#writing battle planning

[ask-the-prose]

Conducting a War

So, your story takes place during a war. Maybe your characters are experiencing war or maybe they're waging war against other characters or groups. Likely, you are not a general or expert in warfare. How do you write a story that is set during a war?

Who's fighting who?

The first, most obvious, step is to know who is fighting whom and why. Wars are between groups of people. They can be a small clan, a massive nation, or even an entire planet or galaxy. Two characters fighting it out are not considered "at war" because they are representing themselves and settling an individual dispute, even if it is a high-stakes dispute.

Why are the parties in your story fighting? There are a lot of different reasons why two groups of people would go to war against each other, but most wars are over resources at their center. Disputes over land and borders, over who gets what crops and for what price, and even religious wars are usually about the resources available and scarcity. So when you're talking about war, you need to know what either side wants. Just like a character, your war parties need to have desires and stakes.

"Resources" can mean just about anything that society needs. Food, fresh water, opportunities for trade, minerals, metals, building materials, and wealth are all examples of resources your war parties can fight over.

What does it take to wage war?

Wars require resources too. It's not just about getting resources but spending resources as well. When nations go to war in the real world, there are opportunities for people to make exorbitant amounts of money and wealth by taking advantage of a wartime economy.

The parties waging war need people to fight their battles. They need to pay those people, arm them, feed and clothe them, and transport them to where they need to be. Where does the government or person in charge get the food, armor, weapons, and transportation? Where do they allocate those scarce resources? Oftentimes in war, those in charge must make sacrifices. Is there a portion of land that the person in charge gives up to protect another portion with their limited resources?

There are unlimited stories hidden in these questions, and a large base of world-building will help to answer these questions in depth. There are many opportunities for tension and rising stakes for your war parties in the event that the opposing side makes acquiring war resources difficult or impossible.

Types of Armies

Your armies tell you a lot about the resources available to your characters and how you can build your story and plot line around the war. So I'll discuss the differences between four types of armies that exist in the real world and throughout history. These are examples; you can change or twist these examples however best suits your story.

The first is a professional army. These guys are paid and trained by the state; being in the army is their entire job. The army can fill a number of different roles other than fighting, but their purpose is to provide martial protection to the people of their nation and carry out martial orders from the government or sovereign entity in charge. Important aspects of a professional army to consider: these soldiers are paid for their work, they are trained by professionals, and oftentimes they follow a hierarchy or chain of command. Most governments provide medical care to their professional armies, but this isn't required. The soldiers can be conscripted or voluntary.

Next up is a mercenary army. This army is also paid for their services, but they are not trained by the state, and they ultimately take their orders from the organization, not the government. The government commissions the mercenary army for their services. The government does not provide most of the resources required to maintain an army. They pay for the army but don't necessarily feed, arm, or clothe them.

A fyrd is a historical term that refers specifically to the Anglo-Saxon armies raised by different Lords and Thegns to protect their lands and shires. These armies consisted of civilians and able-bodied free men from the local settlements and farms gathered by the ealdorman. They were conscripted into the service, and they lacked formal martial training. Also, importantly, their provisions and weapons were provided by the soldiers themselves. Meaning you will see fewer long swords and forged weapons for the purposes of fighting and more axes and improvised weaponry. The purposes of the improvised weaponry are primarily as other tools, such as axes for chopping wood and knives for butchery. Any horses or mules brought along for work or fighting are the property of the lords or farm owners who provided them.

A militia is very similar to a fyrd; this army consists of civilians who are paid or conscripted into service by the government but are not professional soldiers. These militias may sometimes have training from professional soldiers among their ranks, but mostly they are civilians training themselves. The soldiers provide their provisions, weaponry, and armor, meaning that the wealth has to come from the soldiers and their professional jobs and not from their martial services. The militia is a more modern term, but it is marginally different in that most militias we think of today are voluntary and not conscripted.

Battle Strategy

This is where a little research may help you. Battles behave differently depending on different factors. What technology and weaponry is available to your war parties? Are we talking about bladed weapons or guns or lasers? Is your army a professional or mercenary army, or is it more like a fyrd or militia?

When setting up a battle in your story, focus on the differences between the two armies and how that may affect their strategy toward fighting or engaging the enemy. If your fyrd faces a professional army, they may encounter some problems regarding weaponry and armor. Your fyrd will struggle to match a professional army in defending against well-made weapons and professional training. How do they work to compensate for those weaknesses?

When looking at two equally armed and trained armies, a general or battle strategist will look to the terrain to plan a battle. Generally, controlling the high ground helps in battles. If one army has a heavy cavalry presence, your opposing army may want anti-cavalry measures in place. Do they have the space to do so? Urban areas will lend themselves well to guerilla-style and urban warfare tactics. Jungles and forests will look different to hills and plains, and deserts bring unique problems to a battle that a mountainous terrain might not.

