iluminatka16 - Tumblr blog

iluminatka16 · 2 months ago

Text

I am about to start crying

Child!Konrad - II. Bathwater Blues.

Characters/Mentions;

Konrad Curze, Child Primarch of the Night Lords.

You, owner of a Nostromian restaurant.

POV: Second Person.

Synopsis; Bathtime. Emperor preserve you.

Part 1 - Hungry, Hungry.

____

The stew was long gone.

Three bowls, two plates of bread, and a leftover slice of canned synthetic fruit pie had vanished into the boy’s mouth like they’d never existed—save for the bite marks in the ceramic and the crumbs scattered across the table like bones picked clean. He hadn’t spoken much, but you’d learned two things.

One, he could bite through ceramic.

Two, he did not like being touched. At all.

You never expected to have some feral alley child in your home. And, to be fair, you didn’t expect him to actually take your offer of a safe place to sleep.

You asked when he was licking his third bowl clean, leaning over the counter as he licked meat and broth from his long claws. It was late, and you were exhausted, so the idea just came spilling out.

And surprisingly, the little boy accepted.

But in all honesty...

You weren’t sure what you expected when you invited the half-starved sewer goblin into your home.

Maybe you thought he’d hide. Sniff around your apartment when he knew you were asleep. Steal some food and money or valuables, then run off.

That was an hour ago.

Now? He was gone again.

You stood in the hallway of your apartment above the restaurant, broom in one hand, soup stains on your shirt, and exhaustion carving lines under your eyes. You could hear him somewhere—moving softly, scraping floorboards, knocking over shelves, lifting books like they might hold secrets.

You didn’t expect him to begin circling your apartment like some sort of skeletal bird of prey, prowling across the cracked floorboards, sniffing at furniture, and tapping walls with long, sharpened nails like he was listening for hollow bones in the foundation.

His bones clicked when he moved.

Every breath rasped like it hurt to take.

He was so thin it looked like hunger had sculpted him, not birth.

You made a mental note to leave more carb-loaded foods out for him.

But he’d trusted you enough to eat. And that miracle was enough for tonight.

Now, he slinked through your apartment like a weasel, free, full, and curious. His bony fingers flicked your keys. His stark black investigated everything with quick glances, going over the picture of your grandparents, a painting you made as a kid, and your stained wallpaper.

When you did catch sight of him, you tried watching him as subtly as you could.

His hands drifted over the light switches, flicking them on and off, and then to your door locks, clicking them in and out with mechanical precision. You tried not to react.

He was small, but every inch of him radiated danger—as if he’d hunted before. Not murder, maybe. But violence—not aimed at you—not yet. There was potential. Coiled and calculating. Like if he wanted to, he could figure out how to kill you with a teaspoon.

Maybe he already had.

But still, he stayed.

He didn't say much. Just watched you like a tiny gargoyle, perched upon your counter like some type of beast of the night. It was like he was waiting for you to make the first move. For the moment you’d raise your hand and strike him.

So you stayed calm. You moved slow. Let him roam.

It wasn’t until he pushed open the bathroom door that he paused.

He stood there in slight confusion, nose wrinkling, inspecting the dingy old tub, the stained curtain, the flickering lumen-strip overhead. His bare feet shuffled on the tile as he stared at the cracked ceramic basin like it was an xenos artifact.

You chuckled at his confusion as you leaned on the doorframe.

“You ever had a bath, bud?” You took a guess.

He turned. His eyes—black, glassy, too old for his face—narrowed. Not surprised, but wary.

You gestured, hands up in peace again. “You don’t have to. Just figured… you might want to be warm. Clean. I’ll get you a change of clothes and then leave.”

He stared at you for a long moment. Then, without a word, he stepped into the bathroom and sat on the closed toilet seat like a little gargoyle. Waiting.

You filled the tub, turning the knobs slow so the pipes wouldn’t scream. The water ran warm, steaming just slightly, and he flinched at first, like it was a threat, but didn’t run. He sniffed the steam like an animal scenting a storm.

The steam from the bath you’d drawn wafted out in gentle curls, sweetened with a splash of soap you’d once splurged on—almond-scented, floral, too nice for this slum. The tub itself groaned with warm water, just deep enough for a child. Not deep enough to drown in, you’d made sure.

When you put the soap on the sink, you’d heard the faintest sound of knuckles dragging against the glass a moment later, and without looking up from the water, you spoke;

“Don’t eat that.”

You heard the soap return to its original spot a moment later.

“Alright,” you sighed, leaning on the bathtub and standing up. “It’s ready. I’ll grab you a change of clothes and wait outside.”

You brushed your pants off with two pats, looking at the wide-eyed gremlin for a moment before heading to step out, only to be stopped when you felt a tiny had grab the back of your shirt and pull you.

The little gargoyle sat with his knees to his chin, watching you closely before loosening his grip, cautiously sliding off the toilet and standing in front of you.

He pointed to the door behind you, and when you looked, he stripped, tossing his bloody loincloth at your feet and crawling into the bath before you could look back.

When you did look back, the boy was already chin deep in the soapy water, watching the bubbles with wide interested eyes. A violent shiver ran through his body at the sudden temperature change, and you shook your head.

You exhaled slowly as the warm water lapped over his knees, his chest, his hunched little shoulders. The grime began to lift in oily ribbons. You winced. He didn’t.

With a slightly uncomfortable smile, you spoke again. “Smells nice, huh?”

He didn't move for a long pause.

Then, he gave a sharp nod.

You giggled.

“I’ve got more of that scent. Splurged when I met up with an old friend—got a whole pack that only cost me 10 credits.”

He tilted his head, and you sighed.

Then, he curled up, arms wrapped around his shins, eyes half-lidded. Not quite relaxed, but not ready to bolt.

You knelt beside the tub, grabbing the shampoo and conditioner from the side of the ceramic.

“Can I wash your hair?”

He tensed.

“Just water. No pain. Promise.”

Another long pause. Then, a sharp nod.

You started gently.

Squeezing a fat glob of shampoo in your palm, you rubbed your hands together, getting them all soapy before slowly threading your fingers through his hair.

And it was frakking disgusting.

Oil-slicked strands of black tangled with knots and soot and God knows what else. Hard white chunks of what you assumed was bone stuck buried underneath the hair at his scalp, and the dark brown color of oxygenated blood slowly leaked into the water.

He flinched when you touched him the first time—jerked back like a kicked dog. But then, slowly, he let you. You wiped at the dirt on his face, the grime behind his ears, the blood at the edges of his fingernails. He didn’t make a sound, just watched. Watched you like no one ever had before.

He made a low, throaty sound when you poured warm water over his scalp, like an animal that didn’t understand comfort—but maybe wanted to.

When his hair was thoroughly soaped up, you turned to grab the soap off the counter, quickly dunking it in the water and frothing it until your hands were covered in suds and bubbles. You squeezed them onto his shoulders, listening to his teeth clack in surprise before grabbing a rag off one of the temperature handles.

You handed him the rag, which he hesitantly took. He looked at you for a moment, peering at you with those deep, endless voids.

Then, you motioned what he needed to do. You rubbed your hand on your shoulder, pretending you had the rag.

And he copied.

His little hand moved slow. Awkward. Hesitant. Like he wasn’t used to the idea of scrubbing—not himself, not gently. He smeared the rag over his collarbone, paused, then looked at the water, watching the grey streaks drift off his skin like ghosts.

You kept your voice low, steady. “Good. Just like that. You’ve got time.”

He kept washing. One shoulder. Then the other. His ribs—thin as a bird’s—peeked out from under the dirty water as he shifted, raising an arm to rub along his chest, then dipping back down. The water turned murkier by the second, the film of filth peeling off in layers that stuck in the corners of the tub.

You watched in silence, only moving when his elbow bumped the side of the porcelain and he flinched again, eyes darting toward you like you might strike him.

“I’m not gonna hit you, kid,” you muttered. “Even if you get the walls dirty.”

That seemed to lessen his nerves—if only by a little.

He nodded, though smaller this time. A tentative sort of belief.

Eventually, you stood, stretching your knees, letting the warmth of the room soak into your bones. “I’ll go get you a towel and something to wear. Think you can rinse your hair out by the time I’m back?”

A beat.

Then, he dunked his head under the water like a corpse slipping below the surface—completely silent, eyes open.

You blinked, startled, and rushed to kneel again, ready to yank him out if he didn’t come up—

—but he emerged a second later, soaked and sputtering, blinking hard as water streamed down his face and hair like long threads of ink. He gasped, coughed once, and shook his head like a wet dog, then looked at you as if seeking approval.

You let out a slow breath. Smiled. Relived. “That… works.”

So you went. You found an old shirt from your cousin’s last visit—clean, too big, but soft. Some pants that might fit if he didn’t mind rolling the cuffs. A grey towel that wasn’t fraying too badly.

You came back to find him curled again, soaking wet and small, arms wrapped around his knees as he watched the suds swirl. He looked over when you entered but didn’t move.

“Alright, uncap the drain, and I’ll rinse you off one more time,” you said, setting down the towel and clothes. “Water’s starting to look like the bottom of a sump pipe.”

He chuffed, but didn’t protest. He popped the bathcork and watched the water drain. As the dark liquid receded, he unfurled from the bathfloor, one limb at a time. Almost like a bird. Elegant, strangely.

You ran the water again, wetting the rag before squeezing it over his shoulders, letting the fresh water rinse over the stagnant water that had settled on his corpse-like skin. He shook away the water afterward, and you recoiled as it got your shirt and face wet.

You huffed out a laugh and handed him the towel, turned your back as he dried off with fumbling motions. No words.

He wrapped the fabric around his body like a small cocoon, looking up at you like you were something so strange.

Almost needy, if you tilted your head.

Maybe reverent?

Or maybe you were simply imagining things.

When you offered the clothes, he shook his head. He only curled the cloth tighter.

You shook your head before shrugging, setting the outfit on the toilet lid.

Then, he just stood in the center of your bathroom, dripping just a little, clean but still not whole. You could see how the heat made his gaunt pale cheeks pink. His hair hung in black clumps, cleaner now but still unruly.

You knelt again, meeting his gaze firmly. Not touching him directly—just enough. His lip twitched like he might say something, but he didn’t. Not yet.

“Feel better?”

Another pause.

Then a whisper. Just a whisper.

“…warm.”

You smiled. Couldn’t help it. “Yeah. It’s better that way.”

