shiyorin

[shiyorin]

Types Of Writer’s Block (And How To Fix Them)

1. High inspiration, low motivation. You have so many ideas to write, but you just don’t have the motivation to actually get them down, and even if you can make yourself start writing it you’ll often find yourself getting distracted or disengaged in favour of imagining everything playing out

Try just bullet pointing the ideas you have instead of writing them properly, especially if you won’t remember it afterwards if you don’t. At least you’ll have the ideas ready to use when you have the motivation later on

2. Low inspiration, high motivation. You’re all prepared, you’re so pumped to write, you open your document aaaaand… three hours later, that cursor is still blinking at the top of a blank page

RIP pantsers but this is where plotting wins out; refer back to your plans and figure out where to go from here. You can also use your bullet points from the last point if this is applicable

3. No inspiration, no motivation. You don’t have any ideas, you don’t feel like writing, all in all everything is just sucky when you think about it

Make a deal with yourself; usually when I’m feeling this way I can tell myself “Okay, just write anyway for ten minutes and after that, if you really want to stop, you can stop” and then once my ten minutes is up I’ve often found my flow. Just remember that, if you still don’t want to keep writing after your ten minutes is up, don’t keep writing anyway and break your deal - it’ll be harder to make deals with yourself in future if your brain knows you don’t honour them

4. Can’t bridge the gap. When you’re stuck on this one sentence/paragraph that you just don’t know how to progress through. Until you figure it out, productivity has slowed to a halt

Mark it up, bullet point what you want to happen here, then move on. A lot of people don’t know how to keep writing after skipping a part because they don’t know exactly what happened to lead up to this moment - but you have a general idea just like you do for everything else you’re writing, and that’s enough. Just keep it generic and know you can go back to edit later, at the same time as when you’re filling in the blank. It’ll give editing you a clear purpose, if nothing else

5. Perfectionism and self-doubt. You don’t think your writing is perfect first time, so you struggle to accept that it’s anything better than a total failure. Whether or not you’re aware of the fact that this is an unrealistic standard makes no difference

Perfection is stagnant. If you write the perfect story, which would require you to turn a good story into something objective rather than subjective, then after that you’d never write again, because nothing will ever meet that standard again. That or you would only ever write the same kind of stories over and over, never growing or developing as a writer. If you’re looking back on your writing and saying “This is so bad, I hate it”, that’s generally a good thing; it means you’ve grown and improved. Maybe your current writing isn’t bad, if just matched your skill level at the time, and since then you’re able to maintain a higher standard since you’ve learned more about your craft as time went on

[shiyorin]

I was quite surprised when someone sent me a warhammer request on marshmallow, but here we go.

#Modern au. You are a designer who oftens works from home.

#Just a normal morning with primarchs

#Menu: Imperial Secundus

#I promise it only has romcom

Lion El’Jonson

Lion's eyes fluttered open. The alarm blared, jarring him from a dreamless sleep. He groggily fumbled along the nightstand, groping in vain until his palm struck the clock itself, knocking it to the floor. Finally, blessed silence.

He rolled over with a grunt, hugging the blanket tighter and started to drift back under. But a relentless pounding on his door shattered the tranquil haze.

"Lion!! Wake up!! You told me to wake you up early today!" came your insistent voice from the door.

Ugh, did he say that? Of course, he must have, you never would have disturbed his rest otherwise. Lion pulled the covers over his head, letting out a petulant growl. He'd finally gotten some leave time, intended to sleep it away after months of grueling deployments. But apparently obligation called once more.

There was an important PR ceremony today, some ribbons and handshakes to help soothe the civvie politicians. A necessary, but not how he wished to spend his brief repose. For a treacherous moment, the stubborn soldier considered ignoring your wake-up call.

But no. You would only escalate your reminders, and he cringed at the thought of what inventive method you might employ next time. Best to acquiesce... for now.

Lion threw off the sheets with a resigned sigh and swung his feet to the floor. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he padded into the bathroom, glaring at the haggard reflection in the mirror. His beard had grown considerably during his absence, an unruly rug framing the sharp angles of his jaw and cheeks.

He grabbed his trimmer and set to taming the wilderness, meticulously shaping it back into a crisp military cut. Freshly groomed, he tugs on the crisp dress uniform laid out the prior evening. Drab olive tones that do nothing for tired but befit the solemn occasion.

One last lingering look in the mirror confirms his stone-faced professionalism. No one would ever suspect the churning sea of doubts and regrets that dwell behind those cold eyes.

With a resigned sigh, he steps out into the living room. Immediately he's greeted by an unexpectedly enticing sight, you lounging on the sofa in minimal loungewear.

You were sprawled on one end of the sofa, some oversize tee and cotton shorts clinging to your languid form. A tablet danced in your delicate fingers, your face a mask of fierce concentration for whatever design you worked on. Lion couldn't help his treacherous eyes from tracing your curves, taking in expanse of naked legs on a sumptuous display.

On impulse, he crept closer behind your perch, locking onto that elegant neck arching so invitingly. He bent low, baring his teeth ever so slightly as a humid breath rolled across your flesh...

"What are you doing?!" 