What is the battle for? Battles have a purpose; otherwise, there would be no value to the loss of troops. What is worth the risk of losing lives? Does the battle have stakes? Some stakes that might be worth conducting a battle over include taking control of a river pass, allowing naval trade and travel, cutting off control of a trade route to the enemy, or invading an important town or city to process and refine necessary materials.

Ending the War

The war will eventually end if your characters are lucky. But what ends a war? Wars usually end with agreements between the two opposing parties following surrender or extension of peaceful negotiations. Negotiating what each party needs or wants is an art in and of itself. Each party must come to the agreement that waging war further is more expensive and less rewarding than ending violent opposition with concessions made by either side.

Conclusion

Wars and battles are like characters; they have needs, desires, and stakes. Writing your characters in a war or battle will hinge on the needs and stakes of the greater war and story. Important questions to ask are: what are we fighting for? Who are we fighting? And what happens if we don't fight?

–Indy

[limbobilbo]

“I know writers who use subtext and they’re all cowards”

-Hideo ‘creator of characters fatman, heartman and revolver ocelot’ Kojima

[ranchclan]

what map are you using?

The Wastelands! Ranchclan is usually super lush and pretty at least in the camp gardens, but it is a semi-post apocalyptic world with a diminished twoleg population, and lots of trash and left behind junk. I made the save before the Ruins camp update, and if I knew enough about coding Id move them there. Id love to get into it to do more stuff like add in more traits, mods! but thats practically runic magic to me.

[tippenfunkaport]

I love that ND gave them the season one style tracker pad just to complete the callback.

Art by ND Stevenson

Source [1, 2]

[ywpd-translations]

Ride 784: The first day's mountain

Pag 1

3: We're passing through the riverside road

4: I see it

6: Kaka

7: Ah!!

8: Teh!

9: It's the first day's

Pag 2

1: “mountain”!!

Pag 3

2: As we “promised”!!

Pag 4

3: It's the ��first day's mountain stage”!!

4: A year ago

6: Manami-kun said it after the finish line, on the third and last day of the Inter High, when both of us were all worn out and barely still on our bikes

Pag 5

1: But having our race at the end on the final stage is too much pressure

2: Next year, if we both have the chance to run in the Inter High....

3: …. yeah

4: Let's race for the mountain stage on the first day

Yeah

5: Like Toudou-san and Makishima-san last year

Onoda!!

Manami-san!!

Pag 6

1: Manami!!

Manami-san!!

2: Onoda!!

3: He collapsed!!

Manami!! Take off his helmet

It's okay, I caught him

Onodaa!!

Onoda-san

Do we have a towel?

Danchiku, water!!

4: Next year... the mountain stage on the first day.... yeah

5: Got it....!!

Pag 7

3: When you run along a river....

4: the water only flows if there's a difference in elevation, either uphill or downhill!!

5: Here it's definitely uphill!!

Even if it looks like a flat at first glance, it's gradually climbing!!

Pag 8

1: Toward that mountain!!

Reading the map, it says that it's 5km until the base of the mountain!!

2: 5km!!

3: Don't lose sight of it like last year!!

Yes!! Sorry!!

4: Hold on tight!!

5: 'Cause I'll carry you all the way to the foot of the mountain!!

Pag 9

1: Thank you!!

2: “Positioning”....!!

3: When going from a flat to a climb you need to “position” yourself

Each team accelerates from the flats in order to bring their climbers to a good position

4: It's the so called “mountain's launching pad”!!

5: There will be a difference of several hundred meters in the first stage between a climber who was launched near the front of the group and a climber who was made to run up from the back of the group

Pag 10

1: Bring Onoda to the best possible position, Naruko!!

Oh-

Sohoku is moving up!!

Pag 11

1: -ruaaaagh

Ugh!! Sohoku's Naruko is so fast!!

2: I get what you're tryin to say, Hotshot!!

I'll take him!! Definitely!!

3: That's why I left the first result to Kabu!!

4: On that winter day, with an apologetic face

5: Ah....

6: Ah- uhm, I have something to tell you, but

Onoda-kun, who told us like it was difficult to say....

Pag 12

1: Ah the stove? You can just turn it off, we're the last ones

Yeah, please. Woah, look outside, it's snowing

Seriously? It must be cold

2: That's not it!!

3: Th-th- this morning... I got a text

4: What was that, an acceptance letter?

The proficiency exam?

5: It's a reply to the text I sent....

6: Three months ago!!

7: Uhm... really, I was worried that back when we made that promise it was right after the race and we were tired, so I thought maybe he had forgotten

Three months?

It was a long wait

So I sent him a text to ask him if he remembers?

Pag 13

1: And I received it this morning

Must be the proficiency test

Shut up!!

What are you whispering idiot

“Back when”, when was it?

