A lot of stuff....

27y/o (a Tumblr veteran)//REQUEST FOR IMAGINE, HEADCANON ARE CLOSED!!!! There are a lot of staff that i like, that i draw , that i write and more.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Taglist

(not an actual master list....this blog is soooo old , i’ll try to make it better in the future)

The monkey prince and the five treasures

My Oc

Warhammer40k

Kimetsu no Yaiba //Demon slayer

Genshin Impact 

Transformers

Slaher

Darksiders

Call of duty

One Piece

Black Myth Wukong

Art

My WebToon   //  My Tapas

With this, i can totaly say that NOW you know for what i usually write, draw and other staff. Be free to ask and request!

finally get some courage and decided ot take some commission. For whoever is interested, you can just DM me privately. Traditional works will be shipped, payments method can be arrenged during private conversation.

[tyranid-online]

Primarchs swapping legions for a day

The Lion gets the Emperor’s Children

He walks into a legion of perfect hair and polished armor, the marines try to explain artistry, perfection and the value of beauty but all the Lion hears is noise. He makes them train in absolute silence in a forest with no mirrors, music nor silk banners. The Emperor’s Children are traumatized, one of them asks if they can at least harmonize while dueling and the Lion stares at him until it becomes uncomfortable. Fulgrim gets them back at the end of the day and finds his legion standing in perfect ranks, emotionally hollow, with excellent sword discipline and no joy left in their eyes.

Fulgrim gets the Iron Warriors

He arrives, sees the grey armor, grey walls and the grey siege plans and almost dies on the spot. For him this isn't a legion but a cry for help. The Iron Warriors dislike him but Fulgrim doesn’t care, he redesignes their banners, orders the walls to be painted and tells three captains that their siege trench placement is technically competent but spiritually hideous. An Iron Warrior asks if that will improve the artillery and Fulgrim replies that it will improve them. Perturabo returns to find his legion fortress decorated with statues and immediately starts calculating whether fratricide counts as a strategic loss.

Perturabo gets the White Scars

He is handed a legion of fast moving hit and run cavalry warriors who refuse to sit still long enough for a proper siege briefing and he hates it. Perturabo tries to explain that every campaign should begin with a detailed logistics model and a fortified staging zone and a White Scar captain asks what if they simply go around the fortress? Another asks what if they go around it very fast? Perturabo invents six new kinds of contempt in the span of one afternoon. Half the legion ignores his orders and wins the battle anyway which makes him even more furious. Jaghatai returns and finds Perturabo sitting alone beside a massive tactical map, muttering that they have no discipline, no structure and yet…

Jaghatai gets the Imperial Fists

Jaghatai meets the Imperial Fists, the Imperial Fists meet Jaghatai and immediately begin constructing a defensive position. He tells them that they are attacking before fortification and the Imperial Fists look physically ill. He gets them on bikes. They don’t enjoy it at first because they are too upright and worried about whether the bikes are properly load bearing until one of them discovers the spiritual experience of hitting a bunker at full speed and surviving.

Leman Russ gets the Ultramarines

Russ arrives and immediately senses danger from paperwork. The Ultramarines have schedules for their schedules, binders and compliance officers, one of them arrives with an agenda and Russ immediately eats it. The legion is forced into a morale hunt which involve drinking, shouting and solving tactical problems by throwing someone through a wall. They are horrified until unfortunately some of them begin enjoying it, one  captain even submits a report titled On the Potential Strategic Benefits of Controlled Barbarism. Guilliman returns and finds his legion slightly drunk, covered in mud and somehow ahead of schedule.

Rogal Dorn gets the Night Lords

Dorn takes command of the Night Lords and immediately realizes this may be the emperor’s punishment for something. The marines are whispering murder threats and decorating hallways with things Dorn refuses to identify, he stands beneath a chain of flayed skins, looks at a nearby marine and tells him to remove it, the marine replies it’s load bearing. He begins writing corrective doctrines, when Curze returns he finds the Night Lords standing straighter, their equipment cleaner and their patrol routes tighter, they are worse in the way a knife becomes worse when sharpened properly. Dorn realizes he has accidentally professionalized the nightmare.

Konrad Curze gets the Salamanders

The Salamanders are kind and patient, they call civilians ‘the people’ and ask Curze if he has eaten. They try to include him in an humanitarian evacuation and Curze keeps trying to turn it into psychological warfare. A Salamander gently says that perhaps the children don’t need to see the enemies’ corpses arranged like a warning mural. The Salamanders get him to help rescue civilians but he does it in the most terrifying way possible, a child says thank you and Curze stares at them like they have stabbed him. Vulkan returns and finds him crouched and wrapped in a donated emergency blanket, furious that kindness has happened near him.

Sanguinius gets the World Eaters

Sanguinius arrives and the World Eaters immediately become confused because they want to be angry but the angel is looking at them with profound sorrow. They expect orders to charge but Sanguinius instead asks them to tell him where it hurts. The legion becomes violently uncomfortable, one marine whispers “everywhere” and Sanguinius replies he knows, that’s somehow worse than being yelled at. He does send them into battle but with actual formation discipline, measured fury and medicae support ready behind the line. They hate how effective it is and that he thanks them afterward. Angron returns and finds his legion quieter than usual.

Ferrus Manus gets the Thousand Sons

Ferrus is dropped into a legion of scholarly psychic wizards who want to debate metaphysics before breakfast, that lasts nine minutes. One marine begins explaining the subtle distinction between the immaterial resonance of thought and the structured application of warp touched will and Ferrus asks if it can punch armor. He makes them spend the day proving psychic theories through practical battlefield application. No more hours long philosophical preambles and just … can it break a tank? Can it hold a bridge? Can it kill that thing before it kills us? Magnus returns and finds his sons exhausted, humbled and disturbingly good at direct problem solving.

Angron gets the Blood Angels

The Blood Angels are noble, graceful and constantly standing at the edge of something terrible inside themselves, Angron recognizes that rage instantly and tells them to stop pretending they aren’t angry. For one day their training becomes brutal, honest and terrifying, Angron understands the beast and doesn’t make it pretty, he teaches them to survive the rage by admitting it exists. Sanguinius returns and finds his sons shaken but strangely steadier.

Roboute Guilliman gets the Space Wolves

He arrives with an open mind but it closes within fifteen minutes. Guilliman attempts to implement a clean command structure and the Wolves respond by giving him a nickname, he doesn’t ask what it means but he suspects it’s rude. He makes them file reports, when he reviews it he finds out they contain drawings of wolves eating bureaucrats. Guilliman somehow optimizes their supply lines while being challenged to three duels and one drinking contest. When Russ returns Guilliman tells him that they bit him and Russ explains that it means they like him.

Mortarion gets the Raven Guard

He takes one look at the Raven Guard disappearing into the shadows and calls it cowardice. The Raven Guard take one look at Mortarion walking directly through poison, gunfire, artillery and common sense and call it ‘subtle.’ Neither side approves. Mortarion wants endurance and attrition, the legion wants silence, precision and leaving before anyone knows they were there. He tries to make them hold ground and they keep vanishing, he gives them a direct assault order and they complete it by assassinating the entire command staff and never assaulting anything. Mortarion is furious because technically the objective was achieved. Corax returns to find him standing in an empty battlefield, surrounded by dead enemy officers and no visible marine around.

Magnus gets the Iron Hands

Magnus arrives among the Iron Hands and immediately begins talking about the soul and the legion immediately begins wishing they had less soul. He gives a beautiful speech and the Iron Hands listen in absolute silence, he thinks they are absorbing wisdom until one of them raises a mechanical hand and asks if the soul can be reinforced with adamantium and if weakness can be isolated from the soul and surgically removed. Magnus spends the next hour trying to explain a metaphor and quickly realizes with horror that the Iron Hands don’t reject philosophy, they simply treat it as an engineering problem. He instructs a squad to trust their instincts and they replace three instincts with predictive targeting arrays, he tells another squad to listen to their inner voice and they request permission to install an external speaker. Ferrus returns and finds Magnus is standing in the middle of the strategium surrounded by marines debating whether enlightenment should be bolted directly to the spine.

Horus gets the Dark Angels

He walks into the legion expecting proud knights and ancient traditions but instead he finds seven locked doors, twelve silent officers and a briefing document with half the words redacted. Horus smiles politely and explains that his sons usually just tell him things, the Dark Angels stare at him like he has suggested eating soup with a chainsword. He tries charm, authority, brotherly warmth, tactical genius and just straight up asking nicely but nothing works. Every time he asked about the mission he was told it was simply proceeding. Horus, who is used to being the galaxy’s favorite son, discovers the Dark Angels are completely immune to charisma because they have replaced social skills with sealed archives and emotional masonry. The Lion returns at the end of the day and finds him sitting very still in a command chair, smiling too hard.

Lorgar gets the Luna Wolves

He is handed a legion of confident and practical charismatic warriors who are used to Horus giving inspirational speeches that end with immediate victory. Lorgar gives them a sermon and they wait politely for the tactical part but the sermon continues… they begin to panic quietly. One marine asks when do they attack and Lorgar replies “when you understand why.” At the end of the day half the legion has been emotionally moved, a quarter has started a discussion circle and the remaining quarter is begging for Horus to come back. Horus returns and finds his sons strangely introspective. One marine asks him what is conquest without meaning and Horus slowly realizes he is going to have to undo all of this.

Vulkan gets the Death Guard

Vulkan arrives among the Death Guard and decides immediately that these men need a warm meal, the legion is confused and suspicious. He inspects their equipment and their living conditions and immediately starts fixing things, they don’t know how to react to a primarch who can endure suffering but doesn’t consider it a personality trait. A veteran explains that they are meant to endure hardship and Vulkan replies that yes, endure it but not worship it. This sentence causes psychic damage to Mortarion several systems away. Mortarion returns and finds his legion healthier, better supplied and deeply uncomfortable about having been cared for.

Corvus Corax gets the Alpha Legion

Corax arrives and immediately realizes something is wrong not because they are sneaky, he expected that but because they are being sneaky at him. He has never been in a room with so many men who treat basic communication like a murder mystery dinner. He attempts to run a covert operation and the legion responds by creating six false covert operations around the real covert operation then forgetting to tell Corax which one is real because of ‘operational integrity’. Corax asks if they understand that secrecy is meant to serve the mission and one legionnaire replies that it’s exactly what they wanted him to think.

Alpharius Omegon get the Word Bearers

The Word Bearers are thrilled because they have been given a primarch who understands hidden meaning and layered truth… Actually they have been given two primarchs. The first one arrives in the chapel, the second one is already sitting in the chapel, a marine looks between them, eyes shining with spiritual terror and asks if that’s a test. One replies yes, the other replies no and the entire legion gasps. Within ten minutes there are already three interpretive schools. One believes Alpharius represents the revealed truth and Omegon the hidden truth, one believes Omegon represents the revealed truth and Alpharius the hidden truth and the last believes there was only ever one primarch and the second is a metaphor for obedience. The twins do absolutely nothing to clarify this. One marine attempts to begin a sermon and Alpharius interrupts saying it’s too direct and that a truth spoken plainly is vulnerable to enemy interpretation. By afternoon every sermon has become encrypted and every hymn contains a false verse designed to mislead infiltrators. Lorgar returns, he sees a marine crying with joy because he has just received a command he can’t understand from a primarch who may not have been there and he feels genuine horror and awe because now the legion is worse in a way he respects.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

on the other hand we have the Lady of the current legion dealing with her brother in law, trying still tondo her job and having now to take care to her bunch of confuseds sons.

Lady Guilliman had to deal with them drunk.

Lady Lupercal had to reassure that yes their father is coming soon.

The lady of the Iron hands is taking bet to see when Magnus will have a mental breakdown.

The Lady of the white scars is having the day of her life and a good laugh.

Lady Russ is in the "now you know whit I have to deal everyday" mode.

Things are great.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Hi! I first just want to let you know that your works are wonderful! You are such a great writer and I look forward to more content!