You flinched bodily, whipping around with wide eyes. Lion recoiled slightly, caught like a schoolboy playing mischief. But your shocked expression melted into an exasperated look as he feigned innocence with lofty indifference.

"Nothing."

Lion cleared his throat.

"You know, you could go outside once in a while. A little sun might be beneficial."

You shot him an icy scowl over the edge of your screen before shrugging elaborately. "I get plenty of Vitamin D, thank you."

He snorted inwardly at the subtle double entendre. Of course you did. Drawing near with an exaggerated sigh, Lion jerked his chin down in clear expectation. You dutifully rose without comment and began smartly knotting his tie, making a few last tidy adjustments before stepping back to appraise your work.

Your bright eyes raked over his crisply-attired form, sparkling with unreadable thoughts before giving a slight nod of approval. "Very handsome. I'm sure they will like it."

"If only..." Lion muttered "I'll be counting the hours until I get cut loose from these."

His gaze subconsciously drifted to the framed awards and photos lining the shelves, stark reminders of his true calling, a life of struggle and valor amidst the echoing guns. And here, he felt like a caged beast, bored, aimless and shackled.

"Speaking of eating..." He turned back to you "What say we go out for a nice steak dinner tonight? I should be done with this whole circus by mid afternoon."

You cocked one shapely eyebrow, unmistakably intrigued. "A prime rib does sound tempting... and you're paying of course?"

"Better than tofu and kale, right?" Lion's eyes crinkled at the corners, indulging his rare playful side. "We could even get a nice bottle of Cabernet to go with it." 

You said with a smirk "Wait... Is this a date, sir?"

A delicate flush colored his cheeks for just a moment as he turned away dismissively. "Well, I'd say it's just dinner."

You chuckled "Alright sir, it's time to go.."

He shot you an incredulous look as you give him a wink.

"As if you're one to lecture anyone on getting out more..." He muttered under his breath once the door clicked shut.

But a smile played across his lips as he grabbed his keys and cover, already counting down the hours himself.

Sanguinius

Sanguinius slowly peels open his eyes as the first rays of dawn filter through the bedroom window.

Despite being a morning person in theory, his body protests at the early hour, muscles tight and eyelids heavy from a restless sleep. He drags himself out of the tangled sheets, padding wearily to the bathroom.

The hot shower does little to shake the lingering weariness. It clings to him like cobwebs as he towels off and slips into a plush silk robe, a small indulgence. He catches a glimpse of himself in the foggy mirror, pausing for a beat. His chiseled features and athletic physique betray no hint of the pain that gnaws at his insides lately.

Pushing those nagging thoughts aside for now, Sanguinius drifts out to the kitchen. He uncorks a deep Cabernet Sauvignon decanter to pour himself a generous glassful. Not exactly the most typical breakfast beverage, but he's long past caring about societal conventions.

When he turns to join you at the dinette table, he's greeted by the sight of his disheveled roommate cradle-hugging a steaming coffee mug. You're barely awake yourself, straggles of hair framing your bleary eyes. Despite your almost comical morning disarray, you're still the most gorgeous thing Sanguinius has ever seen.

Instinctively he opens his arms for an embrace, a silent good morning routine. You merely stare at him through slitted lids before downing the last of your coffee. Then, with neither word nor warning, you thrust the empty cup into his hands and turn to go.

Sanguinius is left bemused for only a heartbeat before chuckling softly. He rinses the mug out, refilling it with the last of the coffee and offering the fresh cup which you accept with a grateful nod. You vanish into the living room, curled up on the sofa mere moments later. Your bright LED monitor casts a blue glow across those striking, angular features, already immersed in rendering textures for another character model no doubt.

Padding over, Sanguinius gingerly retrieves his portfolio from beside the armchair. He sinks back into the plush cushions, leafing through page after page of Renaissance and Baroque masterpieces. Yet he can't seem to focus on the brushwork or chiaroscuro artistry today.

He finds his gaze drifting from the pages time and again, stealing glances at the beauty, studying the delicate shape of your lips, the color of your eyes, the effortless fluidity with which your graceful fingers fly across the keyboard.

"Don't stare at your phone and eat at the same time," He chides warmly as you start scrolling through work emails with one hand. "You'll choke."

"Fair point, from the man sipping wine at 7 AM."

You arches one shapely eyebrow but doesn't deign to reply further. Sanguinius drains his own goblet and rises to clean up. He takes his time, puttering about the loft tidying this and straightening that, all while keeping you in his sights through stolen glimpses.

Once finished with his little chores, he finds himself drifting over to your place without even thinking about it. You don't seem to notice or mind as he leans over the back of the sofa, studying your latest creation in-progress.

"Impressive," Sanguinius murmurs, genuinely awestruck by the master-level craftsmanship. "Truly remarkable."

You pause for a beat, gracing him with the faintest of smiles before turning back to the grindstone, lost in your creative zone once again. He remains looming over you for a long moment, close enough to catch the faint scent of your hair's jasmine essence and feel the soft warmth of your body heat.

Then, finally, Sanguinius straightens up with a heavy, wistful sigh. He pads across to collect his folio and jacket from the armchair.