No idea

2:He said only one word, “of course”

4: So, uhm... this time

5: Is it okay if I run for the first day's mountain stage during this summer's Inter High?

7: Is that so? Kakaka

Onoda-kun's eyes, like he couldn't contain his excitement...

Pag 14

1: I haven't forgotten it!!

2: I can't forget it!!

3: Onoda!!

Onoda-kun!!

Pag 15

1: 2km left until the foot of the mountain!!

2: Do your beeest....!!

Aren't they climbing at an amazing speed!? Each team is getting in line!!

Yeah, you're right!!

3: Every team is trying to “position” themselves for their climbers!!

“Position”!?

4: Also, look closely

Right now, the cyclist in the second position in the ranks

Pag 16

1: is the one who will race in the mountain stage!!

Pag 18

1: Oi, are you kidding me? Hakogaku is sending Manami?

From the first day!?

Manami is in second place

2: He's the “final boss”....!!

3: My dream of getting the red bib has been destroyed even before reaching the foot of the mountain....!!

4: Oi, look over there, that's not all!!

For Sohoku....

5: Naruko is pulling the “King of the mountain”!!

Wa- we're done for!! Completely!! My mountain prize!!

Pag 19

3: Manami-kun!!

4: Sakamichi-kun!!

Pag 20

1: It's time for our promise!!

We're almost at the foot of the mountain!!

[ayceofcard]

to pair with my chosen version, i bring you: the damned, the weapon, the e-terrorist TDL hitting up that god complex pose (your honor, i love him.)

[one-letter-virus]

A showdown cut short

Blacked out for 4 hours and there was suddenly a Gabv1el in my windows notes. Enjoy. Nothing suggestive, fluff, themes of death. No beta we die like the council. ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The archangel screamed as he fell.

Screamed as his body suddenly dropped like a rock, and quited as a jagged ice shelf knocked the air out of him on his descent.

His body landed below with an unceremonious thud. He knew it was coming, of course he knew he had limited time. That’s why he was battling the infernal machine, taunting –no, begging- for it to strike all the fire into his dying coil one more time. He wanted to leave on one satisfying final note, a gunshot singing him into the void.

Instead he now laid uselessly in the snow, halo and wings gone along with his power to do anything but wait for it’s vulture and saviour to arrive. Atleast it was quick. Reliable as allways.

Even amidst the howling winds of treachery, the symphony of mechanical clicks and whines was unmistakeable to Gabriel, as it skidded to a sudden halt upon reaching it’s destination, dousing Gabriel in the process with kicked up snow.

Gabriel couldn’t find the energy to even wince at that.

Instead he shifts, trying to find the Machine’s cyclopian gaze, then clings to it as the yellow light of his lighthouse penetrates through the curtain of falling snow.

It wasn’t even pointing any of it’s guns at him. It must have known, that in the flurry of their fight it was not it’s own blow to have felled the angel. Then, it must now know that drawing any weapon was unneceseary. „This is it then.”

He laughs weakly after a pause.

„This is dissapointing for to me too, you know.” He makes an attempt at sitting up, straining all of his quickly dissipating energy to get on all fours. The highest dignity he can offer himself is to stand like an animal. Shakily at that too. How humiliating.

Then, mechanical hands carress and reach under his arms, and the machine gently helps him up into a sit, supporting his weight by letting him lean against it’s frame and holding his head as it rests on one of it’s shoulders.

Gabriel finds himself awing at the springs and joints visible up close at it’s neck, ever so slightly moving even at rest, subtletly he had thought to be only possible to the fully organic. And the machine is deceptively warm too, and Gabriel shivers now that it finally registers how cold he is without his light. He greedily soaks up the warmth now surrounding him, hoping it takes a little while before the machine’s coolers really kick in.

„Thank you Machine.” He sighs.

„For everything. For… opening my eyes and making me feel truly alive, to whatever you are now doing.” Comfort. It was comforting him.

„Hah… what even compells a machine like you to hold an enemy like you do now?”

The machine doesn’t answer. As expected.

„Is there a reason you are denying me answers on my deathbed Machine?”

The Machine still doesn’t answer, but tightens it’s grip on Gabriel. Something clicks in it’s chest. Then it clicks again, and again untill it breaks into a high pitched screech like air forced through pipes. It has to be the most miserable sound Gabriel has heard in a while.

„Stop that insufferable sound you metallic bastard, I’m trying not to go deaf in my last minutes” He huffs, and the high pitched noise stops. The way it’s camera now droops down to the side makes it’s sadness clear. Gabriel reaches out an unsteady hand, cupping it’s camera in it’s palm like a head, gently trailing a thumb across it’s lens.

„You were created voiceless, weren’t you?” He asks as the machine presses it’s camera deeper into his hand. For a war machine, it sure seemed like it could be very affectionate. But then, out of the two of them, it wasn’t the one to deviate most from it’s intended purpose.

