The 'Adopt a Space Marine' program
and other ways of expanding the eternal war budget
Summary: Three times the Imperium profited off of space marine imagery, and the one time it didn't. Featuring sad-faced Lamenters, the Ultramarines having more content than everybody else combined, and the Salamanders being wonderful as always. Also a sexy space marine magazine, but we don't talk about that.
Or: This is pure crack taken seriously, with an added side of fluff. All the space marines pictured are my OCs, though you don't need to know anything about them to read this.
Also, I'm publishing this under the banner of @ossmodula 's OC fic weekend, so go check out other fics there if you like OC writing! Anyway, enjoy!
The sign's digital screen flickers to a new slide just before she turns her head, momentarily drawing her eye.
SPONSOR OUR HEROES TODAY! The animated poster exclaims in sharp, bold lettering, etched in virtual gold. It's only one of many hung up on the circular column, strewn with other advertisements, posters and daily gospels, but it takes only a second's worth of observation to find just how noteworthy it is.
Above the text sits a blinking visage of an Angel, but- he looks unusual. Instead of the giant in yellow armor striking a heroic pose, nothing but cold confidence and sharp cheekbones, this man looks… noticeably careworn. There is a fresh gash spanning across the entirety of his cheek; his short black hair is flat, and his unexpectedly sweet brown eyes seem to reflect the weight of the universe.
Lyanne feels a little guilty for what might just be a slightly heretical thought, but she can't help but think he looks… well, pitiful. Like a beaten puppy, left out in the cold rain.
Despite the shopping bags in her hands, despite her little ones waiting at home, she steps closer to the screen.
"The adeptus astartes of the Lamenter chapter fight valiantly for YOUR safety. Now, you can pay them back!" the smaller text below the title reads, now in a much more subdued format. "By personally sponsoring one of our fearless Angels, you assist in providing ammunition, medical supplies and only the most premium Nutrient Gruel® the Empire can provide! Help our valiant warriors help YOU, and sign up today at-"
Lyanne blinks. The marine on the digital poster blinks back, the short pict recording looping on itself.
When Lyanne's oldest was about eight, she had taken him to a zoological display facility. He'd fallen in love with a particularly miserable looking example of an antierre lizard and, having been recently cursed with the ability to read, had noticed a poster offering the option to "adopt" the animal immediately. Even the information that he would not be taking the depressed looking creature home, only helping sponsor its needs, hadn't dulled his fervor, and after ten minutes straight of pleading, Lyanne had relented.
For the following two years, the family had received monthly updates on the lizard… right up until the miserly creature finally gave up the ghost, meaning she could stop paying for its continued struggle to cling to life. And-
Well. And the very thought of it is surely heresy, but, looking at this poster, Lyanne can't help but see… some notable similarities between those two situations.
Then the poster switches to a different recording, and- needless to say, the sight in front of her is miles better than a sickly reptile.
It's the same marine as before, still somewhat tired looking, but no longer appearing thoroughly crushed. He's photographed from further away, sitting on what looks like a medical table - medical slab? - while one of the red robes works on installing an augmentic hand over the stump of his left arm.
There is a tiny shadow of a smile tugging at his scarred lips, and he is clad in only what appears to be a casual robe, wrapping over one shoulder and ending above his knees. A robe which, Lyanne cannot help but note with absolute clarity, leaves the majority of his chest bare. His magnificently broad, heavily scarred, perfectly muscular chest. Combined with those thighs - and Throne preserve her, they each look thicker than her own torso - it makes for a very, very appealing picture.
The lizard carers sent them picts of it sometimes, she remembers then, twin spots of heat sitting up her cheeks. Lyanne wonders if whoever organized this campaign would be sending some too, by any chance. Especially of this specific marine. She would definitely not mind seeing more of him.
Despite a faint effort to talk herself out of it, she jots the sign-up information down on her personal data slate before moving on, trying to get home before the predicted rains catch up to her.
