Just a bit Absythne Mind(ed)

REQUESTS OPEN Crawling out of my hole (slowly) MDNI Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absynthe_mind

[absynthe-mind]

Exhaustive Masterlist

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

General Works Masterlist

Yandere Masterlist

Space Marine Husbandry Masterlist

Kinktober2025 Masterlist

OC Masterlist

REQUEST RULES:

- NO PEDO/UNDERAGE

To clarify this point, this also includes:

- No grooming

- No parent/child relationship and sexual one

- Anything that I think is deliberately trying to subvert these rules/anything borderline

This does not include:

- Sugar daddy/mommy relationships

- Being childhood friends (aka both growing up together as children)

- Parent and child fluff

- Primarch/reader or oc/astartes or similar (eg. Magnus/reader/Ahriman)

- No watersports (just not something I would enjoy or want to write)

Also if you want a specific gender tell me (I write any gender), if you don't specify I will assume gender neutral :) eg. male reader, or 'takes an interest in her', just something to distinguish.

Reply to this post to be added to taglist!

WIPs in progress:

Dorn x reader x Vulkan oneshot

Dragon!Mortarion AU fic

Sif oneshot (OC content)

Mandy oneshot (OC content)

Neran oneshot (OC content)

Fem!fulgrim oneshot

Sanguinius Chase oneshot

Emperor oneshot

Imperial Fist Space Marine Husbandry

[catabibaz0n]

I hope you’re having a nice weekend! I had a terrible idea.

big E is the type of guy to make one of his favorite serfs, or new shy servant wash one of the many luxury vehicles or war machines in a micro bikini or speedo. While he watches and sips lemonade. i would kill to see that

I truly suck at drawing machines and vehicles, so we’re just getting the nose of something!?!? But yes, here is your quintessential big E being a dirty old man!! probably the oldest dirty old man that has ever existed.

[loverofbumblebees]

Ozymandias - Emperor of Mankind x Fem!Reader: Chapter Two

Cowritten with @absynthe-mind. PLEASE make sure to read all the TW/tags for this-- it's going to be diabolical.

A/N: This one is dedicated to @omg1wanttidd1es-sb who made this beautiful fanart!!! We were gonna wait but could not resist.

This fic is cross-posted on AO3.

Masterpost

TW for this chapter: canon typical violence, graphical depictions of torture, mental anguish, imprisonment, dead dove: do not eat, alcohol mention

Chapter 2: the hand that mocked them

You wake the next day with that stubborn flame of determination stoked in your belly. You are a part of the Order, dammit. You’re not going to be cowed by someone who’s locked in chains. 

You ignore the way you’d left trembling yesterday, clutching the handle of the wagon, hoping that your iron grip doesn’t betray how shaky you are. 

You made it back to your room in one piece, and it doesn’t matter that you cried for the first time in a long while, or that you curled up under the covers and cried even more. It doesn’t matter that tears dripped down your face and onto your pillow, and your shoulders shook as you tried to keep the sobs quiet. 

It doesn’t matter because by the time your bunkmate returns, you’re asleep, and no one is the wiser.

You are too deeply asleep to wake from your own mumbling, for all it keeps your bunkmate up. Murmuring about how he stares at you, begging him to stop, pleading for him to stop tormenting you.

When Serayne gets back she goes to wake you and stops short when she sees you twisting and turning, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. 

She would wake you now, raise you from this nightmare that traps you, but she knows better than any that you’d never get back to sleep. Exhaustion is written into every line of your face, and if you’re going to be in anguish awake or asleep, you’d be better off at least getting some rest.

When you wake you are tired but resolute in your determination, and you get to the antichamber connecting to the Emperor’s earlier than normal.

Apparently, the commanding officers of the Order have decided that you’re not a threat, as Samson is only there to hand you a set of keys this morning. 

You question him and he shrugs.

“I’m not babysitting anymore– I think you’ve got the gist of the job down,” he leans forward, “Although between you and me, you have much better self control than I do.”

“What?” you ask, eyebrows scrunching in confusion.

Samson grins– you see his mouthful of perfectly intact teeth– and he says, “If it were up to me… he’d had more damage all the time. But it’s good that you give him a break. The peace amps it up for the next time, you know?”

There’s a creeping sense of horror that crawls up your back, but your ally claps you on the back. This time you don’t stumble, bracing yourself.

He beams, “Good luck! I’ll see you around.” Samson strides away, leaving you and your cart alone.

What the hell was that?

The locks are easy enough to open, having seen it done dozens of times before now, and you swing the door open. 

But this time, he isn’t sitting. The swing bars that the chains are attached to have been moved so his arms are forced high above his head, his wrists pinned together slightly behind him, and he’s kneeling on the floor, the constraints on his ankles pulled tightly to keep any slack from giving out. 

He’s closer to the light than usual, and you wince. But he’s been moved off his usual corner, so you think that maybe you could try and clean the mass of blood off the floor where he usually occupies.

It’s the worst by far over there, having not yet been cleaned once, and where he has created the most ‘mess’ too.

You scurry around the room, doing your normal activities first. It’s odd that there aren’t any new visible injuries, you think– until you bring your mop behind the man and turn to look. There’s a clattering of the handle on the floor as you stand there, mouth agape as you stare at the horrifying lash marks on his back. 

The muscles have been ripped and torn, the skin peeled back to reveal raw flesh beneath. Thick strips cover every inch of available space, some at the edges are heavily raised welts, others weeping, but most are bleeding with freely exposed muscle showing through and flecks of white you think are bone.

Wincing isn’t enough, you have to completely avert your gaze away from the mangled mass of viscera. It takes a few minutes before the world stops spinning as you fall to your knees and try not to vomit. The scent you’d grown so used to is sickening again and burns your nose.

Eventually the world stops fading at the edges and you get some control over your seizing throat. Your hands are spread flat against the tiles, thankfully the mostly mopped ones, but the water is tinged pink and you’re touching it. 

His blood is on your hands now.

You lift them rapidly, dunking them in the bucket of fresh water and soaking the ends of your sleeves, but you don’t care, you just need to get it off.

Your hands are clear but you leave the room for a new bucket of fresh water anyways and repeat your actions, scrubbing with an entirely new brush until your hands are raw. Until your breathing eases.

Today’s work isn’t done. You need to go back and finish the job. Slacking is not an option when it seems like they’ve moved him specifically so you can clean that spot.

It’s half an hour's work to steel yourself to the task, but you do it. You go back in.

It hasn’t gotten any better, and you have no idea why you thought it would be. If anything it’s worse and you have to work quickly to wipe away the faint handprints on the tile before you meltdown again.

Your back faces the massive figure, and you scrub away at the floor. There’s a good chunk of time in which you’re busy scraping what you think might be clumps of dried flesh off the floor, and the vomiting sensation returns. You try to steady yourself on the wall, attempting to shove down the feeling of acid creeping up your throat.

It works slightly, and you manage to get through the entirety of your task without vomiting. You stare up at the wounds again, and then have to avert your eyes while gathering up your supplies.

“S-see you tomorrow,” you say as you go to exit the door– entirely out of habit.

There’s no reply behind you as the door clangs shut. You grip your arm and remind yourself of everything the Emperor has done. Everyone he’s killed. 

Samson’s words echo. The Order’s manifesto replays through your mind. The screams of your loved ones haunt you.

He deserves this.

Doesn’t he?

Sleep comes easier, but at the cost of your dreams.

There’s fire around you. You stumble as you run through the burning wreckage of trees. The former giants creak and sway with the force of being burned by the ships of the Imperium. Great trunks that have stood for generations upon generations reduced to ruin in mere moments.

Your heart is racing as you run, legs pumping as fast as you can make them. Ash and smoke fill your lungs as you go, and you have to squint to keep your vision clear. The smoke keeps you half blind, and you fall over a branch that’s just fallen.

Screeching, you bat away the fire, trying to tamp them down to keep them off your clothes. You cannot afford to go up in flames as well– not when you can hear your mother’s cry in your head, the comforting words of your brother and a final goodbye from your father. They’ll only live on in you, and so you have to make it. You have to live. It’s only fair.

It’s only fair.

You manage to scramble upwards, heaving yourself along the trail. There’s a small clearing at the end that isn’t ringed with the orange flames that bite at your heels, the scorching heat searing you through your clothes. Finally making it to the end, you collapse onto the grass and wheeze and cough. The smoke follows you, but as your vision clears, you see a pair of boots standing in front of you, waiting.

Wobbling to a kneeling position, you slowly look up. And you realize with a dawning horror that an Imperial soldier is in front of you. He’s wearing a massive overcoat that splays out like wings from an angel of death.

The man pulls a cigar from his mouth and smiles, “Hello there, rebel tree scum. We were wondering when we’d flush one of you out of the brush.”

You open your mouth to respond, and then everything goes black as something hits the back of your head.

You wake with a gasp, snapping upright as you try to make out your surroundings. Your fingers curl in the sheets, feeling their worn texture as you try to ground yourself. The smoke still curls in your nostrils, the acrid smell lingering. But there’s no fire here– only on the charred corpse of your homeworld so far away from Terra.

Flopping back down onto the bed, you try to go back to sleep, but it eludes you. You wind up simply staring at the wall across from your bed. There’s a couple of nightstands there– but you hardly use yours. Serayne has things scattered across hers, and a few photos haphazardly taped to the wall. Those people smile at you in the dark, and you avert your gaze.

Your nightstand is barren. There’s a few hygiene products within it, but so far as personal items– you don’t have any. The one thing you have left of your home is a necklace you wear constantly. The weight of it soothes you, and you fiddle with it, running your thumb over the smooth surface. It’s been worn from that motion, but there’s a cypress cone embalmed within your pendant. You’d gotten it from one of the trees you’d been climbing since you were a child.

Serayne snores from above you, and you’re very glad that you decided to take the bottom bunk. It lets you get out of your room without disturbing her as you go to get something to drink. You shrug on some clothes and stagger into the hallway.

It’s early. So early in the morning that there’s hardly anyone but you awake. You’ve decided that the normal drinks won’t cut it, and head to the dining hall. Cool air hits your face as you cross through the quad on your way over, ignoring the covered pathway and trudging through the mud stained grass instead.

You take a deep breath as you go, trying to clear your head. It’s still fuzzy this early, but walking has always helped with your nightmares.

There’s a few people in the dining hall– there always are. The base you’re on is one of the biggest in the Order, if not considered a main base. Admittedly, there are less people now that patrols weren’t needed as frequently. Most of the soldiers are stationed on the side of the base with the prisoners, but a few are scattered around the other side. You’d question it, but you’re not one for a military mind.

“What are you doing awake?” a voice jars you out of your stupor, and you look over. You struggle to recall his name, but you’re faintly certain it’s something with a D…

Darian, maybe? You’ve only spoken once.

You realize you may have been silent too long, and blurt, “Couldn’t sleep. I thought I would try a walk.”

He looks down at your cup and snorts, “And a mixed drink?”

What can you say? You shrug, and take a sip. It’s horrible– the acrid taste of alcohol burning your tongue over the sweetness of juice. But the fire seeps into your veins, dissipating into a bit of sleepiness.

“I’ll be right as rain by wakeup,” you grin at him. “Goodnight.”

You depart back to your room, and the meager contents inside the cup vanish by the time you arrive at your destination. You close your eyes, feeling the warmth in your chest that spreads to your limbs. 

You try to shake the feeling you’d been watched on your little outing.

You do not dream again.

The sound of the wakeup call rings in your ears, and you groan. At least your concoction worked, you think to yourself as you roll out of bed already dressed. You smooth the wrinkles out, and begin your trek to the supply closet. You’d noticed that one of the common areas had a ridiculous amount of gum underneath the tables– where it was coming from, you weren’t sure. But it was going to bother you regardless, so you pull out the necessary tools (a scraper and a bucket), and head off.

Usually they come to get you for the cell in the early afternoon, so it strikes you that it’s odd that they haven’t. You’ve managed to get almost all the gum off the tables and into your bucket when you’re approached from the left as you’re hacking away at a particularly stubborn bit. Your head swivels, and you see a sergeant with a neatly trimmed haircut standing beside you.

“Hello,” you greet, rising from your kneeled position.

He gives you a curt nod, then informs you, “You’re on patrol to clean up the city.”

Blinking, taken aback by the change, you ask, “The city?”

“Yes. There’s Imperial propaganda that needs to be taken care of.”

Oh. Alright then.

You’re relieved for the change of pace but something uneasy churns in your gut. Tomorrow will be rotten to clean if today’s agenda is so bad they don’t want you in there. A not so small part of you never wants to go back in there if it can be helped.

Shaking the thoughts away, you get the information on where you’re meant to be, and head off to go make your preparations.

A shift like this was a long one, but a fun one. 

Fresh air away from base, a small team together for ‘safety’ that actually meant good banter as you worked to erase the everpresent propaganda that sprawled across every corner of the planet.

Of course, it was each citizen's duty to remove what they could, but there was just so much of it.

Statues, posters, paintings, shrines - every imaginable avenue of art littered every garden, were carved into every gothic arch, imposing into every aspect of life. It was impossible to escape the gaze of the Aquila. 

For now at least.

With the sheer amount of work there were dedicated shifts just to clearing it when there was nothing more urgently pressing.

There were some things that took too long to remove, glued down too strongly or just not worth the effort. That was where they gave you posters produced by the Order to cover it.

‘Unity and Peace - A life free of torment!’ was the title of the poster you were plastering over an infomatic on how to sign up your newborn sons to your local legion. The art of it depicted baseline humans toppling a statue of a cruel looking marine that was pointing, large and in command. Ropes that looped over stone and a team that toppled something that seemed insurmountable. 

A layer of glue is pasted onto it and you slap it down with a faint smile as your comrades crack jokes from the back. 

You needed this.

The base comes back into view in the wee hours of the morning, the truck pulling into the garage. It’s not fuel efficient to send a team out for short trips, even if it means you get back in late. Your group hops out on tired legs, and you begin the process of putting all the gear back. Thank goodness they didn’t make you take a gun– you didn’t envy the paperwork needed to return it.

Everyone bumps fists and chug the last of the drinks you’d gone out to get as a team, before you each say good night and split to separate bunks with the promise of a later start for your efforts.

When your head finally hits the pillow, it’s early in the morning.

And when they knock on the door to wake you up, it’s earlier still. Serayne groans from above you.

“Who’s at the door at this hour?” she slurs, still half asleep.

You’re still half asleep, so you grumble in response, trying to pull your thin blanket a little further over your shoulders and snuggle into your bed. The knocking comes again, more insistent this time.

“Heaven’s sake,” your roommate curses at you, saying your name loudly, “Answer the door!”

The unfortunate duty of the bottom bunk– you’re closer to the ground. You pry yourself from your warm nest and open the door, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

“Hello?” you say, blinking rapidly to adjust to the light in the hallway.

It’s Samson. He’s in his usual outfit, but seems a tad bit more tired than usual. You could relate to that, at the moment.

“They need you to come do cleanup,” he tells you. “It’s already unlocked for you.”

You stare at him, eyes scrunching in confusion, “Now…?”

“Yes, now.”

You agree with only a slight grumble, forsaking what was meant to be your extra sleep.

Clothes on, and you forgo breakfast to get your things faster– you’re not entirely sure if the Commander would be alright with you eating first. It wasn’t like the Emperor was going anywhere, but you don’t want to make the man in charge of the base upset.

There’s hardly anyone up again at this hour, so you only pass one person in the hallway on the way to the supply room. Everything is organized exactly the way you left it. 

The lineup of doors in the prison ward still brings you some level of anxiety, and even more as you slowly open the door for your intended location. You walk in fully, cart in tow as you shove the door open. The cell is… oddly still. 

There was never much movement from its inhabitant, but today his head is bent at an unusual angle, and the air hangs oddly. The faint smell of rot, though from where you’re not sure. You know what corpses smell like– but the Order wouldn’t make you clean the room of a corpse. 

You think, anyway.

There’s a sickening squelch sound from underneath your foot. Your eyes are still on the chained man on the wall, and you slowly look down. A scream almost comes through your throat, but you stuff it down and produce a strangled noise instead. There’s chunks of meat on the floor– part of an organ, if you had to guess. 

You don’t want to guess. 

Now that your attention has been drawn to the floor, you actually look around you. There’s half dried pieces scattered all around, now that your eyes have adjusted. You’d wonder where they came from, but you get the sneaking, horrifying suspicion that you know precisely their origin. 

Fine. You’ll just scrape that up too. Trying to ease yourself into the gore, you try to compare it to the gum on the tables. The stench tells you otherwise. 

You curse a little as you go to work, trying to rehydrate what’s stuck to the floor so you can pry it up. It’s disgusting– you’d known it would be, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

The curtain of matted black hair catches your eye more than usual. Not only is it raggedly covering more of his face but it’s rife with bits of blood and flesh that haven’t yet dried. You can see the shine of liquid on it even in the dim lighting.

You’re too busy contemplating what has happened, not focusing enough on your feet that the mop stick trips you up. There’s no one to blame but yourself, and you barely manage to avoid another tangle with the floor by catching yourself on the cart.

Instead, you send everything else careening across the room, clattering against the floor, walls, sending your water buckets spilling and splashing everywhere. The sound is deafening for a moment as metal and ceramic collide and smash all at once, so loud you’re sure a few tiles have cracked with your stupidity. 

Fuck.

You take a moment to make your legs cooperate and support your weight, eyes closed for a moment as you come to terms with how much extra work you’ve given yourself.

