Ash Seeketh Insight

Those who fall will be forgotten. Those who rise up will be remembered forever.

[lazylittledragon]

dunno if this has been asked yet, but do you have proposal lore for caitvi? Like who asked who?

oH YES i do

they got engaged on vacation and vi asked cait. and she didn’t ask her while sightseeing or on a hike or at a restaurant or any kind of peak proposal spot, she asked her back at the house in the evening when cait was in pyjamas with wet hair complaining about her sunburn. because she loves her the most when she’s a Mess

[maferart]

Artfight attack for @raynhoro ^^

[margelmargaret]

[asphodelles]

drifter

[boredguitarfish]

Seth Von Valancius, my rogue trader.

Formerly a renegade captain of a small trading vessel within the Von Valancius fleet, still enjoying a lot of front line combat as a rogue trader.

He is in fact at most 30+, although he does look more mature with those beard, a tool quite effective tool to hide his burn marks as well as to garner some semblance of respect.

[tacticalgrandma]

Don't think I ever saw all the tank responses compiled before, so here they are? Cassia's and Argenta's are my favorites. Bonus:

[motleymercurialmarionette]

Met Octaviana on Footfall and decided to make a female crime lord RT

In a universe where Marcus never became the Rogue Trader(fading into obscurity with his fate unknown after his canonical backstory events), this character, Marcella von Valancius, his daughter. Lived to become an infamous figure in the Calixis Sector before joining Theodora and assuming the responsibility of being her heir.

Not that Marcus would ever know of her fate, but at least he never had to worry about her being a Psyker like himself. Life might not have been kind to her(yay shadow of torment!) but at least she was spared that burden.

Might play around with her a bit, not sure yet.

Update: I did!

[lorsted]

Did a White Scar the other day. Called it quits before properly finishing it, but all the ideas/concepts are there.

[40kwomenweek]

Mark your calendars! Send out the servo-skulls! 40k Women Week is happening this September, 7th to 13th!

PROMPTS

September 7th: Imperium // Violent

September 8th: Books // Brave

September 9th: Xenos // Arrogant

September 10th: Games // Intelligent

September 11th: Heresy // Cold

September 12th: OCs // Powerful

September 13th: Free day!

FAQ

What is allowed?

All kinds of fanworks, including, but not limited to: fic, art, podfic, gifs, cosplay, mini painting, poetry, crafts, interpretive dance, etc.

Gen works, ships of any kind, SFW, NSFW, dark topics/dead dove (provided it is tagged properly), written works in any language, having fun and being yourself.

What is NOT allowed?

Hate and bigotry of any kind — sexism, racism, transphobia, queerphobia, any other kinds of predjudice or being an indiscriminate asshole — all not allowed. 41st Millenium is a dark place, but in the here and now let's be civil to each other.

GenAI use — we're here to appreciate human* passion and creativity regardless of skill level

(*we do however welcome any friendly abhumans or xenos willing to take part in our event)

Character or ship bashing — have your fun and let others have theirs, we're here for good vibes.

Can I include Rogue Trader and Dark Heresy CRPG characters for this week?

We consider any work focusing heavily on Rogue Trader and Dark Heresy CRPGs by Owlcat to be outside scope of this event, however we understand that many original characters take on lives outside of the game's canon. Creations featuring original 40k women who may be Rogue Traders or DH Acolytes but focus on their lives, backstories, or futures outside of the Owlcat games or their relationships to the canon characters from these games are welcome in this event. Use your best judgement.

If you are primarily interested in canon Rogue Trader characters, we recommend you check out @rtwomenweek

How do the prompts work?

Each day (except the last) has two prompts: the source of origin or the faction for the woman you are creating for, and a general prompt. You can use either, or combine them if you wish. The prompts are intentionally broad — the goal is to inspire our participants and give them more creative opportunities, rather than limit them.

Are men/non-binary characters allowed?

The focus of the event is female characters in the 40k universe, and as such, your work for the event should center them. However, we do not limit who else can feature in your works! Many of the canon ladies have male colleagues/romantic partners/family members/comrades/bitter rivals/etc, and if you want to focus on one such relationship, you're more than welcome to. Same goes for your original characters.

Are genderbends/trans headcanons allowed?