I do have a very self indulgent ask though lol, you are more than welcome to skip this if it is of no interest to you!

I'm new to warhammer and have recently learned that one primarch is able to change his size at will. And it has me wondering, how would the primarchs react if reader could do this? (Maybe she is a perpetual that was sleeping for a few thousand years cause she pisses Emp off on purpose and just recently woke up.)

I also just finished Space Marine 2 and I wonder how our 3 main blue boys would react to the same thing.

I absolutely have no expectations of you to write for all of them! That is a lot to ask, you can pick whichever ones at your leisure if any at all! Again, thank you for the content you make! Every nibble is amazing! I am sorry for the long ask lol, but thank you for hearing me out on this! ❤️

Oh gosh...these compliments...not do used....help...

ANYWAY

@beckyninja @lovejisco @aggresivemenace @hopefully-grimderp @absynthe-mind @bunny-fair @thatnightlamp @gh0st-nebulae @celestia042 @silenthopper @baldieboi @randomlyappearingartist @pearlokami @tangerineallergy @vithralith @bookandyarndragonwritesdark @blackstarangel

Damocles squad:

Demetrian Titus: when everybody view you as a danger, as something that should not be trusted, to sent you straight to the inquisition and endind the story before it could start. Titus approached you differently, talking to you like a human being and accepting that what he had in front of his eyes was a curious yet rare manifestation of Psyker abilities. He understand that you had been imprisoned in that cryo pod even before the Heresy, damn even before the great Crusade! The documents sais nothing about you, just about a querry between you and the Emperor himself. You talk about him like you talk about an old friend turning bad, you have the eyes of someone that had lost everything for the caprice of a man. He should kill you where you stand but it would just be a blood bath for nothing since you can't die. He does, on the other hand, understand that your power offered you nothing but solace against a world that seemed to knew only violance.

Gadriel Valorem: You are like an error on a white page and he doesn't like it. He doesn't like the fact that Titus prefer you around than under the constant vigilance of his brothers, as he doesn't like that he does not reprimend your way of talking about their crusade and their fighting. He voice his discomfort, as he show them by bumping you and showing you off like if you were nothing...untill you took a size bigger than him and reminded him that you were around even before the idea of the Imperium of man could see the light in the head of the Emperor, so he should watch his tongue around his piers. Maybe it's the fact that you stood your ground against him or that you showed him that you are not afraid of a man two meters tall, yet he start then to treat with more...civility.

Meduras Chairon: Maybe is the fact that Titus trust you, maybe is that strange feeling in the guts noticing for how long that cryo pod was shut in that vault, but he's far more gentle or at least sympathetic of your state. He have a good eyes for warp machinery and treaty and you are obviously not one. You are someone that has been putted in a tomb and left to rot alone untill the end of times, for what reasons he doesn't know. He's not sure how to feel about your way of describe the Emperor, but he can sense no malice. In your way, he was a man and you were someone that had dared to say that what he was doing was wrong. He should be offended, but he find no harm or anger while listening to you. As the way he can say to calm Gadriel, you are just a person that can became as tall as a mountain as small as a mouse, nothing more.

Primarchs:

Lion El'Johnson: surprised, not shocked because he had already knew for a bit. He had hos suspicions when he moticed the small and almost invisible changes that made no sense to him, then he investogations. Allright, must be a psychic thing maybe, the Perpetual thing means you can stay at his side forever, good to know. He had waited for you to tell him, is clear as day that he already knew. He also had made a few research about your...ex relationship with his father. Impressive, he believe, yet he must be sure to keep you close to his eyes. He also realize that you can became so little that you can spy on people...usefull.

Fulgrim: his only concern, and joy, is that this means he had to redo your wardrobe. Finally he can hold his beloved without looking like he's holding a doll or a puppy! And the perpetual thing? He literally cry, it means that death will never do you part. If there wasn't this akward feeling about your past with the Emperor...

Perturabo: his not... enthusiastic. He enjoyed being bigger than many, the only ones he tolerated to be taller than him were his brothers. Now he have sometime to view his lover getting even taller than Magnus just to spite him. He do find adorable whennyoubtake such a small form just to make him laugh. The not loosing you is great, what make him alittle uneasy is the chance you may be in a state of perpetual pain without the freedom of death. He had to fix this thing. Yet, he find almost laughable that you were able to piss off the Emperor and now there you were, just a step close to the son he never wanted to aknoweldge.

Jaghatai Khan: he'll ask questions, like "do it hurt when you chane? What about your bones? How ling can you stay like that?" He's curious and find this ordeal quite funny. He's even thinking to ask you to became a giant so he can do some tricks with his bike and use you as obstacle as he love to take you in his pocket for important meetings. He had not grasped the fact you can't die, but he had found hilarious your relationship with his father. He started to understand why he love you so much.

Leman Russ: he look at you and wonder what kind of strange event allowed your existance. You reminded him of those old tales, of the giants that fought the old gods and made the worlds tremble. Instead you were just...you. A bored individual that knew stories of his father that even he believed impossible. He doesn't know of he likes you or if he want you on a pyre, for now tell him stories he may likes. He genuinely despise when you became taller than him and hold him like a baby.

Rogal Dorn: once he realized what you are, what you did and what you can do his brain just...freezed. It wasn't the fact that you could change size or that you could live forever, those were a relief to him. His real problem was that you were imprisoned for a reason, because the Emperor wanted you gone and now you were walking in the Palace like you own the place. He wondered what kind of reckless thing you had pull on his father, yet he did had noticed an almost invisible smirk on Malcador face once. The changing size is even helpfull for the construction, no more flying spatula.

Konrad Curze : he find the fact that you had pissed off the Emperor a laughable irony, even the fact that you had fallen in love with him is almost hilarious. Your being a perpetual does, on the other hand, worry him. You are able to survive everything, that made you a plaything for his deranged sons, so he'll keep this information to himself. Then he saw you became taller than his Astartes and he found his worries less aprehensive than before.

Sanguinius: he hope to not endulge in you, that his thirst doesn't take a tool on him and that the idea that you won't die in any case don't take roots in his head. Is a possibility that he doesn't want to face. He's also quite plagued with the idea that his father, knowing about your oast togethed, may decide to take actions against you or him. He such a worried man and yet so in love. He must admit, he love to be holded for once, especially when you became taller and bigger than him, it make him understand how usually baseline feel. Became even smaller than the average human so you could sneak in during meetings and staying with him? Make his heart flatter.

Ferrus manus: not pleased, stop moving around his staff. Stop putting it everywhere and stop hiding them where not even a normal baseline could reach them. You'll get to stay in the jar if you keep it up. He start to understand why his father freezedbyou up...

Angron: if you get smaller you can hide better during his episodes. Whennyou became bigger your embraces are so perfect rhatbfor once he understand what it means to be loved for real. Yourblove os warm, you are warm and he's gratefull and happy to know that time will never take you away from him. The idea he may hurt you still linger in his head and he won't accept the excuse that you cannot die. A single scratch on you is what he cannot take. He fear that the Emperor may take you away another time, that he may do hurt you and force you to leave him. He will set the galaxy aflame to avoid it.

Roboute Guilliman: what's really impress him is not your curious ability, despite how helpfull in many way can be. He so appreciate when you became bug as him as a way to ground him, as he appreciate when by becoming so small you help him recover thing he had may lost. He appreciate everyrhing, but what really impressed him was that you were around BEFORE everything. You met the Emperor before he became what he was, you knew the old ways! He's quite took by surprise when you described the Emperor as " a senile and petty indovidual" and somehow he started to wonder if he had freezed you for more personal motivs

Mortarion: he want you eradicated. You are a psyker, you are not welcomed in his presence and he care so little about everything else. He should kill you, but he can't because you can literally die. He would love to see you to rot and get crazy in a cell, then he noticed how close you seemed to see to the Emperor, how your sole name can make him look almost displeased...then he heard the stories, he lerned about you...well this should be fun.

Magnus: he so confused...then curious...the. happy. Did you know that game Eclipsa and her husband had done? Yes you do that one. He felt less...mighty, in certain way. He also had the chance to view the Emperor in a different way and even death will never tear you as part!

Horus Lupercal: well...tghe idea of have his partner forever at his side is...tempting... He cares little about the size shifting, to be fair is quite adorable when you get this small so he can toke your head, it give a smile to his face. He do find quite...difficult to digest is the fact that his father, the Emperor, did not seem to have a good memory of you. You say a story, his father will say naother, it's hard to know where the truth lie.

Lorgar Aurelian: you are like the holy Emperor! A creature gifted with eternal youth and eternal life and gifted with power that can make the rules of mass crumble!...Yeah, he said it like that, it does not help the situation. He'll make statue of you, hyms, because you are perfect! And...well he love when he can be cradle in your bigger arms, is sweet....,he wonder if someone ever did it with him when he was small. He will hold his tongue about you to his father, he have enough consciousness to understand that your relationmship is a sore one, yet he want to know everything that had happened!

Vulkan: Only after he experienced the state of dying and then comeback he'll realize that is not a gift but a curse. He'll understand better how you had felt for so long. But this is after, for now he can look at the way your body change like the metal does. He's impressed, but he wonder if sometimes you feel pain in doing it, as he wonders what kind of life you must had before waking up and what have you done to cast such a punishment on yourself.

Corvus Corax: he does not approve what his father did. Yes, maybe you were out of line, but it was enough to put you into a freezer?...Nope, he does not appreciate that at all, na ah. He find your ability interesting, he know his brother Magnus can do something like that but he had imagined that, since he was a Primarch, certain ability were out of the questions for many baseline. And there you were now, small as an ants, hiding close to him to ear what those nobles are saying. You are curious as interesting.

Alpharius//Omegon: And who do you think took you out from the slumber? Those two heard about your mishaps with the Emperor and wanted to know what happened to the true source. They did not expected someone that could shift their body like that for sure... Well, that's a new! How do you feel about infiltration missions?

[mehiwilldoitlater]

@jollyriverspy404

[mehiwilldoitlater]

may i request yandere konrad with the 19th prompt? 🙏

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@gh0st-nebulae @celestia042

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@blackstarangel

the prompt list

created by: @yandere-genji

19. “I know it hurts, honey, but that’s what happens when you don’t do what I say.”

tw: injuries, blood, yandere

He was used to pain, he had grown to see it as someone see an ant, a bothering thing mov8ng around. He had learned a long ago that pain has been part with humans since they started to walk on Terra and when they move away jn the stars.

A sad and yet pure legacy of what they were.

He had knew pain, he knew many way to inflict it and his body did not quivered when the blade moved again against himself.

He knew what he was doing, he had done it so many time that he could have done it with his eyeclosed. And he had worked in the darkness many times.

The scalpel needed to cut, not too deep neither too lightly. The tip needed to meet where the flesh morphed into the fresh skin, where the process of the cells started, where the fat deposed to protect against the environment. He was an expert, the chest didn't had enough fat and he met the hardness of his sternum almost immediately. Usually, for his work, he wpuld had started to the neck, a long cut that would had then followed the spine allowing then the other blades to detach the skin from the muscle, but that wasn't the case. He just needed that one part, the one close to his heart, where it beated between the soft pain and the image of what he needed to do.

A normal man would had stopped, breathing hardly, maybe throwing up for the pain. But Konrad wasn't...and he hated that he couldn't completely understood the pain he was inflicting you.

It wasn't right, he knew that, he wasn't stupid to not seeing his despicable ways, how deeply the rot in him had taked him. And yet no clear thoughts was enough to take away the image in his head that hurted him more than the feeling of his skin slowly and carefully ripped from him.

He had told you to never leave his side, to never venture where you weren't supposed to go, to stay where he had assure you it was safe, where his shadow could always reach you and take you away from the putrid reality you both lived. It was for the best, he had told you many times, always reminded you how dangerous the universe was for someone like you, especially knowing how ready his sons were to harm every kind soul they can find. He hated the, he hated for what they rappresented and for what they could do to you.