Tilting your head back and coming back to yourself as with one last clack the final tin— probably the small one filled with gritted paste— finally stops rolling away from you.

But silence doesn’t fall.

A noise had been covered by the huge crash, but now everything was over, it becomes distinct.

The sound of faintly rattling chains, caused by the violently shaking muscles of the Emperor.

His head has snapped towards you– or maybe the commotion that you’d made. Then your gaze finally lands upon the grisly reality in front of you, and the acid in your stomach threatens to rise. Gooseflesh ripples up your arms as you’re rooted in place.

This has to be a nightmare, with how his hollowed face stares at you. Or rather, doesn’t.

He looks directly at you, through your soul, and you will never be able to rid yourself of the impression of him in this moment searing into your brain.

They’d taken his eyes.

Left in their place was fleshy emptiness– hollowed sockets with the ends of the optic nerve shriveling up as it lay outside its home. There’s the feeling that you’re being watched anyway, despite the lack of eyeballs. Scratches litter around his sockets, some digging in further than others and it looks like someone simply went at him with a mostly dull instrument and a mission. Your heart stutters, and you can’t look away.

Asides from his tortured face, his whole body screams of agony, covered in smaller lacerations and contorted inwards as far as the chains would allow while he shudders. There’s a smell that hits your nose as you’re on the floor, the water seeping into your clothes. 

That’s when you remember that the water that’s gone everywhere is full of bleach. 

Fuck. Fuck.

And in dawning horror, you realize that there’s water dripping off his body, smearing the chemical into the wounds. Your brain finally kicks into gear so you can think of something to do about the situation, but all you can hear is the shaking of the chains, and see his chest rising and falling shallowly. Your hangnails hurt badly enough whenever they accidentally come into contact with the solution, and you can only imagine the agony it would be to have it dumped into fresh, deep injuries.

You have to fix this– you can’t leave him like that. A part of you wishes you would– to let him suffer, feeling the fire of chemicals in his blood the way that they had wreaked havoc on your homeworld, sent by his hand.

But the other side of you, the one that had nurtured birds back to health and helped to repair trees in the winter months before the spring would solidify the damage– that side could not walk away. So you’re caught in an internal war as you stare at him. The Emperor, at the very least, seems to be aware that you’re there.

“Is nothing enough for your lot?” comes the raspy, hissing voice of the man before you. His chest heaves, and you can see the grit of his jaw as you presume he works through the pain.

You finally manage to get to your feet, but the Emperor sneers at the noise. The nubs of white are gone again, revealing only bloody gums.

He gives a ragged chuckle, then contemptuously comments, “Truly, you are not better than my ‘Imperial scum’.”

White hot rage shoots through your veins at that, the arrogance despite his situation, but your feet are already moving to the door.

A new bucket makes it under the tap in record time, and you slam on the taps until water is flowing as fast as it possibly can. You storm back into the room with it sloshing over the edges from your quick and uneven gait, creating a small trail as you go. 

Not to mention the Emperor, whose chains rattling could be heard from down the hallway, now that there’s nothing blocking the sound. It quiets down as your uneven footsteps approach the room, water getting on your shoes and adding to your damp clothes.

The door is ajar as you make it back, arms screaming from carrying the heavy pail. You curse as the light shines on the thrice damned mess you’ve made of the room.

His head snaps in your direction, his teeth bared and gritted as you clumsily enter the room. There’s a sense of dread that builds in your stomach as you approach. 

Just leave him. 

Dump the water and go. 

Let him suffer. 

Clean your mistakes.

Wipe the ledger clean.

The muscles in his legs clench as you gently flush the cuts. 

“I didn’t mean to,” you say, gently patting them. The tone you use is similar to the one you’d used while patching up mild injuries, back when you were a medical apprentice. You know it has to hurt. 

“Of course not,” is the snarkily growled response, followed by a muffled hiss as the cloth you’re using scrapes over the cuts on his leg. Admittedly, it was harsher than you’d intended. 

Resentment builds again, but you stuff it down — focused on rectifying your mistake so you can go finish your actual task. You have more important things to do than talk to him. 

There’s no more talking other than the sloshing of water in your bucket as you move to his other side, and you scowl as you see the amount of dirt that comes off him. You haven’t even gotten everything— just the first layer of grime. Of course, with the state of everything else in the cell, it probably shouldn’t have been a shock.

But as you continue on, your mind wanders to the statue you’d seen of him out on your excursion. Different from the man that’s in the cell with you— a picture of the pinnacle of humanity, staring down at the citizens of the Imperium with indifference. Because none of you will ever live up to what he is. 

You finally finish, and you stand all the way up, stretching. 

He doesn’t thank you, not that you should expect him to thank you for washing off the bleach you spilled onto him in the first place. You try not to think about the agony you caused, but then a worse thought comes to you, unbidden: 

You hadn’t left him like that. 

You helped him.

The thought that this was probably the first ‘kind’ gesture he had received since his capture is not lost on you, the idea repeating like a mantra over and over while you worked to finish off the rest of the room as quickly as you could to make up for lost time.

Picking up strewn supplies, you finally get the rest of the room back in order, ignoring the way his head follows your sounds as you trundle around the room and try not to cause any more damage.

Don’t look at him, don’t look at him, don’t look at him.

Pausing at the door, your fingers grip a little tighter on the frame. 

“I- I- …see you tomorrow.” 

Then you’re gone. 

As you lock up the door behind you, his marred face flashes in your mind. Eyeless sockets bore into you almost as if he could see anyway, in spite of the gouging. Your hands shake as you click the last of the security measures closed. 

The walk back is spent wondering how much more he can possibly take. What more can they even do to torture a man who has lost everything? 

You’re not sure you want to find out.

But that choice was never yours to make.

If you want to be added to the taglist for this fic specifically feel free to drop a comment!!

If you want to be added to the taglist for this fic specifically feel free to drop a comment!!

@omg1wanttidd1es-sb @gravedwe11er @mirurnas

[absynthe-mind]

My Taglist:

@druidwolf21 , @incrediblethirst , @bookandyarndragonwritesdark , @mehiwilldoitlater , @shellfangz , @thedaedricmaiden , @saintsylestine , @thisuserislilsilly , @iluminatka16 , @beckyninja , @marcela2000 , @lux-lina, @aggressivemenaceowo, @xx-rabidpossum-xx , @blue-wrens ,  @loverofbumblebees , @ektoparasite , @gravedwe11er

[omg1wanttidd1es-sb]

Fanart for this AMAZING fanfic being written by @loverofbumblebees and @absynthe-mind

--> LINK

GO READ ITS SO GOOD IM SO NORMAL

[absynthe-mind]

I'm so normal, I'm so normal, I'm so normal, I'm so normal, I'm so normal, I'm so normal, I'm so normal, I'm so normal, I'm so normal, I'm so normal, I'm so normal, I'm so normal, I'm so normal, I'm so normal, I'm so normal, I'm so normal, I'm so normal, I'm so normal, I'm so normal, I'm so normal, I'm so normal, I'm so normal,

[loverofbumblebees]

Ozymandias - Emperor of Mankind x Fem!Reader: Chapter One

Welcome to my newest brainrot!!! Cowritten with @absynthe-mind. PLEASE make sure to read all the TW/tags for this-- it's going to be diabolical.

This fic is cross-posted on AO3.

Masterpost

Summary:

The Imperium has fallen after the Heresy, and the People have risen up to take the Emperor's place.

You are a janitor on the main base, minding your own business until the Commander informs you that they need someone to clean a cell. Turns out the inhabitant is the former Emperor himself-- chained up and beaten.

Conflict wars in your head. On the one hand, he deserves this-- he burned your planet, killed your friends and family and committed countless crimes. On the other...well, your mother always had said your heart was too soft. You really need to stop thinking about this so hard.

TW for this chapter: canon typical violence, graphical depictions of torture, mental anguish, imprisonment, dead dove: do not eat

Chapter One: half sunk, a shattered visage lies

The Imperium fell in your lifetime. You didn’t think that you would be there to see it, but you were. The Neoimperialist group you were with had swooped in to gain power in the burning wreckage that the Horus Heresy had wrought upon the galaxy. It was within that group that you had been taken in, and given a new purpose. Admittedly, it wasn’t a glamorous purpose, but it was a purpose nonetheless - one you were happy to fulfill.

You were a cleaner– and a very effective one at that. Some might say that the work was tedious, but you took pride in it. It was rhythmic, and besides that it gave you a lot of things to do. The station you were at was large– there were many rooms to be cleaned. What you didn’t appreciate was your fellows dirtying the hallways that you just mopped.

Which is what you’re staring at with contempt when Samson comes to get you.

“The floor won’t bite, I think,” is his snarky commentary upon seeing your glare at the floor. 

Someone had spilt the entirety of a beer on your clean ground and then left it there, glass and all.

You sniff, then respond, “It might. I need to be ready.”

He snorts and gives you a hard pat on the back. You grip the mop a little tighter as you stumble forwards with the force of it. Samson laughs good-naturedly.

“Sorry, I forget that you base-only types aren’t trained like the rest of us,” he says.

“It’s fine,” you inform him, before going back to your task.

Samson waits for a few moments, then he casually tells you that “Command is looking for you.”

Your eyes shoot to the ground, then the mop and then to him, and back down again. Your mind whirls, trying to think of a reason that they would be looking for you. You haven’t done something wrong, have you? Maybe the graffiti in the bathroom had been you, but you were the one that had to clean it anyway, so why would it matter? 

Stammering, you ask, “Do you know why?”

Leaning on the wall, Samson gives a small shrug, “Beats me– all I know is that they told me to come and get you.”

Oh no. That couldn’t be good, could it?

“Well I’m done here if you want to go,” you respond, “Let me put this up.”

Your company waits for you to stick the mop back in storage, and then leads the way for you to go to Command Headquarters. Sweat is starting to stick to the back of your shirt as you enter into the dimly lit area of the main hallway. The command section of the base contains more points for security checks, but apparently there’s no need for that as your duo breezes right through it.

The bottom of your shirt is getting worn out from the way you’re wringing it with worry. Surely they can’t fire you, can they? The graffiti wasn’t even anything bad– it just said ‘I love you mom’ on it. Very innocent! You’d thought it was funny and then cleaned it up. Hardly anyone had seen it! 

Spiraling is very busy work, so you don’t even notice that you’ve come directly to the Commander’s office doors until Samson knocks on it. The thing is made of thick wood, and the sound of his knuckles rapping against the surface has depth to it. 

“Come in,” says a voice inside, and you’re led in.

Samson bows, hand on his chest, “As requested.”

You’re struck at the sight of Commander Davidson sitting before you. He’s older, with grey hair that’s cropped in a short military haircut. You’ve never actually seen him in person before, and you straighten a little as you remember you’re supposed to salute as well.

He doesn’t seem to care all that much, and waves your attempt away.

“At ease,” the Commander says. He leans forward on his desk, lacing his fingers together, “Do you know why you’re here?”

“Ah,” you look at Samson, who offers no assistance, “No, sir- Commander, sir.”

The man in question leans backwards in his chair, the leather creaking as he does so. His hand taps a file that’s open on his desk, and looking down confirms that it’s your file. Your own face smiles up at you from a photo that’s been paperclipped onto the paper. You shift in place nervously.

Commander Davidson speaks again, voice low, “What is said in this room stays here, do you understand?”

You nod, then give your verbal assent.

A second file is slid across the desk, and you tentatively move to go pick it up. It’s thick, with many addendums and post-its scattered through, sticking out from the neatly bound pages. You open it, and see a face that you haven’t glimpsed in a photograph in years– only on the sides of monuments and paintings that hadn’t been stripped from the city.

It’s the Emperor. Or- the former Emperor, you correct yourself mentally. There’s a massive wound in his side in the photo that makes your stomach churn, and you turn a page to try and see what happened, only to be struck by the amount of notes that have been taken.

The file makes you falter, why would they be showing you something this important and confidential - you were janitorial staff.

You stop reading and look up, “I don’t understand. What is this?”

The Commander responds evenly, “Those are photos of the now ex-Emperor when he was captured by our forces. He is being held on this base as we speak– he has been for a while.” He takes the folder from your hands, and gently closes it, “What we need is a cleaner, and you’re the best of the best in that regard.”

Insult to the rest of your abilities aside, it was true.

“What do you need a cleaner for?” you ask apprehensively.

“Due to the nature of his stay, the room is a little messy. You’ll be tasked with keeping it clean.” Commander Davidson chuckles, “He has been declawed, I assure you. There is no threat of danger.”

You really don’t feel like there’s much choice in the matter. And besides, what better way to serve your cause than to spit on the person that you’d spent years fighting? 

Agreeing, you’re led out into the hallway again, and Samson takes you to what you think might have been a hospital bay at one point. You pause to go get what you assume will be the most useful of the cleaning supplies at your disposal, and he rattles a keychain to unlock the door. There’s multiple locks that line the metal door, and there’s loud thunks as each one is unlocked.

There’s a bit of fear that’s building up as you wait in anticipation. You’ve heard many rumors about the Emperor. That he’s a monster in disguise, that he’s a god. The massive displays that line the Imperium don’t help much in his favor for arguing that he isn’t at least one of those things. Before you joined the Order, you’d hoped to catch a glimpse of the man at least once. There’d been whispers in the hallways of your old planet about him– the kind that said he had a halo, and basked in a golden light.

All across Terra there were still statues of him, paintings, posters, everything - the Order had teams working to scrub the planet clean of his filth but for every image torn down it seemed like two more were found. Not to mention that there were more urgent matters to attend to following the ending of such a long galactic civil war.

So in some ways he still lorded over humanity— not for too much longer, you hoped. 

It would take far more time to erase the suffering he’d caused on humanity. The blight of the Imperium would probably take centuries to scrub away at, but you would be part of history - the first generation of the free.

Would he still be proud? Proud of himself, of his work?

The idea makes your stomach churn as the final locks begin to click open.

The door swings open slowly, betraying its weight, and you see that he’s none of those things.

What you do see is a very tall man. There’s no light, no halo. His hair is unkempt and matted, and there’s a cut that runs down underneath his eye. 

Oddly enough, the Emperor is much smaller than you’d imagined him to be. Gaunter, too. 

‘Starved’ your brain supplies. Starved. Which, which is good, it is good because he is bad. 

You had starved, your family had starved, your friends had starved, your people had starved - humanity had been starved and drained by the nobility sat in their palaces with dozens of dozens of starving serfs crawling on hand and knee to feed them. Not only was he one of them, but he enabled the rest. 

It was his sons, his generals, which had caused such horrors, split the galaxy in two and humanity along with it - as if there was not already enough strife and suffering, they endeavoured to spill nothing but cruelty in their wake.

As you walk inside, his head lifts a little, which jostles the chains that are attached to his neck. Your eyes are drawn to them– there’s shackles on his wrists and ankles as well, heavy chains swirling to be attached to a device that juts out from the wall, inscribed with some sort of sigils. You think it’s all some kind of swivel mechanism that would allow him to move a bit. Not that it would help much, given his height.

You can’t help but stop and stare as you struggle to comprehend the man before you and the God you’d been expecting.

Samson pats your back, which jerks you out of your stupor.

“Well,” he says, “You need anything else?”

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, then you stammer, “No? I don’t think so.”

He looks over you, taking in your reaction to the chained God and nods, “I’ll leave you to it. Sparkling clean, remember?”

And then he simply leaves, the door clattering behind you. All that’s left is you and your supplies, and the Emperor. Suddenly it strikes you that this may be an incredibly bad idea as you stare at the man on the wall. You’re pretty sure he can’t reach you, but you never turn your back as you start to clean the floors.

The floor which is utterly disgusting. You can’t even tell what colour it should be for all the dried and crusted brown, rife with chunks that you have to look away from before you can think too hard about it. Not to mention the pools of darker red, blood congealed but not yet dried.

Your brain starts to catch up with the task, still working overtime to comprehend the situation you’ve so suddenly been thrust into when the smell hits you. 

Rancid.

Rotting.

No wonder they wanted it cleaned, only a few moments in and your eyes were watering from the sheer stench that had been produced.

It provokes you into actually moving, not just staring dumbfounded. 

Quickly pulling a mask over your mouth, a few drops of scented oil in the cloth to try and mask the reek of decay, and you’re pulling out the harshest chemicals you have.

No dilution here, you’d be letting everything soak and sit for a minute then having to scrub like never before to shift the layers of build up. 

There was no way anyone had touched this in months.

The walls need spraying too, where there had been splatter across them, but you daredn’t get too close to him.

You ignore the sick shade of red that comes up as you start to scrub. Foam builds as you do so. Periodically you glance at the giant figure in the corner, but he hasn’t moved. The Emperor does not look at you. You hasten your cleaning, pushing the water into the drain in the center of the room.

Why would there be a drain?

Pausing to think about the implications sends a shock of numbness through your system, so you choose to push it down, continuing with your task.

There’s only silence, and the sound of your squeegee on the floor. It’s surprisingly easy work, once the chemicals have soaked everything it seems to come right off. You’re done now, having barely broken a sweat.

The floor is a bleak greyish white now, though the grout is still a stained mess to say the least. That is aside from a semi circle around the man who you’ve refused to get within an arm’s reach of.

He might be a shell of a man, half limp against his restraints but just being in the room with the pinnacle of your torment has you feeling all sorts of disgusted and uneasy. 

