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sleepyfan-blog · 2 hours

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Chase

Author’s note: The fourth fic for Nadesir! previous. Next

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @kit-williams

Warnings: kidnapping, violence, ask me if you want me to tag something else

Summary: Nadesir catches the trail of one of the lurking Alpha Legionnaires, but something more worrying comes up.

Nadesir silently made his way through the forest, using his wings to keep from leaving tracks on the ground. For reasons known only to them, the Dark Angel Interrogator Chaplain and the squad he had brought with him had decided to linger in the small human town, and had been terrorizing random Astartes by asking questions that made no fucking sense to him. Perhaps it was a Loyalist thing that they were chasing? Not that the Night Lord Raptor had made it his business to find out what the Dark Angels were up to - though he hoped that they would fuck off soon. With the Alpha Legionaries somewhere in the forest that he was currently flying through doing fuck knows what, the presence of another group of deeply mysterious and secretive Astartes was... Not great. While he was looking for four-legged prey to hunt, Nadesir was keeping a careful eye on his surroundings, just in case he caught a glimpse of a hydra lurking in these woods, or to catch their trail.

If he could find where they were hiding out in - when not sneaking around the town in the guise as other marines - it might help? If he could make his way through the Alpha Legion base, try to snoop through their things, to see if they had any plans written down - likely coded, if it was written down - he and the other bonded Astares who lived with their humans might have a clue as to what those teal-hued snakes were after. Not that Nadesir was of the opinion that they should give the Alpha Legionaries whatever it was they were after. Not with the underhanded groxshit that they've been pulling for months now.

Snap!

A branch broke loudly, startling the Night Lord, and Nadesir choked back the instinctive desire to hiss or growl at whatever had made such a sound, whirling where he was hovering to try and see the cause of the broken branch. At first, all he could see were several different kinds of trees - odd, as none of them were the type of tree to shed branches at this time of year unless the tree was damaged or sick somehow - when he saw a flash of teal and silver. A vicious smirk spread across his face beneath his helmet as he flew as swiftly and as silently as he could manage toward the brightly colored flash he'd seen.

He quickly approached where he'd seen the initial flash of silver and teal, noting that particular Alpha Legionnaire had indeed been caught in the deadfall trap that he'd left out for unwary prey, from the destroyed trap and the scrapings of paint on the underside of the large and heavy branch the other had likely been trapped - or partially - trapped under. There were a set of Astartes-sized footprints for him to follow deeper into the woods. The smirk on his face broadened to a grin, and he was about to fly off to hunt down his two-legged prey when he paused for a moment as he got a message from his bonded.

[You busy, Vanya?]

He hesitated for a moment before answering, using the text-to-speech feature in his helmet (making sure that his external comms were off - no need to potentially tip off to his prey that he was closeby) [Somewhat, but never too busy for you. Did you need something? I am on a hunt.]

[Oh, have fun! I just thought I saw you at the grocery store. Must have been another Night Lord.] She said, unintentionally causing Nadesir to panic a little.

He didn't know of any other Night Lords who lived in this area, and there were no Night Lords in the migratory war bands who passed through this town. At least, that had been true the last time one of the warbands had passed through, and they'd come and gone before this group of Alpha Legionnaires had decided to be spooky bastards. [... Be careful, darling. Most of my brothers are... Spectacular in how poorly socialized they are, to use your words. And it's possible that the Night Lord You saw was actually one of the shape-shifter Astartes borrowing someone else's form.]

[I'll keep that in mind. Have fun on your hunt, Vanya!] She texted back [I'll tell you when I get home.]

[See you soon, this hunt shouldn't take long.] Nadesir promised, anxiety and determination making his hearts beat quickly. He was torn between his desire to run the Alpha Legionnaire to ground, and flying back to his bonded... Especialy with this suspect Night Lord in town, he was worried that this might be some kind of trap or bluff -

Snap!

Another broken branch. Another flash of teal and silver paint.

A silent snarl left Nadesir as he lunged for his prey, while also making sure to send all of the information he'd gathered on this hunt to the Ultramarine Lieutenant who'd been put in charge of handling all information that the allied Astartes in the area had gathered on their wholly unwelcome visitors. That way if he was captured or went completely silent, they had some sort of clue as to what had happened to him.

The trees were too close together for Nadesir to fly properly, but he leapt from branch to branch in the upper canopy, gliding on silent wings as he sought out the Alpha Legionnaire he'd caught sight of twice, one hand on his bolter, the other helping to steady himself on the branch he leapt to, to keep from making too much noise.

It did not take long for the Night Lord to catch up with the single Alpha Legionnaire who was limping on the ground.

...

Why was there only one of them? Of the traitor legions (were Alpha legionnaires traitor? They were labeled such by the Loyalists, but Nadesir wouldn't be surprised if the true answer was much more complicated. Even so, was this Alpha Legionnaire a traitor, or was he from a time before the Horus Heresy?) the Alpha Legion almost never splintered off into groups fewer than two. He looked for signs of more Alpha Legionnaires, but did not find any. He kept pace with the bastard Hydra limping around on the ground, careful to keep behind him and moving as silently as possible, in the hopes that if the other did not know he was there, that he would not alert the other to his presence. And the injured Alpha fucker definitely seemed to be headed in a specific direction, rather than wandering around aimlessly.