And he shold had know that at some point no amount of excuses or pleases could prepared him for the panic of find that room empty and the small note in your hand writing.

"Be back soon!"

He didn't wanted to remmeber the fury, the fear, the sense of confusion and the nausea he felt when he realized that you did had wondered out from the palace, from where he knew he could protect you and gave you everything you could ever wanted.

And he didn't wanted to remember the vision.

Your scream, your cries, your begging for them to stop and you calling his name, hoping for his arrival.

And he did came and he cared so little when the one he slayed were his so called sons. He came in time, you were just scared and with a singular cut on your cheek. You were safe, you were fine.

And he couldn't allow this event to happen never again, not when he realized how his gentle ways had leaded him. So if you needed a contast reminder...then he had so little choice.

He sighed, feeling already his skin regrowing with an unhuman speed on his wound. He would had scratched it away later, he needed the cut to be still fresh. The one he had removed fallen heavily on the metal plate, a small portion for a Primarch yet quite abnormally large for a baseline like you.

He rised from the chair, holding the plate with a sense of doubt. This would had left a permanent mark, something that no matter the time it would be like a stain on a orfect canvas....

No, it needed to be done, there was no other way.

The other door leaded to a more cleaned and far more prepared room. You sleeped soundly, the drugs fully working on you, your cheeks still stained with the tears from when he had forced the needle in your arm.

He didn't wnated you to feel pain, you would had felt it later and that was enough for him.

He closed the door behind him, his eyes now focused on the needle.

///

"Come...I need to check on the stitches..."

You trembled, holding yourself against the wall. Not completely at least.

He offered his hand, gesturing you to get closer, to trust him again. You just moved your head away, your hiccups and sobs had already token away your breath.

"...You'll get an infection...and we'll have to do it over again if you don't do what I say."

He didn't wnated to sound menacingly, but from the way you looked at him he realized the threat he had posed. He wanted to shout, but it would had made thing only worst.

Yet, it was enough to convince you to get closer and to follow him on that chair, surrounded by small vials, bottles and clean bandages. Your eyes were glued to the ground, not because you couldn't look at what you thought was your lover but to not seeing that one part of him.

There was a small ripping sound when he freed your wound from the gauzes, the smell of your blood and his skin immeidately reached his nostrils. It was..strange...almost nice. He tooked a minute to admire his work, the black thread connecting your lively and perfect skin to the greysh and sickening one. He had debated if he should had make them match, your chest with his own, identical wounds for each other. But no, he didn't wanted you to remmeber that, not by making sure you were forced to see it every second of your life.

When he moved the soaked cotton on the sticthes, carefull to not break them while removing the remaining coagulated blood, he felt that small shiver on you. He stopped, lowering down enough to meet your head with his own lips.

“I know it hurts, honey, but that’s what happens when you don’t do what I say.” He whispered, his hand acressing your shoulder. "I told you...how scary this world is...how they find something precious and pure and just..."

he wnated to spit, to remove even the feelings of that image from hsi mind.

"But now...I know you won't do it again...and I'm sure everyone will see who they have to face if they even try to hurt you."

And while caressing the spot where now your skin lived on him, he could not hold a smile.

[loverofbumblebees]

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

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.

Chapter Masterpost

Chapter One

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

Chapter Three: the heart that fed

Your heartbeat roars in your ears, and it feels as though the organ may come up your throat along with the acrid taste of vomit. Muscles tremble as you move on, and your mind is struggling to keep up with your actions.

What had you done, what had you done, what had you done?!

Showing any form of mercy to him of all people was unfathomable– it was beyond treason! It was, it was- 

Stop. Stop.

You couldn’t think about it anymore.

There’s the distinct feeling of your hands shaking, but as you look down they don’t feel like they’re attached to your arms. These hands weren’t yours– these were the hands that had ruined everything.

Serayne gets your meal ticket again as you curl onto the threadbare blanket on your bed. Your insides twist and turn, and you weep again, tears dripping down your face and splattering onto the pillow.

What a pathetic sight you made. 

All you had truly done in the time since starting this wretched duty was cry and cry and cry. All you could feel was desolation and ever present rising bile in your throat that threatened to spill over more and more each passing day. All you could smell was the ash of your home and the sharp tang of blood tainted bleach.

Was this what you were destined for?

Had you done something to deserve such torment?

Perhaps you could beseech the Commander to use a different cleaner, or at least to rotate the shifts out. Plead that it was eating at your soul– that you couldn’t stand another moment with that haunting figure of a man. You would beg at the Commander’s feet if you had to. Surely he would understand– those eyes haunted you at night, and now there would be a new nightmarish vision to join them.

As you drift into fitful sleep, you resolve that no matter what you need to get further and further away from the whole situation. 

Because if you don’t… it will ruin you.

“Well, I have to say I’m impressed– a job well done!” comes the greeting in the morning.

You’re gobsmacked.

Either you have the worst luck in the universe, or there is an entity with a cruel, cruel sense of irony. Stars above it might be both. Or perhaps you are fantastic at manifesting the worst of circumstances– because here, at the crack of dawn and start of the work day, is the Commander himself standing outside your door. An unusual escort to your least favourite task, and you can only wonder what fresh hell would grace the halls today.

There’s tiredness in your bones as you follow him. Never directly beside, always one step behind.

He looks you over approvingly, and there’s some idle chatter as the two of you walk. You try to stutter out something that sounds vaguely appropriate as an answer and wrap your head around the early morning ambush. The conversation takes a distinct shift in tone when you enter the prison complex section of the base, and Davidson seems to stand taller and straighter as you approach the room. His medals sparkle under the fluorescent lighting.

You jump as a hand lands on your shoulder, and he chuckles goodnaturedly.

“Listen, I wanted to speak with you personally today to tell you that you’ve done a good job,” he starts as he casually undoes the first few locks as though he were opening a shed instead of a cell. The Commander pauses to look back at you, “but I suspect you already guessed that.”

You nod in agreement– because you had, and swallow thickly as the anticipation kicks in to see what awaits on the other side.

The door swings open and as your eyes adjust to the darkness, you search for what’s changed on his figure, darting up and down the now horribly familiar form. What catches you off guard is that nothing looks worse than yesterday. If anything it looks better, especially now that his legs were a little cleaner.

His cuts seemed shallower, scabbing slightly and only oozing rather than freely weeping down his skin. Older scars look ever so slightly fainter, and though his face is once again obscured by his hair, you can tell there is an overall better pallor to him.

It makes you stop short, and the commander chuckles warmly, placing a hand on your shoulder while looking down at you– his gaze not transfixed by the captive laid bare like yours has been.

And then he remarks, “When we first trialled the idea of getting someone to clean in here, we weren’t sure what the results would be,” his hand moves off your shoulder and he turns away from you, letting your head follow his movement. 

“But we like it - or, well, at least the senior officers can stand in here now without having to wipe down their boots afterwards - and hold their noses.” Davidson winks at you like this is some sort of inside joke, but all that you can do is glance between him and the prone figure that haunts your dreams.

Your body remains turned towards the Emperor as you look back to see what Davidson is doing, and you’re surprised to see him fiddling with a large new attachment to the wall behind you. It’s on the far side of the wall, but you hadn’t even seen it as you’d come in, far too concerned with changes to him rather than the room itself.

“And we like yesterday’s initiative, too.”

Your heart sinks to your stomach, and your breathing quickens as anxiety shoots to every inch of your skin.

This is it. You hadn’t even had a chance to talk with him about anything you had wanted too, so caught off guard in the early morning and the conversation was utterly dominated by him. And now they’d seen what you’d done.

Blood rushes to your head, the pounding of your pulse so loud in your ears you can barely make out his next words:

“I know it hasn’t been easy, and that this is a tough ask of you— which is why I took the liberty to have this installed just for you.”

You recognise the shape now that he stands back slightly and turns towards you both once more. 

It’s a hose, with a short but thick pipe, topped with a twistable nozzle that the commander is still fiddling with as he steps forwards. 

“What?” you finally question, voice tinged with confusion and concern for what they were going to ask of you. You couldn’t deny it would be handy, but you had your buckets and you could refill them with the hallway tap like normal. It was of no real inconvenience, and your brain has yet to make the leap he wanted you to.

Water gushes out, fast, hard and freezing cold.

The commander turns it slightly until the spray is a harsh jet, and you have to bite back the shriek of shock that jumps up as he turns it on the Emperor. It doesn’t quite blast his skin off– and for that you are grateful– but it acts much like a pressure washer as it works to detach the muck from his flesh. 

You’d never felt so uncomfortable just watching something– gawking as the chained man folds in on himself as icy water savages his torso, the overspray dripping onto the tiles. Chunks of grime flake off under the pressure and slide towards the drain, revealing more and more olive toned skin underneath, along with even more hidden injuries and at least a dozen scars to match each fresh line that makes itself known.

However, almost as soon as it has started does the torrent come to a spurting stop. Your thoughts are interrupted as you’re spoken to again.

“Your new task is to make sure he is as clean as the room - or well, close enough.” Davidson’s words are accompanied by a proud smile of pearly white teeth as he pushes the hose into your empty hands. He commiserates, “I know you don’t want to get close, and I don’t blame you, but I trust you to get the job done. Keep up the good work!”

He leaves the room, door thudding heavily behind him, and the only thought you can form is that you don’t understand.

You don’t understand any of this, and trying to process it is making your head spin. 

Worst of all, you didn’t understand why you?

The room tilts on its side as you stare at the hose in your hand.

The Emperor’s face rises for the first time since you’ve entered, and when you catch sight of his face there’s the clattering noise of the hose falling to the floor, rolling across the tiles in a semicircle as your loose fingers tremble. Your feet shuffle backwards in horror, and you barely catch yourself from tripping over the coiled rubber behind you on sheer instinct.

Brown, piercing, bloodshot eyes have moved to meet yours.

How they’re back you could never have guessed– you certainly know they’re not spending insanely costly healing resources on regenerating him, but they’re back. They’re back and they’re staring at you intently, as if memorising every inch of your face. 

You hate it.

You hate him.

You hate everything about this situation and your gut twists as you war internally.

Another step and your back has hit the wall. It’s cool and solid against your shivering and sweating form. You can only imagine what he sees when he looks at you– a small rabbit in front of a starving lion.

“Go on then,” he hisses, venom seeping through every syllable. You flinch.

His whole form is tense, as if waiting for the next hit. Lean and ragged muscles are taught against every restraint as he braces against them, face defiantly bared towards you. His teeth have returned, and his lips have curled up in a snarl to show every single one.

But then the fight drains from him.

His words are not defeated– they still grind through gritted teeth– but they hold a resignation that his burning anger didn’t. 

“...get it over with.”

The silence between you stretches on– neither moving, neither yielding. You have nothing to say in response because you don’t know where to begin.

But you do know what to do, because the job needs to be done and you know you cannot pick up that hose. It lies on the floor, pristine like an unexploded grenade. You already know your hands will refuse to hold it. The Commander cannot be refused though, so you leave into the side room and start filling up your cart. Fresh buckets of water, soaps, scrubber, sponge - you check each article twice just to buy yourself precious time before you have to go back in. 

When you enter again, his head snaps up to look at you– face impassive and unreadable, but his body is more composed than when you’d left. Just as soon as you’ve registered his action, he lets it fall down again, hair closing in to shield his expression.

You approach tentatively, like you would have a rabid beast– with wide eyes, trembling limbs and the constant mental whisper asking you if you really want to do this. 

If you turn around now and grab the hose, you won’t have to get any closer to him.

The whole trolley shakes as you fiddle with the scrubber, changing out the attachments and pouring some soap concentrate into the bucket until you’re satisfied with your weapons of war - a sponge on a stick and a jug of lukewarm soapy water.

Your brain wrestles with the fact that you’re going to have to get close to him. Far closer than you’ve ever been comfortable with. If you’d told your month younger self what you were about to be doing, you would have laughed until your face turned red– because the idea was preposterous. It bordered on insanity, and yet here you were, about to embark upon the task.

