#40k fanfic

[ladymirdan]

Me “I really need to go to bed and sleep”

My brain:” what if a 40k harem fanfic where the premise of the harem is a chapter master who picks out his captains as concubines”.

Me: “this has to have been done, *starts searching before I realise my brain is just trying to lure me out of sleeping*

#40k #warhammer 40k #warhammer #40k fanfic

[yanandreckless]

Everybody Likes Kyle

You were woken up by a loud blare of guitars along with drums that sounded like they were urging you to jump right out of your skin.

Since that was an understandably tricky thing to do and you were not normally one for tricks, you merely jumped right out of your bed. Or well, attempted to, the mass of blankets you had wrapped yourself in like a burrito proved to be rather effective restraints, leaving you sitting upright with various fabrics coiled around your legs.

The loud groan as you rub your eyes does nothing, it neither alleviates your frustration or dispels the disoriented feeling as you try to get used to being awake in your own bedroom.

The screams then start.

Not from anyone in the building, there is no need to panic.

From whichever blasted machine that was playing the guitars and the drums at this unholy hour.

Who even manages to take a turn so far left from music to end up at… that?

Who is so rude as to play it at this ho…

You scramble for your phone. Promptly knock it to the floor. Sigh. Detangle yourself from the blankets. The screams seem to be urging you on in this totally attractive mockery of a butterfly getting out of a cocoon, weirdly enough.

Once you finally reach your phone, your knee cracking as you need to nearly crawl under your desk because why wouldn’t a completely non-spherical object tumble as far away from you as possible, and you realize it’s 11am, you feel no less irritated.

In fact, you feel more irritated. With yourself. You couldn’t even be irritated with someone else in peace.

Alright, so it wasn’t at an unholy hour that this… cacophony, because it sure as hell wasn’t music, was being played.

It was at a perfectly… holy hour?

It just still did happen to wake you up.

And for what? Who the fuck was even playing that? That never happened before, this building was rather quiet.

As if the cacophony wasn’t enough, loud thuds that sound suspiciously like heavy steps and furniture being moved around are now shuddering through the thin walls and floors and that is when you realize that 16B is finally getting a tenant.

Oh no.

***

Messy bun? Check.

Leggings? Check.

Oversized T-shirt without any breakfast stains on it? Check.

Teeth brushed? Uhhh… Mouthwash gargled? Check.

Hunting down slippers that belonged to the same pair was more challenging than it had any reason to be having in mind that you possessed no canines or felines who would mess with your footwear, but once that was finally done, too, you tried not to stomp (the effect would be ruined in soft bunny slippers anyway) angrily as you went to ask your new neighbor to tone down their… music.

You nearly fell over a huge box as soon as you stepped out of your apartment. Looking down, you jumped away as a sheen of fur alerted you to the fact that this might be a pet whose temper you do not know…

Except the fur wouldn’t move. And was a giant pelt. Suspiciously looking like it used to belong to a wolf.

Then you look around the assortment of boxes, trash bags, furniture pieces, and just… stuff lying all around the hallway. The questionable taste in music your new neighbor undoubtedly had seemed to extend to furniture as well.

You were staring at a gigantic Edwardian sofa that has been through what its owner most likely considered a genius furniture flip, its upholstery a shiny black and its wooden trim an offensive gold complete with… spikes. The sofa had spikes on the top of its backrest. Cushions were strewn on it, in shades of black, gold, and red and the similarly dated cabinet with glass doors had odd symbols painted in gold on its doors, like… a circle with a bunch of arrows pointing out of its center.

Another box near the one with the wolf pelt contained leather-bound books. So far the least visually offensive or odd thing here.

And then another… was full of skulls. Fucking sk-

The man who popped out of the ajar door of 16B had to bend to walk through.

He promptly pushed aside a heavy wooden treasure chest with his foot. The chest clanked like it was full of metal.

Once fully upright, he was… terrifying.

7 feet of broad, muscled, tattooed mass.

His head was shaved on the sides, with the hair on top dyed the same offensively flaming red his sofa cushions were. It was held in a high ponytail with what looked like a metal cylinder, ornate and as edgy as the rest of him.

Piercings (yes, several) on his brow and ears. Tattoos on his entire body, including the sides of his head. Nails longer than yours on his right hand, filed into points and painted black. Short and black on his left.

He looked like one of those thirst trap alternative guys on TikTok. You always weirdly assumed those guys weren’t real.