Nadesir stalked the injured Alpha Legionnaire from the forest canopy, resisting the urge to swoop down and pounce on the bastard - to tear him limb from limb and leave a pretty little warning for his fellow teal fucks to find in the woods - patience was the mark of a true hunter, and if he was lucky, the other would lead him directly to wherever it was the group of Alpha Legionnaires were lairing. Hours passed, and the Alpha legionnaire eventually limped up a well-worn forest trail to a wooden cabin, knocking on it four times before entering.

Anticipation sung through the Night Lord's veins, but he again sent his current coordinates and a short explanation as to what he'd found to Lieutenant Ollias. He paused for a moment, realizing that his beloved bonded had sent him three more messages, while he'd been focused on the hunt, each more concerning than the last.

[I'm almost home, but I think I'll need to spend some time at a neighbor's place. I think someone's following me.]

then

[How badly socialized are most Night Lords, again? The one from the grocery store is trying to talk to me. Says he can smell you on me?]

and finally, a terrifying

[Help! He's ajklreg-]

The timestamp was half an hour ago. No no no no no! Nadesir knew that he should have turned around and gone to his beloved at the first mention of another Night Lord. It was too unusual a happenstance for it to be a good thing, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something awful had happened to his bonded. He could only hope that she was still alive. He'd been told by older Astartes that they had felt when their human had died. Had felt the bond snap as their sanity waned. Forcing down the panic, Nadesir closed his eyes as he reached out to the wonderful, strange bond that he had with his beloved human, trying to get a general sense of where she was, his body already moving towards where she was by the time he opened his eyes again.

He could hear and smell the large, unmarked van coming minutes before it arrived, its noisy engine and awful pollutants chugging along, with his bonded inside of it. The van was moving at speed - but no faster than Nadesir himself could run. He silently judged the distance before landing on the roof of the van with an unfortunate thud.

Nadesir dug his claws into the roof of the van, the inferior metals bending and buckling beneath his strength and frantic determination. the metal shrieked and screeched as he tore open a hole large enough to see what was going on.

His human was bound and gagged, held in place by a wide-eyed human male. She was struggling against him. There were several other humans in the van, two of whom were also bound and gagged, the other six trying to keep them in place. All three of the captured humans were bonded to Astartes. He leaned in, growling in the dominant human language "I don't care what foolishness you think you're up to, but I will be taking the humans you are foolishly attempting to kidnap. Resist and I will kill you."

"Y-y-you wouldn't dare!" One of the capturing humans stuttered. He stunk of fear and was dressed in a black suit and tie, with a white under-shirt. "I-I am-"

"I. Don't. Care. Who. You think you are. You attempted to kidnap my bonded, and the bonded of two others I consider allies and friends. Then again, I could leave you stranded here. The Hydra hunt in this region. I'm sure they would feast upon your fear and helplessness before tearing you apart." Nadesir hissed. Or he could leave them for the Salamanders to find. While they were loving and soft to those whom they cherished... Well, these idiots definitely would have roused the fury of the dragons. And enraged Salamanders were breathtakingly vicious and cruel.

"We... We... We still have a working-" Suit and tie stuttered uselessly.

Nadesir ignored his babbling, looking over to his beloved - who continued to struggle furiously against her captor. He reached for her, cutting the ropes off of her, offering her his combat knife "I'm going to stop the vehicle. I imagine these two's bonded aren't far behind you." He gently bumped his helmeted head against her forehead in a gesture of affection. "Strike hard and fast, my heart." Before he crawled back on top of the van, pulling his bolter from it's holster and shooting at the hood of the van, aiming for where the engine probably was, and blowing a large hole through the middle of it.

There was a lot of panicked shouting and wailing from the would-be kidnappers. Their symphony of fear was almost enough to provoke Nadesir to purr - but he wouldn't. Not until his precious human was safe. And that the other kidnapped humans were safe too.

Sure enough, he could see several large green Astartes sprinting down the road towards the rapidly slowing van. He waved at them from his perch, calling out to them over vox {You here to retrieve our kidnapped humans?}

{Yes! Your appearance is timely, if surprising. We were told you were on a hunt?} The lead Salamander asked. He was one of the Primaris Marines - larger and allegedly better than first born marines. The young dragon was sure a fast fucker, at any rate. Nadesir wasn't sure what his name was.

{I was. Then my human texted me for help, so I followed my bond to where my human is. I've given her my combat knife and freed her hands and legs, so the others who were captured are going to be freed soon too.} Nadesir explained, looking back into the hole he'd created. Sure enough, his beloved had freed the other two bonded humans - and was threatening Suit-and-Tie human at knife point, using methods he'd taught her. He's so proud of her. He calls out to her "Are you ready to go, love? Or do you want to kill your would-be capturer? Or I could kill him for you, and give you his heart to devour. Or his liver. Or both!" He was... Mostly joking. He knew that cannibalism wasn't something that most humans on ancient terra did unless under extreme circumstances and desperate. But he was leaning into the terrifying reputation that his legion had earned on Ancient Terra.

