Wait until you birth a child.” You could recall when your mother gave birth to Shireen, the only sounds heard in the entire castle were her yells and cries and yet when it was over she castle was still so quiet all could be heard was Shireen after. 

Coming up to her bedside, she ran her hand over Myrcella’s hair with a smile of love that was rare. “She was a little easier, but Joffery was a whole new kind of pain.” Your brows narrowed as she so easily fussed with nothing in particular on her daughter who let it happen. “I laboured a day and a half just bringing him into the world, sometimes I screamed so loud I thought Robert would hear me even in the  Kingswood.” 

Taken back, you looked at her in question. “He was hunting?” 

That fondness on her lips faded away into something less comforting, making her way over to you at the desk and sitting in the seat next to you. “Robert prefers to leave the birthing to me, and he takes his men out to hunt and kill and only returns when the labouring is all over. Like a trade of commoners, he gifts me pelts and trophies, and he in return is gifted a baby.” You felt an odd discomfort in your stomach, you would never describe your own parents as even remotely in love but not once did your father flee while Shireen was being born. “Not that I wanted him there, I had an army of midwives, Grand Maester Pycelle, and I had my brother. The midwives tired to tell him he couldn’t be in the birthing room, and he just smiled. Asking which one of them proposed to keep him out.” 

A fondness in her eye trailed off as she looked at you, a more cold and stoic expression that was becoming more common on you here then the days you first arrived. “Your husband will show you no such devotion.” 

Looking up at her, there was an innocent heartbreak in your eye that while she did not speak of it, she understood the life in the making. Cersei was a woman who loved her children with the only goodness in her heart that she had, and yet she knew you rarely got anything from your own parents. Not having met your mother but she could only imagine the kind of woman that marries Stannis Baratheon isn’t as much warmer. 

You said nothing, biting down on your tongue as you looked away. “You will not be a Queen, my dove, but you are still a highborn lady and that means we are raised to have a very specific place and purpose in the world. Your red flower means that you have become of age that you can take up that mantle, marry a high lord and your new duty is to have his children for however long he has use of you.” 

Your father didn’t even live on the same Island as his wife now, and she hadn’t been healthy enough to give him a living son in the years between your birth and now that Shireen was born. Was that all marriage was to them? Was that all it would be to the King and Queen once the woman in front of you stopped being able to have his children? 

“You will marry a high lord, find yourself dragged to a new home you know nothing of and have his children because that is what ladies like us are to do. You don’t have to like it, but that is why they need us.” 

Finding your voice, you spoke up with indignation. “Pardon me your grace, but you make it sound like it’s foolish to even consider trying to find a husband that would make me happy.” 

A flash of something in her eyes passed once more. Leaning forward to brush a wild strand of hair from the front of your face. Impossible to recall now, but still a young girl, there had been a time when the Queen still had a place in her heart for you. Her tone was quiet, as if to hide form her daughter who couldn’t possibly understand her at that age. “I know you’re smart enough to see me and Robert for what things are. I tried to love him, and for a while I think I even did. I wanted it to work so badly in the early years, but it never came to be. We never shared a moment, an inkling or even any real softness that I dreamed of.” Your name came softly from her lips, “Women like us do not get to have such things.” 

Sitting there, your hands rung together in your lap as your jaw clenched. An unfairly charming smile and long black curls that flashed through your recently blooming mind. Were you just stupid children that would never last? Would you see him again one day and he’s turned as cold and uncaring as the Baratheon men you were raised around were? Why did that hurt so badly? 

“The more people we love, the weaker we are. We’ll do things for them we know we shouldn’t, play the fool to make them laugh, lie to keep them safe.” You tried hard to not think about how you lied to your father about where you got all those cuts and bruises, worrying that he would be mad if you told him the truth. 

That Jon had started to teach you because you both just wanted to do it, wanted to spend time together. He wanted to teach you, and you wanted to learn but perhaps your father wouldn’t be as forgiving to such actions as Ned Stark was when he finally caught you. So you lied, wanting to keep him safe. 

“You will be wed off, have your husbands children, but you should love no more then them. We have no choice but to love our children and that way the men in your life will never be able to hurt you. Not in here.” Her hand gently resting over your heart, like she had already seen a future for you that you were not privvy too. 

It was that night that your father called you into his office, telling you, “Pack your things now, come dawn I’m putting you on the first ship to White Harbour, and from there you’re to stay with Lord Stark in Winterfell.” 

You stammered, the idea wasn’t horrid but it was out of nowhere with no explanation. “How long am I to stay?” 

“Indefinitely. I’ve send a raven to Lord Stark and he’s been informed that you are to remain in his care until further notice.” 

Further notice, was two years at it turned out. Two years of spending time with the Starks, the new younger growing litter of Stark children, and finding yourself increasingly flustered by how much more mature that dark and curly haired boy had grown, filled out, and had a much deeper rasp of a voice then when you saw him before. 

It was just over half a year before you returned to Kings Landing when he kissed you. He was taller, and much more mature by that point at eighteen, and your nearing sixteenth name day heart wasn’t sure it understood the tension between you until that night. 

A game of hunting and hiding in the woods with all four of the eldest of you, it was late into the night and rain had been pouring down when he snuck up and dragged your back into his chest. Still playing the same and ignoring the strange beating in your heart you tried dashing off still, but Jon was strong and tossed your back against a tree. 

You had no idea what he was doing until Jon had already begun to kiss you. All memories of Cersei telling you that your husband would never be a man who loved you left you that night, because even as a teenager, you knew that Jon kissed you like he already did. 

But you were not two people who would become like your parents, or the King and Queen. No, you were just two best friends who spent from that day until departing on the Kingsroad in a love that you were never allowed to have. The world wanted you to be like them, and they married you off without the care of what came with it. 

Your father didn’t care if you had a loveless marriage, because being in one was not part of your duty. 

But as you walked through the ruins of Harrenhal the morning before now, it seemed like the moral of the men was only raised by such an announcement that stemmed from love. Word travelled fast that you were with child, and you couldn’t escape the words of congratulations and brimming air amongst the men with a “I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner, knowing how much our King keeps you locked away all to himself at night.” 

The Greatjon was loud, but none of the following laughs were at you. All was a laugh with you, that it may not be a fight, but that the men found some ease of mind in the clearly good news. 

Even as you departed, leaving Roose Bolton and his men to hold Harrenhal, there was a genuine feeling in his tone as you shook hands to depart. “I dare say, your grace but being with child suits you.” He chuckled when you raised an eyebrow in question. “It’s been a number of months since we’ve seen the King calm in anyway, and longer since you’ve actually smiled.” 

Giving a small one at that moment, he then pointed to Grey Wind not far from you. “I think that one knew before even you did. Quite possessive wolves are known to be.”

Your husband would show you no such devotion the Queen had said, and yet the sheer amount of time Robb spent keeping you by his side with a hand somewhere on your person or stomach told you that if this wasn’t love and devotion what would that actually be like in the real world? 

For Catelyn though, it was a struggle. It seemed like most of the major developments in your life with her son were in times of grief. Bran laying in bed unconscious after falling from a tower? You and Robb marry. Her husband is beheaded? The North declares Robb their king and you his Queen. And now, rumours that her youngest sons were dead and that her own father had passed away? You and Robb announce you are pregnant. You knew she wanted to be happy for a grandchild, but so much of it was written in blood. 

