talm bout that oviposi 🥴

18+ ONLY. currently obsessed with warhammer

[eggsinside]

just found out Elasmosoma luxemburgense fucks ants in the ass. incredibly vindicated

[eggsinside]

[eggsinside]

honsou Finally getting uriel ventris right where he wants him and demanding that uriel blow his dick, but uriel has never even heard of a blowjob before so he just blows into it like a fucking kazoo. the consequences of chasing a virgin bride 😔

[eggsinside]

last night i was smoking the shit tht makes you possessed by jack keruac (pos)

[eggsinside]

i know people usually refer to whatever happens between primarchs and their legions as incest but i think its actually more ego-driven than that. because the astertes like. had parents. and used to be human. and then slowly become more like their primarch to a certain extent. both physically and psychologically. they're not his sons, not really. they're ex-humans with bits and pieces of their primarch stapled over their humanity... how cooked does your brain gotta be to see pale imitations of yourself and go "ohhh i cant not fuck that" jkjk

[eggsinside]

The way it really was 5D entrapment in the end

[eggsinside]

i think that tone shift could break somebody's neck 😭 i'll have to edit the FUCK out of that 😭😭😭 but at least its somewhat complete. so i can go to bed 😭

[eggsinside]

i keep rotating in my brain the concept of a 30k fic w/ a relatively young, single-braincelled ultramarine who unthinkingly says the most blisteringly offensive things possible about any non-UM legion as if its like, normal conversation, and a grizzled iron warrior who is Audibly grinding his teeth and looking for the first opportunity to put the other guy in his place. but then he gets paranoid and starts thinking this is some 5D entrapment scheme or something, or a test to see if he can keep his cool, or... meanwhile the UM's thought bubble is a spilled cup of mulsum and nothing else.

[eggsinside]

eventually they end up sparring, which is normal behavior for any astertes hanging out, but also an excellent excuse for the IW to beat the ever loving shit out of the UM. and he does. he beats him like he owes him money. he beats him like a dusty rug. he beats him like a pinata who said something about his primarch (he had, if only insinuating that he could stand to be less obstinate). because the IW has like sixty years more experience, and is fueled by spite, it's not even close. afterward, he can see someone looking at them from the corner of his eye, and only because of that does he offer a hand so the UM can peel himself off the sparring mat. and the bastard still has the audacity to criticize his technique, while smiling, before the IW reminds him he lost all four rounds.

walking into the showers, the UW looking like he'd been run over, and the IW without so much as a bruise on him, they find the reason the rest of the sparring area wasn't being used. the UM understands immediately, but the IW's brain takes almost 10 seconds to put the pieces together. he's not wet behind the ears, he knows astertes have sex with each other. what he can't fathom is why this many would be fucking on the same wet floor rather than anywhere more sensible or private. unbidden, he is assaulted by the thought of guilliman writing mandatory team-bonding orgies into his ridiculous codex while making the sickos face.

he turns to express his disgust to the man he'd just finished pummeling into a paste, but he was already across the room washing the blood off of himself, with an entirely unnecessary number of squadmates 'helping' him. just when he thinks he's free to leave them all to their possibly-flowcharted debauchery, he overhears his sparring opponent joke that his dick had probably rusted to pieces from lack of use years ago.

...he can only take that as a challenge. and no matter how hopeless, pointless, or nonsensical, an iron warrior can never walk away from a challenge.

[eggsinside]

he's mildly disappointed that none of them complain that he didn't shower first, because he'd been mentally preparing a list of slurs to reply with. what unsettles him much more though is their reaction to his dick. its larger than the other's he'd seen in the room, not that he was staring, so why are they laughing at him?

returning cleaner than the day he was born and wearing a sheen of oil, the UM from earlier says out loud that its not surprising he's hung like a pack animal, everyone knows a man will be gifted with one head or the other, but for a beast of burden it will always be the lower one. the IW nearly shouts that he shouldn't be insulting anyone's intelligence, except the idiot's junk is now at his eye level, and it conforms to that adage to a frightening degree.

it doesn't matter, he decides. if he wants a beast, he'll get one. it's going to be an infinitely awkward angle though. from sitting on the floor, he surges up, grappling at center mass, twists, and brings the UM to the floor, cracking several of the tiles. mercifully for them both, the idiot is quiet for a minute after that, needing to regain his breath. meanwhile, the IW asks the rest of them if they're going to make the same mistake, or if they understand he's not to be messed with.

the reply comes from someone in the back of the group, with a thoroughly scarred face, two gold studs in his forehead and a third 'stud' rubbing oil on his equally scarred body. he says it's strange that an iron warrior of all people would forget how little individual skill matters in the face of overwhelming numbers.

