#project Praetorian

[baelpenrose]

Ask me anything!

Alright, guys, it's been a while. Praetorian is ongoing, and we're coming up on the next major battle. Nihilus Rex is in full swing. Arcadian Inquisition is in the process of being fully edited. After book 1 of Praetorian finishes, (and I get a slight hiatus to recover and help @canyouhearthelight get something going) I will be working on book 2 of Under Avandra's Eyes. If you have any questions, I'm open.

[indra-istari]

Furiosa is a woman you misogynist. Tough women with buzz cuts aren’t men.

Also “queer” is a disgusting, homophobic slur

[trixster40k]

I made a mortar and lazcannon from scrap from school's plumbing trash bin for my praetorian guard. Bulky, nice and steampunk. May add studs/rivets. Going to cast them to have full squads. Sister shown for scale

[gebo4482]

PROJECT VESPERI

Gameplay Trailer

Wbsite / Steam

[foundtherightwords]

Fallen Empires - Chapter 1

Pairing: Geta x OFC

Summary: Having done the unthinkable to secure his throne, Emperor Geta rules with ruthlessness and paranoia. Now, after escaping an assassination attempt, a badly injured Geta is saved by Daphne, a young widow, who takes him back to her remote village without knowing his true identity. As Daphne nurses the former emperor back to health, attraction blooms between them, and Geta discovers a soft side he didn't know he possessed. But can their love survive his thirst for revenge and his desire to reclaim power?

Warnings: violence, domestic abuse, non-explicit smut

Chapter warnings: mention of blood and injuries

Chapter word count: 5.1k

A/N: I started this fic all the way back in April, when we first got the news that Joe was cast as Caracalla in "Gladiator 2". I did a ton of research, read books and academic papers about Caracalla and his reign, the whole shebang. Then in July, we got the confirmation that Joe played Geta instead, but by then, I'd already written about 30k words and didn't want to throw it away. Since I never was going to follow the movie anyway (no spoilers here!), I thought, OK, if the great Ridley Scott wasn't going to be historically accurate, then neither am I! So I replaced "Caracalla" with "Geta", changed a few details, and here we are.

The biggest change I made is that Geta was the one that killed Caracalla, not the other way around (this is a historical fact so it's not a spoiler for the movie.) Their confrontation also followed history (which happened in the presence of their mother, Julia Domna.) The remainder of Geta's reign is based on the real reign of Caracalla - his various military campaigns, the war against Parthia, and his infamous assassination (attempted assassination, in this case) by Justus Martialis while peeing on the side of the road now all happen to Geta. Also, Caracalla is described as sometimes wearing a blonde wig, so my headcanon is that the ginger hair in the movie is a wig as well (sorry Joe, I know you were working that wig for all it's worth, but I can't take it seriously.)

Prologue

Once upon a time, two brothers founded the greatest empire in the world...

He and his brother had grown up with the tale of Romulus and Remus, as any child of Rome would. But unlike other children of Rome, he and his brother had also been told that they would one day inherit the empire that those two brothers had built.

Nobody told them the birth of that empire had come at the price of fratricide. Nobody told them that only one brother was destined to be emperor.

They knew anyway.

The only question was, after the blood had run dry, which one of them would be left standing?

He, for one, refused to wait for an answer. He would find his own. So when the Fates dealt him their blow, he fought back and reclaimed his destiny from them. And as he stood over his brother with the blade still dripping blood in his hand, as he looked at the shocked faces of the Praetorians, as he avoided his mother's horrified eyes, filled with the tears he didn't allow her to shed, he thought he'd done it. He'd had the answer.

"You all saw!" he shouted at them, daring them to contradict him. "You saw what he was going to do, how he was coming for me! I did what I had to do to protect myself!" No one said a word in response. Perhaps they thought, and rightly so, that it would be unwise to oppose a man holding a bloody sword. "He was a tyrant and a would-be murderer," he continued, indicating his brother. "There is to be no mourning of him." His mother flinched, her arms closing instinctively around her son's still-warm body, but she, too, said nothing. "I want his image removed from all paintings, coins melted down, statues destroyed, his name struck from records. Let it be known from this day forward that it is a capital offense to speak or write his name!"

His orders were carried out, of course. He was the Emperor now.

But in wiping all images of his brother off the face of the Earth, he also had to remake his own. They had been so intricately linked, so connected in the minds of the citizens of Rome, two sides of the same monstrous coin, that he had to become someone else to be seen as the true heir, as the sole emperor. Gone were the wig and the makeup. Gone were the flashy clothes and jewelry. He cropped his hair short, grew a beard, and dressed himself in the simple garb of a legionary. He went on campaign after campaign to expand the Empire. Caledonia, Germania, Alexandria, Parthia. He would become a soldier-emperor, like his father. He would become a conqueror, like Alexander the Great. He would build an empire, like Romulus. Because he, like Romulus, was the brother who survived.

Only he didn't expect the price of surviving would be so high.

Chapter 1

The smell of blood was in the air.

As he staggered over the rocky ground, he could smell it all around him, on him, in him, and there was no escaping it. The sharp metallic tang of it brought back unpleasant memories of battlefields, of death and screaming and decay. But this was no battlefield. It was quiet, far too quiet; there was none of the clashes of swords and armors, the panicked whinnying of horses, or the groans of dying men. The only sound was his own ragged breathing and the hammering of pulse in his ears. There were stabbing pains on his back and between his ribs, and it hurt every time he drew a breath. There was a pounding somewhere on the back of his head—he must have hit it when he fell down the slope, though he no longer remembered where that slope was. He no longer remembered anything except for a burning feeling of anger and hatred, almost stronger than the pains of his body, though at whom or what that anger was directed, he didn't know. And underneath it all was a threat of fear. He had never been afraid of anything. Yet now the cold breath of Phobos was on the back of his neck, driving him on, urging him to get away, as far away as he could.

His head felt heavy and light at the same time. More than once, he stumbled over a rock and went down on his hands and knees. That was when he realized he was clutching a dagger in his hand, a dagger sticky with blood—his own or someone else's, he no longer remembered either. He pushed himself up by the hilt of the dagger and continued on. His lungs burned, his skin was icy cold despite the warm spring sunshine, and his limbs were so numb he was afraid the dagger might slip from his fingers. He must not let that happen. That dagger was important somehow. And he walked on, over the rocks and the uneven ground and the thick undergrowth.

He came across a stream, its banks overflowing from the winter rain. He still had the presence of mind to tuck the dagger into his belt before plunging in. The water was much deeper than he'd expected. His feet went out from under him. The pains in his back and his ribs melted into one scorching spear that went through him from chest to shoulder blades, and he had no strength left to fight the current. A branch of driftwood floated past. He held on to it, by instinct rather than a conscious desire to live. Doing so hurt his chest, but the water cooled his pounding head and washed away some of the searing pain and the blood, so the smell no longer assaulted his nostrils. He let the stream carry him away.

So this is how it ends, he thought, feeling blood and life drain out of him. This little stream was to be his River Styx. Not for him the glorious death of the battlefield. Not for him the quiet, peaceful death after a lifetime of ruling and conquering. Not for him even the sudden, tragic death of a great man cut down in his prime. No, for him would be an ignominious death, befitting an ignominious life. Somehow he'd always known it. This was what the Fates had in store for him.

He never quite lost consciousness, though he didn't know how long he floated. At some point, the light shining through his eyelids lost its brightness, but he couldn't tell if it was because the sun was going down or he was dying.

Hands came down on his shoulders. It brought the pain back, and that was how he knew he was still alive. He'd stopped floating. Someone was hauling him up the bank of the stream, dragging him by the arms. So they'd found him, then. He was dropped unceremoniously over the rocky ground, where he lay motionless, waiting for the soft whisper of a sword being drawn from its sheath, for the final blow to end his misery, for eternal darkness to engulf him at last.

When it never came, he forced his eyes open.

For a moment, he thought he really was dead, and he was facing Charon—a dark shape loomed over him, with fire for eyes and a hairy, oddly-shaped head. The words of the Aeneid, learned from his youth, came to his mind unbidden.

A sordid god: down from his hairy chin;

A length of beard descends, uncombed, unclean;

His eyes, like hollow furnaces on fire;

A girdle, foul with grease, binds his obscene attire...

Now he knew he was dying. Since when did he start remembering poetry?

Something warm and moist brushed his face, a snort stirred his wet hair, and the illusion broke. It wasn't Charon that stood over him, but some sort of animal, perhaps a horse. The fiery eyes moved, and he realized they were a torch, held in the hand of a person—a real person, with a cowl covering the head, keeping the face in the shadow. Savior or executioner?

He twisted his head to avoid the animal's inquisitive nose. Even such a tiny movement hurt. A pair of small feet, clad in old leather sandals, stood beside him. A pair of slim ankles, brushed by the long hem of a dark gown. A woman's feet.

Gentle hands turned him over. He tried to focus. In the light of the torch, he found himself looking into a pair of green eyes, as green as the hills of Caledonia, as green as the forests of Germania, as green as the water of the Euphrates, eyes that soothed and calmed and took away his pains. 

And, as he looked into those eyes, Emperor Geta, the Imperator Caesar Publius Septimius Geta Augustus, uttered the one word he'd never thought he would say, in all twenty-eight years of his life: "Help."

Darkness took him then.

***

Daphne stared at the soldier lying on the bank of the stream by her feet. He was a soldier, that much she was certain of, despite his lack of armor. It was a good thing too, for he would've sunk to the bottom of the stream had he been wearing all those heavy metal plates. But what had happened to him? How did he come to be here, all bedraggled and bloody? Had there been a battle nearby that she didn't know about? Ever since the previous spring, when war with Parthia had broken out again, Daphne had seen her fair share of soldiers marching through the countryside. Her village was too small, tucked away as it was amongst the hills, to receive much attention from the army, but she'd heard complaints of people from bigger towns who had had their crops taken, their draft animals seized, and their lives disrupted by the war. Even her younger brother, Attikos, had been recruited by the army. He was now serving in a garrison somewhere in the north, and every day her family lived in fear that he would not come back. Daphne, whose own life had been disrupted by another war that took place nearly ten years ago and thousands of miles away, tried her best to ignore the battles that raged on just across the border, knowing there was nothing she could do about them.

But now, it seemed, the battles had found their way to her.

The soldier at her feet let out a groan, and her healer's nature took over. Putting the torch down, she slipped her hands under his arms and lifted him up. The soldier, though muscular, wasn't a big man, and Daphne was strong from all the climbing and walking she had to do every day, so with only some grunting and heaving, she managed to put him on the back of her donkey, Midas, who was hovering helpfully nearby. "Come, Midas," she said, and with the torch in one hand, she led the donkey back to their camp, in one of the many caves that dotted the bottom of the hills.

That spring, as soon as the pistachio trees began putting out their clusters of green blooms tipped with pink, Daphne had left her hut for her bi-annual journey to gather herbs and medicine, while hoping that nobody at the village would be so inconsiderate as to fall ill or go into labor while she was away. It was a journey she had been making with her grandmother since she was old enough to tell wild carrot from poisonous hemlock, and one she'd always looked forward to as a child. For days on end, the two of them would wander up and down the hills and valleys of the Balikh River, searching amongst the new growth that had sprung up after the winter rain, looking for leaves and flowers with healing powers. For Daphne, it had been like playing, running through the plants, gathering up armfuls of fragrant leaves and flowers, cooking on an open fire, sleeping under the stars or in a cave. It was the only playtime she ever had. In the autumn, they would come back for roots and seeds and dry branches, but she loved the spring trip the best.