It seems to ponder for a moment, then uses one of it’s mismatched hands to point at a small dent in it’s chest. It takes a while for Gabriel to put two and two together.

„Foolish machine. You removed a feature of yourself without realizing the loss. What even prompted you to do such toughtless thing?”

Gabriel hisses as the machine pushes it’s camera suddenly hard enough against his hand that the edges of it’s plating creates a cut, and a few drops of blood trickles out. Normally such minor injury would have closed up again near instantenously, but of course he needs a sweet reminder of his vaning strength.

It points with the clawed red arm at the small wound.

„Huh? Blood? You… removed it for fuel reasons?” He recieves an affirmative nod.

„Was it worth it?” The machine stares at him for a long while then slowly shakes it’s head- really, it’s akwardly gyrating it’s camera from side to side in a deliberate arc.

A painfull flash in his chest causes him to hiss, a reminder of his time coming soon to an end. Thankfully the sensation seems to ebb quickly. Or, he’s simply too distracted now by a machine shoving it’s tubular head into his neck right under his chin. The force behind the aggresive nuzzling is enough to draw a couple of giggles from Gabriel without any edges scraping him. As it finally slots in, Gabriel’s previously outstretched hand falls on the machine’s back, resting between it’s wings.

He decides to gently pet it. The Machine’s wings twitch in response, and it’s hold relaxes then hurriedly tightens again to not loose balance.

Gabriel experimentally moves onto one of the wing blades itself. He hesitates with how close his hand falls to one of the Machine’s stored weaponry. The machine must have been aware how easily he could now grab it and use it's own arsenal against it.

But instead of being issued any warnings, something inside the machine kicks off at the touch, and starts producing a low rumbling, purring sound. It seems to practically melt as he tenderly draws his fingers across it’s magnetic surface.

It’s at the same time that Gabriel feels fascination at experiencing the machine’s anatomy like never possible before, the bittersweet realization that the machine only allows him to handle it’s weapon storage because he’s actively dying and incapable of posing a threat, and the awe over the machine acting in a frankly adorable way at his clumsy petting.

The low rythmic purring continues as the machine moves one of its many arms to reciprocate the gesture. Gabriel’s breath hitches in his throat as fingers graze the exposed skin at his waist, and crawls upwards along his spine in under his armour. He draws the machine even closer as he can feel it’s hand leave to curiously fiddle at straps keeping the piece secured on his body. It’s not like he will ever need it’s hard protection ever again.

Gabriel finds himself wondering for a split second why or how the Machine could possibly do all this for him, and then he quickly finds that it doesn’t matter now, only that it simply does- it couldn’t answer him anyways even if it wanted to.

He lets the pleasant sensation completly wash over his psyche as the machine has finally loosened the piece enough to push it’s blue hand between his shoulder blades.

Even if fate had denied Gabriel the pleasure of ending his life in blisfull ectasy as his insides gets shot out in a beutiful rainbow of viscera, he had in the end found a worthy alternative.

[once-and-future-loser]

*Carlos finds his first grey hair*

Me: Haha, no! Don't dye it though! Embrace your natural beauty! Don't worry I have tons of grey hair! Haha, DON'T dye it! 😅

*meanwhile I'm gearing up in full tactical SWAT armor with big white letters reading "DILF HUNTER" on my chest.

[losergender]

i don't have anything for wip wednesday (yet??) but i remembered i did these sort of """"aesthetic"""" ""moodboards"" of the vibe i want solangelo + lost trio to have in this one highschool au im planning (solangelo + valgrace) and i was gonna let them rot in my computer but not anymore ig

the songs are meant to be sort of what they would listen to in this particular au! the rest of the seven are gonna be there as well but i gave up after doing piper's

[madbalalaika]

Last line written

Thank you so much for tagging me @okthisway!! Sorry it took this long to respond, but I did see your tag right away and didn't forget!

I've recently decided to brush up on my long-forgotten writing skills, but even all the storytelling knowledge I'd been passively accumulating throughout the years couldn't make it any easier to put the words on proverbial paper.

Aghghggh turns out to get better at something, you have to actually do it. Turns out the only way out is through. Unbelievable.

Anyway, speaking of Zukka--

Warning: disgusting tooth-rotting fluff (before this, they were laughing like love-struck madmen in the dead of night)

"Eugh, get a room, you two, I'm gonna puke," they suddenly heard from an open window closest to them, and both flinched so hard they nearly jumped, breaking the hug abruptly. Deep red flush crept up both their cheeks and necks and ears, and after a minute of awkward silence they snickered again, not being able to hold it together. Zuko'd forgotten Toph could normally hear their heartbeats, let alone any louder noises happening almost right behind the wall. He couldn't see her but whispered apologies in her direction anyway, face ready to burst, as Sokka was giggling silently at the side, trying not to wake up the others. Once they'd stopped and caught their breaths, Zuko came closer, still smiling, and traced the outline of Sokka's hot red cheek, planting a quick peck on his lips and making his flush stay and eyes flutter closed. The sight of that made Zuko's guts twist into a tight knot. "The night is lovely," Sokka said, looking only into his eyes. "Wanna stay outside a while?" And Zuko smiled and pressed another, longer kiss to his lips in response.