A blood that seemed to be felt through more then just her, except that the other children’s blood that was spilled now allowed itself to fester and taint with dissent. Lord Karstark was becoming an increasing problem. Agitated, bloodthirsty and unwilling to temper his tongue even as he walked beside you and Robb. “We’re at war. This march is a distraction.” 

Robb’s voice was cut with an edge as he didn’t spare the man even a glance. “My grandfather’s funeral is not a distraction.” 

“Are we riding to battle at Riverrun?” At a no, he titled his head. “Then it’s a distraction.” 

You could feel the anger growing in Robb, but he kept his cool as he was so skilled at now. “My Uncle Edmure has his forces garrisoned there. We need his men.” 

Gods he had no idea when to stop, throwing both of you onto an edge that was bordering on insubordination. “Unless he’s been breeding them, he don’t have enough to make a difference.” 

Robb stopped, forcing the man to look at him with a harshness in his face. “Have you lost faith in our cause?” Lord Karstark trying to argue he has faith in revenge, Robb narrowed his eyes. “If you no longer believe-” 

Karstark raising his voice, you stepped forward to stand closer at Robb’s side with a tensity that he seemed to sense right away. “I can believe until it snows in Dorne, don’t change the fact that-” 

Your voice came out more angry then you expected. Taking the man right off guard as he looked more wide eyed to your rageful ones. “Lord Karstark, I think your King has made it clear that you are stepping out of line. Out in the open is neither the time nor place for your ire, and it is not welcome either way.” 

A hand came to rest on the small of your back as you continued. Your voice stern and face unblinking as you did so. “You may be free to see the funeral of your king’s own grandfather as a distraction, but you are not with the freedom to insult the man you’ve sworn your sword too.” Opening his mouth to speak, but he wisely chose to close it once more, noting the judgmental eyes of some now looking at him get reprimanded like a child. 

“Your grace-” 

“Where should we take the fight to, my lord?” You couldn’t see, but it took quite a bit of restraint for Robb to not smirk at how flabbergasted Lord Karstark looked. “You want a fight, tell us then, where and how should we take the fight to satisfy your bloodlust? How long after that battle do we spend waiting for you to get impatient for another? War is not battles and blood, it’s about knowing when not to fight and to stand and wait as your told.” 

You felt an anger inside of you that felt like is was bordering on unhealthy, but the sheer hubris to stand in front of his King and tell him so uncritically what he thinks is a mistake would not be allowed. Robb was more then capable of handling Lord Karstark alone, but what kind of wife, a Queen were you to stand there and allow it to happen? 

“I believe you had duties to attend to, my lord.” 

Robb’s tone was firm, and nothing short of a command to leave. Both if your eyes watching take off as you glanced to each other before he pulled you around more to face him. “He’s only going to get worse, and I’m going to have to handle it when it does.” 

Finding his eyes you could see the conflict of what was running through his head. Lord Karstark was going to rant and rave until he explodes and Robb isn’t going to shy away from serving justice that is deserved. “He’s forgetting it’s not a lord he’s speaking too, I think.”

Robb ran his hand around your waist, stretching is thumb to run at what he could reach of your stomach. “And I think if we couldn’t win this war, the Lannisters wouldn’t be trying so hard to run and hide from us. Lord Karstark thinks wars are only won if we find a fight everywhere we go, and yet I can’t even get close to meeting Tywin Lannister on the field of battle.” 

You smirked, “Which says a whole lot more about your skill then it does his, if you ask me.” 

Looking to the others eyes for a moment before Robb huffed, looking out to the camp before leaning back into press a kiss to the side of your head. “Do me a favour, and take it easy for now.” You tilted your head ready to protest but he had the charming audacity to kiss you before you could speak. “That was an order, my Queen.” 

Raising an eyebrow, you gave a tiny curtsy which pulled a loving smirk from his lips. “As your grace commands.” 

It was resting that you had found yourself approaching Catelyn. The look in her eye as she turned her head to see you, the conflict in them was tragic. Flickering to your stomach before turning back to the task at hand, only to drop it with a regretful sigh onto her lap. Your name coming calmly off her tongue, “I should apologize. I’ve barley said a word to you since Robb told me.” 

You calmly walked around where she was sat at, finding your own space on a mostly flat rock to face both partially at her, partially to the camp around you. “I didn’t come here to ask for that, I came here because you’re in pain and it hurts to see you in so much of it.” Shaking your head, you bit your tongue before sighing. “I don’t think I’ve seen you like this since...”

Since the first time you came across her like this, now only a second child was added to the grief. Sitting the woodwork in her lap, she ran her fingers across part of it as the waver in her voice fought to stay down. “Rickon was so upset when I left. He was too young, his father and sisters left and then me and then suddenly it was only him and Bran alone without us. I don’t even know if Luwin ever told him why we had all gone either. And Bran-”

“He understood.” Her eyes were wide as they darted up to yours. Finding a fading memory back when this all was so much more simple. “When Robb and I left, he understood. He was worried, trying not to be scared in front of Robb. But not mad. Not upset. He knew you were all gone fighting for each other.” 

Whatever solace she found in that gave her enough to swallow the pain. A tiny smile that didn’t reach her eyes Catelyn once more traced over the working. “Part of me wonders if I should be used to making these by now. If I did one for Bran and Rickon each, I might just be good enough to do it with my eyes closed.” 

You leaned forward, pressing your forearms across your knees as you thought to Bran in that bed, how devastated she looked at his side and now all this time later the gods saw fit to test her resolve again. 

Gazing over the details, you missed that Catelyn was glancing at your stomach. So far no major signs of change, but it wouldn’t take long for you to show she knew. “I made one once even before Bran’s fall.” 

Looking up to her with a question in your eyes, you could see something not quite the same as the grief of now and then, but something a bit more conflicting that sat heavily inside her. “It was many years before that. One of the boys came down with the pox.” 

A weight in your chest fell. You had told her of the nights none knew if Shireen would even make it, she was a baby when she caught the Greyscale and your mother was terrified it’d kill her before it had even a chance to spread. You knew too well what a mothers fear of her child with such afflictions. 

“Maester Luwin said if he made it through the night, he’d live. But it would be a very long night.” Lost in the hazes of a memory as if she was looking down to one of the boys right before you as she relived the fear in her throat. “I sat him with, all through the darkness. Listened to his ragged little breaths, his coughing, his whimpering.” 

Not knowing this at all, it must have been far earlier then you’d ever stepped foot in her home. “Which one was it?” 

Catelyn paused. Looking at you before peeling away to look beyond with a burning bright blaze of shame waving off of her very person before she spoke. The words low and struggling to find the same emotions as before. “Jon Snow.”

A coldness flooded your veins, and your eyes gave it away without hesitation. Catelyn, it seemed, found no strength in the moment to look you in the eye anymore as a tear in her voice only served to rip away at your chest until she found your heart and plunged the blade right through. 

“When Ned brought that baby home from the war, I couldn’t bear to look at him. I didn’t want to see those grey stranger’s eyes staring up at me. So I prayed to the gods, take him away. Make him die.”

You didn’t look at her back, you felt bile rise in your throat and plummet back down to your stomach at the words. Searching so far back to your mind, only finding the ten year old that you met on your first day in the North, one that was as curious of you as he was healthy. And yet...