You’d done enough, certainly compared to what you’d worked into, and you couldn’t make your vaguely trembling body comply with doing any more today. 

The edges of the room are swimming by the time you go for the door, having gathered everything up. Strong chemicals and stronger emotions making for a dangerous combination you have to escape from. 

Pausing, you turn to look at the man strung up in the corner. A small part of you feels rude for having not said anything yet. And your mouth moves before your brain does.

“I’ll…see you tomorrow…?” you stammer out, and immediately feel blood rushing to your ears. Stupid stupid stupid. Why would you say that?

Before you can even try to hear a response, you sprint out the door, and breathe a sigh of relief as it closes behind you. Samson reappears to lock it up, and you leave, feeling completely rattled. 

Samson claps your shoulder, grounding you for a moment and gives you a grim and understanding smile, “good work - hard work, but couldn’t imagine anyone doing a better job than you.”

You don’t feel like you’ve done a good job, you feel like vomiting, but you nod anyway. He looks like he understands and gently guides you towards the exit.

You feel disquieted until you reach the safety of your room, able to lock the door behind you. A blisteringly hot shower where every inch of skin is scrubbed raw later, and you curl up beneath your blankets, trying to bury the images that come to your mind unbidden.

Your nose is still ruined by the stench.

Luckily, you don’t dream of anything as mental exhaustion swallows you whole and darkness claims every corner of your mind.

They come and fetch you the next day, as you’d thought. Perhaps you’d been a little hopeful when you woke up that maybe you did a bad job, and you’d never have to go back there.

The stench of blood was never one that you could manage, which had led to you being assigned within the base instead of in a soldier role. You’d cried when they had tried to teach you to shoot someone. And being a medic was out of the picture when you threw up while trying to help with a surgery.

You’d never been good at following orders, anyway. So it had all worked out. The comfort of the base and the knowledge that you wouldn’t be doing the fighting. You could even pretend that there was nothing untoward going on. That everything was normal.

It was very hard to pretend that the world was normal when you step into that cell again, only to find that there’s a massive wound on the Emperor’s side. It’s a large, ugly thing– jagged and reaching from his hip bone to wrap around his back. Blood seeps from it, pooling on the floor in thick puddles. The clothes that he had on the day previously have been stripped, and he’s slumped in a sitting position with a cloth to cover his private area. Red has dripped onto the light colored cloth, and you avert your eyes back upwards. 

You almost think he might be dead until you see the rise and fall of his chest.

Okay, cool. Not dead.

Your breath shudders.

But also… it’s going to be awfully hard to keep the floor clean if he’s going to be bleeding like that. You think about it for a moment, then tap your knuckles on the door.

Samson opens it a crack, and all you see is a glimpse of his beard and his eye peering inside.

“Yes?” he asks.

“Uh,” you say, “He’s bleeding…?”

Samson doesn’t appear to be very concerned about that as he curtly responds, raising an eyebrow as if this is expected, “Yes, he is.”

You blink for a second, and shift in place, nervousness filling your chest, “I don’t… won’t the floor just get dirty again if he keeps bleeding on it?”

The soldier snorts, then flippantly remarks, “If there’s blood over there it’s not an issue. Just make sure everything else is good to go.”

He stares at you for a moment, before you mumble “okay” and the door shuts again. It’s dimly lit inside, and the sudden lack of light from the hallway causes your eyes to struggle to adjust. 

You stare at the door, listening to the sound of your breathing. Right. Yeah. Just… let him bleed. Cool. That’s fine.

The jitters have returned in full force from yesterday, but this time you turn your back on the Emperor. You feel a stab of guilt as you do so, but you can’t stare at his figure. His hair has fallen in front of his eyes, and there’s not even the jangle of chains to try and signal that he may be moving at all. 

Squeezing your eyes tight for a moment, you clutch the mop and convince yourself he deserves this. He deserves whatever they’re doing after everything he’s put humanity through with his Imperium. You dredge up the memories of your friends that have died unnecessarily, the families torn apart by his reign.

You remember your planet.

The cloying smell of fresh blood is replaced by the choking scent of burning ash.

But the feeling remains, twisting your insides as you get back to work. You still don’t go close to the giant, instead making sure the floor is spotless around him. You flinch at the amount of dirt that’s lining the floor underneath him, your common sense telling you to make sure that all of the floor is clean, but you do not approach. Your mind is still warring with the idea of the Emperor being only a man. 

His depictions contrast so heavily with the gaunt person you see before you that you just can’t do it. These are different people. The man who burned your home is not the broken one before you— he simply cannot be.

You pause again at the threshold, and then bid him goodbye. You exit quickly, leaving the room like he might chase after you. The Emperor doesn’t even flinch.

Day after day passes the same, each time he’s littered with fresh wounds, but it also seems like the old ones heal too quickly to be normal.

And each day is different too.

Huge bruises that splay across his whole torso and paint him in battered blues and purples one day, and what must have been thousands of thin slashing cuts the next.

Some days the new injuries look like nothing you recognise and your stomach churns as you can’t help but wonder what they did to inflict them. 

There’s always some kind of harm on him, or something festering. You do your best to ignore it, but it’s eating at your conscience. Your mother always told you that you had too big of a heart– and it’s proving true once again.

It’s beginning to feel like they’re testing you, the way you’re paraded into that awful cell. It’s been two weeks, and you’ve been taken completely off the roster for normal cleaning tasks during your allotted time. The mopping goes smoothly now that you’re less concerned that he’s going to escape and the bulk of prior build up has been scraped away. 

You wouldn’t say that you’re braver, but you turn your back to the Emperor. There’s been nothing but silence from him. It’s hard not to fill it, wanting to ease the oppressive air in the room, but you refrain from your usual habit of whistling while you work if only because you can’t do it while watched.

Today you decide to tackle the discoloured grout. Not because it matters, but because your brain won’t let you leave it alone, a job unfinished.

The solution is a bright blue, and tiny bubbles form where it meets the porous material, eating away at the top discoloured layer. You have to apply it on your hands and knees, shuffling as you pour it out into the gridded lines.

Still, it doesn’t take too long, and you sit back on your feet looking over the application for a moment. It would have to sit for at least half an hour to really work.

As you peer up it strikes you that you’ve grown far too comfortable working in his presence, but the prickling feeling of wrongness always rises whenever he comes back into the focus of your thoughts.

And now you are here, sat with nothing but time to kill while you wait. And nothing else in here but him.

You stare at the figure in the corner, quiet save for the humming of whatever the chains do to ward off his power. He doesn’t move. You glance at the door, and then at the Emperor.

Curiosity killed the cat, and it’s curiosity that finally wins out after so long, and so you approach carefully. 

There’s grime all over his skin to accompany the main cuts and bruises, and you wince at seeing it closer. It’s almost a mimicry of the way the room was coated in filth, except no one has been assigned to scrub him down.

You’ve been giving him a wide berth, and even then you could make out the wounds. Up close it they’re a thousand times worse, puffy and raw, skin festering with the attempt of infection.

The one on his side from when you’d first entered catches your eye, and you spend a long moment staring at it.

Then you look up and make direct eye contact with the Emperor, whose eyes have moved underneath the curtain of dark greasy hair to look at you. You flinch, and stumble backwards, falling on your butt in the process. 

It’s a scramble to get up, heartbeat racing in your ears, and his cracked lips curl upwards into what might have been a smile, if not for the teeth he’s missing. But he doesn’t move other than that, only watching.

You two breathe, and hold eye contact for just a moment too long. Then you break it and run, grout cleaning abandoned as you scoop up your supply bucket and flee.

The door slams with the force at which you open it, cleaning products clattering across the chamber floor where Samson is waiting to lock back up. He eyes you with concern for a moment, eyes quickly scanning for damage.

“You alright?” he asks as he steps around you and locks up, “You look extra spooked today.”

It's an understatement and you both know it.

He lets you recover a moment though, not rushing you as your breathing slowly becomes easier, and you inform him that the Emperor had looked at you.

“What if he’s trying to read my mind or something?” you whisper, horrified. “Is that something he can do? I think it is.”

Samson frowns as he pockets the keyring, before remarking, “He couldn’t be doing that. The chains block his power, remember?”

Right. Right. You nod, trying to relax.

But now there’s a festering problem in your mind. Before, when he was a motionless statue, it was easy to ignore that he was a real person, or something close to it. The Emperor had faded a bit in your mind as just a still figure in the background of your work. Now though– now you've seen real proof of life. 

Breath in his lungs, awareness in his eyes as they bore into yours.

Judgement.

You bite your nails down to stubs as you head back to your bunk, still trembling. What were you going to do?

You do not sleep well. The Emperor’s eyes are burned into your eyelids. They weren’t golden eyes like all the paintings. 

They do not hold untold and limitless power. 

They’re brown, and they stare at you in your dreams, unblinking. You keep waking up in a cold sweat, breathing sharp pants.

Serayne, your bunkmate, grumbles at you to keep it down as you stagger out of bed to go splash cold water on your face. You stare in the mirror, and realize that the bags under your eyes have worsened. That’s just great, isn’t it? You can’t decide if your face or your morals are in worse shape, and you slump against the cabinet under the sink. Your mother would disapprove greatly, but then again she wouldn’t have agreed with anything you’ve done since the fall of your homeworld.

But your mother isn’t here, and you have to do something with your time, so you scrape yourself off the floor to get ready for your shift. 

Tired feet dragging as you wander down to the dining hall and get your rations for the morning. The lady that works there slips you an extra biscuit as you go through, and you smile at her tiredly. She is kind and you like her. 

It feels like the first day all over again as your chest thumps faster in building trepidation with every step closer to that forsaken room.

When you arrive, Samson is smiling grimly, looking you over with a sort of determination, like he’s checking you for something.

He gives your arm a squeeze as you enter, “I know it’s hard work being in there with him, I can tell it’s taken a toll - but he’s getting what he deserves, don’t worry.”

You try to let the words just wash over you and not absorb them but they reverberate in your head.

He’s getting what he deserves.

He’s getting what he deserves.

He’s getting what he deserves.

Don’t worry.

An extra bucket of water is put onto your cart today, and you almost wish you hadn't had breakfast today as you enter the dingy cell. 

They’ve pulled off his fingernails and toenails, and left them scattered about. You’re frozen in place as Samson swings the door shut. 

You stand there for what must be minutes, just staring before your body moves, feet shuffling over streaks of gore.

The Emperor is slumped against the wall again, and out of desperation to carry on in your work, you choose to focus on the familiar routine that you have– going from the other side of the room towards him, but keeping your semi circle.

You gingerly sweep up the nails and throw them into your trash can. Where they will go, you have no idea.

But you have to keep averting your eyes from the nail beds themselves. They’re red, spots of blood pooling in them. Some of it has crusted to the edges, turning a deep, dark shade of reddish-brown, and your stomach turns as you try not to throw up. 

There’s the slight rattling of chains, and you freeze in place. Your eyes slowly track upwards to meet the pupils of the Emperor. He’s looking at you again, and your mouth hangs open as you try to summon something to say. 

Fortunately, he breaks the silence, speaking in a raspy voice that might have been commanding if not for his raw and ragged vocal chords.

“Get on with your job.”

You blink, and stand there, dumbstruck. What?

His eyes narrow, “Surely they did not send someone so stupid to do this task.”

Arrogance. 

A wrinkled lip sneering in cold command.

That breaks you out of whatever spell you were under, pity for the God fallen from grace, for the man who deserved to be broken fleeing you and you scoff, “I am not stupid.”

The Emperor looks unimpressed and unconvinced, but doesn’t say anything else. Now you’re annoyed, and your scrubbing becomes harsher. 

How could you have felt bad for him? Your brain has taken the separation of the Emperor of the Imperium and the pitiful man you too far, and you needed to remind yourself of exactly who he was.

You scowl, and move away.

“I’m here to keep this room clean, that’s all! I don’t have to stand here and talk to you.”

He grins at you, flashing all his remaining teeth again. This time you notice that it’s his canines that have been pulled. There’s small nubs of white that poke out over the top of the gums.

“And I don’t have to listen,” he sniggers, which breaks off into a wheeze.

Beaten bloodied and yet still so proud as to goad you.

You puff up in indignation, anger flaring “And which one of us can leave this room?”

A beat of silence rings out as that seems to catch him, because he falls still again. 

His eyes feel like they’re scanning your very soul as he sits there. You whirl towards your cart back around and drag it towards the door. Not bothering to say goodbye, you leave.

Wretched man.

If you want to be added to the taglist for this fic specifically feel free to drop a comment!!

[absynthe-mind]

Hello all, I also wrote this and am categorically insane about it

My Taglist:

@druidwolf21 , @incrediblethirst , @bookandyarndragonwritesdark , @mehiwilldoitlater , @shellfangz , @thedaedricmaiden , @saintsylestine , @thisuserislilsilly , @iluminatka16 , @beckyninja , @marcela2000 , @lux-lina, @aggressivemenace, @xx-rabidpossum-xx , @blue-wrens ,  @loverofbumblebees , @ektoparasite

read the TW

[loverofbumblebees]

Before the salt burns your eyes (Mer!Vulkan x reader): Chapter 7

This fic is crossposted on AO3.

Chapter Masterlist.

Word Count: 3k

Summary: You have a great sleep! And also other shenanigans with Mercedes.

Chapter 7: beam me up, biscotti

Your eyelids are slightly sticky with salt as you open them again. It's warm in your little nest, and you decide to close your eyes again. You wriggle in the sand to get comfortable again, until your back hits against a very solid wall. You pause, taking in the temperature change, and realize that the wall is, in fact, breathing.

Your eyes shoot open, and you crane your head backwards to see that Vulkan has partially entered into your nest. You're curled up against his chest in the sand. He's not looking at you, instead he's watching your surroundings, and relief washes over you. Along with a rising blush, because why are you tucked against his chest.

He finally looks down, and in a tone you can only describe as tender, he quietly asks, "How did you sleep?"

Rubbing your eyes, you move to sit up a little. You feel incredibly well rested, despite the fact that you just took a nap in a sandy hole.

"I slept well, thank you," you say, before your eyebrows scrunch in confusion, "Not that I'm complaining, but how did you end up in here?"

Vulkan's eye membrane blinks, and he responds, "You were shivering. I promised to watch over you, and that includes being cold. It seemed the most efficient method."

Oh! Well that is…very kind. Your brain is currently blue screening while you process that information. Obviously, you decide, Vulkan doesn't understand the implications of you waking up against him. It was a lovely feeling though— you felt very cared for.

You dip your head, and smile, "Well, thank you. I feel a little better now."

Vulkan smiles, and his tail swishes in the water. You stare at the sky, and realize that you've been sleeping for a much longer time than you'd thought. Then your hear the distinct sound of a truck pulling in at the top of the cove. Vulkan's head moves quickly to scan around as you scramble up, sending sand fly.

You whip around and hurriedly explain, "I think my friend Mercedes is looking for me. I'm going to go before she spots you— thank you again, I'll come back tomorrow!"

Your mer-friend nods, and you begin brushing the debris off your clothes as you walk away from the shoreline. Mercedes' red hair is easily spotted as she rounds the edge of the trail and sees you. Her ponytail bounces as she strides down to meet you. You suppose, given the lack of reaction, that Vulkan has hidden. You wave at her, and she smiles back.

"Hey," you greet, "You good?"

She looks you up and down, then snorts, "Apparently not as good as you— what did you do, roll around on the beach?"

You shrug, "Yeah, pretty much."

Her eyes soften, "You feeling better? I saw you left your phone back at the house and I wanted to come check on you."

You hum, then respond, "Yeah— loads. I got a good nap in."

Mercedes reaches over to tug at a lock of your hair, which causes sand to dump all over your shirt. Snickering, she says, "I can see that— I think you're more sand than person right now."

"I feel more sand than person," you retort.

She slings an arm over your shoulder, "Alright then Sandman, what do you say to showering and then we go out to eat? A regular night out on the town."

"Hell yeah," you shoot back, returning her gesture by slinging a sandy arm over her as well, "Where are you thinking?"

She sighs at the dirt on her clothes, "I was thinking that new place on the boardwalk— Captain Clark's?"

You raise an eyebrow, "The burger joint?"

"Yeah! Supposedly they have some killer seafood too— those fried oysters are calling my name."

The two of you make it back up to the top of the path, and you glance back. All you see is a familiar fin going in lazy circles in the water. Smiling, you face forward and climb into your friend's truck as the two of you discuss your evening plans.

You shower, and laugh to yourself about the amount of sand that comes out of your clothes and undergarments and gets on the floor. You'll have to vaccum that up later. You scrub your skin clean, and feel light as your step out of your steam-filled shower. It's like the weight that was on you had drained away with the water. You pick an outfit that's a little nicer than what you might normally wear. Not date nice, but better than a tshirt. It's a cute sundress with seashell print on it. You don shell jewelry just to stick with the theme.

Mercedes finds your ensemble incredibly funny as you emerge from your room. She attempts to hide it by covering her face, but you can see her shoulders bouncing.

"What?" you ask, looking for something on your outfit.

"I thought you were leaving the mermaid getup at your job?" She comments.

You toss your hair and wink, "Being a mermaid is a full time gig. I could never leave it behind."

The drive to the restaurant is uneventful, the two of you sitting in casual silence as the radio plays a local station. Captain Clark's restaurant winds up being a busier place than you'd expected. There's so many people milling about in there that you shoot a longing glance towards the mostly empty pier before Mercedes drags you inside.