"Well then, I should get going. I've got a gallery walk-through this afternoon for the new exhibition."

On impulse he leans down, throwing his arms around your shoulders to pull you into a tight embrace from behind. You stiffens for the briefest heartbeat before your body seems to melt and settle into him. He nuzzles his nose into your fragrant tresses for one fleeting, delicious breath.

"I'll see you this evening."

*****

Sanguinius sighs heavily, doing his best to focus on the massive abstract canvases arrayed before him. But despite the confrontational slashes of color and impassioned brush strokes, his mind keeps wandering.

Wandering to thoughts of your legs and hair as wild and as unkempt as the paintings themselves. To the smirking cupid's bow of full lips perpetually pursed in sardonic amusement at his romanticized notions.

A shiver runs down Sanguinius' spine as he recalls their very first encounter in vivid detail...

Perhaps today he might finally dare to put brush to canvas, crafting the masterpiece that's been swirling in his mind for months now. 

It may very well be the only art that truly matters in this life.

Roboute Guilliman

The pre-dawn stillness hung heavy over the apartment as Roboute Guilliman stirred awake. His body clock was precisely punctual, never requiring an alarm. But it had become a morning ritual nonetheless.

Rolling over, he lay motionless in the darkness, his soft breathing was the only sound. Exactly four minutes before the jarring beep of the alarm was due, Guilliman's hand shot out and silenced it. 

With a quiet sigh, the politician slipped from the bedsheets, feet touching down soundlessly on the carpet. As the sheets were tucked with crisp military corners, he pulled the curtain across the bedroom before retreating.

Down the hallway, he rapped his knuckles firmly on your bedroom door in passing. Just a simple courtesy to avoid catching you if you happened to be awake and roaming.

A low grumbling seeped out from behind the door. Apparently his roommate was still very much entombed in slumber at this hour.  

He shook his head with a sigh as he made for the apartment's main living area. You could easily sleep till noon if permitted. But you needed to get on a decent schedule, your deadline for that game company's new character model was rapidly approaching.

Guilliman shrugged into his robe and settled into his daily routine. First a pot of strong coffee set to brew while he goes out to the lobby for the morning paper. The brisk chill of the morning air roused his senses fully. 

As the newscasters on the television in the living room prattled about yesterday's legislative victories and this morning's planned protests, Guilliman flipped through the paper's headlines. A frown creased his brow as his eyes scanned snippets:

*...divisive new social policies expected to be blocked yet again as party ties remain locked in stalemate...*

*...public trust in elected officials is at all time low amidst deluge of corruption scandals...*

He shook his head with a weary sigh. The political realities of governance had proven far more vexing than any military campaign ever faced back in his service days. Compromise and incremental change seemed the agonizing order of the day, no matter how dire the situation.

The timer's shrill beep indicated the coffee was ready. Muscle memory took over as Guilliman retrieved the carafe, split the hot brew into two mugs, then poured in the respective milk and sugars to each's preferred taste.

Almost on cue, a sleep-tousled you shuffled into the dining room with a jaw-cracking yawn. Your silk robe hung open, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the matching negligee beneath. 

"Mmmmmorning..." you mumbled groggily, bare feet padding across the linoleum.

Guilliman turned at the exact moment you wrapped your lithe arms around his midsection from behind with a contented sigh. Your cheek nuzzled against the flat planes of his back as he stiffened self-consciously.

"What's for breakfast, hmm?" Your voice was blissfully sleepy, still thick with half-dreams and warmth.

Clearing his throat, Guilliman gestured to the set table with a prim nod. "Belgian waffles and seasonal fresh fruit compote, as requested. With the coffee you prefer."

Your answering hum of delight vibrated through his robe pleasantly. "Love you."

Guilliman felt his face grow warm as you giggled, returning to slather the unappetizing bread-slab with sugary condiments. Best to ignore such needling - especially when you have a point. He couldn't help but spoil you.

… Besides, how many other politicians were roomies with a character model designer? He couldn't be too harsh.

Before he could react further, you released your lingering embrace and flopped bonelessly into your seat. Guilliman blinked, momentarily flushed, before joining you at their customary places across the small table.

They ate in a relaxed quiet broken only by the newscasters' prattling drone. Guilliman couldn't help noticing the elegant,delicate way your lips pursed around each forkful...

A loud slam from their neighbor's door shattered the reverie, making them both jump slightly. He pinched the bridge of his nose with a shake of his head. "Honestly, can people not control themselves for five minutes..."

You reached over to give his clenched fist a reassuring squeeze. "Any luck with the proposed housing reforms? I saw it was on the docket again this week..."

Swallowing hard, he mustered a tight smile. "Well, progress remains...incremental." His eyes flicked to the  mobs of irate citizens wielding placards and crude banners on television screens. "The special interests dig their heels in deeper every time."

"Just give it time." Your tone was soothing even through your usual wry inflection. You sipped your coffee thoughtfully, ruby lips leaving a perfect imprint on the porcelain mug. "They're going to feel awfully silly someday for not listening to you."

"I certainly hope--"

Guilliman glanced down at the time on his portable cogitator, eyes widening. "Blast! I'd best get moving if I'm on time for the morning session."