You sighed, leaning back on your heel as you slowly spoke out your next task.

“Now…we gotta brush your teeth, little man.”

#wh40k #warhammer 40k #konrad curze #night haunter #my poor baby

204 notes · View notes

iluminatka16 · 2 months ago

Note

It maybe to bold for me to ask but will we see the next chapters of "From beyond the stars" any time soon or the real life is very tough due to personal reasons and doesn't let go?

No, it's not bold of you and thank you for asking.

Forgive me that it takes me so long to post, a lot happened during that month. Now, I'm in the middle of the finals in uni, but as soon as I'm done, I'll try to get to writing. So yeah, I would say another chapter should be posted in max 2 weeks.

#warhammer 40k #fanfic #warhammer 30k

8 notes · View notes

iluminatka16 · 2 months ago

Text

Filthy smut? I'm here for it

Fall

The Night Haunter awakes from a troubling portent of the future and calls on the only son he could ever bring himself to tolerate to help deal with the lingering irritation.

Inspired by the events of The Prince of Crows. These lads are very much not alright. Given the extremely NSFW nature of this fic the majority has been hidden below the cut.

Warnings: Because I forgot these a general content warning for blood and gore, "creative" use of meathooks and other torture devices, all around power imbalance, a lot of corpses, and the fractured psyches of two very broken men. Also an excess of biting and scratching. So much biting and scratching. Not to mention Curze being overly possessive.

“Fall.”

Dorn had ordered of him with such cold regard. His throat had bled. His heart had burst. He had, despite his best efforts, done just that.

To one knee he had been forced in inglorious and false supplication. There, his world had gone black, there his dreams had finally failed him. There, he had finally known a sliver of peace.

Yet in the drifting black he'd found no respite. His Son had visited upon him even there. Of all his ill begotten children, Sevatar had ever been the most persistent. Even after the horrendous failure that had left him to bear the crimson of sin, he'd refused to leave his Primarch's side.

Jago had walked with him in his dreams and now, in the waking harshness of the Apothecarion he found himself staring into that emotionless scarred face. Sevatar had ordered that all other personal, including the mindless Servitors, clear the facility. There were none others to greet nor scold him.

The Night Haunter grunted, a breathy sound that pulled through the ragged recesses of his still healing trachea. He was becoming increasingly aware of his surroundings. Of the machines that forced sterile air into his lungs, of the twitching of ruined muscle beneath his skin, of the cloying scent of his own blood. His lips moved but no words escaped, only an airy and sibilant exhalation of his own failed whispers.

“Fall.” Jago whispered softly to him. It was one word. Such an innocuous thing and yet hearing it again incited him to rage. His hand shot out in his wordless snarl and he gripped his Son's throat, squeezing until no further words could fall from those treacherous lips.

Curze shot upright with a snarl, his pale lips peeling back from his serrated teeth as he jolted out of the nightmare. He shook his head vigorously to clear the remnants of the images that had haunted his already restless dreams. He stared blearily into the dark and at the kaleidoscope of twisting colours that wreathed his ceiling like a false night. It didn't take long for the hanging bodies to come into focus, swaying ever gently as they were in the circulated air. They existed in varying states of decay, a mixture of former serfs as well as his own former sons.

Sevatar, ever the curious creature that he was, had questioned this once too. “Why do you keep them, m'lord?”

“Company.” Had been his nugatory reply. It wasn't as if he could expect the man to understand even if he were to explain it. None of them could. None of them could hear them as he did. They did not suffer the burden of his terrible truth.

The Haunter's brows knit as he slowly became increasingly aware of the silence. Even the whispers of his ever present company were still that night. Had they too seen? He wouldn't linger on it, he couldn't. It would only drive him to fugue. He reached instead for the vox-caster that rested on his bedside table, keying the private intercom without needing to look to know just whom he hailed.

“Sev,” The Night Haunter's voice rasped forth, cold and dead in the equally unforgiving darkness that enveloped him. “My chambers, now.”

“Sire.” Sevatar acknowledged brusquely in return over the vox before silence fell once more.

Curze couldn't even bring himself to find irritation in his Son's laconic manner. He had long since grown used to it. It had once mildly irritated him but other the years he'd come to accept that Sevatar was a reticent and at times, taciturn man.

He arose, silent as the very night in which he hailed. He was part way to the door when it opened of its own accord and Sevatar stepped forth. The man was, as ever, midnight clad with thin streaks of lightning arcing in stark relief across his plates like a storm plagued night. He had always found this apropos, given the storm that forever raged behind those stern black eyes. Like him, Jago Sevatarion was a predator of nocturnal guile.

He extended a hand. His pale, corpse like digits unfurled in open invitation and he watched as Sev curled two wickedly clawed fingers just above his beating hearts in the traditional subservient salute of his people. This is my heart, that gesture said, may it speak truth or be removed from mine very breast. But Curze needed no such frivolities from this man. He knew the truth of Sev's hearts even better than Sevatar himself.

He remained statuesque until his Son finally approached him. A cold gauntlet slipped into his open palm and he curled deceptively powerful digits around the smaller hand. “Strip.” He ordered softly before dropping said hand.

His Son didn't even flinch, the man merely turned from him in silence, carefully weaving through the hanging bodies as he approached his Lord's writing desk. There he removed his helm from its maglock upon his belt, setting that aside. The rest of the armour was soon to follow, every piece set aside with care. Without the Imperium to rely upon, every Night Lord was on their own when it came to arming themselves thus. Most of what he wore had once belong to a Loyalist but now as every bit indistinguishable from that of his kin. He'd taken great care in its modification over the years and it showed. He hadn't bothered with his weaponry, he had no need for it. If his Primarch wished him dead, no bolter nor even his chainspear would stop that man and they both knew it.

Curze watched this all in continued silence. His intense scrutinizing gaze bore into the man's back with every motion. Once Jago stood before him in naught but his bodyglove he approached his Son and ran one claw up the artificial muscles of his beautifully wrought back. He caught the release at the back of Sevatar's neck and tugged down the fibrous cords to reveal the true flesh beneath. Slowly, his Son turned to face him as he stepped free from the previous confines of his own bodyglove and he felt the saliva run dry in his mouth and throat as intense black eyes met his own once more.

Sevatar was a creature wrought of cold beauty, his features chiseled from the purest alabaster and forged from the cast of countless wars. Scars marred the right side of his otherwise perfect face, almost seeming to trace the line of his skull and split his brow. A vicious laceration split down his lip and twisted his expression into a perpetually smug smirk. Further scars bloomed down the man's shoulders and across one broad pectoral. Briefly, his gaze flicked aside to the red gauntlets that now lay discarded across his otherwise disused work space. His Sin Eater had once resided here but age had long since taken the wheezened Psyker from him and thus it now fell to his First Captain to weather that burden in his stead. His hands found the soft curve of muscular hips as he drew Sev close and leaned in to sniff the man's throat. He narrowed his eyes with a quiet exhalation as he found other scents there. It came as little surprise to him. Sevatar was much like him in that he seemed to like very few among the Night Lords. He'd never seen the man so much as spare one of his Brothers a lingering glance.

But Sevatar held the one thing that every Night Lord sought and coveted close to their twisted, traitorous hearts. Power. Despite this, Sevatar had ever been an unflinchingly loyal Son, even in the disappointment of his failure. He lifted a hand and caressed his knuckles down one marred cheek as the smaller man's hands found his broad torso and braced against him. He could hear the racing of Sevatar's hearts and that only further piqued his own interest. A tingle ran down his spine and curled in his gut as he shifted his weight and without warning, he hoisted his loyal Captain against his hip.

He still wore his night silks, having not bothered to arm himself since his awakening. There would be no use in greeting his cruel angel as such. He carried the man to his bed, weaving through the copse of silent company that dangled from above. Once, when the Lords still guised themselves as Loyalists, he'd left their serfs attend that room but that had long since stopped. They knew now to avoid his chambers at all costs for to enter there unbidden were to join his ever growing collection. No longer did they clad his bed in superfluous opulence. He'd long since replaced silk sheets with quilts crudely sewn from the flesh of Man. He lay his favored Son within his bed of Sin, his black eyes narrowing as he watched his Astartes sprawl beneath him in his sinuous grace.

“Sire?” Sevatar cocked a brow as he caught Curze staring. No, not Curze. Curze was long gone. This was the predatory regard of the Night Haunter, the ink draped and terror soaked King of a now dead world. His only reply was the deceptively strong grasp of slender digits wrapped around his wrists. His claws curled against his palms as his hands were pinned above his head and his Sire's teeth dragged against his throat in dark promise. The only response Sevatar received was a sharp bite and it elicited a reedy moan that broke through the unnatural stillness of his Primarch's chamber as his body arched in his shameless need.

Jago Sevatarion was not a man prone to such indulgences. He wasn't the kind of man that touched himself in some futile effort to stave off the cold loneliness of the uncaring void. Nor was he one to utilize such efforts as a means to induce sleep. If anything he still largely avoided sleep, even now, with his powers having been awoken and better understood. He was no Talos, no great Prophet. His own visions were often just as fleeting as Talos' had been in the days before the geneseed degradation had become too much for him. He, however, didn't suffer the affliction of passing out for days or even weeks at a stretch. The dreams came when he slept and then fled as soon as he awoke, like criminals fleeing the consequences of their Sins. Not all his dreams came as nightmares, however. There were nights when he dreamt of his Primarch and those strong hands, stained as they forever were in the wages of terror, having their lurid way with him just as they did now.

On those nights he would awake drenched in sweat and he would touch himself just as he wished for Curze to touch him now. But no such touch came. His Sire continued to drink his fill until the pull of it became pain within his very veins. He grunted and shifted beneath the larger man but made no move to shirk him free as he fought his own instincts telling him to deal with the threat above him. It wasn't fear, he'd long ago lost all ties to that useless fetter. It was more a sense of restless need.

A wet gasp escaped him as Curze lifted him from the very bed by his throat, clasping him by the power of those sharpened teeth alone. His eyes rolled back in his head as his back was forced into a painful arch and his Lord finally deigned to touch him. His hands were free now and yet he still made no move to struggle or grasp as sharp claws scored up his torso, as cold and unyielding as the metal hooks that hung from the ceiling above. Had he been mortal, he'd have been in trouble for the amount of blood he'd already lost but he was no such weak creature and he would not plead like some delicate thing. Dagger like claws continued to rend shallow cuts that healed nearly as swiftly as they were laid. Every cut was the excision of a perceived failure, the very weight of his sins carved in a delicious agony that made his cock twitch with increasing need. His Primarch likewise took notice and without warning he was being dropped onto the bed again. The Haunter coiled before him like a great serpent ready to strike, his black eyes narrowed to dangerous slits in the all encompassing dark.