Inside, it's a lovely affair. There's big windows to one side that show off the ocean, while the massive bar that has bottles that glisten in the low lighting. Somehow they've managed to balance upscale and casual, and you can't help but stare at the coral themed chandelier that hangs directly in the center of the main dining room. Whoever opened this place must have some money to back it, because as you're seated you see custom carved chairs and dinnerware.

The menu is extensive, but not (as you'd previously assumed) expensive. The two of you get drinks. Mercedes goes with a cocktail, while you wind up with a mystery mocktail that tastes slightly fruity with a bubbly texture. You play with the umbrella that came in it while looking around the room. The wallpaper is gorgeous, but your eyes land on the massive aquarium on the far wall.

All the fish in it are staring at you.

You stare back, face wrinkling in confusion. Mercedes stops mid sip, and turns around to see what you're looking at.

"Uh," she starts, "Do fish normally do that?"

You blink, "No. Not that I'm aware of."

"Are they… looking this way?"

Fiddling with the umbrella, you mutter, "Yeah, I think so."

The two of you quit looking when your server arrives, and you place your entree order.

Sliding your chair a bit, you go to stand, saying, "I'm going to investigate."

Your friend shakes her head and you pause.

"What?" you ask.

She sighs, and stirs her drink idly, "Have you ever noticed that you have a bad habit of checking out weird stuff?"

"I wouldn't call a fish tank weird," you sniff, still halfway between standing and sitting, "And I don't do that!"

Mercedes fixes you with a hard, unimpressed stare, "Yes you do."

You start, "Name one time-"

Apparently it's been on her mind, as Mercedes cuts you off and begins counting on her fingers as she rattles off events, "The sandpiper, the sharks, the netting with dragged up. The fishtank. And that's just the recent stuff— not to mention the entire vibe of that cove you go to. It's so weird."

Well, maybe she has a point. Unfortunately for everyone involved in this conversation, you're in the business of doubling down.

"It's not weird," you snap, half because the cove is your space, and half because you feel the need to speak up on Vulkan's behalf.

Her eyebrows lift, "Dude. You cannot tell me that place isn't creepy. It gives me the heeby jeebies every time I go down there. I have no idea how you slept there today."

"It's not-"

"I feel like something is watching me whenever I go there," she hisses.

Squaring your jaw, and becoming uncharacteristically serious, you state, "Mercedes, if there's something you'd like to say, I would prefer you just say it, instead of me having to guess."

Her eyes narrow, and she leans forwards, fingers lacing together as she props on the table.

"Alright," she deadpans. Then Mercedes drops a metaphorical grenade right in front of you.

"I know you almost drowned two weeks ago."

What. What. What.

You stare at her, mouth agape like the fish in the aquarium. Actually, you'd been so focused on the merman aspect of that day that you'd completely missed that part of your story. You have a rapidfire flasho f thoughts that range from telling the entire truth to trying to gaslight her.

What does come out of your mouth is a strangled "…How?"

You sit all the way down in the chair as she pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration, before looking back at you.

"I was a lifeguard, remember? I've seen what people look like when they almost drown."

Ah, shit. How'd you miss that? You're gripping your chair arms so tightly that they might crumble.

You try to speak, but it fades as the words get stuck in your throat, "I don't…"

Mercedes grimaces, then says, "Listen, I haven't brought it up because you'd been going through a lot recently and I don't want to make things worse and pry. But I'm concerned. Sorry that the timing is bad, but I need you to know that."

You perk up a little, and finally seize an opportunity to add to the conversation, "You're right to be concerned, but you don't need to be. The ocean and I are friends."

Also the giant merman that you're friends with, but she doesn't need to know that part.

She looks at you, eyes sad, and says your name softly, "I've almost lost you twice to the ocean— I'm worried you won't be so lucky a third time."

You reach out a hand a touch hers, meeting her gaze again, "I understand. You know I won't stop going though, right?"

"I know," she says, giving your hands a squeeze back, "Just be safe, okay? You've got people rooting for you on land."

You nod, and the two of you sit in silence for a few moments. Then she retracts her hand and makes a shooing motion.

"Alright, I'm done being serious. Go look at your fish now," she grumbles, looking faintly embarrassed.

Flashing her a grin, you stand and head over. The fish are waiting for you as you get there, and you wiggle your fingers and coo at them. You step to the side to allow a little girl to come up and see, and the fish follow your movement in a swarm.

The girl looks at you with big brown eyes and frowns. You move again to the side, and they follow again.

Pointing a finger at them, you sternly say, "Let her see you too!"

She beams as they part into two groups, allowing her to investigate.

You lean over when she whispers to you, "Can you talk to fish?"

The image of Vulkan leaning on the sand flashes through your mind, and you have to tamp down your amusement as you whisper back, "Yes."

Her eyes practically sparkle as she asks, "Are you a mermaid?"

One of your favorite questions, especially from kids. You wink, "Of course! I come on land to visit my friends from time to time. It's not always fair for them to come to me, is it?"

The little girl vibrates with excitement, then runs off to who you assume are her guardians. She points in your direction, and the adults with her look at you. You wave, at they return the gesture.

You go back to your table and wait somewhat awkwardly with Mercedes. Your food is fantastic, and Mercedes shares her oysters with you. You trade part of your meal, and create a surf and turf experience. You know that the conversation you had will probably come up again, but she seems willing to let it slide, so you do as well.

The fish follow your movement as you go to leave, so you give them a wave and disappear around the corner. You and Mercedes decide to hit the ice cream parlor a little further down. You like it because they give out massive scoops of ice cream. It's a little tourist trap-y but it's so worth it.

You get three massive scoops of your favorite flavor in a cup and head outside to eat it. Mercedes gets through hers first, and goes into a crystal store that inhabits part of the boardwalk.

The pier calls for you though, so you separate from her to enjoy your sweet treat at the end of it. You hum as you lean on the banister, listening to the soothing sounds of the waves below you. There's a few other people dotted around, a few fishing off the side of the pier. It's peaceful.

It begins to drizzle a bit, but nobody pays too much mind to the weather change. You don't either— resolving to finish your dessert and head inside to meet with Mercedes. You've just about eaten it all, and are casually sipping from a water you'd gotten from the same shop when someone comes up beside you. You glance in their direction, but don't take in too much detail until they clear their throat and begin to speak to you.

"Hello there," a very, very familiar voice says.

You whip around to see the white haired man standing beside you. You stumble backwards, and in a panic you throw the water bottle at him. He catches it with ease, and doesn't seem to care that it spills all down his shirt.

He flashes sharp teeth at you, "Nice try, but-"

The speech is cut off by the abrupt entrance of your ice cream cup hitting him directly in the face. Now that you've had time to process, and you know that Vulkan has your back, you're pissed.

"What the hell are you doing here, you son of a bitch?" you hiss, the muscles in your jaw clenching.

That gets a reaction, and the man looks less than pleased as he wipes melted ice cream off his chin.

"That was unnecessary," he snarls, and gooseflesh ripples up your arms.

There's still a confidence you have though, with people around you. You snap, "You scared the shit out of me the other day— I don't know who you think you are with that seashell and your stupid spiel, but you should learn how to mind your own business."

Not that you know precisely what his business is, but the point remains.

He clicks his tongue, and sighs dramatically, "I was unaware that you were…acquainted with my brother, so to speak. It isn't often that one finds humans that have merfolk magic on them. My mistake."

You blink, then scowl, "I see. Why are you here then?"

He grumbles, "I was told I 'needed to apologize'."

You snicker a little at what you assume to be his Vulkan impression. His voice doesn't have the necessary baritone in it to create the proper effect.

"So," he continues, "I apologize."

That appears to be the best you're going to get, given that it looks like someone could be pulling his teeth out. You're not sure you want to accept it.

"Now I have apologized," the man says, holding out a hand with long, almost claw like nails, "Nice to meet you, human. My name is Fulgrim."

You stare at his hand like it might turn into a snake and bite you.

Fulgrim sniffs, then snidely remarks, "It's rude not to introduce yourself, you know."

You raise an eyebrow, "I think you know who I am."

Teeth flash at you again, then the nails dig slightly into your arm as he forces a handshake. His pupils shrink to slits that remind you that he isn't fully human.

"Don't piss me off," he scolds, although he seems very calm, "I'm not gentle like my brother."

Your lip curls, "I can see that."

His eyes narrow, and you roll yours. You say your name, and he lets go of you.

Fulgrim repeats your name, and then shakes his head, "I would have thought my brother would have picked a more impressive human, but alas."

He leaves absolutely no room for you to respond to that statement, striding away. You chase him all the way down to the end of the pier before you lose him. Damn him and his long as legs. Mercedes is waiting for you, having seen you try and run down the guy. You come over, grumbling about the situation. You'd like to rip out some of his hair. The nerve to comment like that!

Your friend looks at you, flabbergasted, "Who was that?"

You groan, "Some guy— his name's Fulgrim."

She whistles, "He's hot."

Sputtering, you reply, "That's the man from the other day."

Her face immediately scrunches in disgust, and she spits out, "Now why didn't you lead with that? I rescind my statement, he is not hot. In fact, he's downright atrocious to look at. Like a house on fire personified."

You jostle her shoulder and laugh at her reaction, "Mer, it's okay. He apologized for scaring me. I think."

Mercedes doesn't look thrilled, "Eugh, I guess.""

Deciding to change topics, you ask how her store was. She launches into an explanation on what she got as you head towards the parking lot. You're extremely tired by the end of the evening, and take a quick shower and go to bed. You stare at the curtained window, mind drifting towards Vulkan. Your eyes slide shut, but you can picture him still guarding you while you fall asleep.

Your dreams are peaceful.

A/N: Hi guys!! Sorry it's been a minute, my job's being wacky right now, and then I went on a camping trip with no service for a few days. On the bright side, I have most of chapter 8 done and a bit of lore and outlining done!! Most of this chapter was written with a pen and paper. Thank you to all the sweet comments, love you guys <3 stay hydrated

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!):

@gh0st-nebulae @incrediblethirst @catabibaz0n @absynthe-mind @mirurnas @f1shz

[absynthe-mind]

[druidwolf21]

Scared of the dark

Corvus Corax/ GN reader

Tw: none

Just some fluffy corvus and his love who's a little bit scared of the dark.

A/N: Thank you pippinsquishums for the amazing message

As always not proofread

Here's a lil something sweet

The low groan of weary metal and the faint hum of the subsiding gellar field finally signalled a return to real space; the immaterium reluctantly releasing its grip on the shadow of the emperor after days in the rolling darkness of the warp

The sound of the Gloriana class plasma engines roaring back to life and the almost musical thrum of the reflex shields coating the ship told Corvus the jump had been a success.

And yet.

"We are in real space, yes?" The primarch asked.

A crewman tapped his auger and turned, bowing.

"Indeed, my lord."

Corvus nodded slowly, glancing around before looking back at the man, still bent double.

"Then tell me, where are the lights?"

The man frowned and straightened up.

"They're...on, my lord?" He said confused.

Corax shook his head.

"Check again"

The command deck came to a standstill as people looked up at the ceiling.

A single, bright emergency light beamed down, illuminating maps and cogitators. The main lights however, remained woefully unlit.

As if on cue, a marine stomped through the main doors, a scowl creasing his otherwise handsome face.

"Report, Alvarex?"

"The entire ship is out, my lord" Alvarex Maun huffed, swiping a pale hand down his face and sighing.

"The Mechanicum reports no damage, but it could be at least an hour before we have any lighting in the shadow"

The marine cast a eye over the baseline staff hurrying around him.

"Your raven guard will have no issues of course, but..." He gestured around the crew.

Corvus nodded.

"Slow the engines for now. We can't risk moving at speed until everyone can see. If we run into trouble, I need all eyes working"

The raven guard captain lent closer.

"There is one other matter. Lord"

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Corvus swept through the dark halls of the ship, the shadows that usually cowered in the crevices now stretching across the metal as the lights remained inactive.

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

"What do you mean missing?"

Captain Alvarex shook his head

"We checked your chambers, lord. Gone."

"They can't just be gone. Your in command here, I will look myself."

"my lord you can't"

Maun stared blankly at the spot his genesire had been moments ago and sighed, turning to the crew still milling around

"YOU HEARD HIM, SLOW ENGINES" he roared

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Corax hurried on, melting into the darkness with each long stride. He ghosted past panicked tech priests and fumbling servitors, tracing your familiar routes through the ship; his room, your room, the remembrancers hall, training arena. Each filled with the noise of confused chapter serfs and irritated poets. But not you.

Corvus felt acid rise in his throat, his swallowed and inhaled deeply, calming the hammering of his two hearts.

One more place.

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

"You can have a larger space" corvus sighed, combing his fingers through his mop of black hair.

"This is hardly fitting"

You shook your head and beamed up at him.

"No it's perfect, look"

You stepped forward, gesturing ar two of the walls.

"Windows"

Corvus frowned

"I see. You know you cannot open them"

You rolled you're eyes and grabbed his hand, tugging him forward.

"Just wait"

The primarch stood silently, enjoying the warmth of your hand in his and the smell of your hair as he allowed himself a moment to forget what awaited him beyond the walls of this room. He watched the planet they orbited turn slowly, blues and greens stretching across its surface in an unbroken canvas.

Suddenly, a light.

Faint at first, the rays of a young sun began to filter in through the armourglass. Weak at first, it wasn't long before the room was flooded in warmth. The cold metal walls painted a soft bronze in the early morning hue.

"When we left Lycaeus, left those mines..." You paused, stumbling at the memory. Corvus released your hand and placed a heavy palm on your shoulder, you softened and lent into him with a sigh.

"Once we were free I swore I would never be stuck in the dark again"

"I understand"

You looked up at the raven lord, eyes soft, smile even softer.

"I know you do"

He watched as you slipped free from his grip and bathed yourself in the warm sunlight. A pink hue flushed over your cheeks and you closed your eyes and spun, laughing as you basked.

"Isn't it beautiful Corvus?"

Corvus stared, his own lips twitching upwards for a moment.

"Yes, beautiful"

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Corax slammed through the iron door with an echoing rattle that rang in his ears. Your room, once filled with light and laughter was now as dark as the rest of the ship, the gloom condensing where once there had been laughter and warmth.

Your chair was empty, it's pillows still indented from where you liked to sit with your knees pulled to your chest.

He rushed forward, reaching out and picking your personal Comms until from the chairs arm.

You never went far without it.

"Corvus?"

He turned, sighing in relief.

Your head peered out from under your desk, small fingers pulling back a heavy, downy blanket you had used to shelter yourself. Your eyes went wide as you saw him, then began to water.

"Corvus" you said again, voice now breaking.

The raven lord fell to his knees, reaching out as you scrambled free from your hiding spot and clawed towards him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" he whispered, stroking your head as you fell into his chest with a sob.

"I was so scared" your voice was muffled and broken, face still pressed into him.

"I know. I'm here now, I'm here."

He sat, clutching you in his arms until your trembling finally subsided. He felt you pull away and reluctantly slackened his hold.

"Corvus" you sniffed, leaning back to reach up and cup his face. "My corvus"

He closed his eyes and nuzzled his cheek against your palm.

"My sweet raven"

There was a loud thump, followed by an electrical hum and finally a loud click. Corvus opened his eyes and blinked at the ceiling to see the lights flickering back to life.

He looked back down and found you staring up at him, lashes still spiked with tears and cheeks red.

"There you are" your face cracking into a lopsided grin.

"There's my sun"

@beckyninja @moodymisty @jaghatai-khock @echo-of-damnation @laura-naruto-fan1998 @lemon-russ @astrohymn @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @incrediblethirst @kit-williams @iluminatka16 @bookandyarndragon @thisuserislilsilly @vithralith @absynthe-mind @saintsylestine @nereidof40k

[kit-williams]

In honor of Yuri day

Have some Yuri

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @ms--lobotomy @nekotaetae

@sleepyfan-blog @remembrancer-of-heresy @felinisnoctis @solspina @the-californicationist

@beckyninja @superunkn0wn @bookandyarndragon @saintsylestine @legionsofthehungry

@ladyoflucky @theonceunknown

She looked up at Lady Amelia between shaking thighs and with gasping breaths but the noble custodian woman looking down at her looked at her with a cold calculation that which many might take offense at the seemingly bored look upon the guardian's face. But the way she twisted her fingers inside of her... making her wail in delight... she could see the ghost of a smile upon that noble face. The buzz of the toy that the custodian ground against faded into the background noise of the creak of the bed... oh her poor bed taking this abuse from Lady Amelia.

But she wasn't really in any place to think about anything else then the way Lady Amelia's fingers were inside of her weeping cunt. How her middle finger danced on her clit... gently pressing... swirling around it... oh it was with the same terrifying precision that the Custodian did Everything with.

"Do you hold back your cute little wails to try and curry favor with me? To try and show how strong you can be dearest dove?" Lady Amelia coos down at you with that melting warmth. The musical chuckle that comes from her as you ashamedly look away, "Oh yes how strong you are. But I come here to listen to you sing."

Oh how you moan and cry out as she pinches and plays with one of your nipples causing you to buck into her fingers more. You do not last long underneath her torment.

"Oh there you go singing all pretty for me." She says feeling the way your walls squeeze her fingers as you grind out your orgasm against them.

You know what she likes as you, with shaking limbs, crawl between her legs moving the toy and instead press and rub your cunt against hers. Grinding your cunt against one another's as her orgasm is like everything else Lady Amelia does, controlled. You see it in the way those corded muscled legs tense and the way her hand grips the sheets before a simple pleasured sigh leaves her lips. She plucks you up and kisses you so sweetly.