He rose swiftly, tucking in his chair and gathering the dishes in one practiced movement as you watched with bemused detachment. Within moments he was already depositing the load in the sonic dishwasher, suit cuffs neatly buttoned. 

At the door, he hesitated with one hand on the knob. Glancing back, Guilliman called over his shoulder, "I may be late this evening. There are deliberations scheduled on--"

"I know, I know." You waved him off with a little smile, one foot tucked under your thigh as you sipped your coffee. "More stuffy old men yelling and accomplishing nothing, as usual."

Lips pursing tightly, Guilliman simply grunted before slipping out into the corridor. Your teasing was affectionate but still stung just a bit.

Carefully straightening the crisp lapels of his suit, Guilliman cleared his throat. "Do try and not bury yourself in laptop too deeply today, yes? Your health is as important as any project deadline."

You waved an airy hand, taking an uncouth slurp of your coffee. "Yeah yeah, mom, I know the drill. Now get going before you're late for all your super important senatorial meetings."

Pausing at the door for one final longing look at that adorably disheveled figure, Guilliman repressed a smile. He truly was a lucky man, even if his roommate could be his pain at times.

As the oaken portal swung closed and his strides carried him off to another long, grueling day of civic responsibilities, the statesman couldn't help but look forward to returning home this evening.

#shiyorin's writer #wh40crack #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #romantic stuff in 40k #modern au #Marshmallow QA

[shiyorin]

I'm just wondering how the High Lords of Terra will react to the Inquisitor's report on Yandere Astartes

Sure it won't end well but they know what to do.

+++ HIGHEST SEAL - HIGH LORDS OF TERRA

+++ SUBJECT: RE - INVESTIGATION INTO SUSPECTED ADEPTUS ASTARTES GENEFLAW

FROM THE THRONES OF THE HIGH LORDS OF TERRA:

Let the record reflect that Inquisitor [REDACTED]'s findings have been received and carefully analyzed by this most esteemed conclave. We commend your diligence in identifying this supposed "Geneflaw" affecting our vaunted transhuman warriors.

However, we must respectfully disagree with the Inquisitor's dire assessments and recommendations. To advocate the systematic extermination of countless Astartes Chapters, and thus weaken our Imperium at so tenuous a juncture, would be unforgivably shortsighted.

Instead, we propose an alternative stratagem to weaponize and harness these new "urges" infecting the Adeptus Astartes.

Based on the documented cases, it is now clear these divergent behaviors all stem from overpowering obsessions and perverse fixations towards certain unaugmented humans. Whether driven by abhorrent lust, deranged infatuation or utter self-destructive piety, the underlying essence seems a primal, animalistic drive to "possess" these individuals.

We must accept this metamorphosis as an opportunity, not a flaw. Just imagine the vast strategic potential of such unwavering, all-consuming devotion!

If provided "regulated doses" of these subjects, we could conceivably drive entire companies of Astartes into suicidal frenzies of zeal and ferocious protectiveness. Their battle-disciplines would be reinforced through the biological imperative to defend their "Obsessions" from harm.

A theoretical approach is outlined below:

1) Identify and indoctrinate vast stocks of psycho-bombinally suitable mortal humans to serve as "Fixation Targets"

2) Embed these "Fixation Units" within key Astartes deployments as "Distress Bait"

3) When Astartes succumb to these new gene-coded hungers, allow "bonding" under highly regulated circumstances

4) Closely monitor Astartes unit efficiency and combat fervency, providing "Fixation Targets" on a reward-basis

5) Deploy newly dedicated hunter-killer Astartes squads to priority war zones reinforce as needed with replenished "Fixation Units"

Properly implemented, this "Obsession Doctrine" would transform our Astartes into perfect weapon of fanatical, borderline psychotic intensity.

Casualties from "casualties of passion" would be relatively minor compared to the renewed slaughter they could inflict upon our foes. Even if entire Astartes assets are spent in the process, their sacrifices would be accepted as the highest honors.

This is the price of victory. The tormented spirits of these unaugmented mortals are a small cost to bear for the future dominance of Holy Imperium.

[ATTACHED: Proposal for funding "Fixation Unit" indoctrination camps on feral, non-compliant worlds. Methods for triggering and reinforcing selected psychosis strains…]

Let the Imperium's enemies fear the consequences of our newly unfettered wrath.

For the Emperor, no sacrifice is too unthinkable.

The High Lords of Terra shall catalogue your counsel under the highest seal.

Thought for the Day: "The path of virtue is narrow and sown with graven thorns. It is our eternal struggle to walk its bloody miles."

-High Lord of Terra

#shiyorin's answer #tw: yandere #yandere au #shiyorin's writer #warhammer 40k x reader #lol

[shiyorin]

The Inquisitor knows about yandere astartes, it won't end well

Inquisitor [REDACTED] report on yandere Astartes (????)