Why did the line you were willing to cross have to keep shifting?

You were closer now than you ever had been before– able to see the details of his skin that were bruised and filthy, and he looked exactly like he smelled. Decrepit. 

A section of the grime was peeled off now, along with the small section you’d done yesterday, but everywhere else was still caked in gore. It was disgusting beyond measure. You had not a single clue how he could remain so composed while practically embalmed in his own blood and viscera. 

You supposed that he would have to be, well, used to it by now.

Do not think too hard about it.

Turning off your train of thought as best as you can, you set your jaw in grim determination. The only way out of this room was through this task, and there was no easy way to complete it.

The water sloshes as you sink the sponge in with a vengeance, water and bubbles spilling over the sides in equal measure as you dunk it until it’s fully saturated. 

There is no more delaying it.

Your teeth grind as you poke the stick towards him, excess water dripping down his legs as your contraption wobbles towards his shoulders. His frame is still somehow excessively broad and strong, even with his skin pulled tight over muscle that’s too lean - not a pinch of spare pulled across his bones. He just looks too big to be real. When the sponge connects with his skin you expect him to say something, do something or even just acknowledge you - but he doesn’t. 

So you get on with it. 

The sponge rubs back and forth, the stick providing a leverage that lets you put some force in without getting too close. You can’t imagine it's very soft or gentle but it’s far, far better than the practically skin flaying spray down. There’s a horrible joke somewhere to be made about nurses, sick patients and sponge baths, but you try to shake away the thoughts and treat it like you’re washing down a dirty statue, given he might as well act like one most of the time.

Slowly, more and more of a greyish olive tone is revealed, thin veins trailing but standing out starkly from his skin. Sections are lightened and raised where scars upon scars upon scars have been layered and layered and layered. Every pass reveals more and more collected cruelty. 

It was far easier to ignore the injuries and implications from afar, when you had the luxury of staying away and ignoring him in the dim lighting. Disregarding the way his flesh always held some kind of fresh bruising. You supposed that you could ignore him again – this was a self imposed torture, after all.

All you had to do was step back and pick up the hose.

But you don’t– you keep scrubbing, occasionally splashing over fresh water to clear your canvas, working at him much like you would the floor. Tiles first, the larger expanses of anatomy mostly cleared, then the grout, finer creases and folds of the skin worked into and focussed on. 

And just like the room, he is eventually clean too, or well, everything except his head.

Then you have to ask yourself - are they expecting you to do his face when washing him down? 

…

The answer is of course they are. 

You can imagine it easily, water pounding against his face. Delicate skin, tender and recovering eyes, mouth, nose - all victim to the same treatment. The way he’d splutter and cough involuntarily as it forced its way into his lungs.

Maybe it would have been best to use the hose after all, it would have been over quickly rather than subjecting yourself to even more mental torture and gymnastics to justify your action to yourself. 

For a flash of a moment something else plays in your mind, where you’re kneeling next to him, softly wiping down his face with a gentle touch and cloth. The thought bites at you, making your stomach churn and hands tremble.

No.

This was far enough. You had gone far enough now.

Instead you dunk the sponge back into the bucket, swilling it a few times and pressing it into the sides to try and clear it from most of the muck. The water had long since turned into a discoloured mess, but it was clean enough in comparison to him at least. It would just about get the job done - not unlike yourself really.

He twitches when it pushes against his cheek, but he doesn’t flinch back from you, his head still bowed. You push it back slightly and his hair parts as you try and make a start and get it over with. 

Which is a mistake.

Because he is watching you, and now you can see his eyes.

They’re not piercing you, no, that would be far too kind. They’re questioning, and cynical.

Brown, but in the way amber is when it’s hit by the midday sun, like honey on rye except there’s a light to them. You wouldn’t have described them as the glowing golden judgement that the galaxy depicted, but as warm earth backlit by something untold - like he knows something you don’t. 

For all they hold something of the beyond, they’re human. 

They’re human and they hold his pain. 

You can ignore it from afar, you can build up walls and defend yourself from the way his muscles shake and form trembles and body bleeds but you cannot look a man in the eyes and ignore his agony as it seeps into you. He is not a chained God, he is sickeningly human.

The cold of the tiles doesn’t register against you as you sink into them.

He is silent as he regards you. There are no snippy remarks or quips or witty cutting words that remind you why he is here, why it is he deserves this fate. You have to wonder just how well the power limitations work on him when he might as well be stripping your soul bare.

Except he isn’t, he can’t be, because he doesn’t understand… though then again, neither do you.

“Why?”

The sun beats down on you, scorching your skin as you work the saw– sweat dripping down your back and soaking the thin shirt you wear as you heave the massive instrument with your fellow worker. You’re beginning to get concerned for him, watching his breathing get more and more ragged as the two of you continue. His eyes aren’t…quite all there anymore as he throws himself against the motion of the work.

Back and forth, back and forth.

It’s hard labor, using the massive handsaws to cut the trees– which is why you and your fellow rebel captives had been assigned to do it by the Imperial soldiers. When you’d come to consciousness in that camp, they’d stripped you of everything except your clothes and set you to work cutting down the trees that had once protected you.

Back and forth, back and forth.

You’d cried your first few shifts as you’d made wounds in those giants, practically feeling the anguish that you inflicted upon them. But eventually the tears had dried, and you were resolute in your job. You still mourn the towering woods, but you would rather see it fall by your hand than the cruel fist of the Imperium. At least they would go down with dignity– with decency.

Back and forth, back and forth.

If only your family had been granted such a respite.

Back and forth, back and-

Your companion seizes, then falls to the ground, not moving, and you freeze– hands still curled around the slickening handle. Glancing around, you mentally weigh the options. 

Were you meant to help? The guards weren’t looking at your team directly, which meant that no one had noticed the prone figure. But your fingers refuse to move as your mind turns over the idea that you could get punished for not continuing in your job, even if you were showing simple concern.

Words stick in your throat as you stare at the man on the roots. He’s gaunt from starvation and twisted from his fall. 

Then the guards finally notice, and one of them shouts out, “We got another one down!”

Grumbling breaks out from the group, and two of them peel away to come drag your partner away. They’re about your age, and you shrink backwards as they approach– cowing your head and staring at them through the hair that’s fallen into your eyes. 

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.

One of them looks up suddenly from where they’re inspecting the body, and scoffs upon seeing you.

“Well, well– look at this one taking a break. Get back to work!” he snarls, and your body jerks back into action.

The saw doesn’t move nearly as fast when it’s just you, but you heave your entire body weight into it. Your own breath gets a little ragged as your muscles exert themselves beyond what they’re capable of. Your former companion has been dragged away, and your mind wanders to the Rites that should be performed for him. Maybe you could… try… later. You didn’t know his name, but he’d been a sturdy fellow until the bitter end.

You wonder if you’ll be joining him shortly as your vision swims. But you keep on going.

Back and forth, back and forth.

Another man joins you not too long afterwards– a middle aged man with a half-shorn beard. He looks world weary as he takes up the other end of your tool. The two of you spend the entire afternoon and evening working that damn saw. Neither of you say anything. There wasn’t a need to– it was already stamped on the lifeless things that lie behind you. People and trees, cut down before their prime.

It isn’t until the next day that all of you are roused– the bunkhouse you’re assigned to is hastily constructed. There are other teams assigned to building railway systems and command posts and more bunkhouses because the Imperium will not rest until everyone on your planet has a place within it. The snake has opened its mouth wide to swallow your people whole, and it will succeed.

They always will.

Your bunk bed is shared with several other people– but your group has the fortunate luck to only have two people to a bed. It totals out to six people in each column, the bunks going three beds high. All of you are expected outside for roll call, and you stumble onto the ground from your vantage point.

You always got stuck with the highest bunk. 

By the time your feet have hit the ground, feeling the splintering wood underneath them, your bed mate has not moved an inch. You share a look with the leader of your little squad, who goes to poke her.

There’s no movement, even on being shaken.

The floor swims in your vision as you think about how last night you’d been glad when she’d stopped squirming so much. It had been interrupting your sleep, making it even harder to do already difficult labor.

And she was dead. Fuck. 

Fuck. When did you become so cruel?

You should’ve helped her. Should’ve done… something.

It then occurs to you that you never did the Rites for your former sawing companion either.

But your eyes can’t summon any tears, and you think that maybe you’ve dried out every portion of water within your veins. Maybe there was never any to begin with– only salt crystals like those in the dried riverbeds of your home.

All of you sans one march out into the main quad area. The chances of someone escaping are low, and the command likes to keep it that way. So when they come to a halt in front of your squad, you begin to nervously pick at your thumbnail cuticle. It’s already torn to hell and back, but it’s an anxious motion.

“Shouldn’t you lot have twelve, not eleven?” purrs the officer, leaning down to talk to your leader.

She clears her throat, for all the good it does her with how parched everyone is, and says, “One of ours died last night.”

That changes his mood immediately, and he sighs, “All of you need a stronger constitution. We can’t have everyone dropping like flies all the time.”

He moves on, but there’s a sense of tension still amongst your group. What was going to happen now? You can’t turn your head, but your eyes follow as far as they can. The other groups are eventually dismissed, but yours is made to stand there. 

The commanding officers finally drift over, with the one from inspection speaking to them. 

“They’re filthy,” he gripes, “I don’t know how you expect me to make the quota when all that happens is they get sick.”

“Let them bathe, then,” one of the commanders says, waving a hand idly, “Surely there’s some water somewhere for them to use?”

You perk up a little at the idea of a bath. Oh, it had been so long! Even before you’d been captured, you’d had a layer of dirt and grime on your skin. You’re almost certain that it had become congealed onto you, thick and sludgey. The dust from the trees created an even worse experience, sticking to your sweaty exposed skin and hardly coming off even when you swatted at it during the night.

All eleven of you are paraded over to a small, grassy area. The guards depart, but all of your group stand still, not moving a muscle. 

Finally, someone– a younger girl, barely seventeen, whispers, “Ka’tahlia, are they really going to let us take a bath?”

Ka’tahlia, ever the leader, shushes her, “I don’t know. Now stop talking.”

Her tone is harsh, but there’s worry laced into it. Not once has your lot been given a good advantage, and you have to agree with her sentiment of concern. 

They’ve left all of you to the point that even you’re shifting in place, weight moving from foot to foot. Then there’s the sound of footsteps coming around the corner, and your heartbeat skips, before you feel it plummet into your stomach. 

There’s a hose being carried, and all of a sudden any hope of a proper bath is vanquished. They don’t even have any soap.

You’re all forced to stand farther apart. The other girls flinch as the water hits them, and no amount of bracing yourself can equate to the feeling of being hit by the torrent. Any warmth from the water is gone, and instead you’re sprayed with cold, salty river water. You can’t help the shriek that claws its way from your throat, but all that gets is a laugh and a second jet on your other side as they attempt to detach the dirt.

Once the lot of you are thoroughly soaked to the skin, the commanding officer nods in approval.

“That should do it.”

You’re all dismissed to your jobs, shaking and dripping water as you walk. The salt from it dries sticky on your skin, and you almost miss your grime layer as your sweat battles to cool down your body.

The new guy you’re stuck with sees you approach looking like a drowned rodent, but says nothing. There’s nothing to say– he knows what’s happened. It’s as much as obvious, and beyond that there’s still sawing to do. You take your place again, and begin putting as much of your strength into it as possible while your muscles scream in agony. 

Back and forth, back and forth.

Endure, endure, endure.

You stare at him for a long, long time– to the point where he even begins to look uncomfortable. The rustling of his chains break the spell, and you curl your lips in a snarl, similar to the way he had earlier.

Spit lands at his feet as you hiss like a wounded animal– “Fuck you.”

The cart rattles as you leave hurriedly.

You hope it hurts tonight.

A/N: sorry it took so long, our jobs are beating us up.

