#aeldari/reader

[mothiir]

i am foaming at the mouth waiting for more of the aeldari/diplomat fic. the way you write the alien perspective is So! Good!!! please tell me you have more writing/headcanons for the xenos factions, i love those silly space elves and space robots!!

i will be working on my next taleath/diplomat fic soon, but here are some headcanons to tide you over because GW neglects Eldar and half the fandom just boils them down to pointy-eared waifus rather than truly alien creatures, which bugs me. these are all 100% my own invention and based on nothing but my own perception of what would be cool.

Random thoughts on Aeldari culture:

since the vast majority of Craftworld Eldar live lives of carefully curated experience in order to avoid succumbing to their degeneracy of their past, it stands to reason that sex is a Big Deal for them. Romantic relationships between Aeldari can take decades to form — sometimes centuries can pass before a couple so much as hold hands. Even when things are moving relatively swiftly by Aeldari standards, there will be months of meditating beside each other, ensuring that they can stand to be in each other’s presence without losing their grip on their feelings. It’s very common for older Aeldari to serve as chaperones for young would-be lovers; they are tasked with ensuring things do not get too intense. When the pair do have sex, it is often intensely ritualistic. Since Aeldari are so psychically gifted, they need layers of protection and care to ensure they don’t give half their Craftworld a really awkward dream. No one wants to have a vision of their brother getting backshots for the first time.

Exodite Eldar - the ones that ride dinosaurs and haven’t had a lore update since about 2005 - view sex very differently. It is a gift from their mother planet, and meant to be enjoyed. They do not casually procreate, but this is because they believe it is their duty to raise strong children to benefit the collective. Arranged marriages are common, but always done with the consent of the children involved (the children in question are generally about two hundred years old — the Craftworld Aeldari think this is appallingly young). The fertile Aeldari are encouraged to procreate as much as possible, and families of ten or more children are common. Since the Fall, infertility is very common among both males and females, so those that cannot bear their own young will work to raise the young of those who can, freeing them up for more frequent pregnancies (since Aeldari children taken at least three decades to reach what we would consider prepubescence, the help is much needed).

Since Yvraine’s big song and dance about Ynnead, more and more Drukhari are defecting — some directly to Yvraine, some to the Craftworlds. Obviously, there are all sorts of problems with integration — including detoxing from literal soul addiction — but one of the more mundane ones is sexual frustration. Imagine going from shagging every time you feel like it to being told that even looking lustfully at another Eldar is considered a grave breach of protocol. Taleath has spent more time than he will ever admit meditating away a boner.

And the more NSFW stuff:

Yes, they have dicks. They look very human in that respect. Never mention this to them, because they will not appreciate it.

Most Aeldari will tell you that they could never look lustfully upon a human, as this would be equivalent to you looking lustfully upon an ape. You are utterly beneath them — you barely qualify as sentient to them — and sex with you would qualify as bestiality to them.

Most Drukhari will tell you that Craftworld Aeldari are filthy liars with a stick so far up their arse it’s a wonder they manage to get anything done. Yes, humans are totally beneath Aeldari — they’re mewling, miserable creatures with short pathetic lives and nothing to redeem them apart from how delicious they are when they die screaming. Or, even better, fail to die, and just scream and wail for mercy and — wait, what were you asking again?

Basically, Drukhari will fuck humans — not all Drukhari, not all humans, and we are going to have to play fast and loose with the definition of ‘fuck’ because a lot of the stuff that happens in Commoragh defies even my attempts at description.

Aeldari will not, in general, fuck humans. This does not mean that some do not want to. They just cannot acknowledge it without going against the deeply held taboos of their culture. The fact is that they will say it is because humans are disgusting and completely beneath them — which is, from their point of view, largely true — but that is an effective shield against the actual answer, which is deeper and more complicated than anything they really want to admit to outsiders: that the Fall warped every aspect of Aeldari society, including sex. The rituals they have prior to building a relationship, let alone prior to sex, are so intricate and long that a human could well age and die before the Aeldari even feels ready to admit their feelings. It just isn’t worth it.

BONUS: How to Tell If An Aeldari Is Crushing On You

Aeldari are creatures of bizarre mannerisms and a culture so alien that it makes the orcs look familiar. However, here are some signs to watch out for if you think that your Aeldari is harbouring some heretical feelings:

They occasionally refer to you by name instead of ‘Mon-Keigh’. (Note: if they start fondly referring to you as ‘little pet’ or ‘little prey thing’ I would advise reading up on your life insurance policy as this is not an Aeldari, this is a Drukhari, and only the Emperor’s Mercy can help you now)

You keep bumping into them. Normally you will walk into what you thought was a perfectly empty room, only to find them meditating. They will normally sigh, and declare something about not being able to be free of your pestilential species, and make to swan off. If you apologise profusely, they may graciously permit you to join them. This is the Aeldari equivalent of a blow job in church, so be try and be good.

They loudly state how annoying and loud all these humans are. Aeldari do not normally need to say this out loud; it’s a given. If they are saying it, they are trying to remind themselves of the fact they are meant to dislike you.

They mastermind a plot to save you from a minor inconvenience that leaves thousands of your kin dead or dying. They do not understand why you are upset at this. The others are just humans, yes? You are their human. That is the difference. (Contrary to what you might think, this is not a purely Drukhari trait. This is something all types of Aeldari will do. The only difference is that a Drukhari will try and fuck you after doing it, possibly as you cry out of guilt, and an Aeldari will try to hold you hand, which is their version of fucking)

[aggresivemenace]

𝕬𝖗𝖘 𝕬𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖆: 𝖃𝖊𝖓𝖔𝖘

Fem!Reader explores sexual relationship with various xenos...starting off with Eldars.

pt. 1

So, you've chosen to step beyond the rigid norms of the Imperium and explore the forbidden allure of xenos lovers. Whether driven by curiosity, desire, or a need for the unknown, this guide will help you navigate such encounters with wisdom, grace, and caution.

1. Aeldari

There is no better way to begin your journey than with them. Eldar pr Aeldaris can be found in almost any marketplace where the Inquisition turns a blind eye - or is paid well enough to look mind their business. You will meet a particular tribe there: Drukhari. Drukhari are easy to recognize: their sharp, ethereal beauty, often accompanied by dark hair and pale skin, sets them apart.

To the Imperium, the Drukhari are known as raiders, ruthless and untamed. And while their moral is questionable, their desires unpredictable, they are not beyond reason. If you seek their company, be genuine. They value honesty - perhaps more than one might expect. Speak openly of your intentions, ask about theirs. More often than not, a Drukhari will not shy away from a fleeting, passionate encounter.

Show them you mean no harm. Leave behind your weapons, your valuables - trust must be built in small gestures. And if caution lingers in your heart, it would be wise to bring along a companion, someone to watch over you should the night take an unexpected turn. Yet, I must confess, my own encounters with these xenos have been nothing but exhilarating.

Drukhari, like all Eldar, are breathtakingly beautiful to the human eye. They are tall and elegantly built, with delicate, refined features. Their bodies are both muscular and slender, shaped with an almost unnatural grace.

In intimacy, Drukhari are uninhibited and passionate. The men of their kind, in particular, welcome encounters with human women. Many of my lovers have confessed that they find the differences between humans and their own kind alluring. Eldar are creatures of deep desire, and for such moments, it is best to find a secluded place - a tent, a quiet chamber, or a hidden retreat far from prying eyes.

They are also highly expressive in bed, unafraid to let their pleasure be heard. They moan, they whisper, they speak to their partner - sometimes slipping into their own rich, complex language, their words full of passion.

You will have many chances to encounter this elusive and enigmatic race. Though they may not always be the most trustworthy, they are, without a doubt, one of the most open to human interaction xeno race - especially in the world of trade and negotiations.

Now, a few words about anatomy:

The males of this race do not differ much from human men in this regard, except that they tend to be longer and are sometimes adorned with various piercings. The Drukhari have a deep love for ornamentation, and their bodies are no exception.

Aeldari are a highly fertile race, so I strongly advise using the strongest contraceptives available, preferably those containing the herb Ferula. Personally, I relied on a potion known as Tigress Bite, a remedy once lent to me by none other than the wife of Primarch Leman Russ himself. However, if you seek it for yourself, you may find it in the markets of Hedeby on Fenris.

[nightscythe]

You've mentioned that drukhari/aeldari are your personal interest. Do you have any fun headcanons about you'd like to share or thoughts about a potential relationship with a baseline human? 👀👀👀

I love the regular big boys but the space elves just tickle a different part of my brain and there's a severe lack of content for them in the wh40k tumblr fandom 😩😩

to be fair, there's a lack of content from gw for them as well... not through lack of their writers trying, i'm sure. i hope.

aeldari

falling for you

they don’t want to be interested in you, but they can’t help it. everything you do becomes something they yearn for. you throw away a notebook? they’ve kept it. studied it; taken everything they can from it because they think its their only way to know the real you. human emotion becomes a hook for them, though they’d never ask you for it. it’s almost a personal challenge, how they can make you laugh, see you smile, burn with confidence that they’d not expected. but if you’re sad or they see you cry? they’d be prepared to move heaven and earth for you. but, they’re fearful of what having such feelings for you, a human, might do for them. this fear will make them come across as them being utterly condescending, because how could someone like you become important to them without a reason? their inner thoughts and anxieties that are very very rarely shared will be a reoccurring problem. when they’re past that, they’re all yours. “in another lifetime, this would have been easy. unfortunately, fate has not been written that way.”

light moments

they’d never let you be in a situation where harm would come to you. they’d chastise themselves over a bruise you got, even if it was accidental or unavoidable. their protection is because they simply couldn’t live without you. and that can go even further. they are terrified of a life without you, and they’re ashamed to even admit it. every part of you is sacred to them. they’d learn each curve of your body, each scar, freckle, mark, line, etc. they’d know the causes, the stories, trace every scar like scripture and worship you until the end of time, wondering why they’d been cursed to have a kindred spirit with such fragile mortality. sharing parts of their life is important to them too. they shouldn’t share so much with you, but they want to. their patronising demeanours would begin to fade overtime. they’d be irritated you couldn’t speak their tongue perfectly but even if it frustrates them, they’d quietly find it adorable. if ever you reached for them, in your sleep or if you were worried, it would shatter them. they’d be stunned to silence as they begin to contemplate just how much you mean t them. you’re their salvation. but your life is so short. too short. “you’re the only thing in this galaxy that feels real to me.”

dark moments

they’d never understand what they feel. sometimes they’re cold, clinical. feeling doesn’t sink through with what they are doing and you may find yourself questioning how much you mean to them. you know they care, but how much they care could be debated – they’re partially afraid to show it (because that makes it real) and partially forget that the trivial nature of love is important to you. if you hurt them, even unintentionally, that feeling is doubled. tripled. every part of them they worked to build past comes right back to them. but they never allow themselves to hurt you in return. they don’t think that’s fair. they could be so cruel, but they never allow themselves to be with you – and maybe that makes it worse sometimes. but no matter what, they’d come back to you, always seek you out, wanting you right back with them no matter what the cost. they may seem a bit controlling. they think they know what’s best for you and only want to help, its never meant to be more than that. most definitely argumentative to the highest degree and always think they are right, arguing a case even when they realise they might be wrong. that can be infuriating. “this has never been easy for me. think clearly, and you’ll see things how i see them.”

