Feb 11
BACK ON MY MEME SHIT, POST-COLONOSCOPY
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BACK ON MY MEME SHIT, POST-COLONOSCOPY
I feel slightly better, so I wrote another Konrad Curze x Lyra fic (AO3)
We Need to Kill the Cooks
“Fetch an apothecary!”
Lyra lay in bed, pale, and miserable. Her husband had instructed their serf to get a medic to tend to her. His wife had taken to having a fever, chills, and vomiting. She could not eat, and sleep was unlikely. She did not even want Curze to hold her - to possibly feel relief from his body being much colder by comparison.
She had vomited twice overnight, with Curze beside her. If she did not sleep, neither would he. She initially had put it off as being something disagreeing with her stomach, but as the evening progressed, her condition worsened.
“My lord, she has a slight fever. Do you remember what you’d eaten the last two days, my lady?” The apothecary asked Lyra.
“Nothing special…just the food from the mess hall like we always do,” she replied.
Curze grew angry, his mind first going to assassination attempt. None of his other men became ill. Just his wife. “What does this mean?” He asked.
“Well, maybe they undercooked something, and she’s got a mild case of food poisoning,” replied the apothecary.
“Food poisoning? Someone is trying to kill her?”
“Konrad - please do not get into this now…” Lyra weakly pleaded beside him.
“But he said you were poisoned. No one gets poisoned by accident, do they?”
“Actually…my lord sometimes they do. Food poisoning can be due to several factors. While - yes - an assassination attempt may be on that list… the actual more likely possibility is just improperly stored or prepared foods. Dairy and meat are the usual suspects.”
“Then why haven’t the rest of my men taken ill as well?”
“You forget, my lord, that your wife is not an astartes. Therefore, her body is only baseline quality, and cannot handle things the same way. You should have someone speak to the cooks. Perhaps there is an issue with one of the coolers that no one has detected as most here would not notice. I’m sure they would be extra careful, knowing the Legion Mother had taken ill due to improper sanitary measures.”
“If you or someone else would like to ‘speak’ to them, by all means. Being lazy, and look what happens! My wife is ill - hopefully not dying.”
“Konrad…” Lyra attempted to plead again.
“She’s generally healthy enough that this will just be a very uncomfortable process. But she’ll survive, my lord. Oh but one more thing.”
“Yes?”
The apothecary turned to Lyra again. “When was your last menstrual cycle?”
“I cannot recall at this moment,” she weakly replied.
“Would you allow me to test for a possible pregnancy?”
“Pregnancy?” Curze’s eyes went to his wife again.
“My lord, if she is the only one to have gotten ill - and there are other baselines on this ship as well - we can’t rule it out.”
“But this didn’t happen with our daughter,” Lyra argued.
“Yes, that pregnancy was quite easy for you, wasn’t it?”
“How can that be?”
“Well, it’s possible you may have gotten lucky the first time — or it’s a stomach virus, or food poisoning. May I take a blood sample?”
Lyra held out her arm. The apothecary set right to work on obtaining what was necessary from her. Curze grunted when he saw the needle enter her arm.
“You have seen much worse, my love,” Lyra teased when she heard him.
“But not from you, little wife,” he replied, leaning down and kissing her forehead. Still quite warm.
“In the meantime,’ the apothecary spoke, ‘Bed rest, and only fluids for hydration. Any electrolytes I supply will also help you, but they will not taste good alone. Unless your stomach is telling you it is hungry, DO NOT believe your appetite. I will have the results back later today.”
“And if she’s pregnant?” Asked Curze.
“Then this is going to be a longer on-going bout of stomach issues, and will require extra attention until later into her pregnancy. In her state, I am sure she would prefer this be a passing illness.” He smiled at Lyra who grinned back. He took his leave with the blood sample, leaving them alone again.
“Pregnant? With another child of mine?” Curze mused, trying to hide the grin spreading on his face.
“It makes no sense that I could be pregnant. Lavinia gave me no issues when I was carrying her the entire time,” Lyra said, noticing her husbands change in demeanor since the apothecary had left.
“Maybe we will be having a son?”
“And you would be pleased that a biological son is making me so ill, my love?”
“He will be just like me.”
“Nauseating?”
His brow furrowed at her insult. “Strong, as he will require more nutrients from you. Thus you are ill.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not how that works.”