“He got the pox. And I knew then, I was the worst women who ever lived. A murderer. I condemned this poor, innocent child to a horrible death, all beacuse I was jealous of his mother. A woman he didn’t even know.” 

Her conflict didn’t match yours. Hers was with guilt, yours was in a horror that made you feel as ill as you had that first day you arrived, the kind of horrible twisting poison that sent you fainting to the stone floor of their home. Only you had nothing to see then, now, you only saw the face of the one you watched disappear for what neither of you knew would be forever. 

“So I prayed to all seven gods, let the boy live. Let him live and I’ll love him. I’ll be a mother to him. I’ll beg my husband to make him a Stark and be done with it, to make him one of us.” 

“And he lived.” It was a shock any sound came from you at all, you watched nothing but a woman who treated him as a stain on her own family, the pain that caused him to see himself with a self loathing for his own existence. A denial of any love that caused him to think the only life he’d find was shut away at the Wall until his death. 

“And he lived. And I couldn’t keep my promise, and everything that’s happened since then. All this horror that’s come to my family, it’s all because I couldn’t love a motherless child.” 

Comfort her was the tiny whisper of reason, she deserves to hear something from you but as you felt your hands shake in their still hold, you could only see him. You could only see Jon in the ice and snow instead of having a place at his families side. Instead of being able to stand next to his brother right now with the same respect that everyone have Robb. 

Instead you could see him out in the cold, dressed not in black, and with those that did not look to be any Night’s Watchmen you’d ever seen look like. He didn’t even look as you last saw, hair longer and more wild, older and stronger looking with just as much conflict as you’d watched him be forced to feel living with the very woman next to you. 

In an instant though, that image flashed to something else, flashing to a bright red hair, a pretty face and a look on her that you knew from your love with him in secret only out in the open. Something that was free, and pretty, and wasn’t a burden to him the way your position always was. 

You felt sick. You couldn’t sit here and see this, you didn’t understand what your eyes were even showing you nor did you hear Catelyns concerned call of your name multiple times before you stood up. What you were seeing in flashes made no sense until they all came to something that you and him never had together. Something that you’ve had since him, but were never allowed to truly have with Jon but with this pretty hair of red.

Were you walking through the camp or alone in the woods you wouldn’t even have known at that point but this wasn’t like the dreams that came to you in the dead of night these were as real as the green around you. In a second that moment, that intimacy that made you want to cry was back to elsewhere with him. 

Somewhere high made of ice, looking beyond the sights and just as a kiss was to taunt your vision it was like you both looked at each other. You saw him as clear as anything, and it was like he saw you to, sending him back in a shock before it all disappeared in a flurry. 

Your heart raced as you stood near the edge of the camp before finding a small pool of water. Kneeling in front of you as you ran the liquid over your face and tried to wash away the sights of what just happened behind your eyes and the loud booming words Catelyn just spoke to you of. 

Two hands grasped you, sending you flipping around in an erratic startle only to find the soft blue eyes of Robb as he gently grasped the sides of your face. Him muttering your name pulling you close as your hands hovered above his chest. “Hey, hey, what happened?” 

Your mouth parted and eyes wide but you had not a single clue what just happened to you, and you had not even the words to begin explaining it. You just shook your head as you finally reached up to hold his face as he did yours. This you knew, this sight you recognized and the warm soothing nature of his voice, comforting touch and a face you’d seen every single day for two years that looked at you with the love you gave him. 

Robb tried getting something from you, but your mind raced and spun and needed to be reminded where you were. Ground you in your life. Leaning up you pressed your lips against Robb’s and a calm washed back over your body. Simmering your nerves and veins as it all settled into the pit of your stomach before finding a home in the life you and Robb were creating together. 

This was real, and you had to keep it that way. Not whatever images and nightmares and dreams were being thrown at you for so long now, you didn’t understand what they were and as Robb’s kiss was soft and coaxing, he pulled back to run his thumbs over your cheeks. “Tell me we’ll love him, our son, tell me that we’ll both be here to love him.”

Robb narrowed his eyes before something dawned on him instead, “Him? You think it’s a boy?” His hand running flat over your stomach and it finally pulled a calmer breathe of a laugh from you. He took one of the news, and was steering you to whatever could calm you down easier. 

One shoulder shrugging you found the back of his neck to wrap your hands around. “Mormont says it’s why I’m so erratic lately. That it could only be the influence of a hot tempered Stark man doing that to my insides.” 

Robb looked at you, and not that he would tell you in this state, but he had a chat with his mother later on about what on earth she had said to you. Little could she suspect what that would spiral towards. 

In this moment though, Robb pulled you up to rest your face gently in his neck. “We will love him, together. It’s not just you and me now.” He massaged the your stomach in such a soothing manner, voice low only for your ears. “It’s us. All three of us, now and always.” 

You two stayed there for a little while, him calming down whatever had just happened to you. That was until Greatjon found you. His loud, booming voice, causing laughter from both you and Robb, as well as the small group of other Umbers passing with him. 

“Now that’s our King. Ready to give the lass a whole litter of pups before she’s even had the first one.” 

Coming into Riverrun was likely the most North you had been since this war had begun. It was also the calmest place it felt, the river behind the castle was calm and felt untouched by the wars ravaging around all. The castle stood mighty, looking unlike most of the places you had been in years. The fields and ruins, or surrounded by small structures to serve as battlements in your more early campaigns. 

It felt much like what the traditional castles sounded like in Shireen’s books. Tall but reasonable, not build heavy for a warmth like Winterfell, or immaculate and impressive that was the Red Keep and certainly a far from Dragonstone. 

Riding next to Robb, you glanced at him with a curious gaze. The man in question catching you looking away with a small smile. “What is it?” 

Shrugging as you looked him over, “It’s just hard to imagine you here, back then I mean. It feels like the longer I know you the more like a Stark you become.” Many of Catelyn’s children took attributes of her family strongly then that of her husband. For a long time, only two of the Stark children didn’t look anything like her, one for obvious reasons, but as you stood by Robb’s side you saw so much more of his father in him.

Perched tall on his horse, his hair lush and the diminishing light as summer had ended last year turned the colour to a darker brown then it’s highlights of red. Facial hair on him just as dark and well groomed but sat thick in a way you know your mother would’ve disapproved of for you. Eyes were bright reflecting off the water but they were full of a heavy responsibility that had you yearn to look at them even more. Perhaps this was just what pregnancy did, but lately it was like Robb was trying to look particularly handsome to drive you crazy. 

Only realizing when he raised an eyebrow did you realize he said anything, shaking your head with a naive, “Sorry, what was that?” 

He rolled his eyes with a smirk, “So, I listen to you but all you do is look at me like a piece of meat.” His grin at your playfully offended face spoke volumes of cheek. “I said I was only born here, I don’t even have any memories of growing up outside of Winterfell. From what I’ve heard about Dragonstone, you certainly don’t look like you grew up there.” 

Maester Cressen used to say it was no place to raise a child, and in ways he was right. Built by Valyrians said to have done so using arcane blood magic, it was a sharp contrast to much of the kingdoms of Westeros. It was easy to envision Aegon and his sisters riding their dragons to plot out the conquer of a land that didn’t belong to them from the seats of volcanic rock that made the air smell of salt and brimstone. You certainly did not fit the image of belonging there. 