intimate moments

did you ever know an eldar could be so shy? they worry they won’t be enough for you, ironically, concerned that they'd not be able to fulfil your needs (though outwardly, they'll be a little arrogant and despondent about it). they'll never beg, but they will act like they did. they'll worship you again, they'll use their mouth for hours before moving on. the way you writhe beneath them has their body shuddering. typically submissive, so eager to please and do well, but they can hold the leash of dominance if required (and of course, there is the occasional outlier - but even then they're at the behest of your pleasure). hours mean nothing to them, they’d go for days if you were able to, just to prove their feelings to you. anything intimate is a ritual for them, really. “you rival even the stars. won’t you let me have one more taste?”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦. 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦. 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

drukhari

falling for you

you’re a challenge they feel like they need to beat but accidentally start to catch feelings for you – then channel that energy straight into everything but love (but they do love you, its just… not that easy for them). at first they just mock you and everything you live by. it’s a defence for them, a way for them to hide from anything buried beneath. so fragile compared to them, such a small little soul that they should have just killed when they got the chance. but they didn’t; instead they’re sitting on a wall watching, completely fascinated. they’re intrigued by your softness and your warmth. the first time you try to hug them they are frozen in place. they ask for more on the pretence of conductive research. they like the way their fingertips sink into your flesh. and a kiss? its like a fatal wound. this is almost a slow burn romance with them as they realise you mean more to them than anything, anyone else. “don’t confuse my clemency for anything other than my need to see you breathe.”

light moments

you mean everything to them. they watch you sleep. watch you eat. watch you fumble around with clothes every time you get dressed and prance around without their grace. they’d find things that reminded you of them, another more human pleasure they’d picked up on, but it’s always something that has a piece of them in it too. like your name carved into a bone that reminded them of your own. or a blade custom made for your liking. they’ll never admit its so they can see you smile. they start to listen to you, unwisely most of the time. if you said stop, they would hesitate. no one else’s words would even reach them. however, they also think that they can impress you by demonstrating their excellence in murder. eventually they’ll settle for impressing you with other things they can do with their hands. your pleasures accidentally become their comforts. they didn’t understand why the softness of a pillow mattered at first. thought how you made your tea was over the top. but now they crave it because it reminds them of you – a connection to something they’ve never had before. they’d protect you from the entire galaxy if they needed to – you’re the only thing they don’t want to destroy after all. love doesn’t really exist, not to them. but you give them a feeling that they can run off for years, and they never ever want to let it go. you taught them how to feel. that’s more than they can ask from anyone. “such a little thing, i sometimes find myself wondering how we even ended up in the same world.”

dark moments

possessiveness incarnate. if anyone so much as looks at you they are planning their death. don’t ask and they won’t tell, but really, they’d love to say how many necks they’ve cut just for your smile and may make slight references to it. it may take a while for them to realise you don’t want them to kill anyone for you, even as proof of their affection. they may seem like they don’t care. pain isn’t the same for you and them. they can argue with you, they can make you feel so small and remind you that they could have killed you a thousand times over but they don’t. so how do they not care? they’d struggle to change their mind, expecting you to just realise. they’ll always seek you out though. the regret would silently ruin them, so they’d never leave a moment to simmer bitterly between you, never want to spend a night away from you with the beginnings of regret bordering on their minds. they’d rather you hate them than leave them. so they sometimes push things to the extreme. they shouldn't, but they do. especially when learning that your fear isn’t as enjoyable as your love. “even death won’t provide you an escape from me. fortunately.”

intimate moments

the switchiest of any xenos, obviously. they can be your pet, they can be your owner. both, if you want. they want you to stroke their hair and choke them, and they’ll do the same right back. anything you want, of course. because its your sounds and your taste that feeds them at the end of the day. teasing is a love language, in as many ways as you can think. words, touching, biting; they have a billion and one ways to make you frustrated and overwhelmed at the same time. hearing you say thank you is a blessing. could be for one of those gifts, could be because they let you climax, could be because they chose to not end your life. but don’t worry, their love means you’re always rewarded. prepare for overstimulation, begging, ties and being watched - they're happy to watch you go solo too. don't worry, they'll take good care of you afterwards. sex to them may be meaningless, but with you its different. prepare to beg, a thousand times over. “did i say that you could stop begging, pet? back on your knees.”

this is your sign to request eldar content from me. i even have eldar ocs. tell me what you want, i'll provide.

[aerkame]

Warhammer 40k Fic ideas

I think we can all agree that Warhammer 40k has an insane amount of lore and it's hard to pick just one topic. So, I decided to just make a poll and ask from a list of topics that you guys would want to see written in as a fanfiction.

Now, there is a full fanfiction I plan on writing already based on a one shot fic I already wrote, but aside form that, I am not sure what other topics to get into.

For my usual readers, yes, I am still writing that finfolk fanfiction and Alive AU

Some of these are reader inserts for a reason (or at least, I just don't know how I could write an x reader for it) for the sake of staying in character or maintaining their image. The Emperor *cough cough*-

I love the custodes in case you could not tell. :]

[beckyninja]

Duty

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x FemReader

Warnings: Nothing much this time, just angst

Description: As further opposition to the alliance between their peoples is revealed, Guilliman's betrothed finally opens up about her past.

Whew! With all the holiday craziness, I didn't think I'd get this posted today. Anyway, I hope you guys don't mind some lore. This is a sequel to Worthy, and a continuation of my Guilliman/Reader story. You can find the other stories in this series on my Masterlist.

In the all but empty Communications Center, Guilliman stared at the holographic image of Captain Takahashi. His Admechs and the Captain’s technicians had finally managed to cobble together an interphase between the two ships’ communications systems. Still, the Captain’s image flickered and lagged as she spoke.

“...have rooted out two more conspirators, Lord Guilliman. A pair of sanitation specialists. They attempted to take control of my ship’s steering mechanism.”

Guilliman clenched his gauntleted fist. “That makes seven attempts to date.”

“All of which we have discovered and stopped.”

“To your credit, Captain.”

The woman nodded curtly. “All the same, I agree it remains too dangerous to allow the Lady Heir to return on a permanent basis. Though, she will still need to send the first message to our homeworld once we are in range.”

“In two standard days.”

“Yes.”

Guilliman shook his head in wonder. Even in the time of the Great Crusade, such long range communication, without the aid of Astropaths, was more fantasy than reality. He added it to his mental list of technologies to acquire once the treaty was formalized.

“You will be sending the conspirators over for interrogation.”

The Captain’s eyes turned icy. “I will. Though I expect it will be more of the same.”

Guilliman scowled. During each interrogation, an implant of some kind had activated a small electromagnetic pulse within the prisoners’ brains, eradicating all higher functions. Only the first, the former Lord O’Rourke, had managed to give them any information before his unexpected lobotomy.

“Captain, you promised to clarify a few details from the first interrogation when last we spoke.”

For the first time, Captain Takahashi looked uneasy. Her eyes flickered behind Guilliman.

He understood. “Sicarius, await me outside. And see that none enter.”

He heard Cato’s teeth grinding as he obeyed.

“Forgive my hesitance, Lord Guilliman.” The Captain frowned. “But what I am about to reveal would no doubt be considered treasonous by my superiors.”

“I am grateful for your trust, Captain.”

Her frown softened. “I have come to believe we both have the Lady Heir’s best interests at heart.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “You told me how O’Rourke mentioned his orders came from a ‘prince’, someone he believed to be the true heir to our world.”

Guilliman nodded. He had long suspected your home to be less peaceful than you implied. Your obvious discomfort whenever the topic arose, the way you dodged the subject with the skill of an Aeldari warrior, and, of course, the continued sabotage attempts by your entourage did little to persuade him otherwise.

His logical mind knew the value of this alliance and the technology it would bring to the Imperium. But, in his deepest soul, none of that mattered. Someone was trying to take you from him. You. 

Only centuries of practice hid his churning rage.

The Captain continued. “As you know, our world is led by the Matriarch. She had three children, all who have since died. My Lady is the only child of her eldest and, under our laws, the Heir. But she has two cousins, the two princes.”

Guilliman’s lips twisted sardonically. He’d dealt with enough Imperial nobility to be more than aware of the twists and turns of dynastic politics. Part of him felt saddened at the thought that you came from a family afflicted with such foolishness.

And yet, he bit back a bitter laugh, was my own “family” so different?

“Her Grace has made no secret of her preference for my Lady’s eldest cousin. He is a charismatic young man, currently riding high on the glory of military success.” The Captain paused, looked uncertain, then continued. “In my opinion, Lord Guilliman, the Matriarch purposely isolated my Lady so she could not compete with her cousin’s popularity.” 

A shrewd move. Guilliman had to admit. 

No one who had ever met you and experienced your thoughtfulness and compassion could doubt your potential for popularity with the masses. How quickly you’d won the adoration of his own serfs proved that. Not to mention the progress you’d made among the Ultramarines.

“You think he is the ‘prince’ who gave O’Rourke his orders.”

The Captain frowned. “Possibly. The other option is the younger cousin. He’s rumored to be quite intelligent, but the Matriarch destined him for holy orders. He’s been sequestered in one of our scholastic monasteries since he came of age.”

Guilliman narrowed his eyes. “If dealing with my own Ecclesiarchy has taught me anything, it is that the lust for power can infect even the holiest-seeming priest.”

“Indeed.”

Guilliman stared through the Captain’s image, mind working. Too many variables. Not enough data.

“What do you believe, Captain?”

The Captain looked him in the eye. “Whoever gave the orders is irrelevant. I believe this mission was supposed to fail. All of us, myself, my crew, and the Lady Heir were supposed to die at Imperial hands.”

Yet again, Guilliman found himself impressed by this tiny baseline woman’s strength of will. “Thus removing the only obstacle to a prince’s rise to power, and ensuring your world’s continued isolation.”

“Yes.” The Captain’s lips lifted into a slight smile. “But no one back home foresaw this particular turn of events.”

Guilliman huffed a laugh. “Nor did anyone here.” His mirth was short-lived. “Once my betrothed sends her message, however, the game changes.”

“And all Void will break loose. She needs to be made aware.”

Therein lay the crux of the problem. How much did he tell you? How much did you already suspect?

“I agree.”

The Captain must have seen something in his face. “You said once that she’s stronger than she looks, Lord Guilliman. I assure you, it’s true.”

Strong in some ways, yes. But so, so fragile in others.

***

“Fascinating, Brother Tarchus. Remind me which section of the Codex that is again?” You smiled up at the Ultramarine, stylus and dataslate in hand.

“Certainly, my Lady. Chapter 647, Section F, Subsection B-14, Paragraph 54….” 

You scribbled frantically. “Ah, yes. Thank you. I have it now.” I think. “And why would you say this is your favorite passage?”

The giant warrior actually looked excited. “The minutiae of supply lines, especially to besieged worlds, is an excellent example of the importance of efficiency and practicality in uncertain circumstances.”

There. Something you could grasp. “The creation of order in the midst of anarchy?”

“Precisely.” You swore the Ultramarine almost smiled.

“In times of uncertainty, the order brought by the Ultramarines must be a great comfort to Imperial citizens.”

Tarchus cocked his head to one side. “I suppose that is one of the outcomes.”

“A beneficial one, surely.” You continued. “A fearful population is vulnerable to manipulation, whereas a population confident in its protectors is steadfast and resilient.”

“I had not considered.”

“Something to think about, yes?”

The Ultramarine looked thoughtful. “Perhaps.”

“Well, I should not keep Lord Guilliman waiting. Thank you for taking the time to explain more of the Codex Astartes to me, Brother Tarchus. It was kind of you.”

He nodded. “I found the conversation stimulating, my Lady.”

“I should like to continue in the future, if we may.”

“I…am amenable to that suggestion.”

You gave him a final nod, smiled again, and stepped past him into Guilliman’s chambers. Once through, you couldn’t hold back a laugh of triumph. 

Your betrothed looked up at you from his place behind his desk. “And what has you so giddy this evening, my love?”

He stretched out a hand, and you hurried to his side. “I managed to engage Brother Tarchus in conversation just now!”

“Indeed? It was my understanding he was being particularly stubborn.”

“Ah, but I believe I’ve found the key to an Ultramarine’s hearts.” You smiled slyly up at him.

He chuckled. “Enlighten me.”