With a slight jerk of his chin toward his new apartment, (oh lord, this is your new neighbor! Is he going to sacrifice virgins on Saturday evenings? You worked on Sunday, for fuck’s sake!) he boomed, voice deep and rough:

“Haarken, turn the music down to 16.”

Huh. 16. The music became barely audible in the hallway instantly. He renamed his Alexa into… Haarken? Could you even do that? Also, he set up his Alexa before he unpacked?

“Hello there.” The TikTok demon grinned at you, revealing a row of straight teeth with suspiciously sharp canines, like they were modded. Of course they were. Half his books are probably what sells as occult at the same stores that sell crystals to heal cancer.

“Did I wake you?”

You smooth down your hopelessly wrinkled loungewear T-shirt, a ratty piece of crap that’s gray instead of black now, with some band image that you never recognized or cared about as you dug the garment out of a bin at a thrift store ages ago, when it was still black and whole.

“Is it that obvious?” You toss back and he chuckles. He sounds weirdly menacing as he does.

“A little. I suppose you’re next door?”

He jerks his head toward your unit and you nod.

“I’m Kyle.”

He extends a shovel-sized calloused hand for a handshake. It’s very warm and just as rough as it looks.

“Kyle.” You repeat dubiously. You expected him to introduce himself as a Samael or an Asmodeus or at the very least a Constantine. Nope. Kyle.

He raises both pale eyebrows at you (Kyle is apparently a natural blonde) and you realize that he’s expecting to hear your name in return, so you provide it.

“Nice to meet you. And I apologize for waking you. If you wish to keep me company as I take all this stuff in, there will be a homemade steak in it for you.”

It’s your turn to raise both eyebrows. Kyle looks frightening but he’s apparently polite. And you can’t remember the last time you ate steak. Let alone a homemade one.

“Do you always bribe people into hanging out with you?” You sass him jokingly and a deep line forms between Kyle’s eyebrows. You weren’t able to determine his age up until that point but you suspect he may be older than he looks anyway:

“I like to think of it as an enticing offer. Works better than force or a sense of obligation, don’t you think?”

You feel a bit shitty, since you tried to make a joke but Kyle seems genuinely miffed, his large nostrils a bit flared. So you just nod.

“That’s true. I do like steak. I just hope I don’t end up in this box.”

You point at the box with skulls and the deep line between Kyle’s eyebrows disappears. Your second attempt at a joke is more successful as Kyle barks an unattractive little laugh, one of the ones that sound like a pig:

“No, those belonged to enemies. Plan on not becoming an enemy.”

It’s mighty stupid to think Kyle is kind of cute. You do so anyway. 

#warhammer 40k #warhammer fanfic #40k fanfic #ezekyle abaddon #abaddon x reader #ezekyle abaddon x reader #romcom #alternate universe #space marine x reader

[two-reflections]

Been sick for the past week, so I haven't got a Marine Meat Monday short to post. Instead, here's a snippet from the middle of a longer story I'm working on.

Apologies for the lack of meat, but I thought it might be appropriate since it focuses on... A marine's body? I guess?

Okay, you got me, this is about Captain Drakgaard of the 6th Company becoming a Dreadnought.

This is an early draft, so polite feedback is welcome and appreciated. 💚

Drowning in an ocean of perfluorocarbon emulsion, floating on a sea of drugs, Drakgaard had slipped back in time beyond Captainship, beyond ascension, beyond birth. He floated alone in a steel womb, hooked to it by cables he couldn't feel. These cables sustained him, changed him, began to mold him into something new. He wasn't conscious of the machine spirit that floated with him, also asleep. As the song of power was sung and the reactor was switched on, the spirit awoke. It climbed through the cables as the techpriests outside chanted the litanies Drakgaard had found tiresome in life. For a moment, it paused, finding its inhabitant changed. Then, the words in binharic reached it as the priests sang of the life of its new inhabitant. It was an ancient machine spirit, they sang, and the man within was an ancient Brother. They bid it to accept him, to become one with him as it had with its previous inhabitants. As they sang, a host of servitors’ fingers click-clacked against keyboards, their broken, half-rotten mouths droning twisted echoes of the priests’ songs.

A shot of adrenaline administered by Apothecary Sepelius roused the man within. He felt weightless, then was not sure where the edges of his self lay. He tried to move and no motion was possible. The pain he had felt when he had briefly awakened after the necessary amputations was gone. The scarred, branded, and finally broken body he had lived in for almost half a century was out of his reach.