"... I'd rather they face the justice system, then have them killed out of hand, Vanya. Even if this shithead's parents are wealthy enough to pay off the courts." His human huffed, glaring darkly at suit-and-tie.

"Mmm, the squad of angry Dragons says otherwise, dearheart." Nadesir crooned. He doubted that these would-be kidnappers would last long in captivity, unless they had some very compelling information to give to the local chapter masters. "Then again, the Interrogator Chaplain has been getting restless... I'm sure he'd be delighted to... Mete out the due justice these fools have earned." Oh look, and the scary bastard and his posse were following the squad of furious Salamanders. "You never should have kidnapped our humans. Ready to go home, darling?"

His human blinked and smiled, handing him his combat knife. Instead, he picked her up, nuzzling her lovingly. "I thought you wanted to hunt?" she asked, confused.

"If you think that I am going to be anywhere but at your side for months after you got kidnapped, you should reconsider that idea. I... I am sorry to have failed in protecting you, beloved." Nadesir rumbled, guilt and shame gnawing at him. One of the would-be kidnappers tried to reach for a weapon, but with a flick of his wrist, he cut the bastard's offending hand off with one of his claws without looking.

"Hey... It wasn't your fault I got grabbed, love. And you came to get me as soon as you knew I was in trouble. I... I'd like to go home now. I'll talk to whoever Captain Urar sends to talk to me about what happened tomorrow." His beloved responded, shaking a little as she buried her face in his chest.

Nadesir kissed the top of her head. It was still a failure on his part that she'd gotten kidnapped - perhaps he needed to ensure his reputation was terrifying enough that none would dare approach her with covetous thoughts? Ah, but he didn't want to potentially scare her away, either... These were things to consider later, however. The squad of Salamanders had arrived and he nodded politely to the sergeant leading them, saying "I'm going to take my human home. We'll both give full reports of what we know happened tomorrow."

"That works for me, go on home." The sergeant responded. "And yes, I'm aware of the Pride half a klik behind me. They're bored and frankly, I think that letting them handle the idiots would be entertaining."

The night lord raptor nodded, holding his human closer as he took to the skies. She slowly started to relax in her arms, the fear and anxiety in her scent giving way to wonder and delight. She always did really enjoy it when he took her for a flight.

#space marine husbandry sentience #warhammer 40k #my writing #space marine husbandry #night lords #alpha legion #salamanders #dark angels #x reader #cw: kidnapping #cw: violence

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sleepyfan-blog · 3 hours

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write weird shit. Write indulgent au fanfiction and self insert fics. Write creepy horror scenes and random character crossover dialogue. Write in a different genre. Write that sex scene that you know won’t make the cut. Write about sentient furniture turning into werewolves that try to date your MC. Write whump or hero/villain fic. Write your kink. Write your worst nightmare. Write your delusions of power and fantasies of control. Write whatever the fuck you feel like. Write whatever comes to mind. You don’t have to share it with anyone (but you can). Your writing impulses don’t define your morality anymore than your reading preferences, and actually going outside your comfort zone will improve your writing skills (making a horrifying villain sympathetic requires good characterization). Even if it doesn’t improve your skills, that’s still something you created out of nothing. It’s still valuable. Don’t let purity culture kill your creativity. That’s how culture stagnates. That’s how writing stops being fun.

#queued

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sleepyfan-blog · 7 hours

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Feeding Time

Author’s Note: This is the next in the Baby Primarchs being raised by Big E series. First. Previous.

Warnings: dehumanization of primarchs, dehumanization of infants, neglectful parent, baby barf, please ask me to tag additional things

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel

Summary: The Emperor feeds some of his infant generals.

Neoth held One in the crook of one arm, making sure that his head was well supported as he held the bottle of skin-temperature warm (not hot, not cold, not cool, as he had learned through trial and error) and ensured that his first primarch could latch on firmly to the nipple of the bottle in order to feed. The little one drank swiftly, making tiny suckling noises that Neoth refused to acknowledge as anything other than One successfully feeding. He was making sure to be very quiet, as the rest of his twenty-one infant generals were peacefully sleeping. He hadn't known, when he had ordered for each of them to be decanted - that each of the little ones would have a different sleeping and feeding schedule.

But they did. One preferred to be fed at least once every couple of hours - and if he was not fed precisely on time he would use all three of his lungs and wail at the top of his lungs, while waving tiny fists in the air and kicking at the sides of his cradle. And when One started to cry, he set off all of the others, no matter how deeply sleeping or content they had been before One had begun to cry. One also occasionally hissed and growled when startled... Although that was likely due to the feline DNA that he had inserted into One's DNA structure.

One was currently purring as he suckled the bottle, his eyes squinted closed in contentment. Neoth made sure that the bottle had exactly the amount of formula that One fed on without causing him to spit up, after having drunk more than his small stomach could handle, as One would suckle until his bottle was dry, no matter how full his stomach got, which Six, Nine and Eighteen were also prone on doing. Twelve cried whenever one of its' siblings cried for any reason, which was frustrating in its' own way.