“I simply get them talking about the Codex Astartes. It seems to be their favorite topic.”

“Believe me, I am aware.” He lifted his eyes to the ceiling and gave a dramatic shake of his head. “You have swept all before you, my Lady. Are none of my sons safe from your wiles?”

You rolled your eyes. “You know at least one is.”

“Cato can be… difficult.”

To put it mildly. You pursed your lips.

Guilliman ran a finger along your jawline. “Do not fret. You cannot help but be beloved by all in time.”

You felt heat rush to your face. “What…what happened to your ‘no touching’ rule?”

A flash of mischief in his blue eyes was the only warning you received before you found yourself hoisted up and deposited in his lap. You gasped and caught yourself with outstretched hands against his massive chest.

“Roboute!”

An arm of steel wrapped about your shoulders, pinning you against him. “I thought depriving myself entirely of your touch would cool my ardor. Instead, it seemed to have the opposite effect.”

His head lowered, lips just shy of your own, as his voice dropped to the rumbling growl you loved. “Instead, I have decided to allow myself a few…small…indulgences….”

You melted into his arms when he kissed you, slowly and deeply.

An eternity, and yet not nearly long enough, later, he pulled away and smiled down at you. You rested your head against his chest and closed your eyes. 

This. If I could just have this, forever, I would be satisfied.

“My love, we need to talk.”

“Mmm?” 

The double beat of his hearts soothed you. You realized you could easily fall asleep like this, cradled in his arms, safe.

“It is time you told me more of your family.”

Your eyes snapped wide. “What?”

No. No no no. I’m not ready!

His arm tightened slightly around you, as if he feared you’d bolt. You considered doing exactly that.

“Captain Takahashi contacted me this morning.” Guilliman’s voice was kind, but firm. “There was another sabotage attempt.”

You jerked upright. “Was anyone hurt?”

“No. The Captain’s men-at-arms are skilled. But the fact remains,” he brought his other hand to your chin, holding it in place, “they were following orders from a prince of your house.”

Two faces appeared unbidden in your mind. One, fierce and angular, baring its teeth in a wide grin. The other, rounded and pale, eyes sullen. 

“Victor and Conrad….” You didn’t realize you’d spoken the names aloud until Guilliman reacted.

“Your cousins.”

You couldn’t turn your head away, but you dropped your eyes from his piercing gaze. “Yes. My cousins.”

You didn’t want to think about them. You didn’t want to think about…her. In desperation, you tried a new tactic. Slowly, you moved your hands up Guilliman’s chest, caressing the hard muscle beneath his tunic. 

“Can’t we talk about this later?” You looked up at him through your eyelashes, wetting your lips with your tongue.

His breath stuttered, his eyes going dark and hungry.

You continued exploring his chest with your fingers, feeling rather proud of yourself… until he released your chin and captured both wrists in an iron grip.

“A good attempt.” One side of his mouth tilted upward. “But I will not be distracted.”

Struggling only emphasized your utter helplessness. “Roboute, please.”

“What are you so afraid of, my love?”

Something snapped inside. You snarled at the man you loved.

“I’m afraid of her! My grandmother, the Matriarch, the heartless bitch.” A hysterical laugh burst through your lips. “You think one of my cousins is behind all this? Whoever the saboteurs assumed their orders came from, I guarantee she is the one pulling the strings. She wants me dead.”

You stopped, panting. Guilliman stared down at you. It frightened you how little emotion you saw behind his regal mask.

“Why?”

Why indeed? Why stop now? Let’s air all the family’s dirty laundry.

“She hated my mother first. My mother, her eldest, her legacy. My mother, who threw everything away to sail the stars. My mother, who returned years later, pregnant with an unknown man’s child.” 

You couldn’t have stopped even if you wanted to. The words poured forth like blood from a wound.

“Grandmother banished my mother to an isolated Abbey in the highlands. I was born there, among the Holy Sisters.” You smiled at the memory of happier days. “Mother became their huntress, bringing in game for the larders. During her absences, I learned alongside the novitiates. History, theology, but also botany and bioengineering. I spent hours in their gardens and greenhouses. The Sisters are famed for engineering new forms of plantlife, medicines and textiles as well as food.”

You didn’t see Guilliman anymore. You saw the kindly, wizened Mother Superior, cradling a new strain of vitamin-infused apple in her weathered hands. You saw rows of pungent medicinal herbs swaying in the greenhouses. You saw Mother, laughing, hands outstretched to welcome you into her arms.

“When I was twelve, Mother died on a hunt. I grieved. But I wasn’t alone. The Sisters were my family.” You felt tears coming as you dropped your voice to a whisper. “Then, one night….”

Screams. You jerked awake in your room amongst the other novitiates, all of you bleary-eyed and confused. Light poured through the windows. You heard the hard tramp of boots. The door burst open and Sister Helena fell into the room, shoved from behind. 

“Which one is she?” A harsh voice boomed. 

The man it belonged to stood in the doorway, covered head to toe in tactical armor, brandishing a pistol.

He shouted your name. Sister Helena crouched on the floor, but said nothing. The man snarled and aimed his weapon at her.

“Wait!” You screamed, scrambling out of bed. “It’s me! I’m the one you’re looking for!”

You had no idea why they wanted you. But you weren’t going to let them hurt your family.

The rest of the night was a blur of grasping hands, roaring engines, and bitter cold. They hadn’t let you change out of your nightdress. They hadn’t let you say goodbye.

“The soldiers took me to the Matriarch, my grandmother, who said a plague that had devastated our cities the year prior had killed my two uncles. I was now the heir. Lessons followed. Endless lessons as she tried to force me into the model princess. At first, I resisted. But the consequences….” You shuddered. “I learned to keep quiet. I learned to obey. I learned to fear.”

You felt Guilliman’s hand on your lower back, rubbing circles. Slowly, your surroundings came back into focus.

“Breathe, my love.” His deep voice dispelled the haze of terror. “Just breathe.”

You buried your face in his chest, but words kept coming. “She didn’t want me. Not really. In time, I realized she was using me as a threat to my eldest cousin, Victor. By naming me heir, but promising the position to him if he behaved, she kept him on a tight leash. I was safe for a time. But if I hadn’t proposed this diplomatic mission, my death would have come at her hands sooner or later.”

“You must have known this envoy might have gotten you killed, with or without your family’s interference.” 

“I knew.” You wondered if you sounded as desperate as you felt. “But it was a chance. A way out! I couldn’t stay in that palace anymore, with her and her spies always watching.” 

Another hysterical laugh. “You know Grandmother once refused me meals for an entire week in a fit of rage? I would have starved to death if not for the kindness of the servants. I-I just…I had to…oh, Light help me.”

You wept, clinging to Guilliman, the only solid point in the maelstrom tearing through you. “Don’t let me go, Roboute. Please. Don’t let me go.”

His huge arms tightened further around you. “Never.”

***

Guilliman held you as you sobbed, held you close, and seethed. 

I could raze her planet. I could smother it in steel, snuffing out the lives of everyone who ever hurt her. 

He wouldn’t, though. The cost in innocents would be too high. You’d never forgive him. But still….

“Damn the alliance.” He growled. “Damn the treaty. Let your Matriarch think you dead. Let her think the barbarians of the Imperium slaughtered your entire entourage.”

Your sobs quieted and you looked up at him with wide eyes.

He cupped your face in his palm. “Marry me, return with me to Ultramar, and let me care for you. You need never set foot upon your homeworld again.”

“It would be so easy,” you murmured, closing your eyes, “to just say yes. To stay safely in your shadow and forget everything else.”

“Then say yes.”

A long moment passed in silence. He heard the muted voices outside his office, the omnipresent hum of the great ship, and your beating heart. Then, you opened your reddened eyes.

“I can’t, Roboute.” You seemed calmer now. “I may have originated this plan as an escape from my home, but all the other reasons I gave, I believe in them too. My people need the rest of humanity, and the rest of humanity needs us.”

A mixture of disappointment and sheer awe filled him. How, in the vastness and cruelty of the universe, had he found a woman so perfectly matched to himself?

“I used to dream of running away.” He muttered, only half aware he spoke aloud. “I dreamed of cutting free of the Imperium, of becoming a farmer. An honest, simple life.”

“It sounds lovely.” You smiled sadly. “But we can’t cast duty aside so easily, you and I. We care too much. All we can hope for,” you placed your hand against his cheek, mirroring him, “is to find someone to share that duty with us. Someone to stand beside us. Someone to love.”

“I love you.” Throne, my hearts feel about to burst with it.

“And I you.”

He kissed you again. Soft and gentle and so, so sweet. When he pulled himself away, you tucked yourself back against his chest.

“Forgive me for hiding all this from you, Roboute. I was afraid. I’ve been afraid for so long.”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

“When we reach my homeworld, my family will stand against us.”

Ferocity welled within him. Lifting you in his arms, he carried you to the great viewport and looked out upon the passing stars. Logically, he knew the star your world circled was not among them. 

Still, he issued a challenge.“I am Roboute Guilliman, Lord of Ultramar, Lord Regent of the Imperium, Primarch.” He held you close. “Let them try.”

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@bispecsual @kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus @lemon-russ

@justeverythingnothingelse @scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen

@passionofthesith @noncon-photobomb @sinistermojo @b-rabbitboss @vyzz-undercover

@missmannequin @rivalriotrenegade @iloveoutlinesiswear @jaghatai-khock @hatsubara-8chan

@thememestrider

As always, if you'd like to be added to the Taglist, feel free to ask!

[inquisitornocturn]

We're a bit over the mark, but a celebration is a celebration and I cherish every person who follows me, likes, comments or reblogs my silly little fics (affectionately)! Thus, I want to appreciate my readers as much as they appreciate me, cue giweaway!~

Here's some things you need to know:

⋟ Prize of this giveaway is a fic, so you have a chance to have me tailor a fic for your tastes and preferences! (More details under the cut)

⋟ To enter you need to follow me, like this post and in replies tell me what you like about my writing!

⋟ Reblogs are NOT necessary and do not count for an entry. This giveaway is not to attract an audience, but to celebrate people who already love what I do. Although, you can still reblog if you wish~

⋟ The giveaway will run from today (1/20) until (2/3), for two weeks, then a winner will be picked at random

⋟ Once the winner is picked - I will contact them. They will have a total of three days (72 hours from the moment I contact them) to respond to me and claim the win, if not, I will randomly pick another person

That's it. Under the cut there are specifics for the prize to ensure that whoever wins knows in advance what to expect from me.

And once again, thank you so so much for being supportive, friendly and just overall wonderful to me. All of you make sharing my stories so much more worth it ♡♡♡

What the fic will be about, who, when and other details:

⋟ The winner will pick the fandom, the character(s), the plot, the kinks, the general setting etc. Which means all the power is in your hands and if you don't have anything to give me - then I won't have anything to work with, so make sure you have at least base details!

⋟ On that note, NSFW is totally okay and welcome!

⋟ The gift fic will be written as a reader insert. It will be a nameless female reader with 2nd POV. However, the winner will be able to pick the fantastical race if they wish. Couple examples: tieflings, elves, aeldari of each flavor, etc.

⋟ I am okay writing wlw per winner's request as well~

⋟ I will reserve a total of 6 weeks to fulfill the prize, and that means to write it. During that time I most likely will come to the winner to clarify details, especially if the fic will be smutty in nature. While it's a reader insert, I still want the winner to know it's written for them.

⋟ I will tag the winner when I post the fic and can gift it on AO3 as well, you will have to tell me your account on there so that I can do that.

⋟ The fandoms I'm writing for are the same three: Baldur's Gate 3, Vampire the Masquerade (with special emphasis on Bloodlines) and Warhammer 40,00: Rogue Trader. You can pick almost any character or several to participate in the fic for you. I have some I absolutely won't write but that depends on a plot so it's case-sensitive and we will have to discuss it together.