[absynthe-mind]

Would it be ok to get something with Rogal Dorn just completely berating f!reader about something she did/made that was structurally unsound while absolutely plowing into her?

Under Pressure (Dorn x fem!reader)

Masterlist Here

I really loved this request <33 and it was perfect timing, happy anniversary to my perfect wife @incrediblethirst <33

TW: degradation, power dynamic, manhandling, face fucking, sex, fucking you after blacking out (from cumming too hard)

Taglist: @druidwolf21 , @incrediblethirst , @bookandyarndragonwritesdark , @mehiwilldoitlater , @shellfangz , @thedaedricmaiden , @saintsylestine , @thisuserislilsilly , @iluminatka16 , @beckyninja , @marcela2000 , @lux-lina, @aggresivemenace , @xx-rabidpossum-xx , @blue-wrens

"And what precisely would you have called that?” even if you had the words to describe your work, there was no way you could possibly voice them, “Asides from a catastrophic failure?”

His words are biting, almost growling in your ear, but he’s not anticipating a response from you. 

Not with his cock half way in your throat, pistoning in and out with a measured pace, brutal and persistent. 

You’d have hardly called your designs a catastrophic failure, but then you hardly had an engineering eye, and your husband often failed to appreciate that your approach was an artistic one - not that it mattered anymore.

A huge hand is wrapped around your head to hold you still as every thrust smacks the back of your mouth and pushes further down before repeating all over again. Some might consider it ironic that he was battering instead of fortifying, but at this moment Dorn did not resemble himself.

He was almost unrecognisable.

Gone was the blank stoicism, the perfect posture, the calm that followed him. 

The wall had crumbled.

What remained was raw, primal in a way you hadn’t seen on him before. 

He was taut yes, but trembling in his restraint, veins popping and face drawn, scowling in sheer exasperation. Perfect hair tousled and a bead of sweat on his furrowed brow.

And he was growing sloppy.

Every passing second he faltered more and more, tiny errors piling up as his cock twitched faster and harder. His eyes rolled momentarily before narrowing back onto your face and his head tilted back as his moans hissed through gritted teeth.

Bare muscles glistened with the exertion not of his unending stamina, but of restraint, where you could feel the tremble of his fingers through your skin even as the majority of your attention was focussed on taking him and breathing at the same time.

Focussing on servicing him how he wanted you, which was at this moment to just take it and keep quiet.

This wasn’t really about the designs you’d brought to him, not truly, but the tipping point of a cascading waterfall where this was his crashing relief from the stressors of the Imperial weight on his shoulders.

Try as he might to bear the galaxy as the bastion he was born to be - he was ultimately a human man.

A man who found great emotional release in your solace and great physical release in your mouth. Torrents of it flood your throat, the force of it shooting straight down as he holds still and groans. 

You join him in groaning as warmth floods you, so much cum inside of you that you feel full from a single load, as though his bursting frustration had translated into physical need.

When he pulls out of your mouth he’s still hard, but you can see a portion of the tension unravelled from him, the lines of irritation smoothing out slightly as he stills for a moment.

But just for a moment before he moves his hand downwards and all but throws you onto the bed, and he’s on top of you in a second - flipping you over and pushing your chest straight down into the mattress so your ass lifts as he pushes forward.

You’re wet, ready, and already fluttering before he even starts into you.

Slipping the tip in is still a stretch that burns, but it’s more delightful as he keeps going, inch by inch seated until he can start up his routine of rutting into you like a hydraulic piston battering your womb. 

Unrivalled thickness and length bully your organs but drag down every sensitive spot inside of you at the same time, fucking you out of your mind straight out of your body immediately after having fucked your brains out of your mouth.

It has you unable to hold back moans and they tumble from your lips and drool spills into the sheets. Your body bounces limply and eyes roll with every powerful thrust where there is no mercy, only the smack of his flesh against yours. 

Before long you’re completely overcome, clenching wildly around him hard while he begins to lose himself atop you. White bursts, your jaw slackens and then the world begins to blacken.

He doesn’t stop fucking you.

Your body feels completely spent, tired and aching all over. Sore muscles only relieved slightly from the warm weight surrounding you in its safety. Arms that hold you tenderly, a head that tucks above yours and lips that press into your hair.

In sleep he looked genuinely relaxed, breaths deep and slow, brows softened. It’s a rare sight you love to sleepily admire at the few times he’d lowered his guard like this, so you settle down and snuggle into him happily.

It would be a long while before you’d need to leave those designs of terribly shaped wine goblets made from lead crystal glass and decorated with incredibly thin designs surreptitiously on your lover's desk. 

[absynthe-mind]

Kinktober 2026 Request List

Opening up my Kinktober 2026 Prompt List - please put your requests in the replies/reblogs/inbox/DMs.

Feel free to request any warhammer characters, primarchs, custodes, marines, chaos, necrons, tyranids ect - all welcome! I will assume gn reader unless you tell me otherwise.

If you’d like to request anon in my ask box that’s fine, but this year due to sheer volume I’m prioritising my mutuals at first, then blogs off anon, then anons.

Latex - Amadeus the Mentor

Knifeplay - Erebus

Posture Collar - Cato Sicarius

Degradation - Horus

Bondage - Horus

Help I’m Stuck - Dorn

Tentacles - Ahriman

Knotting - Leandros

Oviposition - Mortarion

Masochism - Dante

Temperature Play - Vulkan

Mummification - Mortifactor Artemis

Obedience Training - Sanguinius

Sensory Deprivation - Loken

Pegging - Mortarion

Caged - Perturabo

Electrostim - Adeptus Mechanicus

Spreader Bar - Leman

Vacuum Bed - Emperor

Predicament Play

Milking - Guilliman

Piercing - Sevatar

Anal Hook - Perturabo

Cumplay - Titus

Interrogation - Aeldari

Yandere - Lorgar

Fucking Machine - Emperor

Magic Sex Toy - Fulgrim

Virginity - Konrad

Sex Pollen - Leandros

Dealer's Choice - you pick the character, I pick the spice - Lion

[loverofbumblebees]

Before the salt burns your eyes (Mer!Vulkan x reader): Chapter 5

This fic is crossposted on AO3.

Word count: 4.5k

Summary: You have A Time. (nervous chuckling)

TW: mentions of previous abusive relationship, panic attack

Chapter 5: but wait, there's more!

Getting up to go to work is much harder when your muscles are trying to take you out. You grimace as you stagger out of bed, legs screaming at you as you shuffle to the bathroom. Apparently trying to keep up with Vulkan did more damage than you originally thought.

Getting into your clothes ought to be classified as another Herculean challenge, but you manage. Mercedes is still asleep and you once again envy her as you make your way to your car at the ass-crack of dawn. Piper's in the front yard, and you greet him as you go by— albeit with less enthusiasm than usual. You ponder about going and buying bugs for him as you head to the aquarium, but he looks pretty fat so you probably won't bother.

You get into the pool area easily enough. Michael stops you to ask about some of the sharks that you'd been diving with, leading to some idle chatter for a few minutes before you excuse yourself.

The hum of the machinery around you is in your ears as you start your warmups. Today you've brought your yoga mat, and you're wincing as you begin to stretch out sore muscles. Note to self: when swimming with a merman, don't try so hard. You hiss through your teeth as you go into a lunge, feeling the ligaments in your legs move.

You're counting down from ten when you hear footsteps coming down the hallway. Eyes popping open, you spot Brandy walking towards you. Much to your surprise, Oliver is close behind her. The younger girl's face is neutral, but her eyebrows are drawn together as she enters the pool area. She gives you a wave and goes into the locker room, disappearing around the corner.

You frown, eyes following her movement before Oliver moves into your field of vision to block your view.

"Hello," he says, beaming down at you.

Coming out of the lunge is only slightly less painful, and you let out a deep breath as you lessen the pressure on your muscles. Standing completely up, you respond with a hello back.

Oliver tilts his head, "I didn't think you would be here so early. What're you doing?"

You put your arm across your chest and begin to gently pull on your shoulder muscles. You reply, "I always get here pretty early when it's time for mermaid performances— I like to have the pool to myself for a bit." You tilt your head, "Well, minus Brandy, but she's here to make sure I don't drown."

Not that you can drown currently, but he doesn't need to know that.

He nods, "What stretches do you normally do? I've been looking to add some to my workout routine— I've been working on my swim skills recently and my legs are killing me."

It's not the first time someone has asked you about this particular routine, so you acquiesce and begin explaining your stretching methods. Swimming uses more muscles than most people would think, which leads to beginners often having to learn the hard way that their form is wrong. Oliver nods, and dutifully takes notes on his phone.

In the spirit of properly showing someone how they should be stretching (a lesson learned from your summers of coaching teens during swim lessons), you offer to guide him through a few poses. You tend to combine some yoga poses along with the regular warm ups just to make sure you're getting as many muscle groups as possible.

Oliver accepts, and seems to realize his mistake about two minutes in when he makes a face while holding most of his body off the ground.

"You can relax now," you say casually, putting your own limbs back on the ground.

His face is red from the exertion, and he flops down onto the cold floor. He groans, then states, "How do you do that? You make it look so easy."

You shrug, then get up off the floor to go fetch your water bottle, "It gets easier with time, and it helps that I wear a tail half the time while swimming."

Oliver rises off the floor as well, "I see—you're stronger than you look."

Scowling, you ask, "What's that supposed to mean?"

He sputters in response, trying to make a recovery.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, you ask, "Do you not have somewhere you need to be?"

He blinks, and you watch as his ears turn a bright red, "Well, yes, but I-"

You realize that your statement might have came off as rude and you rush to correct yourself, "Not that I mind you being here, it just seems odd that you're here during our warm up time?"

Oliver relaxes a bit at that and says, "I just wanted to see what it looks like when you guys are back here— I usually only see it before we do cleaning dives." He chuckles and rubs the back of his neck, "I'll uh, get out of your hair though. Good luck down there."

You wish him well, and he leaves, gently closing the door behind himself. After a few moments, Brandy pokes her head out from the locker room and sighs upon seeing that Oliver was gone. She exits and pads over to the lifeguard station. Your eyebrow bob up in surprise.

"Everything good?" you ask, walking over to lean on the stand.

She grimaces, before she mumbles, "I don't know." Louder, she says, "Oliver just wanted to talk to me. It's not that I don't like him, it's just that I think his vibe is a little weird, you know?"

The interaction you'd just had was odd, to be sure, but it wasn't terribly weird. Although perhaps your definition of 'weird' is a bit skewed from what most people might think.

You frown, "Do I need to beat him up?"

That gets a chuckle out of her, and she shakes her head, "No. I mean, he hasn't done or said anything creepy. It's just… I dunno… a feeling?" She waves a hand dismissively, "Ugh, I'm probably just overreacting. You ready for warmup?"

Placing a hand on her shoulder, you gently say, "Listen, if you need to talk or have someone help you, I'm with you one hundred percent— if something happens, let me know."

She gives a wobbly smile to you, "Thanks, I appreciate it."

You nod, before flexing your arm muscles, "I'll beat his ass for free— I can jump him in the parking lot."

That one gets a bark of laughter (more genuine this time), and Brandy climbs to her position while you slide into the pool. You're properly warmed up now so it's no trouble at all to go into your routine, passing back and forth along the surface. By the time you're practicing breath holds, Rob and Diana join you at the bottom of the shallows.

Your hair feels odd as you sit under the water, creating an odd tingling sensation to your scalp. You idly scratch your head, but don't think too much of it. Then it occurs to you that that might be the signal that you can breath underwater and you wonder how exactly you're going to pass this off to other people.

…maybe you're just really, really good at breath holds. The record is what, ten minutes? You make a face and surface, mind swirling with thoughts.

Other than that though, your performance goes smoothly as always. Your shark friend is still hanging around, and you find yourself wondering about timing of going to take breaths. Has it been too long? Not long enough? You wind up compromising by swimming up to the hose, but not actually breathing from it.

You're still mega sore by the time you make it home, so you stumble into the shower and barely manage to make it to bed before you pass out into sleep. No one said being a mermaid was easy work.

After a couple days, your soreness has worn off. You're absolutely itching to get back into the water. You want to be able to explore underwater now that you're getting used to the whole…breathing thing. It's a Thursday, so not your typical day to get back to the cove, but you can't help the excitement that grows as you close in on the area.

This time you've remembered to bring your fins, and the shell bag is slung across your body, with the knife situated on your waist. The weight of it is familiar, soothing, and you can't help but run your fingers over the handle as you stride into the ocean waves.

You laugh as your fan-club take turns bumping into you, little noses bouncing off your skin. This time you've forgone the rash-guard and are in a two piece bathing suit that has no ties on it. Booties and fins on your feet, you sink in, and begin to belly crawl across the sand like a shark. The tingling begins and you suck in a breath.

Ugh, this is so cool. If only you didn't have to almost die to get the ability. You continue along the bottom, checking on plants and noting the fish that are darting around. There's a group of chubs that seem uninterested in you, but you swim up to see what they're looking at anyways, and find a crab staring at you. How delightful!

You're busy checking out the rocky enclave that lines the cove, hoping to spot some puffer fish, when you feel the current direction shift. You turn to see Vulkan a little ways away, tail moving side to side as he cuts through the water in your direction.

You wave at him, and gesture for him to come look with you. With two of you searching, it's not long before you find a puffer. It's hanging back in a rocky crevice, but comes out to see what the two of you are up to. It seemingly decides that neither of you are worth the time, and goes back into the hiding hole it was in.

Vulkan points toward the surface, and you nod, making your way upwards. The merman is waiting for you at the top, and you flip wet hair out of your face.

"Hello!" you greet, beaming at him, "Beautiful weather we're having, isn't it?"

He looks up at the sky, which is dotted with fluffy clouds, before looking back at you. "Indeed."

"How'd you know I was out here?" you ask, spinning in a small circle.

Vulkan hums, "The fish told me."

You eye him, "Can you actually talk to the fish or are you messing with me?"

He shrugs, "I can speak with them. Their language is more limited than say, you and I's."

This peaks your interest, "What about what you said when we met the other day? The sounds underwater, I mean."

"That would be a merfolk specific language. The overall impact of a folk's kiss is… largely undocumented. I was unsure if you would be able to understand."

An entire underwater language! Of course they'd have something— words with the vocal chords couldn't register properly through liquid.

Your eyes practically sparkle as you get closer, "Could you teach me a few?"

Vulkan thinks about it, a webbed hand reaching up to scratch his face, "I can try— I am unsure of which words you may be able to form."

Nodding enthusiastically, you agree, "That's fine! I'll learn whatever you're wiling to teach me."

The two of you spend the next while bobbing in and out of the water while you learn the pronunciations for a few words. Phrases are out of the question, but 'hello' and 'up' are what you manage to figure out. Vulkan chuckles at your pronunciations, and the words stick in your throat a few times, because for the most part the sounds are supposed to come from your chest.

You're 95% sure that you're not doing well with it, but Vulkan assures you that it's very good for a beginner, and to just give it time and practice.

The two of you hit the ocean floor after that, looking around to see what you can find. There's a large funnel of fish swimming around, and you laugh as you swim through it and they simply scatter to form an even larger funnel. Vulkan lurks on the outside edge of it, chuckling at your antics.

You notice that he swims slower than what you assume is his normal pace to let you keep up. The fins help a good bit, but your propulsion simply can't match his speed.

"How fast can you swim?" you wind up asking him once you've gotten to the top of the water.

Vulkan's ears twitch as he thinks, before he shrugs, "I can't say I've ever measured. Would you like to see?"

Boy would you!! You nod, and he allows you to cling onto his neck. It's a little difficult, given the size difference, but you manage to climb on. He's very solid underneath you, and while your initial concern had been bumping his dorsal fin, that winds up not being an issue at all. Your feet don't reach that far.

"You ready?" Vulkan asks, and you give a confirming pat on his shoulder while verbally agreeing.

Going underwater is much smoother than you anticipated— although in hindsight it made sense, given that he was built for the oceans. You can feel his muscles tense, and then suddenly you're shooting through the water.

It's like the wind on your face when you quickly ride your bike, only you can make out the blur of everything around you. The beach comes into view way faster than you expect, and Vulkan slows down. When he breaches the surface you laugh giddily.

"That was so cool! I had no idea anyone could swim that fast."

He grins at you, all teeth, "I can. Few can match my speed."

You smile right back at him, "I would pay to see that race."

Vulkan gives a long, deep laugh, and says, "Maybe one day."