One released the bottle's nipple with a tiny sigh and yawn, stretching a little and resting his head on Neoth's chest. Something treacherously soft and warm was beating beneath his breast. Neoth ruthlessly squashed the feeling as he set One down in hi-it's bassinet. He lightly brushed the light blonde hair out of One's face, as he murmured a quiet "Good boy."

One curled into his touch as the infant primarch shoved its' thumb into its' mouth and starting to suck, dark eyes once again closing for a nap.

Which was good, as it was time to feed Twenty-A and Twenty-O, who refused to be separated from one another, even to feed or be bathed (and... Bathing was on the list of things that needed to be done, but feeding the primarchs so that they would grow out of such a helpless and needy stage was paramount). This clinginess was understandable, as the two of them had been incubated in the same pod, though they would be weaned from one another's presence. His generals needed to be independent enough to work solo, or alongside just the forces he sent alongside them.

Neoth floated the two of them out of their bassinet and into his arms with a flicker of warp-craft. He stilled when Fifteen shifted from in its' sleep. Fifteen was by far the most deeply connected to the warp of all of Neoth's Primarchs - which had been by design, but Fifteen was also very closely attuned to Neoth's own use of the Warp - and often awoke, sable eyes staring up at him at any moderate or higher working of the warp he did in the infant primarch's presence. Fifteen once again settled in its' crib, snuggling into the heating pad with a contented sigh.

Twenty-A began to gum Neoth's shirt, seeking a nipple, Twenty-O just stared up at him, teal eyes barely blinking.

The Emperor of Mankind silently sighed, carefully floating two bottles of formula in front of each of the twins' faces. Twenty-A took a moment to unlatch from Neoth's shirt to begin drinking its' bottle, periodically stopping to gurgle at Twenty-O, who gurgled back, or waved a hand at Twenty-A at each vocalization. The twins were slower eaters than most of their siblings - which could be frustrating when more of the primarchs were awake and wailing for their own meals. Three, Twelve and Nineteen also ate slowly, though they'd already eaten in the previous hour to this, before One had eaten.

... But trying to rush the twins through their meal only caused them to burp and throw up everything they'd eaten all over his shirt, pants, shoes, or the room in a sticky mess before caterwauling until they were fed in the way that they liked best.

An hour later, and the twins finally finished the last of their feedings, and tried to snuggle into his chest to sleep. Neoth, having a great many things to do, not the least of which currently included feeding the rest of their siblings, swiftly set the pair down (as if he let Twenty-A and Twenty-O fall asleep in his arms, they would not stop crying when they were put down, no matter what Neoth tried, short of picking up the fussing infants again).

Seventeen began to whimper, just as Neoth finished tucking the twins into their shared crib. Suppressing a sigh of irritation, Neoth picked the little primarch up, rocking him back and forth. Seventeen had already been fed recently, and its' diaper did not need to be changed... So why was the little one fussing? As expected, a handful of moments after it was picked up, Seventeen settled down in, dark brown eyes closing, tiny hands grasping onto his shirt. Neoth sighed, clicking his tongue a little as he gently removed the tiny hands from his shirt, setting Seventeen down again "I can't hold you, I have to feed five more of your brothers, Seventeen." Seventeen snuffled a little, dark eyes filling with tears. Neoth sighed and tucked one of the stuffed animal shaped toys that held his scent and had a warm core next to Seventeen, who curled around the toy and fell into a deeper sleep.

He... Really needed to come up with names for them. Preferably before they started to form long-term memories. Their names were something that he'd been pondering on and off since their creation had been relatively certain, but he had yet to settle on a name for any one of them, much less a name for all of them.

Fourteen was awake, and started to sniffle, shifting unhappily in its' crib. Neoth swiftly made his way over to where the white-haired primarch was laying, so it didn't start squalling and wake up more of its' siblings. He pitched his voice low and soothing, one hand rubbing Fourteen's back, the other holding it close to his chest "Easy, easy Fourteen. You're safe... Shhh, shhh... Calm down. Are you hungry?" He murmured, floating another bottle of formula in front of Fourteen's face.

The tiny primarch stared at the bottle before opening its' mouth and latching on, sucking hard. Fourteen was prone to tears and fussing, but it ate quickly - too quickly, if Neoth didn't shift the angle of the formula to make sure that Fourteen didn't suck in air, or drink too quickly and give its' tiny belly cramps. Four, Eight and Sixteen also ate very quickly as well - though Fourteen was the one who ate the fastest, and fussed the most when its' stomach was upset from foo much formular too quickly, or air being swallowed alongside the formula as well.

Neoth put a small towel on his shoulder, before raising Fourteen up to that shoulder, patting it's back after Fourteen finished eating. Despite his best efforts, Fourteen usually did needed to be burped at least a little after being fed, and was one of the messiest eaters of all of his primarchs. At least at this life stage. Neoth shuddered internally at the little gargling sound that Fourteen made before it spat up a mix of air and formula onto the towel, which absorbed the sticky substance without dirtying his shirt.