⋟ Pretty much same goes for kinks. I'm open to write a lot, but not everything. Again, this is case sensitive and we will discuss it. Additionally, I am a darkfic writer by nature so you will have to clarify to me just how light or dark you want the fic to be!

That's all!

[tagedeszorns]

Y'know I actually really like this (Cuz WH40K lore, at times it does feel kinda silly, are still fun to read)

Back in the day, they got INCEST OLD MAN YAOI? Well at least I think it's incest cuz weren't they bros?

Sometimes I forgot this fandom is older than me and I'm technically a kid in this fandom, I'm 20 years old and only recently did I join this fandom cuz I saw a really good indie animation series based on this franchise

Hi I'm your new fan

Well hello there!

Happy to have you - and especially happy you are wanting to dive into the lore!

Warhammer is such a lovely 'verse, because there's something for everyone. No matter if you like the little guys (Imperial Guard, Arbites ...), the medium guys (Sororitas, Inquisition ...), the big guys in all flavours of the rainbow (Astartes, Chaos Space Marines, Custodes ...), the strange ones (Genestealers, Cultists ...), the really big guys (Primarchs, Demon Primarchs, the Chaos Gods, the Emperor ...), the kinky guys (Drukhari), the desperate guys (Aeldari), the metallic guys (Mechanicum, Dark Mechanicum), the even more metallic guys with so many issues (Necrons), the hungry things (Tyranids) or the fungi (Orks). (Or anybody else I forgot)

Let's get the incest-thing out of the way right in front: Nope, they are not really brothers. It's said by Fulgrim that they aren't. They are experiments basing on similar parameters, nothing more, nothing less. (This wasn't defined back in '99 when that Codex you mentioned was released. But they were just Generals back then) The adressing as "Brother" is strictly the military brotherhood thing. But some love to go overboard with this, so they are calling Astartes from other Legions "Nephew" or "Cousin".

If you like Old Men Yaoi - I would recommend "The Infinite and the Divine" as your first book to dive into. Those two are so very divorced and so very old! It's a truly fun read.

Or, more subtle, The Fabius-Trilogy. Because in the third his ex Hexachires is so very annoying. But maybe it's not the easiest read for beginners, because it profits immensly from the reader knowing the Heresy and the history of the Emperor's Children.

In general, I would advise starting with Horus Rising, because the Heresy is a closed chapter. There are tons of books, but if you start at the first, you will be lead to all the crucial points mostly talked about in fandom. Because Warhammer-Tumblr is heavily centred around the Heresy-stuff in general and the Primarchs particularly. I'm very sad about this, because most people forget about the Astartes, who have the most glorious, tragic, fun and emotionally moving stories, too!

So - again, welcome! Please don't believe anything you see on Youtube, Reddit, TikTok or whatever. It's mostly just dudebros regurging memes and confusing their opinion with facts. Take your time, read stuff for yourself - that's the best way! Ask people for reading recommendations - you get those best from the source of someone obsessing over that particular aspect of Warhammer.

Remember to have fun and to always enjoy the absolutely hilarious way Warhammer pokes fun at fascists!

[candyswirls]

Not sure if you're still doing Sanguinalia asks, but on the off chance that you are I'd like Vulkan and Gulliman cuddling/comforting a male Farseer reader.

Requests are closed but I also didn’t see this till later.

He collapsed on the floor, his breath escaping him.

“The entire… the entire thing?” He stammered. “The entire craft world… my home… no. Say it isn’t true. Ynnead, please, not the entire world. By Isha… please…”

“I am sorry,” Vulkan softly spoke. “I grieve with you.”

He knelt near the Farseer.

Guilliman joined also, deciding discussing their next strategy was the current best decision.

The farseer removed his helmet and looked up at the Primarch’s with tearing eyes.

“How do you deal with such horrors?” He asked. “How do you endure?”

Guilliman and Vulkan looked at one another.

Vulkan spoke first, “There is a thing all Astartes do and… it doesn’t come across as grand or much…”

“But it helps,” Guilliman finished as he pulled the aeldari into an embrace.

His brother joined on the other side.

“This is not at all how diplomatic relations are supposed to go,” The farseer sniffed, trying to compose himself.

“Just breathe,” Vulkan said as they enveloped him.

[mothiir]

xenobiology

pov: you’re an eldar, and the human you’re working with smells better each day.

this is the other side of eyes full of stars, told from Taleath’s perspective. fair warning that it will get pretty weird pretty fast, because writing from the pov of a murderous space elf leads to some strange avenues.

—

—

Whatever process that Cato Sicarius underwent to shape him into a muscle-bound killing machine clearly stripped out his — already limited — social grace and replaced it with battle acumen and bloodthirst. Taleath isn’t complaining — the creature is a worthy ally on the battlefield — but it is vexing to see the Astartes snarl and posture around you, despising how you inspire such rampant sexual desire in him, and thus despising you. It’s such a petty human trouble: denying your feelings, and having them twist into something gnarled and uncontrollable. And human emotions are so base and simple! If Cato were to feel one tenth — no, one hundredth — of the true emotional range of an Aeldari then his tiny, unwrinkled brain would combust with the effort of controlling them.

That being said: Taleath runs his tongue over his gauntlet, tasting where your lips brushed, and suppresses a full-body shiver. Oh how he wants. He’s spent almost a hundred years learning to manage his darker impulses, but before that he indulged them at will, and the hedonistic habits of three centuries are clawing at the edges of his self control. You taste sweet and mammalian. He wants to drink you down to the bone, your hot blood down his gullet, your shining soul sticking between his teeth. As he roles the fragments of you over his tastebuds, the tiny shreds of skin cells and drop of saliva, the taste thins and vanishes, and oh it is not enough.

It will never be enough.

“Come here, please,” he says, removing his gloves slowly, slowly, slowly — meditatively, focusing on the slide of metal over each of his knuckles, trying to use the sensation to ground himself. It works, up until the point when you stand before him, your warm heart racing, echoing in his marrow. His ears twitch to better capture the sound. He places one bare palm against the small of your back, pulling you closer, and declares a personal vendetta against whatever seamstress made your clothes, against whatever beast produced the fabric. He will gut them all, burn their worlds and display their loved ones on spikes, all for having the temerity of separating his hand from your flesh.

His thumb presses at your lower lip. Your flesh is softer than he expected, downed with fine hair that is invisible to a human’s eyes, but he sees it; sees how the light catches on the strands, velvety and exotic. He exerts just the tiniest amount of pressure, willing you to open your mouth, to welcome him inside, to lave that warm tongue of yours over his digit. You don’t, however. You hold yourself there, heart rabbit-swift and skin rosy with arousal, and you defy him. Your eyes fix on his: challenging. Pushing inside your mind feels all too natural; you welcome him in — subconsciously, of course — and he tastes your defiance like dandelion leaves plucked at dawn, your desire a rosy pink sunrise glow on a still pond. By the gods, this is monumentally unfair. He is meant to be reformed. A century ago, he would already have had you a dozen times over, shaping your sweet warm insides to fit him: you wouldn’t be able to move without the remnants of his pleasure leaking down your thighs. He would have braided your hair with diamonds that glittered like caught stars; you would jangle with the jewellery he draped about your throat, displaying the trophies of his latest raid. He would have have branded his sigil between your breasts and pierced your nipples, just so he could string a gold chain between them, and use it to pull you closer and —

Your breath puffs against his flesh, and he can restrain himself no longer. His fingers slot into your mouth like they were destined for it — maybe they were. The Farseers have stranger prophecies than this; it is not beyond the realm of possibility that Isha, in her infinite wisdom, sewed the seeds for your birth ten thousand years ago, knowing that one day you would be here, mouth crooked open, silk-wet and perfect.

He explores your mouth in the same way he removed his gloves: slow, deliberate; an act of meditation. He catalogues the ivory ridges of your teeth; the pillowy softness of your cheeks; the squirming wet muscle of your tongue. He coos with appreciation, his chest vibrating with a sound that few humans hear: the sound of a deeply content Aeldari.

Your drool should revolt him as it slicks between his fingers and drips down your chin — but no, it is not enough. He wants to see it pasted all over your face as you gag and hiccup, clinging helplessly to his boots for support, his cock sliding down your tight tight little throat —

It’s a trick. It’s what they do, it’s what they do. Your thoughts are abrasive: a stone splashing directly into his skull. He probes back into your head, and feels the spiderweb strands of your conviction that this is all a trap, that he is just pretending to desire you for some infernal purpose. Knife-ear, you think, and in that moment he wants to slice out the tongue of every human you have ever spoken to, just so he can mute the bastard who taught you that word.

“Do not insult me,” he growls, his voice slipping lower, losing the artificial Iyanden accent he adapts when conversing with others (once you hear the voice of a Drukhari you do not forget it, and humans often have quite dramatic reactions when they realise what he used to be. Entertaining reactions to be sure, but not ones conducive to diplomatic negotiations.) “I would not need to resort to such base measures to trick you, if I wanted to — if — “

You hollow your cheeks and suck, welcoming his fingers down into your soft palette, Taleath’s vision goes white. When he returns to himself, a fraction of a heartbeat later, you are bobbing your head back and forth, your thoughts pink-red with desire. You want so badly to hold his wrist, to urge him deeper — you are thinking of it so vividly — that for a moment he thinks you have done so. He feels the ghost of your grasp on his wrist, and — no. No, he cannot lose himself in this, he cannot.

I want him to fuck my throat —

Your desires are strident lightning, reverberating thunder. He yanks you closer, thankful that the segments of his armour shield his growing erection. He will bend you over his throne, he will carve his name into your back again and again, until there is scarce any flesh to mark that does not already bear the signs of his ownership —

No. No. He yanks his fingers free, and you mew with distress, leaning forwards after them, lips parted in canine supplication, your feelings spiking in violet defiance: give it back. Not just pleading, but entitlement; you want him, you resent him for stopping.

“I should not be doing this,” he says, swallowing thickly. Think of the ocean, his teacher would tell him when he first joined Iyanden, constantly changing, grey and endless beneath a bleak sky. “You are human.”

Your lips bump against his palm.

“Yes,” you coo, “and you want me.”

His body moves before his higher brain functions can step in; three centuries of slaking his thirst without thought for the consequence triumphing over a century of trying very hard to unlearn the impulse. In that space between one breath and the next he is not Taleath of Iyanden; he is Taleath of the Crimson Talon, kabalite warrior without peer. Your flesh gives way beneath his teeth like warm butter, and he greedily slurps down the blood that spills out. Your little cry of pain is music to his ears, and it will be the first of many; he will wring a symphony from you by the time he has finished. You open your thighs for him — so willing, so obedient — and he fully intends to give you what you both so clearly need. He will fuck you again and again and again, until even that idiot Cato Sicarius sees who owns you, body and bone and soul —

For you, the exchange is less than a heartbeat. For Taleath, it feels like an eternity: he grinds between your thighs, the heat of your cunt pulsing through his armour; he can smell how slick you are, how easily he could push inside. Your blood between his teeth and on his tongue, rich and delicious. He’ll dine on you each morning and each evening, glutting himself, because does he not deserve it? Is he not entitled to you? Sweet, soft human, so frail in his grasp — his kind built an empire whilst yours scrabbled in the mud, and —

He recognises the drift of his thoughts into old, familiar patterns and with a monumental effort of will he hauls himself away. Standing at the other side of the room, he licks your blood from his lips, rolling it between his teeth like he is sampling a fine wine. He wants the flavour to linger forever.

“Taleath —“

Gods preserve him, you smell of prey. Fearful, sweet, confused, aroused: you might as well be a fawn, tottering on long fragile legs before a hungry eagle.

“No. Stay there.”

Your fingers probe the bite mark, and he wants nothing more than to rejoin you, to replace your hand with his own; his fingers would span your throat, your jugular nuzzling comfortably into the webbing between his thumb and index finger.