Now, as a grown woman, Daphne still loved the journey, though she also understood why her grandmother had taken her along all those years ago. It wasn't because Daphne had been that much help, or because her grandmother had wanted to give Daphne a rest from helping her mother and taking care of her brothers. It was simply because the old woman wanted someone to talk to. Back at the village, there were always people coming and going, seeking help. Out here, with nothing but the sky above and the ground beneath her, Daphne sometimes felt as though she was the only person alive in the whole of creation. There was Midas, of course, but as sweet as he was, a donkey was not much company.

So it was with a strange sense of relief and gratitude that Daphne lowered the soldier onto the ground, stoked the fire higher, and cut open his tunic to look at his wounds. Yes, this was something odd and unsettling and perhaps dangerous as well, but at least she wouldn't have to be alone with her thoughts for the night. She would have company, even if he was unconscious, and more importantly, she would have something to occupy herself with.

The wounds—there were two, one on his back near the shoulder and one between his ribs, just below his chest—were deep but clean, clearly made by a blade. Whatever had happened to him, the soldier had certainly been favored by Fortuna. His cloak had softened the blow, and the blade had only gone through the fleshy part of his shoulder. At the front, the blade had also been deflected somehow and had slipped between his ribs instead of burying itself in his heart. There was no blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth, and his breathing was shallow but steady, meaning his lung had been spared. The soldier's trip down the stream had cleaned the wounds, leaving only a small trickle of blood.

Daphne opened her jar of vinegar, which she always brought along in case she found some plants that needed preserving, cut a strip of linen from the soldier's tunic, which was ruined anyway, dipped it in the vinegar, and carefully cleaned the wounds again. There was also a rather nasty bruise on the back of his head, but that would have to wait. Thank the gods she had her suturing needle and thread with her. She'd never gone on a long journey without them, not after the time she fell down a ravine and cut her foot. Had she been further away from home then, she would not have made it back. Yet another reason her grandmother had insisted on bringing along a helper.

The soldier's flesh trembled and twitched under the vinegar cloth. Daphne, bending over the wounds, didn't see him move. She only heard a hiss of steel and jumped back just in time to avoid the blade as it flashed in the firelight, right across her face. The soldier shot up, a dagger clutched in his hand, his eyes wide open, dark and enormous in the dimness of the cave. They were blank and unfocused, and she knew he saw nothing at all.

"Murderer!" he said in a hoarse whisper. "Traitor!"

Something hot and wet oozed down her cheek. Daphne clamped a hand to it and felt pain blaze across her cheekbone. The soldier's dagger had cut her. Had she been a fraction of a heartbeat slower, it would've taken out her nose or even her eye.

"You fool!" she shouted. Her grandmother would have something to say about the wisdom of arguing with a delirious man wielding a dagger, but Daphne had no time for wisdom at the moment. "You utter fool! I'm trying to save your life!" Blood was dripping down the side of her face, warm and sticky on her jaw.

The soldier wasn't listening. He was still ranting and raving about murderers and traitors, and something else in Latin, which Daphne couldn't understand. Then he tried to push himself to his feet, only to collapse in a heap by the fire. The dagger clattered out of his hand.

Daphne approached him cautiously, holding her injured cheek. He was motionless, though his chest was still moving up and down in weak, rapid breaths. Not wanting to take any risk, she picked up the dagger and tucked it into her pack, and, as extra precaution, bound the soldier's hands with some rope. Then, after wrapping some bandages around her cheek to stop the bleeding, she put more wood into the fire to stoke it higher, so its light filled the cave and reached even the furthest corner. Under that light, she sutured the soldier's wounds, using small, careful stitches just the way her grandmother had taught her. Once this was done, she went out again, torch in hand, passed the snoozing Midas by the mouth of the cave, and started searching the ground along the stream. She had seen some early-blooming goldenrods there—she never bothered to gather them, since they were abundant all around the hills of her village and in her own garden, but now she filled her mantle with the small yellow flowers.

The soldier was still unconscious by the time she came back. Good. She didn't want him awake and squirming and tearing the stitches. She crushed the goldenrod blooms and mixed them with vinegar into a bitter-smelling poultice, put it on his wounds and his bruise, and wrapped them in clean bandages. Some of the poultice she saved to put on her own wound as well, though the suturing would have to wait until the morning, when she could see her face more clearly.

With a sigh, Daphne sat back by the fire, trying not to wince as the vinegary poultice pressed into her cut. Her patient was lying peacefully enough, covered in her blanket, though he still writhed and grimaced from time to time.

She looked at him more closely, with curiosity. He was not a young man, though he was not yet old either, perhaps close to thirty. The same age as her husband, Galen, had he lived. But this man was no common foot soldier like her Galen had been. For all the ordinariness of his clothing, she could tell he was a patrician. It was there in the fine wool of his tunic, much finer than the coarse undyed linen of a soldier's, in the soft leather of his boots, in the gleaming buckles of his belt, in the carved ring on the little finger of his left hand. It was there in his face as well, in the high forehead framed by short dark curls, in the eyebrows that seemed locked in a permanent scowl above his fine-shaped nose, in the strong mouth and firm jaw covered by a neatly trimmed beard. Those noble features only heightened the riddle of the man, a riddle Daphne had no hope of solving any time soon.

Well, a good night's rest would bring clarity and wisdom in the morning, as her grandmother had always said. Leaving the mysterious soldier on the other side of the fire, Daphne wrapped herself in her mantle, lay down on the hard floor of the cave, and fell into a tired sleep, her cheek still smarting.

***

The fire had burned down to embers and the pale gray light of dawn was shining in from the mouth of the cave when Daphne was wakened by a shuffling sound. It was the soldier, who was pulling weakly at his bound wrists. His eyes were open, and though they were still dazed, some of the delirium in them had faded.

"What's the meaning of this?" he croaked. "Who are you? What have you done to me?!"

"Please, calm yourself," said Daphne, scrambling to her feet and holding up a hand. "I have to tie you up because you were tossing about. Calm yourself before you tear your wounds open. You're safe."

"Safe?" he repeated, almost to himself. "No... not safe... not safe..." The delirium was settling in again. She had to get a few things out of him before he lost consciousness or worse.

"What's your name?" she asked. "Which legion do you belong to? Is your camp close by?" He showed no sign of hearing her and only looked about the cave with wide, panic-stricken eyes. Daphne stepped closer and pulled her mantle down so he could see her face more clearly. "Is there anyone I can go to for help?"

His hand shot out and gripped her wrist so tightly it hurt. He fixed those enormous eyes on her. "No!" he shouted, though it came out little more than a rasping whisper. "Tell no one! Danger... must hide..." Then his eyes glazed over, and he dropped to the floor, fingers slowly loosening from her wrist.

Daphne made her way back to the other side of the dying fire and sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, rubbing her sore wrist. The soldier's fear was contagious. What had happened to him was no mere battle wounds, she could see that now. He had rambled about murderers and traitors... but was he the victim of murderers and traitors, or was he himself a murderer and traitor? Was he in danger, or was he the danger?

It was a two days' journey to the nearest town, Carrhae, and four days back to her village. The sensible thing to do was to bring him to Carrhae and leave him there for the authority to deal with. But with his injuries, he may not survive the trip. And even if they made it to Carrhae, a lone soldier, very possibly a deserter or even a turncoat, would not merit much attention. The magistrate there may leave him to die. Daphne wasn't sure she could live with that on her conscience. As she watched the unconscious soldier, she couldn't help thinking of her Galen, dead these eight years and buried somewhere in the cold, barbaric hills of Caledonia. What if something like this had happened to Galen as well? What if he'd been separated from his fellow soldiers and stumbled through a foreign land, lost and injured? And what if some woman had also happened upon him, but had decided to let him die because she thought he was too much trouble? What if this soldier had someone waiting for him?

With such thoughts circling around her head like a swarm of angry bees, there was no going back to sleep for her. As soon as the light turned from gray to white, Daphne went to the stream to fetch a pan of water, stopping briefly to check on Midas, who was contentedly cropping the grass around the mouth of the cave.

Her reflection in the stream made Daphne realize why the soldier had been so frightened upon seeing her. With dried blood down one side of her cheek, her eyes sunken from lack of sleep, and her hair all wild, she must have looked, to him, like one of the Furies. Returning to the cave, she tried to stitch the cut on her cheek as best she could, using the pan of water as a mirror. It was going to leave a scar for sure. Oh well. She had never been a great beauty anyway.

She then boiled the water to make some porridge for breakfast. As she ate, she dug around in her store of foraged plants and herbs and found some valerian, which she steeped into a tea to help the soldier sleep. He swallowed the tea easily enough, though Daphne knew what he really needed was some tincture of poppy, which was stored in a precious glass vial on the highest shelf back in her hut, four days away. But could she bring him back there? The villagers would not take kindly to a stranger.

Leaving the soldier in the cave, Daphne returned to the stream with Midas by her side. Mysteriously wounded men or not, she was determined to finish her trip. Throughout the morning, she worked hard on the bank, cutting down armfuls of young willow, as these large trees were of better quality than the scraggy bushes near her village. She took care not to stray too far from the cave and returned from time to time to check on the soldier, who remained unconscious. In the light of day, he was looking very pale. Whatever she was going to do with him, she had to decide quickly. Although his wounds were not fatal, he had lost a lot of blood, and if the wounds became poisoned, there was little she could do for him out here.

Daphne was busy stripping the leaves from the willow branches to get at the medicinal bark when Midas gave a warning bray. She turned around and saw two soldiers striding toward her from upstream. She quickly pulled the mantle over her head to conceal her face, while still keeping an eye on them. They were dressed much more elaborately than her patient, in chainmail and helmets, and carrying swords and shields emblazoned with a scorpion. Dressed for battle. What kind of battle could they expect here, in this lonely valley amongst these rocky hills of Osroene?

The soldiers had spotted her and were quickening their steps. She remained where she was, with her back to them, feigning oblivion.

"You there! Old woman!" shouted one of the soldiers in Greek. Old woman? They must have been fooled by her dark mantle and her hunched form. Part of Daphne was offended, but another part of her was glad. She didn't like to think what such beastly men would do to a lone woman in the wilderness. "On your feet! We have some questions for you!"

Daphne gripped her knife more tightly in her palm, concealing it between the folds of her chiton. With her other hand, she pulled herself up by holding on to a willow tree, making sure to keep her back stooped, trying to appear like an old, decrepit hag. 

"Have you seen a wounded man around here?" one of the soldiers asked. He was young, with a face like a rat. He took off his helmet to wipe at his forehead, revealing thin tuffs of pale blonde hair.

Daphne hesitated. These men could be her patient's fellow legionaries, and she could simply hand him over to them and not have to worry about him any longer. However, she was now seeing them more clearly, and the brutal, fierce look on their faces made her knees tremble. She could be handing her patient to his executioners.

"Wounded?" she said in a low rasp. "Why would there be any wounded men around here? Was there a battle? Have the Parthians invaded us?"

"Calm down, you silly old hag," the other soldier said. He was older and darker. A scar ran from his left eye down his cheek, making him look even more vicious. "There was no battle," he continued. "Our fellow soldier simply—had an accident while marching, and we lost track of him. We're trying to find him before he gets seriously hurt. If you've seen him, tell us, and the army will reward you handsomely."