[eggsinside]

the rules of fair combat, he later learns, don't apply to someone who assaulted one of their battle brothers in the middle of a meticulously scheduled orgy. he would tell them that the reverse is true where he's from, but there's no time for him to explain anything when he's getting buried under more oiled meat than a flat-top griddle at a harvest fair. he takes solace in the fact that he broke someone's ankle in the commotion, though he can't tell whose. it might have been his own.

there's so many hands holding him down, he can barely move. someone's legs are under him, but someone else is trying to grab his hips. one of his arms is locked at a bad angle, and the other is trapped under himself. its impossible for him to win, not that that changes anything, he'll fight until he's dead, an iron warrior to the end.

a pale arm flashes in front of his face on the way to putting him in a headlock, and he bites it as hard as he possibly can, refusing to let go even when he realizes whose arm it is from the amount of scarring on it, and from the way its owner barely reacted to having a fist-sized chunk of flesh nearly sheared from his body, other than drily recommending that nobody use that end of him.

he should have been putting his attention elsewhere too.

they didn't bother with preparation. he'd made his choice against it. but what had seemed an obscene amount of oil before was now far too little on contact with his body, one of sweat and resistance and nothing else.

to say that it felt like being stabbed would be an understatement. he'd once witnessed savage displays of pike-mounted bodies, rotting and disemboweled, breaking.

the last bit of gristle between his teeth snapped, and the veteran pulled his maimed arm away with a quiet hiss, letting the IW's head hit the floor. he had a prize of raw bleeding flesh in his mouth, and a punishment of cracking his head against the tile and nearly choking on it on the way down.

[eggsinside]

the other man's thoughts bloomed from the pit of his stomach. a sick, septic warmth almost entirely lost under the pain of being split open, but he grasped the edge of it. more as a brief escape from reality than to get any helpful information.

he was standing over a younger man who was clearly no stranger to being beaten, but who refused to stay down. in other words, an undisciplined idiot who was incapable of learning his lesson. there was no grim admiration of his endurance, no recognition that to live is to prove yourself ceaselessly as worthy of remaining alive. instead it was like he was a feral dog, or a moronic criminal, or a child. someone who does not-- could not understand that the sooner he stops moving, the less severe this had to be.

the memory faded, and there was cold tile under one side of his face. if they had told him, he's not sure he would have believed them. it seems like such an obvious trick. no one sane would just let themselves...

the next thrust pushes the air out of his lungs in something close to a sob. the fight is over. its been over for a while.

he tries to stop moving, but he can't control all of it. he can't stop trembling. he wonders if they will kill him for it. to stave that off, he mumbles an apology into the cracks between the broken tile. the one fucking him seemed to like that a lot. he had the decency to pull out, at least, but finished on his back, which was hardly better.

its a while before he starts to think it could be over.

[eggsinside]

when he finally lifts his head a bit and opens his eyes, he flinches so hard his own shoulder hits his jaw, then freezes up completely. he hadn't realized the scarred guy was right in front of him again. he has a bandage on his arm, and asks if he's going to try and bite him again, as if lying wasn't the most obvious thing for him to do at that moment. he stares at him for a few long seconds, before honestly telling him that he won't.

he gets a smile for that, and a cold feeling down his spine. or maybe it was the cooling semen dripping down his back.

he tells him to get on his knees. he's a little unsteady, but higher up the air is less full of the smell of blood and oil and semen and broken grout. he risks a glance around. no one else is here. not even that idiot that got him into this mess. he wonders when they left.

the older man sits down on the floor next to him, and grabs his flaccid dick with an incredibly greasy hand. he stares back at him, stares at the other man's dick, starts to reach for it to make this mutual, and freezes when he feels the slight pressure of a thumbnail digging into his shaft. he nods, and keeps his hands to himself.

another smile. a creeping sense of losing something.

he's never been jerked off by someone else before. its a weird feeling. almost clinical. but at least it doesn't have to hurt.

its also very, very slow.

the veteran asks him asks him what he wants, and without pausing to think, he answers that he wants to kill himself.

to his credit, he isn't startled, at least not visibly. he wipes the pad of his thumb over the damp tip and asks if he's sure.

[eggsinside]

he isn't sure, and says as much.

he knows what he's supposed to want, and what he isn't supposed to want, and what he can't have... he stares at the bandage covering the bite he'd taken out of the other man. the bandage is blue. of course. no translucency to it, he can't see if it really was as deep as bone. it felt that way, but he doubts it really was. and its probably sewn closed underneath. invisible. gone. or, at best, just another fine line.

or not. he's asked, again, what does he want, and the answer is on the tip of his tongue, or, it was, earlier. he wants to devour, destroy. something, anything. but he can't say that.

in a strange act of mercy, and possibly self preservation, the other man decides to provide the correct answer for him, stilling his hand and telling him he can move.

in comparison to thinking, thrusting into the slick grip of his hand is so easy.