:(

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[losseignolart]

Artfight WH40k [Part 1]

It goes without saying that all characters, with the exception of my OC Patience, belong to their creators.

@kkas-art

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@mehiwilldoitlater

@coolbluex

[mehiwilldoitlater]

@gh0st-nebulae IS OUR BOY!!!

[drbigsadbabymd-blog]

I always see "SLAANESH IS NOT A SEX GOD, THEY'RE THE GOD OF EXCESS AND THAT COULD MEAN ANYTHING ACTUALLY, THAT COULD MEAN MOPPING TOO MUCH IF YOU LOVE CLEANING--" takes and that seems...inaccurate?

Not saying Slaanesh is a god of sex, but "god of excess" seems like a sort of disingenuous oversimplification used by people uncomfortable with the hypersexuality of Slaaneshi cultists.

Sure, yeah there's excess going on, but why is anyone doing [x] to an excessive degree? Because it induces pleasure, thats the underlying mechanism. Slaanesh is the god of sensation-seeking.

If it really was just about doing anything you enjoy too much, there'd be a slew of Ultramarines who end up corrupted over their excessive love of filing paperwork, but you never do see that sort of shit.

It's about chasing extreme stimuli. That's why you've got noise marines, that's why Slaaneshi adherents love doing drugs, that's why they love feasting and fucking, it's why Cyrion gets a thrill from causing fear, etc. Sensation is the core thing here.

It's all a very blatant metaphor for addiction and, like real world addiction, you can get addicted to anything...but lets be real, the people addicted to drugs and sex far outnumber the people addicted to sniffing armpits or scrubbing grout with a toothbrush

So why get frustrated when people largely portray Slaaneshi adherents as sex-crazed, drug-huffing sadists? That is how it would manifest.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

I said it once because it was funny but i'll say it now with an inch of worry and fatigue because if I se anothe rone of them I'll start scream.

The closest thing that we can have to a Slaanesh cultist outside drug and sex addict are Influencers.

They crave attention, they crave material things, they crave money, the more the better.

[saddie-mad]

I was practicing drawing power armor, I don't think I'll be able to draw it the same way next time, but for now it's enough for me x)

and here are some old sketches

[mehiwilldoitlater]

i think i fell in love with this angel

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Hi! I first just want to let you know that your works are wonderful! You are such a great writer and I look forward to more content!

I do have a very self indulgent ask though lol, you are more than welcome to skip this if it is of no interest to you!

I'm new to warhammer and have recently learned that one primarch is able to change his size at will. And it has me wondering, how would the primarchs react if reader could do this? (Maybe she is a perpetual that was sleeping for a few thousand years cause she pisses Emp off on purpose and just recently woke up.)

I also just finished Space Marine 2 and I wonder how our 3 main blue boys would react to the same thing.

I absolutely have no expectations of you to write for all of them! That is a lot to ask, you can pick whichever ones at your leisure if any at all! Again, thank you for the content you make! Every nibble is amazing! I am sorry for the long ask lol, but thank you for hearing me out on this! ❤️

Oh gosh...these compliments...not do used....help...

ANYWAY

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Damocles squad:

Demetrian Titus: when everybody view you as a danger, as something that should not be trusted, to sent you straight to the inquisition and endind the story before it could start. Titus approached you differently, talking to you like a human being and accepting that what he had in front of his eyes was a curious yet rare manifestation of Psyker abilities. He understand that you had been imprisoned in that cryo pod even before the Heresy, damn even before the great Crusade! The documents sais nothing about you, just about a querry between you and the Emperor himself. You talk about him like you talk about an old friend turning bad, you have the eyes of someone that had lost everything for the caprice of a man. He should kill you where you stand but it would just be a blood bath for nothing since you can't die. He does, on the other hand, understand that your power offered you nothing but solace against a world that seemed to knew only violance.

Gadriel Valorem: You are like an error on a white page and he doesn't like it. He doesn't like the fact that Titus prefer you around than under the constant vigilance of his brothers, as he doesn't like that he does not reprimend your way of talking about their crusade and their fighting. He voice his discomfort, as he show them by bumping you and showing you off like if you were nothing...untill you took a size bigger than him and reminded him that you were around even before the idea of the Imperium of man could see the light in the head of the Emperor, so he should watch his tongue around his piers. Maybe it's the fact that you stood your ground against him or that you showed him that you are not afraid of a man two meters tall, yet he start then to treat with more...civility.

Meduras Chairon: Maybe is the fact that Titus trust you, maybe is that strange feeling in the guts noticing for how long that cryo pod was shut in that vault, but he's far more gentle or at least sympathetic of your state. He have a good eyes for warp machinery and treaty and you are obviously not one. You are someone that has been putted in a tomb and left to rot alone untill the end of times, for what reasons he doesn't know. He's not sure how to feel about your way of describe the Emperor, but he can sense no malice. In your way, he was a man and you were someone that had dared to say that what he was doing was wrong. He should be offended, but he find no harm or anger while listening to you. As the way he can say to calm Gadriel, you are just a person that can became as tall as a mountain as small as a mouse, nothing more.

Primarchs:

Lion El'Johnson: surprised, not shocked because he had already knew for a bit. He had hos suspicions when he moticed the small and almost invisible changes that made no sense to him, then he investogations. Allright, must be a psychic thing maybe, the Perpetual thing means you can stay at his side forever, good to know. He had waited for you to tell him, is clear as day that he already knew. He also had made a few research about your...ex relationship with his father. Impressive, he believe, yet he must be sure to keep you close to his eyes. He also realize that you can became so little that you can spy on people...usefull.

Fulgrim: his only concern, and joy, is that this means he had to redo your wardrobe. Finally he can hold his beloved without looking like he's holding a doll or a puppy! And the perpetual thing? He literally cry, it means that death will never do you part. If there wasn't this akward feeling about your past with the Emperor...

Perturabo: his not... enthusiastic. He enjoyed being bigger than many, the only ones he tolerated to be taller than him were his brothers. Now he have sometime to view his lover getting even taller than Magnus just to spite him. He do find adorable whennyoubtake such a small form just to make him laugh. The not loosing you is great, what make him alittle uneasy is the chance you may be in a state of perpetual pain without the freedom of death. He had to fix this thing. Yet, he find almost laughable that you were able to piss off the Emperor and now there you were, just a step close to the son he never wanted to aknoweldge.

Jaghatai Khan: he'll ask questions, like "do it hurt when you chane? What about your bones? How ling can you stay like that?" He's curious and find this ordeal quite funny. He's even thinking to ask you to became a giant so he can do some tricks with his bike and use you as obstacle as he love to take you in his pocket for important meetings. He had not grasped the fact you can't die, but he had found hilarious your relationship with his father. He started to understand why he love you so much.

Leman Russ: he look at you and wonder what kind of strange event allowed your existance. You reminded him of those old tales, of the giants that fought the old gods and made the worlds tremble. Instead you were just...you. A bored individual that knew stories of his father that even he believed impossible. He doesn't know of he likes you or if he want you on a pyre, for now tell him stories he may likes. He genuinely despise when you became taller than him and hold him like a baby.

Rogal Dorn: once he realized what you are, what you did and what you can do his brain just...freezed. It wasn't the fact that you could change size or that you could live forever, those were a relief to him. His real problem was that you were imprisoned for a reason, because the Emperor wanted you gone and now you were walking in the Palace like you own the place. He wondered what kind of reckless thing you had pull on his father, yet he did had noticed an almost invisible smirk on Malcador face once. The changing size is even helpfull for the construction, no more flying spatula.

Konrad Curze : he find the fact that you had pissed off the Emperor a laughable irony, even the fact that you had fallen in love with him is almost hilarious. Your being a perpetual does, on the other hand, worry him. You are able to survive everything, that made you a plaything for his deranged sons, so he'll keep this information to himself. Then he saw you became taller than his Astartes and he found his worries less aprehensive than before.

Sanguinius: he hope to not endulge in you, that his thirst doesn't take a tool on him and that the idea that you won't die in any case don't take roots in his head. Is a possibility that he doesn't want to face. He's also quite plagued with the idea that his father, knowing about your oast togethed, may decide to take actions against you or him. He such a worried man and yet so in love. He must admit, he love to be holded for once, especially when you became taller and bigger than him, it make him understand how usually baseline feel. Became even smaller than the average human so you could sneak in during meetings and staying with him? Make his heart flatter.

Ferrus manus: not pleased, stop moving around his staff. Stop putting it everywhere and stop hiding them where not even a normal baseline could reach them. You'll get to stay in the jar if you keep it up. He start to understand why his father freezedbyou up...

Angron: if you get smaller you can hide better during his episodes. Whennyou became bigger your embraces are so perfect rhatbfor once he understand what it means to be loved for real. Yourblove os warm, you are warm and he's gratefull and happy to know that time will never take you away from him. The idea he may hurt you still linger in his head and he won't accept the excuse that you cannot die. A single scratch on you is what he cannot take. He fear that the Emperor may take you away another time, that he may do hurt you and force you to leave him. He will set the galaxy aflame to avoid it.

Roboute Guilliman: what's really impress him is not your curious ability, despite how helpfull in many way can be. He so appreciate when you became bug as him as a way to ground him, as he appreciate when by becoming so small you help him recover thing he had may lost. He appreciate everyrhing, but what really impressed him was that you were around BEFORE everything. You met the Emperor before he became what he was, you knew the old ways! He's quite took by surprise when you described the Emperor as " a senile and petty indovidual" and somehow he started to wonder if he had freezed you for more personal motivs

Mortarion: he want you eradicated. You are a psyker, you are not welcomed in his presence and he care so little about everything else. He should kill you, but he can't because you can literally die. He would love to see you to rot and get crazy in a cell, then he noticed how close you seemed to see to the Emperor, how your sole name can make him look almost displeased...then he heard the stories, he lerned about you...well this should be fun.

Magnus: he so confused...then curious...the. happy. Did you know that game Eclipsa and her husband had done? Yes you do that one. He felt less...mighty, in certain way. He also had the chance to view the Emperor in a different way and even death will never tear you as part!

Horus Lupercal: well...tghe idea of have his partner forever at his side is...tempting... He cares little about the size shifting, to be fair is quite adorable when you get this small so he can toke your head, it give a smile to his face. He do find quite...difficult to digest is the fact that his father, the Emperor, did not seem to have a good memory of you. You say a story, his father will say naother, it's hard to know where the truth lie.

Lorgar Aurelian: you are like the holy Emperor! A creature gifted with eternal youth and eternal life and gifted with power that can make the rules of mass crumble!...Yeah, he said it like that, it does not help the situation. He'll make statue of you, hyms, because you are perfect! And...well he love when he can be cradle in your bigger arms, is sweet....,he wonder if someone ever did it with him when he was small. He will hold his tongue about you to his father, he have enough consciousness to understand that your relationmship is a sore one, yet he want to know everything that had happened!

Vulkan: Only after he experienced the state of dying and then comeback he'll realize that is not a gift but a curse. He'll understand better how you had felt for so long. But this is after, for now he can look at the way your body change like the metal does. He's impressed, but he wonder if sometimes you feel pain in doing it, as he wonders what kind of life you must had before waking up and what have you done to cast such a punishment on yourself.

Corvus Corax: he does not approve what his father did. Yes, maybe you were out of line, but it was enough to put you into a freezer?...Nope, he does not appreciate that at all, na ah. He find your ability interesting, he know his brother Magnus can do something like that but he had imagined that, since he was a Primarch, certain ability were out of the questions for many baseline. And there you were now, small as an ants, hiding close to him to ear what those nobles are saying. You are curious as interesting.

Alpharius//Omegon: And who do you think took you out from the slumber? Those two heard about your mishaps with the Emperor and wanted to know what happened to the true source. They did not expected someone that could shift their body like that for sure... Well, that's a new! How do you feel about infiltration missions?

[death-company]

Woe, Raven Guard successor chaplain upon ye.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

me: i like wearing shades, so no one know where i'm looking.

