#Forged by the Frontlines

[helmador]

Some warmup doodles. Doppler and an NPC/Aurora Mayflower from Battle at Procyon.

A recent design as well! An unnamed avian/manticore admiral. Thinking of making a Kingdom that would be parallel to the US, it would home this species (which I currently call “Kites”),,, I really like his design so hopefully I can do something with this OC lol

The second character is my Procyon Grand Admiral Chimera. He’s the main villain for my story,,, I’ll be elaborating on him in his own individual post :)

[projectcatzo]

[a-sketchy]

the yosuke posts. love my boy

o7 it’s an honour to yosukepost for you anon

[platinumshawnn]

Bound by Blood and Fire Masterlist

A/N: posted and upcoming chapters, their descriptions and updates regarding dates are below the cut. <33

Overview: Amidst rising tensions and a looming war, House Tully seeks to strengthen its strongest alliances by proposing a marriage between Benjicot Blackwood, heir to Raventree, and Elmo Tully’s only daughter.

Last updated: Sept 23 2024 (pt 10/13)

Content warnings: MDNI — 18+, adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content, mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation. TO BE EDITED AT A LATER DATE.

fancasting

inspo playlist:

ACT I — sanctus

“the saint”

prologue (07/14/2024):

Synopsis: Serra Tully, the only daughter of acting Lord Elmo Tully, comes to an agreement to betroth his daughter to heir of Raventree’s Blackwood, Beniicot Blackwood

1.6k words

pt i (07/17/2024):

Synopsis: Lady Tully and Kermit travel to Raventree to reunite with a long-time family acquaintance amidst finalizing the details of the pending nuptials with Lord Blackwood.

6.6k words

pt ii (07/26/2024)

Synopsis: Elmo and Oscar Tully arrive at House Blackwood to be debriefed on the finalized terms of Serra’s and Benjicot’s betrothal. Tensions among the houses rise as Serra receives support from her father and yields to giving Benjicot a chance. As their engagement is announced to the other houses, news of murders in King’s Landing highlights the broader conflict looming over them. (Contains sexual content, i.e. male masturbation)

9k words

pt iii (08/02/2024)

6.2k words

syn: news of Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen's murder rocks the Seven Kingdoms, intensifying tensions at Raventree Hall. Benjicot urges immediate action against House Bracken, while Samwell advises caution. Serra seeks solace in the godswood amidst growing unease. With the wedding approaching, diplomatic tensions rise as troop movements near their borders escalate, casting a shadow over Benjicot and Serra's impending union

pt iv (08/06/2024)

7k words

syn: Amidst growing turmoil, Elmo Tully works to forge alliances with old rivals. As wedding planning forges ahead, storm clouds gather over Raventree Hall. Guests arrive for the betrothal feast with hidden anxieties, while Serra and Benjicot struggle to find common ground to ensure their marriage's success. Benjicot's olive branch to Serra offers some hope, despite her doubts. The families celebrate amid rising tensions and news from King’s Landing implicating Rhaenyra in Prince Jaehaerys’s murder. Lord Samwell hears of the Brackens crossing their borders and finally cracks underneath the pressure of his council.

pt v (08/13/2024)

7.1k words

syn: The Brackens retaliate and send their own men to the frontline and into Blackwood territory four days to the wedding, causing some concerns amongst the members of the Blackwood house. Benjicot impulsively takes things into his own hands and mistakenly escalates things. 

pt vi (08/18/2024)

10.1k words

syn: Two days to the wedding and the risk of more bloodshed looms at the boundaries between Brackens and Blackwoods as the council encounter a bump following Benjicot’s actions.

Serra begins to hear rumors around the castle of the impending battle and word from King’s Landing regarding an army of Aegon’s that is making its way along the western shore and targeting the houses on his behalf. Serra approaches her father again regarding the matter amidst finalizing wedding plans and finds comfort and friendship in another Blackwood. (Contains sexually suggestive content, i.e. making out and heavy petting)

pt vii (08/25/2024)

17.5k words

syn: On the morning of the much-anticipated wedding, the feud between the Brackens and Blackwoods comes to a head, leaving everyone on edge. Benjicot ends his first day as a husband as the acting Lord of Raventree, as Samwell heads to the Redfork to confront the Brackens despite Benjicot's eagerness to go on his houses' behalf. Despite the ongoing Battle of the Burning Mill, Serra and Benjicot celebrate a successful wedding. (Contains NSFW 18+ content, i.e. smut)

pt viii (09/06/2024)

8.4K words

syn: Serra and Benjicot's newly-wed bliss is interrupted by news from the Battle of Burning Mill, leaving Raventree in a state of grief amidst changes. Serra attempts to comfort Benjicot and better understand him in the early days of marriage. (Contains sexually suggestive content)

ACT II — heres

“the heir”

pt ix (09/23/2024)

syn: A year after the wedding of House Tully and House Blackwood (130 AC) -- in the aftermath of the Battle by the Lakeshore, the Dance of Dragons continues to rage on. Benjicot returns home and confides in his wife about the horrors of war as he prepares for another return to the battlefield and makes a plea to Rhaenyra.

pt x (date tba)

pt xi (date tba)

pt xiii (date tba) — finale 

[valar-did-me-wrong]

I keep seeing this sentiment among people that"the showrunners are giving into /going to give into Tolkien dude bros" and before too many fans actually start believing all this I jusy want to remind everyone somethings about..

The Hate Storm of 2022 🌪️

And how back then this show stood up with Ismael, Sophia, Cynthia, Morfydd, Sara, Lenny Meghan & Markella when the online hate was 1000000000000x worse than what you see rn.

If you weren't tuned into ROP back then, I assure you whatever vitriol you see about the show rn on twitter or ragetube is nothing compared to what was happening in 2022.

On sites like Instagram, not only bots & racists but even normal regular people used to directly bully you and pile on if you left even a single positive emoji in the show's comments.

Even many left leaning Tolkien blogs here were parroting lore points (originating on racist youtube channels) that were based solely on PJ movies, praising WB like it was a non-profit fighting against world hunger & warning to block ROP blogs on sight for watching a show made by Christian men

(PROF. TOLKIEN WAS A HINDU MONK WHO SOLELY WORE SAFFRON DHOTI I GUESS RIGHT?!?)

It was so much that back then the official trop Instagram account DELETED all their promotional photos, cast intros, teasers, trailers EVERYTHING to post a statment that condemned all the racist & horribly misogynistic vitriol thrown at the POC & female cast of the show.

They did all this when the hate campaigners were publically encouraging masses to review bomb ROP across internet to the point that IMDb had to suspend posting user ratings of the show without reviewing them first.

And the global public sentiment was basically hacked by loud incessant misinformation, lies and rage bait that made it trendy & even progressive to bash on the show.

Now despite all this the showrunners stood by their creative choices & actors back then just how they are doing it rn imo..

Remember when the Haters™ complained about Arondir being "too good of a warrior to be true"?? The show did not let that change their decision of showing Arondir as an exceptionally skilled warrior. Even in S2 when his storyline got disturbed by Nazanin leaving, they made sure to give him as many action sequences as possible, made him fight beside and more than High King Gil Galad of the Noldor & Elrond freaking Peredhel in the Siege.. even highlighted all this in BTS videos.

And when the the internet pushed that Galadriel should not be fighting on the frontline but rather float in forests?? They reminded the lore bros of Nerwen with her hairstyle exactly how Tolkien wrote and still made her fight orcs, rescue survivors, negotiate sucessful peace treaties, duel with Sauron & kick his ass in an ultimate finale showdown.

And orc family hate?? Despite all the loud nonsense around it they highlighted it with dedicated posts & Tolkien quotes instead of hiding it away.

And finally, despite consistent continuous complaints against the Harfoot storyline, they did not shrink it or write it out.. because in their vision of Tolkien the little guys & their stories are important so they stay, even going into S3.

I'm not saying there aren't any problems with their depiction of POC characters or writing or pacing. There DEFINITELY are, I mean look at who all died among Elrond's company... The problems especially with minor POC characters are there & VERY visible in S2. (which I hope they fix in future seasons)

But imo these things aren't because the show wants to please racist ragetubers or try to win over a group of Tolkien fanatics who will never become show fans anyway. You, me, my dog, the Haters™ and even Mcpayne know this.. it's common sense atp.

All to say this show was literally forged in the fires of Internet hate storms, I don't think the pathetic flicker of the remaining Haters matters to the showrunners anymore.

(Also the ratings people keep using to scare the fans are US ONLY ratings & data, there's a whole world out here beyond US & the show remained in the Prime top shows across many countries for weeks & weeks after the S2 finale.. and the constant stream of new viewers that are starting the show for the first time just on this website should be proof enough that the show is doing fine) Don't let the show haters' talking points get to you!