But he does not move — not to join you, and not to retreat. The old soul-hunger is stirring once more; never quite gone, only denied and starved into submission. Taleath will die a thousand intricate deaths at the hands of a haemonculi before admitting it, but he understands Cato a little better now: one touch of your lips, one taste of your blood, and he is ready to tumble headlong back into the doomed ways of his former kin, willing to embrace damnation as long as he can do it with you warm and squirming under him.

“I hope that this is not a diplomatic incident.”

“No. But it could be. My kind do not engage in carnal pleasures casually — “

“—and not with mon-keigh.”

”Not often. Not usually.” An Aeldari would notice the telltale signs of sexual arousal he’s displaying, and would not-so-gently advise him to meditate until they vanish. His ears twitch; his voice echoes with that damnable coo that only the most practiced of his kind can swallow back.

You are human. You do not understand.

“I do not want you to be hurt,” he says, cursing the limitations of your language. To be hurt: what a limited, idiotic expression. There is no shorthand to specify what sort of hurt — injured pride, perhaps, which can be both a positive or a negative and thus demands at least two tenses; hurt in battle, which can be honourable; hurt in the aesthetic sense, where you view something so abysmally hideous it sears the artistic sensibilities of your soul — and so he must communicate with the linguistic equivalent of a shovel.

“I’m fine. It barely stings. It will heal up soon enough.”

That is not what he means; not even a little. Indeed, the notion of his bite healing up pains him, a searing slash across his chest worse than any bolter fire.

“—I do not want you hurt by anyone who is not me.”

“You — you want to hurt me?”

Again: your language is so limited, so primitive. There is a word in his native tongue that translates as one so precious that only I may flay them and another that means a face so beautiful it is best when attached it its bones and not even displaying it on my finest trophy wall would enhance its appeal.

He does want to hurt you — but it is more than that. He wants to own you. To devour you. To feel the warmth of your body under his, and to see your soul flare bright against the dark. He wants — and wanting, to an Aeldari, is poison.

When he leaves you, it takes more willpower than you can ever understand. And even as he sits alone in his quarters, trying desperately to reach the fathom depths of Craftworld serenity he now carries within him, he tastes your blood on his tongue.

He will be back to you. Of this, he is certain.

[chronicle-of-isha]

SS: Craftworld Iyanden 6: A trip down memory lane

A/N: I have posted a redacted version of an R-18 chapter that is only available on my patreon (name: IIonezerozero). This was mostly done because this scene provides some backstory, as well as character development that I felt would be best shared with all readers. However, this chapter is much shorter than the original due to all the redactions. If you see odd breaks in sentences, or the dialogue seems to skip, you know why. Personally, the amount of symbolism I had to cut out in order to make this okay for posting has left me very unhappy.

Mehlendri's apartment was sparsely decorated, only having the bare necessities for one person.

A small round table with a single chair.

A small bed for one person with one pillow.

A small wardrobe that held only enough clothes for a single week.

A single window that provided synthetic moonlight.

It was as if loneliness was symbolized in every aspect of the room's architecture.

"I understand we are encouraged to live frugally..." Filimerthex quipped as he looked around the room. "But isn't this too much?"

"Iyanden is my home. It is my life." Mehlendri answered. "This is a place to maintain my body."

"I see." Filimerthex nodded to himself.

What was about to happen was maintenance to Mehlendri. It was a method to satisfy her ego and physical urges. There was no desire for connection or warmth. That was why she chose this room.

"What do you think?"

"Beautiful." Filimerthex said as he stepped towards her. "Hair like liquid light, and skin as pale and perfect as fresh snow." He ran a hand through her hair, which sparkled when struck by the calming moonlight. "Yet it is you yourself that I find the most alluring."

She snorted, pushing his hand away from her. "The naive idealist who you could twist around your finger?"

"The pragmatist who allowed me to stay, and the Farseer with the foresight to use me." He replied, catching the hand that pushed him away as he took another step. They were close enough to feel each other's breath.

"You whisper sweet nothings to me. How many girls have you flattered to death with that poisonous tongue of yours?"

"None." Filimerthex shrugged. "I was always a soldier first. Harming my fellow Aeldari never feels right."

"Yet you killed us with such ease and brutality." Mehlendri said with narrowed eyes.

"I am a soldier first." He shrugged. "The only way I can keep everything safe is by killing."

[Large Redaction]

"Hold onto yourself, Mehlendri." Filimerthex whispered . "You no longer know what right or wrong is. But, you can still tell what you like and don't like."

She disliked pleasure, and feared its addictive and all consuming effect on her. But, to replace her moral code with self-centered decision making was idiotic. The only path that led down was a dictatorship.

"But, that is the problem, isn't it?" Filimerthex said . "You neither like pain, nor enjoy pleasure. You lie right in the middle, approaching neither extreme."

"It would have been much easier if you functioned only on logic, but you don't." He said as she glared at him. "You have beliefs and morals about how the Eldar should be, and what lessons should have been learned from the old Aeldari."

"Now, here you are, lost in the darkness no longer able to assume that blind avoidance will be our salvation from She who Thirsts."

Something snapped within her and she lunged forwards. Her mouth bit into Filimerthex's shoulder drawing blood as her teeth penetrated the skin.

"Yes, let it out." Filimerthex replied without a wince. "You wished to break something, to scapegoat someone. I am the evil you hate, , giving good reason for your revenge."

Mehlendri and Filimerthex remained that way for a few moments as the taste of rust filled her mouth.

He was right, and she struck out at him for it. The Eldar would now have to deal with their fallen brethren. That dependence on Commorragh would bring them close to the corruption that had brought the Fall. No longer could they see themselves separate from the Dark City. Its survival, and theirs were now intertwined.

The thought froze Mehlendri to her core. However, it was the only way to harvest the Spirit Stones en-masse without waiting for the Aspect shrines to grow.

Risk and reward hung in the balance, and the future swayed like the arms of a scale to-and-fro.

As her anger abated, Mehlendri released her hold on Filimerthex's shoulder.

"We had to be careful." She said slowly after she spat the blood out of her mouth. "There is no line between salvation and damnation."

"And I agreed with you." Filimerthex whispered . "For I followed you just like everyone else."

"But now we make deals with Commorragh." She said . "We sell our own into slavery, and put our fate in the hands of the slaves Khaine."

"Slaanesh did not arise during the War in Heaven." He said . "She shall not take us for reclaiming what was ours."

"Then what have I done to Iyanden, and to all those others who we did not let on board?" Mehlendri said . "Was I wrong?"

"No, you were not. I was there, watching you Farseer. Even before I banged on your gates, I was investigating you and all the other Craftworlds I could reach. I chose you and your Craftworld because I thought you had the highest chance of survival out of all of them. Even in the worst case scenario, Iyanden would be the one to endure. That was my conclusion." He lowered her onto the bed gently. "You were not wrong, Mehlendri. Even if you were, no one can blame you. I knew your noble intentions to save as many as you could. I counted on it to allow me to stay even after you found out what I was."

Mehendri's hands curled, raking her trimmed nails across his back.

"If you ever feel as if you do not know where you stand, then I can tell you. After all, I am the evil that fully intends to use you. It would be lazy of me not to know. You are a good woman, and so was every choice you have made."

Filimerthex defined himself as evil. Thus, from his perspective, good was whatever was on the opposite side of where he stood. As long as Mehlendri was across from Filimerthex, she was good and he was evil.

"Foolishness." Mehlendri snorted. "If that was true, then I would have to oppose you no matter how much commonsense or logic your plans or deeds had. That is the act of a reactionary."

"True." Filimerthex nodded as he stroked her head. His hand ran through her hair, straightening the strands that had gotten tangled when he had lowered her upon the bed. "But that is where the abstract concepts of morality shatter against concrete reality."

"So, is it our motives that should be opposite?" She asked . "Your acts will always be selfish, and hence mine should be selfless?"

"Is that a jest?" Filimerthex chuckled "Everyone's motives are selfish in the end. Otherwise, my wish to keep Iyandra safe and happy would be selfless as well." . "The difference between us is that you have a limit, and I do not." He said. "I went too far, and paid the price. You remain here, in this gap between pain and pleasure, right and wrong."  "Even if the reward was the salvation of our entire species, you would not sell all those aboard Iyanden. I would do the opposite if it was to protect Iyandra."

"Then is it my fate that I will always lose to you?" She said sadly. "How am I supposed to fight you with one arm behind my back?"

In a fight between two equals, the one with less inhibitions was more likely to win. Mehlendri and Filimerthex were already unequal. Logic would have dictated that Mehlendri would be the one to take the underhanded path, but she could not. Thus, she would always be at a disadvantage against Filimerthex in more ways than one.

"We aren't dealing with winning or losing anymore, Mehlendri." Filimerthex whispered . "She who Thirsts has shown where my path leads." He said as he bit her earlobe. "My generation already lost themselves to the Fall. You and your kind are the survivors of that disaster. That is why I came to you, and why I serve you."

Sweet words flowed over her ears like warm water, massaging out the malaise she felt.

"You are the one with the power here." He said as he wrapped a hand around each of her wrists, then placed her fingers on his throat. "You are the one with the way forward."

"Says the one who has been using me from the day we met." She snorted as she pulled her hands out of his grip, placing them on his chest.

"Like I said, I am evil. It is my nature to do so." He shrugged, brushing a hand through her hair. "Even if you are the only method for salvation, it is meaningless to me unless it saves what I want."

The two of them stared into each other's eyes for a moment.

"What is Iyandra to you, Filimerthex?" Mehelendri asked suddenly.

She knew his granddaughter was the one thing he prioritized everything around. A baser mind would assume something sinister there, but she knew their relationship was normal. Yet, she couldn't help but feel there was something more there.

"She is my daughter's daughter. Nothing more, nothing less." He spoke earnestly. "I endure, I remain, I lie here  for her safety."

Mehlendri raised an eyebrow at that. He had admitted this act of  was for Iyandra's sake as well. She had her suspicions. However, to be told that the only reason he lay here like a  was for her stress relief… On top of that, to be told that his motivation was so she could serve Iyanden and hence Iyandra… Well, the mixture of emotions was a blend of cold anger at the insult, and smug satisfaction for being right.

"I know what you did, back on Commorragh." She said, voice almost freezing over as she grabbed his shoulders and dug her fingers into them. "Aeldari your age don't walk around with us anymore for a reason."

"Living for tens of thousands of years gets boring." He replied with a wince. "Old friends become predictable. All conversation becomes a routine recitation of one out of several billion memorized permutations of prose, poetry, and tone. All that is left to bide the time is to lose one's self in what one wants, or to search for new means of entertainment in vain."

"Then why didn't you end up like that?" She said as she lowered her mouth to his ear. "Your background would have allowed you to be consumed by violence like the Psychomatons."

"In a way…" He said slowly. "I am here because you and I are alike."

"How so?"

"I feared losing what I was." He admitted quietly. "Everything I experienced and everything I felt was part of me. No matter how burdensome or boring that fact became, I could not abandon it just like you cannot fall to pain or pleasure. Just as you wish to remain sane, I wanted to be me and only me for as long as I could."

"But you were still bored of living." She said as she released his shoulders, and stoked the nail marks she had left in his skin softly.

"I was." He admitted. "So I searched for a way to make things fresh again."

Mehlendri snorted as he recited what he had already told her once before on the Core Worlds.

"You used the young souls born on Commorragh." She said as she dragged a nail across his collarbone. "You used them to see life through their lives again."

"I temporarily melded my mind and soul with theirs." He sighed wistfully. "I saw the world through new eyes with pure ignorance, and I could enjoy everything in the way only a fool can."

His face relaxed at the memory, but Mehlendri's features twisted in disgust.

"And they in turn saw everything you had."