Curze put his hand on her stomach. “Another child,” he mused.
“What happened to you wanting to kill everyone a moment ago?”
“Would you like me to kill the cooks for you, little wife? I can happily oblige.” He grinned.
Lyra grumbled. “Water, please?”
Curze grabbed the glass of water she had been nursing, and handed it to her. She sipped slowly, feeling her stomach hurt as she drank.
“If this IS a baby — this is going to be the last one,’ she said, handing the cup back to her husband. ‘I know you wanted four, but three it’s going to stay.”
“Technically, we’d be having two. Our son is adopted, so technically—”
“Then we will ‘technically’ not be having a third then. Lavinia caused me no problems in or out of the womb. I can’t deal with this again if it’s pregnancy.”
“Together, our sons will carry on my lineage and serve the Emperor proudly.”
“You can name my stomach virus, if you’d like? Name it Sanguinius or something…”
Curze chucked. “I would never allow my brother to be inside you, even in jest.”
Lyra laughed at that.
The apothecary appeared at the entrance to their quarters again. “My lady, I come baring news.”
“Please — don’t tell me it’s another baby.”
“You will be pleased to know it is just a virus or food poisoning as I suspected. I know Primarch Curze had been expecting something better, but there is always the option to keep trying.”
Lyra didn’t have to look at her husband to know he was incredibly disappointed.
“Run the test again,” Curze demanded.
“Konrad, I would just like to rest for now,’ she looked up at him, an irritated expression on his face. ‘Please?”
When he met her gaze, he relaxed again, his expression becoming more neutral. “Yes, yes. I am…sorry.”
The apothecary spoke again. “Fluids, my lady. Rest and fluids. I can give you something for the fever, but that’s all I can do.”
“Thank you,” Lyra replied. He provided her two tablets, which she took hastily. Her stomach rumbled again. The apothecary took his leave for good after.
“We could name it, if you like,” Curze offered.
“I wasn’t being serious, you know,” Lyra said.
“This way I can be mad at it that you are not pregnant, and instead ill.”
“You are quite funny now that you know I am not on death’s door.”
“I am bitter because you are not carrying my child again.”
“Give it time, my love. You want me healthy for that.”
Curze nodded. “That I do. In the meantime,’ Curze reclined on the bed beside her, holding her gently, ‘You are so warm.”
110
Why, GW?!
Why must you make me want an army of giant mechs?! You monsters!
First, the customize your walking death machine.
Then the “scout that will still wreck shit” smaller ones AKA troops-like.
And now you just have to release a giant walking baneblade! FFS!
Damn you for becoming a better company! Now I want the new Imperial Knights army. Son of a *****!
One of my favorites!
I like this idea that you keep surprising other Astartes by being the only baseline in a conversation.
Like maybe there’s 3-4 and then you, a normal baseline who’s much shorter by comparison. And they get so wrapped up in the convo amongst themselves that when you speak up, they’re like:
“Oh shit when did you show up?”
“I was here the whole time!”
“You were here the WHOLE TIME?!”
“Uh, yeah…”
Primarch’s wife sends them this text:
GET LOVED IDIOT💕
Laughs/finds it amusing (even if they don’t understand it)
Vulcan
Alpharius/Omegon
Leman Russ
Fulgrim
Horus
Khan
Sanguinius
Magnus
Thinks it’s stupid/why would you send him this?
Lion
Dorn
Guilliman
Ferrus
Lorgar
Corvus
Straight-up takes it the wrong way entirely (angry, sad, upset, etc.)
CURZE
Perturabo
Angron
Mortarion
I also offer a solution to helping your Night Lord not spiral out and panic that he’s unlovable by his perfect person (you): a good scalp rub
Let him lay his head in your lap, wipe away any tears, and just… run your fingers through his hair. Scratch his scalp a little. He is going to MELT like a hot knife through butter. He might grumble at first, but it works wonders!
You may also need so say nice things, such as reassuring you love him, telling him about his good qualities, and hearing his continued worries about your bond (‘no, I don’t want a Blood Angel’).
If it’s good enough, you’ll have a nice little romantic moment or he may fall asleep.
Be careful to not do it too much, or he may get overstimulated and horny af. But if you’re cool with that, scratch away!