Season 3 is, for all intents & purposes, already green lit and ROP is going to complete the story it started out to tell.. don't worry needlessly :)

edited Tolkien lore bros to Tolkien dude bros (I'm not saying all masc fans of Tolkien are racist sexists I promise, it's just a term we use here 😭) after someone from outside of ROP pointed they have a problem.. clarifying things here also, if you love Tolkien & dislike ROP for reasons other than female lead/POC characters/not a copy of PJ = bad etc etc, I've no problem with your personal opinions & this post is not about you :)

[slavghoul]

Interview from Metal Hammer 8/2023

LIFE LESSONS from TOBIAS FORGE

Shock rock, bad glam bands and wanting to be Venom: inside the brain of Ghost's benevolent overlord

Tobias Forge is the mastermind behind one of the 21st century's hottest metal bands, but even he’ll admit that success was a long time in the making. Hailing from the Swedish city of Linköping, the Ghost frontman dabbled in everything from death metal to glam before donning the iconic Papal attire and paint to transform into Papa Emeritus, transcending his roots to become a larger-than-life character. Here are the key parables he has to share, gleaned from more than 25 years on the heavy metal frontlines.

MUSIC AND MOVIES ARE GATEWAYS TO OTHER WORLDS

“Linköping was a nice city to grow up in. It wasn’t so small you felt like you were cramped in a village, but it’s small enough that you’d still want to eventually move somewhere else. You’d have access to all these gateways to other worlds through the record stores and the local video store. My dreams started there - everything I do now, I dreamt back there.”

I WAS A TEENAGE HEADBANGER

“I had a teenage brother growing up, so I had a free pass into teenage culture. Whatever they consumed, I got a whiff of - how they dressed, what they watched on TV, what films they rented... The lifestyle and expression that meant most to me was shock rock. Twisted Sister were a wrecking ball into my life with I Wanna Rock. That song made me want to bounce!”

THE HEAVIER IT GOT, THE DEEPER I WANTED TO GO

“When I first heard Candlemass, I was eight and I was blown away. I already liked Black Sabbath, Metallica and Motorhead through my brother, but Candlemass were local and sounded so heavy, it was like doomsday. King Diamond and Candlemass served as a segue for me to discover death metal and black metal in the early 90s. It became my calling. From the ages of 12 to 22, I spent my life in death and black metal bands.”

FOLLOW YOUR HEART (AND SOMETIMES YOUR WALLET)

“My mom is from Stockholm, so when I was 15 and started saying I wanted to move there, she was just like ‘Finish mandatory school’ and we moved together [after I graduated]. I moved back to Linköping when I was 25, because Stockholm is a big metropolitan place and it’s not fun living in those places if you don’t have money. Now I’m in Stockholm again; it’s more fun now I can afford it!”

HEAD IN THE CLOUDS, FEET ON THE GROUND

“I learned the hard way in the late 90s that wanting to play 80s-inspired death metal with my band Repugnant was     painfully out of touch with what was going on at the time. It broke my heart; I wanted us to be signed to Roadrunner and support Slayer. That never happened unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately, as it kept me grounded for a few more years and if those things had happened maybe I wouldn't be here today.”

TAKE CHANCES, BUT STAND YOUR GROUND

“Repugnant had a close shave with success. We signed to the label Hammerheart, which at the time felt like we’d made it because the first thing they did was take us out on our first tour, supporting the American band Macabre. They were a favourite band of ours - still are, and whenever we play Chicago they come to the shows - and at that point it felt like we might be going somewhere, but we quickly parted ways with Hammerheart because we couldn’t agree. It felt like our chance and we’d blown it.”

NOT ALL 80S BANDS WERE CREATED EQUAL

“With Crashdiet, we never really went beyond our home. I can’t say how many shows we did, but I don’t think it was more than a handful. For me especially there was conflict with the singer, Dave Lepard. We were friends, but he clearly wanted to take his band into some sort of glam-sleaze direction, whereas when I think of ‘glam’ I’m more Hanoi Rocks and Guns N’ Roses - never, ever the other bands. I know Poison kinda came before a lot of the latecomers, but to me they were repellent. Dave wanted to go all neon and I wanted it so that if we were glam, we’d be Hanoi Rocks meets Lords Of The New Church or The Dead Boys. I don’t want to be fucking Stryper! Fuck that!”

THERE’S NO POINT TRYING TO FOLLOW FASHION

“It was a confusing time in the early 2000s – rock was all of a sudden in fashion because of bands like Franz Ferdinand and Kaiser Chiefs. Everyone was always looking for the next big rock band and in Sweden The Hives were huge, as were The Soundtrack Of Our Lives, The Hellacopters, Backyard Babies...so many rock bands! But there we were in Subvision, influenced by The Dead Boys, with a little-too-long hair, leather jackets, just a little too ‘metal’... yuck! You’re supposed to be more indie; heavy metal is about having the biggest dick and indie is the opposite.”

FIRST IMPRESSIONS REALLY DO COUNT

“I hated The Strokes when they first came out. Back then, everyone described them as being so natural, that they weren’t interested in being rock stars, and I was like, ‘No. They didn’t wake up looking like that.' They chose to do that to be rock stars. And they can really play! Then when First Impressions Of Earth came out it was like, ‘There you go! That's what they really sound like! After that, I loved The Strokes, because they were showing they actually did love the music, but a lot of indie rockers treated it like it was their sell-out record.”

HAVE A VISION IN MIND

“Ghost started with a song, Stand By Him, which ultimately came out on our first record. I wrote it spontaneously, as an experiment - almost a joke, if you will, in 2006. When I recorded it the first time, I had no equipment in my home, so I had to go to a friend’s house. We did this very rough demo. He said it was great. He’d been in Subvision, Repugnant and Crashdiet with me, but we’d stopped playing together. He was like, ‘Can we form a new band?’ and I was like, ‘This song is the only thing I have. If I can come up with two more songs and there’s a pattern, then of course.’ But they needed to be as playful and spontaneous, and sure enough they were.”

PRESSURE CAN DO WONDERS

“Around 2008, when Ghost were first getting properly started, my girlfriend told me she was pregnant with twins. I never said it out loud, but I was preparing for my dream not coming true - maybe I wouldn’t become a rock star, I’d never be successful... So I had to at least have something that I could live with, a hobby that I could feel strongly about and get all my inclinations filtered through. I wanted to play metal, but also write pop music, have this horror rock show with theatre... Still taking inspiration from Venom pictures in 1982 where they looked like bikers surrounded by smoke and red lights. Ghost felt like a combination of all those things. Lo and behold, when I didn’t have all the time in the world, like I had before and gotten nowhere, when I could only put so much effort in, everything changed.”

THE MYTHOS IS NICE, BUT ONLY THE MUSIC MATTERS

“It was so weird, being threatened with a ‘reveal’ [Tobias’s public identity was revealed after ex-members took legal action against him in 2017I, as if people knowing who I was would be such a turn-off that they’d never listen to Ghost again. Here I am, most of my life wanting to be known, but then I was fighting to be unknown? What a paradox!”

ROLL WITH THE PUNCHES

“I’ve always tried to be like a general – have a goal, like, ‘Let’s take that castle’, but knowing that things can change in the field. You need to conduct yourself with a certain level of elasticity. I know I’m a control freak and want things to be done in a certain way, but I’m also aware things never work out that way.”

CHALLENGE YOURSELF

“One of the biggest weaknesses with modern metal - and horror - is that it’s being created and curated by people who only like that thing, so it becomes regurgitation. The best horror movies I’ve seen - Jaws, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, The Exorcist, The Omen - were made by people who never made horror films elsewhere. They wouldn’t limit themselves. If you don’t like other things, that’s fine, but if you ever feel stuck creatively it might just be that you’re sticking too close to home. I can’t even imagine just sticking to one lane these days.”

[hayatheauthor]

Forging Epic Battles: Techniques for Writing Gripping War Scenes

I want to start this post off with sort of an author's note: this is a long one! I tried to keep my detailing to a minimum but I guess this topic Is just so vast I couldn't help but pour it all out. This really is sort of an ultimate guide and I hope it helps! Also, it was requested by @xweirdo101x (if you want to request something just send me an ask)

War has long captivated readers' imaginations, evoking a sense of grandeur, sacrifice, and the clash of ideologies. As writers, we have the power to transport our readers to the frontlines, immersing them in the chaos, drama, and emotion of epic battles. 

Crafting gripping war scenes requires a delicate balance of research, skillful storytelling, and an understanding of the human experience in times of conflict. In this guide, I will explore various techniques that will help you create dynamic and compelling war narratives, transporting your readers to the heart of the action and leaving them breathless.