+++ CLASSIFICATION: [LOCK]

+++ CLEARANCE: Obsidian

+++ ENCRYPTION: [LOCK]

+++ DATE: 327.M38

+++ AUTHOR: Inquisitor [REDACTED], Ordo Malleus 

+++ SUBJECT: INVESTIGATION INTO SUSPECTED GENEFLAW AFFECTING ADEPTUS ASTARTES SUBJECTS ACROSS ALL CHAPTERS AND FOUNDINGS

+++ EYES ONLY HIGHEST TRANCHESINQUISITORIAL CASE FILE [EXCISED]

Summary of Findings:

Initial reports of this suspected "Geneflaw" first reached my conclave several terran years ago. Astartes assets deployed to war zones began exhibiting highly erratic behaviors and perverse compulsions unbecoming of the Emperor's finest warriors.

Behavioral divergences included:

Unnatural emotional outbursts and loss of emotional mastery

Uncontrollable sexual urges and deviant acts

Possessive, clingy behaviors violating sacred chains of command

Irrational self-destructive and anti-imperial actions driven by object fixations

At first, these cases seemed sporadic and isolated across different Chapters. However, as more deplorable incidents piled up, a clear pattern emerged. Something grievous had gone wrong on a fundamental level.

Excerpted examples of documented cases:

[REDACTED] - BLOOD ANGELS CHAPTER Audio log of Sanguinary Priest [REDACTED]

"Some dark curse has been visited upon our Chapter. A growing number of my battle-brothers have become… afflicted with wanton hungers. No mere physical needs, but all-consuming fixations on certain mortals within our care."

"They will stop at nothing to "claim" these individuals for themselves, body and soul. Any attempt at intervention results in unthinkable acts of disobedience and violence…"

[SAMPLE ENDS]

[REDACTED] - BLACK TEMPLARS CHAPTER Thought downloading from captured Chaplain [REDACTED] upon interrogation

"The time for restraint is at an end. I can bear this throbbing in my soul no longer! She must know the depth of my unfettered desire, the fever pitch of my infatuation. If she does not return these longings, I shall shatter worlds until the God-Emperor take pity!"

*Interrogator's Note: [NEUTRALIZE]

[REDACTED] - EXCORIATOR CHAPTER Recorded pict-captures from helm-cams during incursion on [REDACTED]

-Extreme Battlefield Fraternization between crusaders and human auxiliaries -Acts of exhibitionism and self-mutilation by crusaders -Systematic execution of any battle-brother expressing disgust at above actions -Final pict: [REDACTED]

The list of astartes goes on. Worse, there appear to be no patterns in age, founding, homeworld or even primarch genealogy. These repulsive behaviors are emerging across every Adeptus Astartes chapter at random. The Imperium teeters on the brink of an catastrophic, gene-coded crisis.

Research into potential countermeasures and remedies continues. However, my conclusions thus far firmly advocate an extreme response to contain this threat.

RECOMMENDED ACTIONS:

1) Immediate executions for any Astartes subject exhibiting Geneflawed behaviors. No exceptions.

2) Full and systematic extinction-level viral bombings against all potentially compromised Chapters and fleets.

3) Pre-emptive destruction of all Astartes gene-seed repositories, along with any Adeptus Mechanicus factions and forge worlds implicating in its creation or study.

Only through the complete erasure of this genetic stock can the essence of the Adeptus Astartes be preserved for the inevitable darkness yet to come.

The Emperor's work must be done, no matter how abominable the means required.

I await your tribunal's final judgment on this matter.

Thought for the Day: "There is nothing to be gained through mercy, only fleeting weakness and eventual damnation."

-Inquisitor [REDACTED]

#shiyorin's writer #tw: yandere #yandere au #space marine x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #lol

[shiyorin]

Hello! Is there a masterlist for your warhammer modern AU fanfic? I saw the art and I did read what I could on Poipiku but I was wondering if there was more? I didn't know there was a NL character, my apologies I couldn't find anything else on your AU

I only posted that fic on poipiku. And I haven't updated the new chapters on this. But don't worry, I will update it soon.

#shiyorin's answer

[shiyorin]

hi! getting-to-know-my-fav-creators-awkwardly challenge is going for me lol so if it's not something that makes you uncomfortable, what's your first language? btw you def fall into this stereotype of "eng is not my 1st language" - > "art in its purest form" /pos

Aww, thank you. And my first language is Vietnamese. And I have to admit that the Cambridge Dictionary and the Saurus (and probably Google Translate) are my best friends.

#shiyorin's answer

[shiyorin]

Shota Maguns sketch

#so cute #aww

[shiyorin]

AHHHHHHH, they are so cute!!!

Art for my friend's warhammer morden AU fanfic. These are her OCs. @shiyorin

Reader x Custodes oc Trahaerus x NL oc Shikath

Shikath: He bullies me. (Pointing at the

Custode cooking in the distance)

Reader: Be good, be good (I was thinking about the skull dog I saw recently, and almost laughed out loud)

#thank you #I love it #I have no words to describe this beauty #thank you so much

[shiyorin]

Well, I was just wondering what kind of virus could make primarchs sick. Because you know, with all the super genetic enhancements of the primarchs. If they actually got sick, I think anything that affected them would be incredibly dangerous to us, too. Because if they could get it, just imagine how much worse it would be for the rest of us.