Wobbling back to dry land, you thank your friend and bid him goodbye. It's the same routine as last time, where you glance back and wave as you depart. He returns it.

~~~

Your weekend brings much of the same. The pair of you find many shells around, and you leave some of the larger ones while your bag gets full from all the little ones. You'll package them up for some of the beach cabanas later— it's a lucrative living to be selling seashells, but some of them accept shells as payment in a pinch. Usually for a Gatorade and chips, but it was better than nothing!

Apparently, your newfound merman friend has an astonishing knowledge of human games. This includes chess, which you'd brought up while telling a story about a club you'd been in while in college. When you'd gotten to explaining the game, Vulkan had waved a hand.

"I know about chess," he had said.

You had blinked in surprise, before responding, "Really? Where did you learn about it?"

The merman's eye membrane had blinked, and he mused, "I am much older than you. I have learned many games."

"Can you play?" you asked.

"I am very good at chess," Vulkan had told you, "I believe I could beat you."

Offended, you told him to just wait until you got your hands on a board, so you two could see who the real champion was.

Which lead you to your current destination— the paddle board shop on the boardwalk. You'd found a magnetized version of chess, but needed something flat to work as a table to play the game. You're staring at the entrance of the store when the clouds open up and begin to dump rain on your head. You sprint inside, and stand at the door while wringing out your hair. For such a short amount of time, the storm sure could soak you to the skin.

Good thing you'd had your suit on under your clothes, but you still weren't a fan of getting cold rainwater on you. Or the feeling of being damp while in the air conditioned store. As luck would have it though, their floors are wooden and made to withstand the wet footsteps of customers coming through.

You move forwards, ogling at the surf memorabilia that lines the walls, along with the many different kinds of boards available. The bell to the shop rings and you pay it no mind. Until you turn slightly, and have to do a double take at the man that now stands at the register.

He has to be a model, and the fact that his shirt is unbuttoned all the way is not helping matters. Hair so blonde it's practically white is pulled back into a ponytail, and you try very, very hard not to stare at the abs that the shirt reveals when it pulls back as he leans on the counter. You need to focus on your task.

So you go back to browsing the paddle boards, and try really, really hard not to stare at the handsome stranger.

It's going really well until you hear, an "excuse me," from behind you. You hope and pray that it's not who you think it is. You turn around and it's the man from the counter. Your ears burn as you fight not to stare directly at the pecs that are in your face.

"Are you looking to buy or to rent?" he asks.

"I- what?" you say, a little confused.

Patiently, he responds with, "Each board is special in its own way. Some are more solid, and some will sink while you're in the water." He pushes past you, and points out an inflatable board that's decorated with a shark. "I think this one would suit you well."

You'd already looked at that one, mostly for the irony of owning a shark board while playing a game with one. Vulkan would find it amusing, you think.

"Uh… thanks," you respond, gingerly taking the board from the wall it's neatly stacked into. You make a mental note of the gear you'll need to grab to help fill out your kit— it's been a while since you've owned one of these, but you remember the gist of it all.

He begins to walk away, before he stops and turns back to you. "By the way," he confides, "I like to give these to all the pretty people I see."

He takes something out of his pocket and you're almost scared until he unfurls his hand and oh! It's a lovely seashell. It's an almost perfect spiral with a pearly white exterior. The only flaw is a small chip off the underside that you can see. Your hand reaches out to take it before your eyes flick back up to look at that man and you swear it looks like he has fangs. Vulkan's teeth flit through your mind and you go to pull your hand back, only for the man to press the shell into your palm and curl your fingers around it. His hands are strangely clammy in comparison to Vulkan's, and his smile stretches a touch wider than it should.

"Keep it."

And with that, he strides out into the rain, leaving you standing in the middle of the shop with a (maybe) magical seashell in your hand, and a paddle board in the other.

Shaken, but not deterred, you pay for your things and leave. Your head is on a swivel when you walk out the door, but the man that spoke to you is nowhere around. You keep glancing behind you though, even as you get into your car and drive home.

You scowl into the rearview mirror as you go. You hate that someone is making you feel this way. This sort of dread hasn't settled in your belly since the final days of your relationship with Dawson. The feeling of looking over your shoulder constantly wasn't a new sensation, but it was an unwelcome one.

You sit in the house a lot longer than intended, irritated. You pace around, debating on going down to the water. The shell weighs like a rock in your pocket. You'd fully intended upon it earlier, but now? Vulkan had told you there were other merpeople, but he hadn't mentioned they could go on land. Could they? Could he?

Mercedes isn't home, so you have no one to vent to other than yourself as you walk around. Eventually though, you decide that maybe getting some answers will help calm you down. Locking the door and shooting a text to Mercedes along with leaving a paper note, you shoot off to the cove.

You put your feet into the water and wait. Soon enough, Vulkan's head pops up out of the waves, and he smiles at you. The tension in your chest worsens when you see his sharp teeth, and it takes a moment to realize that you're shaking.

He appears to notice as he gets closer, and he questions, "Are you alright?"

Gritting your jaw, you spit out, "Why are you fucking with me?"

Red pupils dart to the side, then back to you, "What?"

You snarl, "Why are you fucking with me? I thought we were friends, but then this-" you fumble for words, "this man follows me to a store I'm in and he's got teeth like yours and he gives me a- a shell? With some kind of creepy message I think and I just-"

You take a deep, stuttering breath and step out of the water, sand digging into your toes. Tears sting at the edges of your eyes, but you try to fight them off.

"I don't like to be played with," you end up snapping.

Vulkan can only go so far to reach you without beaching himself, but his eyebrows have drawn together and he says your name very softly in concern. It's the same kind of tone that one might use to call to a scared cat, and it stings something deep in your soul.

You yank the shell out of your pocket and hold it out in front of you like it's a dead mouse, and not a seashell.

"Then what is this?" You hiss, "I know something's wrong with it."

Vulkan's eyes flick down to your hand, then back to your face. He's obviously concentrating on you, but as his gaze goes back to the shell, his pupils shrink to slits, and he growls.

This takes you aback, and you take a step away from him. He seems to realize that you're scared of the sound, and takes a deep breath, before holding out his clawed hand.

"May I take a closer look?"

There's silence between the two of you as your brain battles between retreat, and getting closer to the merman that hasn't shown you any cause for harm so far. (But just because someone's nice now doesn't mean they will be down the road, does it? A voice whispers in your head.) Vulkan's arm droops slightly, and he looks about ready to disappear back into the sea, when you inch forwards a bit, dropping the shell into his palm.

He smiles at you, taking great pains not to show his teeth, and says, "Thank you."

Vulkan lifts the object, and it strikes you just how small it is in comparison to him. He scowls at it, and crushes it in a quick motion.

"It's a shell one of my brothers left with you," he quietly states, staring at the sand, "Harmless. If I had to guess, it's to leave a message for me."

You sniff, "What kind of message?"

"The kind that they can reach you," he laments, running a hand down his face. It's a very human gesture, and you relax just a bit.

"So you… didn't send someone after me?"

Vulkan delicately responds with, "No, I did not." He straightens up, and splays out his webbed fingers over where his heart should be, "I swear on my life that I did not send someone to follow you. But I will find out who it was and give them a piece of my mind."

You lick your lips to try and stave off the dryness of your mouth, "You will?"

He nods, and you take another cautious step forwards. He adds, "You will not come to harm in my waters, I promise."

The earnestness of his words seem to finally shatter whatever was holding back the dam of tears, and they finally begin to stream down your face.

You try to choke down a wail that tries to surge out your throat, but it comes out as a pitiful whimper instead. Vulkan's still stuck in the shallows, but he looks genuinely distressed to watch you sob on the beach.

"I'm sorry," you blubber, "You know, I usually don't cry this fast."

His hands twitch, and he asks gently, "Is there anything I can do?"

What you need is reassurance, and you voice as much to him. He pauses and thinks, before asking, "Would a hug work?"

You think about it for a second, before you stagger forwards, falling into his arms. The warmth of Vulkan's skin seeps into your still damp clothes, and it's like hugging a solid wall of muscle. It takes a few minutes of you crying before you're able to tear yourself away.

"God, I'm sorry," you say, wiping your nose on your shirt. "I got snot all over your chest."

Vulkan pats your shoulder, "It will wash off."

You give a watery chuckle, but the concern is still clear in his eyes.

There's a long pause, then he very carefully asks, "Are you often followed? Not that… this situation isn't upsetting, I simply wish to get a clearer view."

Your muscles stiffen when he asks, and Vulkan immediately backpedals, "You don't have to tell me-"

You interrupt, "No, no it's fine. It's just hard to put into words." You clear your throat, before glancing up at him, "I don't have to talk about it?"

His eyebrows knit together, before he responds, "I would… prefer to know, yes— if only to prevent any other situations of this nature. However, you are entitled to your history and should not feel like you have to share it with me. I have things from my past I have not shared— I would not expect the same from you."

It's a well balanced and easy answer, and it soothes your anxiety. Talking about your previous relationship was never an easy thing for you to do.

You sigh, "I think… I think I won't say anything for now. But maybe in the future?"

Vulkan's ears twitch, and he nods, "Whatever you would like."

The two of you spend a long time on the beach, watching the sun set.

~~~

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!):

@gh0st-nebulae @incrediblethirst @catabibaz0n @absynthe-mind @mirurnas @f1shz

[absynthe-mind]

Primachs First Time Cuddling you

Masterlist Here

What happens the first time you cuddle an emotionally stunted war criminal, I hear you ask?

Nobody asked I just wanted to write.

TW: manhandling, some post heresy primarchs, slightly nsfw touching for some

Taglist: @druidwolf21 , @incrediblethirst , @bookandyarndragonwritesdark , @mehiwilldoitlater , @shellfangz , @thedaedricmaiden , @saintsylestine , @thisuserislilsilly , @iluminatka16 , @beckyninja , @marcela2000 , @lux-lina, @aggresivemenace , @xx-rabidpossum-xx , @blue-wrens

Lion El’Jonson - I

This man treats it like a military exercise. 

This is an expected duty and he will treat it like one.

You’re treated like a defensive checkpoint: deposited on the far side of the bed, wrapped up in blankets and furs, and then he lies down beside you. Alas, somewhere in that theoretical understanding of cuddling he failed to understand that he should probably be facing towards you - or even touching you in any way, and not just lying in wait, facing the door in case of intruders.

Guarding you.

You can make the most of this by snuggling into his back and he’ll allow it. Don’t worry, he’ll get better over time… hopefully.

Fulgrim - III

Surprisingly awkward.

In his quest to make it perfect, to set the mood, to make sure he doesn’t touch you too much or too little and precisely ready what you want in this moment he comes off stilted and slightly stiff.

He settles into it quickly though, ever adept at reading your mood and pulls you into his chest, letting you rest against him and pressing languid kisses atop your head. When you’re clearly relaxed and enjoying his effort he loosens even more and it makes for a very cute evening together.

Post heresy bonus: 

Coils around you confidently trapping you between thick ropes of his winding body. Enjoy being pet like the little well, pet you are. 

Perturabo - IV

Oh good lord, a feat in and of itself you got him to agree, but once he’s had it once he’s a tsundere addict so watch out.

That first time though, that first time is for you to coax him into being more than an unmoving iron wall. Showing him what tender touch and unburdened human affection feels like. 

He leans into your hands as you sit up upon his chest and caress his wires, letting out low rumbles you didn’t think was possible from your nigh unfeeling lord. It’s an addictive feeling you’ll try to replicate over and over.

Jaghatai Khan - V

It’s a cute date where he takes you out into the cold wilderness and shows you how well he can provide for you. 

Hot roasted meat skewers, look at these thick furs he brought for you, still cold? Don’t worry, that’s what his arms are here for, to hold you close and make you feel secure.

Just lean into his arms and let the warmth seep through as he looks down at his little hawk adoringly. He’ll press little kisses all over, your cheeks, nose, the top of your head, everywhere.

He carries you back because he doesn’t want to put you down.

Leman Russ - VI

This man is the most tactile creature known to the Imperium.

He’s already had his hands all over you, arms slung around you and had you over his shoulder plenty of times before he just decides to scoop you up for a lazy cuddle session.

By this point you’re already boneless and buried in a pile of wolf, both fluffy and human alike. Too bad if you’re too warm because you’re not leaving any time soon, not with his head laid on your thighs and arms spread across you to snuggle in the dogpile.

Rogal Dorn - VII

Emperor help him but he doesn't understand.

He understands theoretically and physically what happens but you’re going to need to walk and talk him through every step as he dutifully obeys. 

‘Lift your arm - no, that  one, that’s right. And now put it down. Gently…. Perfect.’

Once you’re settled in with him though he’s a nice steady presence, sort of like a weighted blanket but better because he makes you feel beyond safe in his arms. 

Konrad Curze - VIII

Work is cut out here, and you might want to try bathing him beforehand unless you want to pull away covered with … bits. 

Manage that first and he will actually cradle you somewhat tenderly, like you are fragile porcelain that will crack, which may very well be true from his perspective. His body cages around you and protects you from the world, even if you are entirely alone together. 

Just let him hold you, maybe even press shaky kisses into you, and he only mutters about the demise of humanity maybe once or twice (that's an improvement on normal)

Sanguinius - IX

What a dream… if you didn’t have hair or feathers in your face every other minute.

Trying to manoeuvre in a way that his wings aren’t pressed uncomfortably beneath him, you’re not pulling and lying on feathers, and his long hair generally tangling as you both tango into position makes for quite the challenge.

You both laugh at it though, giggling and clutching each other at the absurdity of trying to make it work and eventually succeed into settling together. It’s soft, it’s sweet, it's perfect.

Post heresy bonus: 

He plagues you in dreams of futures that could have been - fragments of his soul echoing through the warp and into your head the same way the black rage does.

You curl up against his cold sarcophagus and nobody stops you.

Ferrus Manus - X

This man could not take a hint that you wanted to cuddle him if you tried, so you’re going to have to take heavy handed initiative here.

You should forever treasure the look on his face as you triumphantly approach with about five oven mitts from the kitchens cobbled together into unholy abominations of fabric and begin stuffing them onto his hands with no explanation.

By the time he’s stopped rebooting enough to ask questions you’re already climbing up into his arms so he can hold you in relative comfort while he can walk around.

He will make a papoose like design for your second cuddling session so he can hold you close while he works unimpeded. 

Angron - XII

He’s screaming, crying, throwing up (™) - WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOURE GOING TO HOLD HIM CLOSE FOR A PROLONGUED PERIOD - ARE YOU MAD???

The answer to that one is probably, yes.

He holds still like a statue but trembles still as you curl into his lap, leeching his warmth. Maybe after a few sessions to calm down you might actually get somewhere.

Roboute Guilliman - XIII

Surprisingly good at this. Actually knows how to enjoy his limited free time and just scoops you into him and lounges back.

He’ll hand feed you fruits while you snuggle into him and enjoy each other's presence. Finds it very cute when you try to feed him back, kneeling up on his lap to reach and feed him what looks comically tiny in comparison.

He’ll definitely find more time to put aside for this, ending up very refreshed from just a little time with you.

Mortarion - XIV

This man is nervous beyond measure, please reassure him over and over and over.

And smooch him.

Lots. 

Very uncomfortable with physical touch and probably doesn’t get better on your first try either. But, it’s a very, very important step to getting close with him - sort of like getting close to a feral cat.

Give him affection but don’t overwhelm him and soon enough he’ll be coming to you at all hours of the day to steal you away for some quality tactile time in your arms.

Post heresy bonus: 

MTV: Welcome to my swamp - where I have made a nest just for you.

He will help you carefully climb in then clamber in on top of you, wings spread wide and covering the both of you like a canopy. Surprisingly nice if you don’t mind the smell because Mothtarion is soft and fluffy.

Magnus the Red - XV

The first time you cuddle is actually psychically - in your sleep.

He’s just so excited to get close to you, and there’s not enough time in a baseline’s day - so why not enjoy time together in dreams too?

Except you’re not as lucid as he is to start with, sleepily demanding cuddles from him that he very amusedly gives as you clamber onto him and press up into his chest. When you come around a little your face is as red as he is, apologising until he squeezes you closer and laughs as he kisses your forehead.

Horus Lupercal - XVI

One day when meeting him in his office before going out for a date he simply reaches out, swiping around your waist and pulling you confidently into his lap. He’ll wrap an arm lazily around your waist and press a kiss into your temple before telling you to sit tight while he finishes the last of his work.

It’s so smooth it’s criminal, and leaves you blushing and him smirking - what exactly did you expect? 

From then onwards he loves having you sat on him, especially when someone comes to visit him so he can put a possessive hand on you and flex his prize.

Lorgar Aurelian - XVII

He looks at you like a puppy for days until you figure out what he wants because he won’t ask for it. Just longing, staring and yearning until you give him permission.

Then his hands are all over you, mapping you out. 

Straight from 0 to 100 immediately for this man.

You’ll have to temper him back he’ll whimper and then comfort him gently for a long, long while before he’s willing to move from your side.

Vulkan - XVIII

He’s vibrating in excitement, he’s been waiting for this for a while but wanted you to be comfortable and ready knowing how physically intimidating he can be. But once you’re ready he’ll be spinning you around in his arms before spiriting you away to a pre-cooled room so you can stand being close against him for longer (yes, he was that prepared).

Such a cuddly man, petting and nuzzling and the whole works. He’ll make sure you’re beyond comfortable. Constantly checks in with you, massages you, holds you just right.

It’s just right for you both and ends up as very addictive stress relief.

Corvus Corax - XIX

When you ask him to cuddle he immediately melts away into the shadows, which honestly makes you upset… until he materialises some time later and nervously brings you to a nest he made just for this.

Accept and he’ll be strangely happy, settling in with you in your own private little place. 

This ends up becoming somewhere you can go to when you’re feeling down and or just need him and he’ll come as soon as he can, with you often finding treats or treasures left for you there to tide you over until he can arrive.

Alpharius/Omegon - XX

Idiot sandwich cuddle session.

They’re goofy and you’re stuck between them.

Throne help you because they have plenty of stupid questions to ask you to entertain themselves over the hours they keep themselves barnacled to you.

“Would you still love us if we were tyranid wyrms?” type questions.

Don’t answer properly and they’ll poke you and whine, unless you bribe them with snuggling in deeper.