A likely story. Those wounds were no accident. Daphne shook her head. "No," she said. "No, I haven't seen a soul."

The two soldiers glanced at each other in exasperation and something else, too. Fear? Worry?

"He can't have gone this far," the blonde soldier said. "If Martialis had managed to wound him before he was killed—"

"Quiet, you idiot!" the dark one hissed. He pulled his partner away from Daphne's earshot, but some of his angry words floated back to her. "This is your fault! If you'd gone with Martialis to make sure the deed was done, none of this would've happened! Now we're trampling all over this Gods-forsaken land, searching for a needle in a haystack..."

So Martialis—whoever he was, or had been, by the sound of it—must have been the one who attacked her patient. And then her patient had killed Martialis and escaped? Daphne wasn't quite sure what the soldiers' conversation meant, but she was sure that there was some conspiracy here, and those men were in on it.

Her heart stopped. The two soldiers had noticed the cave and were making their way toward it. If they found her patient, they would know she'd lied...

"I wouldn't go poking around in there if I were you, young masters," she called out. The soldiers paused near the mouth of the cave and turned back to frown at her. She bent down a little, so that her cowl fell over her face. "These hills are teeming with scorpions and venomous snakes, and they like nothing more than a cool, dark place like that to hide from the sun," she continued. "They would not take kindly to being wakened from their nap."

The soldiers drew back, peering into the dark of the cave warily as if they could see these snakes and scorpions lurking there.

"I told you, he can't have gone far," the blonde, rat-faced soldier repeated to his partner. "We would've seen him by now. Unless he'd fallen into the stream. And if he had, he's done for anyway."

The dark-haired soldier lifted his heavy mail away from his neck and looked at the sun, which was getting higher in the sky and burning hotter. "Yes, I don't think anyone can survive such wounds out here," he said. "Let's go."

They went back the way they came and eventually disappeared behind the rocky hills. Daphne let out a breath of relief. Carrying her bundles of willow bark, she returned to the cave, where her patient was still lying by the remnants of the fire, breathing his shallow breaths and wincing in his sleep. Daphne sighed. It looked like she was going to have to cut her trip short this year.

"Don't make me regret this," she said, though he couldn't hear her.

Chapter 2

A note on the setting: I know that based on the location of the story (Osroene, now southeastern Turkey), the people were more likely to be Mesopotamian than Greek, but I don't know much about Mesopotamian culture and the research overwhelmed me a bit, so I went with Greek for simplicity's sake. A later chapter does include an explanation as to why there is a Greek community in the middle of Mesopotamia (I doubt anyone would care, but I'm a stickler for historical accuracy, even in an alternate history fic.)

Taglist: @sheneedsrocknroll92 (as usual, if you want to be tagged, let me know!)

[whencyclopedia]

Theodosian Walls

The Theodosian Walls are the fortifications of Constantinople, capital of the Byzantine Empire, which were first built during the reign of Theodosius II (408-450 CE). Sometimes known as the Theodosian Long Walls, they built upon and extended earlier fortifications so that the city became impregnable to enemy sieges for 800 years. The fortifications were the largest and strongest ever built in either the ancient or medieval worlds. Resisting attacks and earthquakes over the centuries, the walls were particularly tested by Bulgar and Arab forces who sometimes laid siege to the city for years at a time. Sections of the walls can still be seen today in modern Istanbul and are the city's most impressive surviving monuments from Late Antiquity.

Making the City Safe

Although the city had benefitted from previous emperors building fortifications, especially Constantine I when he moved his capital from Rome to the east, it is Emperor Theodosius II who is most associated with Constantinople's famous city walls. It was, though, Theodosius I (r. 379-395 CE) who began the project of improving the capital's defences by building the Golden Gate of Constantinople in November 391 CE. The massive gate was over 12 metres high, had three arches, and a tower either side. It was entirely built of marble and decorated with statues and was topped with a sculpture of a chariot pulled by four elephants. The Golden Gate probably marked the start of triumphal processions which ended in the Hippodrome. Two decades later, Theodosius II was alarmed at the recent fall of Rome to the Goths in 410 CE and set about building a massive line of triple fortification walls to ensure Constantinople never followed the same fate. The man credited with supervising their construction is Theodosius' Praetorian Prefect Anthemius. The walls extended across the peninsula from the shores of the Sea of Marmara to the Golden Horn, eventually being fully completed in 439 CE and stretching some 6.5 kilometres. They expanded the enclosed area of the city by 5 square kilometres.

Continue reading...

[blueiscoool]

Rome’s 'Lost' Imperial Palace 'Domus Tiberiana' Reopens

Until recently a crumbling and off-limits ruin near the famous Colosseum, the Domus Tiberiana palace — built in the first century AD and beloved by Nero — hopes to once again take its place as one of the city’s top tourist attractions.

The ancient palace sits on Palatine Hill — the city’s oldest hill, overhanging Rome —from where imperial dynasties ruled for centuries. But over the years, the site fell into disrepair and in the 1970s, the Domus Tiberiana site was shut due to the structural instability of some of the ruins. The closure left behind what many Romans described as a “black hole” in the capital’s archaeological heart.

Now, after a six-year makeover, the palace has reopened its doors as a “diffuse museum,” with findings and frescoes scattered across the site to provide visitors with an insight into the palace’s ancient grandeur.

And it was grand. The Domus Tiberiana was Rome’s first imperial palace, built by the emperor Tiberius who combined and incorporated the pre-existing noble mansions built on the hill. Occupying over four hectares, the palace featured residences alongside large gardens, places of worship and rooms for the emperor’s Praetorian guard.

As the seat of Rome’s power and politics, Domus Tiberiana held a prime location, high above the Palatine and Roman Forums, offering its occupants a “balcony view of the city.” Over time, the Domus was embellished and enlarged by other emperors including Nero, who was crowned on its steps aged just 16, in 54 AD.

Alfonsina Russo, director of the Colosseum’s archaeological park (in which Domus Tiberiana falls) and lead archaeologist on the renovation, said that ancient antiquities, many exceptionally well-preserved, were unearthed during the project.

The artifacts — bright stuccos, frescoes, amphorae, potteries, looms, terracotta, and divinity statues related to the cults of Isis, Dionysius and Mithras — offer visitors a trip through time, said Russo.

“They make this place — formerly (inhabited) by aristocratic families, then Roman emperors — feel alive again,” she said. “There are seven exhibition rooms full of extraordinary finds, starting with those preceding the original construction of the palace when aristocrats lived in mansions before Tiberius subsumed them into the Domus.”

Among the newly-exposed and frescoes are some of the earliest paintings of lemons (considered an exotic fruit in Ancient Rome, as they hailed from the Far East) and a depiction of a gladiator, proving that the era’s gladiatoral games were appreciated by rich families, explained Russo.

The imperial palace remained in use until the 7th century, when it became the papal residence of John VII. In the mid-16th century, the aristocratic Farnese family — who were powerful local landowners — built the lavish Orti Farnesiani gardens on the site, adorning it with ornaments and sculptures of nymphs, satyrs and fauns.

“This monument speaks of history,” Russo added. “We have restored (Domus Tiberiana) to its past splendor, but more work lies ahead.”

Indeed, painstaking efforts have been made to blend old and new. A series of majestic, reddish-brown vaulted arches that greet visitors having been carefully reconstructed with the same materials as ancient Romans used in the past.

“What makes this revamped Domus unique is the architectural style,” said Russo. “We managed to use original materials to reinforce and strengthen the handmade 15-meter (50ft) tall front arches (which run alongside the palace’s) ancient paving.”

It has certainly caught the public’s attention. Since reopening at the end of September, Domus Tiberiana has attracted some 400,000 visitors, a “huge success,” said Russo, adding that she believes that this incarnation of the Domus Tiberiana offers visitors the most “evocative” visit in generations.

Archaeologist and scholar of ancient Rome Giorgio Franchetti saidN that, in the reopening of the Domus Tiberiana complex, Rome has “recovered a lost jewel.”

“The Palatine Hill has always been the stage of Rome’s power politics,” he said in an interview. “Tiberius likely chose this spot to build the palace as it was where his family residence stood. There aren’t many places like the Domus Tiberiana where you can really breathe the past.”

By Silvia Marchetti.

[spotlightstory]

Trump says he will “fire” America’s military generals and replace them with MAGA loyalists, echoing Project 2025

Link to Reddit video Best Comment: "Just going to remind everyone that, after Trump lost the election, General Milley and the Joint Chiefs of Staffs were concerned that Trump was attempting a military coup and took steps to prevent it.

They were joined in this concern by all living former defense Secretaries, Republican and Democrat, who flouted two hundred years of military tradition by posting an open letter announcing that the election was over, and warning military people everywhere not to obey any orders aimed at preventing the peaceful transfer of power.

Just in case people don't realize this -- these are, you know. Pentagon people. THE Pentagon people.  These people know things that we don't know.

So, let's be really clear here. Trump is promising an old-fashioned Praetorian guard COUP here. That's what's happening right in front of our eyes. I don't understand why anyone is talking about anything else."

[dumbbitchenergy17]

Clan of Three - Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One: The Spies

Plot: A Mandalorian, an infant with a history of the jedi, and a teenager with similar powers and a heavy role to bear. Now reunited their journeys across the galaxy are just beginning to complete their final mission.

Word Count: 8K

Pairing: Father Figure!Din Djarin x Platonic!Teen!Reader

Warnings: fighting/violence, injuries, some wholesome moments, father-daughter moments, character death, massive angst, PTSD, just really fucking sad and depressing

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An evil out in the galaxy, the remnants of a destroyed empire forced to hide in the shadows slowly rebuilding until they can make their return. A man in imperial armor flanked by several soldiers wearing white armor and red sensors. He enters a laboratory full of tanks holding deformed and growing lifeforms, entering a conference chamber that was already going on via holograms.

“The New Republic is vulnerable, but we must be cautious and show no sign of our true strength.” One of the imperial officers states.

“Easy for you to say, Captain. There’s a fortune to be had plundering the hyperspace lanes,” A bald male commander disagrees as the man in the room actually watches the disagreement.

“Commander, your hit-and-run operations are gaining too much notice,” Captain Gilad Pellaeon reminds the commander, “If we are perceived as anything other than a group of unorganized remnant warlords, the New Republic will increase their efforts to hunt us down.”

“There are citizens loyal to the Empire on every planet in this galaxy,” A female officer speaks up, “They’re already getting sick of this New Republic and its rules and regulations.”

Another bearded officer nods agreeing to the woman’s statement “And if we give them a show of strength, they will rally behind us.” The woman nods but Pelleaon shakes his head

“But that strength must not be wasted. Grand Admiral Thrawn’s return will herald in the re-emergence of our military, and provide Commandant Hux enough time to deliver on Project Necromancer.” Pelleaon mentions the formidable Admiral. Hux smiles and the imperial warlord steps forward and Hux motions to speak.

“Captain Pellaeon, you always speak with much authority, and yet, I see,” He scoffs looking around, “Once again, that Grand Admiral Thrawn is missing from your delegation. Any word on when he will be able to participate in the Shadow Council?”

Pelleaon scoffs before replying, “With respect, our one hope for success relies upon the secrecy of his return.”