*proceeds to observe the bazungas*

[mehiwilldoitlater]

tw:bodu horror, mention of blood, use of drugs, yandere, mention of sex.

@beckyninja @celestia0473 @lovejisco @aggresivemenace @hopefully-grimderp @absynthe-mind @bunny-fair @thatnightlamp

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the prompt list

created by: @yandere-genji

14. “I fucking need you more than I need to breath.”

15. “If you leave me, I’ll die!”

Dim candlelight reflected on the crystals around the ballroom. Colors from jewels and silky dresses were like flows of shades of different tones, all moving to the notes of the music. The sound of laughter, the violins, and the chatter was like the ever-ending mumbling of a river.

You moved mindlessly; a white snow dress like the one of a bride jumped out against the sea of colors, and silvery and white diamonds decorated your gown like small stars. The other guests moved around you, minding so little about your curious gaze against the area, and the few that did notice you shared just a look and some smiles. You were a mindless afterthought, something that clearly was standing out from. everyone and yet somehow belonged…or at least you thought you did.

You felt no boredom from the event; the night was beautiful outside the giant windows of the palace, a place of soft light that seemed to exist only to make that party perfect for everyone. You felt so little about it; it was so strange… curiosity for the other guests, each one of them wearing a mask that concealed their features, or for the nature of the festivity, maybe one of those galas born only for the sake of dueling boredom, you didn't know, but you felt strange…out.

Or maybe it was the fact that no matter how much you walked or how many people were around you, you felt the feeling of being observed, watched.

You turned around, your gown twirled with your moves, plays of light bloomed around you, and yet you could not see anyone. It was there, observing, maybe studying you, and yet you couldn't see it or interact with it.

It was like being in a dream; nothing seemed to be real, and yet it was there, a few inches for you to reach.

You kept on moving on, exploring the gala, getting drunk by the lights, the smells of liquors and alcohol, and the sounds around you that kept on swirling like a tide of emotions and sensations. You could have just stopped there, enjoying the music and the food, trying to strike up a conversation with someone; instead, you kept on moving, searching for the one whose eyes were stuck on you, that called you like a siren in this maelstrom. A shape that kept on luring you in, deeper and deeper in the ballroom, showing you the beauty and the small treasures of the palace.

You were fascinated, and you went on, following it blindly, ignoring the small whisper in your head.

Then a grip, small pressure on your hand, a pull. His arms around you, his hand on your side, moving gently and pulling you kindly towards the music. Silver hair like a star, magenta eyes like the prettiest of the gems, and a smile that could move armies to crumble. His dark robes, a deep blue tone like the night, made his features only shine brighter, the king of the night, master of stars and moons.

"Fulgrim…"

You whispered his name, and he smiled gently while allowing the music to slowly sway you both. People made space, enjoying the view of the two brightest stars of the party, moving like petals on water on the marble pavement of the ballroom.

"I'm here, my star…" He whispered, holding you close to his chest, more of an embrace than a stance now, "Enjoying the party?"

"I…I think so…"

"What's not of your liking? The music? The dress?"

"I…don't know… but you're here…"

"Yes, my heart, I'm here…"

He smiled again. Yes, Gulgrim was here; everything was perfect, like it was supposed to be.

Then why can't you shake away the grime from your bones?

He released you from his grip, now his attention on the tray of a waiter. He offered you a crystal glass; the red ruby liquid almost shone inside, and he raised his own.

"May I propose a toast? To us…"

Your hands moved almost by a command, brushing with your fingertips the cold and smooth surface of the glass, when a light struck directly in your eye.

Light reflecting on a mirror.

You immediately retracted your hand, covering the hit area of your face, finding it harder to look around. It was just a reflection. Why did your eyes respond in such a way? It was painful, annoyingly painful, and.

Wait… Why were you there?

Curiously, you started to remember details from that strange night, some of them blatantly in front of you, disposed in order like on a table, and yet you decided to not see them. Why?

The faces of everyone—they were in front of you… Why couldn't you grasp the details or the most normal features? Why did they seem blurred?

You couldn't remember much from before you entered this gala. How did you come? When did you come? And why couldn't you remember anything from before?

What was happening? Where did you take the dress? Why did-

"My love?" His calming voice tried to get you back to him and to the glass in his hand.

You gulped; you wanted to talk, to explain, to ask, but your eyes fell on that glass. Why did that wine look so…thick?

"I-I…" You moved away from him. "I need to…to… I'm sorry I…"

Again that light in your eyes, again the burning sensation. Now, for a split second, everything shifted in…in something…dark.

For a mere moment you saw…bodies. Thousands of bodies entangled in a grotesque way, like a composition whereby you could not get the shape or the beginning or the end of one form. For a moment, you saw eyes glowing in the dark in a mist made of colorful smoke and rivers of liquids that you were scared to give an origin.

For a moment, the ballroom wasn't like this at all but something more like a canopy, the lair of a beast, and the music was just a choir of moans and laughter of lost souls.

It was just a mere second, but it felt so real.

Your breath started to get shorter and quicker; you took another step away from your prince, his perfect face now worried.

"My love?" He whispered again. He looked concerned, like he knew what you saw but begged for it to not be real.

"I…I need…" Yoh looked around again, the blink of a light, the same reflection… You held the hem of your gown and quickly moved away from Fulgrim, heading now to the door, where the room was supposed to end and open to another area. But the door was not a door at all; your image became bigger and bigger in front of you, and more people appeared, minding their own business and yet with their eyes glued on you.

A mirror, the end of the room close to that, and an ancient trick to make it appear as a bigger space. You touched the smooth surface; maybe a light reflected on that and struck your face?

"My love," his honey voice followed you, close like a whisper and a threat. "Please. Come back to me. Stay, do not turn away from me…"

Why? Why the rush of escaping? You loved him, so why the feeling of being in danger?

You didn't want to stay there, under all those eyes; you wanted to go away. Where was the exit? The entrance? You entered the room, so where was the door?

You kept on tasting the mirror, hoping to find a handle or something to open a passage, and…the strike again.

Not from it, but from through it.

"Y/n."

Fulgrim was there, in front of you. Now his voice is firm and strong. The music had stopped, everyone had stopped, and thousands of eyes stayed on you, waiting for your next move.

"Stop. It's just a mirror. Come to me…please…"

Something was wrong in his voice. You can taste the venom; it was there, a thin line between a command and a plea.

“I fucking need you more than I need to breathe.”

Another step, too much closer. You felt your breath getting shorter and shorter. Why did the man you had always loved scare you in such a way? It all felt so wrong, like being trapped in a serpent's spires.

You stood frozen while his steps came closer and closer, his eyes stuck on you, desperate but dangerous.

"Come back…come back, I said!"

The gleam of light again, and the trance dissipated, enough for you to grab the closest chair and smash it into the mirror surface. Everything crumbled down, not only the surface but also the reality around you crumbled down, revealing what he had desperately tried to cover with a pretty illusion.

The image of a few seconds turned into a reality, one that you had hoped to never be dragged into. Corpses entangled together in poses and expressions that you couldn't even imagine, fumes of incense full of substances that could put to sleep the strongest mind, sounds that made your head hurt and spin… And the people…the people were…they weren't people; you couldn't even understand what they were anymore, but they weren't human either.

The light and the dream palace were a lie; everything was draped in curtains and silk, trying to cover the rocky walls of the places that now looked more like a prison to you. Torches lit up the area, and a dim and eerie air was given by the low purple light, revealing more silhouettes of those demons.

And Fulgrim… he wasn't him, and yet he was. You could recognize him, his features, his eyes, and his hair; he was him, and yet he wasn't him any longer.

Two long horns, decorated in fine silver jewels and golden rings, his alabaster skin now in a soft pinkish tone turned into amethyst scales that decorated the long snake tail that once was his legs. A pair of wings on his back, similar to a bat's, was decorated with signs and writing, and more chains and rings decorated the organs that slowly trembled by the contact with air. You could see his mouth full of sharp teeth morphed into a painful expression while his coil quivered and constricted with each other.

The falling of the illusion morphed the moans and pants into a long and erupting sound of pain from everyone in that damn hole, recoiling away from the slowly dissipating mirror fragment. Your beautiful dress wasn't real at all, and you begged for the rags around your body to be just some old fabric that has been exposed to who knows what fluid, because the state of that thing was closer to the human skin than an actual cloth.

You screamed, your hands found your mouth, trying to avoid the content of your stomach evacuating your innards. Fulgrim recovered from the shattering of his precious dreams and looked at you with the expression of a broken beast.

"My love… My love, what have you done?! It was all perfect! It was a perfect dream for us!"

He got closer, his wings now reaching the very last of your peripheral vision, his glowing eyes piercing directly into your soul while his entire body made a strange and sickening sound of his spires that moved closer and closer to you. Another step back, your eyes now starting to get watery.

"No! No no no, it's fine, everything is fine! We can still fix this; we can be together! I just need to put you back to sleep; it will be good! It will be fine until you can accept the gift!"

His massive frame completely encased you with his shadow; two of his four arms were grabbing the stone ceiling to the point that it cracked, and the other two pointed towards you, giving you the choice to come back to him or to live in a lie that he had created for you both.

You felt the panic growing on you like ice, your breath stuck in your lungs. The image in front of you was hypnotic and frightening to the point that you had forgotten that glimpse of light, the reflection that once again appeared, now stronger and quicker, striking the eyes of the one that once was your lover.

He screamed in agony again; the sound of the other demons reflecting his emotion was like the echo of the cave, but you had so little time to think that something else grabbed you, pulling you out and dragging you into the maze of the snake lair.

The one that was taking you away, a dark strange robe with some greeny decorations and some mysterious signs on him. He was a giant, with a strange helmet on his head and, in his free hand, the mirror that helped you.

During that escape, you heard footsteps, blades that had been drawn, and the sound of the snake moving behind you.

"STOP! DON'T LET HER GET AWAY!"

They were behind you; there was no chance that you and your savior could escape from there with the ones that lived in that hell on your tail.

But he had come prepared, and he had a plan.

Suddenly, the ground started to shake, fire erupted, and the ground shook like an earthquake. Explosion—he had set the trap knowing what they would do.

More screams, now of pain; the smoke of rocks that started to collapse upon the entrance started to fog your vision while your savior never stopped for one minute to lead you into the tunnels, away from the illusion, away from Fulgrim. And yet, his voice still reaches you, a screaming and painful cry that hurts your ears and heart.

"I'LL DIE! IF YOU LEAVE ME, I'LL DIE! Y/N! COME BACK! COME BACK!

"Don't turn back." The man spoke, holding your hand and running faster. "Do never turn back!"

And even if his command prevented you from turning your head towards the Daemon Prince, his voice still echoed in your head.

Come back.

///

The ship was…different from the ones that you remembered. Yet, you could remember so little, your mind still fogged by the drugs and the strange abilities of the Slaanesh demons.

But when the one that saved you finally decided to reveal his face to you, a sense of confusion made you gasp his name, even if he had never told you.

"…Fulgrim?"

He smiled, his perfect face just like you remembered it, but more tired, more exhausted…more like him.

"I suppose you have questions…"

You may not have known him, but the clone did remember you quite well.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Once again my mind decided that i haven't made the world suffered enough sooo:

Would you fall in love with me again (Epic) with Clone!Fulgrim x Reader.

The clone is aware that he's not really Fulgrim, yet he cannot not feel the shame of his action like he had done them himself.

And now that you're here in his arms, full of memory of a life together that he felt like he had destroyed, every pain you had suffered because of him, he can only wondered if you can love him again after everything that had happened.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Love the yandere Fulgrim (with gues star clonegrim)

So, just Clonegrim comforting reader as he claims he will protect them with his life to keep his daemon counterpart away.

Glancing at the reflections as he could see the counterpart of him staring back with pure fiery venom in his eyes, other times Fulgrim attempts to kidnap Reader to become one once more only to be stopped before it was even possible. Just the two at it while reader themselves are conflicted with the entire time.