[eggsinside]

i keep rotating in my brain the concept of a 30k fic w/ a relatively young, single-braincelled ultramarine who unthinkingly says the most blisteringly offensive things possible about any non-UM legion as if its like, normal conversation, and a grizzled iron warrior who is Audibly grinding his teeth and looking for the first opportunity to put the other guy in his place. but then he gets paranoid and starts thinking this is some 5D entrapment scheme or something, or a test to see if he can keep his cool, or... meanwhile the UM's thought bubble is a spilled cup of mulsum and nothing else.

[eggsinside]

eventually they end up sparring, which is normal behavior for any astertes hanging out, but also an excellent excuse for the IW to beat the ever loving shit out of the UM. and he does. he beats him like he owes him money. he beats him like a dusty rug. he beats him like a pinata who said something about his primarch (he had, if only insinuating that he could stand to be less obstinate). because the IW has like sixty years more experience, and is fueled by spite, it's not even close. afterward, he can see someone looking at them from the corner of his eye, and only because of that does he offer a hand so the UM can peel himself off the sparring mat. and the bastard still has the audacity to criticize his technique, while smiling, before the IW reminds him he lost all four rounds.

walking into the showers, the UW looking like he'd been run over, and the IW without so much as a bruise on him, they find the reason the rest of the sparring area wasn't being used. the UM understands immediately, but the IW's brain takes almost 10 seconds to put the pieces together. he's not wet behind the ears, he knows astertes have sex with each other. what he can't fathom is why this many would be fucking on the same wet floor rather than anywhere more sensible or private. unbidden, he is assaulted by the thought of guilliman writing mandatory team-bonding orgies into his ridiculous codex while making the sickos face.

he turns to express his disgust to the man he'd just finished pummeling into a paste, but he was already across the room washing the blood off of himself, with an entirely unnecessary number of squadmates 'helping' him. just when he thinks he's free to leave them all to their possibly-flowcharted debauchery, he overhears his sparring opponent joke that his dick had probably rusted to pieces from lack of use years ago.

...he can only take that as a challenge. and no matter how hopeless, pointless, or nonsensical, an iron warrior can never walk away from a challenge.

[eggsinside]

he's mildly disappointed that none of them complain that he didn't shower first, because he'd been mentally preparing a list of slurs to reply with. what unsettles him much more though is their reaction to his dick. its larger than the other's he'd seen in the room, not that he was staring, so why are they laughing at him?

returning cleaner than the day he was born and wearing a sheen of oil, the UM from earlier says out loud that its not surprising he's hung like a pack animal, everyone knows a man will be gifted with one head or the other, but for a beast of burden it will always be the lower one. the IW nearly shouts that he shouldn't be insulting anyone's intelligence, except the idiot's junk is now at his eye level, and it conforms to that adage to a frightening degree.

it doesn't matter, he decides. if he wants a beast, he'll get one. it's going to be an infinitely awkward angle though. from sitting on the floor, he surges up, grappling at center mass, twists, and brings the UM to the floor, cracking several of the tiles. mercifully for them both, the idiot is quiet for a minute after that, needing to regain his breath. meanwhile, the IW asks the rest of them if they're going to make the same mistake, or if they understand he's not to be messed with.

the reply comes from someone in the back of the group, with a thoroughly scarred face, two gold studs in his forehead and a third 'stud' rubbing oil on his equally scarred body. he says it's strange that an iron warrior of all people would forget how little individual skill matters in the face of overwhelming numbers.

[eggsinside]

the rules of fair combat, he later learns, don't apply to someone who assaulted one of their battle brothers in the middle of a meticulously scheduled orgy. he would tell them that the reverse is true where he's from, but there's no time for him to explain anything when he's getting buried under more oiled meat than a flat-top griddle at a harvest fair. he takes solace in the fact that he broke someone's ankle in the commotion, though he can't tell whose. it might have been his own.

there's so many hands holding him down, he can barely move. someone's legs are under him, but someone else is trying to grab his hips. one of his arms is locked at a bad angle, and the other is trapped under himself. its impossible for him to win, not that that changes anything, he'll fight until he's dead, an iron warrior to the end.

a pale arm flashes in front of his face on the way to putting him in a headlock, and he bites it as hard as he possibly can, refusing to let go even when he realizes whose arm it is from the amount of scarring on it, and from the way its owner barely reacted to having a fist-sized chunk of flesh nearly sheared from his body, other than drily recommending that nobody use that end of him.

he should have been putting his attention elsewhere too.

they didn't bother with preparation. he'd made his choice against it. but what had seemed an obscene amount of oil before was now far too little on contact with his body, one of sweat and resistance and nothing else.

to say that it felt like being stabbed would be an understatement. he'd once witnessed savage displays of pike-mounted bodies, rotting and disemboweled, breaking.

the last bit of gristle between his teeth snapped, and the veteran pulled his maimed arm away with a quiet hiss, letting the IW's head hit the floor. he had a prize of raw bleeding flesh in his mouth, and a punishment of cracking his head against the tile and nearly choking on it on the way down.