You are free to include genderbent/transfem versions of canon male characters in your work as long as it centers a canon woman character or a female OC. (For example, f!Orikan/Vishani work qualifies for this event and so does an ungenderbent version, but f!Orikan/f!Trazyn does not.)

You are free to include original female characters from a canonically all-male faction. (For example if your work centers on an OC Novamarine from an AU where all Space Marines are women, or an OC Blood Angel who realises that she's a trans woman we will happily reblog it)

Of course, you are completely free to center your work on trans women characters, original, headcanoned or otherwise. Trans women are women.

Where else can I find you?

The event will be run on tumblr. Use #40kwomenweek to tag your post and/or mention this blog and we will reblog it. You can also add your work to the ao3 collection here. We will be monitoring the tag and the collection submissions for a week longer after the event ends to give you a little extra time as well.

How should I tag my work?

For us to find your post, you should tag with #40kwomenweek or @ our account

Additionally — we are only two people, and as such have not familiarised ourselves with every book/game/show/piece of lore out there. We are kindly asking you to include some information in the post with your work, so we can tag it correctly.

For canon characters: Full name, faction, source (Black Library publications, games, animation, other)

For OCs: Indicate that this is an OC and list the relevant faction

What about this thing that you haven't mentioned/considered?

Please feel free to reach out to us with any further questions, the askbox is open.

[bleedthebeat]

JAE: Shereen is… shereen means friend, and comrade, and rowmate in a battle formation—like we are.

JAE: A Rogue Trader cannot have friends, shereen. Only servants for whom the word of their master is supreme law. And partners to whom the favor of the Warrant bearer is the highest reward for their mutual efforts. Why are you looking at me like that? How many friends does the Sol that shines down upon Holy Terra have? JAE: You are welcome to call our relations whatever you like, shereen. After all, words mean little. But you have taken good care of me, and so I would like to take good care of you… and go slightly beyond the strict terms of our agreement. I brought a small gift as a token of gratitude. And may the Exalted One keep watching over the paths you tread.

JAE: I win again. What should I wish of you, shereen? “Riches, obviously.” JAE: Money is fickle, shereen. It’s in its nature. Money is created to be passed from one set of hands to another. I would rather be friends with you. My wish is that we will always be good friends, Your Lordship.

[carpfromhell]

The myth of consent.

Have you remebered to ask your local Lord Inquisitor if he wishes to hear that? Hmmmmmm???? HMMMMMMM?

[gautiersylvain]

my good friends jae and heinrix are the funniest people i know

[ravelsquadespresso]

my cutesies

[carpfromhell]

My Shereen, whatever would I do without you?

Comissioned bit of Nora Von Valancius and Jae Heydari being in flirting mode for @flamemittens

It was a blast of an assignment with being able to have the desk and chair all carved trough and posing them out to convey the intent. And flamemittens was a champ in directors chair so the illustration corresponds the vision.

[nuka-rockit]

Rogue Trader Headcanons

The companions, realizing they are falling for the Rogue Trader

(ft. Abelard, Argenta & Pasqal) Cassia

At first, she isn't quite sure what is going on with her. She has spent her whole life isolated on Eurac V, and the only people she came across were either mute servants or her Orsellio caretakers. Sure, she has read about romance – snippets here and there, in between the tomes on warp lore, the star charts and the histories filling the bookshelves of her old quarters; works by lauded imperial poets; songs about the devotion and love filling the hearts of the servants of the Emperor from the pens of the Ecclesiarchy. But this, what is budding in her chest now, bears little resemblance to those artfully constructed verbal weavings. Around the Lord Captain she doesn't feel graceful and elegantly melancholic, like the heroines of courtly romance she knows. She becomes so painfully conscious of herself – of her spindly, elongated limbs, her unnervingly red eyes, the blood vessels showing through her chalk-white skin, the claws on her fingers, the fluttering gills on her neck. She notices herself fidgeting awkwardly around them, trying to conceal her hands in the folds of her robes, brushing her hair forward to conceal her veined cheeks and the blush she can feel burning on it, the tint on her pale face surely embarassingly obvious. What's more, the crew is feeling it too. The nature of her powers causes the bridge officers and the servants to feel rushes of elation and embarassment, making them flush hot and cold at once, whenever the Lord Captain converses with the lady Navigator, and only she can see the sudden flare of rosey pinks and shivering teal that bloom around her.