Setting the Stage: Creating a Compelling War Setting

When it comes to writing gripping war scenes, creating a vivid and immersive setting is paramount. Whether you are crafting a historical war or inventing a fictional conflict, the setting serves as the backdrop against which your characters and their stories unfold. Here are essential steps to help you create a compelling war setting that captures readers' imaginations:

Research Historical Context or Build a Fictional World:

For historical wars, immerse yourself in research to understand the time period, social dynamics, and political climate surrounding the conflict. This knowledge will lend authenticity and depth to your narrative.

If you're building a fictional world, establish the rules, geography, and cultural aspects that shape the war. Consider the unique elements that set your world apart and make it feel real to readers.

Describe the Physical Environment and Atmosphere:

Depict the landscape, whether it's a war-torn city, a rugged battlefield, or a desolate wasteland. Pay attention to sensory details—sights, sounds, smells—to transport readers into the heart of the war.

Convey the atmosphere of the setting, capturing the tension, fear, or anticipation that hangs in the air. Is it shrouded in darkness and despair, or does a glimmer of hope persist? Use descriptive language to evoke the desired emotional response.

Incorporate Cultural and Societal Elements:

Explore how the war has affected the culture and society within your setting. Are there new traditions, rituals, or customs that have emerged in response to the conflict?

Consider the social dynamics at play—class divisions, power struggles, or the impact of war on marginalized groups. These elements add layers of complexity to your setting and provide opportunities for conflict and character development.

By carefully constructing your war setting, you transport readers into a world brimming with authenticity and intrigue. Whether it's the trenches of World War I, a futuristic intergalactic battle, or a mythical realm engulfed in strife, the setting sets the stage for compelling storytelling.

Building Conflict and Tension

In the realm of war fiction, conflict and tension are the driving forces that propel your narrative forward and keep readers captivated. From the clash of opposing ideologies to the internal struggles within characters, here are essential techniques for building conflict and tension in your war scenes:

Establish Clear Goals and Stakes for Characters:

Define the objectives and desires of your main characters within the war. What are they fighting for? What personal or collective goals are at stake?

Create conflicts of interest between characters, where their motivations and objectives may diverge, leading to tension-filled interactions and confrontations.

Introduce Opposing Forces and Ideologies:

Develop compelling adversaries that challenge your protagonists. These opposing forces may represent different sides of the conflict, ideologies, or even personal vendettas.

Explore the contrasting beliefs, values, and philosophies driving each side, heightening the ideological clash and intensifying the conflict.

Utilize Internal Conflicts within Characters:

Explore the internal struggles and moral dilemmas faced by your characters. How does the war affect their beliefs, principles, and sense of self?

Delve into the emotional turmoil and psychological toll of war, showcasing the internal battles characters face as they navigate the chaos and make difficult choices.

By effectively building conflict and tension, you create a dynamic and engaging narrative that keeps readers invested in your war story. The clash of goals, the ideological friction, and the internal struggles of your characters add layers of complexity and depth to your storytelling, drawing readers deeper into the heart of the conflict.

Developing Dynamic Characters

In the realm of war fiction, dynamic and well-developed characters are essential to breathe life into your narrative and create an emotional connection with readers. By crafting relatable protagonists and antagonists, you elevate the impact of your war story. Here are key considerations and techniques for developing dynamic characters within the context of war:

Crafting Relatable Protagonists:

Give your main characters depth and complexity by exploring their backgrounds, motivations, and personal histories. What drives them to participate in the war? What are their hopes, fears, and vulnerabilities?

Develop relatable goals and desires for your protagonists that resonate with readers. Show how the war impacts their lives and pushes them to grow, change, or make difficult decisions.

Creating Compelling Antagonists:

Craft antagonists who are more than just one-dimensional villains. Give them their own motivations, beliefs, and reasons for engaging in the war. This adds depth and complexity to their characters, creating a sense of empathy or understanding.

Explore the potential for redemption or transformation within your antagonists. Are they driven by misguided ideals, personal vendettas, or the pressures of their circumstances? Allow their development to challenge readers' perspectives.

Conveying the Psychological Impact of War:

Explore the emotional and psychological toll that war takes on your characters. Depict their fears, traumas, and inner conflicts as they grapple with the horrors and realities of the battlefield.

Show the evolution of their beliefs and perspectives as they confront the brutalities of war. Allow their experiences to shape their character arcs, highlighting the resilience, resilience, and vulnerabilities that emerge in the face of adversity.

By developing dynamic characters in your war narrative, you create a multi-dimensional and emotionally resonant story. Readers will become invested in their journeys, experiencing the triumphs, losses, and personal transformations that unfold throughout the war.

Writing Action-Packed Battle Scenes

Action-packed battle scenes are the heart of war fiction, where the intensity and stakes are at their highest. These scenes immerse readers in the chaos, danger, and adrenaline of the conflict. To craft gripping battle scenes, consider the following techniques:

Structuring Battle Sequences for Maximum Impact:

Begin with a clear sense of purpose for the battle scene. What are the objectives? What is at stake? Establish the goals and set the stage for the conflict.

Build tension gradually, starting with smaller skirmishes or encounters that escalate toward the climactic moments. Consider pacing, alternating moments of heightened action with moments of respite for emotional impact.

Balancing Fast-Paced Action and Descriptive Details:

Use concise and vivid language to convey the fast-paced nature of battle. Focus on capturing the essence of the action, highlighting key movements, and sensory details that immerse readers in the experience.

Strike a balance between brevity and providing enough detail to engage the reader's imagination. Avoid overwhelming readers with excessive description, ensuring that every word serves a purpose and contributes to the overall impact.

Using Sensory Language to Immerse Readers:

Engage multiple senses to transport readers into the battle scene. Describe the sights, sounds, smells, and tactile sensations to evoke a visceral experience.

Leverage sensory details to enhance the emotional impact of the battle, capturing the fear, adrenaline, and urgency felt by characters and evoking a similar response in readers.

Good action-packed battle scenes bring the war to life on the page, immersing readers in the heart-pounding action. Remember to focus not only on the physical aspects of combat but also on the emotional and psychological experiences of your characters. 

Conveying Emotional Resonance

In war fiction, it is crucial to convey the emotional impact of the conflict on both individual characters and the larger society. By tapping into the raw emotions experienced during times of war, you can create a profound connection with your readers. Here are key techniques for conveying emotional resonance in your war narrative:

Show the Human Cost of War:

Portray the personal sacrifices, losses, and tragedies that characters endure in the face of war. Highlight the emotional toll on their relationships, families, and communities.

Explore the range of emotions experienced by characters, such as fear, grief, anger, and resilience. Through their struggles, allow readers to empathize with the profound impact of war on the human psyche.

Engage the Senses to Evoke Emotion:

Utilize sensory language to evoke emotions within readers. Describe the sights, sounds, smells, and tactile sensations associated with war to create a vivid and immersive experience.

Connect specific sensory details to the emotions they evoke. For example, the acrid stench of smoke may elicit a sense of danger or the distant cries of anguish may stir feelings of sorrow.

Develop Authentic and Complex Relationships:

Showcase the bonds formed and tested amidst the chaos of war. Explore friendships, romances, and the camaraderie among soldiers to highlight the connections that sustain characters in the face of adversity.

Depict the conflicts and tensions that arise within relationships due to the strain of war. This adds layers of emotional complexity and authenticity to your narrative.

By effectively conveying emotional resonance, you invite readers to experience the human side of war. They will connect with the characters on a deeper level and become emotionally invested in their journeys.

Navigating Moral and Ethical Dilemmas

War is often accompanied by moral and ethical dilemmas that test the values and principles of individuals and societies. As a war fiction writer, it is important to explore these complexities and shed light on the difficult choices characters face. Here are key considerations for navigating moral and ethical dilemmas in your war narrative:

Present Conflicting Perspectives:

Introduce characters with differing moral viewpoints and beliefs. Show the diversity of perspectives within the war, whether it's among the protagonists, antagonists, or the larger society.

Challenge readers to contemplate the gray areas of morality and the complexities of right and wrong by presenting conflicting viewpoints and the reasons behind them.

Highlight the Consequences of Choices:

Illustrate the consequences of characters' actions and decisions. Showcase how their choices ripple through the narrative, affecting themselves and those around them.

Explore the moral dilemmas characters face, such as choosing between duty and personal convictions, sacrificing the few for the many, or grappling with the aftermath of their actions.

Offer Reflection and Discussion:

Provide opportunities for characters to reflect on their choices, engaging in internal dialogue or discussions with others. This allows readers to contemplate the moral implications alongside the characters.

Invite readers to reflect on their own moral compass and engage in discussions surrounding the ethical dimensions raised in your war narrative.