“Just look at you, Sev. You weep like a Nostramo whore.” His Primarch murmured in a voice like the wind whispering across a grave.

“Sire?” Sevatar merely quirked a brow at that. He finally moved his hands. His fingers touched one cheek but he found only dry flesh and his confusion only grew.. That was until he felt a sharp claw caressing up the underside of his shaft and catching the precum leaking from the darkening head. Sevatar flicked his gaze down and then cocked a brow with a smarmy smirk that prompted the Haunter to withdraw his hand with a disquieted grunt.

“You aren't like this. Stop.” The Haunter warbled and it was a moment of unexpected introspection that gave Sevatar pause.

They had helped relieve each other of their stresses once before but it never seemed to surprise and on occasion, even unsettle his Sire. Konrad had grown up in a place where sex was a weapon, a tool, another means of exerting power or robbing others of it entirely.

Sevatar slowly sat himself upright, one leg tucking over to hide his lingering excitement as he caressed his claws along his Sire's jaw. “Nostramo is gone, Sire. Come back to me.” He whispered in soft knowing before pressing a hand to his Primarch's chest. The Night Haunter bared his rows of shark like teeth with a snarl of warning even as he allowed himself to be laid low for the time being. Sevatar played a dangerous game… But it was a game that he alone could engage in and hope to survive in any measure.

Survival, however, didn't necessarily warrant success. He had begun to kiss his way down his Primarch's chest when a spindly hand caught him by his shortly cropped locks and pulled him back forcefully. His breath caught as his throat worked and he froze in place atop his lord. Before he could even so much as bark in protest he was being grabbed by his throat and slammed into the wall behind the bed. His breath left him in an involuntary exhalation and his twin hearts hammered in his ears as his world momentarily became a haze of motion. He barely even heard the wet thump of the corpse hitting the floor. It was the sudden flare of delicious pain that drew his attentions as he was suddenly lifted onto a now empty meat hook and dropped down. It pierced up just beneath his clavicle, cutting sharp through the meat of his shoulder. He reached and caught the chain with a shuddered moan as his knees found his Sire's hips and squeezed against them to better support his now hanging weight.

Any mortal man, right of senses and sane of mind would have begun to scream and thrash at that juncture. But not Sevatar. He moaned hotly in his shameless need as he arched himself against his Sire. Curze was still holding him by the throat and he licked his lips in anticipation as he writhed within the man's grasp. His Lord squeezed his throat and he reveled in the burning of his lungs and the pinpricks of light that flashed across his vision. His eyes rolled back as he was released and suddenly his full weight hung from the chain as the Primarch release him. He swayed gently when the other pulled free entirely, not even granting him the succor of being able to counterbalance his own weight.

“Sire, could you at least..?” Sevatar motioned to his still free hanging shoulder. But the Haunter ignored him, only turning to face him again once he'd retrieved whatever had held his focus so.

The Haunter pulled more chains down and he finally got his much sought relief as a second hook shot up through his uninjured shoulder. He curled his fingers around the chains that now supported his full weight, his gaze heavily hooded as his Sire bent forward before him. One leg draped over the larger male's muscled thigh and he shifted his weight with an inviting rumble as he felt something cold and metallic prodding his tight hole. His toes curled and he cried out shamelessly into the acoustically amplified chamber as the bulbous object was shoved forcefully up inside him. It opened up like a flower of pain and he heard the distinct metallic click of a lock. He knew that object and it typically went in different orifice entirely, a jaw breaking device that he'd once heard aptly referred to as the Pear of Anguish.

“Who touched you?” The Haunter growled in harsh demand as he pressed his thumb against the underside of Sev's throbbing length and rubbed him roughly.

“Si-ah!” Sev arched into that much needed touch, his focus momentarily sundered under his Lord's sudden attentions. “… Sire?”

“I smell them in your skin.”

His Lord snarled in his open disgust and the sight of it sent a pleasant shiver down Sevatar's spine. He loved it when Curze acted so possessive over him, even if he tried his best not to openly show it. It flared something in his heart akin to pride. What they had couldn't be quantified as love, there was no warmth between them, no sense of gentleness. He was little more than a possession, a weapon. Curze's weapon. His Night Haunter's weapon.

He rolled his head back momentarily and licked his teeth. “Krail, Vorfan,” A brief, deliberate pause. “Lucoryphus.” That last name in particular was one of the few among them that he himself had remotely tolerated. He had, on some level been curious. The Bleeding Eyes Commander was so very far from Astartes. He still spoke like a man but he walked as a beast and Sevatar had found his mutations both revolting and fascinating. The memory of it was still fresh. The way that inhuman, prehensile cock had slipped up inside him and-

He was drawn out of his recollection by a rough hand squeezing his jaw and he quirked his lip into a smarmy, deathly rictus of a smile as he met his Lord's burning glare.

“You let that lerra sully you, like a shrilla.” Curze whispered dangerously.

“Shrilla are paid, Sire.” Sevatar snapped back.. And so did his head as he was promptly slapped. The pain bloomed exquisitely as he felt several teeth come lose. He worked his jaw even as his Primarch's fingers curled around it once more, holding him so painfully tight that he couldn't even turn his head.

“They are not to touch you again,” Curze hissed. “If they try. Kill them.”

It was a concise order that sent a pleasant shiver down Sevatar's spine. He'd never shown any qualms with fratricide and he wasn't about to start now.

“Understood, Sire.” Sevatar tilted his head as best he could into that vice grip.

Before he had time to even think his Lord was on him. He could taste the blood and decay clinging to Curze's teeth as he was drawn into a deep and claiming kiss and he freely invited his Sire in with a shameless moan, so very, as Curze liked to continually remind him, whorish.

He felt the Haunter's massive cock rubbing against his own and he pressed himself shamelessly forward, his knees squeezing against powerful hips once more. He wanted nothing more than to feel that cock up inside of him, to be split open on his Primarch's generous girth but Curze would not give that to him. That was his punishment for the Sins of his flesh. The price he was to pay for smelling like other men. He could smell it in the Haunter's very skin. That mingling of rage and disgust.

It was a realization that curled strangely in his gut, almost like fear… But he had not known fear for many long years now. This was something else entirely, something neither of them would dare ever openly admit. Sevatar would bury his face against his Sire's collarbone and accept his just punishment as claws and teeth raked his skin and harsh words of rebuke whispered into the shell of his ear.

---------------------

Sevatar had awoken to find that he was right where his Lord had left him, still suspended from the ceiling, pressed in now between two new and familiar bodies. He recognized them immediately even without their skin. Krail and Vorfan. Krail.. He hadn't much cared for. The man had wanted something from him and he'd toyed with him just to see the pain in his eyes once he'd realized he was chasing a cruel ghost. He'd been one of their younger Astartes, still just barely ascended to full status from a Scout, still so very… Human and that flaw had proved his undoing. Vorfan… He had remotely tolerated as a Battle Brother at best. But no Lucoryphus. The Haunter either hadn't caught or had for some reason or another decided to spare that one.

He licked his teeth, his throat was dry and his insides ached from the continued presence of Konrad's little toy. His shoulders also ached, supported as he still was by both hooks. He could have reached down and dealt with that insufferable little toy. The punishment certainly would've been worth it.. But Jago Sevatarion was nothing if not a patient man.

He was drawn out of his examination of his flayed Brothers by movement, his juthai’lah suddenly locking onto the skulking figure of-

“Moroehthe.” He greeted in Nostramo as he made out those familiar pale features in the dark.

“Sev,” Curze greeted curtly. “I disciplined them for you.”

His Sire was in a mood, he could already tell by the way the man approached him. He dropped his hands and danced his claws across his Sire's broad shoulders as the Haunter stepped in close. Curze had no Black Carapace to speak of, the Primarchs were above such menial things. His Lord bit his jaw and he tilted his head back invitingly as he felt one hand slipping up beneath his leg. He rolled his hip to grant Curze greater access. A loud groan of protest escaped him as Curze suddenly grasped the base of the Pear and ripped it free without even bothering to close it first. He curled his scarred lip at the squelching pop and subsequent sensation of aching emptiness. His protestations died on his tongue as the toy hit the ground with a clanking of metal and two thick, clawed digits took its place inside him.

“Still?” Curze furrowed a brow as if surprised by how swiftly Sevatar rose to attention.

“With all due respect, Sire, you did just leave me hanging here…” Sevatar couldn't quite resist and it was clear from the Haunter's expression that he may just have pushed his luck. To the man's credit, he didn't pull free and just leave him there at least. Curze wrapped an arm around him and lifted him. He took the indication and slid the hooks free as best he could. It was sloppy and painful work and at some point Curze's fingers slid free from his depths to help him. He grunted absently as the hooks finally slid free from flesh and bone and he allowed himself to momentarily slouch against the other's broad chest.

The Night Haunter lay him once more upon the bed of human skins, those of his Brothers now among them. But he cared not for that particular detail. He cared only that his Sire was climbing atop him and pressing down with his full weight. He reveled in the shortness of breath, in the way his bones ached, in the sensations of fire in his gut when his beauteous Primarch finally claimed him. There was nothing gentle in their coupling, no approximation of the flurry of biting, clawing, and clashing of flesh could even be remotely considered making love but to Sevatar, it was the closest and purest bond he had ever shared with any other living being in all of his years.

If he could feel love, it would be the raw, dedicated passion he held for the Night Haunter.

---------------------

Notes: Lerra = dog Shrilla = Whore, female derogatory Juthai’lah = Preysight Moroehthe = Leader, primary/Primarch

#konrad curze #jago sevatarion #canon typical violence #Jago Sevatarion x Konrad Curze #warhammer 40k #warhammer 30k #smut

12 notes · View notes

iluminatka16 · 2 months ago

Note

That knowledge is too precious not to share it

I totally forgot that I did "dick maths" years ago. Do with this information what you will, yes it's based on metric and ratios:

💕✨ Dick Maths ✨💕

Height * 0.083 = average penis length

Height * 0.125 = longer end penis length

Height * 0.053 = average circumference

Height * 0.066 = larger circumference

Height * 0.057 = above average tongue length measured from oropharynx to tip

Height * 0.108 = average hand length

Height * 0.054 = average middle finger length

Height * 0.024 = Nipple diameter

Height * .0208= average testicle length/height

@bispecsual

finally someone gives me the stats I need

BALL

MEASUREMENTS

145 notes · View notes

iluminatka16 · 2 months ago

Text

🥹❤️

Soothing

Sanguinius/reader

Tw: Angst and Comfort

A/N: something very very short written for someone who needs to remember that a lot of people care, that you deserve to be loved and things aren't always as bad as they seem♥️

Everything was dark, cold and so so quiet.