“I don’t think anyone wants to grow up there. It’s dim and depressing and I’m fairly certain if I showed you my childhood room, you’d ask me why my father raised me in a dungeon cell.” You both chuckled lightly. The early days in your first visit to Winterfell, once you were back on two feet you had found yourself riding all through that of the wolfswood with he and Jon, you always surprised how far the North seemed to go unencumbered by dangerous terrain. 

As the castle drew near, the only ones of your army that remained with you was that of Robb, Catelyn, and Brynden. The other lords would be given their stay once the family departed to the lake for the funeral. Edmure Tully awaited the arrival, causing a brief moment of looks shared between three of you in pause. 

None of you had discussed it, but you all had come to the same conclusion as to what had happened, but that would be a situation for later. You could feel an annoyance inside that had you shaking your head to rid of. Where would this war be right now, had the instructions been followed as specifically directed. 

Edmure greeting his sister in a quiet embrace, noting only two of them were here. 

Lysa Arryn had been a headache. She closed off access from the rest of the kingdoms, keeping the Knights of the Vale rooted and untouched. No amount of bargaining from Robb had done any good and Brynden has discussed that many men within the Vale armies would side with him were it not for being under the control of Lysa. And now it seems, she didn’t bring herself back to the world of the sane to attend her fathers funeral, or let her son that of his grandfather. 

Much of the funeral was quiet. In what you think was unique to the Tully’s instead of taking place spread out an a sept to be cremated or embalmed, the oils and stones were placed onto Hoster Tully before his body was spread out respectfully in a small boat, and doused in gentle oils. 

A brazier was lit on the dock over the water as it drifted off. On the docks stood by the brazier was Brynden, near the back was Catelyn, then Robb and yourself. Watching from their own spots were a various number of people all there to see their lord off. 

In the middle, Edmure held a bow. Hoster Tully’s only son, and heir to Riverrun it left him both as proper lord and the charge to light the boat to send him off in peace. The first time he missed, you glanced up to the sky. There was a slight breeze that he was aiming just off enough to steer the arrow as a miss. 

The second time he did missed, you narrowed your eyes as it continued to drift further away without his work. Everyone stood in silence as he paused, taking a third shot and you know this might have been the worst time for it, but there was a slight awkwardness about the situation that had you and Robb, like you were two teenagers again, glance at one another with a smirk trying desperately to hide itself and failing. 

Three times of misses and eventually the boat carrying Hoster off would reach too far and there was just a second of childishness between the pair of you that had you both looking down at the side sight of Catelyn’s firm gaze. You both grabbed the others wrist, as he almost unnoticeable pulled you just a bit closer to his side. 

Brynden had to take over. Grabbing the bow from his nephew and looking up to gauge the winds, and with one simple shot, the lit arrow plunged into the boat and the fire spread out in an instant. A calm relief over the family as they watched until it was no longer within their sights. 

For a brief moment, looking at that of boats and fire, you wondered how close he came. How close of a call to a much more hellfire version of this image did your father come to at the Blackwater Bay. Who you unnervingly thought, were the ones who didn’t make it and you had no knowledge of? Was it just your father that survived and the rest of the men you’d seen over and over again as a child were gone?

The words had mentioned that of green flames and wildfire. As the ceremony ended, you hadn’t even realized how you had reached across your chest to hold at your other arm, and noticed even less that your nails had dug into the skin enough to begin to bleed. 

A crowd had gathered in the main hall, some of your men as well as that of the River Lords, on your way in Brynden had noticed your arm. Beckoning you over to the side as Robb glanced down with narrowed eyes. He said nothing, but kept an eye on you sat up on a small table as Brynden carefully wrapped up your arm. 

You hadn’t looked up to the processions a single time as they all spoke, keeping a harsh eye on the trickles of bleed soaking through the wrappings. You hadn’t at all noticed how hard you were digging them in to that degree. Edmure standing near the middle, spoke of his actions in the recent move against the Lannisters. 

The smallfolk were grateful, and in front of the majority, Robb allowed him the moment in the sun to explain his actions with a patiently controlled stare. “He crossed the river to give battle and we routed him. Maybe four hundred Lannisters killed, another hundred taken prisoner. The Mountain was lucky to escape with his life. They’ll think twice before picking another fight with the Tully’s.” 

Brynden could see how much your jaw clenched trying to keep something burning inside of you. It wasn’t just a plan for Robb, it was a strategic manoeuvre to trick Tywin’s forces that Edmure had overstepped on. Did Robb say something? It was hard to tell but judging by the slight knowing smirk on Bryndens face as he tied off your wrappings, it was not a message Edmure was receiving. 

“I will not stop until they have their justice. This I swear to you.” Glancing over briefly, Robb’s eyes landed on you before turning to the crowd. “I need to speak with my family.” 

The gruff man nodding you over, giving you a light hand getting your two feet off the table as Robb outstretched an arm, bringing you over to his side. His own gaze reaching up to your arm, running over the bandage with his thumb and looking to you with a silent narrowed expression. You gave a tiny shake of his head, that clearly he wasn’t going to just accept as your shrugging answer. 

The hall empty save for those Tully and Stark, Edmure begun to step forward to speak. “If I may nephew, I encountered a situation with one of my lieutenants at the Stone Mill, which may have some bearing-” 

As your jaw clenched, and Robb reached down to gentle run his hand across your stomach it was Brynden who spoke up. His voice frustrated and exasperated as you felt. “Why don’t you shut your mouth about that damned mill. And don’t call him nephew, he’s your King.” 

Edmure looking more casual then the tension radiating inside the room like he couldn’t feel it in the air, “Robb knows I meant him no disrespect-”

“You’re lucky I’m not your king I wouldn’t let you wave your blunders around like a victory flag.” 

Robb was seeking your eye that was trained pointedly on his chest as he could feel you boiling up before him. Edmure did not make your frustration any easier, and the complete lack of comprehension only made Robb more angry and spiteful. But he kept it together, especially since you were the one right now having trouble with it, he took up that mantle. 

“My blunder sent Tywin Lannister’s mad dog scurrying back to Casterly Rock with his tail between his legs.” Your eyes flew up, meeting Robb’s as he ran his thumb over your stomach firmer with a warning in his expression to calm your nerves. Brynden could see the words ready to spill from Robb’s mouth at any moment the longer Edmure spoke. “I think King Robb understands we’re not going to win this war if he’s the only one winning any battles. No, there’s glory enough to go around.” 

“It’s not about glory.” Robb’s voice was not quite a shout, but it was loud and lecturing and caught Edmure off guard. As Robb moved to step forward he let his hand slid to the small of your back, gently keeping you within his touch as he narrowed his eyes at the man. “Your instructions were to wait for him to come to you.” 

“I seized an opportunity.” 

He was quiet and calm, and you were thankful he was better at this then you right now. Perhaps he was the only thing keeping you in your head. “What value was the mill?” Edmure explaining that it was the Mountain garrisoned across from it. “Is he there now?” 

The man still hadn’t gotten it. All three of you in the room understood except so far, for Edmure who almost went back to being proud of his last minute scheme. “Of course not. We took the fight to him, he could not withstand us.”