Navigating moral and ethical dilemmas makes your war fiction go beyond the surface-level action and delve into the deeper questions of humanity. It prompts readers to question their own values, moral boundaries, and the intricate web of choices that arise in times of conflict. 

Research and Authenticity in War Fiction

For war fiction to have a lasting impact, it is crucial to conduct thorough research and strive for authenticity in your narrative. By grounding your story in accurate details and historical context, you enhance its credibility and immerse readers in the world of war. Here are key considerations for incorporating research and authenticity in your war fiction:

Study Historical Events and Settings:

Research the historical events, conflicts, and time periods that serve as the backdrop for your war narrative. Gain a comprehensive understanding of the context, including the political, social, and cultural factors that influenced the war.

Dive into the specifics of battle strategies, weaponry, and tactics employed during the time period. This knowledge will help you create authentic and realistic war scenes.

Explore Personal Accounts and Memoirs:

Read personal accounts, memoirs, and interviews of individuals who have experienced war firsthand. These sources provide invaluable insights into the emotions, challenges, and nuances of the human experience during wartime.

Pay attention to the details of daily life, the physical and psychological tolls, and the individual stories of courage, sacrifice, and resilience. Incorporate these elements into your narrative to add depth and authenticity.

Consult Experts and Military Advisers:

Seek guidance from military advisers, historians, or experts in the field to ensure accuracy in depicting military operations, protocols, and terminology.

Engage in conversations or interviews with individuals who have expertise in areas relevant to your story, such as veterans, soldiers, or scholars. Their perspectives can offer valuable insights and help you portray the realities of war with authenticity.

Strive for Emotional Truth:

While research and accuracy are crucial, remember that emotional truth is equally important. Balance historical accuracy with the emotional resonance of your characters and their experiences.

Capture the human aspects of war, such as the impact on relationships, the psychological trauma, and the bonds forged in the face of adversity. Connect readers to the emotional core of your story.

By incorporating thorough research and striving for authenticity, you create a rich and immersive war narrative that resonates with readers. The combination of accurate historical details, personal accounts, and emotional depth brings your story to life.

War fiction is a genre that holds immense power to captivate readers, evoke emotions, and shed light on the complexities of human nature during times of conflict. Through the techniques and considerations I have explored in this guide, you have the tools to craft compelling war narratives that resonate with authenticity and engage your readers on a profound level.

I hope this blog on forging epic battles will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.  

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and marketing tools for authors every Monday and Thursday

[shoezuki]

i think silvermane guards are very very protective of gepard and they don't even try to hide this like if someone says any shit about gepard they would be like, just instantly go into defensive mode and just shut them up. They definitely dont play about him and every one of them so grateful towards the man who constantly stands tall between the endless enemy and them,even the most old/veteran ones, like he is just like a little fucked up son for them

Actually i was going insane thinking about the relationship between gepard and his comrades THEY ARE JUST A SECOND FAMILY FOR HIM UGGGGGGGHHH

oh my god yes yes absolutely i think bout the silvermane culture n gepards relationships w em So Much like.

i imagine when he first started riding up the ranks, super young and how as landau it was very much just Expected he would become the captain, that silvermanes were much more. sour with him. but hes Genuine. hes a captain that cares bout the guards and the people and he is right there at the frontlines and facing the fragmentum with them. he makes sure they are okay after it all and actually visits the wounded and checks up on them. its a mixture of bonds being forged when your life is on the line together but also just how unwavering and Present that gepard is as a captain in a way that is more than just. being tactical and resourceful. beyond maybe some old retired bastards who resented gepard rising the ranks quickly ahead of them you know the silvermanes LOVE his ass.

i imagine the decorum and concept of ranks that are rigid in the city are somewhat thrown out the window in the restricted zone or outside the city. like gepard ignores when some of the guards smuggle booze to the outposts as long as he gets a shot or two and they play boardgames and card games on rare nights that they arent dog tired (they let gepard win poker still). New guards get the memo quickly on the vibes when the older dudes are like 'yep thats gepard our captain we would all die for him (dont let him hear you say that he doesnt like when we talk like that)' and gepard is all PLEASE dont do that. theres weird superstitions around gepard like if he wakes up and gets out of his tent even a minute past 6am it's going to be a horrible day. gepard is always putting on a strong front and conscious of his guards wellbeing even when he's coked up on sleep deprivation but the guards know when hes not gotten enough sleep and try to coax him into resting. often when theres nothing too pressing theyll ask gepard to spar and try to knock him out literally because thatll work right? but nope even when Gepard has bags under his eyes and looks like shit he clobbers everyone.

its just. silvermanes have often been seen as dispensable and i mean sure they often die young and those that live to get old have their own scars but its worth it to protect the city right? but gepard Does care about the silvermanes too. a lot. he knows them all by name even when they are all wearing the same helmets and are indistinguishable and he often takes part in training new guards even though its technically not his job. the guards all feel the same way for him too yknow

[carrinth]

are you planning on adding to the soul weapons au, or are you done with it? that idea lives in my mind rent free hshshfhsj

Ooooh I do really like this AU tho hahaha! So here's some more random ideas I have for this AU:

11. Soul Discordance is a thing. It is possible for a Soul Weapon to automatically reject being wielded if the two souls are completely at odds with each other.

12. Thus, Clone Troopers in this AU were created to circumvent that issue. They were beings created allegedly without a soul. Without a soul, there can be no chance of Discordance.

13. Obviously, this isn't what happened and the Soul Weapons very quickly recognized this the moment they were placed in their clone commander's hands. Collectively, clones and Soul Weapons decided to say nothing as the truth might cause all the clones to be destroyed. Fortunately, the ruse held up for the duration of the War. Unfortunately, clones were treated worst than slaves as they were universally considered soulless flesh golems.

14. In this AU, instead of millions of clones, only a handful are made. Much smaller scale.

15. Another reason clones were created was so royalty did not have to risk their lives in the War. Only Padme, Queen of Naboo, stubbornly charged the frontlines with the most powerful Soul Weapon ever forged, the Skywalker.

16. Soul Weapons do not actually spend their whole time as weapons. They are born as normal but have the innate ability to transform into a weapon when someone commands their name. 'Forging' is the training one goes through to truly hone your abilities as a Soul Weapon.

17. Kanan and Hera are soulmates kehehehe 😘

[meangreennunseen]

Medusan Spirit

A quick random drabble.

Ferrus trying to get used to being a dad and failing miserably. He had met his match.

- Sleep. - Primarch's voice was stern, but without any malice or negativity. It was just a simple order.

Small child, who sat by his side, watched giant being laying beside him with questioning expression, but it seemed he completely missed the order.

- Haven't you heard what I said? Sleep. Now. - Ferrus' eyes narrowed as he ordered again locking his sight with a child, but his order had no effect. Quite opposite, Argus just smiled at him innocently.

Primarch growled, as he turned on his back and sighed. Why him? Why he has to carry this burden, not any of his brothers? Why not Horus? He probably would enjoy it. Why not Russ? He also seems fool enough to find such a burden enjoyable. Even Fulgrim? Yes that one was the newest Brother his Father recovered and he... Was different. Something about the one who called himself Phoenician of the IIIrd. was so different from others, but felt of same kin to him, Ferrus Manus of Xth.

He glanced to the side of his bed. The hammer named Forgebreaker, a traded gift with Fulgrim after challenging eachother in the Forges of Ural, was unique, strong, durable, but also ellegant and beautiful. Just as Fulgrim was. For one Ferrus loved the hammer, but on other hand, he was bitter that Fulgrim managed to achieve such a beauty and perfection with metalwork. His craft. While in his eyes, Fireblade he made was not worthy gift.

Ferrus felt cold sting on his skin and as he glanced, he remembered the child. He now managed to find a way on top of him and sat on his abdomen, legs spread to the sides. His necrodium covered hands plastered on Ferrus shirtless skin.

That child was pain in his ass, as Terrans used to say.

He grunted. Not because it was any issue physically to hold a child he could almost otherwise carry in one palm, but it frustrated him so. Why him? He was more content with his life as it was before this.

Ferrus was bred for war and conquest. He was Emperor's weapon of warfare, not a nursemaid. Primarchs were not meant to raise children and he was unlucky one chosen for this. Even his Father, the Emperor, ordered him to take the child. Why, Ferrus had no idea. It's not like Mankind needed more warriors with Astartes at the frontlines.

He cursed that damned day something clinged in him and he pulled that child from a toxic swamp on Medusa. Weakness it was, and he now was doomed.

Ferrus lifted his own necrodium covered hands and picked up small child off himself. He felt Argus' back goosebump and hastly willed some higher temperature in his hands. Again, why he cared to show effort confused him so.

Ferrus placed child besides him on the bed, pointing his massive finger right at child's face.