Your chest tightened and your tears soaked the silken sheets beneath you. Each choked sob felt like you were battling to breath, to get enough oxygen in to keep your body running.

A silent wail died in your throat as you muffled yourself against the mattress, gripping the sheet in a white knuckle grip that ached your fingers. The sound of your blood thundered in your ears and drowned out the humming of the ships engine and the muted rumble of conversation far beyond your bedroom door.

You flipped onto your back, panting and blinking away tears as you clutched your chest. The sharp pain stabbing through you leaving a gaping pit in your stomach and wretching common sense from your thoughts.

It hurts

My heart hurts

It hurts so much, I can't stand it

"......ove?"

".... My love?"

Reality crashed back around you. Sanguinius face floated into view, hovering over you with worry etched across his handsome features. Your brain remained hazy, words still escaping your grasp and you watched as a single pristine feather drifted down to rest against your cheek.

"My love what happened?"

Strong arms hoisted you up, pulling you into a firm warm hug, pressing against his broad chest. With your ear pressed against the wall of muscle, you closed your eyes, listening to the rhythmic thrum of his hearts.

Badum

Slowly your heart slowed, matching the steady beat. The smothering weight of the world lifted gradually as you sank into the angels embrace, feeling kisses press to the crown of your head. Soft words that fell from his lips began to make sense with each passing second.

"It's alright"

"I'm here now"

"You're not alone"

Lifting your head, you finally met his gaze.

"I'm sorry" you whispered biting your lip, trying to stem the flow of tears.

Sanguinius smiled softly, golden hair falling about you when he dipped to kiss your forehead.

"Don't be sorry. Life can be a heavy burden to bear."

"How do you cope? I feel like my heart is breaking in half"

The primarch smiled, brushing his finger along your cheek.

"I don't. Not all the time"

The tears spilled freely and you clutched his robe, nuzzling into him as you sobbed.

"I don't want to feel like you" you wailed.

"I know. But you should. Let yourself feel everything. Every happy thought, every bad moment. Embrace every single feeling and stoke it until it feels like it will burn you up. Then let it cinder to ash and let it go like dust in the wind"

"It's too much, I can't handle it"

"You can. And when this has passed all this hurt will slip through your fingers like a passing dream"

Sanguinius held you, for minutes or hours you couldn't tell. His wings fell about you in a pearlescent cascade, wrapping you in a warm cocoon and shielding you from the world as he trailed a finger up and down your arm.

"Does it ever go away?"

His thumb paused against your skin.

"...no. human hearts are so fragile, so easy to break."

He resumed tracing small circles into your arm.

"But it gets easier. Whether the weight lessens or you simply become stronger. Each day gets a little easier"

He snorted softly, jostling you against his chest with the movement.

"Humans are so so fragile. But you are so resilient."

He was right, of course. He always was. Soon the pain faded. It wasn't gone. It still bit at your soul and snarled in the back of your mind fighting to claw back to the surface.

But wrapped in a warm embrace, surrounded by so much love and safety.

The world didn't seem so scary anymore

"I am always here" he muttered, withdrawing his wings and pulling you away from him slightly to look at your face. He ran his hand along your cheeks, wiping away the tears.

"I will always shoulder your burdens. Let me share the weight with you-"

He tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow.

"I am a little stronger than you, if you hadn't noticed"

You laughed, slapping a hand against his shoulder before dragging your sleeves across your face.

"Sorry, I must look a mess"

"You look beautiful"

"Now I know you're lying"

The angel shook his head.

"You are. You are so beautiful to me"

Cupping your face, he pressed his lips to yours in a gentle embrace.

"I love you"

🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️🌨️🌨️🌨️🌨️🌨️🌨️🌨️

Tags: @beckyninja @moodymisty @jaghatai-khock @echo-of-damnation @laura-naruto-fan1998 @lemon-russ @astrohymn @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @incrediblethirst @kit-williams @iluminatka16 @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @bookandyarndragon @thisuserislilsilly @vithralith @absynthe-mind @saintsylestine

73 notes · View notes

iluminatka16 · 3 months ago

Text

It's good to hear and thank you, really!

Horus wasn't believing her until she confirmed his suspiciouns that Emperor tried to kill her and still decided to let her go. It's really big deal because you need to have something really special or important in you for that to happen (fact that she was talking to him with hair and nightgown stained with blood). She knows she is going to die here, sooner or later, and lack of sleep and Neoth basically setting her up for being brutally tortured (if they were closer to events of heresy, Curze wouldn't be that "nice") made her snap. After all it's better to be killed by Emperor in max few minutes than live thru events of heresy and die in the Siege of Terra.

And about Emperor - he is going to keep his promise partially. I can spoil if you want, but he is going to fulfill only one of the 2 things he promised.

"From beyond the stars" Chapter 3

Chapter 2 [Chapter List]

Summary: Why it's not worth insulting the Emperor and a conversation with the main culprit of the whole Heresy, Horus.

Tags: isekai, ending up in a fictional universe, primarchxf!oc, found family trope, emperor and horus make an apperance

Warnings: mention of failed suicide attempt, cursing, typical canon violence, mention of child abuse

Word count: 2773 Edit: FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHIG THAT IS HOLY AND UNHOLY, I ACCIDENTALY PUT FEW WRONG TAGS, AND TUMBLR ISN'T ALLOWING ME TO DELETE THEM (*screams of despair*). no, this isn't emperor x reader fic

Unfortunately, she was not given peace of mind this time either. Before either brother had time to answer her, heavy rhythmic footsteps sounded behind them. Yelena turned toward the sound and sighed quietly. It seemed that Custodian had returned to his post. But since he was walking towards them, it meant that either they were in trouble for talking to her, or the Neoth wanted something from her.

“The Emperor is expecting you.” briefly without explanation. Of course, she could have tried to inquire, but she knew perfectly well that it would have accomplished nothing. The bodyguard of the most powerful man in the galaxy probably didn't know himself what exactly was going on. Because why share his plans with anyone? What could have gone wrong? Let's think. Ah well! All this mystery led to a fucking heresy and Neoth looking like a zombie from The Walking Dead.

“Looks like I'm in trouble. Farawell gentlemen, if I survive then I definitely need to have a chat with you.” Yelena extended her finger in front of her and moved it to none other than the primarch, after whom the aforementioned heresy was named. “Especially with you Horus.”

“Horus? I thought most baseline humans call me My Lord.”

Yelena only smiled.

The road through the golden corridors was a torture. Lack of sleep, hunger, anxiety. All this made her think she was going crazy. She had barely been here, and she had managed to insult the fucking Emperor himself and break his ban. Three times! She was not supposed to talk to the primarchs, and she talked to three of them. And also with Curz. It's a good thing the Heresy of Horus hadn't happened yet, because if she had met that version of Konrad… well, she still remembered the passage in the book about him, where he decided to murder almost the entire crew of the ship and torture the only survivor. On top of that, there was still that fucking Custodian. Not only did he not react when the Night Haunter followed her footsteps into the garden, even though the primarchs were also forbidden to go near her, but he also walked away from the site of his post-

Wait a moment.

Custodian is no ordinary soldier who simply runs away from his post to go play cards. Even if his family was dying in front of him, he wouldn't move unless the Emperor himself gave the order… THAT BASTARD.

The door to the spacious study closed behind her, and Yelena was left alone with Neoth. The man was staring at a holographic map projector of some planetary system in front of him, not even raising his eyes to look at her.

“You set me up.” Yelena didn't care about the titles at this point, feeling her rage boiling inside her. She thought that she was indeed going mad from lack of sleep.

“You said they could be saved. Testing your words was the only option. Admittedly, my plans for your first confrontation looked a bit different, but you handled everything yourself by running out into the garden. It was a matter of time before Curze followed you. From what I noticed, you are like a magnet for my sons. I was honestly surprised that none of them broke my prohibition and entered the chamber I assigned to you. But I must admit that you have done remarkably well.”

“Talking to him was "doing remarkably well"? He didn't take anything from my words, an-”

“Konrad spent the whole night talking to you.” The Emperor interrupted her, finally lifting his gaze from above the map. “That's more than his brothers accomplished in their years of Crusade together. And you managed to get him interested in just a dozen minutes of discussion together.”

“So what do you expect me to do?”

“Since you were able to get to Konrad, it should go easily with the other primarchs. You know their mentality, past and future. You know what awaits them.”

“And then what?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Yelena slowly approached the table. She didn't even think about her next words.

“Let's say I'll stop the heresy, which might be difficult, because there's a chance I'll accidentally make things worse. Great, you have your generals, you're not trapped in a golden chair, undergoing torture for ten thousand years. You've conquered the entire cosmos. What's next? Are you going to get rid of them like you got rid of the Thunder Warriors?”

Neoth slowly straightened up. Probably it was the action of his power, but Yelena felt an unpleasant shudder run through her body under his gaze. She felt so small, so insignificant. Like a bug that he could trample with his shoe. Well, and here his was a mistake. She was so familiar to this feeling, that it only fueled her rage.

“Careful…”

“Because what? Are you going to kill me?” Yelena hissed, clenching her hands into fists. “Just like you killed those who opposed you? Because so far I am the only one who knows the exact course of events of the heresy. You don't know them, otherwise you wouldn't have ended up the way you ended up in the books with the whole Imperium going to shit.”

“Don't overestimate yourself. You are not as important as you think. The fact that you're still alive is due solely to my grace. One more word and you'll end up in a cell, where I'll extract this information from you with torture.”

“Even knowing the exact course of the heresy, you wouldn't be able to stop it. Do you know why? Because you are an bad father who sees, men who blindly obey you, as tools in your Great Fucking Plan.”