"For the first few attempts, the experience was traumatic to them." He replied; nonchalant and unrepentant. "Not many can stay sane after seeing a million years of war in a blink of an eye."

"Why didn't you just wipe your memory, or seal them behind some psychic block?" She asked.

It seemed a terribly roundabout way to alleviate one's boredom. If trauma was what he wanted to be free from, Filimerthex didn't need another person or their soul in the first place.

"I am my memories, Mehlendri." He murmured. "Without them I would not be me. During the merger, I was myself and them at the same time. No… that's not right. I was them if they were me. They acted as I would have, but only as far as they could. They spoke my thoughts with their smaller vocabulary, and expressed my emotions with their less flexible faces."

Mehlendri felt a brief chill as she stared into his eyes. For a brief moment, her reflection seemed to be looking back at her, but not in the way the image inside a mirror would. Then he blinked, and it was only the liquid that covered his corneas refracting light back at her.

She sighed and reached down with both hands, and pinched both of his cheeks.

"I first feared that was your purpose when you came to us." She said as she began to pull. "When I learned of where you came from and what you had done there, I suspected you were here to feed on all those we had tried to save."

Filimerthex's hands gently eased her fingers from his face.

"I remember the day you confronted me." He chuckled once his lips could move freely. "When I saw the fury in your eyes, I was reassured. You and Iyanden were the one."

Mehlendri drew back, sitting upright as she pulled both of her hands from his fingers. Then she slapped him, hard.

"So that was part of your plan too." She said as Filimerthex nursed a reddening cheek.

"It would have been harder to keep private if we were corralled on the Craftworld." He said as he licked away the trickle of blood coming out of the corner of his mouth. "Better to air out the dirty laundry in the alleys of the Core Worlds."

She continued to stare down at him, remembering the day she confronted him.

He had already integrated himself as a productive member of the community by then. Most of his expertise was military in nature. He provided training regimens to increase the number of True Guardians. He optimized patrol routes to cover more ground with their limited forces. He even provided self-defense classes to the other Eldar, so they could survive for long enough until the True Guardians could rescue them. Removing him then would have risked their safety, for it was only their military arm that kept them safe from the Core Worlders.

At the time, she prayed that what she had learned was a mistake or a lie. She kept remembering the happy man with his toddler, telling her that he had named her Iyandra after the ship that would be their salvation. Her emotions delayed her for days. After several awkward weeks of trying to act like she used to, she finally began to search for a sign of his deceit.

It didn't take long to find it.

Filimerthex was always missing for an hour every day. Normally, it could be attributed to him having a break for himself, but the excuse he gave was odd. He told everyone who was looking for him during that hour that he was spending time with Iyandra. But, Mehlendri knew that could not be true, because he left Iyandra in her care during that exact hour.

She followed him for a few days. It didn't take long to see him using a secret hole that led under the enclave walls. After she worked up the courage to follow him through it, it took even less time to see him disappear into the alleys of the Core World.

Still, it took another two days for her to finally follow him into the alleys.

Was what she learned about him true? Did he lie when he said he had come to his senses and wanted to be better? Why did he have a secret passageway in the enclave? What was he doing in the alleys?

All those questions were running through her mind at the time, but the biggest one was more of a plea.

'What they told me about you, it's not true, is it?'

She followed him into the alleys of the Core World, but lost sight of him through its twists and turns. When she finally gave up and was about to leave, he was there at the entrance waiting for her.

"Thank you for coming, alone." He had said to her. "Now we can have a true discussion, heart to heart."

She felt something shatter inside her that moment. But, as she prepared to fight to the death, his next words gave her pause.

"Help me save Iyandra, and I will help you save Iyanden."

From that day forth, their fates were intertwined. He organized the militia they had into a full-scale army. Assisted them in acquiring heavy weapons and vehicles, or the songs necessary to sing their parts into existence. He provided escorts for their recruitment crews and craft. If there was a military-related matter, he was involved in it.

She worked with the other Farseers to strengthen Iyanden with other methods. Her work with the Spirit Stones gave the Eldar hope. Fostering greater filial connections between Craftworlds allowed them to trade information and resources. Coming up with ways to keep the Eldar aboard Iyanden away from temptation had the added boon of allowing them to recruit from a greater pool of people. Those who had touched temptation but had yet to be consumed by it could be weaned off their addiction with the same methods. Thus, allowing more to join them.

In the last hundred years before they left, Filimerthex had gained enough support to become Autarch in all but name only. Meanwhile, Mehlendri had gained enough trust to safely recommend him to the Seer council.

But, from what he said now, their fates had been intertwined ever since he had set eyes on her enclave.

"The Commorraghites you wish to contact, and the ones who told me what you were, they were the young souls you used." She said coldly.

"The fourth or fifth batch of attempts, I believe." Filimerthex nodded to himself. "It took a while to figure out how to look through their eyes while keeping them blinded when using mine." He chuckled as Mehlendri frowned down at him. "They called me teacher or master. All of them came to me looking for knowledge and power, and in exchange for the temporary use of their soul, I accepted."

"Following rumors you no doubt spread yourself."

"They made the choice on their own, even when I explained the danger." He smiled. "The children of Commorragh are ambitious, and eager to climb the ranks. They agreed, even when I warned them the process might show them more than they wanted to see."

"What happened to those first children?" Mehlendri said quietly.

"They are children from my perspective, not yours Mehlendri. Although, they were probably several thousand years younger than you at the time. As for their fate, most only took a few reincarnations to recover their sanity. The others threw themselves into stasis lock, and are probably still there. It was the same for all of them up to half of the fourth batch."

"Is that how you met your consort?"

"No." Filimerthex shook his head. "But, that is a story for another time." His hand reached up, stroking the back of a finger up her neck before cupping her chin in his palm. "Have you been broken down enough, Mehlendri? Can you tell yourself what is right and wrong?"

Mehlendri smiled down at Filimerthex; one side in light, one in shadow. Right and wrong had been resolved within her as the two faces of the same coin. She would fall to neither extreme, and hold herself in the middle. Her soul would forever balance on the narrow edge between the two faces of that coin.

If Filimerthex was focussed upon only Iyandra, she would be focussed purely on Iyanden. This Craftworld and all upon it were her only treasure. Their lives and souls would be forever bound to its Infinity Circuit; eternally out of the reach of gods and demons.

[Large Redaction]

"You never intended for that future to happen." Mehlendri accused . "Otherwise, you would have had a Spirit Stone for each of us you killed hidden on your person."

She was talking about the future where he killed her. It was only there that he had harmed her physically.

"It is easier to convince our kin that way." He said . "We can see the effects of our actions. There is no room for doubt, and no need for debate. The discussion of what is improbable and impossible doesn't have to take place, unlike when talking with aliens."

[Large Redaction]

"You need me." She whispered into his ear . "And I need you."

"I will use you, Filimerthex." She said . "Give all of yourself to me."

[Large Redaction]

Her head shook itself violently. Silvery hair flew outward with drops of clear sweet smelling sweat as her hands came up to her face, trying to hold onto a swiftly loosening mask that hid a wild beast.

"Sleep now." She heard a voice whisper to her, and Filimerthex's hands held her. They cupped her cheeks, wrapped around her shoulders, stroked her back, and restrained her writhing body.

Hands. Too many hands.

The moonlight dimmed, sending the room into darkness. Then Mehlendri's mind shutdown.

—----------------------------------------

Mehlendri awoke lying upon something soft. It felt like a hammock made of stretchy strings that softly held her, molding itself to fit her body. She opened her eyes and found herself lying on a silken web spun across blackness. Slowly, she stood up, balancing on the strands of the web. Each strand seemed to harden, as if feeling her intentions, providing a firm support for her feet.

She was not alone on the web. What looked like Aeldari men were everywhere, attached to the web.

'No…' She thought to herself. 'They are shells.'

Each body was just a shell. They lay there on the web, frozen. A split open seem was on each of their backs, like the shed carapace of a crustacean or arthropod.

Mehlendri approached the one nearest to her. The Aeldari's face was contorted in pain. Part of his body was frozen mid-way through disintegration. The features were familiar, similar to Filimerthex's, but she could not imagine the ancient Aeldari making such an expression. That man could be stabbed through the heart and smile. He would have the same expression even as Necron Gauss flayers disintegrated his body.

She stretched out a hand to touch it, only for the web to suddenly slacken under her. She fell backwards, away from the shell, landing on swiftly softening strings that began to entrap her like an overly soft mattress.

"Even that one?" Mehlendri called out into the blackness. No answer returned, but the web remained slack..

"Fine!" She shouted out after several minutes of struggling to get back on her feet. "I won't touch anything."

The web once again regained its firmness, pushing her back out of it, and allowing her to clamber back onto her feet.

Each shell was a life. A visual representation of an entire incarnation of Filimerthex. To touch it was to interact with that information. She would be exposed to everything inside it, including the painful death his life ended with. Of course, looking at the wound, she could easily imagine that there was much pain before that as well. This was Filimerthex's first incarnation fighting against the Necrons, and battle with them was brutal at every stage.

The next shell she walked by was once again in pain, but there was a grimmer look to it. Two impalement wounds with singed edges were the obvious cause of death. Yet, the man's jaw was shut tight and his eyes glared at some unseen enemy before him.

Shell after shell passed her by as Mehlendri wandered across the web. Each one was frozen at the moment of their death. But, there was a gradual trend between them. Pained grimaces and glares were gradually replaced by empty stares, then the straight line of the man's mouth began to twist. From death to death the cynical smile that had spread there began to split open into an insane grin. Then that grin opened even further into mad laughter that seemed to erupt from him the moment his body stopped moving.

Mehlendri swallowed as she felt bile build up inside her. The man's features formed an almost stop-motion animation of madness. Despite seeing only the surface level of what had happened to him, it disgusted her to her core.

His body changed as well. At first it was just an additional eye on the back of his head to see behind him, then it was an additional arm. Reincarnation after reincarnation, he became less and less recognizable. The latter shells' silhouettes shared more with the daemons of the Warp than the Aeldari. These shells no longer had a face. All they had was a mask attached to tubes and tanks that were buried into his back and sheathed in his skin. Eyes, nose, and ears had been replaced with various sensory devices. His many elongated and bladed limbs were almost entirely artificial.

But, Mehlendri did not weep for the man that was turned into a monster for war. He was unremarkable in that regard. This person's story was but one amongst billions of similar tales told by those who shared his fate. They had all been fighting and dying endlessly against the Necrons, then the Warp Plagues, then the Kroks, then the Aeldari themselves. To weep for only him was to ignore all the rest, and he would not forgive her for that. Such selfish hypocrisy would bring the being that had shed all these shells on top of her, and she did not know what he would do to her in his rage.

Finally, she came to the last shell. The bladed hands were impaled within himself, puncturing the heart, the lungs, and forehead. Bits and pieces of the armor that had been fused to his flesh lay torn around him, ripped off by his own hands.

There were no more shells after this one, but there was another figure before her.

Filimerthex's current body hung in the air, like a puppet on its strings.

Mehlendri's gaze followed the strands upwards into the void above them, and she finally saw what Filimerthex really was.

A massive eight legged spider like creature larger than a Fire Prism sat above her in the darkness. 3 long-nailed hands were on every foot, and they held both the strings that attached to his mortal body, and the strands that formed the web. Instead of pedipalps, a lipless fanged mouth spread across almost the entire front half of his body. 10 eyes were dotted around the thorax, allowing him to see in every direction. His pupils narrowed and widened at odd intervals as they swung to-and-fro, but the two largest on the front of his head were fixed on Mehlendri.

This was the shape of Filimerthex's soul. A monster that had long outgrown his mortal body, but still remained attached to the world of the living.

The spider's many hands pulled on the web, drawing Mehlendri closer to him as the net-like mesh of string below her was raised. As she got close, she saw that most of his legs and hands were tied up in his own web. He was holding himself down here, restricting his freedoms so he could pretend to be himself.