- Sleep. Now. Or else. - he growled. Truth be told he was ready to throw the child across the room and yet he knew sad consequances if those terrible thoughts became reality.

But Primarch was frustrated and tired. More tired than he was for weeks fighting on first frontlines for the Imperium alongside his legion. He hated to admit but putting child to bed was indeed harder than leading warfare of the battlefield.

Maybe his face indeed was scary enough, or intimidation finally worked, but smile from child's face dropped and he laid down into small ball on his belly.

Finally. Peace and quiet. Ferrus laid back down.

For few moments Ferrus closed his eyes. It would have been more useful if he did not need to sleep at all, but for some reason even Primarchs needed this.

So he slept. Not for long though.

What he heard soon after were sniffles. Little ones. Crying.

Again. He felt something pin into his hearts. Otherwise healthy, he felt the pain. Annoying pain which comes due to feelings. Guilt.

Half sitting and cussing in his mind, Primarch turned and loomed over the child, very careful not to harm by accident. Watched him for few seconds just to see little shoulders twitch. Small hand moved to the eyes as child rubbed them.

Damn it.

Ferrus was strict and wanted his child to listen, but now even if Argus listened he cried, forcing Ferrus feel guilt.

Very carefully he poked at the child, only surprisingly to the Primarch his own tiny human child raised his little hand in a ball, smacking his finger away. Primarch, confused by this tried again, just for the child to smack at his hand again.

- Stop it. - Ferrus growled, this time anger he tried to supress before more audible.

Child still sniffled, but pushed himself off the spot he laid upon the bed and turned to the Primarch.

The eyes. Those hazily green eyes, reminding half dead flora of Medusa, looked at him with anger. Total denial of demigod before him and frustration. Even if Argus' lip still twitched from crying and cheeks and eyes were wet, boy was angry.

Ferrus just watched him back not really knowing what to do. Weirdly enough his own eyes drifted away from that angry face. Was he... Embarrased? Nonsense! He was a Primarch, son of Emperor, Demigod among mere mortals and this child now looked down on him making Ferrus feel so minicule.

A child. Human child. Mortal Human Child. Yet so determined in his own way to even defy almighty creature like him.

Suddenly Ferrus felt smile form on his lips. That smile grew into a giggle and a full laugh. Primarch laid back down on his back, laughing to himself. He turned the head, still smiling to watch what's about to happen next. Now he had to see what is about to go down.

Argus still held his tiny necrodermis fists pressed into balls, like he was about to jump a Primarch. No, not a Primarch, but his own Father. He tried to stand up on the bed and he almost got it just to fall backwards. He tried again, and again until he was on his feet. Ferrus had no idea when human children started to walk, but it was probably about time his kid got the hang of it.

Once on the feet, Argus made his way to the side of Primarch and again started climbing on his abdomen. Ferrus was about to reprimand his kid for a second time, but before he could, little Argus shot him down with the same stern and denying look.

It seemed Primarch finally lost. To a human child.

Once again on top on Ferrus' abdomen, Argus scooted closer to his father's barren large chest and slumped on it making himself comforable. He closed his eyes and soon dozed off.

Ferrus had to cover his own mouth so not to laugh too loud.

Despite all the frustrations he had with his son, he could not deny that unbreakable Medusan spirit Argus posessed.

Placing palm of his other metal hand carefully over his son's gently moving tiny frame, Ferrus took one deep breath.

Maybe indeed he was stuck in this hopeless situation, but just as every impossible task before him, he will crush it.

[drdemonprince]

Why is hope prevalent & widespread among those at the frontlines of the struggle but often scarce among those at the peripheries who are shielded? I think it comes down to individualism and colonial values. Resistance movements give me hope. Across history, in the face of brutal systemic violence, people have always fought for freedom and the right to love— each other, the land, their diverse cultures, & ancestors. Communities have dismantled entire empires. It took generations of unyielding resistance. It took a lot of faith, conviction and belief in a free future. It took decades & often centuries of work but people freed themselves. They always have. What can we learn from them? Hope is not a feeling generated by an individual from within. Hope is a flame that is intentionally co-created in community that then permeates & passes through us all. Hope, happiness, joy, contentment, safety, meaning, purpose, motivation, creativity, etc are all things an individual cannot independently generate in isolation even if colonial logic convinces you otherwise. Hope is a fire that is tended to and kept alive by the collective efforts of many. Just like any life-giving, life-sustaining energy that circulates within an ecosystem, we depend on each other to have hope. Like survival, hope is a collective responsibility, not an individual burden. We have to play our role in seeking out community where such hope can be co-created. The struggle to forge community in itself is a journey with a million hopeful moments that can only exist alongside painful teaching moments. As long as we run from the struggle, hope will remain just as inaccessible.

another wonderful piece from Ayesha Khan!

[helmador]

Gosh it’s been a minute. Here’s some (primarily oc/experimental) stuff

Experimental art style. Guidon Mackriki guy I made… maybe he’ll become an oc… He’s named First Sergeant Ribbons

Another redesign for Vrurik Alan (like his 10th redesign lol) and a Cadet-Armed Ex Zirrelian I made, doesn’t have a name I’m just calling him Tate

I’ll be posting more about my ocs and fanfiction later. It’s a Battle at Procyon fiction called Forged by the Frontlines, it primarily focuses on the frontline battles of the Terran/Procyon war in-game.

[rotworld]

21: Fellow Traveler

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

a visit to a remote haven for scoundrels on the fringes of the imperium leads to a fateful meeting with a kindred spirit.

->warhammer 40k. original aeldari outcast character/reader. contains graphic descriptions of violence, gun violence/combat situation, murder.

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The scrap metal sign hanging in the entrance corridor doesn’t say anything helpful like which way to the marketplace, nor does it even give a perfunctory greeting like “WELCOME TO SINISTRA STATION.” The collage of old pipes, ship wreckage and station detritus all stuck together shape the words “LOST AND FOUND” in Low Gothic. That’s how a lot of people come to know this place. Sinistra is a galactic dumping ground, the shore where vanished things wash up again. Deserter Capital of the Sector, some call it. If you can’t find it, it might be here. Some things came here by being stolen, traded, lost in a bet, sold to some unscrupulous sort. Some came because they had to.

If the bar has a name, only the locals know it. It’s an unmarked blink-and-you’ll-miss-it hole in the wall. There’s a fire hazard of a bootleg augmetics shop with more whirring, overheating machinery and sparking cables than a crashed voidship, and a self-service booth advertising forged ID chips, and a rickety flight of steps up to the next eye-burning level of humming neon and contraband. The bar is right there, tucked under the stairs. Awash in shadows and flickering light in burnt orange, it’s dimmer and moodier than what’s right outside. People come here for discretion. To find what they’re looking for and be left alone.

It’s a dangerous crowd tonight. You see a lot of weapons, holstered but clearly displayed in a wordless threat, a lot of tense shoulders and suspicious glances. You make guesses for every pinched, scowling face; a smuggler? An Inquisitor in disguise? Ex-Administratum with sunken, despairing eyes? Another deserter from another hopeless frontline meat grinder? You order something at the bar just to blend in. While you’re leaning against the counter watching cloudy swill pour into a glass, you see him.

There, standing in the shadows at the far end of the bar—someone different. Someone you can’t quite place. He’s wearing a long cloak with the hood up, like just about everyone else here, but he’s unusually, eye-catchingly tall. Positioned in the corner with his back to the wall, it’s clear he’s being cautious but he doesn’t look worried, either. Expecting trouble? About to start some? Both of his hands are concealed beneath his cloak. 

His head turns slightly and you feel like you’ve been spotted by some slinking, prowling thing in the underbrush of a forest, moments from feeling bestial fangs in your throat. Your breath hitches. You wait for something to happen, but it never does. His head lowers like he’s lost interest but you can still feel him watching. He turns again, feigning a glance to the side and a cough. His index finger lifts, making a subtle but pointed motion at you, and then at the seat closest to him at the bar. 

You’re not sure why you don’t leave. You don’t know him, but you feel like you could. Something about his self-imposed isolation, noticeably distrustful and distant in a room full of people feeling the same way, calm rather than bristling with fearful energy. Hiding in plain sight. Maybe you relate, or maybe you admire him.

You’ve barely sat down when he asks, “Where are you from?” 

“Ursalis-III,” you say. 

“No, you’re not.” 

You watch him come slightly closer, leaning against the bar and looming over you. You can just barely make out a few details beneath the shadow of his hood—smudges of black greasepaint around dark green eyes, the hard edges of a mask covering his mouth. “I’m not?” you echo. 