Yes they love Fulgrim, they aren't sure anymore with their life in the line constantly and heart being torn apart. It leads to them quietly leaving and now both grims are racing to get to them before the other claims them.

(Bonus points if another primarch finds reader)

Fjejfjejd sorry, just a ramble and thought to band it to you.

@beckyninja @lovejisco @aggresivemenace @hopefully-grimderp @absynthe-mind @bunny-fair @thatnightlamp

@gh0st-nebulae @celestia042@silenthopper @baldieboi @randomlyappearingartist @pearlokami @tangerineallergy @vithralith

@bookandyarndragonwritesdark

@blackstarangel @catabibaz0n @warhorny-on-main

Uuuh the drama, uuuuuuh the angst, UUUUH THE PAIN.

I love it darling, I love it so so much.

////

"I swear. This time I'll make things right. Trust me, my light..."

His words kept repeating in your head. You stared at him, bags on your back ,While he slept soundly on the desk of the ship that had decide tk took you both in.

Trazyn was behind, the nightmare was behind...the one that was your husband was behind. Now the road upon you took you where you both couldn't predict the outcome, full of enemies and dangers.

And each one of them hold the handprint of what once you called your husband.

A monster, a demon from beyond the veil, a creature contorted and subdue by desire.

The one that freed you, this version of the Fulgrim that once made your heart stop, was your him, your husband. And yetbhe wasn't at the same time. He had all of his memories, especially the ones that were about you, about your life together, about the details that made you whole. He also remember the sin he had committed, the tragedies he had ordered, the blood he had spilled...he still couldn't talk without crying remembering the look on Ferrus face when his blade decapetated him.

The proud Fulgrim died somewhere, now one full of regret holded you un those silenced nights, promising you a better future, a better life, one he couldn't give you before. Sometimes he cried, remembering your worried expression, telling that he had never wanted to lead you to that, that it was unfair and cruel to you. You had never blamed him, no no noit at all. You blamed the Imperium and his father the Emperor, putting on so many weight upon his shoulders. You blamed the ones around him, that kept on picturing him in a way that had never reflected what he really was. And...and you blamed yourself.

Little yourself that never had enough strenght to stop him to fall into the pit that in the end became your prison. And you wished for just one thing: to gave him the peace he deserved, the one that truly deserved. The one he could never had by being hunt down by the minions of his former self.

And, kissing his temple, you thought that this is was for the best.

///

He coudln't tell you. He should had, but it must have been a bad trait of his own. But he coudln't, he wanted at least to save you from this one worry of the many you two already had.

Psychic connection? Probably, after all they were the same person after all, but he could had never believed that, even with space apart, that connection could haunt him.

It started like a mere glimps, silhouettes in glass riflections. Then became shadow moving on surfaces. Then the fully image, in all his deprived and contorted glory.

Fulgrim, himself, the Deamon that followed Slaanesh desires, the one that had killed for mere pleasure, the one that still make humans fall for their desires. The one that had forced you itno a dream for himself.

At first, he thought, that it was merely his imagination, an illusion. But since when illusion looks at you with surprise? Since when they speak asking questions? And since when they look at you and try to rip off the mirror like trying to get to you?

He wanted to ignore, it tried so hard, but in the end he did had asked the question.

"Who are you?"

and the reflection responded.

"You know exactely who I am."

Sometime he could ignore him, maybe he was so fucked up on the drugs he consumed or too occupied with his toy to bother in torturing him. But other times it was like trying to ignore a drum ringing in his head.

He screamed, demanding him to give you back to him, slamming his fist against the mirrors that decorated his lair. Sometime he slammed so much that the image disappeared or became thousand of smaller image, problably because the mirror has been destroyed. Other times he just insulted him, reminding him that he was a mere reflection, a tool that has been discarded, betrayed by his own creator, a mere toy for a Xeno with a questionable taste. And other time...he just watched, looming over you.

Fulgrim knew that the Prince wanted you back, that he still loved you even if in that depraved way, and he knew he would have use every card in his hands to take you back in his spires.

And he would had done the unimaginable to keep you safe. Yet, he wasn't prepared for the emptyness of the ship once he opened his eyes, as he wasn't prepared for the small letter you left in your room.

He rode it and rode it over and over, trying to understand in between the lines, in the commas and the periods.

You had gone. You had gone to finally free him from more torment and danger than he already had faced, to gave him the life he deserved.

You left for his sake.

"Lemme guess..." the sinuous voice came back, with an int of pleasured satisfaction. "Did she...left you?"

Fulgrim stood up from the bed, teying to ignore him.

"AH! She did! She had left!"

"SHE HAVEN'T!"

"Lying to yourself now? You are as pathetic as cute..."

Fulgrim looked to the mirror. He could see the anticipation in the gleam of his eyes, a purplish sparkle that made his skin crawl. He saw his muacle tensing, like the one of a predator that is ready to slay.

"That means that you are not longer with her..."

"Don’t."

"And you don't know where she is...:

"Please don't!"

"And you can't prevent me to take her back!"

A long and wicked laugh followed that second of silence that spoke for both of them.

"It seems that finally things are turning my way, doesn't it?!"

"Please, please I beg you." The clone kneeled in front of the reflection of the original. " Leave her be! If you do love her like I know you do please, let her live what he have left! I won't search for her, I won't even look at her! Just let her leave!"

That same silence that had followed the demon tantrum fallen again between the two. The former Primarch looked at his clone, with an expression that seemed almost alien from his new form. He was thinking, pondering about the words that the other had pronounced, weighting them. And, for a moment, the clone almost believed that he had touched something, a string that has been left to rust for too long. For a moment he believed that maybe, just maybe, an inch of compassion on the one that once was his love of his life.

Then a smile, then a chuckle, deep, that slowly emerged from his contorted lips in a full laugh of cruelty.

"I begged you to gave her back to me! I suffered while you ignored and now, just now, you try to play the same card on me?!"

He calmed down, admiring the look of pain on his counterpart.

"As I love to see you there on your knees BEGGING me...I refuse. I cannot let this chance slip away from my finger dear..."

His honey comb voice melted into a dark one, a rumbling thunder ready to strike.

"I won't let her get away from me this time...and not even myself will be able to stop me."

A punch, the cracking of the mirror and Fulgrim was left alone. Alone with the knowledge that now you were alone, somewhere, with that beast on your trail. This knowledge lead his mind on a trail of pure confusion and anxiety, thousands of questions arising in his head like a tornado.

What if he cannot reach you? What if the other him find you first? What if something else find you first? What if, what if, what i-

ENOUGH.

He calmed down, a deep beath after another, and rised back on his feet. Your letter talked about freedom, but what was freedom if you weren't safe where he knew you could finally live the life you deserved?

He cared not if that life did not mentioned him, what he cared was your safety, your happiness, you anmd only you. And while he settle the coordinate on the ones your small pod has been sent, he promised himself to scold you for your recklessness.

///

"Incoming engines signals, my Primarch."

"Locate it."

Guilliman stared at the visor, concerned by the idea of an archenemy vessel.

"Location completed, my Primarch. We have visual. A lifeboat, k-fiel model, private unit."

"There's been none accident with any vessel in this sector," Chime in another of the crew member.

"We have a pod functioning still."

"Get a contact. We'll see it."

The statics of the lline sounded with an high pitch before the image of the internal camera of the lifeboat could get some image on. People stared, realizing that it was merely a lone woman.

Guilliman face, on the other hand, seemed to have seen a ghost.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Can you do 17 for Rogal Dorn por favor?

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@blackstarangel

the prompt list

created by: @yandere-genji

tw:mention of death, injuries, yandere

17. “You’re mine, do you understand? You belong to me.”

"Step away from there."

Your feet hurted, your bare skin was like poked by hundreds of needles and the stone of the wall was like thorns.

He took a step forward, you took one back, feeling the edge of the wall like a bad omen close to you.

Rogal stopped, calculated the time, the risks, how fast he could be before you could move, before the worst could happen, and he realized his brain wasn't working like he wanted. He felt it, that thing that had been always inside his brain that has been always encaged between walls of rational thoughts and willpower, that he had always saw and never contemplated at all.

Rogal Dorn, the Praetorian of Terra, was afraid.

The castle has been built where no one could ever had the courage to attack and where no one from the isnide could ever escape. Located in a mountainous area, its peaks high and impervious like the blades of swords, ice and snow that made impossible to move even for experienced climbers, contorted road and trails that leaded to no-where. It was perfect for his needs.

It was perfect to be your cage.

Falling down was suicide, he knew, he made it that way, so no one could climb it and no one could try the descend. He had prepared everything that could mak eyou dissist to escape, to try to run away. He did not calculated the chance of you getting so desperate to try everything.

"I...I want to go home..."

"Please, Please Y/N. Came down from there, it's dangerous."

"I want to go home! I don't want to stay here, lemme go!"

You screamed, ignoring his pleds, his begs, everything he was saying. If you could had paid more attention you would had notice his fear, his trembling hands, the words that were loosing the security that made Rogal the statuary man he was. But you couldn't, you didn't wanted to see, you just wanted to go away from this hell.

You wanted to leave the castle that this man had locked you in, proclaiming that it was made for your own protection.To leave behind his sick son, those astartes that had never once showed remorse everytime they closed the doors of this castle and dragged you back in your rooms when you tried to run away. You wnated to forget the fact that this cold man had literally imprisoned you claiming to love you and decided to lock you up was the best protection.

You didn't even care of the cliff so close to you.

But Rogal did and for once in his life he realized how big his mistake was.

You escaped from him and his son eyes, serached for an escapoe and ended up there, a few inches from a ruvinous death. He wnated to move, to take you and avoiding the inevitable but even the slightest move from him meaned a steo for you and there was not so much space now.

"Please, please my love."

"I'm not your lover!"

"I beg you! You'll fall! Step down from the parapet,please!"

"NO! I'll leave! I'll leave this nightmare! I'll tell everyone what you did! I'll telle everyone that Dorn is a sick man that take people hostage and force them t-"

Under your foot you felt only air. Suddenly your stomach had that jump, the one that happen when you miss a step on a stair, the same abnormal movement that each organs do when something is off during a jump. You felt your body loosing balance, your weight dragging you down with your leg and suddenly even the view changed. You saw the white sky full of snow, the storming wind swirling around the snowflakes, a small ray of sun that has been strong enough to break free.

And you saw the wall getting higher and Rogal launching himsefl screaming like a beast.

And then a loud crack.

///

He catched you. That all that he needed to know, not the fact that he had accidentally dislocated your shoulder when he grabbed you, not that you had almost fall from the highest wall he had ever made beside the Imperial Palace, not that you hated him to the point to not regard your own life.

He catched you and you were safe with him.

You trembled under the stoff covers he had brought for you, for fear or cold or pain he didn't know and he did not wanted to ask.

Yes, nothing mattered, not now. You were safe, he got you before it was too late, you were alive and with him. These were the thought he had while pressing his temple against your covered form, while feeling under the thick wool of the blankets the shivers your body emitted. He craed so little because they were a proof that you were there, that you were alive and there, with him.

He wanted to scold you, to tell you what it needed to be said like he had always done with everything that looked like a threat to him. But he couldn't, not when he realized how close he were to loose you, not when every words he knew was erased and in its place only confusion remain.

"Don't...do...that again..." His voice low, a trembling whisper that seemed almost like a sigh. "I... I cannot....I cannot loose you...I can't...I don't..."

His hand grabbed something, he didn't know if it was you or just a bundle of the covers.

“You’re mine, do you understand? You belong to me. Just as I belong to you...Look what you did to me...Look at the way your existance entagle with mine..."

Maybe seeing you would had gave him some strenght, maybe it would had made him crumble down like a final blow. Yet you did not released your eyes from the hiding spot you found, not when his arms were like a vice forcing you on that bed.

"...You don't have the idea of what you did to me..."