[eggsinside]

the other man's thoughts bloomed from the pit of his stomach. a sick, septic warmth almost entirely lost under the pain of being split open, but he grasped the edge of it. more as a brief escape from reality than to get any helpful information.

he was standing over a younger man who was clearly no stranger to being beaten, but who refused to stay down. in other words, an undisciplined idiot who was incapable of learning his lesson. there was no grim admiration of his endurance, no recognition that to live is to prove yourself ceaselessly as worthy of remaining alive. instead it was like he was a feral dog, or a moronic criminal, or a child. someone who does not-- could not understand that the sooner he stops moving, the less severe this had to be.

the memory faded, and there was cold tile under one side of his face. if they had told him, he's not sure he would have believed them. it seems like such an obvious trick. no one sane would just let themselves...

the next thrust pushes the air out of his lungs in something close to a sob. the fight is over. its been over for a while.

he tries to stop moving, but he can't control all of it. he can't stop trembling. he wonders if they will kill him for it. to stave that off, he mumbles an apology into the cracks between the broken tile. the one fucking him seemed to like that a lot. he had the decency to pull out, at least, but finished on his back, which was hardly better.

its a while before he starts to think it could be over.

[eggsinside]

when he finally lifts his head a bit and opens his eyes, he flinches so hard his own shoulder hits his jaw, then freezes up completely. he hadn't realized the scarred guy was right in front of him again. he has a bandage on his arm, and asks if he's going to try and bite him again, as if lying wasn't the most obvious thing for him to do at that moment. he stares at him for a few long seconds, before honestly telling him that he won't.

he gets a smile for that, and a cold feeling down his spine. or maybe it was the cooling semen dripping down his back.

he tells him to get on his knees. he's a little unsteady, but higher up the air is less full of the smell of blood and oil and semen and broken grout. he risks a glance around. no one else is here. not even that idiot that got him into this mess. he wonders when they left.

the older man sits down on the floor next to him, and grabs his flaccid dick with an incredibly greasy hand. he stares back at him, stares at the other man's dick, starts to reach for it to make this mutual, and freezes when he feels the slight pressure of a thumbnail digging into his shaft. he nods, and keeps his hands to himself.

another smile. a creeping sense of losing something.

he's never been jerked off by someone else before. its a weird feeling. almost clinical. but at least it doesn't have to hurt.

its also very, very slow.

the veteran asks him asks him what he wants, and without pausing to think, he answers that he wants to kill himself.

to his credit, he isn't startled, at least not visibly. he wipes the pad of his thumb over the damp tip and asks if he's sure.

[eggsinside]

i keep rotating in my brain the concept of a 30k fic w/ a relatively young, single-braincelled ultramarine who unthinkingly says the most blisteringly offensive things possible about any non-UM legion as if its like, normal conversation, and a grizzled iron warrior who is Audibly grinding his teeth and looking for the first opportunity to put the other guy in his place. but then he gets paranoid and starts thinking this is some 5D entrapment scheme or something, or a test to see if he can keep his cool, or... meanwhile the UM's thought bubble is a spilled cup of mulsum and nothing else.

[eggsinside]

eventually they end up sparring, which is normal behavior for any astertes hanging out, but also an excellent excuse for the IW to beat the ever loving shit out of the UM. and he does. he beats him like he owes him money. he beats him like a dusty rug. he beats him like a pinata who said something about his primarch (he had, if only insinuating that he could stand to be less obstinate). because the IW has like sixty years more experience, and is fueled by spite, it's not even close. afterward, he can see someone looking at them from the corner of his eye, and only because of that does he offer a hand so the UM can peel himself off the sparring mat. and the bastard still has the audacity to criticize his technique, while smiling, before the IW reminds him he lost all four rounds.

walking into the showers, the UW looking like he'd been run over, and the IW without so much as a bruise on him, they find the reason the rest of the sparring area wasn't being used. the UM understands immediately, but the IW's brain takes almost 10 seconds to put the pieces together. he's not wet behind the ears, he knows astertes have sex with each other. what he can't fathom is why this many would be fucking on the same wet floor rather than anywhere more sensible or private. unbidden, he is assaulted by the thought of guilliman writing mandatory team-bonding orgies into his ridiculous codex while making the sickos face.

he turns to express his disgust to the man he'd just finished pummeling into a paste, but he was already across the room washing the blood off of himself, with an entirely unnecessary number of squadmates 'helping' him. just when he thinks he's free to leave them all to their possibly-flowcharted debauchery, he overhears his sparring opponent joke that his dick had probably rusted to pieces from lack of use years ago.