The yellow clad Angels - Lamenters, apparently - operate somewhat regularly in the sector, and she still remembers the xenos raiding party they beat back on her world. It may have been on the opposite side of the globe, but no matter. As the poster said, she thinks to herself, it's only fair to pay them back.
Her kids will love the idea, no doubt, and she-
Well. As she said, it'll be a much better sight than a mangy lizard, that's for sure.
-
The very moment their teachers give the go-ahead, Penelope rushes off into the museum's gilded hallways, practically vibrating with energy.
She's been looking forward to this for the entire year. Several years, honestly, but she knew her father wouldn't have taken her- meaning she had to wait for the fifth grade school trip like everyone else. Well, all except for Eurylocus, but that's just because his older brother was accepted for the Ultramarine initiate trials. The families of those get free attendance, apparently. Lucky!
But, at least she's here now! Konor Guilliman's museion of the Ultramarine Legion is hers to explore for the day- and that's exactly what she'll do!
A few hours pass this way, in a blur of exploration and occasional chatter with her classmates, jumping from exhibit to exhibit. The storied history of the Ultramarines is ten thousand years long, and there is a lot to go through. Armor variants, weapons showcases, even sculptures of chapter heroes- mostly replicas, but every now and then, a real weapon or piece of ceramite will rest behind the perfectly polished glasscrete, dragging excited ooh noises from Penelope and her friends.
But eventually-
"Aw, closed?" Penelope whines sadly to nobody in particular, staring at the sign sitting right below the giant 'Roboute Guilliman' painted above the closed door. She'd been looking forward to that! With the Lord regent now back from his long sleep, she wanted to know everything there was to know about him- and what better place to learn than here! "Why?"
"You came at a bad time, kid," a man polishing a nearby glass box says from a little further away, drawing her attention. "After the removal of about a third of our best display items, we're restructuring the place."
Penelope blinks. "Removal? Did somebody steal them?"
The man - a museum worker, she would guess - rubs the back of his neck. "More like the original owner wanted them back," he says, and when she stares, uncomprehending, he adds "the Lord Regent. We had the largest collection of his household items in all of Maccrage - plates, cutlery, casual clothing - but…"
"Oh!" Penelope says. That makes sense! It's a shame she can't see them, but she supposes it's better for Lord Guilliman to have them. It must be hard, finding utensils that big otherwise! She imagines the figure she'd seen on statues and paintings trying to eat with her childhood spoon, and snickers. "I understand!"
The man nods, making to turn back to his work, when Penelope spies the pendant handing around his neck and gasps. "Where did you get this?" she exclaims, pointing, and watches the worker step back, startled by her suddenly loud voice. Oops! "Sorry!" she whisper-shouts, and watches the man sigh, suddenly looking very tired.
"There's a gift shop by the exit, they sell all sort of-"
But Penelope is already gone.
"No running in the hallways, kid!" she hears shouted after her; she throws back a quick 'sorry!' then continues on her way, only a little slower than before. She'll be super careful not to hit anyone, so- it should be fine!
She finds the shop where the man said it would be, and Penelope audibly gasps when she sees what's inside- and only partly because she's winded by all that running. She feels like she may have died, and received the Emperor's blessing in person.
The shelves are packed with Ultramarine themed trinkets. She spies the necklace that worker was wearing immediately, but that's far from the only thing she sees. Posters, picts, figures- they have it all! Here's captain Ventris, posing heroically; there, a foot tall statue of chapter master Calgar, intimidating even in tiny form. Chapter heroes from all corners of history line the shelves, blue and gold bracelets and necklaces hang from wooden pegs and models of legendary ships hover in the air, held up by magnetic pads.
And Penelope wants it all.
"75% of all purchases go to the chapter's expenses," reads the sign above a rack of robes with embroidered Ultimas, and she beams. Even better! Once she grows up and becomes a pilot, she'll go join the Ultramarines and help them in person. But until then-
Counting out the thrones in her backpack, she starts gleefully pulling things off the shelves.