“Ursalis-III is gone. Consigned to oblivion for treachery most foul against the Emperor’s holy design—that is to say, centuries of skipped tithes culminating in an attempted uprising. The entire populace was conscripted or shipped off to labor camps. A fresh batch of loyal colonists was lost in transit.” He has an accent you can’t place, something subtle and only noticeable on a few words. 

“I’m well aware,” you say wryly, plucking a pair of jangling dog tags out of your shirt. 

“Those aren’t yours,” he says. “You traded for them when you got here. Some rations for an easy ID.” 

“Have you been following me? For how long?” 

“Off and on since you landed at the starport.” The admission comes easily and without shame. He doesn’t feel like a threat.

“And what did you think when you saw me?” 

“I was curious, mostly. Your ship is very distinctive. I’ve never seen one like it.” He studies your expression for a moment, head tilting in interest. “You look disappointed,” he notes. “Were those codewords? I’m sorry I’m not whoever you’re looking for.” 

“I’m not looking for anyone,” you say. You don’t like how intently he’s looking at you. If he can tell you’re lying again, he doesn’t mention it. “So where are you from?” 

“Nowhere you’ve heard of.”

The bar shakes slightly, a gentle quake rattling the bottles in the back and tipping some glasses over. There’s a moment of tense, breathless silence before the lights stabilize and everything settles back in place. The stranger is watching you when your gaze returns to his. “Frequent visitor?” he asks. “You don’t look alarmed.” Neither does he.

“I know about the star,” you say. Sinistra orbits dangerously close to an unusually active stellar body infamous for its frequent and violent stellar flares. Most of them fizzle out harmlessly against a state-of-the-art atmospheric shield, a precious and poorly-understood relic that tech-priests travel from across the galaxy to observe, but a big one sneaks through every now and then. “Have you lost someone recently?” you ask him.

You’ve caught him completely off guard. He straightens out of his casual lean and narrows his eyes. “What a strange question,” he says. 

You shrug, taking a testing sip of your drink and deciding immediately that you’ve had enough. “I won’t push. I was just trying to figure out why you looked so familiar when I know we’ve never met.” He’s grieving. That must be it. It’s the numb kind, past the stage of open-wound rawness, the empty feeling that comes when you finish weeping. Maybe it was a recent death. Maybe a distant one that casts a long shadow, or something even more difficult to explain. He looks at you like he’s only just started to see you for the first time.

“Would you walk with me?” he asks. 

You push your glass around absently, looking down at the bar counter. “Your turn to ask strange questions, huh?”

He nudges your glass out of reach, laying his hand on top of yours. He’s wearing gloves; some kind of soft, flexible leather, his fingers long and spindly. You can just faintly feel warmth through the material. “I’d like to speak with you more. Elsewhere.” He closes his hand around yours, threading your fingers together. It really seems like he’s propositioning you—or planning to kill you—but he sounds so solemn and urgent that you aren’t sure what to think. Nobody pays you more than a passing glance when you stand up and follow him out of the bar.

Back on the bright, busy streets of Sinistra’s labyrinthine markets, he draws far less attention than you expect. Everyone is suspicious here, you suppose, rushing around and concealing their faces, but your stranger towers above both you and the crowd. He walks in a practiced graceful manner that reminds you of trained dancers or extremely skilled soldiers—no movement wasted, everything precise. 

“This station doesn’t have much time left,” he murmurs, so quiet you barely hear him over the rattle of machinery and exuberant voices. “Imperial authorities have swarmed the system in increasing numbers, preparing to seize Sinistra from the current administration. Many of them are here now, biding their time for a signal. They mean to take the station by force and care little about how many fall along the wall.”

“How do you know?” you ask him.

“It’s my gift. I see what will come. I advise you leave as soon as you’re able.” 

“Thank you for the warning. Are you going to be alright? Do you have a way off the station?” 

He’s quiet for a while. You look up and find him staring at you again, his gaze softened. “You’re from out here, aren’t you?” he asks.

“Out here?”

He hunches slightly, lowering his voice even further. “Far from the Emperor’s light. So far, perhaps, it has never touched you.” 

“There isn’t a world in the galaxy untouched by the Emperor’s light,” you say carefully. The station shudders again, buffeted by harsh solar winds. Steel creaks and rumbles. You stumble but the stranger catches you by the forearm. 

“If I could have one honest answer from you, it would be how you came into possession of your ship,” he says. “But I think I already know.” 

“Why?” you ask warily. “It’s nothing special. A few mods, sure, but—”

The next tremor is stronger and far louder. There’s a flash in your peripheral vision and then the acrid smell of smoke floods your nose. Not a flare, you think. An explosion. The stranger moves while your mind is still reeling, dragging you down behind the protective bulk of a forgery kiosk and crouching beside you, a hand on your shoulder tugging and urging you to keep your head down. Bolterfire scours the street where you were standing mere moments ago, blowing holes through rusted walkways. Someone is shooting; someone else is shooting back. You hear alarms and shrill, mindless panic.

“You need to breathe,” he says. 

You didn’t realize you’d stopped until you inhale shakily, one of your hands tangled in his cloak. You’re frozen, remembering all the stories that had been passed down, generation after generation, to you: of the steady, constant advance of inhuman soldiers who feared and felt nothing, and the deafening roar of weaponry in cramped corridors, and the end of everything come with swift, bloody cruelness. You were taught to run. Always run. If you can run, you can survive. If you can get to the safety of your ship, you can slip away into the vast dark. 

“Breathe,” the stranger urges. He cups your face in his hands and you realize you’re trembling. “Listen to me. You are alive. Your heart still beats. And you must keep living. You must, no matter what happens. Do you understand?” 

You nod weakly. It suddenly occurs to you that you’re seeing him clearly, no hood or shadows in the way. His brows are furrowed. He has dark hair and he wears it in a low ponytail. His ears are elongated, pointed at the ends. The dawning confusion on your face makes his eyes arch in amusement. 

“Do you have a weapon?” he asks. 

Breathe, you remind yourself. You feel for the small pistol holstered at your waist. A last resort; you can’t recall the last time you’ve had to use it. “Yes,” you say. 

“Do you remember the way to the starport?” 

“Yes, but—” 

He shrugs, his cloak parting to reveal strange, carapace-like armor underneath. The smooth, flexible plates clinging to his body are a startlingly bright, sunny yellow. He was concealing a rifle, a slender, long-barreled weapon, strangely elegant and studded with small, circular crystals. “You’re going to run. Take advantage of the chaos and stay out of sight,” he says. He speaks quietly and calmly, even as he turns and raises the rifle, lifting the scope to his eye. “I’ll provide cover.”

“But I—” 

“Don’t say you can’t. You can. You’ve survived this long. You will keep surviving.”

You hear pounding footsteps and the shriek of lasfire. “What’s your name?” you ask him.

Someone comes around the corner—soldier, Imperial, heavily armored, finger on the trigger. He dies in an instant, head and helmet blooming apart like the unraveling of a scarlet flower. The stranger’s weapon makes no more noise than the soft hiss of wind when it fires. He looks at you only briefly before he returns his full attention to the rifle, waiting for something else to stray into his line of sight. 

“Murai’ethlienne,” he says with quiet surprise, as though the sound of his own name has become unfamiliar. 

Sinistra is falling apart. Every district you run through flickers red with dying neon and raging fire, combustible ammunition igniting chemical pools and faulty electronics. Shredded metal grates and missing floor panels open into bottomless chasms and an alarm somewhere is warning that the gravitational stabilizer is losing power. The dead and dying are everywhere. The Imperials have superior numbers but Sinistra’s resistance knows the station better. You see the grisly aftermath of firefights and explosive traps. Bodies lie bleeding from hundreds of shrapnel wounds and unidentifiable lumps of flesh litter the narrow lanes between market stalls. 

Sometimes, you’ll hear a soft sound—the rush of waves up a beach, or the long breath of a sigh—and something in your path will collapse in a burst of red mist and splattered flesh. You can’t see him but he keeps reminding you he’s there.

There were stories like this, too. Not just of the end but of the wonderful beginning; a world that was not a world. A galaxy that was not so lonely. 

The “LOST AND FOUND” still hangs where it always has, clattering ominously as another blast rocks the station. The starport is carnage. Hundreds have already fled this way and the floor is slick with blood. The air is thin and your movements are sluggish as the shielding and stabilizer arrays separating you from the void of space falter. A blockade of Imperial warships lurks in orbit, surrounded by a glittering ring of splintered metal—all that remains of those who tried to escape. Sinistra’s star is a blinding behemoth in the sky, surface churning with arcs and ripples of stellar plasma.

Your ship is still here. The shields are rippling like a heat haze, a telltale sign that they’re about to fail, but that means it’s still undamaged. The electric thrum of fight-of-flight adrenaline surges through your veins, overshadowing your fear. 