“Captain, secrets are my stock-in-trade,” The warlord reminds him, “I hear whispers from one end of the galaxy to another, and never a word of Thrawn. You have spoken of his imminent return…perhaps, it’s time we look to new leadership.”

“Hear, hear.” The female imperial officer agrees and Hux nods, “Project Necromancer is in place for that.” He asks the warlord.

“Yes, Commandant.” “What has become of Doctor Pershing and the research you promised us?” Hux asks and the warlord is silent, “Doctor Pershing was captured by the New Republic. His research is lost. For now, at least.” He says and Hux nods,

“I also hear whispers, Gideon. You held Pershing and were attempting your own experiments on Nevarro.” He questions the warlord, Moff Gideon. 

“The creation of clones is your obsession, not mine. I account for what goes on in my sector, no more, no less,” Gideon looks around at the council, “The same can be said of every member of this Council.”

“Yes.” “Of course.” “That’s right.” “Yes.”

“And yet, we individually scrape and claw resources awaiting the grand plan to take shape, while you and Pellaeon amass countless resources and equipment which should be shared,” Gideon observes each warlord and Hux nods holding a datapad, “Oh, we already received your request. Three Praetorian Guards,” He scoffs, “Sounds like someone is concerned about an assassination attempt.” Gideon is silently his hand scratching his chin feeling the scars that litter his face. It was more of a second chance of an assassination attempt.

“And he thinks I’m being the flashy one,” Pelleaon remarks, “But following your first attempt it’s remarkable you’re still standing today.” The news had spread quickly through the empire of Gideon’s capture before he was soon rescued. The warlord with control over Nevarro and eyes all over the Outer Rim. But he had a key asset to taking control of a vital planet that could bring the return of the empire and it was thwarted by a man in beskar armor but the scars that would stain his skin forever caused by a young girl with abilities assumed to be extinct.

You stand over him the Darksaber in hand ready to deliver the killing blow. The rage and wrath you were going to enact your revenge.

“And reinforcements for your TIE interceptor squadron,” Hux asks and Gideon lowers his hand from the scars marring his face pushing away those memories, “And… bombers.”

“Yes, I see. And what is your security concern?” Hux asks and Gideon moves towards the middle of the room, “Mandalorians.” The council is confused by this information.

“What? They continue to be an issue?” An officer asks and Gideon nods, “They do. I am increasingly confident that they are preparing to retake their home world of Mandalore. They have a Jedi among their ranks as well that is Mandalorian too.” The council knew of this Jedi girl that had been involved with Moff Gideon but the news she is Mandalorian as well the pieces connected. The name whispered in alleys, through bounty hunters, even the New Republic was looking for her, is seen as the person who took down the Warlord Moff Gideon. Of Mandalorian and Jedi blood. The granddaughter of Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and Duchess Satine Kryze and current wielder of the Darksaber.

“A resurgent Mandalore would hamper our efforts.” Pelleaon remarks and the warlords a nervous about this news.

“Which is why we need to stamp them out now.” The others agree as he meets Pelleaon’s gaze, “You’ll have your reinforcements and your guard.”

“We shall be rid of the Mandalorians once and for all,” Gideon turns around looking at his fellow warlords, “Long Live the Empire!”

“Long Live the Empire!”

All repeat as Gideon leaves the council with only one thought in mind. While the Mandalorians were a threat to him only one stood out to him, a man who was willing to tear the galaxy apart for two individuals and his daughter that wouldn’t let someone stop her from finishing off the warlord. Din Djarin and Y/n Kenobi-Kryze were a threat to him but to finish this once and for all both parties need to be separated. The young princess would have wished she accepted his offer so long ago…

The planet Nevarro is serene and peaceful when the loud rumble and citizens look at the sky in shock, High Magistrate Greef Karga works in his office when he notices the tremor seeing a shadow overcast his city. “High Magistrate! High Magistrate!” The protocol droid enters the office, “An Imperial shuttle is advancing over the city.”

The Magistrate moves to the balcony viewing the large fleet over Nevarro City, “First, that’s a light cruiser. And second, it’s not Imperial.” “With apologies, sir. According to my data, it is.” The droid says from its information, and it wasn’t wrong technically.

“No, no. It was an Imperial ship. Look at the markings,” On the bottom of the light cruiser is the large design of the mythosaur, “See, those, my friend, are Mandalorian privateers. I’ll bet you, half that fleet was captured from the Empire.”

“So, they’re on our side then?” The droid asks and Greef nods, “I should hope so. They’re our welcomed guests. Come.” From the Mandalorian covert, the Armorer emerges from her tent other members of the Tribe gaze at the approaching Mandalorian fleet in wonder. On the Gauntlet the four of you fly before the fleet approaching the covert,

“I hope these two groups get along. They’ve never met, and what little they know of each other, they hate.” Bo-Katan says warily, with the new fleet and the new owner of the Darksaber a lot of pressure was on her.

“They will if they wanna survive.” You say trying to soothe her worries as the Gauntlet and the rest of the fleet land. Exiting the ship Bo-Katan led followed by her followers as they move forward as the Mandalorians of the Child of the Watch stand on opposite sides.

“Take the children inside.” Paz Vizsla orders his son and the boy is leading the children away from the situation between adults. You spot amongst the tribe the copper and white armor relieved to see him again. Bo-Katan and her followers remove their helmets as silence fills the area the tension between two groups of different beliefs. You were certainly a fight was to break out when a clanging fills the air you sigh of relief as the Armorer lowers her hammer and tongs.

“Welcome, fellow Mandalorians,” She greets the newcomers, “We invite you to make camp. Let us prepare a feast for our guests.”

It was uncomfortable and tense leading to the feast of the animosity between two tribes as you were pulled away, meeting the new IG-11 when Din and Grogu returned inside the droid while you were with Bo-Katan and the Armorer. You caught glances of the Mandalorian you wished to see but you were too far apart and when he left to join the hunting party for the feast you didn’t see him until night. A large bonfire was used to cook the animal but also to light the area, the two fractions divided a very awkward meal with only half eating the other not allowed to eat before others. They talk amongst their own clans before Bo-Katan rises to stand knowing she has to say something,

“Mandalorians. It is time to retake our home world. Even though the planet is not cursed, there are still dangers. Dormant species have been awakened from the bombings. The remaining magnetic interference has made it impossible to scan the surface from above the atmosphere.” She explains as they all listen in, “Which is why I’m proposing that we leave Nevarro and move the fleet into orbit above Mandalore. We send down a small recon party. We’ll scout the surface, find out what remains of the Great Forge, and establish a safe perimeter. Only then, will we bring down the others. I need volunteers from both tribes.” She says and silence fills the encampment of those averting their eyes from their technical leader’s gaze. You look around before making eye contact with Bo-Katan who tries hiding her nerves but you can feel them.

“I will go,” Din speaks up and Bo-Katan nods gratefully, “Y/n and Grogu as well.” He says and Grogu coos while you nod. It’s quiet once again before you see Koska Reeves grab her helmet holding it to her side as she stands.

“I will go.” She says and Bo-Katan nods now having two from each tribe, “I will go.” Woves says with a nod rising to stand.

“I will go.” Paz Vizsla states standing up as well his gaze meeting Woves as they watch each other. “I will go.” You hear Kaz’s voice and you spot him standing his gaze meets yours and he gives a small nod and you return one back. Soon others are standing volunteering themselves before the Armorer speaks up, “I will go as well.” The scouting party created the rest of the night a bit tense but lighten up.

You don’t even wait for Bo-Katan to return to your small group, you’re already up moving away from the adults towards the person you’ve been dying to see since returning to Nevarro. Din sighs watching you disappear amongst the Mandalorians seeing where that boy Kaz once was is now gone from his spot too. Bo-Katan pats his shoulder as she takes your seat, “She’s going to be alright, besides it’s good for her to be a normal teen for once well I guess adult.” It didn’t seem real that you were an adult, just yesterday Din met the girl on Arvala-7 and Bo-Katan didn’t know it was her grand-niece while helping hijack an imperial cruiser.

“I know..” Din sighs breaking apart pieces of meat for Grogu to eat who accepts it with open hands, he spots you and your Mandalorian off to the side beside the tents your hands holding the sides of Kaz’s helmet. You speak to him with a large smile across your face as he presses his helmet against your forehead. “I don’t want her to have her heartbroken…I wouldn’t know what to do. I barely got her back from Gideon.”

“Kid…hey cyar’ika..will you please look at me?”

He calls out to you, he feels like he lost two of his children, one with the Jedi that had long left and the girl in front of him but seemed to be millions of lightyears away. Moff Gideon was removed from the light cruiser going off with Boba Fett, Fennec Shand, and Cara Dune on the Slave I. Leaving himself, you, Bo-Katan, and Reeves as they went to meet up with the other Mandalorians. The female Mandalorian that was apparently your grand-aunt had allowed you two to stay willing to bring them anywhere in the galaxy before they went off for their plans to reclaim Mandalore though without the Darksaber that was now in your possession.

Your eyes were glazed over but they seemed to be focused on an item gripped in your hand as your breathing suddenly picks up. Din looks realizing the weapon in your grasp, prying from your strong grip and throwing it off in the private room you two were given. Din still hadn’t put on his helmet there was no reason to try to hide at the moment, he had already done the worse thing any Mandalorian of his creed could do. Remove one's helmet in front of a living person and he did it for you and the child.

“It’s gone..okay it’s gone.” He whispers holding your face between his palms forcing you to look at him and you barely even register him tears welling in your eyes. The blood drips to the floor from your fingers as it freely bled, your knuckles were shattered no doubt just drenched in your blood and the Moff’s. Your clothes were bloody parts of them ripped and tattered a large open hole was at your stomach and on your back and he assumes it was from…he didn’t want to think of that. He still wasn’t sure how you were standing before him and he thanked his gods and the Force that comes from you. Blood speckles your face and your messy hair as he tries swiping at the dried blood as a tear slides down your cheek wetting some dried blood before another one and they pour down your face like a waterfall. Din felt helpless seeing your innocence completely stripped away from you. Your lip wobbles as a strained whine like a wounded animal is held in your throat as you try not to break down. Din feels his own eyes burn but forces his own sadness to be pushed down as you choke back a cry. It was repressed as you hold in your cries your shoulders shake and before Din can try comforting you hit the ground a cry of pure terror comes out. Din hits the ground with you as you frantically start rubbing at your arms tearing at your skin blood spewing from your deep scratches.

“get it off…get it off…Get it off!” You scream as you try to rid the blood that marks you and Din has to wrestle with your arms to pull them away from each other and from you to stop causing harm to yourself. “Stop it Y/n! Stop!” Din yells fearfully of you being so terrified of Moff Gideon’s blood on you that you were hurting yourself in your panic. Tears blind your vision as he looks over you forcing your hands into one of his and cups your cheek with the free one. He could only describe pure fear in your voice and your face as Moff Gideon continues to plague you despite the fact he was lightyears away from you. “He tried to…” You break down as he pulls you into his arms holding you in the crook of his neck your arms clutching his cape.

“Oh cyar’ika…I got you…you’re safe..it’s just us.” He reassures you blinking away the tears from his eyes as you sob in the safety of his arms, “Din.” You whimper as he presses a kiss to the top of your head whispering into your hair.