-
By the time they arrive at the market, Arihiro's son is practically dragging him along the walkway through sheer excitement. Though, judging by the gaggle of other parents and children clustered around one specific stall, he isn't alone in his eagerness.
He gently tells the boy to settle down, then leads him over to wait in line. No sense pushing, after all; they can wait their turn like anybody else, no matter their personal circumstances.
When the project was first brought up to the citizens of Nocturne, a lot of people jumped on it. Every larger settlement tends to have someone in the Salamanders, and even those who don't are only glad to support their brothers, uncles and elders in battle as much as they can. The way they are doing may be somewhat unexpected, yes, but… it makes sense, in its own way, And Arihiro can't help but find it endearing.
Though the wider Imperium often seems a distant thing, Arihiro is aware of some of its problems, ubiquitous as they are for any populated world. And money is always a problem; especially for a space marine chapter.
The solution their elders in the chapter have come up with?
Plushies.
Made by locals based on pre-established designs in the image of chapter heroes and important historical figures alike, the benefit would be twofold. Half of the proceeds remains with the craftsmen, and half go to the Salamanders themselves, to help sustain their needs, hopefully making their lives easier in the process. Arihiro thought it was a good idea when they announced it, and now, seeing the joy it brings, only serves to affirm him in that belief.
The family ahead of them in line walks away with their purchase, nodding at the two of them in recognition- a gesture which he returns, giving the mother and her two sons a friendly smile. And then it's their turn to peruse the contents of the table, Arihiro's son hopping up and down with glee.
The plushes sit together in groups, their steady poses speaking to some internal wire framing. They're made out of a variety of materials; some crocheted, some sewn, all made with such dedication and artistry it makes him smile. The little figures have name plates set beside them, accompanied by little plaques, detailing their lives' stories.
A tiny plushie of chapter master Tu'shan stands a touch taller than the rest, stubby hands formed into the Aquila. Beside him, a group of He'stans leans against one another, their red eyes rendered in some shimmering fabric that makes them almost look like they're glowing. And beside those-
His sons gasps. "Look, father!" he exclaims, pointing. "They have him! They have uncle Zeraua!"
Arihiro smiles down at him. "They do, yes," he says, examining the plush. Its creator did him justice. Zeraua Kamati's short-cropped curls look as they do in real life, the green and gold armor decorated with flame motifs across both gauntlets and his salamander skin draped over one shoulder. The plushie, unlike many others, is pictured with an amicable smile, And Arihiro can just imagine the man himself requesting it, wanting to come off as friendly to his people as he can.
"An elder of your clan?" the saleswoman asks, having noticed his interest.
Arihiro smiles. "My great uncle, actually," he says, and watches the woman nod respectfully.
"I assume you'll be taking that one, then?" she says, and he nods, then pauses for a moment.
"Actually, make it two," he says, and the woman laughs, his son soon joining in. Fourth company is said to be on its way back home, with an expected arrival in six to eight months. He can't wait to see the expression uncle Rau's face when presented with his own little mini-me's… and maybe this little purchase will help make his journey just a bit safer.
-
Captain Konstantine looks at the makeshift magazine, as comically small as all human-sized objects are in his hands. His own painted visage looks back, though it is… far from the usual portrayal of a space marine, to say the least.
Before him, two loud, racing heartbeats echo through the room for his enhanced senses to hear, the sharp, pungent smell of human anxiety filling the air. By his side, his young equerry, Catalina, takes one glance at the page and pulls a face.
Konstantin can relate.
Clad in what could only generously be called a robe, his painted double sits leaning backwards in a dimly lit environment, a large part of his abdominal musculature on display. His hair has been rendered in meticulous detail, his skin is so shiny it appears almost oiled, and the look in the figure's eyes is what his once-equerry's wife would have called a deadly smoulder.