...he can only take that as a challenge. and no matter how hopeless, pointless, or nonsensical, an iron warrior can never walk away from a challenge.

[eggsinside]

he's mildly disappointed that none of them complain that he didn't shower first, because he'd been mentally preparing a list of slurs to reply with. what unsettles him much more though is their reaction to his dick. its larger than the other's he'd seen in the room, not that he was staring, so why are they laughing at him?

returning cleaner than the day he was born and wearing a sheen of oil, the UM from earlier says out loud that its not surprising he's hung like a pack animal, everyone knows a man will be gifted with one head or the other, but for a beast of burden it will always be the lower one. the IW nearly shouts that he shouldn't be insulting anyone's intelligence, except the idiot's junk is now at his eye level, and it conforms to that adage to a frightening degree.

it doesn't matter, he decides. if he wants a beast, he'll get one. it's going to be an infinitely awkward angle though. from sitting on the floor, he surges up, grappling at center mass, twists, and brings the UM to the floor, cracking several of the tiles. mercifully for them both, the idiot is quiet for a minute after that, needing to regain his breath. meanwhile, the IW asks the rest of them if they're going to make the same mistake, or if they understand he's not to be messed with.

the reply comes from someone in the back of the group, with a thoroughly scarred face, two gold studs in his forehead and a third 'stud' rubbing oil on his equally scarred body. he says it's strange that an iron warrior of all people would forget how little individual skill matters in the face of overwhelming numbers.

[eggsinside]

the rules of fair combat, he later learns, don't apply to someone who assaulted one of their battle brothers in the middle of a meticulously scheduled orgy. he would tell them that the reverse is true where he's from, but there's no time for him to explain anything when he's getting buried under more oiled meat than a flat-top griddle at a harvest fair. he takes solace in the fact that he broke someone's ankle in the commotion, though he can't tell whose. it might have been his own.

there's so many hands holding him down, he can barely move. someone's legs are under him, but someone else is trying to grab his hips. one of his arms is locked at a bad angle, and the other is trapped under himself. its impossible for him to win, not that that changes anything, he'll fight until he's dead, an iron warrior to the end.

a pale arm flashes in front of his face on the way to putting him in a headlock, and he bites it as hard as he possibly can, refusing to let go even when he realizes whose arm it is from the amount of scarring on it, and from the way its owner barely reacted to having a fist-sized chunk of flesh nearly sheared from his body, other than drily recommending that nobody use that end of him.

he should have been putting his attention elsewhere too.

they didn't bother with preparation. he'd made his choice against it. but what had seemed an obscene amount of oil before was now far too little on contact with his body, one of sweat and resistance and nothing else.

to say that it felt like being stabbed would be an understatement. he'd once witnessed savage displays of pike-mounted bodies, rotting and disemboweled, breaking.

the last bit of gristle between his teeth snapped, and the veteran pulled his maimed arm away with a quiet hiss, letting the IW's head hit the floor. he had a prize of raw bleeding flesh in his mouth, and a punishment of cracking his head against the tile and nearly choking on it on the way down.

[eggsinside]

the other man's thoughts bloomed from the pit of his stomach. a sick, septic warmth almost entirely lost under the pain of being split open, but he grasped the edge of it. more as a brief escape from reality than to get any helpful information.

he was standing over a younger man who was clearly no stranger to being beaten, but who refused to stay down. in other words, an undisciplined idiot who was incapable of learning his lesson. there was no grim admiration of his endurance, no recognition that to live is to prove yourself ceaselessly as worthy of remaining alive. instead it was like he was a feral dog, or a moronic criminal, or a child. someone who does not-- could not understand that the sooner he stops moving, the less severe this had to be.

the memory faded, and there was cold tile under one side of his face. if they had told him, he's not sure he would have believed them. it seems like such an obvious trick. no one sane would just let themselves...

the next thrust pushes the air out of his lungs in something close to a sob. the fight is over. its been over for a while.

he tries to stop moving, but he can't control all of it. he can't stop trembling. he wonders if they will kill him for it. to stave that off, he mumbles an apology into the cracks between the broken tile. the one fucking him seemed to like that a lot. he had the decency to pull out, at least, but finished on his back, which was hardly better.

its a while before he starts to think it could be over.