In that second, he realized where he was. What he was. He had agreed to this in the presence of his Sergeants, Apothecaries and Techpriests. As he consented, Chaplain Elysius, the man who had saved his life, had lowered his eyes and murmured, “Duty and salvation.” There would be no Burning Walk for Ur'zan Drakgaard, and neither would there be the Emperor's Mercy.

The machine spirit was here with him now. He could hear it greeting him in a wordless voice that was somehow his own. This would be his afterlife, if he accepted it.

For a moment, he resisted. He would not be himself if he didn't rage against the dying of the light, would he? But then, duty called. As the voices outside grew louder, Drakgaard closed his physical eyes for the last time.

When he opened his new eyes, the world was so much smaller and sharper. Information flowed through him like a breeze through a gauzy curtain. His flesh, weakened by the Black Legion, might as well have melted into the fluid it floated in, but his body was stronger than it had ever been. Where skin had once moved over black carapace, there was metal and base paint. Where blood once ran, there were cables and optical fibres. His eyes were no longer two but an array of cameras he sensed he could deploy as needed. The empty ports among the top of his back were not comm systems nor backpack support, but mounts for weapons, aching to be filled with new instruments of death.

As a techpriest swayed beside him, their robe swished against the capacitive coating on his legs. To his surprise, he felt the touch more keenly than he ever could have felt a touch upon his Captain's plate. He scented the air through an array in a vent, and the barest hormonal differences of those in the room were revealed to him. His vision, as he looked around was no longer solely in the frequencies of visible light and high infrared; he could now see through infrared and ultraviolet into the realms of high microwave and low x-ray.

The information was too much for him to process straight away. He began to panic. Nearby, a panel of lights began to flash in reds and greens. Several priests began to chant in calming tones as Apothecary Sepelius fiddled with the machine pumping chemicals into him.

Soon, he felt calm flow through his mind. The sedatives gave him the space to limit his perceptions to a reasonable level. As he tried, he felt the machine spirit - his machine spirit - protest. It did not speak with words, but it was fierce and strong-minded. Drakgaard finally reached out to it, greeting it as a Brother and hoping they could achieve a deep level of understanding.

The spirit liked that. It reached back, through the spaces between the braided fibres that made up his cables. Two became one.

A while later, Chaplain Elysius stepped into the focus of his central camera. “Brother, in the name of Vulkan and the Emperor, speak to us! Who are you?”

“I am Brother Drak'fell,” the Dreadnought replied.

Several of the techpriests pipped at each other, echoing the changed name in binharic, but Elysius stared up at him unfazed. “Who were you?”

“I was once Captain Ur'zan Drakgaard of the 6th Company. No longer. My chassis has belonged to many, but most recently, the venerable Brother Kor'ad rested within.”

“Who do you serve?”

The words thundered forth, sure and true. “I serve the Imperium of Man. I am one of the Emperor's Angels. In his name and the name of my genesire, I know no fear. Vulkan's fire beats in my breast–”

“With it, I shall smite the foes of the Emperor.” Elysius turned away, satisfied.

#salamanders 40k #warhammer fanfic #Marine Meat Monday #wh40k #40k fanfic #my little green men #...Drakgaard becoming a Dreadnought after his fuckup on Heletine is one of my favourite headcanons #I love Dreadnoughts so much #The rest of this story is mainly about his Sergeant slowly letting go of grief 40 years after Drakgaard’s interment #And about the Dreadnought becoming more of a person in his own right outside of his previous identity #I like it a lot but I'm struggling to finish it tbh #We'll see what happens I guess

[mournivaldisco]

It's been so long since I was last on Tumblr I have no idea how to use it - but if anyone is into alternate Horus Heresies heavy on the smut *points*

#40k fanfic #warhammer fanfic #horus heresy #garviel loken #horus lupercal #sanguinius #ao3 link

[nightlordbrainrot]

Started a new fic. It's going to be horrible LOL sorry not sorry. Adults only. Art by me!

#konrad curze #warhammer fanfic #warhammer 40k #40k fanfic #warhammer fanart

[nastrond-skelly]

Today i was working on my 40k fanfic and realized that necron black ops vs a rogue trader and their abominable intelligence girlfriend vs the Technomadrites with the warlock of carnotite acting as both of the two old dudes from the muppets might be a dumber plot that i thought

#idk #fanfic #40k fanfic #am-heht is a hottie

[iapetusneume]

[fic] At His Speed

Title: At His Speed Series: Warhammer 30,000/40,000 Pairings: Sanguinius/Raldoron Characters: Sanguinius, Raldoron Word Count: 4856 Rating: Explicit Story Summary:

Rationally, Raldoron knew that Sanguinius had other astartes lovers, and that they had been able to take him. And he could taste how much Sanguinius wanted to do the same with him, when his omophagea revealed the thoughts that Sanguinius would not give voice to. ...but he couldn't help those nerves, even if the idea also thrilled him.