It took ten minutes, after Fourteen had been fed, for Neoth to be certain that Fourteen wouldn't unexpectedly vomit in his crib, necessitating cleaning of the bedding, lest fourteen lay in the substance until it dried - which stank. Once the burping period was over, he set Fourteen down next to its' warm-cored plush toy before walking over to where Thirteen was curled on its' side.

Thirteen was awake, blue eyes staring up at him as he approached, straw-blond, curly hair sticking out every-which direction on its' head. Thirteen rarely cried, or vocalized much at all, unless interacting directly with one or more of its' fellow primarchs, or with one of the Custodes who fed it and its' siblings when Neoth was attending to other duties. Thirteen ate at a medium pace and rarely needed to be burped. It was one of the lower-maintenance of his primarchs, which was a breath of relief. A pity that of its' siblings, only Five, Seven and Ten were equally agreeable and quiet. It drank its' ration of formula without fuss or complaint, nor did it fuss when he set it down again.

Neoth went over the feeding schedule in his head, frowning as Two began to fuss. Both Two and Eleven were the ones who were adapting most poorly to being outside of the incubation chambers. They weren't putting on weight like the others, and though they would cry given certain stimuli, they weren't as active as the others, either. Something seemed to be wrong with the both of them, and their medical teams were diligently researching possible causes, as well as putting both infant primarchs through a series of medical tests, trying to determine the cause. He sighed as he picked up two, rocking it back and forth until it settled down again.

His vox communicator chimed, and Neoth suppressed a frustrated growl. He was not to be disturbed while feeding the Primarchs unless something urgent came up. "Delaxius, finish feeding the Primarchs. Something has come up." The Emperor of Mankind ordered one of the Custodians guarding the primarchs' room.

"As you command, my lord." Delaxius responded immediately, entering the room.

Neoth swiftly exited the room, swiftly returning to court, unaware of the spit-up towel on one of his shoulders until hours later, when one of the High Lords of Terra tactfully asked him as to why he was wearing such a thing.

Fuck!

#alpharius #omegon #my writing #mortarion #roboute guilliman #lion el'jonson #angron #magnus the red #adeptus custodes #the emperor of mankind #tw: dehumanization #tw: shitty parenting

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sleepyfan-blog · 9 hours

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Barn Anon. Here's another one, my foot is numb cuz dog's sleeping on my lap and I can't move.

Pregnant? His human is pregnant? Gabriel nearly knocks his human over when he rushes to hug her. She's crying? Don't cry, unless it's out of happiness. He purrs and kisses her cheeks, he plucks the pregnancy tests from her hands to look at the results himself. They've made something! Would it be a boy or a girl? He's torn. He's had brothers for the bulk of his life but a little girl that looks exactly like his human?

He purrs happily and peppers her with kisses, good little human, he'll take care of her as her pregnancy progresses. He'll handle all the housework so she can rest and focus on growing their child. Their little miracle. Perhaps it's not as much a surprise to him as it is to her. He is aware of a few of his battle brothers with bonded humans that are "single mothers" with little ones that look suspiciously to those Blood Angels. Maybe it is mostly his fault for not using protection when he's fully aware of this possible end result. But... this can be a little surprise from him to her right?

He rumbles as his human mutters about needing to set up check ups and a nursery. He can handle the nursery, can he go with her for her check ups?

Set after Gabriel's Valentines day special

You feel your leg bounce as you rub the barely visible bulge on your stomach. You know exactly who the father is... given that he was the last person you had sex with. Gabriel coos to your softly sitting on the floor next to you trying his best to comfort you. Oh God you were an Astartes-fucker... and you got pregnant! He rubs your hand as he is certainly feeling your panic rising.

Gabriel should feel guilty as there was a possibility of getting his dear human pregnant but he just wanted to show her how much he loved her and was this not also the greatest way for him to show his love? His eyes flick over to the nurse as she calls her last name and he helps her up.

"Emotional Support Astartis?" She says with a smile and you just nod.

"Yeah I'm a mess of emotions right now." You say softly replying as you worry about people finding out... would someone try to take your kid?

"Well you've got your big guy. Lie down please." You obey and she tucks some of those hospital paper around you and some tucked into the top of your pants as cold get is rubbed on your stomach.

Gabriel watched just cooing happily but internally he was doing his mental checkmarks... he would have to tell the acting chapter master what he had done and then the chief apothecary would want to look her over... and then the small coven of alpha legion that is friendly with the legion? Were they basically a legion again? Either way they would make sure no one suspected anything.

You gasped seeing the blurry blobby mess that was your fetus? kid? You just were surprised to even see something perhaps you were hoping to be told no it was no longer there. You look over at Gabriel and you can tell he's holding his breath his eyes focused on the screen just looking over the little blurry blob with you. You wonder if they would have his red hair...

The visit goes well as you hand Gabriel the ultrasound picture... it doesn't look like much but... you can tell it means a lot to him. For Gabriel as he looks down at the little photo. Of course, the Apothecary would be able to get a clearer picture of their child but he didn't know why... but this was something he was going to cherish.