“You’re safe…you’re alright. I’m not leaving…I got you cyar’ika.” It was a promise…a vow to always protect you to make sure this never happens again. To never see another tear be shed, shelter you from the harshness of the world, to keep yours in his embrace safe in his arms. He would put his life on the line, let himself die, and break his creed a thousand times over to make sure you never go through this kind of pain ever.

Din watches you speak to that boy as he holds you in your embrace Bo-Katan sees the nervousness and fear coming off the bounty hunter, “She can’t go through it again. That kind of pain isn’t meant for her…this life isn’t meant for her.” He voices his worries. He would bring you away from here, hide you away from the world even if you would hate him for the rest of your life if it keeps you safe he was willing to. But he couldn’t be selfish…he couldn’t live in a world where you hated him, and they were so close to the end. Returning home to Mandalore, start anew and when that time came he would hang up his blaster and sit back and watch you grow older and be a father, not a bounty hunter. So he watches you be happy in this moment of serenity praying to the highest being to keep that boy safe for the sake of your heart.

The next morning after bidding goodbye to Magistrate Greef Karga, the fleet, and its Mandalorians depart from Nevarro to Mandalore. The Mandalorians sit in the hull for the drop while you, Grogu, Bo-Katan, and the Armorer sit in the cockpit. Both the N-1 and X-Wing left on the light cruiser and R4 sadly stays on the cruiser. He was a bit disappointed but you reassured him, he would be the first person you bring when you return from the scouting party. All the ships exit hyperspace reaching Mandalore as the Gauntlet heads towards the stormy surface, “Scouting party descending to surface. We’ll lose comms shortly.” Bo-Katan says speaking to the people in the back as the ship rattles entering the thunderstorms that surround the planet’s atmosphere. Soon you’re breaking through the storm flying over the destroyed cities of your homeworld.

The doors slide open as Din enters holding onto your seat to stabilize himself, “They’re ready.” Bo-Katan presses on a keypad, “Secure infill zone.” Soon the Mandalorians depart to the planet you remain hovering over before you hear a transmission come through, “Gauntlet, landing zone secure.” Woves announces and the ship lands the five of you disembarking. Grogu controls IG-12 as you touch the glassy surface.

“Somewhere below is where our ancient capital once stood,” Bo-Katan tells the other Mandalorians, “We’ll survey the surface until we find the Forge and create a safety zone. Only then will we begin to bring down the settlers. We start scouting in that direction.” She points in the direction of the sunset.

“Form up.” Your expedition begins walking in pairs through the terrain, you walk beside Kaz in front of Din and the Armorer. A large distance is covered before you sense something. You pause and Kaz and Din look at you confused.

“Kid?” “Something’s heading towards us.” You comment to the Mandalorians sensing a large presence looking out and seeing something on the horizon, “There, on the horizon.” You point out as a large land ship with wheels approaches.

“Nite Owls.” Bo-Katan commands and the Nite Owls quickly get into position the rest of you holding your weapons ready for whoever it was. “Flanking left.” You were more surprised about the fact that people were actually here and if so how did they survive the Purge? The ship comes rumbling to a stop a distance away before a voice shouts out.

“Do you have food?” “We do.” Bo-Katan replies and another man onboard shouts, “You wear the crest of the Nite Owls?”

“I should hope so.” Bo-Katan says, “They’re Mandalorians.” The Armorer says.

“Is that the voice of Lady Bo-Katan Kryze?” Your party is silent as Bo-Katan decides to confirm, “It is.” Suddenly three Mandalorians activate their jetpacks leaving their ship and landing in front of the scouting party. They remove their helmets revealing tired but hopeful faces.

“We knew you would not forsake us, Lady Bo-Katan. We have failed you, but our blasters remain in your service.” They lower their heads slightly bringing a hand to rest over their hearts. Your group found itself on the ship eating dinner only those who took off their helmets at. You sat between Din and Kaz with Bo-Katan at the head of the table.

“They intercepted any ships they saw leaving. They took no prisoners. They bombed every surface twice over. They punished us as a warning to the whole galaxy because we refused to surrender.” The Captain of the landship explains and Bo-Katan grows quiet.

“That’s not true….I did surrender.” She says and the Mandalorians went silent before whispering amongst each other, “After our forces were annihilated in the Night of a Thousand Tears and defeat was imminent, I met with Moff Gideon. The ISB had reached out to me to negotiate a cease-fire. In exchange for submitting to the Empire and disarming, all remaining cities and Mandalorian lives were to be spared. That is how Moff Gideon came to possess the Darksaber. I didn’t trust him, but it was the only chance I had to save our people. And then he betrayed me and we were helpless to resist the Purge of Mandalore.” She explains. The air is tense as the truth of the destruction of this planet is revealed.

The Captain swallows harshly turning to the still helmet Mandalorians, “How did these others survive?” “We were hidden on the moon of Concordia.” The Armorer explains.

“Are you Death Watch?” The Captain questions a bit suspicious of the terrorist group that went into known hiding on Concordia, “Death Watch exists no longer. It shattered into many warring factions.”

“Our people have suffered time and again. From division and squabbling factions,” Bo-Katan says looking over the table, “Mandalore has always been too powerful for any enemy to defeat. It is always our own division that destroys us.”

“And what does a Jedi have involved amongst our kind? The last time Jedi and Mandalorians fought side by side was the Seige of Mandalore during the Clone Wars,” The Captain says remembering fighting there as well, “I thought the Jedi were all killed off?”

“That is true…I make no sense here. To some, I am an enemy..to others a reminder of the past allies you once fought alongside,” You say holding your hands over the table, “I am here to return to my home planet and see the rise of Mandalore and its people. My father once wished for Mandalore to be a planet for all Mandalorians despite which fraction or division they came from to have a homeworld, no matter if you are Mandalorian by blood or Mandalorian by Creed.” Your gaze meets Bo-Katan's and then Din’s.

“Though I no longer wield the Darksaber….I fight alongside my grand-aunt for the chance that we and the Mandalorians scattered across the galaxy may all return home.” The table is silent surprised and shocked by the words coming from you. The diplomacy and leadership exuding from you, Bo-Katan sees her sister in you with your words.

“You’re…her grand-niece.” The Captain says shocked many of the Mandalorians stuck on this planet see the resemblance between you and the redhead. “I am Y/n Kenobi-Kryze.”

You leaned against the railing of a secluded part of the land-ship it was stationed the traveling continuing in the morning. The breeze cooling on your skin as your elbows rest on the wood looking out on the destroyed planet that was the home of your family. “That was a good speech…told you I can see a leader in you.” Kaz’s voice comes from your side as you glance over at him. You hum returning your gaze to the open space of Mandalore, you only wished you could have seen this planet in all its glory.

“Do you ever wish you were here on Mandalore when it was still standing and in all its glory,” You ask and he leans against the railing beside you as he thinks for a second, “I think it would have been nice being on a planet of our people, but I don’t think I would have survived the Purge of Mandalore.” He says honestly and you give him a look.

“That’s morbid.” You say and he chuckles slightly, “No but it also meant we wouldn’t have met. I mean if you were here you would be in the capital as a princess and me just a lowly commoner.” He says teasingly and you shove him producing a laugh from him.

“I am definitely no princess. Maker imagine me in a dress and those uncomfortable shoes!” You ramble and you notice him silent watching you, “What?” He keeps looking at you before shaking his head and looking away, “No you can’t just not tell me!” You grab his arm and he looks down at you.

“Does my princess command me?” You hear the smile on his tone and you roll your eyes, “Yes she does now tell me.” You cross your arms across your chest and he’s quiet before leaning forward and pushing a piece of hair that gets in front of your face.

“I think you would like quite pretty in a dress.” He says and your face flushes and you turn away making him laugh, “What you told me to tell you!” He says between laughter before he spins you around to look at him and he presses his forehead against yours and you close your eyes slightly.

“Naboo.” You say and he leans back looking at you confused, “What?” “I will only wear a dress on Naboo. I was told that it’s the most beautiful planet in the galaxy. And there are lakes and waterfalls and fields of flowers and plants as far as the eyes can see. So if you want me to wear a dress it has to be on Naboo.” You explain and he nods.

“With the uncomfortable shoes?” He asks and you smirk, “We’ll see.” The two of you stare at each other a silence falling over you two its two magnetics coming together. His hand covers your eyes the other pulling off his helmet then his lips meet yours. He drops his hand seeing your eyes closed his hand wraps around your waist and pulls your closer while the other holds the back of your neck. Your hand plays with the back of his hair the other holds his face as you kiss him. It’s gentle but filled with passion as you both pour in your affection for each other. There wasn’t any room left between you two as he slightly bends over and you push yourself on your toes. You both pull away holding your face against his chest trying to catch your breath and you feel the rise and fall of his own chest. A pair of lips press against your hairline and you smile into his chest before you hear the metal hiss as his helmet is put back on. You pull back staring at the copper and white beskar as you feel his gaze on you his thumb strokes your cheek.

“I should go before Din starts his own hunting party.” You say a small chuckle comes from the two of you as he nods. He leans forward his forehead meeting yours, “I’ll see you tomorrow then mesh’la.” You pull away giving one last glance at him before you head back toward the group. You spot on the second level of the ship just before the group is you see the flash of silver beskar under the moonlight. Heading up the stairs spotting the familiar armor of Din and you’re silent as you join his side. He seems to have the same idea of lean against an object and pondering.

“You alright?” You ask and you can feel his brief glance at you before you both stare forward. “That boy…Kaz, is he your partner?” He asks and you're surprised by his question and more of his phrasing.

“Kaz and I aren’t together like that! I mean I don’t think so…we haven’t really talked about it.” You ramble as he looks over at you, “But you do like him.” You’re quiet now that you think about it you two discussed what you two were. Sure he said he liked you and you liked him but did that make you two together? It was all strange new territory that you had no guide to help you.

“I do...It’s just...I’ve never had this before..people like me like that,” You felt embarrassed what if you had it all wrong and this was just a big thing you thought it was. You bury your face in your hands, “Maker I’m so stupid..” Din leans on his arms on the railing looking at you.

“Look, I have no idea what that boy’s intentions are, but…I do know that he would be lucky to have you.” Din says and you lift your head up looking at the older man, “Really?” You ask and he nods and it grows silent once more before you speak up.

“Do you feel like everything is going right that it’s meant to go wrong?” You voice your fear for only him to know, “I mean everything we’ve been through, Grogu and I get rescued by you and the Mandalorians--we get the bounty hunters to come after us, we get to meet Ahsoka and she can’t train us, we go to the seeing stone--the empire gets us, even on Tatooine we got Cobb and the people of Freetown and he almost died. Every time we get close to winning something horrible goes wrong,” Your tone gets slightly frantic all the possibilities making you more nervous.

“What if something happens to the Mandalorians, to Grogu, to Bo-Katan, or you!? I don’t know what to do if you’re gone-” “Hey calm down nothing’s going to happen,” Din grabs your shoulders making you look at him, “I promised you I was never leaving you and I’m not. Ever.” He reassures and you nod before he pulls you into his arms just holding you there. His chin rests on the top of your head nothing is said between the two of you but you could tell he meant every single one of his words.

“I love you, dad…” You say and he freezes slightly before his arms squeeze you tighter to him, “Love you too, kid.” He responds his voice thick with emotion. He was glad to have the beskar helmet on his head covering the tears in his eyes. Hearing the title you called him and the meaning of it to both you and him. Din would always be there for you, to protect you and care for you as a father would.