[eggsinside]

i keep rotating in my brain the concept of a 30k fic w/ a relatively young, single-braincelled ultramarine who unthinkingly says the most blisteringly offensive things possible about any non-UM legion as if its like, normal conversation, and a grizzled iron warrior who is Audibly grinding his teeth and looking for the first opportunity to put the other guy in his place. but then he gets paranoid and starts thinking this is some 5D entrapment scheme or something, or a test to see if he can keep his cool, or... meanwhile the UM's thought bubble is a spilled cup of mulsum and nothing else.

[eggsinside]

eventually they end up sparring, which is normal behavior for any astertes hanging out, but also an excellent excuse for the IW to beat the ever loving shit out of the UM. and he does. he beats him like he owes him money. he beats him like a dusty rug. he beats him like a pinata who said something about his primarch (he had, if only insinuating that he could stand to be less obstinate). because the IW has like sixty years more experience, and is fueled by spite, it's not even close. afterward, he can see someone looking at them from the corner of his eye, and only because of that does he offer a hand so the UM can peel himself off the sparring mat. and the bastard still has the audacity to criticize his technique, while smiling, before the IW reminds him he lost all four rounds.

walking into the showers, the UW looking like he'd been run over, and the IW without so much as a bruise on him, they find the reason the rest of the sparring area wasn't being used. the UM understands immediately, but the IW's brain takes almost 10 seconds to put the pieces together. he's not wet behind the ears, he knows astertes have sex with each other. what he can't fathom is why this many would be fucking on the same wet floor rather than anywhere more sensible or private. unbidden, he is assaulted by the thought of guilliman writing mandatory team-bonding orgies into his ridiculous codex while making the sickos face.

he turns to express his disgust to the man he'd just finished pummeling into a paste, but he was already across the room washing the blood off of himself, with an entirely unnecessary number of squadmates 'helping' him. just when he thinks he's free to leave them all to their possibly-flowcharted debauchery, he overhears his sparring opponent joke that his dick had probably rusted to pieces from lack of use years ago.

...he can only take that as a challenge. and no matter how hopeless, pointless, or nonsensical, an iron warrior can never walk away from a challenge.

[eggsinside]

he's mildly disappointed that none of them complain that he didn't shower first, because he'd been mentally preparing a list of slurs to reply with. what unsettles him much more though is their reaction to his dick. its larger than the other's he'd seen in the room, not that he was staring, so why are they laughing at him?

returning cleaner than the day he was born and wearing a sheen of oil, the UM from earlier says out loud that its not surprising he's hung like a pack animal, everyone knows a man will be gifted with one head or the other, but for a beast of burden it will always be the lower one. the IW nearly shouts that he shouldn't be insulting anyone's intelligence, except the idiot's junk is now at his eye level, and it conforms to that adage to a frightening degree.

it doesn't matter, he decides. if he wants a beast, he'll get one. it's going to be an infinitely awkward angle though. from sitting on the floor, he surges up, grappling at center mass, twists, and brings the UM to the floor, cracking several of the tiles. mercifully for them both, the idiot is quiet for a minute after that, needing to regain his breath. meanwhile, the IW asks the rest of them if they're going to make the same mistake, or if they understand he's not to be messed with.

the reply comes from someone in the back of the group, with a thoroughly scarred face, two gold studs in his forehead and a third 'stud' rubbing oil on his equally scarred body. he says it's strange that an iron warrior of all people would forget how little individual skill matters in the face of overwhelming numbers.

[eggsinside]

the rules of fair combat, he later learns, don't apply to someone who assaulted one of their battle brothers in the middle of a meticulously scheduled orgy. he would tell them that the reverse is true where he's from, but there's no time for him to explain anything when he's getting buried under more oiled meat than a flat-top griddle at a harvest fair. he takes solace in the fact that he broke someone's ankle in the commotion, though he can't tell whose. it might have been his own.

there's so many hands holding him down, he can barely move. someone's legs are under him, but someone else is trying to grab his hips. one of his arms is locked at a bad angle, and the other is trapped under himself. its impossible for him to win, not that that changes anything, he'll fight until he's dead, an iron warrior to the end.

a pale arm flashes in front of his face on the way to putting him in a headlock, and he bites it as hard as he possibly can, refusing to let go even when he realizes whose arm it is from the amount of scarring on it, and from the way its owner barely reacted to having a fist-sized chunk of flesh nearly sheared from his body, other than drily recommending that nobody use that end of him.

he should have been putting his attention elsewhere too.

they didn't bother with preparation. he'd made his choice against it. but what had seemed an obscene amount of oil before was now far too little on contact with his body, one of sweat and resistance and nothing else.

to say that it felt like being stabbed would be an understatement. he'd once witnessed savage displays of pike-mounted bodies, rotting and disemboweled, breaking.

the last bit of gristle between his teeth snapped, and the veteran pulled his maimed arm away with a quiet hiss, letting the IW's head hit the floor. he had a prize of raw bleeding flesh in his mouth, and a punishment of cracking his head against the tile and nearly choking on it on the way down.