“I’m a fool.” You didn’t hear anyone approach but Murai’ethlienne is mere steps behind you, rifle clutched in one hand. His shoulders are heaving with labored breaths but he looks uninjured. He looks up at the dark, imposing shapes in orbit with jutting prows and enough artillery to obliterate a planet. “Of course they’d blockade the station,” he mutters. “And after everything I said to you before…”

“I can get through,” you tell him. The certainty in your voice visibly startles him. “Do you have a ship? You can come with me.” He hesitates, glancing up again. “Murai’ethlienne,” you say. It’s a slightly clumsy attempt at the sounds he made before, consonants bumbling into each other. He looks at you with a bittersweet expression, something like misty-eyed acceptance. “Come with me,” you insist. “You saved me. Now I save you. We’ll figure out the rest later.” 

“What have I done?” he says hoarsely. “This galaxy will tear you apart someday.” 

You take his hand. He looks down and watches as you lace your fingers with his. “Look at me,” you urge him. “My heart is still beating, isn’t it? I’m alive right now, and so are you.” You squeeze his hand. “And we have to live.” 

You see calm wash over him. Not slowly but all at once, like a flipped switch. He closes his eyes and when he opens them again, he’s just as composed as he was when he pulled you to safety in the marketplace. He nods curtly and squeezes your hand back. 

Once, there were many ships like yours. Sleek and beautiful with gentle, organic-looking curves and a flexible surface of interlocking, membranous protective plates. There were large ones drifting through the cosmos with the slow, majestic grace of ocean giants, whole fleets of city-ships were children were born and hybrid plants from a thousand worlds blossomed. There were small ones, narrow and minnow-like beside the slow-moving giants, stinger-sharp guardians and mandible-prowed scanner-gatherers and—just like yours—winged explorers. 

You know this ship better than you know any planet you’ve ever landed on. You slide your fingers over the pilot interface with precise, muscle-memory movements, activating emergency takeoff protocols. Murai’ethlienne is visibly startled by the sight of a chair beside yours, sharing space and even a swath of controls. You direct him to sit down and hold onto something. The engine hums to life. The navigation program comes online with a warble and proposes several different launch trajectories. You study them briefly before making a decision.

You can feel Murai’ethlienne watching in silent fascination. “This is a family ship,” you explain. “All the ones that are left are like this.” 

He does not ask the obvious question—why is it empty, then, if it is meant for a family? “Is it old?” he asks. 

“Very. It was my mother and father’s. They inherited it from their parents, and so on.” 

You think he’s smiling under his mask. 

Takeoff is smooth. You ease into a rapid acceleration that makes Murai’ethlienne inhale sharply and rocket straight for the Imperial blockade. Their tight formation is jostled by the stirring of Sinistra’s star. It’s slight, nothing like the quakes that affected the station, but the subtle drift will affect their aim on a small, fast-moving target. The ship’s wings—solar sails, veined membranes that pulse and shimmer as they soak up electromagnetic bursts—unfurl. Murai’ethlienne clutches the armrests of his seat as you veer straight for the largest ship in the formation. He mutters something that might be a prayer or a curse, but not in a language you recognize. Defensive systems warn you that the ship is being targeted. You see enormous turrets and void cannons swiveling towards you.

You’re sure the naval captains staring you down have had a fair amount of training and practical experience in the Imperium’s constant wars, but their ships are a means to an end. Yours is everything. They don’t know the arrhythmic pulse of stars. Their gargantuan beasts could never hopscotch between gravitational wells like yours can. The opening volleys, spears of sizzling light, miss you entirely. By the time the next shots are fired, you’ve spun into the narrow, thorn-lined gap between warships, voidshields crackling so close you can feel them like turbulence. Smaller Interceptor vessels briefly give chase but they turn to small silver dots in the void behind you.

Murai’ethlienne hunches over in his seat. You dispense a sick bag from the ceiling for him and set the ship to autopilot, setting course for another active star. You don’t need any more fuel, but the shields need to be recharged. “I’m from here,” you tell him, nodding to the serene, glittering darkness beyond the window. “That’s what my parents told me. I asked them once if we were from nowhere, and they said it wasn’t true. We’re from everywhere. To the Diasporex, all of this is home.” You relax in your seat, suddenly fatigued now that the danger has passed. You look over and find him staring again. 

He’s taken his mask off and set it in his lap. You see his lips for the first time, pursed into a thoughtful frown. “We’re very much alike,” he tells you. “My home is…well, it feels reductive to call it a ship. An ark, maybe. An ancient, scarred place where the dead outnumber the living.”

“Is that where you want to go?” you ask.

“No,” he says. He doesn’t even think about it. “I’m going wherever you’re going.” 

“You are?”

“Is that not the way of your people? Unity, or something like that?” 

His smile is pretty, you think. “It was,” you say. “But that’s how we were found in the first place. The fleets were too big. Now we have to stay away from each other.” 

He nods. “I understand. If you’d rather be left alone—”

“I didn’t say that.” You extend your arm into the space between your seats, palm up and waiting. Murai’ethlienne looks at it with surprise and amusement. His hand is so much larger than yours, easily engulfing it. It feels nice. Warm, you think, and safe. After everything, you finally give him your name. The sound of it on his tongue, the way he stops to savor it, makes your eyes fill with tears.

Alarmed, Murai’ethlienne asks if you were injured on the station. He’s even more confused when you smile and laugh through the tears and when you insist that, for the first time in a long time, everything is fine.

[teine-mallaichte]

"Do you know what conditioning is?"

Sam explains what conditioning is to Alex (Set a few weeks after their escape from complex 27) Inspired by this post by @paingoes

Complex 27

Sam

Alex

"Do you know what conditioning is?" Sam asked, trying to keep his voice casual as he looked over at Alex sat on the worn sofa staring out of the broken window.

Alex shrugged, "Heard of it," his voice was flat, uninterested, "Charlie’s mentioned it. Ash too, I think."

Sam nodded, his gaze drifting over the sparse, decaying apartment. It was cleaner and tidier than when they first arrived, but still a long way from what he'd call a functioning base. "Yeah, that tracks," he murmured, running a hand through his hair. "It’s… hard to explain, but it’s what the facility did to us. To all of us. Not the same for everyone, but it was all about control." He leaned back in his chair, glancing briefly at Alex before looking away again. "What they called 'training'? It wasn’t really training. It was conditioning. It wasn’t about teaching us skills - about making us react the way they wanted us to. So deeply that we didn’t even realize it was happening."

Alex’s brow furrowed, his expression unreadable but Sam couldn't help but notice the way the frontliners hand twitched. "So... brainwashing?"

"Kind of," Sam replied, hesitating as he searched for the right words. "It’s… closer to creating automatic responses. Patterns that are so ingrained, they override your choices. You know how when you hear a sound you reach for your weapon? Or when you’re in a new room, you start mapping exits without even realizing it?"

Alex’s lips pressed into a thin line, he seemed to study Sam for a moment before replying, "Charlie called that hypervigilance," he muttered, his gaze turning away again.

Sam let out a soft laugh, "Yeah, that’s part of it. But hypervigilance is just a symptom. Conditioning’s deeper than that. It’s like…" Sam leaned forward, trying to find a way to explain. "Remember when we first got here... when Ash was yelled 84 at you? Even when you were hurt, he ordered you to stand, and you just... did it?"

Alex’s jaw tightened at the memory. His fists clenched, the command still echoing in his mind, the instinct to obey so deeply ingrained it made him sick. "Yes…" he growled, "It... it was like I stood before I even fully heard him."

Sam’s eyes softened, he leaned forward just a little more. "That’s conditioning, Alex. You didn’t have a choice. Your body just reacted. It wasn’t about choice, only response."

Alex’s hands trembled slightly, his chest tightening. "So all those times I just… followed orders without thinking? That wasn’t me. It was… just reflex."

Sam gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Exactly. It wasn’t you. It was the conditioning. It’s like muscle memory, but for your mind. You hear your number, you move. You hear an order, you obey. No hesitation, no room to question. You’ve been trained to react that way. It’s not even about your choices anymore. It’s about what they made you."

Alex stayed silent for a long moment, the weight of Sam’s words sinking in. His fingers twitched, and the familiar anger and helplessness rose in his chest. "I should’ve just told him to fuck off."

Sam exhaled through his nose, his voice softening. "Charlie and I yelled at him for that. If that helps at all." He paused, watching Alex with a quiet understanding. "But you didn’t have control over it. It wasn’t about obeying because you wanted to. It was… just how you were trained to react."

The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick. Alex’s gaze dropped to his clenched fists. The memory of those reflexive actions - obedience without thought - gnawed at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch. His hands trembled slightly, "Ash is right then? We are 'broken'?"