Tagging (no pressure, of course) @boltlightning, @bluerose5, @beepbeepsan. I'm actually not sure who else to tag, so anybody who sees this is welcome to join! ❤

[interactivefictionramblings]

[Heaven’s Secret 1 spoilers.]

Tbh, I don’t understand why Sepha didn’t just send Malbonte - not Bont or Mal, Malbonte - down to Earth, as a fallen angel, to be with his parents? Like, he wouldn’t have ever been able to come back, right? So it’d ‘solve the threat.’

I mean, I guess the answer is just ‘plot,’ but it’s a boring answer. The little bit we got of Sepha, I got the impression he’s not even able to grasp his own cruelty—like he doesn’t try to be, yet still is, anyway. And I guess part of that makes sense, with him being an unbelievably ancient deity and all, but it doesn’t explain his actions about Malbonte, when Earth was right there.

Like

?????????

[incomplete-ruler]

Ok I know that I technically said in my last post that I was gonna get into survive as soon as possible, but honestly I don't think I'm ready 😭 (I'll probably get to it on Sunday at the earliest but I also feel like I have to mentally prepare myself for this).

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

OOO I'm very excited to share this chapter! We're getting close to the finish line!

Its name is "The Song of Us"

Page 54 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 15:

The Blind man asks his companion, before dawn break, What do you believe, is a beast’s fate, Once death seizes its life, in his inevitable grasp? The beast, his heart knowing of the fallen knight’s pleas, Of men they lost, who were left to be but a worm’s dark feast, Answers, death reaches for monsters all the same as men, For the unjust, for the cruel, For the kind, for the forgiving, All bones become one, until they become none, As death is the only being, to see all as one and the same.

This city is quiet, in the way a drowning is. Something wicked is happening under the surface, hidden from plain sight. If only its victim had air to scream.

The Hunter has intel beyond the SAS’s scope, beyond Laswell’s. Informants, comms. A man pronounced to all as dead. How is it possible, they were written off as a non-threat before?

Soap grits his teeth, tapping the lit end of his cigarette on a wall. Simon started moving a few minutes ago, the poison once again retreating. By the haunted look in his brown eyes, John could tell they both know he’s running out of time.

Price has been arguing with Laswell while helping Simon. Something about the fact the Hunter seemingly didn’t exist a year prior, on paper. Appeared out of nowhere one day with an army behind them, ready to burrow into intelligence networks in a way even Makarov couldn’t.

Makarov’s name came up a lot in that conversation. Enough that Soap had to take a smoke.

Anger thrums through his veins. Begging for blood. The same incessant screaming that drove him to choke the life out of Makarov, the same fire that kept him going through this personal slice of hell.

Maybe he’s an idiot, for wanting to kill the Hunter, for believing it will change anything.

The cigarette’s flame licks his fingers.

Soap crushes it against the wall. He turns around, watching Simon and the Captain. Far enough to not hear them, but they seem to need a bit of privacy anyway. Soap can’t say he’s ever seen Price that emotional, in their short meetings.

He asks himself where Gaz is when the Lieutenant approaches him.

“Price is bloody livid, isn’t he?” Gaz huffs.

Soap hums. His eyes move from the Captain to Simon, his mask still on the ground besides him.

Kyle follows his stare, “did you know Ghost’s identity, when I found you two?”

“No”, the white skull almost glows in the moonlight, “I only found out when… the communicator tried to use it against him.”

He can feel Gaz scan his features, “and you still decided to work with him.”

Soap doesn’t answer. Simon and Price are hugging now, the movement uncoordinated to Ghost. He doesn’t know how he can tell.

He turns to face Gaz, “I swore we will finish this together. I don’t go back on my word.”

“We both know this goes beyond that, Soap.” Gaz gives him a half smile, “the way you look at him… Haven’t seen you like that with anyone else.”

Soap frowns, scoffing, “don’t know what yer-”

“You have feelings for him, don’t you?” Gaz asks, almost gently.

…Feelings?

…..Could he?

“I…”

“Don’t lie to yourself.” Gaz murmurs, “in all the years I’ve known you, you didn’t act like this. Going against everyone you know, jumping in front of him when Price starts threatening him, letting him rest his bloody head on your legs- c’mon Soap, you’re fucking smitten with the man-”

“Kyle.” Soap stops him, head hanging down to hide the embarrassment painting his cheeks red. He scrubs a weary hand over his features, looking up at his friend between his fingers.