Robb almost hissed at him as he narrowed his eyes at his uncle. The blue a much darker as his touch on your was firmer. You beside him with eyes sharp and cutting into him with something silent that was just as unnerving. “I wanted to draw the Mountain into the west, into our country where we could surround him and kill him. I wanted him to chase us, which he would have done because he is a mad dog without a strategic thought in his head. I could have that head on a spike by now.” 

He seemed to pull you closer as he had stepped closer, as you gently grasped onto the arm your body was partially turned to face. Robb’s tone was like whisper but the distant look in Edmure’s eyes told him that he was starting to understand. “Instead I have a mill.”

Flickering between his own uncle, then to his King and Queen, he hesitate before speaking, this time much more uninspired by his hubris. “We took hostages. Willem Lannister, Martyn Lannister-”

You turned now to face him entirely as well. Only your voice went from rageful silence to offended volume that spoke louder then Robb’s quiet intimidation. “Willem and Martyn Lannister are fourteen years old.” A disgust that two teenage boys could be considered hostages, when boys barley younger then that, boys who were the King’s own brothers, were hostages and now found themselves dead. 

Robb looked him in the eye. “Tywin Lannister has my sisters. Have I sued for peace?” Edmure answering a dejected no, “Do you think he’ll sue for peace because we have his fathers brothers great grand sons?” 

Another no as you raised an eyebrow at him, “And how many men did you lose?” 

You bit your tongue remembering the number of bodies found at Harrenhal as he answered you, palm pressing into your forehead at the image still. “Two hundred and eight. But for every man we lost, the Lannisters-” 

Dropping your hand you stepped towards him, voice echoing off the walls as the image of the bay on fire tried painting yourself in you mind. “We need our men more then Tywin needs his.” 

Edmure stammered, finding none on his side as the entire plot to keep the Lannister forces away from Blackwater Bay was ruined. His simple job to follow his King’s instructions would have kept those very men from being pushed back into the west. Instead, they were chased out early, and it wasn’t a far ride east to get to King’s Landing where Tywin finally sat with the power of the crown at his fingers. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” 

Robb had no more mind for this, “You would have. Right here today at this gathering if you had been patient.” Brynden commented with his own voice laced with irritation as he looked to his own nephew that there seemed to be a lack of patience around here. Robb nodded to the man, “We’re done for now.” 

The halls were quiet, not many roamed the castle that day and the ones who were there quietly did their duty or gathered together to mourn their loss. Much of Riverrun seemed to exist with large windows, letting in the light that looked out onto the greenery of one side or the Trident on the other. 

Not much space was there in the shadows, but down an empty hall Robb turned to gently rest your back against the stone, a small pillar keeping your vision from being spotted as he gently grasped your cheeks and leaned in to gently press your lips together. Your hands reached up instantly, finding his neck to run your nails over as he kept his own kiss soft, almost comforting that helped melt your tense muscles into his. 

Pulling back he pressed your forehead against his as he spoke in a low murmur. “I’m not telling you to not be angry, you have every right to be.” Another gentle kiss to your forehead, “But we will come back from this, I promise.” 

Looking up, the ease of going from King to just your husband always surprised you. The way he could give you that soft look that was boyish and sweet instead of powerful and commanding. “I know we will.” Sliding a hand back down to run through the facial hair at his jaw before nuzzling there and pressing a kiss to the scratching surface. “You’ve won this war all on your own so far, I’m not going to let one man’s mistake ruining that now.” 

He smiled, also looking much more boyish. “My wife is that confident, is she?” 

You kissed him one more time before running your hands down to press gently against his chest, feeling his heart beat under the thinner material. “I told you, you were born for this.” 

Narrowing his eyes playfully he nudged your nose with his, “Thought you said I was born to be lord of Winterfell.” 

Looking up at him, you felt yourself lean back casually against the wall, pulling at him to come closer and join. One hand pressed against the stone beside your head, the other running across your waist, his eyes narrowing at the fact that he couldn’t just tease the skin by your hips. Not even letting you respond he playfully bunched up one side of your dress as he smirked. Leaning in closer. 

“As much as I like you in these pretty dresses, I finally found something I hate about them.” Pressing a kiss to your neck and one right below your ear as he whispered into it. “Harder to touch you whenever I want if you’re always this covered up.” 

Breathing out a laugh, you pulled him in for a kiss that you both smiled into as you ran your hand through his curls. For a little moment you two felt so normal, just a husband and wife sneaking a moment together late in the day instead of being the King and Queen with too much weight looking at you like it’s your fault it was all thrown onto you. 

Robb gently holding your jaw to lean up more towards him as he crowded you closer to the wall, he would deepen it just a tad bit more each tiny sigh of need you gave into his kiss. Never pushing too far, but enough to keep you chasing his lips everytime he pulled back. And each time he gave in and kissed you right back. 

Grey Eyes and Black curls travelled far closer then he had been in years and yet still so long away that you may was well existed in different worlds. The gods were trying desperately to tell him something, he was sure of it. High up on the wall, there was a moment it truly felt like you saw one another. Like your eyes locked in shock to see the other’s gaze on you before the image shattered with a blow of cold wind. 

He didn’t know what they were saying, but he was starting to think that it was a message to stop lying to himself. The longer he trekked with them, with her, the more obvious it became how this had to work as long as he could keep it up. Then in moments like now, where he was so close to being able to trick himself into thinking this was normal, that it was fine, and that he wanted this, he would see you. 

He could see you, feel you as if you were there and before his eyes and when the world returned to him, it was all a lie. It was pretending to be someone that didn’t exist and lying to himself about ever wanting this, or even being okay with it. And even worse, he had a feeling that you’d see right through how much he was lying to himself right away. 

He was lying to every single one of them about his real intentions, and yet the lie you’d care about was the one he was telling himself. And the gods taunting him with images and sounds and feelings of you was just one big sign after the other that pretending to be one of these people, pretending like he hadn’t tricked himself into forcing an affection onto her, was just that. 

Something had been trying to guide him onto what felt like the right path since he came to the wall, and with each passing day it felt like that something was warning him that lying to himself about being this, being one of them and being with her? It was trying to tell him, that was the wrong path and he knew it. 

Jon didn’t however, know what seeing visions of you had to do with the rest of it.

The boys were around the same height, and clearly brothers. Dress them in the same clothes and one may think they were identical. On your person was a full skin of fresh water, and food sat down next to you by Olyvar, who was as good as your squire these days as Robb’s in honestly. 

They were short for teenage boys, kneeling down they eyed you as the slightly more wide eyed one stepped forward before the other reached an arm out. “Martyn Lannister, right?” Your eyebrows raised at him, who now looked at you with a suspicion. 

“How do you know?” 

You shrugged one shoulder, “Older brothers are usually the more protective ones.” Looking over them both, they were slightly covered in grime but nothing else stood out. “They haven’t hurt you at all, treating you well?” 

Willem nodded, but Martyn paused, looking at the things with you. “No. Unless your here to poison us.” The boys seemed to not be able to figure out how to feel about you, on one hand you knew you were the on the side that warred against their family, on the other hand you were knelt by their cell bars with food, water, and a calm and collected attitude towards them. 

Narrowing your eyes at them impressed, you picked the skin up and gestured to him with it. “Smart. You’re in a cell, you’re being held captive and your familiy’s enemy comes down offering drink.” Using your teeth to yank the cap off, you took a sip and swallowed it down before reaching through the bars with the rest of it. 