Heinrix

He does not acknowledge it. At least, that's what he tries to do. It creeps up on him, slowly: The way his mood lightens when they smile at him; the flutter in his chest when their eyes meet during their regicide games; the way his gaze lingers on them when they walk past. The Interrogator is so used to suppress his personal emotions that, at first, this one goes unnoticed among the rest; just another twinge of his heart he chooses to bury beneath his sense of duty, ever the cool professional. Until one day it hits him like a thunderbolt. It is a moment like so many other – a lingering gaze, a spark in their eye, an accidental brush of their hands as he reaches for his game piece – and suddenly he realizes what it is he has been feeling tugging at the corner of his mind. It freezes him in place, his muscles seizing tight, until the Lord Captain asks if he's okay, and the sound of their voice is what mercifully shakes him from his shock. Whatever business they had, he concludes it as quickly as he can without rousing suspicion and excuses himself. Only when he is alone does he allow his feelings, briefly, to wash over him. And it is a tidal wave that knocks the wind out of him: Alarm and worry, rushing heat and freezing cold, shame and desire all at once, so intense he can feel a sheen of sweat blooming, whetting his palms and his face. A thousand concerns come to him immediately. Such feelings would be unprofessional at the best of times, and toward the Lord Captain of all people – someone he is meant to observe, someone who could be tainted by heresy for all he knows, who he cannot afford to view with anything but the utmost impartiality. He should have better control of himself. He cannot let his judgement be impaired. It would be best for everyone involved if he purged any such base desires from his mind immediately, root and stem. But there is a tiny spark in a corner of his iron-clad heart that he can't put out. A small ember that remembers the warmth he felt at any one of those moments, the way he couldn't help but smile, the contentment that filled him for just a few heartbeats, feeding a hunger he has pretended for years does not exist. And that small, selfish part of himself, is loathe to give up this morsel. Outwardly his behavior does not change – he is used to guarding his thoughts to outsiders, after all. But when he is alone in his chambers, he lies waking, his heart hammering in his chest.

Marazhai

Drukhari don't fall in love. The very notion is laughable, if not outright insulting. Love is something you use against your victims. It's an open wound to pour salt into, a knot in the string to make them dance for your amusement, a precious jewel to shatter just to watch them try to pick up the shards until their hands bleed. It is a weak point. A tool. A drukhari, a trueborn drukhari, is not victim to such pathetic whims. And yet he craves their presence. He wants to be near them at all times. He catches himself watching them more closely than any of the other creatures on this heap of scrap they call a voidship. Their every word, every twitch in their expression, he can't help but analyze. When someone other than him catches their attention he can feel anger, raw and white hot, roil inside him. When another dares touch them, he wants nothing more than to slice off the hands that dared to intrude on what is his – and then he catches himself with queer bewilderment. What does he care if some mon-keigh grope at each other? But he does care, oh he does, and it takes all his restraint to hold himself back and to put on that familiar mask of cold condescension. Eventually he has to admit to himself that there is something that makes them different from the rest of the cattle, something that he cannot help but find fascinating. Something that makes them more than just another distraction from boredom. And he needs to find out what it is. So he prods and pries at them, with every trick he can think of - mockery, insults, guile, charm, promises, threats – to pry them open like a ribcage and get behind what it is that draws him to this creature. He would never in a thousand years have expected someone like them to interest him at all. Now they are becoming an obsession. It's fascinating. It's infuriating. It's humiliating. It's delicious. And the mere thought of losing it, now that he has had a taste, is driving him insane.