But think about the angst and fluff potential. The Primarch became seriously ill and were forced to quarantine. He doesn't want to see you and forbids you to come close to him for your own good. And you understand that, even though you are extremely worried, the only thing you can do is pray for him. The two of you can only communicate via Vox. He said he would come back to you, and you were sure that he would come back to you.

And when his condition improves and you are allowed to see him again, he will probably panic and scold you for disregarding your own safety and seeing him. Or he will be extremely clingy and act like a child and want to be with you. And you know no matter what happens you will take care of this big man-baby.

@kit-williams @barn-anon summoning all the primarch x reader enjoyers i know bc ya'll need to hear this idea:

Primarch Sick Fics

There's something very appealing about the idea of such a big, strong, powerful man suddenly finding himself all weak and feverish, skin burning up and barely able to stand.

Having to convince him to step away from his work and wrangle him into bed, and having an excuse to fuss over him and give him lots of attention.

Perhaps he's uncharacteristically needy and cuddly in the depths of his illness?

I need to know what ya'll think

[shiyorin]

#too tired

[shiyorin]

Actually it come from my 30 days challenge. I will post full when I finished.

#You said Dorn is cooler than Perty.

#TW: NSFW, Primarch x Reader, Perturabo x Reader. Reader is Imperial Agent. Reader is dom (actually not)

1.

Perturabo's personal chamber were about as austere and utilitarian as you'd expect from the lord of the Iron Warriors. A stark grey cube of polished ferrobetон bulwarks and recessed weapon lockers, with nary a hint of ornament to disrupt the almost severity.

Not his current... companion seemed to mind in the slightest.

Sprawled across the primarch's chest like some cat, you let out a languid sigh of contentment. Most would find such casual liberties taken upon the personal space of a being as dangerous as a primarch to be the height of folly. Then again, 'most' didn't boast the Imperial Agent's unique... qualifications for reckless audacity. You seemed to relish in making Perturabo's cold immensity your own personal lounging spot, almost daring him to object.

Not that he ever would, of course. Despite himself, despite all his cold, Perturabo couldn't resist the instinctive urge to reach out with giant and gently comb his fingers through your hair.

You hummed in pleasure at his touch. Your lithe body practically melted into his frame, as though seeking some unforeseen reservoir of warmth within.

It was... disarming to say the least. Beyond even the simple fact that he, the remorseless master of the unbreakable IV Legion, would allow such intimacies to breach his sanctum sanctorum. No, what disturbed Perturabo to his gene was the contented serenity it sparked, despite all logic's demands that he extinguish such incendiary trivialities.

But somehow, the lord of Olympian bolters and siegecraft simply couldn't maintain his usual emotional partition when confronted by your inexplicable allures. Not while your warmth and intoxicating pheromones embraced him with such lascivious intimacy.

"My Lord?" you spoke with an almost playful lilt, eyes glittering up at him with impish amusement. "Did you hear what I said, or were you too busy woolgathering again?"

The primarch blinked down at you through narrowed optics. "My hearing remains uncompromised, agent. I simply saw little worth acknowledging in your words."

"Oh really?" you chuckled, turning on your side to press even more tantalizing expenses against his bulk. "Because it sounded to me like you were most diligently endeavoring to ignore me."

"Tks." Perturabo favored you with a disdainful look as his fingers resumed their unconscious ministrations through your tresses. "As if I have any cause to willfully disregard your prattle. I trust you are not about to assault my equanimity with any more of your tiresome... antics?"

A wicked grin suddenly blossomed across your features as you arched one insolent brow.

"But of course, my dear lord primarch," you said. "I was merely mentioning that I shall be departing shortly on a brief... operational liaison with the Imperial Fists."

You watched in gleeful silence as Perturabo froze, eyes widening ever so slightly as your words fully processed. After several protracted moments, his mountainous bulk stirred, expression automatically reassuming its usual adamant sternness as he looked everywhere in the chamber but at you.

To his steadily mounting disquiet, Perturabo was abruptly revisited by impulses long thought absent. That same gut-gnawing, piloerected revulsion which used to grip his psyche back on Olympia, whenever one of the better pit fighters bested him for the favor of his adoptive father's eyes. 

Hissing isotopic vapors briefly bloomed across his knuckles before Perturabo managed to regain sufficient autocontrol. A distinctly petty, almost atavistic part of him rebelled at the thought of you ... You become an 'assistant' to another of his vaunted brothers.

But wait, what was he even thinking? He frowned. Why did it even matter to him what this mortal did or whom you followed orders from? Their association was that of pragmatic expediency, nothing more...

"So..." you continued, seeming to weigh your next words with exquisitely exaggerated care.  "I mean, you two are brothers after all. So it only makes sense that lord Dorn would seek out other... capable assets to assist him during his sojourns. Don't you agree?"

Perturabo found his jaw clenching tight. Almost against his will, every word grated through corrosive impulses and came out laced with a petulance.

"So what," the primarch ground out "That has nothing to do with-"

He broke off at the sight of you delicately arching brows. Before he fully realized what was happening, his hand hold tight around behind your waist, pulling you closer to him without exerting anything like his full strength.

"I don't care what you do," he growled. "Just... don't expect me to miss you."