Notes: I tried something different with this, and each segment is its own chapter, even if it's very short. So, the link is to Chapter 1, but the entire work has been posted.

Read it at Ao3!

#sanguinius #raldoron #warhammer 40k #40k fanfic #iapetus writes

[aspiring-bl-writer]

After Life: 995 words

I stand amidst a green-skinned horde, blood-maddened monsters trampling over each other to reach me. I tower over them, a giant even among these hulking, howling brutes, my rune-encrusted polearm almost equal to my colossal height. I swing the ancient glaive in wide sweeping arcs before me, the berserk creatures rupturing against the blade. Yet the others rush toward me, ignoring their dead, showered in the blood and gore of their virulent breed.

Sitting on the floor of my home, I am holding my infant son, Pauric. I am not long a mother. I am still young, naïve, romantic. The child has my bright blue eyes and Aidyn’s thick chestnut hair. I am stroking the babe’s cheeks as he smiles, babbling, his intense love unspoken but nonetheless evident. Aidyn, joins us, his arm wrapping snug around my shoulders. I rest my head on his. I have not yet taken my first step on the Path of the Warrior, never set foot in an Aspect shrine. Really, I too am a child. Hopeful. Innocent.

The Infinity Circuit is my new home. My kindred welcome me. I am greeted by familiar fallen kinsfolk, as well as unknown ancestors. All are paragons of the Craftworld, fortunate to have their souls recovered. They greet me, try to comfort me, help me adjust to the afterlife. They tell me there is no war here, no fear of She Who Thirsts. They repeat the old proverb: Bonn dan nosh corinnid, “Only the dead know peace.” I am now part of a community. Not a military unit, but a harmonious society, bonded in understanding, united in values. Still, rest eludes me. I miss the war, the cause, the joy of cleansing the usurper races.

The Craftworld has bestowed upon me the title of autarch. I kneel before a statue of Kaela Mensha Khaine, his terrifying visage glowering. As a Fire Dragon I have fed on the fury inside. As a Dark Reaper I have destroyed simply for the sake of the destruction. Yet I have never succumbed to obsession. They say it is due to self-discipline, but the truth is there is a hollowness inside, an absence so cumbersome it keeps me forever grounded. I wonder if the God of Murder can perceive this fact, the gaping void at the centre of my soul.

Aidyn is lying in bed with me. He is on the Path of the Poet. I think he is so accomplished, so far along his path, not knowing that one day I will have walked all the Warrior Paths, then finally the Path of Command. He asks me to promise to die at the same time as him, so we will enter the Infinity Circuit together, and will never be apart. What if, I ask him, our souls are unrecoverable, not captured in a stone? This idea shocks him. He tells me not to think like that. I tell him I think about it all the time. A fate worse than death.

The Infinity Circuit is despoiled. Servants of She Who Thirsts attack a place meant to be inviolate, joined by deluded heretics enacting a rite. The former feed their deity and the latter claim to materialise another. How many gods will we Aeldari create, in our vanity? I am spared, but many of us, the best of us, are consumed, extinguished. I mourn, but in private, in isolation. What cruelty I am saved when I do not want to persist. We have made a prison for our blessed dead and call it an afterlife. I see that now. A paradise, a place of peace, is anathema to me. I am a bride of Khaine. I want to follow him. His example.

I am returning from my first voyage on the Path of the Envoy. A messenger greets me once I re-enter the Craftworld. He informs me, with flawless etiquette, that Aidyn and Pauric were slain by Ork marauders while visiting Aidyn’s parents. Their souls are unrecoverable. Lost. Destroyed. I am inconsolable. I curse myself, She Who Thirsts, we who created her. The next day I change to the Path of the Warrior, adopting the first of many Aspects.

The seers repeat my name like a mantra. “Unnail Sadh Keva of the Billion Battles, the Herald of Demise, Orksbane, Saviour of Laith Lauchlan, Martyr of the Aristech Reach.” They beseech me to pilot one of their wraith-constructs, to aid the evacuation of a Maiden World. They will guide me, shepherd me in battle. I tell them I agree, but on my own terms. They say their visions already told them as much. They do not ask me to reconsider.

They concede I have earned the right to choose.