Abelard

Absolutely not. A seneschal does not "fall" for anyone in his chain of command, least of all the Lord Captain. It's simply unthinkable. Not to mention completely unprofessional. That he cares for them, that is his duty as senschal. Of course he worries about their safety; they are always surrounded by danger. Of course he wants them to be comfortable; they need to be at their best to fulfil their duties as head of the dynasty and sovereign of the protectorate. Of course it makes him feel good to see them happy. What better sign is there that he is doing his job well? This is the mantra Abelard repeats to himself over and over as he paces in his chambers, hands behind his back, muttering under his breath. Duty, he tells himself, duty and pride in his office, and it has nothing to do with the way a wave of heat goes through him whenever they touch him – a pat on the back, a hand on his shoulder, small signs of appreciation. Or the way his jaw clenches when one of the many noble lords and ladies kiss their hand and flutter their eyelashes; why wouldn't they, seeking their soverign's favour is only natural, and besides, the Lord Captain is certainly not hard to look at. Absolutely nothing unbecoming about admitting that. What a ridiculous thought, that his feelings would go beyond the borders of propriety, and at his age! As if he were some fumbling young cadet barely able to lace his boots in the morning! And he was a married man, he knows a thing or two about courtship, and why is he even worrying about the possibility...Meanwhile, the servants can't help but wonder why the carpet in the Seneschal's chambers is starting to develop a deepening groove.

Jae

Jae is not someone to be sparse with her affections. She flirts with near anyone she meets, it is a game and a way to test the waters, and there is no harm in having a little fun, is there? She teases the Lord Captain from day one, much to the chagrin of all the officers, with stern scowls on their faces and data-slates in their hands, and maybe even sticks up their – but Jae would not be herself if she cared what they think. She has more important, more interesting people to impress. And she does want to impress them, she realises. She always takes care with her appearance, but now she is being even more meticulous, brushing her curls so they fall just right, putting on the expensive perfume from the paradise world a sector over she saved for special occasions, polishing her implants so they catch the light of the candles when the Lord Captain comes over to talk to her... And for a while she tells herself this is just an extension of the usual game; after all it takes more effort to impress someone as noble as a Rogue Trader than some small fish on Footfall. It works, for a time. After all she is good at telling pleasant lies, even to herself. And yet, the longer it goes, something else begins to gnaw at her. That her stomach flutters when they spend time together. That she can feel a blush on her cheeks when they laugh at a joke she made – Jae Heydari, blushing! But there is something else too, something cold and gritty and unpleasant, something that irritatingly refuses to fit into her glamourous image... and that is fear. Not fear of danger, not fear of punishment – she has dealt with either plenty of times, it is part of the life of any Cold Trader worth their salt. No, it is the fear that they will find out. That they will, somehow, see through her dashing smiles and glittering jewels and see the real Jae underneath, the grimy, calloused, ordinary young woman she has been running from for years; that they will see that young woman, and that, once they do, all the lustre will come off, and they will look at her with the same cold disdain, that same vague disgust cast down on her from high above so many, many times before. And so the stronger her feelings grow, the more she distances herself. Careful to always leave enough room for the smoke and mirrors that gleam and glitter so prettily. It's what she should do, she knows, not just for her sake, but for them, too. But when has Jae Heydari ever been good at doing what she should?

Argenta

She came into the Rogue Trader's retinue with a shadow over her heart. Her disappointing arrival on Footfall, the failure to acquire the Saint's holy relic, and an uncertain future lay heavy on her shoulders. But recently, she has found more moments where her heart is full of elation. She goes to prayer with a smile on her face more often now, and she often finds herself humming a tune. At first she believes it his a sign from Him, a spark of hope to encourage her on her holy path, and maybe it is that as well...but she can't help but notice that her moods lift just then when the Rogue Trader is near. She was wary of them at first, true. The circumstances of their inheritance were tainted by treason and heresy after all; a member of their own dynasty had revealed himself a servant of the archenemy, and even Theodora held tainted artefacts in her study. Yet she soon comes to realize that her suspicions toward Theodora's successor fade like morning mist under the gentle warmth of a rising sun. More and more she thinks about them when she sits in silent contemplation – and starts when she catches herself. These times are meant to contemplate His tenets, not to let her thoughts wander towards trivialities. Despite this, her thoughts keep straying back to the Lord Captain. Perhaps this is a sign too? A sign that they are blessed? They are the keepers of the sacred Warrant after all, that holiest of relics signed by His own hand. But deep inside she begins to suspect it is something else that draws her gaze and her thoughts, something that should not be there. Only one should be in her heart, and it is not the Rogue Trader. She becomes quiet and contemplative, and prays even more than usual – for guidance, she says. She must not stray. She mustn't. But no matter how hard she tries, no prayer can extinguish that budding bloom in her heart; and in moments of weakness, she prays that she won't have to rip it out.