[eggsinside]

i keep rotating in my brain the concept of a 30k fic w/ a relatively young, single-braincelled ultramarine who unthinkingly says the most blisteringly offensive things possible about any non-UM legion as if its like, normal conversation, and a grizzled iron warrior who is Audibly grinding his teeth and looking for the first opportunity to put the other guy in his place. but then he gets paranoid and starts thinking this is some 5D entrapment scheme or something, or a test to see if he can keep his cool, or... meanwhile the UM's thought bubble is a spilled cup of mulsum and nothing else.

[eggsinside]

eventually they end up sparring, which is normal behavior for any astertes hanging out, but also an excellent excuse for the IW to beat the ever loving shit out of the UM. and he does. he beats him like he owes him money. he beats him like a dusty rug. he beats him like a pinata who said something about his primarch (he had, if only insinuating that he could stand to be less obstinate). because the IW has like sixty years more experience, and is fueled by spite, it's not even close. afterward, he can see someone looking at them from the corner of his eye, and only because of that does he offer a hand so the UM can peel himself off the sparring mat. and the bastard still has the audacity to criticize his technique, while smiling, before the IW reminds him he lost all four rounds.

walking into the showers, the UW looking like he'd been run over, and the IW without so much as a bruise on him, they find the reason the rest of the sparring area wasn't being used. the UM understands immediately, but the IW's brain takes almost 10 seconds to put the pieces together. he's not wet behind the ears, he knows astertes have sex with each other. what he can't fathom is why this many would be fucking on the same wet floor rather than anywhere more sensible or private. unbidden, he is assaulted by the thought of guilliman writing mandatory team-bonding orgies into his ridiculous codex while making the sickos face.

he turns to express his disgust to the man he'd just finished pummeling into a paste, but he was already across the room washing the blood off of himself, with an entirely unnecessary number of squadmates 'helping' him. just when he thinks he's free to leave them all to their possibly-flowcharted debauchery, he overhears his sparring opponent joke that his dick had probably rusted to pieces from lack of use years ago.

...he can only take that as a challenge. and no matter how hopeless, pointless, or nonsensical, an iron warrior can never walk away from a challenge.

[eggsinside]

he's mildly disappointed that none of them complain that he didn't shower first, because he'd been mentally preparing a list of slurs to reply with. what unsettles him much more though is their reaction to his dick. its larger than the other's he'd seen in the room, not that he was staring, so why are they laughing at him?

returning cleaner than the day he was born and wearing a sheen of oil, the UM from earlier says out loud that its not surprising he's hung like a pack animal, everyone knows a man will be gifted with one head or the other, but for a beast of burden it will always be the lower one. the IW nearly shouts that he shouldn't be insulting anyone's intelligence, except the idiot's junk is now at his eye level, and it conforms to that adage to a frightening degree.

it doesn't matter, he decides. if he wants a beast, he'll get one. it's going to be an infinitely awkward angle though. from sitting on the floor, he surges up, grappling at center mass, twists, and brings the UM to the floor, cracking several of the tiles. mercifully for them both, the idiot is quiet for a minute after that, needing to regain his breath. meanwhile, the IW asks the rest of them if they're going to make the same mistake, or if they understand he's not to be messed with.

the reply comes from someone in the back of the group, with a thoroughly scarred face, two gold studs in his forehead and a third 'stud' rubbing oil on his equally scarred body. he says it's strange that an iron warrior of all people would forget how little individual skill matters in the face of overwhelming numbers.

[eggsinside]

i keep rotating in my brain the concept of a 30k fic w/ a relatively young, single-braincelled ultramarine who unthinkingly says the most blisteringly offensive things possible about any non-UM legion as if its like, normal conversation, and a grizzled iron warrior who is Audibly grinding his teeth and looking for the first opportunity to put the other guy in his place. but then he gets paranoid and starts thinking this is some 5D entrapment scheme or something, or a test to see if he can keep his cool, or... meanwhile the UM's thought bubble is a spilled cup of mulsum and nothing else.