I am a child sitting on my father’s lap. He is an aged, learned, wise. He tells me about the paths, the ways of our people. He insists the Aeldari will come back from extinction, that one day our civilization will conquer the galaxy as in days of old. I ask him how we can make tomorrow be like yesterday. He just smiles and pats my head. He never answers the question.

The evacuation is almost complete, the seers report. Waves of Ork warriors keep coming. All perish. They are fools jumping into open graves, thinking it will affect some great change, It will not. We Aeldari are more like them than we care to admit. We are not mindless as they are, but we are no less deluded. Some races should know when to die. As the last ships ascend into the stars, the seers bid me farewell, wish me blessings, sing my praise. I do not answer. I turn my glaive and embed its tip in the chest that is not my chest. There is no expression on my white featureless face as I sink it in farther, deeper, until, in one thrust, I shatter my soul stone. With a rush of relief, I plunge into waiting oblivion.

#warhammer 40000 #40k #40k fanfic #40k fiction #warhammer 40k #wh 40k #warhammer #40k lore #eldar #aeldari #biel-tan #battle of biel-tan #fracture of biel-tan #infinity circuit #orks #maiden world #aspect warriors #autarch #wraithlord

[clevermird]

Hi, can you tell me more about Valthiel? I think they look very cool 👉👈

Thank you! I rather like him myself. Brace yourself, he's got a lot of lore, lol

He claims to be the distant descendant of one of the Dark Muses of Commorragh. While this is a genetically provable fact, whether it actually grants him any of the things he claims it does is another matter

Both of his parents were drukhari who were killed in a battle with a combined human/craftworld force when he was small (40k is never really specific about how long it takes eldar to mature, but I imagine him about the equivalent of human 3 or 4). The human rogue trader who was responsible "adopted" him and kept him around as sort of pet/trophy/"look at the exotic things I find on my travels". Initially he worked as her cabin boy and then, when he got older, on other jobs in the ship.

She died when he was in the equivalent of his early teens and he struck out to find the rest of his people where he was discovered by Jhovar, a former naval captain from Biel-tan who was now working independently as a corsair prince with the combined fleet known as the Four Winds. He took him in, taught him about the eldar, and tried to both help him overcome some of his trauma and learn some basic morality.

Things were going relatively well until the Winds assisted the small craftworld of Kel'tereth in retrieving artifacts from a crone world. Valthiel and the farseer in charge of the operation, Illyria, started hooking up to kill time and for stress relief initially, but grew closer and by the time the operation concluded, were madly in love. He continued to visit Kel'tereth regularly and eventually convinced her to join him on his ship full-time (something the rest of the leadership of the craftworld were none too happy about)

Sadly, however, there was quickly trouble in paradise. Jhovar took an indefinite vacation from the corsair life to deal with some trouble back home and, feeling at least subconsciously abandoned by the man he had come to consider a father, Val started looking further into his past. This led him to the Kabal of the Ashen Rose.

The Ashen Rose was less a traditional raiding kabal and more of a cult dedicated to the veneration of the Dark Muse Lhilitu, the drukhari patron of seduction and poison and consort of Shaimesh. She was also considered the patron of the Lhamean orders of courtesan/assassins and the Ashen Rose hosted one of Commorragh's training schools for the sisterhood.

Traditionally, only one of Lhilitu's descendants was allowed to claim the seat of Archon, and thus it had remained vacant for more than a century when Valthiel arrived. After his bloodline was prove and several tests and feats passed, he was accepted as the new leader for the kabal (at least until a distant relative arrived to challenge him or he made too many mistakes and someone had him killed off).

He had initially planned to split his time between the corsair fleet and the kabal but this (admittedly rather unrealistic) plan derailed when he told Illyria what he'd learned.

See, Illyria's father had been a naval commander for their craftworld when she was young but lost his wife/her mother in a conflict that he blamed on the farseer counsel (and not without reason - they hadn't intended her to die, but they had manipulated him into joining a battle that he had thought was a bad idea and she died in said battle). As a result, he became disillusioned with the craftworld way of life and began a rapid walk down the Path of the Damned. By this point, he's the archon of a powerful kabal and a strong ally of Vect's.

Illyria refused to go with him and he has since been obsessed with bringing her back into the fold. The desire to prevent this and the fear of what her father might do was ironically what led Illyria down the path to becoming a farseer herself. Anyway, she was understandably horrified and violently outraged when Val broke the news to her. She stormed off to return to her craftworld.

Here's where the timelines diverge.