Yrliet

At first the elantach is a strange, suspicious creature to her. She has witnessed the weakness, the pettiness, the greed and brutish violence of humanity for too long to approach them with anything other than caution. Elevated amongst their own kind they may be, but what is that elevation worth if those responsible are such creatures? She clads her mind and soul in armour, both to withstand the influence of She-Who-Thirsts, but also to stave off disgust and despair. It is a hard battle on the Flagship. Everyting is so alien: Everything is full of sharp edges, covered in holy symbols to a strange god who despises her kind; the sounds are harsh and grinding and hurt her ears, so different from the familar music of Crudarach; the inhabitants stare at her with cold and hostile eyes wherever she goes. Even on Janus, much of an Outcast as she was, she had at least had the serenity of the Lilaethan, had some of her own kind near her who knew the songs and stories of their people and who spoke the language that had filled the halls of her home. But no one here speaks in her tongue, no one sings the songs that resonate with her soul. She feels it calling out, and where once was an echo, where once there was harmony, now there is only silence. Even the stars, beautiful as they are, are cold and distant and silent behind the window of the elantach's vessel. And yet, the elantach treats her...differently. They do not prod her like some exotic pet, nor do they shackle her like a dangerous captive. They could – their servants seem to expect it, even. And yet they treat her with a kindness that surprises her. They respect her boundaries, give her space to retreat, allow her to communicate at her own pace. And after all this time, when her heart has been rubbed raw from grief, and loss, and loneliness, it feels strange to have someone treat it with such gentle hands. Never would she have expected a human to be capable of it – it goes against all she thought she knew of their kind; but in the presence of the elantach the roiling turmoil in her soul begins to quiet, like a gentle breeze that calms a storm. To have found a speck of light in this world that is so strange and hostile is a comfort. It is a small, fragile bud of hope. She does not know what it will look like when it blooms, or what fruit it will bear. But in those hours on the ship, when she stares into the endless sea of stars, it is the flame that keeps the countless shadows of her grief at bay.

Pasqal

Many assume that the priests of the Mechanicum are without feelings, as cold and immovable as the metal that is woven into their flesh. But that is a very reductive view of the inner life of a tech priest. Much like how binharic sounds harsh and incomprehensible to the ears of the laypeople, so it is with the way the red priests express emotion. So to the uninitiated on the bridge, the officers, the servants, the enforcers, there is no change in the way that the Engineseer Prime conducts himself around the Lord Captain. But their eyes and ears are of the weaker flesh and blind and deaf to all that is not crude meat. It is a different story for the other tech priests attending the many machine spirits of the Flagship. They hear the soft binharic trill that escapes Pasqal's vox when the Lord Captain stops to have a chat with him; the gentleness of the wave with which his mechadendrites greet them, the shade with which his optical augment glows. They note the inflection in his Low Gothic, warm and resonant in a way that makes his vox hum with every word, the care he takes to try and translate his words from the True Speech for one who cannot understand it. To them the affection the esteemed Engineseer Prime holds for the Lord Captain is plain to see, even if the eyes of the laypeople do not. Pasqal himself notes with some surprise the feelings that stir in him regarding them. Theirs is a mind that resonates with his own – a rare occurence for one who has never studied the teachings of the Omnissiah. Usually loathe to have his meditations and his work interrupted by outsiders, their presence never feels like an intrusion. When he shares his musings on the teachings of the Machine God, or tells them of the small caprices of the machine spirits he encountered during today's maintenance rites, or simply listens to their queries, occasionally offering a comment, it is as if their own spirits share a harmony, resonating with each other.

commentary under the cut

this is my first little foray into writing down some of my RT headcanons. Ulfar and Idira aren't featured because I don't have a good grip on how to write my thoughts on them yet regarding romance/equivalent feelings, sorry. I kept the language purposefully gender neutral because I think the gender locking the romances is dumb. lol. anyway thank you toybox

[orangekittyenergy]

Can’t stop won’t stop

[sketchblognko]

shhh...

Secrets (day 5-6)