The words came out slowly, reluctant, as though admitting to something he wasn’t ready to face. Sam’s eyes narrowed, a flash of something sharp crossing his face. He pushed himself up from the chair, his crutch left forgotten on the floor as he limped closer, closing the distance between them. His voice dropped to a low, protective growl. “Ash told you that you’re broken?”

Alex didn’t answer right away. His gaze remained fixed on his hands, fingers curling into tighter fists as the words Ash had spoken echoed in his mind. We’re not like 83 and 85, they weren’t broken like we were. They are not killers. The words were blunt, harsh, but they weren’t entirely wrong. In Ash’s own detached way, he wasn’t trying to hurt Alex. And Alex could almost understand it. Ash wasn’t trying to be cruel—at least not consciously. He was just trying to connect, in the only way he knew how.

But the more Alex thought about it, the more it made him question everything. What was real. What was simply Ash’s own broken perspective. How much of his own understanding was true?

Finally he exhaled harshlyfrustration creeping into his chest, making the words come out heavier. "Yeah… He said it. He called us broken. Said we’re different from you and Charlie. That we’re… messed up." He stopped, his breath coming a little quicker as he tried to make sense of it all. “But… he’s dealing with his own shit right now. I’m not sure how much of what he says is accurate, or… even true.”

The hesitation in Alex’s voice, the uncertainty, was not lost on Sam. His stance softened a little, though the protective edge didn’t completely leave his expression. “Ash’s got a way of saying things, doesn’t he?” Sam’s tone was quieter now, more thoughtful. He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving Alex’s face. “But Alex… you’re not broken. You’re not messed up. You’re… hurt. We’re all hurt. What the facility did to us doesn’t define who we are now. It’s just something we have to unlearn.” He paused, letting the weight of those words settle between them. “I know it’s not easy, but I’m telling you, you’re not what they made you.”

Alex's jaw clenched as he met Sam's gaze. He felt a flicker of something inside—something raw, fragile, and almost foreign. Hope, maybe, or the beginnings of it. But he wasn’t sure if he could believe it. Not yet. Not after everything they’d been through. "Can we undo it? Can we ever get rid of this… 'conditioning'?"

Sam stood there for a moment, he didn’t speak for a long while, unsure how to answer. Finally, he let out a long breath, his voice soft but firm. "I wish I could say yes. But I don’t think you can just undo it, like flipping a switch." He paused, leaning back as he searched for the right words. "It’s too deep, too much a part of us. But…" He met Alex’s gaze. "We can push back against it. We can try to change the way we react. We’re not stuck like this."

Sam was quiet for a moment, shifting uncomfortably, the weight of Alex’s question pressing down on him. He stood there for a long time, finally letting out a sigh as he leaned back in his chair, looking up at the cracked ceiling. His voice was quieter now, more uncertain. "I don’t know if we’ll ever know for sure." He paused, his eyes flickering to the window before he looked back at Alex. "But maybe it’s less about what they made us and more about what we choose to keep. Maybe we get to decide what’s worth holding on to."

Alex held his gaze, and for the first time, Sam saw a glimmer of vulnerability behind his stoic exterior. "So… how do we know what’s us and what’s just… what they made us?"

Alex looked at Sam, a flicker of something new in his gaze—a tiny seed of understanding, or maybe just the first signs of a question that could grow into something more. "You really believe that?"

Sam offered a slight smile, tired but genuine. "I want to. I’m still figuring it out myself."

Alex gave a small, bitter laugh, the sound soft but sharp. "Not exactly reassuring."

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "No, not exactly the pep talk you were hoping for, huh?"

Alex’s lips twitched slightly, almost imperceptibly, and he returned his gaze to the window. "Guess I was hoping for more of a plan. Like, step one: ‘Recover your free will.’ Step two: ‘Enjoy a nice, peaceful life.’" He shot Sam a dry look. "Or as peaceful as it gets when everyone’s armed and seems to want us dead."

Sam’s laughter was genuine this time, a low, tired sound as he gazed out the window with Alex. "Yeah, I’d take even a little peace at this point."

[cursedreverie1945]

Heinz Heydrich (yeah, the baby brother)

There is a story of the younger of the two brothers that many of us know. It's repeated often and even listed on large websites like Wikipedia as follows -

"Heinz Heydrich was an Obersturmführer (lieutenant), journalist, and publisher of the soldiers' newspaper, Die Panzerfaust. He was, at first, a fervent admirer of Hitler. Before his brother Reinhard's State funeral in Berlin in June 1942, Heydrich was given a large packet containing his brother's files, released from his strongbox at Gestapo Headquarters, 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse, Berlin. Heinz had shut himself away in his room with the papers. The next morning, his wife noticed that her husband had sat up all night, burning the documents from the package. Heinz, on leave from the front, could not be engaged in conversation, his wife remembered; he seemed to be elsewhere mentally, and like stone. The files in the package were probably Reinhard Heydrich's personal files, from which Heinz understood for the first time in all its enormity the systematic extermination of the Jews, the so-called Final Solution. Thereafter, Heydrich helped many Jews escape by forging identity documents and printing them on Die Panzerfaust presses."

But is it true?

I have no clue, honestly.

I do know that he was never inducted into Yad Vashem. For those that are unaware, it is a Holocaust museum. It also lists the names of what are considered "The Rightous Among the Nations". You would find Schindler on the list, for example. People that have helped Jews in times of crisis.

So why not Heinz Heydrich? There have been theories that it was because his asshole brother. Another theory is because Heinz never did anything. It was a rumor made up to help clear the family name.

Below are three links that paint a possibility. Each link is solely someone else's opinions and not mine. I merely find it interesting and thought some of you might as well.

[sussex-newswire]

"When Harry took the stage at the Clinton Global Initiative on Tuesday morning, it was clear just how far he had come as a speaker and a public figure. He paced the stage, TED Talk–style, and used his personal cell phone as a visual aid. He began by discussing the Space Race, using it as an extended metaphor for the unforeseen effects that technology can have on our politics. Compared to the uplifting yet somewhat hesitant speeches he used to give five years ago, the prince was brimming with purpose when talking about Big Tech.

"'Our laws and regulations are different state-to-state, country-to-country—we may have different backgrounds, viewpoints, beliefs, and even access to the internet itself. But the one thing we can universally agree on is the safety of our children,' he said. 'So why, why do the leaders of these insanely powerful social media companies still refuse to change? Why are we holding them to the lowest ethical standards? In any other circumstance, a business would commit all resources to fixing the bug.'

"Unlike the trip to Nigeria or their August trip to Colombia—where Harry and Meghan spent a few days with the country’s vice president and got in a few cultural experiences—the duke’s multiday trip to Manhattan was all business. In under 72 hours, he packed in at least seven events with a handful of his charities, some of which have counted him as a patron for more than a decade. He gave prepared remarks at most of the events, which meant he was switching gears from subjects ranging from youth empowerment to minefields and conflict to the climate impacts of travel to the ongoing HIV/AIDS crisis in Southern Africa at the drop of the hat.

"Rather than focusing on the climate specifically, the trip was an opportunity for Harry to shine a spotlight on the teams that have helped him carry out his grand charitable plans. He was the headliner on Tuesday when the sustainable travel coalition Travalyst, which he founded in 2019, celebrated its fifth anniversary with a panel discussion and cocktail reception.

"On Monday, he celebrated the successes that the HALO Trust has had in demining Angola following the country’s devastating 26-year civil war, work that began with the support of Princess Diana in the final years of her life. He spoke about his 2019 visit to the same former minefield as his mother, in front of an audience that included three of the nonprofit’s current Angolan frontline workers.

...

"In a UN event with King Letsie III and Queen Masenate Mohato Seeiso of Lesotho on Tuesday, Harry explained why he is interested in talking about a range of issues in partnership with a variety of organizations across the world. 'Today we have gathered here in New York, a city known for its diversity and progress and whose example teaches us the importance of inclusion,' he said. 'Diverse perspectives, experiences and voices are crucial if we are going to forge a more equitable world. Partnerships are therefore fundamental to delivering change. Whether we’re addressing the changing climate and its effects on food security, advocating for children’s rights, or tackling the HIV epidemic, we cannot do it alone.'

...

"Harry and Meghan have always been more project-driven than his Windsor family relatives, a quality which was previously met with skepticism and some disdain from the palace staff. 'You can say what you want about Meghan, but she works incredibly hard,' an insider told Vanity Fair’s Katie Nicholl in 2020, months after their royal exit. 'The problem is she and Harry have a tendency to hatch big projects over dinner and expect them to be actioned within days.' It’s now been four years since they started their Archewell Foundation, and in his whirlwind trip, Harry’s charity appearances made the implicit argument that he has a lot to show for his years outside of the palace."