The lipless mouth opened, and numerous slug like tongues, tipped with four rhinophores stretched out towards her. She waited as the slimy tentacle-like appendages approached her. Smelling organs on retractable prongs stretched out to their fullest to draw in her scent.

The tongues and the buds upon them stopped centimeters away from her skin, hovering over her like hawks over a field.

Slowly, she stretched out a hand towards the spider. His tongues receded, keeping the same distance from her hand and arm. Her smooth fingers reached out to it. She passed the first pair of legs, then between the fangs of his mouth. The spider shivered as his jaws widened, allowing her to reach deeper into his tongue filled maw. There were now thousands of tongues surrounding her, all of them drinking in her scent, but never touching her. Cruel barbs could be seen on them, like the bristles on a cat's tongue used to rake meat from bone.

"I see now why you still remain, despite having fallen so far." Mehlendri said as she turned her hand over in the monster's mouth. His entire body shook, vibrating so hard a dull hum could be heard. All of his eyes except the two main ones were swirling round and round in their sockets.

"You chase a dream, a scent, a feeling forever." She said as she slowly pulled her hand out of his mouth. "But, you will never savor it." The spider's shivering slowed as his tongues retracted from her. "You stopped being mortal eons ago. Now, you're the same as all the other denizens of the Othersea. Like them, you are a creature who feeds on our thoughts, dreams, and souls."

Mehlendri leaned forwards, looking into the huge orbs in the spider's head.

"You want to eat me. To savor everything that I was, including my death. But, to do that, you would have to kill me." She smiled sadly at the spider. He never asked to be like this, but this is where the man had ended up after what seemed like an endless war. "Thus, you can only ever enjoy that moment once and only once. So, you bind yourself here, endlessly dreaming of the day you can devour me and all those you love. Even though you know you will never ever allow yourself to do that." The spider continued to stare at her with unblinking eyes, neither affirming nor rejecting her statements. "To do that means to end the dream, and to expose yourself to endless boredom. That is a fate worse than death for you."

"Not, boredom." Filimerthex's voice came from his suspended body. Only the mouth moved, like a ventriloquist's doll. "Despair, darkness, and regret." He said slowly, correcting the one part of her statement he found to be incorrect. "If it means I have to live through that again, I would rather starve myself to death."

Mehlendri stood back. The being before her was miniscule in comparison to the daemons she had seen consuming the Aeldari. Compared to them, he really was just the size of a spider. A single stomp, and he would be dead. Even though he was still the same as them. Filimerthex was a simple bug in comparison to them.

That was to be expected. This was a being of the immaterium that should have left for his natural habitat long ago. Instead he stayed here, clinging to all that he used to be. Deprived of worship, or prayer, he sat here with no name to call out in joy or fear. Only the first of his former students had seen his form, but by that time they had already gone insane from millions of years of death and destruction.

"You are of no use to me dead." She said as she put a hand on her breast. "Take my fear. Take my grief. Take the tears I shed in silent shame at being deceived by you." As she spoke all the memories she had of him appeared behind her as ghostly mirages. "Take my feelings, feed on them, and rise." The mirages slipped between his fangs, force feeding him Mehlendri's many emotions. "The Aeldari have need of you once again. Serve us and save us, ancient soldier and servant to our species."

—----------------------------------------

Synthetic sunlight filtered in from the window, entering Mehlendri's eyes through squinted lashes. She lay upon her bed, tucked in under the covers. For a moment, she wondered if everything that had happened last night was a dream.

It was only supposed to be for a night. However, finding herself alone with only the evidence that someone else had been there left a hollow feeling in her chest. The empty room she used only to sleep in seemed colder than usual.

*Knock knock

Before Mehlendri could answer, the door to her apartment swung open.

"Ah, you're awake." Filimerthex said with a smile. "I brought something to eat." He held a tray with two bowls, and two mugs. Warm sweet scents wafted over to her with the water vapor rising from the porridge he brought for breakfast. An extra chair hovered behind him, following him into the room as he placed the two bowls and drinks on the single table.

"What's wrong?" He smiled. "Did you think I left you?"

Mehlendri didn't know what sort of expression was on her face, but the hollow feeling in her chest was gone.

"Where did you sleep?" She asked, pushing aside whatever she felt at the moment. She lay in the center of the small bed, and there was no evidence of another occupant.

"On the floor." He shrugged as he sat down. "Aren't you hungry?"

As if on cue her stomach rumbled. She glared at him for a moment, but he neither laughed nor made fun of her. There was only a gentle smile as warm as the sunlight that came in from the window.

"Come Mehlendri. It will get cold soon."

This was probably another act, another mask of his to mollify her. It might not be malicious in nature, simply an extension of his service towards her to relieve stress.

But, Mehlendri ignored all that.

"Alright." She said with a small smile.

If this was a dream, she could afford to sleep in for a few minutes. Even if it wasn't, there was no point denying herself this small mundane happiness. After cleaning and dressing herself up, she sat across from him. It was the replication of a scene from her memory a few hundred years ago. A natural occurrence between the two of them before she had learned how old he was and where he came from.

[taryn40k]

Rumeron went through a lot!

He was initially just going to keep an eye on the new EC kids on the block (which still required him to land himself in the Deathwatch's Daycare, not easy!). But then he discovered that Caloch (secret loyalist Deathguard!) was also here! One more 'cousin' to monitor. All while playing his role as an Iron Hand. And staying perfectly cool and collected everytime Naël, known people reader, would glance his way.

Then the order becomes "get on that Craftworld". What craft-oh that one, that is attacking the Compound! Ok easy enough-

"With everyone."

.... ok, doable, let's just... gather them all and balance their curiosity, their eagerness, and the window of opportunity for this teleportation!

Then he had to survive with everyone for months and was VERY RELIEVED that Suspicious Boy Number One was back and offering to cover for them! Good, his target-and-shield is back playing distraction for the loyalists, pfew!

.... ok fine he'll sacrifice a kidney for the cause! Christ alive Naël. Oh but now he has access to a forge! And support from people who won't question his innovative design choices! Aha! Opportunities!

"Send them down to Fulgrim and extract with any asset." Ok surely he won't feel sad about leaving his classmates friends brothers charges. He has time. He can stay and save their lives. That's what Rumeron would do! And he is nothing if not a professional!

The fact that the new Aeldari pattern power armor requires some bonesinging is an unfortunate side-effect of the circonstances of its designing.... or is it a feature? ;) it would be awfully convenient for Chaos if it was mass-producable easily, wouldn't you say~? ;)

[eregar]

12, 16, 20 for Warnulf! 👁️👁️

answering these asks for my rogue trader oc :3

12. Do they like romance in the books they read (or in the book they’re in)?

warnulf isn't really a romance reader, but i would say that he does enjoy romance in his life. he's a person of very lofty ideals and a hunger for all of life's sensations. if he wasn't, i don't think he would be fighting so hard to live.

16. If money wasn’t a limit, what would they wear?

i think, by way of being rogue trader, money already isn't much of a limit! so he's already wearing his ideal clothing. he wears many layers of floor-length robes, cut from expensive, high-quality fabric, and in richly-dyed primary colours with subtle, low-contrast patterns. he likes golden jewellery and sometimes wears a hood to cover his hair.

20. What do they like that nobody else does?

the aeldari! they might have said 'enemies of humanity' but he heard 'the coolest and special-est little meow meows'.

this is not a good thing, to be clear. his interest borders on fetishistic and is deeply entwined with his own ambitions towards extending his dwindling lifespan, but it does at least mean that he's not blindly swallowing imperial dogma about them and willing to learn.

[knightofdeer]

that was. some extreme additional fun. thank you for the answer however!

I have a question on the topic (do forgive the absolutely not jarring shift, please); how much historic materialism can be found in 40k? Because from where I stand, wargames tend to have at least some of it, you need at least some recognition of social structures that benefit from the war you're playing here.

Early DnD had some of it, afaik, in the form that it was clearly about warring against conquerors while being a pillager, if you paid any mind to it, but nowadays, when the focus is more on roleplay and worldbuilding, the worlds fall apart because they are now tied by nothing — there are still conquerors, but they don't have material reasons to be, and the picture is bigger, the worlds are widely developed, and warring is not perpetual, but when there is no warring, there is no reason for those widely developed worlds to exist in the forms they have, because there are only benevolent and evil kings and only rogues are the ones allowed to care for profit.

In case of 40k my proper introduction into it was the recent rogue trader game — I know some lore, but never read or played anything before, and so far it seems like the developers in this particular case mostly understood their histmat (can elaborate on that), but commonly it's not the case with the franchise — so I wanted to ask your opinion on that, and how things are in the fandom, not only in licensed works

Firstly, I am frankly not sure how well do I understand historical materialism, but I will try to answer it from historical perspective general.

Secondly, Warhammer 40K is my first "big" fandom and it's special for me, and as a result I return to it like every 3-6 months but it's not like I know really a lot.

Thirdly, it's kind of murky to say what is main franchise here, because the hierarchy of lore is like that: Rulebooks and Codexes and Campaign books > Novels > Licensed works. So the overwhelming majority of lore is outside the main franchise.

And frankly, I would say that it's not materialistic at all. It started as "what if we mixed Warhammer Fantasy and Dune and some other sci-fi" and continues to largely work on the rule of cool. Imperium is described as highly hierarchical with material inequality, but it also rarely comes up in main lore. The closest thing to military industry that is important to lore are Forge Worlds, but they also exist as vague points of production rather than businesses. The Rulebook describes main ways of planetary exploitation, and yes Imperium uses planets specifically to extract labour and resources from them rather than just vaguely ruling them, but it's also rarely comes up.

The closest thing to actual commentary is in the field of religion. There are a lot of "quotes" from sermons that sound literally horrifying but also they are not just evil - they are specifically like that to make people loyal to Imperium, to make them willing to tolerate awful working conditions, inequality, and maybe eventual need to die in war. Imperial Creed is basically Calvinism but much worse. And what's very important and what a lot of fantasy religions miss is that it's explicitly not true - The Emperor is an immortal superman, yes, but he is not a god. Even though due to how Warp works unified zeal of humanity may have created a god in his image, but before that there were ten thousand years of worship of things that we as readers know to be a lie.

Warhammer 40k is not even space opera, it's very much fantasy with some technological elements.

And Imperium is like the most realistic part of Warhammer. Chaos is literally four gods playing a game to conquer the universe, Necrons are faux-Egyptian cyber-undead who are angsty because their souls were eaten by star gods (different ones), Aeldari are space elves who form a number of cultures ranging from ascetic "monks" of Craftworlds to Drukhari who are basically space vampires but instead of blood their life depends on consumption of suffering of sentient beings, and so on.

But that's the big picture. Smaller stories are usually set on one planet, and since worlds of Imperium are pretty isolated, they all have their own societies that may have pretty materialistic dynamics. Maybe, I never read too far into any of novels.

Fandom is... not great. My only interactions other than random reblogs in the last couple of years were occasional visits on r/Grimdank, and while it's not as horrifying as it may sound it is very much not great. Like everyone there does understand that Imperium is evil but it doesn't mean that they have sane politics otherwise. Though most of it is just memes about factions and events so it's fine.

I know that there is very purposefully marxist community of fans of Warhammer Age of Sigmar (parallel world, there is 2.5 Warhammers), but I don't know a lot about it (though I bought a novel from Age of Sigmar setting so maybe it will catch me).

Warhammer Fantasy, on the other hand, is pretty famous as fantasy for history nerds. Nerds, mind it, not political activists, but it's pretty faithful recreation of Early Modern Europe. I don't know enough about it to say does it reflect specifically transition from feudalism to capitalism, but the class inequality is not just mentioned, in Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay it's specifically part of flavour because you start not as mighty heroes but as foot soldiers and students of magic at best and beggars, gamblers, thieves and servants at worst.