@egrets-not-regrets @liar-anubiass-blog @barn-anon @bleedingichorhearts

#queue #not my writing #warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #oops! gaby got us pregnant and he's so happy #i love his mental checklist of people to tell

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sleepyfan-blog · 9 hours

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i want 60 thousand votes by next thursday

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sleepyfan-blog · 11 hours

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Every writer has two sides:

"I love my characters, they are my children and will protect them with my life"

"I wanna make them suffer so fucking much"

#yes

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sleepyfan-blog · 11 hours

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#yeah

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sleepyfan-blog · 12 hours

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Smokefields

Synopsis: Valdor bathes his lord

Relationships: Valdor x female Emperor Shard

Warnings: Bathroom sex, minorly dubious consent, vaginal fingering, nsfw

Wordcount: 3057 Possible continuation of Snowfields! Had another free 20 minutes to write, enjoy!

It wasn’t a calculated move.

Valdor had carried her into the baths, she still clinging onto him, bleary and half-conscious and half-asleep from the drugs the medicae had given her. Curiously, she seemed to have taken no damage from the lightning at all. Most of the damage inflicted had been sustained while recovering her. She had no doubt Valdor had already laid waste to all that upon that mission, if there were any other than himself, but she no longer found it in herself to despair.

It was simply a rite of Valdor. The price for ruling the world, if it may even be called that.

He had settled her into the warm water with the carefulness of a man caretaking a particularly fragile piece of china, gently lowering her inch by inch, and prying off her hands. She hadn’t even realized when he had stripped her, or if he had ever done so. Valdor seemed to have no concept of shame, humiliation or dishonor, none that he could fathom in any clearly defined way anyways. He was simply here to clean the blood from her frame, there was nothing else in that broken, ironclad mind of his.

She had startled when he had approached her, even while she was lying limply in that bath, head cocked to one side. The Custodian knelt down, soapy sponge in hand, gently reaching out to grasp one of her arms. His grip had tightened when she tried to yank it away. Rhythmically, he had begun to scrub at the skin, firm but gentle. She had watched him continue for a few moments, until he moved lower, until he was working at her stomach, and then her abdomen, and then her thighs. And that was when she had moved.

Valdor had lifted one of her thighs - gently of course - and began to scrub over the skin. The water was warm, his movements swift, and the scent of soap soft and light. He passed over her limbs without even a hint of recognizing this as anything more than a habitual practice, a way of cleaning the filth off a precious piece of jewelry perhaps. She had caught his hand when he tried to move away, and pressed it against her. Something had come undone, something vicious and broken and keening. Something that howled so pitifully out into the encroaching dark, begging for someone, anyone, to listen to her, even if they were her jailer, and his love just as cold as his wrath.

“Constantin.” she had rasped. Her voice was shaky. She didn’t remember what words he had spoken then. Perhaps one more of his habitual declarations of loyalty as he had tilted his head, and waited for her command.

“Yes, my lord?”

Her command was as curt as it was direct. “Bed me.” Something had broken inside of her, alright. Something that had once cared, and was now charred to ashes. Ashes, what an ugly word. It was almost as ugly as “immortal”.

Valdor's reply didn't even change his usual cadence. "Absolutely not, my lord. Your current state-”

She no longer cared enough to fear the consequences of interrupting him. “Surely you know alternatives. Your fingers.” she nodded at him. “I command you to, Constantin.”

He could not resist a direct command. For a moment, Valdor was silent, the sponge held in one loose grip. Then he gave a nod, and set it down, turning to face her entirely.

“Do you remember the first time you had me, my lord?” his question was stated more like a declaration than an actual question. His gaze was eerie. For one, he didn’t seem to be in need of blinking. For another, she felt as if this was an interrogation, even if he had smiled - surprisingly genuine - when he had asked it. It was not a gloating smile, but there was triumph in it anyways, a bitter, victorious smile of a madman that had finally been vindicated in his delusions.

She didn’t know what came over her then. What spiteful, ancient entity had latched onto her limbs and forced open her mouth.

“Constantin.” she spoke. Her voice resonated dully, and instinctively she felt herself raising her chin, straightening her spine, looking him dead in the eye even if her stomach coiled itself into knots at the mere thought of looking into that dreaded, insane gaze.

Valdor was staring back at her with the same fervour of a man that had grovelled in the icefields for centuries, who had finally seen the flame, and was now willing to burn for it. “Yes, my lord?”

She didn’t know what possessed her then, what cruel, vengeful part had snapped out to command him. “Be quiet.” she hissed.

Valdor stalled. He looked at her, as if gauging the seriousness of her command. She spoke nothing, simply calmly held his gaze with one of her own, and impatiently bucked her hips. She had no intentions of hearing him. She would enjoy herself, even if this was the only way she would accept it.

“Be quiet.” she repeated. Then, she grasped his hand, and pressed it against her, and impatiently waved at him to continue.

Valdor simply gave a short nod to show he understood and slipped a finger into her, slow and gentle and without rush.

She inhaled sharply, arching her back as his fingers found her bud and flicked at it. Valdor’s strokes slowed, as if calculating how to approach a particularly complex problem, his grip tightening and pressing down upon her hip until she grumbled in frustration and leaned back down.