After that, there was only pain. Yelena felt like her body went up in flames. Blood gushed from her nose and filled her throat, running down her chin. Suddenly standing became too painful and before she knew it, she was collapsed onto the floor, convulsing in pain. She had no idea what was happening, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. It was hard to tell how long it lasted, but suddenly everything went quiet. She was still on the floor, choking on her own blood, and standing over her was none other than Neoth.

“Maybe the world you were born into is much softer and merciful, but there are different rules here. I have killed for lesser offenses than loudly insulting me. You are weak. You are a nobody. And killing you will be like squashing an ant with a shoe.”

As if to confirm her words, Yelena felt his boot resting on her head. She wasn't stupid. She knew that he could easily split her skull, mix bones and brain. One push. That was all it took. The fact that he hadn't done it yet meant that he was giving her a chance to apologize. For her to beg for mercy.

The problem was that she felt no fear. Only rage. It was as if she was again a child being beaten by her father using his belt, trying to break her. If he wasn't able to do it, she'd sooner die than let a fucking fictional character do this. Even if she was going to die for it.

“And you're an arrogant prick whose own personality made all the perpetuals run away from him, then his sons, who loved him above life, betrayed him, and his Great Plan went to shit.”

Yelena was panting like a wild animal caught in a trap. Her eyes were wide open, and although her view was partially obscured by the man's boot, she stared ahead with almost burning gaze. Her bloody face was contorted in a grimace that she had worn more than once when dealing with bad fathers.

“I can kill you at any second, and yet you are not afraid. All I can sense from you is rage. You are filled with hatred. You say I am arrogant, yet look at yourself. Too proud to yield even in the face of death.”

Yelena did not answer him. She merely clenched her jaw, waiting for a push to fix what should have happened when she jumped off that bridge. But to her surprise, no, shock, instead she felt the pressure on her head disappear and a strong hand grabbed her arm and lifted her to her feet. Oh fuck, how painful it was. Her muscles forced to move ignited, drawing a broken whimper from her mouth.

“The pain will go away soon.”

Easy to fucking say. Yelena had no idea what was going on until someone pushed her to sit on a armchair, clearly made for the measurements of primarchs, and a silk handkerchief was placed in her hand.

“Get yourself in order.” The Emperor muttered, resting his hands on the beautifully decorated table. “You mentioned two times that… how did you put it? The Imperium went to shit. What is the fate of humanity after my sons betrayed me?”

Yelena thought for a moment about telling him to fuck off after the way he treated her, but decided she didn't feel like testing her luck any further. “Ten thousand years have passed, you are immobilized on the Golden Throne, the Imperium is attacked from all sides. It is ruled by corrupt fanatics and the Inquisition… ah yes, the Inquisition are also corrupt fanatics.” With a quick movement, she wiped the blood from under her nose and moved her handkerchief to her chin. “Chaos is attacking with new power, on top of that new enemies have appeared - Tau, Necrons, Tyranids. You almost became the fifth god of chaos, and ten thousand years of constant torture probably destroyed your psyche to the point that you were probably no longer yourself. And also they made you into a god in whose name they kill others or even themselves.”

Fucking Lorgar.

Neoth nodded slowly. “What do you expect in return for your help?”

“Excuse me?"

“You don't want to help me kill potential traitors, so I expect you to help me stop them from descending into chaos. Death threats don't work on you, so I'm asking what you want from me in exchange for your help.”

Yelena thought for a second. “First of all, nothing will succeed without your help. Be their father, even if you don't see them as your sons. Teach them about the threat from the chaos gods, explain Warp to Magnus, help Konrad with his madness. Just… take care of them. Second - when the Great Crusade is over, don't kill them. Let them live in peace, in the way they choose. Third… if you decide to kill me after all this is over, I ask that you do it quickly. Don't send me to the Astra Militarum to die there, just kill me in my sleep. So that I don't have to suffer.”

“You're not going to beg for your life? You know that I am able to make you a lord of some rich pleasure planet, or give you a place in one of my offices. Why don't you beg for it?”

Yelena shrugged her shoulders. “You will do what you think is right. I only ask that if you decide you want to kill me, that you spare me the suffering.”

“It's a deal then. I will change my attitude toward my sons, and your death will not be painful. You have my word.”

She had no idea if he was lying. He had done it many times in the books, so she could expect pretty much anything. This time, however, she did not question him. If, after what she told him, he still decided, to be stubborn, there was nothing she could do. They talked for a good hour, where she briefly had to explain to him what tyranids and tau were, but in the end, perhaps seeing that she was actually barely keeping her eyes due to the exhaustion, he took pity on her, ordering the Custodian to escort her to her chamber. Unfortunately, she couldn't have a moment of peace here either, as she was caught on the way by none other than Horus. Primarch, of course, demanded an explanation, which she refused to give him until they were both in her chamber.

“Can you explain why you insist so much that we talk in private? You run like a rabbit from me.” Horus began, watching as Yelena sat down on the bed

“Because if anyone were to hear that you were responsible for the heresy named after you, which almost killed your father, placing his almost corpse on the golden throne and led to the death of most of the primarchs, one of us would be in a lot of trouble.” The girl fixed her green eyes on him, silently hissing in pain as she moved her aching body a little deeper into the bed.

“Oh”

“Oh, definitely. The corruption wasn't necessarily your fault, but what happened next… well. The death of trillions of people, with the Imperium in shambles. Also you killed Sanguinius.”

Horus stared at her in silence. She wasn't sure if it was due to disbelief in her words, or if he simply ran out of words.

“How do I know you're telling the truth? That sounds absurd. Even leaving aside my loyalty to my father, I would never hurt my closest friend.”

“The gods of chaos make mush out of your mind. And why would I lie? It was your father who first tried to boil my blood alive and then almost smashed my head with his shoe. All because I called him out and refused to give him your name, among other things, as a potential traitor.”

Silent footsteps sounded and after a moment the mattress next to her depressed downwards under Horus' weight.

“Why did you risk so much? And if it's true… what made me turn my back on my family?”

“Well… I think each of you has a chance to avoid this fate.” Yelena took one strand of hair between her fingers, trying to brush away the dried blood that was on the tip. “Your fall to chaos was the fault of Erebus and Lorgar. You were seriously wounded in battle and a ritual was performed on your dying body. Erebus appeared to you as someone you trusted, unfortunately I don't remember the name, and showed you a vision that after the Great Crusade was successful, the Emperor would rule as a god and kill the primarchs as soon as they were no longer useful. You believed this vision, and then after talking to Erebus, you joined the chaos gods.”

“Lorgar? How long has he been a traitor? Has he already become one?”

“Has the Monarchia been destroyed?”

“No.”

“So he hasn't become one yet. I have no idea exactly where in the timeline we are, but incydent in Monarchia was actually the beginning of what I know as the Horus Heresy. Erebus, on the other hand… well, he's been a pawn of the chaos gods basically since he was a child and is currently manipulating Lorgar.”

Another moment of silence from Horus. “We need to get rid of him, but we can't openly kill him without evidence. I'm guessing that father prefers that your… origins remain a secret, so I can't use your words as evidence. I also can't attack and kill him without reason, after all he is an acolyte of Lorgar.”

“We need to talk to your brother. And actually with all the brothers. If the original heresy can be stopped, there is a chance that another of its variants will happen. From what you said, Lion is already furious with your father for giving me so much freedom.”

“Don't worry about Lion, I'll talk to him.” Horus got out of bed and walked toward the door. “You'll have a chance to talk to the other brothers, because they're all coming together for the great feast father is throwing to celebrate the tremendous victories during the Great Crusade. I, Sangunius, Lion and Curze arrived first, but from what I've heard, Magnus, Guilliman, Vulkan and Perturabo should show up in a few days. The rest will show up within a month.”

“Oh Lord…” Bonus: The collage I created for Yelena. Yes, she was a singer and performed in the theater.

Author's note: I would like to apologize for going so long without a chapter and for this one being so short. A lot has happened in my life, and college has done to me what Vulcan did to Konrad using his teleporter, which was also a hammer. In addition, the writer's block is still biting me in the ass. The plot begins to slowly unfold, and I guarantee that not every primarch will be so friendly (calling Perturapo a “manchild”? what could go wrong). Tag list: @beckyninja @athenaremo @justfreakynothingelse @lukarus @synfiction @thatnightlamp @pirateshippers-first-mate @amoelcafe12345 @zyra-7 @walking-natural-disaster @vithralith @ihasnopen @mooniequeen @kit-williams @roxygobyebye

#warhammer 40k

144 notes · View notes

iluminatka16 · 3 months ago

Text

"From beyond the stars" Chapter 3

Chapter 2 [Chapter List]

Summary: Why it's not worth insulting the Emperor and a conversation with the main culprit of the whole Heresy, Horus.

Tags: isekai, ending up in a fictional universe, primarchxf!oc, found family trope, emperor and horus make an apperance

Warnings: mention of failed suicide attempt, cursing, typical canon violence, mention of child abuse

“Horus? I thought most baseline humans call me My Lord.”

Yelena only smiled.

Wait a moment.

“You set me up.” Yelena didn't care about the titles at this point, feeling her rage boiling inside her. She thought that she was indeed going mad from lack of sleep.

“Talking to him was "doing remarkably well"? He didn't take anything from my words, an-”

“So what do you expect me to do?”

“Since you were able to get to Konrad, it should go easily with the other primarchs. You know their mentality, past and future. You know what awaits them.”

“And then what?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Yelena slowly approached the table. She didn't even think about her next words.

“Careful…”

“And you're an arrogant prick whose own personality made all the perpetuals run away from him, then his sons, who loved him above life, betrayed him, and his Great Plan went to shit.”

“The pain will go away soon.”

Fucking Lorgar.

Neoth nodded slowly. “What do you expect in return for your help?”

“Excuse me?"

“You're not going to beg for your life? You know that I am able to make you a lord of some rich pleasure planet, or give you a place in one of my offices. Why don't you beg for it?”

Yelena shrugged her shoulders. “You will do what you think is right. I only ask that if you decide you want to kill me, that you spare me the suffering.”

“It's a deal then. I will change my attitude toward my sons, and your death will not be painful. You have my word.”

“Can you explain why you insist so much that we talk in private? You run like a rabbit from me.” Horus began, watching as Yelena sat down on the bed

“Oh”

“Oh, definitely. The corruption wasn't necessarily your fault, but what happened next… well. The death of trillions of people, with the Imperium in shambles. Also you killed Sanguinius.”

Horus stared at her in silence. She wasn't sure if it was due to disbelief in her words, or if he simply ran out of words.