The following morning the landship returns to the Gauntlet so the Armorer and the weak Mandalorians can return to the fleet to be taken care of while the others lead you to where the Forge is. “Onward, Mandalorians! To the Forge!” The Captain yells to his crew as you set off. Sat on a crate beside Din you see most of the Mandalorians resting or waiting for the arrival of the forge. Two however play a game of chess. Vizsla grabs his enforcer making a flank jump and Woves sighs, “You can’t move an Enforcer like that.”

“It’s a flank jump. And you’re about to submit.” Vizsla says and Woves gives him a look, “But only the Wing Guard can flank jump.”

“The Enforcer moves like a Wing Guard when it’s flanking.” Vizsla retorts and Woves sighs shaking his head and turning to his companions with a laugh, “These primitives make up their own rules for everything.” Insulted by his accusation of cheating Vizsla draws out a vibroblade.

“Seriously?” “Submit or fight.” Vizsla demands to Woves who looks at the Mandalorian, “Can you believe this?” The two suddenly break into a brawl with their blades, punches, and kicks both getting their fair licks in.

“Should I step in?” Din questions and Bo-Katan shakes her head, “Neither side can step in. It was bound to happen sooner or later.” The two continue fighting both ready to strike each other with their blade when Grogu comes between them with IG-12 breaking up the fight as he spams the droid’s vocabulator,

“No. No. No. No. No. No. No.” The two men are silent before retracting and heading off to different sides of the deck, “You taught your apprentice well.” Bo-Katan comments and Din looks over at the child who is looking at the three of you,

“He didn’t learn that from me.”

A sharp whistle fills the air as the Mandalorian in the highest peak shouts down to the Captain, “There, on the starboard bow!” The ground crackles ahead of you all seeing the green glass shatter and some dragon-like monster appears from the ground its tail swinging down on all of you

“Abandon ship!” The Captain shouts and you feel arms wrap around your waist you quickly wrap your arms around their neck as you’re sent up into the air as the tail smashes into the ship it exploding in a ball of flames. Landing a distance away, Mandalorians land haphazardly around you as debris rains down on you and Din covers you with his body. He pulls back looking over you as people around you shout, “This way! This way!” “Hurry up! Faster!”

“You good?” He asks you and you nod you’re brought to slightly underneath the surface but the rocks above you shake falling around you, “We’re not far. We need to go further down.” The Captain yells and you’re all sent underground the rumbling of the creature that attacked you recedes the deeper down you went. The cave leads to a tunnel that opens up to a large open space.

“Where are we?” You ask looking at the enormous machines that lined the deep trench, “This is what’s left of the Great Forge. This was once the heart of our civilization. But the fires have been extinguished since the bombings.” Woves says as you walk alongside the small outlook showing the forge.

“You lived here?” Vizsla asks and Reeves glances at him, “We all did.”

“We never left,” The survivors’ captain adds, “Survived by migrating along the surface until the war ended. Some tried to explore below, but none survived.” The distant sound of jetpacks echoes through the cave and you see a multitude of them heading toward you all.

“Jet packs?” Din says confused, “More survivors?” Woves comments when you notice the design of the armor and a wave of panic rushes over you. That bad feeling of being close to winning and something going horribly wrong starting.

“Those aren’t Mandalorians.” You call out as they immediately take fire, ambushing you all, “They’re Imperials! Take cover.” All the Mandalorians take cover firing at them. Your saber pulls from your belt instantly deflecting blaster fire it hitting the armor in return but making no impact as they continue firing.

“They’re wearing beskar armor!” You shout as a few land before you and you dodge blaster fire spinning your blade around and aiming at spots not covered in the lightsaber-resistant metal. It’s harder combat against them, one grabs your hair pulling you towards the edge and a vibroblade is stabbed in the trooper's neck releasing you. Kaz’s hand pulls you to your side as you go back to back fighting against troopers that try to get the drop on you.

“We’re pinned down. We need backup.” Din shouts while fighting his own pair of troopers. Casualties happen on both sides as many questions run through your head through the battle. Where had they even come from?! You thought you were the only ones on Mandalore unless they were tracking you and followed.

“I can make a run for the fleet and get us reinforcements.” Woves volunteers firing at the troopers that are up in the air raining down on you all. “No, it’s too far.” Bo-Katan disagrees not wanting to lose any more men and women.

“I can make it. It’s our only shot at taking the planet back.” Woves pushes.

“There’s a split in the ceiling there.” Vizsla points at the opening leading to the surface and moves forward with his large machine gun, “I’ll lay down cover.” Blaster bolts are fired at the troopers some getting hit fatally as Woves takes off. One tries attacking him mid-flight when its armor is crushed quite violently and send falling to the ground. Making brief eye contact with you he continues and flees to the surface. You spin around stabbing your saber between the gaps of armor your free hand pushing out Force pushing them into the cavern. The dwindling troopers against the resistance you show make them retreat into another tunnel.

“They’re retreating!” Vizsla shouts as Bo-Katan reloads her blaster before rushing forward, “Advance.”

“For Mandalore!” The Mandalorians shout as you run alongside Kaz firing after the troopers, Din reaches your side as you suddenly leave rocky terrain and enter imperial flooring and walls. That sense of nerves adds weight to your chest the deeper into their base. The troopers fly off on the jetpacks leaving you all in the base. You take in the TIEs and Bombers that wait patiently to be deployed your fear only growing stronger. The Imps didn’t follow after you…they were here on Mandalore all this time, and with how much was here they must have been here since the Purge.

“What is this place?” Bo-Katan says as you look around when a door hisses shut and you spin around seeing all of everyone minus, yourself, Kaz, Din, and one other Mandalorian on the other side of the blast door. You raise your saber to cut through the door when you hear Din shout and an alarm goes off.

“It’s an ambush!” A squadron of Imperial commandos lands on the platform firing at the four of you. Spinning your blade to deflect blaster fire but it was too many as one takes down one of the Mandalorians. Din and Kaz fire their blasters at them when a fibercord whip wraps around Din’s neck yanking him back. “Din!” You shout barely dodging a blaster fire blocking the attack as he fires another cable wrapping around his wrist and he sends a wave of flames. You thrust your hand out crushing the trooper that was choking Din, his limbs snap in a horrid position as he crumbles to the ground. A loud cry fills the air and you feel the life drain from your body. Spinning around and seeing Kaz holding his hands to his side as he crumbles to the ground, you release a yell raising your saber to attack his perpetrator when a blaster rifle slams against your temple. Stars blind you as you hit the ground your saber falling out of your hands and your quickly jumped by three troopers. Their hands grab your arms and pin them behind your back as you thrash violently.

“Let me go! Kriffing let me go! You son of a bitch!” You shout feeling cuffs being placed around your wrist and you try calling your lightsaber but it remains laying on the floor. Your shouts fill the air as you see Kaz on his side his hands pressed to his side blood quickly spilling from his side, “No! stop it. Stop it! Kaz!” You cry out struggling more and your face is slammed into the ground and blood spills from your mouth and nose.

“Don’t you touch her!” Din roars seeing three of them manhandle you to the ground. He fights against his own restraints, the cable tightly around his neck and one on each wrist forcing his arms to cross his chest so he couldn’t use them as three troopers for him bringing him to his knees. Your gaze is focused on Kaz as he bleeds out, alive but losing blood too quickly. Someone lands on the platform seeing a person in Dark Trooper armor, the Mandalorian-style helmet with spikes on the crown similar to the Armorer.

“Disarm them.” A modulated voice calls out and you struggle in your assailants’ grasp as they remove your blaster and vibroblade from your holster. The Dark Trooper motions to the troopers restraining you and you’re pulled from laying on the ground to shoved on your knees as you fight in their grasp. You watch them grab their helmet removing it and the air leaves your body and it’s silent as you stare back at the man. Who tormented you, ruined your life, kidnapped, assaulted, and tried to murder you, the man you tried to kill but failed. He wasn’t meant to be here…this wasn’t real you would open your eyes and be back on Nevarro or at the Great Forge and you never got into a fight with the Empire. He wasn’t real..this wasn’t real. But when he spoke your worst nightmare was confirmed,

“Thank you for gathering the Mandalorians into one place,” He says, and you are unmoving. Moff Gideon was back. He finds delight in seeing the horror and pure terror in your expression as the Mandalorians behind the blast door has no choice but to watch. “You were a talented people, but your time has passed. However, as you can see, Mandalore will live on in me. Thanks to your planet’s rich resources, I have created the next-generation Dark Trooper suit forged from beskar alloy and the most impressive improvement is that it has me in it,” Gideon holds his hands out showing his suit off. If looks could kill Din would have killed Moff Gideon a billion times over, his gaze kept moving from Gideon, to Kaz who continues bleeding out, and you who was paralyzed in fear.

“You see, every society has something to offer. The cloners. The Jedi. And even the Mandalorians. By aggregating the best of each, I will create an army that will bring order to the galaxy.” Gideon felt power knowing his plan had worked and he had everyone where he wanted them to be. “Why don’t we take your fleet off the board while we still have the element of surprise? Activate the interceptors and bombers.” He orders and Bo-Katan slams her fist against the glass.

“No!” The Klaxon alarm blares as the Interceptors and Bombers are activating, “In but a few moments, the Purge of Mandalore will be complete.” Gideon grins and a harsh cough fills the air he looks down and spots the weak Mandalorian a few feet from you still kicking. You see Gideon’s gaze on Kaz and you go feral fighting harshly against their hands.

“Don’t you kriffing touch him! Leave him out of this!” You shout blood mixing with tears and your words and emotions reveal the one weak card he was willing to fully exploit. “Strip him of his armor.” He orders and the pair of troopers keeping guard moves forward as you scream for mercy they pull up the Mandalorian to his own knees as one holds him the other being pulled off his armor.

“Let him go! Stop it, please! If you want your heirs you can have them! Please let him go…please!” You shout out as Kaz cries out in pain as he’s stripped of his armor leaving his helmet on Gideon strides forward kneeling before you admiring the tears in your eyes and the blood that comes from your injuries. You hear Din yelling from behind you and Bo-Katan as well. Gideon grabs your chin forcing you to look at him and you feel sick staring at the man his touch sending you into shock.

“Unfortunately that offer is now off the table,” He rises back up and you see him walk towards Kaz not before reaching down and grabbing your saber as you scream and cry out realizing what he was going to do. Grabbing the Mandalorian by the chin of his helmet he rips it off him and you’re staring back at the man you had cared for, giving your heart to. His skin was pale but not sickly, his features sharp with a few cuts littering his perfect face. He was beautiful with short straight black hair you had felt in your hands but didn’t know the color of anything and his eyes piercing and blue like the clearest waters. They were filled with pain but also sadness as he looks at you and you see the acceptance in his gaze that sends you into a panic.

“Kaz, get up. Kaz, kriffing get up and fight. Please stop! Please don’t do this…I’ll do anything please don’t. I beg you!” You shout as he takes in your features one last time though tear-filled and bloody you still look beautiful in his eyes, “Kaz, please get up!”

“I love y-” The blade cleaves through his body and a scream of anguish rips through your throat. Kaz keeps staring at you until you see the life fade before you and Gideon as the boy you loved crumples to the ground.