There, Perturabo had said it. Even as the words tumbled forth, he felt part of himself fracture in disbelief at their naked desperation. For a long moment, you stared back at him, inscrutable and perfectly still save for the faint up-and-down rise of your breastcage. Then your eyes blazed, and you unleashed a tumbling chord of throaty, utterly genuine glee.

"Now why do I need that?" you chuckled, breaths causing your exquisite flesh to ever-so-slightly press against his chest. "Especially when lord Dorn is so... much... cooler?"

Perturabo shifted uneasily as your lithe form draped itself upon his body like a silken shroud. His hands itched to caress the delicious curves barely contained by wisps of silk, yet still he hesitated. 

Your mischievous grin spoke of conquest achieved as you felt the mighty bulge stirring against your belly. He hissed between clenched teeth, torn between outrage and desire as always where you were concerned. 

"You insolent..." he growled, though made no move to escape your bold caresses. His hands remained fisted at his sides even as his manhood swelled eagerly under your ministrations. 

You nuzzled the muscled column of his throat, nipping playfully at the rapid pulse point. "Come now, my lord, is this any way to treat your faithful agent?" Breathy laughter ghosted across sensitized skin, eliciting a ragged groan.

For all his fearsome might, this... remained a strange, uncertain territory fraught with vulnerabilities he loathed to expose. But you had a way of chipping away even his thickest armor, burrowing past defenses to the needful beast beneath. 

Your lips grazed the shell of his ear, hot breath sending shivers down his spine. "My lord... let me care for you." Nimble fingers trailed the sculpted planes of his chest, lingering on scars both new and old.

He grunted noncommittally, though already his body betrayed treacherous interest pressing against your core. Even through layers of fabric your eyes darkened at the impressive size and heat radiating from within. 

Slowly, not giving him a chance to refuse, your hand closed upon the growing bulge. A hiss escaped his clenched teeth at the gentle contact, muscles tensing beneath your palm. Your touch was exquisite torment, stoking fires only you could quench. 

"Please..." you breathed, nipping along his jaw. No one had ever pleaded so sweetly for his favor before. How could he deny such a request?

Slowly, never taking your eyes from his, you sit up to your knees. Steel eyes smoldered as your fingers found the laces of his pant, loosening them with practiced skill. 

His cock sprang free, rigid stalk flushed deep purple and weeping droplets of need. Even now, the sight of his magnificence never fails to quicken your own passions. 

You ran your hands admiringly along its thick girth, marveling as always at how such an organ could exist. As expected, your lord was indeed a god among men, his every attribute enlarged to match his power.

Leaning in, you flicked your tongue lightly across the broad head, gathering the salty fluid onto your tastebuds. A shudder wracked his massive frame at the exquisite torture. 

Your eager lips parted to accept Perturabo's generous girth, though your mouth watered in anticipation rather than dread. No matter how many times you enjoyed this divine union, his size never ceased to astonish. 

Wrapping your small hand around the hot, velvet steel of his cock, you pumped slowly, eyes alight with challenge and desire. His answering growl stirred your own appetites as ever. 

Flicking out your tongue, you teased the broad, flared head, savoring the bead of saltiness that welled from the slit. Your lord's body tensed deliciously, and you knew he fought to restrain the savage thrusting such exquisite torment provoked.

Opening your lips as wide as you were able, you took the broad crown past your teeth, chin stretching almost painfully at the intrusion. A groan shuddered from your core at the exquisite fullness even this shallow penetration invoked. 

Inch by straining inch, you took more of his girth into the tight velvet glove of your mouth, cheeks hollowing to ease your task. Your jaw ached gloriously with the effort of stretching around him, the musky scent of his arousal stoking your own to a fever pitch.

At last you could progress no further, your mouth stuffed so full only the barest hint of tongue could caress his engorged flesh. Your throat worked futilely against the invasion, saliva dribbling past stretched lips to soak his base. His fingers wound tightly into your hair, forcing your movements. 

You bobbed rhythmically, hollowing your cheeks to heighten every sensation. His ragged moans spurred you to fresh efforts, swallowing around the bulbous crown as it hit the back of your throat. 

Gazing up with eyes bright with unshed tears and lust, you sucked strongly, rewarded by Perturabo's grunts. Your name fell from his lips in a prayer and curse alike, massive hands urging you to continue your exquisite debasement. 

His release came with a roar that shook the very walls, jet after jet pulsing down your willing throat. You drank deeply of his essence, milking him through every last spasm. 

Only when he softened did you release him with an obscene pop, smiling up at glazed eyes heavy with release and wonder alike. "My lord, was that... satisfactory?"

.... It was worth any pain to see him come undone...

#shiyorin's writer #primarch x reader #reader insert #wh40crack #warhammer 40k x reader #nsfw

[shiyorin]

I finished portrait of Ahzek's PTSD source twin brother 💀✨

[shiyorin]

The Annunciation

WARNING: VERY HEREICAL

Yes, the reader is pregnant.

#so beautiful

[shiyorin]

What I wanted to write was fanfic but what they forced me to write was medical records.

#shitpost #depressing shit

[shiyorin]

I hope u like this

#so cute #Malcador is watching

[shiyorin]

#You bully that dreadnought... On Slaneesh way.