Good luck soldier.

Bonus: The Emperor

You’re the nervous one here - mostly because you’re already struggling to comprehend why he’s chosen you of every human alive and everything feels very unreal. 

So when he quite literally sweeps you off your feet and carries you bridal style it's accompanied by a shocked yelp. Which he laughs at.

The custodes are struggling not to go insane - oh well.

He’ll perch you in his lap while he sits back on the throne, and you’ll tremble like a chihuahua in a handbag while he pets you. At least he makes sure the two of you aren’t disturbed while you acclimate.

It ends up being a sort of introductory trial for spending a lot more time cuddled up to him. 

At his desk, in meetings, in the lab - who is going to tell Him no?

[absynthe-mind]

Did you guys know if you sit down and write, stuff gets written? Literally crazy.

[shitpostenj0yer]

Impossible, surely?

[absynthe-mind]

You’d think….

[absynthe-mind]

Did you guys know if you sit down and write, stuff gets written? Literally crazy.

[loverofbumblebees]

Before the salt burns your eyes (Mer!Vulkan x reader): Chapter 3

This fic is crossposted on AO3.

Word count: 4.6k

Summary: You go to the cove and make new friends. The sharks at the aquarium are still acting weird.

Chapter 3: the shark whisperer

When you come outside the next morning, armed with bathing suits, snacks and a new knife, your sandpiper friend has returned. He cocks his head, and you remark to him that you're going to the cove now. He takes off into the sky, heading that direction.

"You know, if he's going to be sticking around, maybe you should name him," your friend says, slinging her supplies into the cabin of the truck.

You nod, and think about it, "What if we just go with Piper?"

"You don't have anything better than that?"

"But he's so cute! And sandpiper. It's easy to remember."

The redhead shoots you a disbelieving look before climbing into her truck. The ride to the cove is smooth sailing despite the roots— you ride your bike as you follow the vehicle, watching the spanish moss sway in the breeze as you go. The two of you pull up and head down the trail. There's a few sticks you toss out of the way as you go. When you get to the bottom, you see a familiar bird standing on the shore, pecking in the sand.

"Hey Piper," you greet, walking up, "What is it that you've been wanting to show me?"

Piper shows no indication of caring about you anymore, and hops away to go search for bugs. Your feelings are slightly hurt, but you turn and look towards the ocean. It's different than it was the last time you were here— you shiver despite the warm temperature.

But the two of you are on a mission, and start searching for the net. You find it, not too far from the shore. The water is up to your waist. You turn around and call out to Mercedes: "Found it!"

She sloshes towards you, and you squat to start digging the net out of the sand. The saltwater licks at your face, the spray of it getting into your mouth. You spit it out and keep working. Your friend comes to join you, and soon the two of you are wheezing as you begin hauling the ropes in.

After about thirty minutes of struggling, your efforts have made it so the net is in the shallows. It's not going anywhere, so a water break is in order. You're sipping water as you inspect the net while sitting in the water. There's all sorts of things tangled in the net, but what catches your eye are the places with shells that have been caught up on the rope. Some spots have dozens of them hanging, and some look like a knife has cut off the shell, leaving a bald patch in the middle. Your fingers touch the rope, the scratchy fibers dragging across the skin.

"I think there's a shark out there," Mercedes' voice cuts through your thoughts, and you turn to look out in the distance.

Sure enough, there's a fin out in the waves, poking up above the water.

You eye it, then turn back to her, "We're pretty shallow, I don't think it'll come much closer."

After the two of you are done with your rest time, the net is finally, finally hauled from the water, and you begin the much worse task of getting it into the truck. You brought another knife with you— a much sharper one— and you relish in the second attempt at getting to hack away at the thing that almost killed you. It brings a smile to your face, which is a little disconcerting given the large knife in your hand.

"You look like a psycho," Mercedes mumbles as she moves to portion out another bit of net from her section. She also wields a blade.

"Just letting off a little steam," you retort.

"Maybe steam a little less crazily then, please. You're freaking me out."

You snicker, but quit smiling. The joy is still in your chest though, until the two of you are faced with the cut ropes, and get to the job of actually hauling all the netting up the hill. It's not as hard of work now, given that you lightened the load, but it does make for many more trips up and down the hill, and by the end of everything your legs are killing you.

The sand digs into your toes as you kick off your shoes and drop onto your towel, huffing and puffing. Mercedes flops down close by, hands pawing for her water bottle. The two of you sit and catch your breath, and you see that the fin is still out in the distance, moving back and forth.

"I may go for a swim," you remark.

Mercedes raises an eyebrow, "Isn't the shark a problem?"

You shrug, "I mean, I'll keep an eye on it. Besides, if you're here you can give me a heads up."

There was a certain amount of confidence you now had with sharks, given the whole aquarium situation. Even if it got too close, between the two of you the risk would be minimal. You'd stick to the shallows.

Mercedes gives you a thumbs up and pulls out a book to read. You slip out of your cover clothes that you'd put on once you'd starting working on dragging the net up the hill. You wade into the shallows and turn on your back to float, taking extra care to look out for the fin out in the distance.

You stare up at the overhang, and the rocking of the ocean calms you. The water cradles you, and you hum and close your eyes, content. The ocean was always soothing, and you were glad that your previous experience hadn't truly tainted your love for the saltwater.

Something brushes by you, and you crack open one eye, but don't see anything, and the fin is at the end of the cove still. You settle back into your practically meditative state, only to feel the sensation again. What the hell?

You finally put your legs down and stand up in the shallow water, only to realize that there's a small school of blacktip shark babies hovering around your legs. Most people probably would've been a little scared, but they're so tiny that you can't help but coo at them. They're so cute!

Waving at Mercedes, you call out: "There's baby sharks over here!"

She pulls up her sunglasses and calls back, "What?"

You cup your hands around your mouth and yell with all your might, "THERE ARE BABY SHARKS OVER HERE!!"

Your friend snaps her book shut, and wanders over to where you're currently petting said sharks. Their skin is smooth and rubbery, and you laugh as they circle around your legs like cats wanting to be fed.

"Well I'll be," Mercedes says as she splashes closer, "There are baby sharks."

Snorting, you respond, "Don't ever doubt me again."

You instruct her on how to properly touch one. These guys are surprisingly docile for a wild species, taking their fanbase in stride. You spend the next half hour meandering around the shallows in the cove with a small shiver of babies following you. They don't do much other than frighten away the smaller fish that hang out towards the beach. When you go back to floating they disperse, hiding in the shadow your body casts on the ocean floor.

Mercedes has gone back to hanging out on the beach, and you check to see where the adult shark is. It's gone. Weird, you'd assumed that with the amount of babies that the parent might have shown up.

After a while you splash out of the waves and onto the shore, showering the sand with a spray of water that comes out of your bathing suit. Mercedes lifts up her book in mock disgust as it happens.

"Could you drip dry somewhere else?" She huffs, although her words contain no bite.

You decide to wring out your hair just outside of the edge of her towel. She lightly hits you with the novel that she's reading before standing up and stretching.

"You ready to head out? It's getting about dinnertime I think," you ask, staring out at the sun.

"I think so— I've finally gotten through the juicy part of my book."

You ask what it's about, and she explains the plot of her romance novel as the two of you pack up to go back to the house. As you reach the top of the trail, you turn to look back.

The shark fin has returned, slowly circling in the water.

Shaking off the odd feeling that creeps into your chest, you head back home. Dinner is spaghetti and garlic bread, and you go to sleep exhausted.

The next day you spend time taking the rope off to a local facility, and then go about the town to run various errands. Mercedes accompanies you, and the two of you terrorize only a few shops that are on the boardwalk. You smile while watching the seagulls fly around, and are delighted to see a familiar little sandpiper scurrying across the boards.

"Piper? Is that you?" You don't know whether this is the bird that's been following you, but when he runs up to drop a small stone at your feet, you're delighted.

You thank him and smile, and the avian puffs up a bit, ruffling his wings. You're just happy that you didn't lose your little friend after all.

The sun sets again as you head home, and your thoughts turn to your favorite swim spot as you drift off to sleep.

Your dreams are filling with sharks guiding you on a swim, the sun warming your bones as you go.

~~~

Waking up is less fun, but alas, there is money to be made. Technically speaking, your second job is also at the aquarium as a part time scuba diver. When you'd started your mermaid gig you didn't have the certification, but as time wore on there was a class offered for employees to get the right credentials, and you had hopped on the opportunity quickly.

Scuba diving didn't quite give you the same rush as free-diving did, but it offered other fun paths— you liked helping take care of the exhibits. It was like cleaning Betsy Ross' tank, only on a larger scale.

You're in the middle of making your lunch when Mercedes stumbles out of her room, hair sticking in every direction.

"You making sandwiches?" she asks, blinking blearily.

"Yeah," you respond, working on crafting the perfect bologna sandwich, "Diving today, so I'll be a little extra hungry when it's break time."

She snorts, "You'd think that you'd be hungrier after all the tricks you do in costume. Can I snatch some of your bread?"

You nod before responding, "I dunno, I think it's all the extra gear I lug around when we clean— it's not just me getting into the pool. It's pretty physically demanding."

Not that your mermaid gig wasn't demanding, it just used your muscles in a different way.

Mercedes nods, before you watch in horrified fascination as she spreads mustard onto the slices and slaps it together. Just mustard and bread. She catches your expression, and shrugs.

"What? It's good."

You have your doubts, but there's not much in the way of time to argue, so you stuff your lunch into your lunchbox and head out the door. Piper's on the porch when you pass, and you greet him. There's a lack of shells to be had, but you don't pay it any mind as you head to your job.

The building is quiet as you enter, and you greet the security guard (Michael) as you pass through the gates.

In the backrooms of the aquarium is the humming of equipment and pumps running, and you meet up with the dive team near the normal reef pool where you'd be if you were mer-performing.

You greet Stan, the head diver, and receive a grunted 'hello' in response. Stan was an older man, and had been diving at the aquarium for so long he practically came with the place. He was working on assigning you all to your zones, and you stand on your tiptoes to try and see over his shoulder at his clipboard.

Stan sighs, and moves it over, voice rumbling, "You'll see it when everyone else does."

You scowl comically, before batting your eyes, "I thought I was your favorite diver?"

"My favorite diver would be the one that's prepping their gear for the day instead of bothering me," seeing your expression wilt, he sighs, "You'll see it in ten minutes. Now shoo, I have safety checks to be doing."

Beaming, you scurry away to go collect your gear. Similar to your swimsuits, all the gear was treated at the aquarium. But since you were a regular, yours was specially tagged so you didn't have to do fittings every single time you showed up for a dive. It was lovely.

You go about doing your own standard safety checks as you go through your dive kit. Testing the air in your BCD goes smoothly, and you walk over to the weight storage to pick out what you think is the appropriate amount. It would vary slightly depending on which tank you were going into. Stan would verify with you before you headed out. You're almost done doing your checks when you hear him clap his hands loudly, signaling time for the safety briefing and assignment handout.

The other divers form a circle around him and you join, shouldering your way in between Dave and Buford— two guys who looked like football players but had actually never played a ball sport in their lives. They were marching band players with a love for fish. They fist bump you as you wait for Stan's instructions.

He clears his throat, and begins: "Alright people, we've got a big day ahead— can everyone hear me?"

There's a general murmur of assent among the group, and he nods before continuing on.

"We don't have any rookies in our ranks today, so I'm hoping this will be as smooth as possible. Nothing is out of the ordinary in terms of new decor, but as always please make sure to not hit any of the reefs. They may not be fully real, but there are some plants on there we need to look out for," he flips a page on his clipboard, reading off more notes, "Additionally, I was told to give a reminder to you all not to stir up the sand. Apparently it 'doesn't look good for social media.'"

He adds air quotes around the last bit, and your group chuckles appreciatively. Another page flip and a few more safety bits and bobs later, and he finally gives out assignments. You patiently wait for your name to be called, and when it is you step forward.

"Your partner will be Oliver. Oliver, they don't bite, please don't look so nervous," Stan says, gesturing to the guy in question. "You two will be cleaning the shark reef tank, along with Jill as your safety diver."

Oliver steps forward and you shake hands. You've only met him a few times but never had him as a buddy since he was newer. He seemed nice enough. He's a tall, lanky fellow who's about your age, and his face is dotted with freckles. He sports a haircut that might be good if it was styled differently.

You greet Jill with a high five— the two of have been paired many times, and know how to go with the flow. Jill is actually a marine biologist for the aquarium, so for a safety diver you've essentially hit a gold mine.

The meeting ends and you head back to grab everything you'll need, which is all stacked in a neat pile exactly where you left it. You double check the list and brace yourself before hoisting your tanks onto your back, carrying your fins, goggles and wetsuit in your arms. Underwater it's not all that much weight, but above water it was an easy sixty pounds that you plop onto your back.

You begin your confident waddling after Jill towards the shark tank. Oliver isn't far behind you, and you're focusing very hard on walking upright without the tanks dragging you backward when he speaks to you.

"Have you ever gone in this tank before?" He asks, speeding up a little to walk side by side with you.

You shake your head, "I haven't. You?"

He nods enthusiastically, "I have! This one is one of my favorites, especially since-"

Oliver catches you up to speed on the cool decor that's part of the shark aquarium, and informs you that his favorite bit are the decorative skeletons that are scattered on the bottom. Some of them have eyepatches, and the middle of the reef has what looks to be a shipwreck on it.

"It's a pain to clean," he informs you, "But it's so worth it."

Fortunately, his explanation distracted you from the walk for long enough that your group had arrived at your destination. You gently set your BCD and tanks on the ground, and begin to wriggle into your 5mm wetsuit. As much of a help as it is during dive time, it's such a pain to get on. Your compatriorts are in much of the same position.

After a bit of struggle, you pull the zipper on the back up and tuck the attached string into the back of your suit. Next thing on are your neoprene booties, and a final double checking of your gear. Then you and Oliver trade places and check, and do the same for Jill until everyone's kit has been double, triple, quadruple checked. The aquarium hasn't had an incident before, and you lot weren't keen on being the first.

You and Oliver are the first ones in, and after the entrance goes well, Jill follows. The long fins attached to your feet allow you to sail through the water with no problem, and you relish in the ability to do so. You so needed to bring your good fins out to the cove when you had the chance— feeling like a sea creature was an extraordinary thing indeed.

Oliver parks it on the bottom of the glass, slowly beginning to use his scraper to remove the diatoms and algae that had built up. Diving teams were sent in everyday with rotations of groups, but even then there was still some nastiness to be expected. You head over with a sponge to begin working on taking off any bits that might be easier than using a scraper, and using a net to catch any big chunks of debris floating in the water.

What you don't expect is the massive shark that appears between you and Oliver, and you backpedal immediately as the nurse shark pushes you away from the glass. It circles away towards the other side of the aquarium, and you look at Oliver. His expression is hard to make out, but he flashes the 'ok?' sign and you return it. The two of you turn back to work on the glass.

It happens again. The shark appears insistent upon separating you from your fellow diver. You frown, and signal to Jill. She comes down, and the creature swims away, only to reappear a moment later. The biologist redirects the nurse shark, but it appears to be dead set on the matter.

Jill pulls out her communication board and scrawls out: 'work on ship?". You nod, flash the ok sign and swim off. The nurse shark follows at a distance.

As you begin working on the mast, you're absolutely flummoxed by the behavior of the sharks. They're not aggressive, you simply just don't understand why all of a sudden they're flocking to you. Does it have something to do with the alleged merman that might've saved you? You snort at the thought, sending a burst of bubbles upward from your regulator. This seems to tickle the shark that's above you, as it wriggles a bit in the bubbles then continues gliding away.

In all honesty, you're a little frustrated about the situation, but you get through your task, and assist the others as you can. The sharks don't seem to mind Jill, but they do care about when you get close to Oliver.

Once everyone is at the surface, Oliver spits out his regulator and turns to you.

"Is that normal?" he asks.

You're just as confused, and say, "No, it's really not. I don't know what's going on but recently the sharks here have been super interested in me. It's freaking me out a bit."

Jill chimes in from where she's taking off her gear, "They could be sensing that you're the kind of person that loves ocean creatures. You know how sometimes cats like coming to people that aren't familiar, even if they usually hate strangers?"

You nod and she shrugs, adding on, "It could be something like that. Although I could test your blood and see if you're part shark."

That gets a laugh out of you, and you respond with a "no thank you" as you clamber out of the water. Jill gives you a hand as you make it onto the platform.

You all gather everything up and head back to the main area to hang out. There's a few other dives you do during the day, and you finally get to eat your sandwich. Somehow they also rope you into lugging buckets of sand around. You sigh, but go along with it.

At the end of the day you're a little bit sore, but overall very pleased with yourself. You crank your car and head back home. At your abode, Mercedes is working through trying to create a dress that gives off the impression that it's made of crystal, and you're terrified to ask how much it cost.

The rest of the week is much of the same in terms of performances and cleaning dives, and you find yourself looking forward to the weekend. You're ready to head back to the cove. Who knows what you'll find? With the storms that roll in and out throughout the week there's a higher chance of finding some really nice shells that have washed in from the deep ocean.

Saturday dawns, and you hum as you brush out your hair, gently working through the tangles that had appeared overnight. Gathering all your things and making sure your phone is fully charged, you make your way out into the main part of the house. Packing lunch is easy enough, and you head out to get your bike to ride to the cove.

You'd told Mercedes about your plan for the day already, and she'd asked that you at least give an update every few hours just to make sure you were alright. She was fairly swamped with work so she didn't have time to check on you barring an emergency. But a few choice words had you agreeing that yes, you'd make sure you did exactly that.

The water is warm as you get in, and you tug your fins on over your neoprene boots. These ones aren't as nice as the ones you use at work, but they go well enough with what you're trying to do. You wish you had your old seashell bag as you wade out even further, waddling along until you're waist deep so you can turn over and float.

You idly kick backwards, and chuckle as your fins simply slap the top of the water. Snickering, you adjust your waist so the equipment on your feet can actually propel you along. There's a brush against your fingertips, and you look over to see that your baby sharks have returned to keep you company. They all receive pets as you tread water.

Taking a deep breath, you sink under the water, blinking as your eyes adjust to being filled with saltwater. Your friends follow you as you swim towards the bottom, looking for good shells. There's nothing crazy on the bottom, much to your disappointment. You'd found a huge conch shell out here months ago after a big storm.

Eventually you take a break, fins coming off and you walk onto shore fully human, stretching. You text Mercedes and idly tap on the work groupchat that had gone off while you were out in the water. Something about a get together at a local restaurant on the pier? There was an ongoing war about details, so you simply give a thumbs up emoji to the person that initially suggested the idea, then put your phone back down.

You turn to wade back into the water and notice the big shark fin that's hovering around the edge of the cove again. Weird, but you're brave enough to wade back into the water that isn't above your head. After a little while of bobbing up and down through the shallows the fin is gone, and you're satisfied with heading back out into deeper waters.

You've almost made it to the first sandbar when one of the baby sharks swims in front of you. You laugh a little, and try to continue going, but it does the same thing as the nurse shark did and insist on making you swim backwards. It's less funny when you have a group of ten small sharks making you swim away from something. As soon as you get about ten feet away from the sandbar, the sharks disperse.

You surface, and turn in a circle, looking for anything that might have them acting strangely. As you do, you feel something tug at your fin, and you immediately yelp and splash your arms a bit as you attempt to go backwards. You dip your face into the water to try and see what's under you, but all you can see is sand and a few fish swimming along the bottom. You grunt in frustration, and try going back towards the sandbar, where you can see a massive seashell sitting.

But again, your apparent bodyguards swarm you, pushing you back to the cove. Coming back to the top of the water you give up, and tell them, "Fine, fine! I'll go back. I've gotten the message."

But as you go to swim back, something yanks on your fin, harder this time, and you almost choke on seawater as you shout in surprise. Something was fucking with you.

You do a small barrel roll in the water to adjust your position, and turn back to look for your shark entourage. To your dismay, they're gone— lingering in the distance. How odd. You look to your left and right, spotting a familiar looking knife on the ocean floor. It's half covered with sand, and after diving down you wave your hand over it to reveal the blade that you lost on the day you got caught in the net. How wonderful! You'd been missing the familiar weight.

The blade is smooth under your fingers, but the hilt has gained a new wrapping of sea kelp around it. There's small cowrie shells woven into the shorter strands that are tucked under the main bit of kelp. It's fascinating, and you're very very certain that this did not happen naturally. Which begs the question: who, or what, did it?

You feel a tap on your shoulder and spin around, stirring the water around you and kicking up a cloud of sand.

But through that sand you can see red eyes, and the outline of something huge. Your spine prickles and your instincts scream that now would be a good time to run.

It's as you swim backwards that you finally make out the shape, and see the fins swimming toward you that your brain puts two and two together.

The shark that's been following you wasn't a shark at all— it was the merman from before.

And he's here to make sure you drown this time.