In the original RP that he was a part of, Illyria returned to Kel'tereth and was killed in a battle against Chaos several decades later. Valthiel returned to Commorragh to solidify his rule but, after some time, reestablished contact with Jhovar, who had come back to the pirate's life, and began spending a great deal more time with the Four Winds again.

Many years later, he helped a ship from Yme-Loc fend off ork freebooters and as a result was an honored guest on that craftworld. There, he met a young warlock named Jian who had a striking resemblance to Illyria and a vision that he could help her find her mother (who had been captured by the drukhari decades ago) and joined his crew. What began as a casual hookup turned into love and their relationship even managed to survive the revelation of his other loyalties (helped along by the fact that this revelation came at the same time as he used his archon connections to help track down and free her mom). They married and he has recently woken up from a chaos-weapon-induced coma in time to join Jian in battle against the Sky Serpents - Duke Sliscus views Valthiel as aping his style and thus would have liked nothing better than to swoop in while he was incapacitated and add his wife to his harem.

In the fanfic version that I now consider the semi-official timeline (even though it started as a "what if" AU discussion for the RP), Illyria was instead captured by her father as she attempted to return to Kel'tereth. This sent Val into a deep depression - he felt responsible because she was only going there because he drove her away, plus he had no chance of standing up to Ordai's kabal to rescue her. He all but abandoned the corsair stuff to his subordinates and remained in Commorragh, immersing himself in the running of the Ashen Rose but rarely leaving his own dwelling/office/laboratory complex.

One day, however, a meeting with another archon forced him out into the wider city and he impulse-bought himself a freshly captured slave, a Howling Banshee from Yme-loc who happened to look enough like Illyria that they could have been sisters. After some initial missteps that he later greatly regretted, he came to care for her deeply and found new purpose (as well as a great deal of pain) in trying to make up for the traumas inflicted on her by him and other people.

Their budding romance was interrupted by the revelation that Ordai planned to forcibly marry Illyria off to one of his lieutenants. Although he had committed to his new love, he still felt guilt for letting Illyria be captured and wanted to give her the chance to return home. He also realized that if he truly loved Jian like he said he did, that he needed to give her the chance to be free and not keep her in Commorragh with him.

Unfortunately, Aurelia Malys put a monkey wrench in both plans. She had realized that Val was much easier to manipulate when Jian was around and coerced her into returning to Commorragh. By the time Val had gathered his courage to let her go again, Jian had decided she would rather stay. Likewise, Malys agreed to assist them in rescuing Illyria but, while she did follow through, she siezed the first opportunity to renegotiate the deal and force the Ashen Rose to be subordinate to her - although Valthiel was still the leader publicly, he privately answered to her. She also seemed to take an odd amount of interest in Jian, for reasons that are not entirely clear yet.

The fic ends with him, Jian, and Illyria taking to the stars as corsairs again (under Malys' orders), happy at least to leave Commorragh behind even if they're apprehensive about what lies ahead.

I have some stuff written for a sequel, but I need to do more planning before I start proper.

Sorry, that was super long, lol. And I know there's a ton of plot holes, some of them are probably actual plot holes, others I just had to cut the explanations because this was too long already, if there's something you're curious about, feel free to ask.

#valthiel aire #silver ash and bone #mird's writing #40k fanfic #warhammer fantasy #aeldari #drukhari

[gladiarray]

AIGHT. Time to proudly present this cringe to the world.

This is the first part of my noblebright Warhammer AU, where the Chaos Gods get yeeted out of the Warp into human bodies to fend for themselves and solve Warp-related crimes. And since it's noblebright, we're getting nice!Chaos gods. Basically, a Five-Man Band of warp entities in human bodies.

Genres and Tags: gen, established F/M (Isha/Nurgle), action/adventure, severe OOC/AU, urban fantasy

This is a very OOC thing and I suck at lore so plz don't tell Ordo Hereticus

#warhammer 40k #warhammer #headcanon #slaanesh #tzeentch #isha #nurgle #khorne #warhammer fanfic #40k fanfic #defenders of chaos #defenderverse

[maddyaddy]

Xenos of the Mavor Sub-Sector

Excerpted from the Sage Bede's "The Mavor Sub-Sector". Of note, the Aeldari Wild Riders of Saim-Hann oft assault the Emperor’s flock in Mavor. Despite the attempts of the Fennian Fianna, and later, the august Greymanes to dissuade them of this foolish course of action, they continue it incessantly. Such raids are joined by the Black Riders, a highly mobile band of Eldar Corsairs. Of the latter, some whisper that certain sub-sector governors – including those of Avidya and Tir Ablach – have made use of them as mercenaries. Such a thing is treason most foul, but has never been proven.