Slowly reaching, Willem took it with a gentleness and a nod as you found the energy to give him a little smile as he said, “Thank you.” 

Tilting to the food beside you at Martyn, “Trust me a little more now, or am I going to be leaving you boys a little less food to prove your safety.” The boys were too innocent to be Lannisters, sharing a little look and with a nod from Willem of please, Martyn approached. 

His hand reaching out before pausing mid air, looking at you with doubt. Blinking slowly, you grabbed parts of the food, sliding your fingers through the bars until he took it on his end, doing the same until all but their actual plate sat with them. Willem speaking through a mouthful. “Thank you.” 

Martyn narrowed his eyes, “You’re Robb Stark’s wife.” You gave a gentle nod as he looked to his brother before turning back. “Is it true? What they say about him? That he can turn into a wolf at night?”

It was difficult not to smile, there was a childlike wonder in the boys eyes as they looked at you. In a way, you didn’t think that was incorrect. Something wasn’t the normal state of things, the way he could control Grey Wind like he was somehow part of him. “Is it scary if I say yes?” Willem didn’t hesitate to nod, a soft laugh leaving you a the look in his eyes. “They do call him The Young Wolf afterall. Such a name doesn’t just come out of nowhere.” 

Martyn spoke up this time, “And does he really eat the flesh of his enemies?” 

Oh it had been a long time since you heard that whisper about him. You bit your tongue to not smirk not wanting to give the boys a scary impression. You mostly came down here to offer food and water, and to ensure an answer Robb’s inquiry that they hadn’t been mistreated in their capture. 

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Lion cubs aren’t in a wolves diet.” 

You had only just gotten up when Martyn jumped up and over to the bars. “Is he going to kill us? They all say that Robb Stark kills every Lannister he finds.” Swallowing his own nerves down you looked at him softly. When you were that age, you weren’t worried about anything more then not embarrassing yourself too much in front of the boys. But they were here. 

Tone much softer, more quiet but a sincerity you knew perfectly well you could tell them the truth on, “The King in the North does not punish a son for his fathers sins. For now, you two will remain here, but alive, and unharmed. I promise.” 

They both looked to you, a relief in each their green eyes. Martyn shouting, “Thank you for the food...your grace.” You nodded once and turned from them. Quietly telling the guards you’ll send for them to be able to bathe in the mornings before departing. 

Pulling you up onto his lap, Robb slowly begun to pull of your shift, his own shirt tossed off and his breeches undone as he carefully slid the sleeves down your arms. “I’ve sent word to Walder Frey, we agreed moving the wedding as soon as we can.” 

Letting him pull it up off of you, he gently tossed it onto the pile with his own as he flipped you onto the bed, slowly dragging your underwear as he paused to eye the growing wetness between your legs before climbing back up to hover over you. “It’s the least he can do, Edmure. I understand to the people it was important,” your hands begun to run through his hair. “But we don’t win wars fighting the small battles. He led a small battle, and it led to my father losing a bigger one.” 

Smoothing a hand down your side before he ran it over your stomach, he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “He’s barley made a move since then, hasn’t he?” Shaking your head solemnly, Robb leaned down to capture your lips more firmly this time. 

His other hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you leaned up partially against him, slotting himself between your legs. Muttering through his barley held on ability to leave your lips for more then half a second, “We have to be more careful,” Kissing down the length of your neck, they were nibbling and light despite his beard leaving burns in it’s wake. Burns he learned you adored the feeling of it. “Tywin in Kings Landing, we have to watch out for each other. Especially now, especially with this.” 

His mouth leaving sloppier kisses down the middle of your chest until he reached your stomach, hovering over as he looked with a heavy gaze. As if he couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to have such a thing. There wasn’t even much there yet, a small bump that only Robb could see in moments like this but it didn’t matter. 

His son was in there, your son. A sight which for two years seemed like a distant fantasy only dreamt up in the luxury of your short time in Winterfell. His blue eyes were bright almost like there was water hiding behind them as he pressed one more gentle kiss to the skin there. The tenderness of a father to his infant before he lunged back up. 

One arm moving around your back to press your body into his and the other wrapping back behind your neck to seal you in a kiss. His teeth bit more roughly at you, opening you up for his tongue before he groaned. Feeling your hands gently reach between you to pull his cock free. Face twisting up in a sneer at your hand wrapped around his thick length, hardly letting you stroke him before reaching between you to snatch your hand. 

Leaning up with blazing eyes as he looked down at you his own chest heaving as he looked you over, your wet cunt so close to his cock, the very start of a bump at your stomach and your chest that was turning as sensitive as your neck. 

His free hand reached up, slowly dancing along your skin until he grasped at your breast, tightly groping and watching your head throw back at the instant spark of pleasure in your veins. “Is this the baby?” Leaning down you squirmed at his hot breathe over your nipple, “Making you this sensitive for me?” You swallowed heavily, nodding only to arch up with a cry as his teeth bit down as his fingers pulled at the other. His teeth gentle, but he yanked and tugged with a more sturdy force before grinding his cock along your soaked folds. 

“Robb, please,” 

Your vision spun around, Robb kneeling you up on your hands and knees. One hand roughly running through your hair, pulling it to the side as he bit along your ear. His knees spreading your thighs out more until you felt his cock slide between them. “There’s my good girl, letting her husband do whatever he wants with her.” 

Your lungs heaved, your chest felt like it stung and no doubt you’d have a barrage of new colours surrounding them and your neck come morning. “I’m yours, please, anything you want...” He slid in with no resistance, his own groan buried in your neck at how slick you were so fast. 

Taking all of him in one thrust as you cried out, arms shaking from the stretch and pressure inside of you. Pushing deep, he looked down at you with his hands tight on your hips, pounding forward as he pulled you back onto him. 

The way Robb would flip, how earlier you both leaned against a corridor wall kissing sweetly like teenagers, and now he had you bent over in front of him like you were the whore he paid and he the brute to use you for his own cock. But worse was how you’d let him, how much you wanted him to treat you like meat in bed, because outside of it you knew a truly loving man was behind it. 

It was as if this was the only times you had. Robb would keep you at his side, a hand on you at all times but he preferred to only ever have you in a bed. A long drawn out event leaving you both breathless and thoroughly spent. As his cock fucked into you now, one hand dancing between to rub and tug at your clit the same way he fucked against the sensitive part of your walls.

You moaned and cried and had no knowledge if you were speaking words that even made sense other then his own name as pleas. The first time you both came, he spilled deep inside of you as you were kept as much on his cock as possible, the second he painted your cunt and upper thighs completely as you shook from your second orgasm, that had you shake. 

Carefully draping the sheets over you, Robb had turned you on your back, him on his side as he kissed you so sweetly, murmuring whispers of gentle praises and love as you came down when the knock came. 

He pulled the sheet up on you as much as possible and wrapped it slightly behind you as he pulled you up to his chest, arm wrapped around your front and splayed his large hand over your stomach as he told them to enter. 

What you didn’t expect, was his squire there rushing out there had been an incident. Somewhat had happened, and Lord Edmure and the Blackfish required both of your presence in the main hall. It was quite late, throwing on enough to cover the both of you as he led you to the sight. 

Standing there, Robb stood partially behind you. You both seethed, your insides shaking in disgusted horror at the sight. Willem and Martyn Lannister laid dead, mutilated as they they had been forced out of their cell and into their deaths. 