He only waited until her movements slowed, then leaned forwards with that maddening grace, as delicate as a dancer performing a pirouette. Valdor lapped gentle kisses against her neck, whispering half-audible words of loyalty she no longer cared for as his free dug gently teased against the wetness of her folds.

“More.” she whispered, gasping. Her shoulders - so thin compared to his bulk - shook in the warm water. Desperately wanting to feel full, desperately wanting to feel loved, to forget the weight of the storm and the snow. Valdor obeys with only a cold smile, something close to satisfaction igniting in his gaze as he traces her entrance with a light touch, brushing against her folds.

A finger, calloused from weaponry and thicker than any mortal man’s digit, gently probes against her one last time, slipping inside with a gentle pressure, curling just to hit the spot that made her mewl and hiss. He strokes her with a slow, wave-like rhythm, holding her against him with a gentle, almost lazy touch. She clenches, feeling Valdor shift with her movements, and rocks her hips back against him.

She was mewling, hissing, clawing at him now. Water splashed around her, droplets sinking into the finery of his robe as she dragged at him, never seeming to make a single difference against his silk. Here he would be, perfect, elegant, without flaw, without even a droplet of water upon his immaculate features. She dragged at him, pulling him closer until she could tilt her head up and kiss him.

The angle was wrong. He was too tall, too large, and he was holding her too tightly to allow for any proper manuveering. Stubbornly, she persists,mouthing against his jawline and dragging at him until he returns it. There was no passion from him, no corresponding joy as he reciprocates. It was as if she had been kissing a corpse. No. Worse. Even corpses can be loved. It was as if she was kissing a statue, one without a heart and without a mind to care.

There was no passion in this. No love. Simply the movements of a primal dance He had beaten out of Valdor long ago, the emotions behind it lost forever, but the movements still remain. He was as utterly obedient as a machine would be, without complaint, and without even resistance. It was, in some horrible, twisted way, submission.

His free hand was no longer wandering through her hair. It had instead braced itself against her hip to steady her. She exalted softly as he slipped another finger inside of her, the movement so damnably gentle. Valdor was a large man, and yet he always took such care in bed. Growling, she reached for him again, seeking to kiss him again. Again, his lips on hers. Cold, mechanical, without passion. He simply opened his lips and let her explore as she wished, he let her taste the taste of incense and parchment and gold and blood upon his tongue, he let her trace his insides without protest. He simply hummed around her tongue, hunching over so that she could reach her, letting her explore the sharp tips of his canines carefully. He pulled away first, right at the edge when she was about to run out of air. He was still there, resolute, his chest barely even moving as she gasped and writhed as his fingers curled up to hit just the right spot. When he felt her relax around him again, he resumed his moments.

She cried out as his fingers found her clit, pumping slowly, gently, yet with that dreaded assurance. The pleasure was almost too much to handle. He wasn’t smiling, not quite, but there was that careful, attentive zeal in those eyes again, dark and calculating as he wrung cry after moan from her, his fingers moving with the same efficiency and grace he had displayed in combat. One moment rubbing against her inner walls, another moving against her clit in a hypnotic pattern.

His hands. Carefully manicured nails, surprisingly slender and graceful fingers, calloused from years of weaponary but still gentle. Those hands. He had killed a man with those hands. Slit his throat and watched him die. She couldn’t divorce the image from her mind, even as she keened and squirmed and danced beneath his grip. His fingers kept their quick rhythm in and out of her cunt, making no other sound except for the skin against skin as he honed in with brutal efficiency upon that spot that made her tremble. She keened at a particularly sharp thrust of his hand, sharper than his normal movements, but not enough to hurt her. His fingers were much thicker than a mortal’s man’s, but so infinitely gentle, even as he relentlessly targeted the spot that made her scream.

She bucked against his grip, sobbing out moans of lust and overwhelming emotion combined, knowing she was in his grasp, knowing he had his free hand holding her down. Smelling that incense, feeling his terrible, murderous presence, and knowing she couldn’t escape as her weeping cunt was fucked with that slow, gentle, yet ruthless pace.

He could have her moaning in minutes. His fingertip, teasingly this time, curls against that sensitive spot. Desperately, she clamps down, rolling her hips as she chases the high. Water splashes from around her as she grasps onto his shoulders, clawing at his robes, trying to find something - anything - to grab onto.

His finger curls against that spot again. She growled a groan of pure lust as he resumes pumping, rubbing against her walls, and her breath was stolen away in a sharp pitched whine. He had been so perfectly trained, so calm and collected even as his grip shifts to rub against her clit. He had been so utterly built to satisfy any purpose, it was inconceivable how he could fail. Hungrily, she clenched around his hand, accepting the only touch he would offer her. Still obedient from her earlier command, Valdor purrs, and moves close. Uncaring of the water now soaking into his robes, he gently spreads her thighs so his hands could have greater room to work. His strokes were faster now, tracing against her walls, leaving her a squirming, writhing mess, the pleasure rising and ebbing like a wave. That sight of him, his hands fisted around a dying man’s neck, was all but forgotten now, beneath that ache, the lust building and rearing until it was nearly unbearable. She squirms, her hips pumping and buckling against him, even as he lets her move as she desires, never letting go nor forcing her still, simply silent and obedient and somehow mechanical. It’s cold, it’s freezing and passionless and heartless, but it’s perfect, as if he had been trained to every cell of her body, programmed to please every inch of her.