The Ork, as with seemingly everywhere in our great Imperium, also has a presence here. For the Greenskins, the Sappas warband, led by the Warboss Skoolkrakka, are the paramount force. In the Sappas, virtually every Mob is mechanized, and Wagons both looted and Ork-made abound. 

In their mad, endless pursuit of wealth and raw materials, some of the Kin abhuman-xenos have recently settled in Mavor. They are the Kindred of the Rymr Alliance, a staggeringly large Prospect based on the Kin World of Rymr. From exactly whence the Alliance came and why, this author cannot really discern. Perhaps they are refugees, set adrift by the Great Rift or the ‘Bane’ of the Tyranids. 

The Kindred of the Alliance’s Kinhost is highly divergent from the norm, with the Hearthkyn equipped and organized more along the lines of an Imperial Guard regiment. This speaks, perhaps, to previous service as mercenaries. Imperial vehicles, whose provenance I have no means of ascertaining, are also present. These include the supposedly extinct Autoch-pattern Predator, a specialized tank destroyer which trades the Syrtis-pattern autocannon for a ion cannon or twinned heavy magna-rail cannons. 

For the Leagues of Votann as a people-group, leaving the Core, indeed ‘sailing for Far-Space’ is a Truth-axiom denoting madness, so their presence here is extremely unusual. As for the masters of New Albia’s reaction to their recent arrival, it is shockingly muted for Astartes. If I were to speculate based on my own experiences, Cyning Bullroarer likely sees the settlement of the Alliance in Mavor as a bulwark against the other Xenos threats present. To quote that ancient sage, Ishirou Serizawa: “let them fight”.

Finally, the T’au xenos-brood and its expanding empire(s) are a matter of ever-present concern in Mavor. Of all the various aliens threatening the human race’s righteous dominion over the sub-sector, the T’au are perhaps the most insidious and confrontational. Surprisingly skilled in the waging and artifice of war for a race so young, they are also skilled diplomats and many outlying worlds have fallen to them without a shot being fired. Names such as the Six Blades Cadre, the Farstriders Cadre – infamous ones. I shudder at them.

#40k #warhammer 40000 #homebrew lore #40k homebrew #40k fanfic

[ladymirdan]

First fic of the new year! 🎉

(yes it's an Iron Warrior shameless PWP and you can't stop me!)

#40k #40k fanfic #my fanfiction #iron warriors #honsou #ardaric vaanes

[lumi-klovstad-games]

Question for my followers:

So I worked out an encyclopedia-esque bit of lore for a reference I made in my bio for the Redemptor Roses ("Fulgrim's Faithful") that gives some body to an event named in that bio as an early major victory for the Chapter -- namely, the Siege of Stuxuhr.

It's a good story base that adequately explains what happened, but it's both no more detailed than it has to be, and quite dry, as an appendix entry often is.

Would anyone be interested in me either posting the current "dry summary", or would folks rather see it get turned into a proper bit of prose? I feel like I could only actually finish writing a fic if someone else was like, actually asking me to because my ADHD is powerful and my motivation is... more of a sprinter than a marathon runner, if that makes sense.

#warhammer 40000 #my ocs #warhammer 40k #my oc stuff #wh40k #homebrew space marines #space marines #adeptus astartes #40k #poll #my polls #40k fanfic #fanon space marines #emperor's children

[two-reflections]

Beyond the Scarred Flesh

Techmarine Exor awakes in the med bay after his ordeal in Sturndrang, the underhive of Molior. To his immense displeasure, he finds Zartath the ex-Black Dragon sleeping on the floor beside his bed.

[T, Gen, No Warnings. SPOILERS for Rebirth by Nick Kyme.]

Written for Marine Meat Monday, a weekly challenge by @tagedeszorns! (Posting one day late, but I have to start somewhere.)

#Marine Meat Monday #salamanders 40k #Warhammer 40.000 #40k fanfic #...it's hard to do MMM in writing isn't it #I'm not very good at describing bodies though so maybe this is good practice for me #There's also the whole thing where the character probably needs a reason to be undressed? Idk I'm still working out how to make this work #Ship content would be easier because then you can just write about someone thirsting or admiring #But I didn't want to go for the obvious option straight away! #Probably will next week though

[mournivaldisco]

This works on so many levels tho

#prompt generator #otp #horus x Sanguinius #40k fanfic

[luveline]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 —send me a shy!reader request for any character (with a plot) and I'll write a >1k drabble

sirius/james introducing shy!reader to remus. and shes just like quiet and in awe, but remus loves it.

luveline's 40k party ☆ tysm for requesting! remus x shy fem!reader

James is used to your personality after months of being your lecture neighbour, unperturbed by your quiet. "It's going to be fun," he promises, handing you a cold glass of cranberry vodka. "They're nice, okay? I won't let anyone irritate you." 