#Don't ask me why. Blame my sadistic ass.

As Dreadnought drifted up from the embrace of restorative stasis, his hyper-intuitive mind immediately perceived something was… Off.

Firstly, his enhanced biorhythms, so finely calibrated to solar cyclicities that he could track planet's orbital procession to the nanosecond - seemed utterly out of sync with the chamber's illumination cycle. Rather than preprocessing the new Terran day's data overload as he typically did, an uneasy lethargy still clung to his humming catalytic synapses.

Secondly, as the veteran astartes ran a condensed lifepulse through his modification suite to jog the lingering reactivation virages, his tactical displays lit up with… anomalies. Physiometric feedback cascades infiltrating his cogitator stacks from some unknown external vector. Intrusion countermeasures were in place, but being unable to triangulate the invasive source set his soul to slow burning.

This… this was entirely outside established parameters. And for one of the Imperium's most brilliant veteran, having his personal boundaries violated in such way was utterly unacceptable.

As he fought through the last clinging tendrils of false-sleep fog, the final sensory intake to kickstart sent a jolt of pure electroglutamic shock through his entire catalytic physiology, a reflex as potent as it was primal.

Something soft and warm was pressed against him. Something whose lithe, slender contours radiated the faintest whisperings of an electromagnetic aura achingly familiar yet utterly alien at the same time. Before his hyper-rational consciousness could even process the dissonance, that same sensual presence began to…shift.

Stir.

As if in slow-motion, he felt the silken texture moving in languorous serpentine coils around his heavily armored limbs. Goosebump paresthesia blossomed across his tertiary plexus intakes as naked skin glided along the articulated grooves of his war-plate like molten metal. And all the while, his body registered the steadily mounting crescendo of a biomantic scent signature utterly unique yet vaguely…human.

"Oh dear, it seems you're awake," murmured a contralto from the dreadnought peripheral blind spot. "I do hope my little indiscretion didn't disrupt your circadian realignment cycles. That would be…tragic."

The flaring familiarity of that deceptively dulcet tone sparked a starburst of synaptic flashes across his nervous rictus. Instantly all tactical augurs recalibrated and his external ambiopulse defenses came online in a heartbeat.

You.

Who let you into this chamber? During the tortured nanocycle it took to recompile his disparate thought processes, he very nearly missed your next sibilant words.

"Rest assured, my emissions won't be affecting your precious vigor too profoundly. I calculated their dilative saturation thresholds to precisely… enervating parameters."

Something sinuous and searingly warm began undulating tighter around the Dreadnought's immobilized form. Each time the lithe coils shifted closer, his tertiary cortices ignited with phantom paresthesia, as if psychoconductive lightning were tracing arcane sigils up and down his ossified neural clusters.

He gritted his teeth against the maddening sensation while attempting to regain enough body control to break the embrace. He may not have been psychically gifted like psyker… but damn his soul to the warp's most obscene corners if he didn't recognize a psychokinetic trap when his enemy sprang it!

But for all his preternatural willpower and unmatched self-discipline, every synaptic impulse to leverage free of your grip dissipated like mist. Even his pinnacle physiology couldn't resist the achingly sensual pull gradually overpowering his every conditioned response.

"While I admit this evening's intimacy was… rather ungracious in its execution," that surgically-sculpted voice crooned amidst the frenzied synaptic backlash. "After all… You aren't the first transhuman to capitulate to pleasures of the flesh."

There was that damned smile again, stretched across the your rapturously serene expression like the crescent corona of a newborn pulsar. To his mounting dismay, he couldn't deny the understated beauty of your features, chiseled cheekbones, bow-curved lips, eyes that smoldered like binaric black hole's event horizon.

Refracting off that obsidian perfection, the latest of Imperium chromium-steel dawns birthed fiery amber halos that exalted every elegant line and curve, casting dramatic facets of shadow across your corded musculature.

As much as him railed against admitting it, some baser part of his transhuman psyche couldn't help but acknowledge the sheer flawlessness of your synthetic form. Every plane of your, every tantalizing valley was precise to several decimalized fractals of perfection. More a living work of art than merely engineered flesh and bone.

It was only when you leaned closer still, nearness forcing his to hyper-focus on your features, that he realized the danger he was truly in. Whatever genetic mastery had gone into crafting your physique was but a microcosm compared to the sheer otherness lurking behind that dangerous.

"Relax, Ancient one…" Your aura swelled and ebbed like a cosmic heartbeat.

A drift of shadows coalesced across your features, drawing out the deepest folds of obsidian corruption barely constrained beneath that timeless synthetic epidermal expanse. Within the umbra's ephemeral flicker, he thought he caught a glimpse of hooked talons that may or may not have been claws.

Then, in a voice grating with gleefully damned malice, you concluded in a whisper so quiet yet simultaneously deafening that it threatened his:

"Let me show you… beginning with the punishment of being brought low."

#shiyorin's writer #wh40crack #space marine x reader #reader insert #warhammer 40k x reader #lol #actually i don't think it's romantic

[shiyorin]

Want to bully a dreadnought? On Slaneesh way? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Of course, you want.

#shitpost #coming soon