“Nooo!” You were dead this wasn’t real. Screams and cries tear you apart as you hunch over in the troopers’ arms sobs raking through your body as the air is ripped from your body gasping for air. The Mandalorians behind the blast door and the one behind you are silently looking in horror as Gideon kills the love of your life and worse with the saber that was the symbol of your kind. The weapon of a jedi used to slay your lover. Your gaze was focused on Kaz’s lifeless one as he stared at you with those empty eyes already glossed over. “I’ll kriffing kill you...No! No...I’ll kill you.” You shout not a threat a promise with hatred in your voice. As Gideon holds your weapon in his grasp attaching it to his person.

“Take him to the debriefing room and bring the dear princess to the command center.” Gideon orders and Din is forced to his feet struggling in their grasp seeing the lifeless look in your eyes as you scream out into the air. He failed you, to keep you safe, to make sure you’re heart would never be broken. Din had seen you lose everything important to you and he knew you had lost a part of yourself with this final strike.

You’re pulled to your feet but you can’t stand weak and nauseous as they hold up your weight, “None of this would have occurred if you had accepted. He’s dead because of your actions, princess.” Gideon mocks you as you’re sent into a spiral sobs racking your body and hyperventilating from the shock that has taken over. You’re pulled as you cry out whispering to the man you failed. “i’m sorry…i’m sorry…i’m sorry.”

You didn’t see the meaning of waking up in the morning, a reason to smile, to eat, to breathe, to live. You had lost greatly and your heart could only take so much. His love with haunt you like a phantom, his touch burns and scars your skin, his kiss a mere memory, and his death will drown you until you too leave this plane of existence. You didn’t deserve happiness…you would never love again. You had nothing left in you to love. Your happiness, your love, and yourself had died right alongside him held in his arms with dead promises to visit the far-off planets you dreamed of.

A/N: I'm sorry🫣 Also for those wondering the face claim for Kaz is Freddy Carter. I live for Kaz Brekker so just picture that gorgeous man. One more chapter left!!

[chasing-caws]

She/they non-binary furiosa and trans man he/him praetorian jack and they’re both autistic and bisexual agenda hell yeah self projection go brrrr

[baelpenrose]

dont know if youve gotten this before but whats your favorite wip to write and has it changed over time

Okay so my absolute favorite thing I've ever written is still Arcadian Inquisition, and if you haven't read it yet I beg you to do so. If that winds up being the best thing I ever write, I'm not going to be unhappy - I love it so much that I am going back and re-writing it for better consistency and thematic coherence. That said, of my WIPs, my favorite constantly goes back and forth between Project Praetorian, or Under Avandra's Eyes. Which one? Kinda depends on if I'm in a mood for being upbeat or tragic, and fortunately I've set it up to go back and forth between books. If you want a grand sense of adventure, check out Under Avandra's Eyes. If you want a gritty war story, check out Project Praetorian. That said, I am really enjoying writing Nihilus Rex, partly because of the challenge of co-writing, partly because it's flat out fun to directly co-write with @canyouhearthelight, and partly because it's really engaging to weave the timeline together and figure out exactly what happens when, reconcile the ideas of the characters, and play with a bunch of different literary references and symbolic motifs.

[silkendandelion]

I was inspired to write up some more OCs so here we go, some new, some old

Darling: Former Legate, Legion runaway, lifelong cowboy. Real name Shenandoah, but he admits no one’s ever really called him by his first name since his family died, and now he prefers Darling because it’s easier. Absolute sweetheart, he loves Sunset Sarsaparilla, cigarettes, and hot showers (has a running joke of getting naked immediately when they find a motel, vault, or safe river because he always wants a bath). Prefers to cook breakfast, which is good since Kane prefers to cook dinner. They keep Arcade fed between the two of them. The gun-slinger of the group with the highest agility and highest repair skill.

Kane: Enclave defector from Illinois, one of many thousand genetically augmented "Cadmus Children" from Project Cadmus, later called the Spartoi colloquially, one of the Enclave's many failed attempts to make a super soldier. Kane is still the best combatant of his friends by a wide margin due to his dulled sense of pain from overuse of chems. Call sign "Lover Boy", because as a child he would never fail to collect the dog tags of his fallen siblings. Other Spartoi, including the three who held Harrisburg with him during an Enclave raid, say there's "something wrong with him", that the brainwashing didn't take. He loves his "siblings" despite it all, remembers every life he has ever taken, and now spends his evenings cooking dinner for his friends.

Nero: For a long time, Nero was the man Caesar left in charge of the East, and Nero took advantage of the fact that Caesar rarely visited (if ever), declaring himself a pseudo-emperor and stocking his Praetorian’s with loyal supporters. Upon Caesar’s death, he removed officers he knew he couldn’t control, including having Vulpes Inculta and Lanius arrested for incompetence and brought to Ft. Carson, Colorado, where the fort functions as his “palace” and a training center. Nero is an older man with a soothing voice and a soft-spoken cadence, calm and cruel, with 10 charisma. Despite Caesar’s teachings, Nero loves so-called degenerate pleasures, and keeps his troops tightly controlled with vices and anti-Caesar propaganda.

Romulus: Praetorian, a hulking, might-makes-right man who says he has no scars because he has always been the strongest person in the room. A violent, yet obedient man who despite his larger stature, obeys Remus’ orders because he has never beat him in an armed fight. When Darling is recaptured by the Legion on the Colorado-Utah border, Romulus voices his pleasure in beating him because he quote “never deserved to be Legate”. When Darling says Nero will not want him harmed, Romulus lies to him that Nero only stated “alive”, and does not tell him the true orders: that Nero wanted Darling hurt so he would be more likely to act docile for the sake of safety. Kane absolutely beat the brakes off him in trying to free Darling the second time, but Romulus lived and will come back in later scenes.

Remus: Romulus’ “brother” (they are of similar age and are from the same dissolved tribe), a smaller, more pleasant man who values duty above all else. He served Caesar faithfully and pledged his allegiance to Nero after Caesar’s death, who then named him Chief Praetorian, of which he gives the officers orders in the emperor’s absence. Never cruel, endlessly fair, but completely loyal to his orders. When Darling was recaptured, Remus furiously scolded Romulus for his harsh treatment and even gave Darling medical care, right before carrying out his orders and escorting him to Moab to be received by the Emperor (they did not succeed and Darling escaped again). If he wasn’t ride-or-die Legion, Darling would really like him.

[bommyknocker]

Writing advice for myself (after finishing my first long fic)

A few months ago, back on May 24th, I saw Furiosa for the first time and lost my fucking mind. It had been a while since I had spent much time in fandom creative spaces, but when I saw Praetorian Jack swing across the door of the War Rig in front of Furiosa and say the words "You can speak to me," my first thought was "I need to read some fanfic about these two immediately."

Of course, because the film had literally just come out, there wasn't very much on offer yet. I was sure that many talented fanfic writers were frantically typing away, but I could not wait. "Fuck it," I thought. "I'll write my own."

I hadn't written any fanfic since I was a tween, but a week later, I had published a 5,000-word one-shot. And because I had so much fun writing that, I immediately started another fic. It was going to be shorter, just one scene of Furiosa and Jack having a conversation. So I wrote that, and then I thought about some other conversations they might have, and then I wrote a few more scenes, and then things got out of hand and I ended up with 74,000 words.

So that one scene turned into Night Watch, which is currently updating twice a week:

I definitely did not set out to write anything this long, and I am both shocked that I managed it and also pretty proud of myself! But I also learned a lot during this process. I've had a few cracks at writing non-fanfic novels in the past and they always fell apart pretty quickly. But now I am pretty much addicted to writing. It consumes my life. It is a problem.

As soon as I finished writing Night Watch, I immediately moved on to starting another fic. So before I get too far into that, I thought I'd write up some of the things I learned about writing, and then hopefully I can continue to apply them. If nothing else, the navel-gazing will be useful to me (and maybe to other people too?)

All this advice is probably pretty basic. I stand on the shoulders of giants (some of whom have very active AO3 accounts).

Plot structure

I did not start out by doing any planning at all, but when I was about 15,000 words in, the fic started to get unruly. I had a bunch of individual scenes that I liked, and I wanted to connect them together, but I had no idea how to do that in a way that felt satisfying.

At this point I took a step back and did some light reading about narrative structure. Some of these frameworks are more popular than others, like the famous Joseph Campbell monomyth or the Save the Cat beat sheet. Because romance was a central focus, I also looked at some structures specific to romance novels. While the events of a heroic adventure are pretty different to an emotional romance, they do still have certain things in common: rising and falling tensions, increasing stakes, moments of defeat and triumph (whether that's punching an enemy in the face or kissing the hot War Rig driver).

My attitude towards these frameworks was to treat them more as rough guidelines than specific metrics to aim for. While I'm not trying to write to fit a formula, having a broader idea of the pacing was extremely helpful for mapping out the overall structure of the work. I could see where my scenes might fit into the rhythms of the story, and also what gaps I'd need to fill. This is what led me to introduce some recurring external antagonists so the conflict wasn't confined to the characters' heads (although there is plenty of that too).

Narrative arcs

At this point, I had a rough plot mapped out. I had some protagonists, I had some antagonists, and I knew where they were starting and where I wanted them to finish. While I might not have worked out every single plot point, I did know what story beats I wanted to hit and where – wanting to introduce new conflicts at certain points in the story, for example. Then I worked out what events could hit those beats when I got to them.

This approach got me through the first draft. I had written over 60,000 words! I was done! Hooray!

Then I sat back and re-read the whole thing from start to finish and noticed all the places where the narrative was unsatisfying. The individual scenes might have been good, but something was off about the way they fit together.

At this point I took a step back and did some more thinking about the individual story arcs – the smaller stories within the broader narrative that make it satisfying. Plot on its own is just stuff happening. Narrative arcs are what give that stuff an emotional punch.

I ended up definining a few different kinds of arc:

Protagonist development – How do the main characters change and grow over the course of the story? What actions and emotional steps do they need to take to get there? While characters develop in complex ways, I picked one or two core themes per protagonist, like "trust" and "hope", and centered the progression around that.

Romance – How does the relationship between the characters develop? When do they catch feelings? What challenges do they have to overcome before they can act on their connection? (Probably ones related to their internal arcs, it turns out.)

Side characters – I ended up picking three side characters who I wanted to develop throughout the story. How do they change? How does their relationship with the protagonists change?

Antagonists – What do the bad guys want? How do they mess things up for our protagonists? How do they raise the stakes of the conflict?

Once I'd defined the arcs I wanted to have, I wrote out the different beats each arc would need. Some of these arcs were very shallow (Side Character A learns to do X) and others were a lot more detailed. Then I looked at the draft I'd written and identified which beats I was hitting and which ones I was missing.

Being able to map these arcs onto the overall narrative was a huge lightbulb moment for me. I went through the fic section by section and labelled which arcs the section applied to. This helped me to check the pacing of the individual arcs and see where I might need to add an extra paragraph or scene to beef them up.

Also, if a completed section wasn't contributing to any of these arcs... I rewrote it or got rid of it. In some cases, this was painful, but I think it made the resulting work a lot tighter. Everything should have a purpose.

Going through this process also helped me to see the intersections between the different arcs. It's really satisfying when two different plot threads come together, or when a character's internal development enables them to take on an external conflict. Some of my favourite moments in the story ended up coming from creating these connections, and they wouldn't have happened if I hadn't thought about the individual arcs.

When to post

Once I realised that Night Watch was well into multi-chapter territory, I had to decide whether or not to publish as I went along, or wait until I'd finished the whole thing.