~~~

Author's note: 14k in and MC finally gets to talk to the merman lmaoooo

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!):

@gh0st-nebulae @incrediblethirst @catabibaz0n @absynthe-mind

[absynthe-mind]

AUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

[absynthe-mind]

The Pale One - Chapter 2 (Dragon!Mortarion x fem!Reader)

Masterlist Here

Part one here

How did I write so much and yet do so little what happened here??? TwT

TW: impending doom/death/thoughts surrounding that, brief mention of SA, bondage, kidnapping (? I suppose?), descriptions of pain/harm

Taglist: @druidwolf21 , @incrediblethirst , @bookandyarndragonwritesdark , @mehiwilldoitlater , @shellfangz , @thedaedricmaiden , @saintsylestine , @thisuserislilsilly , @iluminatka16 , @beckyninja , @marcela2000 , @lux-lina, @aggresivemenace , @xx-rabidpossum-xx , @blue-wrens

Sun lights the ruins in such an odd way, with the way it rises behind it casting the front of the castle into deep shadow devoid of all light - but the crumbling sections and gaps in masonry allowed for starkly contrasting rays of light to burst through and highlight the swathes of decrepit stone and the growing shrubbery that supported it. 

When the sun reached the zenith of midday it was far more visible, but the scorching heat rising off the wasteland made the whole horizon blurry with wavy mirage. 

It made the whole thing far more mysterious and terrifying, to never have truly seen the place up close, and only now in the eleventh hour would you fulfil your curiosity. Hardly the reward you wanted, but a reward nonetheless.

You could at least admit to yourself that underneath the grumbling swell of emotions: of shock and sadness and pain and fear - there was a curiosity that had gnawed at you for years.

The elusive dragon who you had over ever really heard, aside from the occasional sliver of wing or horn - a great and mighty beast who’s very presence completely dominated your life, the lives of everyone you knew - and yet seemed oh so disconnected from daily life. A waking terror that haunted the minds of every man woman and child to know that a painful and horrific death was always close at hand, always needed satisfying, but functionally didn’t truly exist.

A lord to be satiated and pray never looked down to see the peasants lay at his feet lest he finds himself wanting.

And you had known, or course, that other kingdoms and towns offered up ‘pretty young things’ as you had heard it so neatly summarised - but never understood why. The offering of gold and heirlooms and other treasures and tithes made sense, everyone knew dragons kept mighty hoards. 

You supposed it was to instill terror. 

The people would have to turn on each other to decide whose child would be sent unto their own death and breed a resentment between them. They could not rise up and fight against him if they were too busy fighting amongst each other to survive, to appease. 

And that was your role now, to appease, in whatever delightful death awaited you at the end of this long, dusty road at the hands of the Pale One.

“Don’t think too hard, ‘s not worth the pain.”

His voice is gruff, hard from years of little use and age combined, but there's an underlying sorrow to it, a hint that betrays him more than his actions have damned him.

You want to protest that it’s all you can do now, but the words rise up your throat and die there. He was trying to be kind, to soothe you in his own way. 

There was no need to create more pain to leave behind you with cutting words.

You would find comfort in the solitude - focus on the way the dust kicked up from the back wheels and created swirling patterns in the early light still rising.

The ride continues in silence, which would have been comfortable if not for the cycling of thoughts and emotions that washed over you with each turn of the wheel. You tried not to think too hard - really tried, 

It was just then, as your stared out that the clouds shift, the ground now more mottled and dappled with light, which was odd - you’d never seen such a patter in the dust cracked earth before. Then again, you’ve never been so close to the castle either, now closer to its towering form that home.

Closer than ever before you can see what must have been the initial grandeur of the place, with crumbling facades and fascias giving way to roughly hewn stone. 

Everything so was so much more starkly lit now, but all it reminded you of was the constant onslaught of time working against you. 

The continual clip of the mare’s hooves, the turning of the wheel, the rising sun casting shorter and shorter shadows - and the thump of your heart, gradually beating faster and faster.

Everything blurs. Nothing changes.

Closer and closer the shadows grow.

This close and the plains begin to give way to sparse forests, untouched by the town for how close they sit to the dragons domain. You’d never seen trees loom over you like this.

Bittersweet. New emotions and an escape from the life of old. Everything you’d ever hoped for but not in the way you’d planned.

And then you arrived. Hooves clattered to a stop on the dusty road and wheels stopped creaking. The old man went still above you.

Your time was up.

“…Alright. We’re here,” his voice is weary, resigned to both your fates. 

There is no great rush for him to dismount, every step drawn out, even though you knew him to be deceptively spry for his age. You weren’t sure if it was a blessing or a mercy, if you wanted every second you could grasp or for it to just be over.

Still, time marched on and soon enough he stood at the back, only just taller than you with the level back of the carriage. 

His hands are rough with old callouses and weathered from years in the harsh sun, but he uses them with a betraying gentleness as he helps you sit up and swing your legs over the back.

The world sways as his hands steady you into standing. A long time spent on your side over uneven terrain and your own spinning head contributing into making sure you could barely support your own weight as everything threatened to topple.

“That’s it lass, here, here,”

Before you can process anything, cool water is tipping down your throat, relieving the ache you didn’t even realise had built. 

It was a great kindness, water was a precious resource to waste, especially on a dead woman.

Still, kindness only extended so far, and the sun was more than halfway down now, well into the early afternoon where you had set off just before the dawn. He would leave you here before long, it was a fools errand to leave late and risk the horrors night alone would bring, and even more foolish to stick around a dragon’s sacrifice to wait for it.

So he helps you sit, back to a small boulder and propped in the shade of a wizened white oak. 

You look up at the last face you’ll ever see.

There are pricks of tears in his eyes where yours have run freely, wrinkles where your face is smooth and wisps of white where your hair will never grey. So much unfairness, so much difference, yet in the moment your eyes meet you’d never felt so close to another, such understanding to his agony and him yours.

Kinship where there should have been none, connection in the end.

There was not another in all of Barbarus who had been here besides him, and now you, and it was surprisingly peaceful. 

The kiss placed on your head invokes a familiar emotion, something buried deep - perhaps from old memories in long forgotten dreams where your father tucks you into bed and tells you of all the treasures he’ll bring you back from his travels. But its warm, and sweet, and brings you a sort of peace that you were looking for.

Your mouth moves before your mind, impulsive thoughts that might as well be spoken, “S-stay? Just for a moment?”

His eyes and hands tighten in synchronisation as he peers up at the sun, then slowly releases you with a sigh. You didn't actually expect him to say yes, but still part of you had hoped.

“I’m sorry.”

You know.

He leaves, old mare trotting off with little care for its cargo left behind. If he turns back you don’t see between the blurring of the world from more unshed tears.

You stare for a long time.

Nothing feels real anymore. 

Half formed and fleeting thoughts of running, exploring and the unfulfilled dream you had come and go while your body buzzes beneath your skin.

Everything aches.

Neither your body or mind knows what to do with itself, physical strain and emotional exhaustion combining into a malaise that drags you down into the depths of something.

Instead you focus on the ground in front of you, tuning out how your ankles are wrapped with tight rope you can't relieve and looking out at how the sunlight falls so softly here. Such a change from the harsh desert sun, from cracked and droughted ground.

There's more rocks here, not yet taken for construction, more vegetation too, not dared to be picked even in famine. A clearing at the base of that colossal wreck untouched by humanity.

And then mottled sunlight descends.

The shadows grow darker and spots of sunlight wider, and your head snaps up in confusion.

Wings.

Tattered wings, holes ripped through that let sunlight pass through and camouflages him amongst the skies.

You have no time to process your demise, and just barely enough air in your lungs to scream as a gigantic claws thicker than tree saplings grasp around you into the ground, bringing up your prone form along with the cracked earth beneath you. 

You’re scooped up at the lowest point in the dive, with the ground now rapidly escaping your reach as wind rushes around you, disguising your screams amongst it. Clumps of rock and dirt tumble out of the Pale One’s claws at the edge, crumbling away where you remained firmly trapped in the centre.

You can’t even tell how high up you are, faced to the sky as you are, expect for the fact that the clouds are too close for comfort and despite the bright sunlight contracting so starkly against the dark silhouette engulfing you, darkness swallows your mind whole.

You don’t expect to wake, not truly, but when you do, it’s to a deep ache through your whole body, sharp shooting pains throughout your back where rubble digs in, and a pounding headache to match. Your limbs are weak, trembling and barely able to support yourself as you try and raise your torso up - spurred on by intense thirst and immeasurably dry mouth, lips chapped and throat raw and parched for a drop of moisture.

Maybe if your head hadn’t hurt so much you’d have thought this through, took a second to recover or even tried to crack open a scrunched up eye.

Maybe you wouldn’t have pushed yourself up, soft palm of your hand being stabbed by rock and earth as you shudder and wobble.

Maybe you wouldn’t have let out a deep, shaky exhale and feel a huff of hot air wash back over you in response, blowing back your hair.

Maybe you wouldn't have found yourself eye to eye with a dragon.

[absynthe-mind]

alright, here is one, childhood friend of vulkan who vulkan is VERY protective of and is platonic in relationship, then a yandere primarch (that isnt vulkan) x yn and vulkan is overprotective of yn and will try and protect yn from the yandere primarch (of your choice and there can be more then one yandere, also I made this idea right now, so yeah brainstormed idea coming at ja)

Friend Worth Fighting For (Vulkan & gn!friend!reader vs yandere!Fulgrim)

Masterlist Here

Can you believe it? The last of the OG requests from when I first opened oh so long ago....

Plus, if you like sweet endings, thank @incrediblethirst who saved you all from an evil, evil ending. <333

TW: yandere themes, stalking, threats of violence

Taglist: @druidwolf21 , @incrediblethirst , @bookandyarndragonwritesdark , @mehiwilldoitlater , @shellfangz , @thedaedricmaiden , @saintsylestine , @thisuserislilsilly , @iluminatka16 , @beckyninja , @marcela2000 , @lux-lina, @aggresivemenace , @xx-rabidpossum-xx

This would ruin you.

He knew it would. 

His brother was far too obsessed with perfection, too caught up in what had captured his own attention and caused him to bring a baseline all the way from Nocturne to Terra, and all too enamoured with you.

Fulgrim dogged your steps when he thought you alone, he asked of you far too often, and the way his gaze lingered…

Vulkan did not regret many things, but he regretted bringing you to the palace.

He had wanted to show a close friend of his the wonders of humanity, someone who had known him before his rise to glory and stayed steadfast to his side but now all he can think of is that he has doomed you to whatever this was.

Perhaps it would blow over.

He knew better than that though, no, the way the Pheonician’s eye had been caught and now his hand grasped to close around his prize.

You didn’t deserve this.

Sweet and fiery, he could see the enticement, but he couldn’t bear to lose a friend like you. 

He recalled being young, and though he wasn’t little for very long, you were there, and you were there with kindness. You loved him and played with him even when he wasn’t a skilled smith, when he didn’t have great power, when there were no titles or extraordinary skills to him.

The first time you met him, alone and newly adopted by his father, an outsider to the village you’d been compassionate, invited him into your group, shared what little sweets you had. He can recall in perfect memory the sounds of your giggles as you pushed the sour little pellets into his hands, your own clasping around his.

What a marvel you were that stood steadfast against the passage of time, always the first to follow him into anything and against anyone.

And still now, on Terra itself, where so many saw him as more God than man did you humble him. 

Chatting utter nonsense and gossiping with him at galas, calling him a fool and flicking him - throwing pillows at his face and completely disregarding decorum. 

He lived for it.

His heart beat for those moments of humanity that kept him grounded and reminded him he was not so far set from the rest. In many ways, you encapsulated completely what he fought for.

Which is why he would fight for you now if it came to it.

“Brother,” he starts, voice deep and grave, but low enough in timbre that you would not hear him from the next room over.

Fulgrim stops, deadly still and motionless, still facing away from him.

There was no reason to let the moment drag on as long as it did, both primarchs had processed and decided on action already, but both wanted to prolong the inevitable. 

“Yes, Vulkan?” he turns slowly, standing taller and straighter as he did and plastering on a wide smile in greeting, “Are you in need of my aid?”

Vulkan too stands up straighter, shoulders rolling back and squaring. It was not a fighting stance, but it was not too far off, and certainly intimidating on his larger frame.

“Yes, I think I am,” he replies simply, revealing nothing but what both already knew, and masks an order with a thin veneer of request “walk with me.”

Fulgrim hesitates for such a brief step that if he were not a primarch he would not have caught it, but he makes no comment as the man steps into pace beside him.

Away from your direction.

“You covet things that are not yours, brother,” he starts as they turn a few corridors away, “it is in your best interest that you take things no further.”

He does not anticipate the rotten snarl that rips from his usually immaculately composed brother’s throat. It takes him aback so greatly that he almost flickers with uncertainty at how he’d misjudged the depth of the situation. But he was no weak candle to flicker and splutter and die - he had earned his namesake as ‘The Drake’.

Vicious and defensive.

He rears on him, utilising every inch of his height and frame, turning until he was boxing the man backwards into the wall.

“Enough!” his words all but bellow, assuredly attracting attention, but he had no care for who came running.

Both men held wicked snarls now, both holding resolve barely on the edge.

Fulgrim’s voice comes as a scathing hiss, goading him with narrowed eyes and venom unconcealed, “And here I thought that you had introduced them as your ‘honoured friend’ - but clearly you do not hold them in honour if you would not fully claim them publically.”

Vulkan’s armour creaks in protest, metal screeching as his muscles tense and grind in place. The floor tiles were already cracking with the sheer pressure.

“Listen well, brother, it is precisely because I honour them that I will not allow you to ruin them - and you will heed my words or you will heed my fists.”

You don’t understand why later that night Vulkan informs you of the sudden departure back to Nocturne escorted personally by himself, but it’s hardly something you worry yourself with, probably having pissed off the wrong noble.

The two of you laugh through the whole journey, making fun new memories to live aside the old.