Gaz’s eyes soften. Soap sighs, “I- this is not the time for that kind of shite. We need to fuckin’ dust the Hunter, and then-”

And then what?

Soap lowers his hand, stare unconsciously drifting towards Simon. Since when have his eyes started doing that?

It hasn’t been more than a month since he arrived to this godforsaken city. How is it that John can’t imagine being alone again?

Or… how can’t he imagine an ‘after’ without Simon?

“I won’t lie to you.” Kyle starts, his tone gentler, “I still don’t fully trust Ghost. Even if he is… Simon Riley.” the Lieutenant places a hand on his shoulder, “but I can tell what you truly want, even if you think it’s not feasible.”

“That’s because it isn’t-”

“Bullshit.” Gaz turns John around to face him, “look, we are not good men. We’ve been operating outside the law for… for as long as I can remember. What we do, the way we dirty our hands...”

Kyle lets out a shaky exhale, squeezing his shoulder, “what I’m saying is, we can make people disappear. And if you… if you want that, I can help. I’m sure Price will too-”

“Yer out of yer mind-”

“Are you going to go back to Scotland, mate?” Gaz’s voice sharpens on desperation, “are you gonna go back to feeling like you have nothing to live for? Can you really leave this life, leave Ghost, behind?” He almost whispers the end, “be honest.”

How could he go back? No apartment, endless job search, a buzz under his skin that cannot be scrubbed off, disappointment to his family, emptiness, emptiness, emptiness-

“What else can Ah do?!” Soap tenses under Gaz’s hand.

That hand keeps him steady all the same, “whatever you want, John.” Kyle smiles sadly, “me and Price don’t have that freedom, but you two? You don’t have stuffy generals breathing down your neck.”

“I don’t-” Soap cuts himself off, thoughts whirling faster in his mind. He gets reminded of what his therapist used to say about him, back when he was just discharged.

“You fixate on danger, John. To the point of obsession. You don’t know when to let go, if you believe you can make things right.”

“Even if the cost is more than you should be willing to pay.”

“Just… think about it. Besides…” Gaz looks away, expression darkening, “I have a feeling the 141 might need people like you in the future.”

Soap brows furrow, “dishonorably discharged adrenaline addicts?”

Kyle chuckles, “no”, his hands tighten on Soap’s shirt, “people we can trust. People who are willing to do what’s right, even if they know they shouldn’t. Even if they don’t act the way the higher ups would want them.”

His brown eyes turn to look at John, determination he first saw on bootcamp only growing stronger, “people like you.”

Soap goes through another cigarette with Gaz by the time Price and Simon return to them. Both of their eyes shine with tears.

“Laswell did some digging.” Price grunts, “wasn’t easy, finding intel on the Hunter. They know their way around our networks, clearly.” his stare flickers towards Simon, “this operation-”

“Mass murder” Soap corrects. Calling this an operation would spit on the dozens of innocent people left to rot here.

“Mass murder”, the Captain continues, “is very unusual for the Hunter’s soldiers. Almost… flashy.”

“The communicator admitted it was an attempt to frame me.” Simon rolls up the mask in his hands, slipping it on, “they needed to show the British Army I’m too dangerous to keep.”

“And they knew the SAS would send the 141 because of the informant.” Gaz huffs.

Price nods, “which they did succeed in, but it also exposed them to us.”

“The SAS wouldn’t have investigated it further if ye actually killed Ghost the first time around.” Soap grumbles, wincing a moment later when he remembered who he’s talking to.

The Captain takes it surprisingly seriously. “Correct. This is not the first time they hide behind a smaller, supposedly unconnected criminal.” he hangs his arms on his tacvest, commending voice booming in the empty streets, “the Hunter is now top priority for the 141, our orders are to eliminate them, along with any high ranking officers remaining within their army. This mission is classified to all but us and Laswell - anyone else will be treated as a potential collaborator of the Hunter.”

“What about Soap and Ghost, Captain?” Gaz asks.

Price sighs, “Ghost has escaped after releasing the civilian he captured as leverage. And John MacTavish?” a sly smile pushes his mustache up, ”he has never set foot in this city.”

Kate Laswell isn’t someone Soap knew well, back in his service. Has heard her name being dropped in a couple of debriefs, a few calls here and there regarding missions.

He becomes increasingly grateful she’s on their side, as she brings up more and more intel on the Hunter. Their main source of information is the informant Ghost killed - the man recognized several undercover soldiers moving supplies in and out of the city in the past few weeks. He knew something big was going to happen, but the SAS waved it off as a local gang.

On the day of his death, he managed to send in one last report. The informant knew his time was limited, that his cover was blown, so the message was painfully short.

‘Skull in warehouse, Konservy, game over’

It was not clear if who he referred to when he transmitted the name “Skull”, and at the time the comms officer asked the informant to repeat, thinking it was a mistyped “Ghost”. With what they know now, it’s highly likely he was actually talking about the Hunter, and their red skull insignia. Konservy is a name of a warehouse, two clicks out of the city, as Laswell quickly found out.