At that point, it was almost impossible to know wich one of the two was the real captor and who was the prisoner.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Inspired by your yandere fulgrim and clonegrim, I imagine that Daemon Fulgrim would sing and serenade us Phantom of the opera style, forcing us to singing highest impossible note and then Clonegrim come in to crashed the opera and rescued us, making Daemon Fulgrim fuming and screaming.

.....I'm just saying i Loooooooove your idea

and....and

well...w-well...

Biker clone Fulgrim.

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@blackstarangel

[mehiwilldoitlater]

I came across an old post about the reader being sick and I had an idea.

What about how our Primarch partners react to being sick?

Maybe some try to tough it out, some are the most needy babies about it, others are convinced theyre dying (Primarchs aren't known for getting sick usually), and who's isolating themselves from us because if its bad for them it would kill us (it wouldn't, its the common cold that snuck through their immune system)?

@beckyninja @lovejisco @aggresivemenace @hopefully-grimderp @absynthe-mind @bunny-fair @thatnightlamp @gh0st-nebulae @celestia042 @silenthopper @baldieboi @randomlyappearingartist @pearlokami @tangerineallergy @vithralith @bookandyarndragonwritesdark @blackstarangel @catabibaz0n @warhorny-on-main

Lion El'Johnson: he's acting like everything is fine and for a few minutes it looks like it is. Then he start to give order to empty armors and crushing against the walls, so no is not fine. Lion mind gave him the option that he had may be poisoned but no, that's a cold and a bad one. He will complain all the time that he doesn't need to rest, that they need him, only to fall asleep so bad that he had his mouth open and snore like a chainsaw.

Fulgrim: he's crying and lamenting that he's dying , that it is over and his only consolation is to die with you at his side. Only to be repremended by Fabius that he's having stomach bug, one strong enough to make a primarch fall ill for it (he'll stay for studying it) and to quit it out. You'll be far more patient with him, even if he fear you may catch it from him and he's unsure of the strenght of this virus if it affect you. Yet, the promises of cuddles is enough to make him go back to his baby mode.

Perturabo: nonsense. He's a primarch, he doesn't get fever, he'll get to work and ignore it. Then they found him face down on the floor, passed out, so hot that you can cook an egg on it. His only order is to not let you in, he fear you may die for something that can make him fell ill. Yet, your presence is still felt in themmoment he see the honey sweets he likes and those flowers he try to not enjoy at all. Even if in bed, he'll still order his men around, he know no rest.

Jaghatai khan: when he stumbked across the tent, moving around like drunk, and felt his entire world spinning, he knew something was off. When the medicae started to treated him they just realized that it was...a cold? In a certain way, a strong one that could afflict a primarch. He sighed and feared their words of staying in bed and trying to relax...and that's was your cue. You had imagined many thing by being the wofe of the Khan, but having to ordered his sons to stop his continues edcaping attempts was ridiculous.

Leman Russ: everything tasted bad, nothing could stay in his stomach and even the Mjød tasted like shit! Why this has to happen?! What kind of sorcery was that?! Nothing could stop a primarch, then why a stomach bug had him in his bed, with fever and a sloppy soup made with plain rice and some herbs?! He tried to twll you that he's fine, that he doesn't need this treatment! You just shush him and gave him another spoon of the soup, now it's seems the only thing that can stay down on him. He had joked that of you kept on testing him he would like the idea of tasting you, but he had started to fear that even this act will be painfull to him. He'll fall asleep with Freki and Geri on the bed.

Rogal Dorn: you'll beed everyone help, this foolish brick has decided that it was such a great idea getting on work while whit a fever so high that scared both you and his entire legion. Thankfully, is a mere cold for a primarch a nd he'll be back on his feet in a few days. Yet, you still had to take away work from his hands (you're still trying to understand how did he had so many projects hiding around) and literally strap him down on bed so he could rest. He enjoy when you can read something to him, or just talk, he likes your voice.

Konrad Curze: is like tracking a wounded animal. You don't think he'll be dangerous, Sevatar would like do disagree. Once found, hiding in a make shift bed make with everything that could make it comfortable, he eefuse ro be touched, especially by you. For others is like showing weakness, forbl you is fear this may can kill you or hurt you. You refuse to leave and he doesn't have the strength to show you away, he'll end up sleeping on your tights completely exhausted. He'll claim he was at the edge of death, that he saw the end, all while you just reminded him that he started to get better once you feed him some soup.

Sanguinius: he's a crying mess. He cry because he think he's dying, that he's leaving you behind, that everything hurt, that everything burns ,that he's done and all is over whilebyou and Raldoron watch him with that int of worry and embarrassment. The first captain would like you to be away, feafing this virus may be contagious to baseline, but you assure him that whatever this illness is seems to afflict only the Primarch. And after the cries, complaints follows. Firstly is too cold, then it's too hot, then he's tired, then he want to get out, then he want to eat and then he goes on and on all day. You had never saw a Blood angel roll his eyes on his gene-sire,now you can say you saw at least 15 of them. It seemd the only way to let him rest is to be his personal plushie while he sleep, worh your hand in his hair scratching and caressing. The sacrifices you do for your lord...

Ferrus manus: he's not sick, he's not tired and he's not having a fever. He doesn't need to rest and clearly you are seeing thing that aren't there. This discourse had gone on and on all day while in the forge and you almost believed him...until he had took a seat on his stool, claiming he just needed to sit, and collapsed in a deep and absolutely needed rest. You knew he would refused to go back to his quarters, to get some proper rest, so you decided to take somr blankets, covered him up and allowed him to take a well deserved nap. You tried to caress his cheek just to check his temperature and you saw him, still unconscious, surrending himself to your touch. He was as difficult as sweet.

Angron: he had almost forget hwo to feel fear...untill today. He couldn't move from that old mattress they called bed, he couldn't even open his eyes properly towards the light and he didn't even noticed the people around him trying to understand what the hell was happening. It was only when you finally came and asked him, with your soft voice, what was happening that you realized the issue. A primarch with a stomach bug?....That was new... well, beside the surprise, there was so little everyone could do than wait. You suggested to leave him be and attend in hope thing would get better before his arms catched you in a vice grip. He wasn't trying to hurt you, you know from the way his hands holded you in place, andbhe murmured a pleading request for you to stay untill the pain was over. It was just like with the nails, just alittle....almost cuter.

Roboute Guilliman: When you found your shared bed drenched in his sweats and his face so red that for a moment you thought he was about to explode, you knew that something happened. He was sick, of something no one knew but he clearly showed the sign that leaded to a common flue for a baseline and the only remedy was peace and quiet. Better said than done, every ten minutes someone spotted thge Primarch, covered in a blanket and stumbling here and there, trying to reaching the office that you and your equerries were occupying to reduce his amount of job. You had to set one servo skull close to your shared chambers and a few of his sons ready to redirect him to bed. He just cannot stay down, but as soon as he'll meet the bed he's already gone in the world of dreams. If he could only understand how rest is necessary...

Mortarion: he knew even before anyone could notice and his first reaction is an annoyed sigh. Of course it has to happen and of course it has to be him. He had already arranged everything, everyone schedule, your temporary quarters untill he's not anymore a possible danger for you a d he even sent some sample to understand what kind of virus could afflict a primarch. He's awfully good at it and your only job is to make sure everything is in place. Yet, he do appreciate the small messages you had left him, they make him feel less lonely.

Magnus: he think he can fix this with psychic powers, his only results is several thousand sons now having a migraine even partially strong as his own. You had to remind him that a flu doesn't go away with magic but with rest and some sleep, he refuse and velieve he jad better thing to do that stay down and do nothing. The proposition of reading to him seems convincing enough to lead him in his quarters, then he mutter tuat he have a few books in mind for this time and you literally fight a red giant to stop him. Stubborn in every possible way, even with fever.

Horus Lupercal: everyone is worried for him, because since when a Primarch fell under a cold? And how it happened?! No one know, what they want is to give some respect and show how much they care for the Warmaster...wich could make thing worst. You insist that he needs rest, that he doesn't need thousands of followers going around him like flies and were able to convince Maloghurst to support you. Horus doesn't like the idea of not being able to fullfill his duties, but hes far too weak to fight you or the Mournival about it. He'll lament every second of it, telling that if his father got a word about it he'll have ao little regard about it. You'll remind him that is not the Emperor in a bed sick and he would surely understand. You'll stay at his side, while he hold you gently, fearing he may pass you this sickness.

Lorgar: he'll cry like a baby, not only because everything hurt but because he do believe ge's dying. He beoieve that this is a punishment, that he had done something terrible, he'll say that he's sorry because he's leaving you alone and he can't bear the thought of you alone. You'll listen, with patience and with a int of sadness for his sorry state, and you'll try to make him reason while you help the apothecaries to cure him. And even while explaining that he's not dying, that he'll be fine and no one is punishing him, he'll keep crying and beg you to forgive him for how pathetic he is. Hug him and tell him is fine, he'll cry in any case so no can do.

Vulkan: he want cuddles, he need them to get over his fever but is practically IMPOSSIBLE. He's already a burning walking furnace, now he's a walking inferno! No one expect the most brave of his sons can get closer to him to help him when is needed. They'll personally send your messages as they do with.the one from Vulkan's. Is as cute as silly.

Corvus Corax: clearly something is wrong when you can clearly see him in the corner of the room, trying to look menacingly. He just look overly sick. A fast explanation of what had happened is enough tow worry him that you may catch the same virus and being in a far worst condition than his own. His sons will immediately take you away and make sure you are safe and sound from that illness. But you're worried sick for your lover, whatvif something bad happen and you're not there with him? Then a craw catch your attention and those big black eyes stares at you waiting for instructions. He had sent he crows...well, at least you can check on him!

Alpharius// Omegon: know one would had notice. Their plan was to stay hidden, wait untill this stomach bug ended its cycle and then come back like nothing had happened, but noooo you had to entere in their quarters searching for that pen that you needed. You almost fainted expressing the fact that they looked like hell and seriously worry about them and yourself since this virus seemed pretty dangerous if a Primarch cannot hold it together of contaminated with it. Yet, their sorry state and their laments about "almost so close to be dead" made your heart soft for the two bastards. In the end, you decided to take care of them in the best way they could, even when they expressed the fact that this was a story that no one would ever believe you.

[emps-with-a-steel-chair]

Being short with a primarch

Being a short spouse to the primarchs would include:

Constantly not fitting in any of the furniture. Chairs are constantly too tall. Rogal, Sanguinius, Horus, and Roboute would most likely be the first to get you custom furniture. Others would see that as a you problem, or you would have to explain it to them.

Certain primarchs using your head as a hand rest while they talk to others (Leman, Vulkan, Horus, and so on)

Trying to scold your Astartes, but craning your neck up to do so. Or have them kneel down so they're eye level. The Mournival thinks this is hilarious. Abaddon refuses to kneel.

Sometimes they don't see you down there and just bump right into you.

They're just picking you up and carrying you when it's convenient or funny to them. Scolding them? Yoink. Minding your business? Scooped up.

Konrad towering over you unknowingly while you work like the Babadook.

Them having to kneel down so you could kiss them on the cheek.

Getting hit in the face constantly by Sanquinius' wings

Fulgrim treats you like a doll and sets you down when doing your hair.

They're constantly worried you're going to get lost. Some may have unknowingly put trackers on you when going into crowds. Angron worries quite a bit.

---

Hello everyone. This is my first attempt at getting back into fanfiction and creative writing. I was going to post this on my main blog, but I'm hesitant, so I made a separate one for the time being. Hope you all enjoy.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

with Sanguinius is a full compilation of him screaming "MY BABY!" Wwhile running towards you to save you from concessions that he may had caused, from big stairs, bad falls and being squished by his sons.

Vulkan is more a "Vulkan...vulkan you're squishing me!"

"Are allright?!"

"I feaf my neck has retracted into my spine for a few inches..."

And....and and and

....

Small sidecar on Jaghatai bike for you