“Con…Constantin!” she gasps. The sound was nearly lost over the sloshing of water, and the rhythm of his fingers through her cunt.

He was not yet commanded to speak. Instead, Valdor only tilts his head, like a curious dog listening in. He knows. Of course. He could smell weakness like blood on the water. The movements of his fingers are faster now, her walls clenching and unclenching around him, working her with a simple, brutal efficiency.

Her hands had tangled against his back, tracking small handprints of water. In the places where the water touched, fabric hung dark over his tall frame, draping over lean muscle and perfectly gene-carved tissue. Valdor still holds himself with that perfect, immaculate, dancer's grace, even half-hunched over, his face without even a trace of expression as he works at her, without pause and without hesitation, his eyes occasionally roaming over her flesh as if to verify she was still there, and not a creation of bone or metal. She shudders, and closes her eyes, and loses herself in the mechanical sensation of his fingers. She could feel herself nearing, her walls clenching around his fingers, so close to the edge, hips pumping up and down against him as his movements never pause, guiding her over it with the same, insistent gentleness he had always shown.

She cries out when she comes, the waves both intense and shattering. It crashes over her, raw and brutal like a wave of frost, shockwaves reverberating through her core and her abdomen. For a moment the world dissolves, the scent of incense fading, as her mind fades to nothing but sobs and screams. Valdor works her throughout, strokes slowing down so as not to overstimulate her.

She returns slowly, through blurry eyes, hips still dully rocking as she rides his fingers, waiting for the aftershocks of her orgasm to fade. Valdor’s hand had slowed, free hand now petting her thigh, as if waiting for her to appraise his performance.

Just another dance for him, just another dance. She comes back to herself in pieces, surfacing from the afterglow with a sensation almost like dread as the world refocuses itself with jarring clarity. She could feel the weight of the laurel on her head, the scent of incense from his robes, and the mechanical way he was waiting at rest. She was still clinging to him, her hands having tracked trails of droplets over his robes.

She shudders, and turns away from him. She retreats back into the water, the hot waves lapping gently at her shoulders as she sinks down, facing away from him. He was holding the sponge again, carefully reaching over to bathe her hair, continuing on as if nothing had changed.

Mutely, Valdor tilts his head. He did not have many expressions, and there was nothing except the useful neutral expression he wore while caring for her, as if this was no more important than a routine inspection of a machine for him. He was questioning her, she gathered. Waiting desperately for her approval, or her dissatisfaction.

She closes her eyes, and sinks into the warmth of the bath. Nothing had changed. Nothing had changed at all, utterly nothing at all. She was still under his grasp, except she felt so tired, as if the weight of the world had crushed her down and shattered what remained of her.

Valdor’s fingers were brushing past her face now. He held her gently, yet with insistence, waiting for her to open her eyes. When she did, he was staring back at her, sponge held in one perfectly maintained hand.

“Was that satisfactory, my lord?” He brushes her hair with an air of careful reverence, before stepping back and waiting for her response. Streaks of wetness were already drying on his robe, leaving not even the semblance of a blemish nor scar against him. He was immortal, wasn’t he? Immortal, and utterly without change.

She resisted the urge to snort a laugh. Instead, she smiled, tired and exhausted and having all the fight broken out of her.

“Yes, Constantin.”

Valdor smiles coldly, as if those were the words he had scripted beforehand, as if this was a performance, and he had taken a bow after a particularly trying dance. There was nothing behind that smile, nothing but a mind that did not know how to love.

“Thank you, my lord.”

When Valdor returned to his ministrations as if nothing had changed, she closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to gaze upon him, or to feel his cold, appraising gaze upon hers. And she was tired.

So tired. So utterly tired. The water was warm around her naked form, Valdor’s movements slow and soothing as he continued the bath, but she was cold. So utterly cold, and so utterly tired, as if the heart beating inside of her had burst and revealed nothing but gold inside. For a moment she understood what the Thunder Warrior Primarch must have felt, feeling the lifeforce bleed from him but not even bothering to stem the blood dripping from his slit throat, no longer having the strength to fight but still helm turned up, still snarling at an empty sky, mouth twisted into a fading growled. He hadn’t died then, not yet, but the years he spent in purgatory after the betrayal must have been no better. Waiting, seething, decaying in his own misery and loss, nothing but shadow now, nothing but decaying, waiting, and watching, simply waiting to die. A prisoner just hoping his gallows could be constructed even a day easier. A corpse. That’s what they both were. They were the dead, taking part in the future only as handfuls of ash and splinters of bone.

She was already dead, even the ship knew it, even the world itself knew it, even she herself knew it, it was only Valdor who refused to confess to that.

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#this is glorious and aaaaaaaaaaaa #not my writing #queued #cw smut

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