[eggsinside]

eventually they end up sparring, which is normal behavior for any astertes hanging out, but also an excellent excuse for the IW to beat the ever loving shit out of the UM. and he does. he beats him like he owes him money. he beats him like a dusty rug. he beats him like a pinata who said something about his primarch (he had, if only insinuating that he could stand to be less obstinate). because the IW has like sixty years more experience, and is fueled by spite, it's not even close. afterward, he can see someone looking at them from the corner of his eye, and only because of that does he offer a hand so the UM can peel himself off the sparring mat. and the bastard still has the audacity to criticize his technique, while smiling, before the IW reminds him he lost all four rounds.

walking into the showers, the UW looking like he'd been run over, and the IW without so much as a bruise on him, they find the reason the rest of the sparring area wasn't being used. the UM understands immediately, but the IW's brain takes almost 10 seconds to put the pieces together. he's not wet behind the ears, he knows astertes have sex with each other. what he can't fathom is why this many would be fucking on the same wet floor rather than anywhere more sensible or private. unbidden, he is assaulted by the thought of guilliman writing mandatory team-bonding orgies into his ridiculous codex while making the sickos face.

he turns to express his disgust to the man he'd just finished pummeling into a paste, but he was already across the room washing the blood off of himself, with an entirely unnecessary number of squadmates 'helping' him. just when he thinks he's free to leave them all to their possibly-flowcharted debauchery, he overhears his sparring opponent joke that his dick had probably rusted to pieces from lack of use years ago.

...he can only take that as a challenge. and no matter how hopeless, pointless, or nonsensical, an iron warrior can never walk away from a challenge.

[eggsinside]

i keep rotating in my brain the concept of a 30k fic w/ a relatively young, single-braincelled ultramarine who unthinkingly says the most blisteringly offensive things possible about any non-UM legion as if its like, normal conversation, and a grizzled iron warrior who is Audibly grinding his teeth and looking for the first opportunity to put the other guy in his place. but then he gets paranoid and starts thinking this is some 5D entrapment scheme or something, or a test to see if he can keep his cool, or... meanwhile the UM's thought bubble is a spilled cup of mulsum and nothing else.

[heuldoch7b]

few things more delightful than an astartes who has successfuly gone without the temptations of bodily pleasure (through both indoctrination and personal discipline) getting totally wrecked by his first pointed orgasm. sublime. especially if its through a really specific method and he thinks he has to do it that exact way to feel it again.

he knows the secrets of void combat and is one with his bolter, but his percieved vestigial organ hes neglected is a new, dangerous gateway he has to really put in the effort not to fall out of his training for. yum.

[tsarina-anadyomene]

uh i understand your knight kink post is engaging with the literary construct of the knight rather than the historical actually existing social role but you really failed to engage with the themes and tropes of late medieval grail literature

[eggsinside]

enthrallment happens slowly, then all at once

you'd be so much stronger if you just let me help you, just let me take some of that burden off your shoulders, it'll be fine. i know you keep getting nervous, i can stop it. completely. just for a little while of course, don't worry! nothing dangerous about it. i can see all those worries in your mind, getting in the way of what you could be doing. and i get it, that stuff is self-preservation, but you trust me to watch your back, right? so let me hold all those worries for a change, to let you focus on important stuff. just for a few hours.

you look a lot better rested than usual, i have to say. apologies for not seeking you out last night, i was distracted by my research on such novel thoughts. I mean, it's incredible to imagine someone like you could deal with these fears and anxieties all the time. but here, as promised, you have them back.

again? already? and you were so against it before! don't worry, I won't say 'i told you so.' oh, sorry to hear that it got worse in the interim, panic attacks and night terrors sound terrible, i'll absolutely help you. how does a few days of peace sound? see you in... lets make it a week, actually.

you're practically glowing. here's those hallucinations back. of course you always had them, you're such a strong person. but remember, i'm always here for you when you need a break. my research is progressing very well by the way.

you actually want something more powerful? i never would have brought it up myself, i wouldn't want to be pushy about something as sacrosanct as another person's mind, but if you want... we could try out a binding ritual. its sort of like a door between minds, i could pop in to sweep up any more of those fears as they sprout up. yeah the name is a little intimidating, its because the door is one way and in a very technical sense i'm restricting your mind to keep it from seizing, but its not like you want to have these seizures in the first place, so there's nothing to worry about with me preventing them. we might as well make it permanent at this rate. only if you want that, of course. i would never impose.

oh, you're adorable. taking your nightmares away didn't give them to me. it was the other way around actually. my research is on induced panic from applied illusionism, and you've been really, really helpful. no, you don't have to think too hard about that, or anything else.

[wolfgangsdick]

Shocked I've never seen anyone imagine marines in chastity belts. With all the other kink archetypes in WH, that seems like something that would definitely exist in canon. A tool used to force sexual restraint and control bodily autonomy? Wouldn't be surprised if they had neophytes wearing those before their mental conditioning was done. Just marines wearing chastity belts like a cone of shame cause chaplain caught them being naughty.