You couldn’t stop seeing the slightly awe inspired boys that had thanked you so kindly after you just showed them some kindness of your own. Edmure stood with Brynden with their own more controlled reaction, and poor Catelyn sat to the side like she couldn’t decide between looking at them once more and breaking entirely. 

The rage inside of you was burning. Out of all the things he could have done, he chose the most horrific path of betrayal he could imagine. Robb’s voice was rough as he spoke trying to keep it even. “Bring them in.” 

Tearing your eyes away from the sight, their eyes still wide open as they died in what must have been such fear to watch five men walk in led by Lord Rickard Karstark who had none of the decency to look ashamed. Robb looked to Brynden asking if that was all, getting a confirming nod in return. Your teeth gritted as you looked at them with no reason to hold back your contempt. “It took five of you to murder two unarmed squires?” 

Lord Karstark looking to you with a fire in his own eyes that you wanted to burn out. “Not murder, your grace. Vengeance.” 

Robb was never as intimidating as he was standing beside you with an energy that could strangle with how heavy and intense it was. “Vengeance? Those boys didn’t kill your sons. I saw Harrion die on the battlefield, and Torrhen-” 

“Was strangled by the Kingslayer.” Karstark trying to justify what no one could. “They were his kin-” 

“They were boys,” Robb’s voice echoed in such an angry roar to them it vibrated through your bloodstream. The men said nothing, and he spat out “Look at them.” 

Lord Karstark nor his men behind him had any courage to do so. Instead he looked to Catelyn and did anything he could to pretend he was justified. “Tell your mother to look at them. She killed them as much as I.” 

Catelyn, who had released Jaime Lannister once he had already been brought back from the escape that killed Torrhen. You didn’t buy it, and neither did Robb. “My mother had nothing to do with this. This was your treason.” 

Yelling back at his own King like he had the right after what he’d done, made you feel like you were ready to knock the man into the floor. “It’s treason to free your enemies, in war you kill your enemies. Did your father not teach you that boy-”

As Brynden knocked him to his knees with a hit to the gut, you also felt yourself step forward on your own before Robb firmly grasped you around the waist. Tugging you right up to his side as you partially faced one another. “Leave him.” 

Slinking his head up like a snake that never knew when to stop. “Aye, leave me to the King. He wants to give me a scolding before he sets me free. That’s how he deals with treason, our King in the North.” 

You looked up to Robb as he did you, your eyes both with the same understanding that had him holding onto you so tightly. His hand almost coming around to your stomach, he looked down to you. Full knowing you were telling him exactly what he was thinking. “Escort Lord Karstark to the dungeon. Hang the rest.” 

Finally you both looked away from the other, back to the spineless lot of them as one plead a pathetic case. “Mercy, Sire, I didn’t kill anyone, I only watched for the guards.” 

Looking at his men Robb was confident and unwavering. “This one was only the watcher. Hang him last so he can watch the others die.” The man pleading the entire time as they were escorted out until Edmure closed the door, sealing you all back in the quiet with the murdered boys. 

“Word of this can’t leave Riverrun.” Robb refused to let you pull away from him but slid his hand up to run soothingly over your back as he felt the tension shimmer down a bit. Edmure continuing, “They were Tywin Lannister’s nephews, the Lannisters pay their debts. They’ll never stop talking about it.” 

Robb rightly refused the notion. “Would you make me a liar as well as a murderer?” Taking all of the responsibility on his shoulders as King, and men like Lord Karstark had the audacity to question his authority. 

Edmure tried to suggest a compromise. “It wouldn’t be lying. We will bury them and remain silent until the war is done.” 

Robb looked to him, his own anger trying to keep at bay. “I’m not fighting for justice if I don’t serve justice to murderers in my ranks. No matter how high born. He dies for this.” 

Catelyn stood, trying to come to a sense that neither you nor her son would agree with. “The Karstarks are northmen. They won’t forgive you for murdering their Lord. Spare his life, keep him as a hostage.” 

You managed to pull away, your hand pressing against your forehead as you exhaled deeply as you walked to the window. “That’s the solution, he murders two innocent boys and commits treason and his punishment is to what? Keep him here and hope that sends a message?” 

Catelyn looked to you but found nothing to plead with just as she did the choice in her son. “They are loyal men to us, we show their family kindness and they will continue to fight at our side-”

You turned in place. Leaning against the window with your arms crossing over your chest. The boys right in your eyeline when you were the one to tell them they would be safe here. “Show too much kindness people won’t fear you. They don’t fear you, they don’t follow you. We can’t show that kind of mercy for this.”

Robb looked at both his mother and uncle with no room for question. “I’m not fighting for a free North if the kind of people I fight with are traitors and child murderers. Lord Karstark committed his crime and he knows his judgment for it. His men choose to stay they will not be punished for his crimes, but if they leave then it’s their choice as well to break their oaths to our House.” 

“And their vow to their King.” 

Your eyes met and in that silence, Robb watched as you nodded once. He was right, and you would stand by it. “Come the first light of dawn, bring him to the courtyard and I will execute him myself. That is my decision, and my decision is final.” 

The bodies were taken from the room, and the remaining Tully’s left as well. Your back had turned to the rain pouring onto the river out in the dark when you felt Robb wrap his arms around you, pulling you back into him. “I need you to watch that temper,” Your eyes narrowed but he kept you firmly in his loving hold. “It’s not good for you, either of you to be this angry. You leave that to me, I want you calm and healthy.” 

You sighed out, the sizzling anger still there but you didn’t want to risk anything harming your boy. Your hands found Robb’s pulling them to lay over your stomach. “You’re making the right choice. We can’t just fight a war to win, we have to fight and prove the kind of people we want to be in the process. And that out there is not it.” 

His head leaned over yours, running his nose down the side of your hair gently. “You shouldn’t come. To the execution.” You tried to protest but he continued. “It’s my crime to punish, not yours. You shouldn’t have to bear the weight of my choices and theirs, when you’re in this state.”

Robb allowed you to turn in his arms. Your hands finding the sides of his face as he found your waist, running his hands up and down them. “My place, is by your side, my king.” Robb sighed out deeply, but his eyes were thankful. “I will not have these men judge you but not me for serving due justice. Your actions are mine to stand by, and I will stand beside you on this in here and out there.” 

Leaning to press his forehead against yours, the weight of a love only the two of you could provide at that point was palpable. Leaning down, Robb kissed you once more. 

The rain continued into the morning, refusing to let up as if even down here the gods understood the weight of the actions. Not many were present for it, not many needed to be. Two men bringing Lord Karstark out to the still dark court, Catelyn, Edmure, and Brynden to the side as witnesses with the few scattered who dared show, and on the main steps stood Robb, and by his side, you. 

In every punishment there was a protest to do it with mercy or kindness, but you had shown those boys kindness and they were not shown mercy in response. Justice was justice and what kind of rulers were you and Robb if you showed that kind of mercy to lawbreakers. 

Standing before him, Lord Karstark looked unashamed. “The blood of the First Men flows through my veins as much as yours, boy. I fought the Mad King for your father. I fought Joffery for you. We are Kin. Stark and Karstark.” 

Robb didn’t blink even as the rain poured down. “That didn’t stop you from betraying me, and it won’t save you now.” 