“How do I know you're telling the truth? That sounds absurd. Even leaving aside my loyalty to my father, I would never hurt my closest friend.”

Silent footsteps sounded and after a moment the mattress next to her depressed downwards under Horus' weight.

“Why did you risk so much? And if it's true… what made me turn my back on my family?”

“Lorgar? How long has he been a traitor? Has he already become one?”

“Has the Monarchia been destroyed?”

“No.”

“Oh Lord…” Bonus: The collage I created for Yelena. Yes, she was a singer and performed in the theater.

#warhammer 40k #fanfiction #fanfic #primarch #warhammer 30k #found family #no beta we die like men #primarch x oc #primarch x reader #primarchs #from beyond the stars #tw violence #horus lupercal #the emperor of mankind

144 notes · View notes

iluminatka16 · 4 months ago

Text

Add Magnus there and REL

2K notes · View notes

iluminatka16 · 4 months ago

Text

If you have trouble imagining the difference in height between primarch and your oc, I recommend the movie "Gods of Egypt." The difference between gods and mortals is identical to that between primarchs and ordinary people. I am currently writing a chapter and it really helped me.

Also the main character Horus behaves almost identically to our primarch Horus lmao

#warhammer 40k #fanfiction #primarch #primarchs #warhammer 30k #primarch x oc #primarch x reader

38 notes · View notes

iluminatka16 · 5 months ago

Text

OH MY GOD, YES.

ALSO WDYM CURZE IS LISTED ON SEXIPEDIA.

Also I'm 100% sure he would be shipped with Jago or Sanguinius

we could make night haunter into a tumblr sexyman if we tried i think

#warhammer 40k #konrad curze #night haunter #sexyman #primarch

191 notes · View notes

iluminatka16 · 5 months ago

Text

I'm laughing so hard, I can't

Some April fools shenanigans featuring Magnus playing pranks on his brothers...

Beardus deletus

Body switch (you can tell who's who because Sanguinius never wears pants)

And much more...

The face of someone who did nothing wrong

1K notes · View notes

iluminatka16 · 5 months ago

Text

THIS.

There’s a special place in hell for warhammer fans who reduce Mortarion to “being stinky” and Konrad to skinning / killing ppl…

And I don’t just mean mentioning and including these traits, because they obviously are canon things and part of these characters, but I mean every time there’s a headcanon thread, meme or anything the only thing they have to say about them is “stinky” and “murderer”, in ANY context.

Like, “what I think the primarchs would get you for Christmas” and it’s like

Mortarion: he stinks

Konrad: he will kill you

“What is the primarch’s favorite movie?”

Mortarion: he stinks too much to watch a movie

Konrad: he doesn’t care about movies, too busy killing ppl.

if you do this I want to fight you.

Like, hey, these characters have a personality…. And if you bothered just a little bit you could make things up based off this personality

If for nothing else, I’m just offended by the sheer blatant lack of creativity and imagination…

Idk if ppl are scared to accidentally say something that’s OOC and get shit for it and are walking on eggshells or if they’re legitimately stupid and lazy

Either way, the results are miserable.

For point 1, stop giving a shit about what ppl say, If someone gets mad at you for saying something they think is OOC that’s their problem, you have to grow a thicker skin

For point 2, what is there even to say…

If you don’t know these primarchs well enough to form an opinion just say that, I’m serious. “Hey I’ll skip mortarion because I don’t know enough about him to make a HC”. Or say nothing. But this kind of content is the kind of slop that makes engaging with most of the 40k fandom online exhausting

I’m being ranty because I saw a tiktok of someone doing specifically this and it was the last straw

My main anger here is with the lack of creativity and imagination.

Listen, I’d rather (and gladly) you say something that’s slightly OOC or whatever, make up your version of this character that you can write whole super detailed interesting paragraphs about and make lore up for this character in your head, then fall back on the same lazy uncreative meme stereotypes

I could go on a whole rant about how this behavior in fandom correlates with the culture of conformity in broad society and ppl’s fear to be individuals, get shit for their individuality and stand up for themselves. I see the appeal to make content about these characters with as broad of a brush as possible, draw and write them in the most uncontroversial, bland, basic way, etc - not just because it gets the most attention but also because it is the least controversial, divisive and least likely to get shit or disagreeing opinions.

43 notes · View notes

iluminatka16 · 5 months ago

Text

Thank you! 🥹

"From beyond the stars" Chapter 2

[Chapter List]

Summary: Yelena is slowly beginning to realize how serious a situation she is in. The panic attack that follows causes her to seek solace in the imperial gardens. However, she instead encounters the Night Haunter and the first opportunities to make steps toward stopping the Horus Heresy.

Note: ship still isn't decided and most of the primarchs would have chapters decidacted to their private chat with Yelena!

Tags: isekai, ending up in a fictional universe, primarchxf!oc, found family trope, konrad curze, sanguinius and horus make an apperance

Warnings: mention of failed suicide attempt, cursing, konrad is being konrad so threats of violence

Word count: 4841

It took Yelena quite a long time to realize the gravity of the situation she was in. During this time, she managed to search the entire room. For what purpose? She was simply curious and needed something to keep her occupied so she wouldn't go crazy. After a thorough check of the drawers and cabinets, she discovered that the entire closet was empty, not counting a couple of oversize nightgowns that reached her ankles. Apparently, someone else had to bring her clothes or the Emperor didn't plan for her to stay more than a day. Bedchamber had an attached bathroom kept in colors of white and gold. In addition to beautifully scented body oils and soaps, to her surprise she found several packets of tampons and sanitary pads, and even a hair dryer. The place was better equipped than her own flat, or perhaps even her family home.

Despite all these luxuries, she eventually gave up the nagging need to bathe in the beautiful marble bathtub. As she bustled around the room, she heard at least twice that someone much larger than a human being was walking next to her door. They weren't custodians, as the footsteps were more relaxed, so that meant the news had spread and the primarchs staying at the Imperial Palace had located her bedroom. She knew these idiots too well not to suspect that eventually one of them would break the Emperor's order (which she suspected had fallen, since none dared to open the door yet). And honestly? She preferred not to be surprised by them in the bath. That's why she simply pulled off the robes she was wearing and put on a snow-white nightgown, wrapping her exhausted body in the most pleasant fabric she had ever touched, and then sunk under the quilts and blankets. Despite the fact that the bed was probably made for primarch sizes and lying on it was like sleeping on a huge cloud, slumber refused to come. There were too many thoughts running through her head, and her mind was unable to calm down. Outside, dusk had managed to fall, flooding the spacious room in darkness. Unable to endure her boredom, Yelena crawled out of bed and began to do the only thing she could think of - going through the chamber's furnishings again. She reached the desk, which had all the items needed by both a planetary steward and an artist. The second one interested her much more and soon became the cause of her small nervous breakdown.

From a drawer she pulled out something resembling a scalpel, which she quickly identified as a more old-fashioned pencil sharpener. The handle was made of carved and gilded wood, and the blade, well, she became aware of its sharpness by accident. Maybe it was a matter of fatigue, or maybe inattention, but the precious object slipped from her hand. Yelena instinctively caught it, accidentally grabbing the sharp edge with her hand. Under the pressure, her skin cracked, and a scarlet stream ran down her hand, slowly dripping onto the floor. She cursed in pain, abruptly letting go of the object and grabbed her wrist, turning it to see the wound. It was deep, the blade had bitten into her skin, leaving a gap from which blood flowed continuously. A metallic smell filled her nostrils, and her nerve endings burned from the throbbing pain.

Yelena stared dully at her hand, feeling it finally, coming to her, the realization of the situation she was in. Many people in all sorts of fandoms would give their and their entire bloodline's souls to move to a beloved universe. However, Warhammer 40k? Any fan asked would only laugh and say that they wouldn't want to be in that galaxy for any price. And she was at the fucking center of it. Surrounded by a bunch of idiots, who any moment now will decide it's high time to enter the delayed phase of rebellion against their parents and become puppets of the chaos gods. Even if the Emperor keeps her all the time in the Imperial Palace, in a few years, or maybe months, the streets of Terra will be flowing with blood. What an irony, she ends up here after a failed suicide attempt and is suddenly panicky about death. Although no, it wasn't death she was afraid of. She was afraid of confronting people she twistedly considered comfort characters, knowing what fate awaited them.

Her heartbeat accelerated rapidly, blood hummed in her ears, and breathing became impossibly difficult. Yelena forgot about the pain and her hands went to her shirt, staining the snowy white with scarlet as she tugged at the cloth as if trying to scratch a hole in her chest. Suddenly, the chamber became impossibly small and suffocating, tightening around her neck in the iron grip of an invisible fist. She had to get out, anywhere. As far away from here as possible. She didn't even think about what she was doing when she reached the door, pressing the handle in panic. Her bare feet hit the wooden floor as she ran through the halls like a wild animal. Soon her vision was blurred by the tears that began to run down her cheeks. She had no idea by what miracle, but after a few minutes of running, she reached the huge glass doors leading to the garden. None of the custodians patrolling the corridors stopped her, none even turned their heads to check what she was doing. Her wounded hand pushed the last obstacle forward, triggering another wave of sensory-dulling pain, and then she ran outside. The cold air helped her sober up enough to be able to pick a spot that looked best for hiding. She chose a huge tree that, with its branches, surpassed the other plants in the garden. With her last strength, she got there, dropping to her knees as soon as her hands touched the rough trunk.

Yelena leaned her back against the trunk and closed her eyes. Her nightgown was already all dirty from blood, soil and grass anyway, so a little bit of bark wouldn't make too much difference. Well, that was the last thing she was concerned about at the moment. I don't think she had ever had such an intense panic attack before. She couldn't catch her breath, and only broken sobs came out of her mouth. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with dirt and scarlet.

People have something like a sixth sense that tells them when someone is watching them. It's an uncomfortable feeling that causes goosebumps. As the first wave of panic eased, allowing her to think relatively soberly, despite the fact that she was choking on her own tears, Yelena felt just that. Someone was staring at her, and it was far too close. She squinted, trying to adjust her eyes to the prevailing darkness, and then she saw the outline of a silhouette in the place she had come from. It was definitely a primarch judging by the size. How did someone so large manage to sneak up on her without her hearing him. Surely it wasn't Corax, because she wouldn't have seen him in that darkness, so it must have been….