‘Game over’ is the agreed upon sign for caught spies.

Price and Gaz have brought out their maps, attempting to lock down the warehouse’s location. Soap and Ghost were gently shooed away after it became obvious they don’t have any more useful intel to provide.

“How’s your neck?” Ghost asks him, the two of them leaning against a crumbling wall.

Soap opens his mouth to answer, when gloved fingers brush over the bruised skin on his throat. “I uh…” he swallows, the hand following the movement, “I feel fine.”

Ghost hums, caressing the wound for a moment longer before pulling away. Soap wants to chase the touch.

He really is in over his head, isn’t he?

“Simon.” Soap looks up at the bright skull mask, “have you thought about… what are ye gonna do after?”

“...no.”

“...Would ye go back? To what you did before?”

Simon stares at him deeply, eyes closing, “I don’t think I can.” he looks back at Soap, “you? What did you do before?”

Soap chuckles bitterly, “ah, I was spendin’ my newly civvi life indulging in only the greatest of pleasures. Like sittin’ in an office for nine hours a day, or knittin’ a scarf on my therapist’s orders.”

Simon’s shoulders shake with a badly hidden laugh, “I’d like to see you knit.”

Soap grins, “oh I was a natural. It definitely didn’t have several holes by the time I was done.” 

“How did you get here, then?” Simon asks, mirth still creasing his eyes.

His smile drops, words dying on his tongue, “I uh…” that weeks-old shame starts creeping back in, “was about to be evicted. Got fired, bastards never liked me anyway. I jus’ took all of my money and… ran as far as I could.”

Simon hums, shoulder leaning in to nudge his. Soap thinks the conversation is over after a few moments of silence, the both of them mauling over the words, when Simon surprises him.

“Think I’d like that… running away.” he murmurs.

“Aye? Where would ye go?”

“Don’t know. Don’t think it matters.” Simon leans in closer, their foreheads almost touching, “as long as the company is good.”

Soap feels a shiver go down his spine, eyes wide as he tries to find the joke that must be in Simon’s.

But he looks so painfully sincere, even when he finally leans away, “too bad there’s none ‘ere. Might ask Laswell if she got any tips on finding partners in crime.”

Soap lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “think they make dating apps for fuckers like ye?”

“Doubt I’ll find anyone as mental as you on Tinder, Johnny.” Simon deadpans.

“That’s because yer looking in the wrong place - Christian Mingle is where the real crazy bastards are.”

Simon can’t hold in his laugh this time, and for the first time Soap hears the way he snorts a little when his giggles become uncontrollable. It’s a horribly endearing sound, one that he wants to hear for every day for the rest of his life.

It makes his heart hurt, heavy, sinking in his chest like a death sentence.

Gaz was right.

He’s in love with Simon Riley.

Gaz went back to get the vehicle he and Price infiled with. It had a laptop, a few maps, and the most wonderful MREs Soap ever had. He never thought he’d miss that shite, but after running on a handful of oranges and a possibly moldy sandwich, they tasted like heaven on earth.

As he and Ghost had their meal (Simon’s eyes sparkled in a way that told Soap he was clearly as delighted with the food as he was), the 141 finalized their plan with Laswell. Soap could see them arguing about something, but he was far too preoccupied with eating to care at the moment.

Ghost, however, did care, “need anything, Price?”

The Captain snaps his head up, taking off his hat and scratching at his hair, “we have an angle to breach, but…”

Gaz joins in, “We don’t have intel on how many guards are posted, their location… mission will be doomed from the start if we just go in guns blazing.”

“Why not do some recon, then?” Soap wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “we’re all trained for that.”

“Too risky, the warehouse is exposed, and the Hunter won’t leave any obvious gaps in security if they’re worth their salt.” Price grunts.

Ghost gets up, walking over to the maps spread on the truck’s hood, “then we break in.”

Soap smirks at the assurance in his voice, “and that’s why I love the Ghost.”

He instantly catches the knowing expression on Gaz’s face, as well as Simon stiffening beside him. Soap curses himself mentally, feeling his face heat up in shame. He prays for any god that might listen, that Ghost didn’t take it as seriously as the truth is.

Thankfully, Price saves him from blurting out some more recently-discovered-emotions, “no other way but through, eh Simon? What do you have in mind?”

Ghost scans the maps of the warehouse Laswell has sent over, “The Hunter doesn’t know we’re working together, if they’re expecting an attack they would only expect two people - me and Johnny.” his eyes flicker to Soap’s for a brief moment, “if we split up, the 141 could take them by surprise.”

“You said they’re after you and John, Simon. If they catch you, we might not be able to help.” Price says grimly.