Like he was the lecturer when two children’s blood drenched his veins, he spoke. “I don’t want you to save me. I want it to haunt you for the rest of your days.” He looked to you, only to find the same expression as the man before him.

A voice full of ire as Robb commanded. “Kneel, my lord.” 

His sword, strong and unsheathed as you held its holding. Robb holding the high sword, blade pointed to the ground with both hands on the hilt. Knelt over it slightly as he spoke his judgment. “Rickard Karstark, Lord of Karhold. Here in sight of gods and men, I sentence you to die. Would you speak a final word?” 

A man with nothing to be shamed for blaming Robb for actions that were not his, and yelling of a justice he brought on himself. Your eyes blazing with a fury and Robb’s with an anger that fed his delivery of a Just King. “Kill me and be cursed. You are no King of mine.” 

Robb gave one powerful slice, and it was over. 

The only person to follow his rage out of the court, was you. His arm pulling you close and as soon as you both got into private, you let him take that rage out on you once more. You both needed it, and right now the only peace was found in the other. 

Peace, and a gentle hand in the quiet of your bedroom running over your stomach with yours covering his much larger one. Nothing of Riverrun had brought any good to you both, but at least in this quite bubble, there was still a family that had nothing but love and promise surrounding you. 

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #jon snow #robb stark #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #jon snow x you #robb stark x you #jon snow imagine #robb stark imagine #game of thrones imagine

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hello,

I apologize in advance if you've already answered something like this but my cursory look didn't show anything. I am looking for a game system that has an emphasis on the feeling of a wild west movie while still retaining general fantasy elements from DND. The wild spaces are slowly becoming tamed, increasing technological/magical advancement are pushing disparate communities together, and of course cocky assholes with guns (or a magical equivalent).

Thanks in advance

Theme: Wild West Fantasy

Hello friend, you might want to check out my Fantasy Westerns rec post, to see if anything there fits what you’re looking for. I especially recommend checking out the rec for We Deal In Lead and Clink. For the rest of this post, I try to span a very broad range, so I don't expect everything to stick - but perhaps one or two do!

Inevitable, by Soul Muppet Publishing.

Knights and wizards have defended the Kingdom of Myth for centuries. These lands have known peace and prosperity, but soon the kingdom shall be destroyed. The Prophets have declared that your city shall burn and Myth will fall. All those who follow your King shall die. It is INEVITABLE.

But you shall defy fate. Myth will not end while you bear arms. You will fail, but as long as there are still stories, they will sing of you!

Inevitable is a Arthurian Western roleplaying game for 2-6 players and a GM, where your party of disastrously sad cowboy knights fail to stop the apocalypse. This 284 page book contains all the rules, character creation and the setting for your campaign, thoroughly and evocatively detailing The Barren, the lands surrounding the Kingdom of Myth.

This game might be way you’re looking for: it describes itself as a fantasy kingdom, with western aesthetics. There are wizards, prophets, and rune-carved revolvers. Your reputation in the kingdom is important; it determines how well you can face challenges, and roll pools of d6 on a table of staggered success. If you want a taste before you buy, there’s a Quickstart with some evocative set pieces, a quick overview of the rules, and a quick adventure to run through with a list of pre-generated characters.

Far West, by Adamant Entertainment.

Imagine a fantasy setting that shatters the tropes of Medieval Europe. Imagine a collision of Spaghetti Westerns and Chinese Wuxia by way of Steampunk. Imagine a world where gunslingers and kung fu masters face off against Steam Barons and the August Throne. Imagine fantastic machines powered by the furies comprising the fabric of the universe. Imagine an endless frontier where wandering heroes fight for righteous causes while secret societies engage in shadow wars. Imagine…

This game is a combination of Wild Western tropes and Wuxia fantasy. Your characters are wandering heroes, defending the small and helpless against the strong and powerful. I look at this game and I think of movies like The Magnificent Seven. Mechanically, it’s its own system, but it draws heavily from Fate, using positive and negative aspects to boost rolls and spark complications.This game relies on some tropes that require entire table buy-in: I’m not sure how many assumptions the game makes about the cultures it takes inspiration from.

Holler: An Appalachian Apocalypse (Savage Worlds), by Pinnacle Entertainment.

In Holler, the mysterious “Big Boys” own the mines, mills, and logging operations. They rule over every aspect of their workers’ lives—subjecting them to extraordinary dangers on the job and crushing oppression outside of it. The Big Boys have transformed the land of the Holler—rivers bubble with strange chemicals, strip-mined mountains crumble into valleys, and the air is choked with a toxic fog known as the Blight. The flora and fauna of the Holler grow more monstrous by the day. Demons of every description lurk in the forests. Mutant cryptids haunt villages with their strange cries and appetites. Vengeful haints leer from abandoned shacks and lonely cliffs. No one is coming to save the people of Holler.

The goal of the resistance is to build a coalition, to bring together diverse factions—humble workers, roustabouts, mountain men, dirt track racers, cultists, and even strange creatures of myth and legend to raze the works of the Big Boys and drive them from the Holler forever. Holler draws deeply on Appalachian history, mythic folklore, and culture to create a dark fantasy world of apocalypse and vengeance.

This sounds a little more grim and gritty, with cryptids, toxic fog and demons lurking in the forest. It uses the Savage Worlds system, so you’ll have to pick up the codebook to play with it, but the setting is very very fleshed out. This is a little less Wild West and a little more Appalachia, and the setting is a bit more on the horror side than most of the other games on this list, but there’s certainly a lot of wildness out there for you to fight!

TROUPE, by TheOriginalCockatrice.

A game about travel, discovery, and outsiderness, a combination of the best of Old-School and Story Games. Complete with 6 Jobs, including the Ghelf, the Hedge, and the Ogra, and includes a system for holistically coming up with a character from scratch.

The designer describes this game as an exploration of the road; the odd and unknown of the wild, what it means to belong, and what it means to be on the outside. You’re not heroes - you’re entertainers, jokers, healers and bards. There isn’t exactly magic, but there is myth and legend. This is a great game for folks who want plenty of challenges that exist outside of combat. Each character playbook comes with a balance of mechanical elements and descriptive options, and you’ll be rolling 2d6 plus your stat in order to determine success.

I’m not sure how much of a Western this is, but the designer actually hacked this game for BXLLET, a game about gunslingers in the apocalypse, in the zine Bxllet Clip, so it might be worth checking out!

Shotguns & Sorcery, by Full Moon Enterprises.

Welcome to Dragon City, a grim, gritty metropolis ruled over by the Dragon Emperor, with legions of zombies scratching at the city walls by night.

Whether in the streets of Goblintown or the prestigious halls of the Academy of Arcane Apprenticeship, people try to scrape by, make a living, and survive from one day to the next. You, however, are looking for something more than simple survival. And in this city, if you don’t make your own adventure, another adventure is sure to find you.

Shotguns & Sorcery is a fantasy noir game complete with Dragon City Intrigues, roving hoards of undead, and unexplored mountains rife with magical creatures. You’ll see magical staffs alongside light pistols, bows alongside submachine guns, and greatswords alongside canteens, playing cards and a camp stove. The game uses the Cypher System, with an additional character option alongside the three-part character sentence: your race. This includes the signature hafling, elf, dwarf etc.

Games I’ve Recommended in the Past

Knights of the Road, by bordercholly.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #game recommendations #asks #fantasy #western