Oh fuck. FUCK FUCK FUCK. Not him. Everyone but him. Yelena wasn't ready for that. Not now, not when she didn't have a well thought out plan. Her heart squeezed even tighter, radiating pain into her chest. It wasn't that she hated him. Oh no, quite the opposite. Night Haunter was one of her favorite primarchs.

But meeting him was not one of her biggest dreams.

“Cut the bullshit Konrad. I know who you are and that you're standing there.” Yelena yelled into the dark space, pressing a healthy hand to her chest. Although she tried to sound threatening, her voice was breaking down.

Only a momentary silence answered her. Suddenly she felt a large cold hand sliding over her shoulder and his breath moving her ginger curls. Well, yes, personal space did not exist for any of these assholes.

“I think I should get that dirty tongue out first,” his voice resounded next to her ear. It was snarling, making shivers of terror run down her spine. “Then I think I'll see if the people in your world look the same after skinning as those in mine.”

Maybe Yelena would have been horrified by what she had just heard, but honestly? The panic attack had one advantage - she wasn't thinking soberly.

“Custodian is standing right next to that terrace door. How much skin do you think you'll peel off me before he gets here after hearing my screams?” Her eyes slowly became accustomed to the darkness, allowing her to see Curze's silhouette crouching beside her. Although her voice was breaking and her words were punctuated by a sound as if she were choking, mixed with sobs, she managed to convey what she wanted.

“Clever girl. Very clever.” his voice softened slightly. She wasn't sure if he was mocking again, but it looked like he wasn't really planning to hurt her. Or he had given up on that after her words. “Father said you have a great deal of knowledge about the past and future of this rotten galaxy. However, he forbade us to talk to you.”

Yelena answered him nothing to this. Her body shook and her heart pounded in her chest. However, it was not fear of Curz. Rather, what was funniest and most absurd about the situation was that the man was bringing her comfort. Her brain was still programmed to recognize him as someone close to her, as she thought of him when she recognized him as a fictional character. But now feeling his breath on her shoulder, knowing what he had done in the canonical books, she felt like she was getting a system crash.

Meanwhile, Konrad didn't seem to mind the awkward silence. Without a word he stared at her for a good minute, as if searching for something.

“I don't see your future,” he finally mumbled snootily, tilting his head slightly (or at least that's how it seemed to Yelena). “You're not a soulless blank, that's for sure. So who are you?”

Yelena opened her mouth, trying to get any words out, but all that came out of her lips was a sob. She moved her hand over her sternum, trying to control the oppressive, throbbing pain she felt there, which, combined with the burning wound on the inside of her hand, made for an extremely frustrating combination.

“So you know who I am. Good.”

“Bloody hell, I'm not terrified because of you.” The answer was quick and sharp, almost like a growl. “I'm having a panic attack.”

“Watch your tone, wrench.” Curze's voice took on a hissing tone. “If I don't scare you, I think you'll be able to tell me about your knowledge. Or I'll listen to it in between your screams.”

Well, what an idiot. He wouldn't get shit from her, because there's a custodian standing next to the terrace door, who would probably quickly separate them. However, instead of a sarcastic comment, only another sob came out of her mouth. With a trembling hand, she wiped the tears from her cheek, trying to gather herself to answer him anything.

“In my current state, I am unable to even think.” she whispered. “Let me at least calm down.”

“I don't have time for that. If I were you, I'd hurry up.”

Well, now she had a problem. Rushing someone with a panic attack only made things worse. It reminded her of when she first had a panic attack as a child and her mother, in an attempt to “calm her down,” slapped her several times in the face to shake her off. Now, however, she had to think fast. What could she do to get back to a state where she could at least think about what she was going to say while under pressure… wait a second. PRESSURE.

“Do you want to speed it up? Press one hand against my sternum and the other between my shoulder blades.”

Silence again.

“What?”

Yelena did not answer him. She blindly moved her hand forward, encountering something that resembled a cloak of feathers. She quickly found his hand and moved her fingers over it until she felt his wrist underneath them, which she grabbed, then with a jerk she brought it closer to her side. Taking advantage of the fact that Konrad was shocked by her impudence, she spread his fingers slightly and pressed her cold hand against the space under her breasts. She expected that when the initial surprise finally passed, the man would jerk his hand away and strike her, so she tried to focus as much as possible on the feeling while she still had the opportunity. However, to her own shock, she felt a second equally cold hand move across her back, pressing on the spot between her shoulder blades. Yelena let out a stifled sob, and her body shivered as if in a fever.

She had no idea how long they sat in that position. Neither she nor Curze wanted to break the silence that now fell between them, disturbed only by the quiet sounds of distress from her mouth. But soon the panic began to give way to a feeling of exhaustion and resignation. Yelena groaned quietly and leaned her head back, resting her head against the tree trunk. She was panting, mentally and physically exhausted. She had never had such an intense episode before. Her gaze went lower, looking at Konrad's hand with eyes full of tears. This was probably the first time in six months that she had had any physical contact with another human being. It seemed that her body was yearning for this feeling and found peace much faster, getting the raging hormones under control. The man also noticed the change in her condition, probably feeling how her heart, which until now was pounding as if it was about to explode, finally returned to its normal pace.

“You are the craziest person I've ever met. No normal person seeks my touch.” Konrad's voice was much quieter, resembling more of a rasp. Slowly, as if unsure of his own movements, he took his hands away from her body. Yelena heard a rustling, and judging by the sound and the placement of the silhouette's outline in the darkness, Konrad sat down next to her on the grass.

Yelena only quietly laughed. But what an absurd thing to say. She had just talked to herself with Night Haunter himself. Along with a clear mind came any ability to think logically. He and Sanguinius were her favorite primarchs. It was as if she had met her favorite celebrity! Well… only in this case, this celebrity could decide at any moment that he wanted to skin her. The situation was a good one in that, judging by the smell, or more specifically, the lack of the stench of rotting flesh and death, Konrad had not yet been driven so far into madness that he could not be saved. Some upside to the whole situation.

“Because, unlike others, I know you a bit,”

“I've heard. My father mentioned that your world sees us as fictional characters on the pages of books. Tell me, was I right all along? Did my visions tell the truth?”

Yelena was silent for a second. Well, now she just had a problem. It took her a good while to gather the right words.

“No. But also yes. Your visions, they didn't have to be true, but you following them made them true.”

“But-”

“There is no but Konrad. I'm not sure if Sanguinius has already tried to explain it to you or not yet. You don't want to listen to anyone on this, so why don't you listen to someone who has read the books from your perspective and had insight into your mind. The future can be changed… although I have a feeling you know that. You're just taking the easier route.”

There was a swish and a bang as the hand that had earlier brought her solace hurled itself with all its force into the tree trunk just above her head.

“Careful. You have no idea what you're talking about.” This time Curze's voice took on a much more menacing tone. Yelena didn't need to see his face to know how enraged he was by her words.

“When you saw Emperor, you had a vision that made you want to claw your eyes out. You are unable to trust your other primarchs because you have a vision of the Horus Heresy and the consequences of it. Brother against brother, billions if not trillions killed, the Imperium in ruins. Oh maybe how lonely and disappointed you feel by your own family.”

“How-”

“I told you. Your father told you. In my world, your fate and that of this world are written on the pages of novels, going all the to the fortieth millennium. I had an insight into your head because some stories were written from your perspective.”

Konrad did not answer for a while. Yelena only heard rustling as he took his hand from the trunk. There is some success, at least for now he does not plan to murder her. However, seeing that Curze didn't flinch to answer, she decided to continue.

“I know you have a vision of an assassin cutting off your head. I know you think that this act will prove to everyone that you are not the worst man in the galaxy at all. Because you are not the worst man in the galaxy. You have done terrible things, that's true. And here there is no dispute. You think there is no salvation for you, but that is not true. There is light in each of the primarchs, because you were created that way. There is a possibility of redemption for you.”

If she manages to fix Konrad and return to her world, she will have to apply for a license to run a psychological practice. Because that will probably make her the most talented therapist on the whole fucking Earth.

“When you killed a boy who tried to hurt a girl from an upper social caste, you saw that there was the possibility of a different future. That your path you took is not the only one. Tell me, why should I lie at this point? The Emperor told me to list the names of the primarchs who would betray him and how they would do it. I refused to tell him because I know there is a chance of redemption for you. I know that events don't have to turn out the way they are written in the books.”

“So everything I did… everything I did was pointless?”

“You were doing what you were meant to do, Konrad. You didn't have a family to teach you love, you didn't know any other touch than that which causes pain.” Yelena felt tears come to her eyes again. However, this time it was not fear, but compassion. Grief directed toward a child who had not known maternal warmth, who had to fight to survive, a child who had been destroyed by monstrous visions since the beginning of her existence. “I'm not saying you're not to blame, because you chose the easiest path, even if it was strewn with suffering. But it's not just your fault. Your decision, however, how you shape your future.”

Again, no answer. She heard his breathing speed up a bit and his fingers hit something rhythmically. Yelena wondered if she had just accidentally triggered a nervous breakdown in him. There was an option that he now had a vision of the future in which he listened to her words. After a few minutes of awkward silence, she heard rustling again and saw the outline of a silhouette rise from the ground. Well, yes, he can't kill her, so he will simply remove himself from the situation. Yelena only shook her head over her own stupidity when she heard footsteps slowly moving away. Well yes, what was she thinking, why would a grown man listen to a 20-year-old gir-

“What did you think of me when I was just a character on the pages of those books of yours?”

“Excuse me?”

There was the sound of footsteps again as Konrad decided to return to her after all. He stopped right next to a tree and judging by the sound, he was leaning against it.

“You must have hated me. Night Haunter, the demon from Nostramo.”

“Actually, quite the opposite. I liked you a lot. Don't tell your brothers, but you were one of my favorite primarchs.”

“You are indeed crazy. How did it even happen that you ended up here? Did you think you would become some kind of messiah and save us from damnation?”

Yelena quietly laughed at this suggestion. Although she had repeatedly created scenarios in her head about how she could stop heresy, she never wanted to test them in real life.

“I tried to commit suicide by jumping off a bridge into the water. The last thing I remember was the fall. Then I woke up here. My goal was death, and yet I'm here. Trying to stop heresy is just an unplanned side effect.”

“Suicide, that's a crime. You know I should punish you for it.”

Oh Yelena was well aware of this. She still remembered the chapter in his book where he tortured a woman who tried to kill herself. However, the tone of his voice indicated that he was hesitating after all. Could it be that her words had actually made an impression on him?