Ghost sighs, looking away frustrated. His head turns to face Soap, eyes calculating, “...what if they don’t know it’s us?”

“What?” Price asks.

Ghost continues, eyes still staring deeply into his, “Johnny can easily disguise himself, he’s done so before. All he needs is to cover up his face and hair.”

The Captain nods to Ghost, “and what about you, son? Everyone knows your mask.”

“But no one knows his face.” Soap answers, understanding washing over him, “but Simon-”

“I can’t be Ghost if we want to finish this.” Simon brushes fingers over the bone-white teeth of the skull mask, hand tightening into a fist.

Gaz nods slowly, “and we can’t be the 141.” he sends a meaningful look to the Captain, “this operation has to be kept secret. If the SAS learns we collaborated with the Ghost…”

“Then we won’t be.” Price walks to the back of the truck, pulling out 3 black balaclavas and throwing them to Soap and Gaz.

Price begins explaining their plan, “Laswell has gathered up a few blueprints of the Konservy warehouse. There are several key points that appear to be far too open for us to breach, all except one - the offloading garage. We’ll split into two teams, me and Gaz will take the offices and CCTV rooms, clearing the way for Soap and Ghost to infiltrate the main machinery room.”

“Our plan depends on each team watching the other’s six, we’ll have to keep comms up.” Gaz adds.

“Once the first team takes over the CCTV room, we will be able to locate the Hunter. The faster we do this, the less likely reinforcements will arrive.” Price hands Soap and Ghost a radio.

“Do we know where they keep their vehicles?” Soap asks while fitting the comms over his clothes.

“Yeah, should be around where we first enter. Why?” Gaz raises a brow towards him.

A wicked smile spreads on Soap’s lips, “might be able to set up a little surprise for any newcomers.”

Ghost chuckles darkly, “always ready to craft a trap, aren’t you, Johnny?”

“Never failed me before, Simon.”

“You can take a look at our supplies, take whatever you need.” Price looks over each of them, “any questions?”

Soap flexes his hands, adrenaline thrumming a familiar song through his veins, anger painting his vision red, “what are we waiting for?”

[larissa-the-scribe]

General Update / "Housekeeping"

Hey everyone! I meant to get back into the swing of things before the tournament ended, but here we are. Anyway, major congrats to Felix and @meadow-roses! (Just as I predicted hehe). 

So, what all is going on with ye old blog and what can be expected going forward?

Currently, I finished setting up my newsletter (which you can find here), a new thing that will be consistent going forward. So you'll probably hear about it every now and then. As far as other author platform stuff goes, I'll be setting up a Ko-Fi and Patreon in the next few weeks, and then a website in the next few months (partially already set up here). I am also taking part in a group promotion for fantasy indie authors, which I will share more about later. Oh, and I finally compiled a masterlist of the all the chapters/updates to Terrarium Lights.

The main and most exciting thing that's fast approaching is the story I'm gearing up to share, shared episodically via email, in episodes/chapters delivered right to the reader.

It will be affected by the audience, as it is structured to allow suggestions, feedback, and votes to shape parts of it; and all of this will be totally free to participate in for anyone interested. I have been slacking about sharing about it, but that will be remedied soon. This is an older story that's gotten re-vamped and fleshed out, and I'm excited to be sharing it.

New pinned post up will be up in a bit with links and a re-introduction to the blog, etc. 

I also have a lot of art from ArtFight that I haven't shared yet, and some new characters and character art that I will be sharing, too. Plus I gotta round up all the stuff I submitted as character propaganda and post it more properly on my blog. So I'll be a bit busy for a few months at least XD  

tl:dr: I have an email list now and am doing other authory platformy stuff, I'm gearing up for a serial story that will start releasing soon and will be free to participate in, and I am going to be posting more about characters, stories, and (belatedly) ArtFight pieces. And I'm glad y'all are here

[dracocheesecake]

I thought of a really fun parallel for Han/The Chameleon.

You know how the Chameleon has that golden tree?

Han, when the Den ran their game aboveground, had a real tree, hidden in one of their hideouts. He mostly used it to sleep on during the day (yes because he's a Sunda pangolin and they tend to be arboreal and are also nocturnal, which lends itself useful for easier thieving under cover of darkness)- however, it also acted as a council chamber, where everyone could meet up and climb into the branches for a seat, to have their voices heard.

The underground was just one of their hideouts, and it became their only hideout after Zhen handed in the rest of the aboveground ones to the Chameleon. The one with that tree?- It became a rather lovely little blacksmithing factory for the weapons and cages she needed- and the tree was the perfect kindling to start up the forge!

Zhen didn't know that was what she was planning to do with it. When she found out, she was absolutely gutted. She had a few memories involving that tree.

[greencloakedfae]

I have an idea for a fake/pretend relationship post-canon nell x sofia fic and I've never written fanfic before but maybe it's time to give it a go?