He's hosting a party and had the generosity to invite you round early. He's easing you in, so to speak. It took him two weeks of steady Hellos for you to work up the courage to say Hi back, another two weeks for small talk, a month before you felt comfortable speaking to him first. If you're that shy, a party is basically torture.

"It's not about irritating me," you say. 

"I know, I'm messing." James lists his head to the left. A second later, there's a knock at the door. "Aha. Wait here, shortcake, there's someone I want you to meet." 

"James," you say after him, wet from your glass leaking down to your sleeve, "what?" 

"I asked him to come early and say hello! He's quiet and handsome and you'll love him, just don't stare at his nose." 

What's wrong with his nose? you think, alarmed. 

James opens the door. Two new voices emerge, one scratchy and a little high, the other smoother. "I need to pee so bad," the scratchy one declares, followed by bounding footsteps up the stairs. 

"You alright?" the smoother asks.

You think there's patting, a hug, "I'm brilliant! You smell really nice, Remus, like a garden." 

"Lovely."

"In a good way! Come and meet my Y/N, you remember I told you about her nice gel pens?" 

James leads the smooth-voiced Remus into the living room. You hurriedly put down your drink and stand, wiping your wet hands in your shirt. You cringe at the darkening fabric but hide your grimace as they stop in front of you. 

"Remus, Y/N. Y/N, Remus," James introduces you both. 

Remus has a scar across his nose that seems cruelly cut. There's another beside it that starts in his upper lip, both of which end in his eyebrow. You know how self-conscious it feels to be looked at, so you manage to smile and offer your hand without too much of it. He's handsome with his scars, a nice nose with a ridge and brown eyes the colour of caramelised sugar.

"Hello," Remus says, shaking your hand. His is big enough to make yours feel small. 

"I invited her early because she's more fun than the rest of our lot," James says, throwing himself down on the sofa and kicking his legs out on the coffee table. 

Remus taps your elbow very gently as if to usher you to sit and sits down beside you, enough space to be casual but too little to stop the rampant nerves that blossom in your stomach. 

Remus asks about your life. What you're studying, where you're from, if James is being nice to you. While James is touchy in the rough older brother way, scrunching your shoulder and shaking you when you're not expecting it. Remus is touchy in a different way, you find, almost as if he doesn't know he's doing it. His shoe bumps your shoe, his hand falls down between his outer thigh and your own, his knuckles touching your jeans very lightly. He spins in his seat to talk to you. 

You don't notice other people arriving, nor the scratchy-voiced friends return. All you can do is look up at Remus with wide eyes. Your nerves meld to something warmer. 

"And what do you do?" you ask him. 

He smiles like you've wandered into a secret. "I'm trying to write a book." 

"He's being a bit much," Sirius says to James, the two now loitering in the doorway with matching beers. You and Remus chatter on, unaware of their running commentary.

"It's a very strong reaction. I knew she'd like him, but I didn't think she'd like him like that." James takes a sip of his drink. Remus asks you a quiet question. You duck your head, playing with your sleeves, and Remus, the bastard, ducks his head to follow your gaze, smiling at you all the while. 

James almost chokes, pointing his bottle toward you both as though Sirius isn't already looking. "He's eating it up. I forgot how flirty he is."

"She'll be nice to him, won't she?" Sirius asks, like it's a done deal. To be fair, Remus seems enthralled with you. 

"Definitely. She's very nice. Oh, look, that's sick, she's gonna pass out." James winces as Remus takes your arm into his hand. 

Remus wouldn't do anything cruel, but James wasn't joking when he told Remus that you were exceedingly, achingly shy. He's about to step in and rescue you, but you turn into Remus' touch and pull your leg up on the sofa to make yourself comfortable. Your voice is animated, if quieter than the average person's.

"Woah," James says, beaming.  

Remus flirts almost as a defence, like he wants to get the rejection over and done with so he can move on. You've yet to reject; you're looking up at him in moderate awe, your lips quirked into an easy smile. 

"Boo!" James calls, flicking his bottle cap at Remus, who brushes it away. "Took me three weeks to get a smile out of her," he mutters. "What a dick." 

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #remus x reader #remus x you #marauders #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #marauders x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders #luveline's 40k party