“Of course, you can brutally kill me at this point. I think if you're quick, even the custodian we talked about earlier won't hear me. But as an alternative to my penance, I offer a conversation. When was the last time you talked to someone who isn't a soldier or doesn't empty their bladder in fear at the sight of you?”

“There is no Custodian at the door. I saw him leave his post when I went out to the garden and he hasn't returned yet. But fine, let's talk.”

WAIT WHAT.

W H A T

THAT FUCKER KNEW IT SINCE THE START AND WAS PLAYING HER?

Yelena now understood how in a very dangerous situation she was. And I guess Curze had a good laugh at her reaction to this, because a slight amusement could be heard in his voice. What an asshole.

But she still kept her promise, continuing the conversation. And honestly? To her surprise, she discovered that the moment Konrad felt comfortable around someone, he was a great talking partner. She honestly didn't even realize how long they talked until she saw the sunrise. Now, not quite sure how it happened, they were both sitting on a tree (how the branches didn't break under his weight was also a mystery to her), and she was telling him about her past.

“…So as I said, Terra in my universe is divided into nations, called countries. I was born in a country called Poland, but at the age of nineteen, I moved to England to work in a factory. They offered free housing for workers, and I desperately wanted to get away from my home.”

Yelena tapped her fingers a few times against the branch she was sitting on. Konrad sat lower below her, glancing once at her, once at the rising sun. Now that she could finally see anything, she looked curiously at his facial features. The descriptions in the books did not lie - indeed Konrad was beautiful. It may not have been a conventional beauty like Fulgrim's, but he was as beautiful as a dark, starry night is beautiful.

Meanwhile, Curze nodded, apparently thinking about his next words. Suddenly, however, he froze in place, tilting his head to the side, toward where the entrance to the garden was located. He then looked at Yelena and put a finger to his lips, letting her know to be quiet.

Well, it didn't take her long before she understood why. After only a minute, she heard heavy footsteps and voices that she recognized almost immediately.

“The blood trail leads to the garden. Do you think she's still alive?”

“Don't make a monster out of our brother, Horus. He wouldn't kill a young woman because he was bored.”

“Do you really believe that? How else do you explain the blood?”

Yelena looked at Curze and then at her wounded hand. The cut had long since sealed itself, but apparently the bleeding must have been significant enough to leave a trail behind. The man merely rolled his eyes and smiled slightly. He apparently enjoyed watching his brothers' slight panic.

The two wordlessly watched as Sanguinius and Horus stopped under the tree they were sitting on. Yelena widened her eyes slightly, seeing how magnificent Great Angel looked bathed in the rays of the rising sun. In his case, the book descriptions were not wrong either. Then her gaze fell on Horus and moved back to Konrad. The man only smiled wider, as if even more amused with the look on her face. Well, yes, they both knew that she was in for a serious conversation with him. And Konrad wasn't going to help with that at all.

Yelena felt a strong hand grab her ankle and yank her down. Before she had time to scream, Curze covered her mouth with his hand. What the hell was he up to, pulling her down to sit next to him? And then it came to her. There were many more leaves where he had placed her, creating a sort of shield for her from their view. She had already forgotten how much he enjoyed playing with his siblings' minds.

Just a second later, Sanguinius lifted his head up, probably sensing Konrad. Horus followed his lead and tilted his head slightly. Then he asked a question.

“Curze. What did you do to her?”

Konrad did not answer him, only smiled wider. Yelena sighed, seeing this. She was not eager to talk to these two, but she had to do something. In Konrad's case it went easily because the panic attack did most of the work for her.

“Konrad stop playing with them.” Yelena muttered, shifting on a branch, intending to show herself to them. It was a mistake, however, because at that moment fatigue decided to make its presence known, and she lost her balance. Both she and Konrad were not fast enough to stop her from falling. The crack of a snapping branch sounded and Yelena lost any support, diving downward. However, instead of hitting the ground, she felt strong hands catch her in flight. Before she knew it, she was in Sanguinis' arms. The angel looked at her and a friendly smile appeared on his lips.

“I said he didn't do anything to her.” He carefully placed her on the ground, still looking at her. After a second, a bang sounded as Konrad jumped down from the tree beside them. With a movement of his hand, he adjusted his coat.

“My name is Sanguinius. The uglier one is Horus.”

“Don't make me pluck those wings.” Horus retorted and crouched down next to Yelena. “You are the main topic of gossip in the palace. Lion has been walking around angry since yesterday that Father is treating you so gently instead of keeping you in a cell.”

Angel only sighed.

“When we met in the corridor, you looked at us as if you were about to cry. Can you explain why? Since you know us and if father is telling the truth, a lot about our future, I suspect that our fate will not be favorable to us.” Sanguinis' voice was much more gentle and warm. He didn't demand like Curze, and gave her space to decide.

Yelena cursed in her mind. She looked at Konrad, who tilted his head slightly as he listened to their discussion.

“I think it will be better if I talk about this in private."

The last thing she wanted was to spoil the friendship between Horus and Sanguinis, and honestly? She feared that would be the case if anyone found out what the future and the chaos gods were preparing for the primarch of XVI Legion.

______

Author's note: And the second chapter behind us. I apologize for such a long wait, but I had a great deal of university assignments. On top of that I had a mild depressive episode. I hope I managed to convey the personalities of the primarchs well, because honestly it was especially difficult with Konrad (I think I read Night Haunter 3 times and the bastard has a different personality in each chapter).

Tag list: @beckyninja @athenaremo @justfreakynothingelse @lukarus @synfiction @thatnightlamp @pirateshippers-first-mate @amoelcafe12345 @zyra-7 @walking-natural-disaster @vithralith @ihasnopen @mooniequeen @kit-williams

154 notes · View notes

iluminatka16 · 5 months ago

Note

Emperor have mercy on me

I adore the way you draw Curze I wanna give him a little kiss on his gorgeous nose and then braid his hair.

(I won’t go into detail for risk of turning this ask into an essay about how wonderful your art is but I’d like to give all of your primarch designs a kiss on the forehead, they’re all wonderful especially Corvus and Sanguinius)

Speaking of Kissing Konrad, here's a commission of him doing just that:

Cropped because its a tiny bit suggestive, here's full:

Thanks again for @droidrambles for commissioning me

#AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

276 notes · View notes

iluminatka16 · 5 months ago

Text

Thank you! And I also can't wait to introduce her to Robu bc he is one of my favourites (so it definitely will be soon)

"From beyond the stars" Chapter 2

[Chapter List]

Note: ship still isn't decided and most of the primarchs would have chapters decidacted to their private chat with Yelena!

Tags: isekai, ending up in a fictional universe, primarchxf!oc, found family trope, konrad curze, sanguinius and horus make an apperance

Warnings: mention of failed suicide attempt, cursing, konrad is being konrad so threats of violence

Word count: 4841

But meeting him was not one of her biggest dreams.

Maybe Yelena would have been horrified by what she had just heard, but honestly? The panic attack had one advantage - she wasn't thinking soberly.

Meanwhile, Konrad didn't seem to mind the awkward silence. Without a word he stared at her for a good minute, as if searching for something.

“I don't see your future,” he finally mumbled snootily, tilting his head slightly (or at least that's how it seemed to Yelena). “You're not a soulless blank, that's for sure. So who are you?”

“So you know who I am. Good.”

“Bloody hell, I'm not terrified because of you.” The answer was quick and sharp, almost like a growl. “I'm having a panic attack.”

“Watch your tone, wrench.” Curze's voice took on a hissing tone. “If I don't scare you, I think you'll be able to tell me about your knowledge. Or I'll listen to it in between your screams.”

“In my current state, I am unable to even think.” she whispered. “Let me at least calm down.”

“I don't have time for that. If I were you, I'd hurry up.”

“Do you want to speed it up? Press one hand against my sternum and the other between my shoulder blades.”

Silence again.

“What?”

“Because, unlike others, I know you a bit,”

“I've heard. My father mentioned that your world sees us as fictional characters on the pages of books. Tell me, was I right all along? Did my visions tell the truth?”

Yelena was silent for a second. Well, now she just had a problem. It took her a good while to gather the right words.

“No. But also yes. Your visions, they didn't have to be true, but you following them made them true.”

“But-”

There was a swish and a bang as the hand that had earlier brought her solace hurled itself with all its force into the tree trunk just above her head.

“Careful. You have no idea what you're talking about.” This time Curze's voice took on a much more menacing tone. Yelena didn't need to see his face to know how enraged he was by her words.

“How-”

“So everything I did… everything I did was pointless?”

“What did you think of me when I was just a character on the pages of those books of yours?”

“Excuse me?”

There was the sound of footsteps again as Konrad decided to return to her after all. He stopped right next to a tree and judging by the sound, he was leaning against it.

“You must have hated me. Night Haunter, the demon from Nostramo.”

“Actually, quite the opposite. I liked you a lot. Don't tell your brothers, but you were one of my favorite primarchs.”

“You are indeed crazy. How did it even happen that you ended up here? Did you think you would become some kind of messiah and save us from damnation?”

Yelena quietly laughed at this suggestion. Although she had repeatedly created scenarios in her head about how she could stop heresy, she never wanted to test them in real life.

“Suicide, that's a crime. You know I should punish you for it.”

“There is no Custodian at the door. I saw him leave his post when I went out to the garden and he hasn't returned yet. But fine, let's talk.”

WAIT WHAT.

W H A T

THAT FUCKER KNEW IT SINCE THE START AND WAS PLAYING HER?

Yelena now understood how in a very dangerous situation she was. And I guess Curze had a good laugh at her reaction to this, because a slight amusement could be heard in his voice. What an asshole.

Well, it didn't take her long before she understood why. After only a minute, she heard heavy footsteps and voices that she recognized almost immediately.

“The blood trail leads to the garden. Do you think she's still alive?”

“Don't make a monster out of our brother, Horus. He wouldn't kill a young woman because he was bored.”

“Do you really believe that? How else do you explain the blood?”

Just a second later, Sanguinius lifted his head up, probably sensing Konrad. Horus followed his lead and tilted his head slightly. Then he asked a question.

“Curze. What did you do to her?”

“My name is Sanguinius. The uglier one is Horus.”

Angel only sighed.

Yelena cursed in her mind. She looked at Konrad, who tilted his head slightly as he listened to their discussion.

“I think it will be better if I talk about this in private."

______

154 notes · View notes