Publishing chapter-by-chapter was pretty tempting – I was hungry for those sweet kudos and comments. But ultimately, I decided to wait to publish until I had finished writing.

This turned out to be a better fit for my own writing process. Empty pages are the hardest thing for me, so I try to just get stuff on the page as quickly as possible and then come back to tidy up later. I did end up making pretty substantial changes to the structure of the plot in my second draft, and doing that might have been more awkward if I'd already been posting.

Also, I figured that I wouldn't have to stress out about updating regularly if I already had all my chapters lined up and ready to go.

Other random stuff that helped

After finishing my first draft, I went back and wrote a summary of each chapter. This was really useful for checking the pacing of the story and seeing if there were any bits left out.

Scrivener is an incredibly useful app for writing and well worth the money if you can afford it.

I had a hard time working out how to write my antagonists until I wrote up a bunch of lore and biographies, purely as a reference. Even though most of it never came up, it did inform my choices about what they should do and how they would react to the events.

Asking myself "what changes during this scene?" often got me unstuck when I wasn't sure what to write. Whether that's a critical fight scene or a character's perspective on a situation shifting, change is often what gives a scene a reason for being.

If I got really blocked on a particular section, I just wrote out a rough outline of what I wanted to happen and moved on to something else. Often it was easier to come back to later.

Finding a lovely community in the Furiosa's Wasteland Discord server fuelled my brainrot in the best possible ways and made me so much more motivated to keep writing (witness!). Special thanks to the amazing xoruffitup for being my beta reader – I'd never had one before and getting that feedback was super helpful.

Now what?

I finished writing Night Watch about a month ago. Honestly, writing it was an amazing experience. I know it's "only" fanfiction, but discovering that I was able to put this story into words has done wonders for my confidence. I haven't felt this in touch with my creativity for a very long time. I'm now more than 30,000 words into the first draft of a canon-divergent AU which I'm really excited about!

And even if nobody else ends up liking it, at least I had fun writing it. (The same goes for this post too.)

In conclusion: writing is really fun. If you want to write something, you should do it. Also, go watch Furiosa.

[neophytepagan]

What will happen if Alpha Lanius finds out that Caesar is an Omega?

Caesar is old enough that its difficult to prove what he is without taking his clothes off, he's in his omega 'post menopausal' phase where he presents more like a beta than anything. and lanius is still loyal. he can't just strip caesar and get away with it. He can try to goad caesar into doing a challenge with their ability to get others to submit. Something that only alphas should be able to do. But what lanius and the rest of the legion doesnt know is that caesar has been strategically weaponizing the natural presence omegas can project that makes everyone around them relax, but taking it further in that it both pacifies and evokes a sort of obsessive urge to serve, not in the same way alphas demand obedience. Caesar ignites a passion that makes his men yearn to please him. If Lanius does somehow find out, Caesar would exude that aura and make lanius reconsider challenging him. And lanius' ability to make people submit rly has to fight to override Caesar's "protect me with your life" thing. his praetorians and the legionaries around would try to stop lanius if he tried to do anything physical. Lanius would find it shameful to be following an omega, but caesar can talk sense into him. make him think over how this isnt exactly new and caesar has not led them astray... hes perfectly qualified thank you.

[gebo4482]

PROJECT VESPERI - Gameplay Trailer

Wbsite / Steam

[posttexasstressdisorder]

Trumpland

Trump’s New Brand of Woman is Mean, Loud and Ugly

FROM THIS...

Once he had a Praetorian guard of 5-foot-ten blonde relatives. Things have recently taken a turn—and not for the better.

Nell Scovell

Updated Sep. 17, 2024 2:28PM EDT Published Sep. 17, 2024 1:27PM EDT 

The last time a woman said “I love you,” to Donald Trump, his wife Melania was probably miles away.

More likely, these three little words escaped from the cartoonish lips of Harley Quinn’s less sane sister Laura Loomer. A recent guest on Trump Force One, Loomer is quick to express her deep love for the “greatest president ever.” Then again, she also once believed that “bad fajitas. . . will kill you faster than COVID.”

Trump, the great dealmaker, has truly traded down. His 2016 women’s circle fell in line with The Trump Organization’s corporate branding as “bold, beautiful and glamorous.” Sure, Melania was a birther, but she didn’t shout her opinions. There was a quiet elegance to the former First Lady’s racism. And while Ivanka never deserved the job of Senior Advisor to the President, she showed a polish that made it seem like she could hang with world leaders even as they rolled their eyes at her.

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Still, “bold, beautiful and glamorous” was exactly what Trump hoped to project in June, 2015 when he floated down to earth from his penthouse triplex with his model wife Melania perched on the escalator in front of him like a Rolls Royce hood ornament.

In that announcement of his candidacy, Trump said point-blank, “I’m really rich.” He also said horrible things about immigrants.

The image he presented was clear: he was a man to be feared…and envied.

When Trump announced his run in June 2015, waiting for him at the bottom of the golden escalator was a family entourage. Now only Lara (second left) remains.

Christopher Gregory

Former model Vanessa Trump, then married to Donald Trump Jr., stood in the background, forcing a smile for the camera and all dressed in black. A cry for help? Perhaps. By 2018, Vanessa Trump had filed for divorce.

So apparently unaccustomed to his wife’s presence was he that when she appeared on stage at the RNC, Trump seemed surprised.

Marco Bello/Reuters

The loss of these three women has left an approximately 5’ 10,” shapely hole in Trumpland. Nature abhors a vacuum and into those breaches have ridden the three horse-faced women of the apocalypse: Laura Loomer, Lara Trump, and Kimberly Guilfoyle. Suddenly, Trump’s brand of “bold, beautiful and glamorous” turned loud, mean and unappealing.

In head to head comparisons, they show how Trump’s standards have dropped. And as Trump heads into the final sprint of 2024, it is fair to say that in this election, he is feared more…and envied less.

From Ivanka Trump to... Lara Trump

Where once it was Ivanka who boasted about demale empowerment at his side, now Trump has no public support from his daughter and instead it is his daughter-in-law Lara who speaks up for him.

Ivanka Trump walked into the White House vowing to increase jobs and opportunities for women. Instead, her administration wiped out almost two generations of women’s progress and (thanks to the justices it appointed) stripped away reproductive rights. In her defense, Ivanka always looked pretty.

The new model of Trump woman is loudly, literally, in her support of the former president, physically demonstrative, and definitely less discreet (in every sense) than their predecessors.

Like Trump, Lara enjoys calling attention to herself. She has shared videos of her fitness routine and an a cappella version of Tom Petty’s “Won’t Back Down” that she sang on Australian TV. On that show, Lara claimed that she was not “seeking a music career” (wise!) but has since released another music video with Madeline Jaymes (unwise!) “Hero,” a tribute to firefighters, is a cringey mess where Lara sings, “You’re climbing up the ladder/And the screams are getting louder.” “Ladder” and “louder” do not rhyme and this lyric should be considered a crime against Stephen Sondheim and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

With Lara representing Trump womanhood, the poise is gone. Elegance has been replaced by mud-slinging. On her internet talk show “The Right View,” Lara read out a viewer question that accused her of being stupid. She clapped back, “What is stupid is voting for a party that hates you and hates this country. What’s stupid is voting for a party that ultimately wants the destruction of America.”

In a sense, she’s right.

From Melania Trump to... Laura Loomer

On the left, an immigrant-turned-First Lady who kept the racism in the background. And on the right, the woman who denies an affair with Trump and for whom the racism is the point.

At past 9/11 memorials, Melania has stood by her husband and looked sad. She is very good at that. But last week, Trump ditched Melania and brought crackpot conspiracist Laura Loomer to a 9/11 event at Ground Zero. This was a new low for Trump who once falsely boasted that after the destruction of the World Trade Towers, he now owned the tallest building in Lower Manhattan.

That same week, Loomer accompanied Trump on his private jet to the debate and joined him in the spin room. Trump later claimed on Truth Social that “Laura Loomer doesn’t work for the Campaign,” which suggests she was traveling with him for personal reasons, perhaps as a friend or as Bill Maher has conjectured, a friend with benefits. (Loomer has denied that she and Trump are lovers.)

Loomer traveled with Trump on his private Boeing 757 to the presidential debate in Philadelphioa; his wife Melania did not. She has not been seen at his side since the RNC in July.

Loomer bragged that Donald Trump Jr. has floated her name for press secretary which she said would be “great,” but what she’d love even more, she explained, was “some type of position where I could vet people.” See, Loomer’s praise for Trump is boundless—he’s “brilliant,” “generous” and “loyal,” but, as she notes, “nobody’s perfect.”

“He doesn’t necessarily always have the best judgment when it comes to the people he surrounds himself with,” Loomer told James. “Because we saw a lot of grifters.”

That’s why Loomer wants to vet people—to keep away the grifters and, as she said, “Show them, ‘No, you’re an opportunist…or you’re married to this person who’s actively working against Donald Trump.’” (Shiv to Kellyanne Conway. Ouch.)

Loomer isn’t shy about telling Trump that she loves him. And he has returned Loomer’s love, showering her with accolades, letting her know she’s “fantastic” and “amazing.” He’s even offered the highest praise that Trump can give to a woman, singling out Loomer in the crowd and telling her, “You look so beautiful…as always.”

She may not be blond or tall, but Loomer is definitely Trump’s type: unapologetically racist.

From Vanessa Trump to... Kimberly Guilfoyle

As his father’s female entourage has degraded, Don Jr. has gone from having his wife Vanessa quietly at his side to being the fiancé of Kimberly Guilfoyle, best known for the sheer volume of her public speaking.

Vanessa and Don. Jr. split in 2018 after 12 years of marriage and five kids. Vanessa continues to support her ex-father-in-law and showed up at the RNC to cheer on her 17-year-old daughter, Kai. Nine months after the breakup, Don Jr. started dating Kimberly Guilfoyle, the attention-seeking, liberal-hating former wife of California Governor Gavin Newsom.

Like Lara and Loomer, Guilfoyle revels in the spotlight. As the national chair of the Trump Victory Finance Committee and self-described “proud Latina,” she is often called upon to give speeches. Her style is distinctive. She starts at full volume and rises from there. She ends every sentence with an exclamation mark. She could wake the dead.

This was Guilfoyle in full flight at the RNC in Milwaukee, belting out her love of Trump and the MAGA creed.

That’s ugly behavior and, sadly, no cosmetic procedure can reverse it.

Now according to The Daily Mail, Guilfoyle appears to be on the way out with reports that Don Jr. has been spotted kissing socialite Bettina Anderson. Anderson is a graduate of Columbia with a degree in art history and a megawatt smile. On her IG account, she posts old jokes from Reddit as if she thought of them herself: “Me at a cocktail party: “Do not touch” would be scary to read in braille don’t you think?”

In another IG post, she writes, “having adhd + anxiety is RIDICULOUS bc I just got lost in a reverie about whether I could make & sell butter from scratch and then I was like WAIT... what was I spiraling about before I got distracted by butter???? oh yeah, whether I’m capable of love 🙃“

It sounds like Anderson will fit right in with the Trumps and give the campaign a shot of glamor which they need.

And if Anderson doesn’t pan out and Guilfoyle takes off humiliated, the campaign could always call up Trump’s other daughter Tiffany. She’s right there... waiting in the wings...desperate to get the nod and prove to her father that she can be dreadful, too.