Having zero desire to look at this any longer, he turns the page- but what he finds there is not much better.
it is unspeakably odd to see what is clearly supposed to be the chapter master Dante clad in only the bottom half of a ripped up bodyglove… though the fact that his body looks little like the real man does make it a slightly less jarring. Still, seeing what is meant to be a representation of his superior so exposed is- not something he wishes to linger on.
The following images continue in the same manner. One of his sergeants, pictured nude from the waist up in the showers. Lord Raldoron, staring hungrily at the viewer. Battle brother Adrios, draped only in a piece of crimson cloth, looking up at the reader from beneath unrealistically long lashes, with a tiny 'for Tarao <3' written underneath the artist's signature. Lieutenant Jaimes, entirely in the nude, the only thing preserving his decency being the long rifle held in front of his-
Konstantine closes the magazine, deciding he has seen enough. The heartbeats of the two humans stood before him skip a beat.
"So," he starts, watching the serfs - a man and a woman, both somewhat young if he's guessing right - startle. "You made this?"
The woman opens her mouth, but the guard standing beside her beats her to it. "We found numerous copies of this filth in their quarters, my Lord " he spits. "They have also been found in possession of an unusually high amount of thrones, slacking on their work to produce-"
"We do not slack!" the woman jumps in, then turns her gaze to Konstantine, bowing deeply. "My lord, we do our work, I promise! You can see the records for yourself- we would never do anything that would go against the ideal working of the chapter."
She speaks the truth, Konstantine can tell. These humans' devotion to the Blood Angels is clear in their postures, the fire in their eyes.
The guard moves to open his mouth, but Konstantine raises his hand, halting him.
"You make these in your spare time, then?"
The man speaks up this time. "More like we distribute them, m'Lord. We're no artists, but we help them get their work out to interested parties. We work together on it all, y'know?"
Konstantine nods, but raises a brow. "For a fee?"
"Well," the man flusters, "we do have to pay for the printing paper, and access to the copiers, and pay the guards to even let us access the floors with the copiers-" he pauses, realizing what he has just admitted to, sweat beading on his brow, but he is quick to talk over it.
"We- uhm, we could give you a cut!" he blurts out, and Konstantine cocks his head. "Yeah! However much you want! It could go to the needs of the chapter?"
From her place at his side, Catalina fights to contain her laughter, and even he himself has to breathe through the urge to snort. "And how, exactly," he says, evenly, "would you imagine we put that in the munitorum reports?"
The two humans look at each other helplessly, shrugging.
Konstantine sighs.
"I will make you a deal," he says, watching the two perk up. "I will not punish you, or any of your compatriots, as long as your actual work continues uninterrupted. Nor will I impede your efforts in producing these… artworks, under these same conditions.
"In exchange," he makes a step forward, holding out the dubious magazine for them to take, "you will make certain that I never-" he gazes into both of their eyes, "have to see this again. Understood?"
The two begin nodding so frantically Konstantine fears for a moment their heads might fall off.
"Good," he says. "Dismissed."
The humans are nearly out the door when he stops them, feeling the need to add on more thing. "The skills of your artistic compatriots are considerable," he says, and he does mean it, for all the subject matter is uncomfortable for him to look at. "Perhaps they would be interested in utilizing them in painting some of the middle decks, instead of only producing magazines of dubious repute?"
The woman brightens. "Oh! Meliana and Adrien will be glad to! But Angeline… ah…"
"Your friend would rather paint me and my battle brothers in various states of undress, you mean?" he says, tone flat.
She blushes, but her companion only shrugs his shoulders, agreeing with his words.
Beside him, Catalina loses her fight with laughter, and Konstantine drags a hand over his eyes, feeling as if he has aged another century in the past ten minutes alone.
-
Alright, that's that! This entire fic was inspired by an absolutely hilarious conversation in the Armoring room warhammer server, and it gave me such brain worms I had to write this. I hope you enjoyed!
Tagging: @hopefully-grimderp @absynthe-mind @bunny-fair