(Also I am not that familiar with lore of D&D, but if anything it's more like Old West fantasy. It depends on specific setting and even locations inside this setting, but by default you are adventures in mostly uninhabited wilderness inhabited by goblins and kobolds and orcs and other sometimes sentient monsters. And high heroism wasn't a thing in D&D at the beginning, though it is for quite a time now but in the beginning it was a game exactly about rogues, not as class, they weren't there from the start, but as way of life. My brief familiarity with Forgotten Realms setting however confirms that in 1st and 2nd editions of campaign guide it was just generic High Medieval setting the only remarkable thing about which is that it's pretty young by fantasy standards and in subsequent editions it had to undergo one divine cataclysm after another to keep things interesting and to justify changes in rules)

[taxonomicon-idiot-edition]

Towards a Taxonomy of Elves 3: Elves of the Gygaxian Cluster, Part B

Herein: Astral Elves, Snow Elves, Eladrin, Rockseer Elves, Shadar-Kai, and all sorts of weird Elves.

ASTRAL ELVES

The Astral Elf should not be confused with the Aeldari (first described by Naismith, 1987) of the related but highly divergent Gothic Continuum, though like those creatures, they are a spacefaring cultural grouping of stellar explorers associated with elegant crystalline craft. The Astral Elf does not appear to meaningfully differ from the Undifferentiated Elf in physiology or even phenotype, though it is by local reports considerably more magical. To that end, we assign the tentative taxa following: Gracilis|divinoradiformite (epocha) alfar Niche: alfari astralincola nobilisbrightus Mythotaxa: Neoalfara gygax subsp. fauxeldar

SNOW ELVES

The Snow Elf is a fringe case. They are markedly larger and more rugged than the Undifferentiated Elf, but not necessarily to the extent of full speciation. A compromise taxa is offered thus: Gracilis (epocha) alfar subsp. hyperborea Niche: alfari borealis robusta Mythotaxa: Neoalfara gygax subsp. borealis

The Snow Elf should not be confused with the Lesser Faber Elf of the North Pole.

NEO-ELADRIN

The Eldarin type is difficult to qualify, as it seems to variously refer to a caste of Elf - synonymous with High Elves - and to a distinct variety of Fey-Elf creature, which itself may be either the precursor of the Common Elf or an atavism-turned-speciation in response to prolonged exposure to certain planar energies. The Neo-Eladrin are the most common variety of the former, and closely resemble certain variants of the Sidhe species of Fae. They are taxonomized thus: Psuedo-corporae chthonia… faedom… homifae chthonihomo uralfar neosidhe eladrin Niche: fae faux-alfar polydimensii Mythotaxa: Neoalfara gygax subsp. faux-sidhe Specializations of the Neo-Eladrin - for example the Firre - are recorded but are not meaningfully distinct from the Neo-Eladrin type, or at least, insufficiently so to constitute a distinct species or even subspecies. They may receive mythotaxa if this is requested, but this is unnecessary at this time.

ROCKSEER ELF

Also known as: The False Dwarf Elf, Sargent's Giant Elf, Albino Elves of the Underdark, Deep Elf, Sargent's Deep Elf, Lost Cousin Elf, Troglodytic Snow Elf, Gemstone Elf

Rockseer Elves - first described by Sargent, 1995 - are an obscure and, purportedly, extinct population group within the Gygaxian Cluster. These 'Deep Elves' are easily confused with the Drow, but lack the phenotype standard to the Drow and instead more closely resemble the Snow Elf. They are abnormally tall for members of the Gracilis genus, are associated with an entirely distinct subbranch of the Elven-Espruar language family, and have little to do with other Elven populations, including their niche rivals, the Drow. Rockseer Elves appear to be sufficiently speciated to warrant the following taxa: Gracilis (epocha) albatroglodyta Niche: Alfari scrutatorgemmus troglodyta Mythotaxa: Neoalfara gygax subsp. sargentsgiantelf

The Shadow Elf of Mystara resembles the Rockseer Elf and may be a cousin population that, rather than exhibiting troglodytic gigantism, retained typical Undifferentiated Elf size. We refer readers to the outstanding work of Robin, 2019 on the evolutionary history of the Mystaran Elf.

SHADAR-KAI

Shadar-Kai (first described by Cagle et al, 2003) are a curious offshoot that have nearly, but not quite, returned to the psuedo-corporae domain of vitus. They closely resemble various Dark Elf varieties but instead reside in an extraplanar realm - grounds, where full differentiation occurs, for alternate classification. This differentiation is, so far, not sufficiently evidenced. The Shadar-Kai appear to instead retain an essentially 'normal' Elven character that has been altered and augmented by their Dark God, who is the source of their seeming immunity to death.

They bear a striking resemblance to accounts of the 'Man in Black' phenomenon of the Anthropocentric Earth Cluster, and it is possible the Shadar-Kai represent an equivalent Elven phenomenon that moved from paranoiac fear to spiritual manifestation to physical entity due to the usual interplay of Will and Way.

Consequently, we assign them the following taxa: Gracilis|divinomutandis (epocha) entropoalfari Alfari mannusinblackus Mythotaxa: Neoalfara gygax subsp. heaviusmetallus

MARALOI

The Maraloi (first described Pondsmith et al, 1988) exhibit several similarities to the Shadar-Kai and neo-Eladrin, in that they appear to be conventional Elves who have - through long exposure - reverted to an essentially Fae nature. They are essentially nature-spirits who are (per Greenwood, 2024) the descendants of Snow Elves who have transcended their corporeal bodies to become excorporae entities of true spirit. Fortunately, our taxonomies are not limited by questions of mortality and life, and we find little difficulty in taxonomizing them. We nominate them thus: Post-vitae… chthonihominidae spiritualfari maraloi fae faux-alfar carospiritoi Mythotaxa: Chthonifae neofae-polyhedros terravisidae maraloi

VHAERATH

The Vhaerath are another case of an Elf being transformed into an extraplanar creature, though in this case, they are better understood as exvitus entities - being the souls of deceased Drow who, petitioning their god, are transformed into new shapes. They are nominated as being post-vitus excorporae… demiavataridae hominidiservilus manusvhaeraun. Little else is known and no niche or mythotaxa are recorded, though accounts of their entirely void-black frame suggest a casual similarity of niche with silhouette entities such as the notorious Hatman.

HALF-ELVES

The question of hybrid entities is always difficult for taxonomic concerns, as they challenge one of the assumed principles of speciation - viz, that a species is a reproductively distinct population of organisms that cannot reproduce with any other species. For the model of the Pedant, this is only a partial concern - niche taxa speciation is unaffected, as is mythotaxonomy. Hierarchical and phylogenetic taxonomy remains slightly challenged, but we take the following position as our basic point:

1. Where two species are capable of consistent reproduction, this may - but does not necessarily - indicate they are closely related members of the same genus or tribe; 2. Where the resulting offspring are themselves reproductively viable either with the parent species or with one another, this indicates the emergence of a new subspecies or subgenus; 3. Where the resulting offspring are born only as one of the parent species, this indicates no speciation is occurring.

To that end, let us consider the half-elf. They are usually consistently reproducible, and are themselves as a rule reproductively viable. This indicates a presumed close relationship between Elf and Human - one that we recognize via their shared location in the Tribe Hominini. They share traits of both parent species. They are, then, worthy of their own taxa: Homogracilis homogracilis - the Common Half Elf.

The Common Half-Elf is a frequent sight across the many universes, with specimens reported even on the comparatively restrained Anthropocentric Earth Cluster. But the Half-Elves of the Gygaxian Cluster do not stop at homogracilis. There are the 'Crinti', a population of Half-Elves first described by Prusa, 1993, who have stabilized into a distinct local phenotype through prolonged cohabitation and interchange with the Drow - they are accorded, by local custom, the status of both 'Half-Elf' and 'Half-Drow'. We are uninterested in the fine gradations of race-labelling and will accept this at its face, and find no grounds to consider the Crinti a subspecies as the Drow are themselves not a subspecies. There are 'Half-Drow', who we again note are Half-Elves taxonomically. There are the 'half-sea elves', first described by Lemon, 1989, who lack a stabilized population (they are thus accorded the tentative taxa of Homogracilis homogracilis sapiens x marincola), and the 'dwelf', or half-elf-dwarf (first described by Boyd, 2001), who are the type species of Dwergogracilis archaoalfar and who should not be confused with the Dwarves of Norse Myth, whose relationship to the Alfr is complex.

Beyond these relatively common hybrids, stranger creatures await - some the product of conventional hybridization, and some the product of various arcane influences, Divine manipulations, mutations, and generally Strange Circumstances.

The Celadrin are difficult to pin down, in that they are the product of Elf and Eladrin. As we have seen, the Eladrin are as much a caste of the Elf as a distinct breed, but here, the term refers to the neo-Eladrin Firre variety. They are a rare but reproductively viable hybrid capable of breeding true, and as such, are granted the following taxa: Gracilis (neosidhe) alfrradians demifae neoarchaea pyrounifier Mythotaxa: Chthonifae neofae-polyhedros hybridae pyroalfr

The Draegloth, though similar, will be dealt with as a matter demonic taxonomy - so too the Fey'ri as Tiefling taxonomy, the Elf-Vampire as a matter of Vampiric taxonomy, and the various Drow-Dragon hybrids as Dragon taxonomy.

DEVIATIONS AND MUTATIONS

The Elves of the Gygaxian Cluster extend their notorious mutability to remarkable extents. Many creatures owe descent from Elves but are so divergent from Elven norms that even among their own peoples, they are not recognized as Elves, whether properly or improperly so called. Many are so wildly distinct that they belong to wholly different categories of being than their parent species, but we Pedants do our best regardless. When an Elf is transformed into a cluster of hairy legs, we must ask: is this a species, or merely an individual curse?

To that end, as with the half-elf and the general question of mutants, we suggest the following criteria:

1. Is the resulting creature stable? If the answer is no, then it cannot comprise a species or subspecies in its own right, though it may charitably (where it satisfies the remainder of the test) be granted membership in a shared 'unstable horror' subgenus of common offspring of its parent genus when exposed to the mutagenic or altering force. 2. Do these creatures recur? If they are unique, they cannot comprise a species or subspecies in their own right, with rare exceptions. 3. Is the creature capable of breeding true? If not, unless there is a compelling reason why, they should not be considered a seperate species or subspecies, though they may still receive mythotaxa and niche taxa.

We now turn our eye to the stranger variations and mutations of the Undifferentiated Elf. First…

THE CHWIDENCHA

The Chwidencha - first described Cagle et al, 2003 - is challenging. It is the result of a divinely cursed - in that sense, a divinumaccursum modified - Drow, reduced from Elven form to a ball of spider's legs around a small, shrivelled, and screaming core that is just barely sentient enough to experience horror. Cwidencha, like Driders, are not reproductively viable, but they are a stable creature that repeatedly occurs. The Temple is divided on whether it and the Drider should receive taxa, but we have decided to err on the side of caution with both. Cwidencha anatomy suggests that the creatures are not precisely a deviation from the tetrapodae despite their many limbs - they are essentially grafted to a dessicated torso rather than an alteration of the body plan per-se. Accordingly, they are nominated as: Gracilis|divinumaccursum (horribilis) arachnostridae Greeblius arachnoballa Aberrus posthomidae gygaxabberus orbitohorridae spiderleggus

DRIDER

Driders - first described by Sutherland, 1980 - are a sterile divinely cursed hybrid of Giant Spider and Drow. Physically, it most resembles a spider whose cephalothorax has largely been replaced by the upper body of a Drow elf. In isolation, this would present little taxonomic challenge, as the arms of the Drow functionally substitute for the pedipalps of a conventional arachnid, but the presence of a spine is a considerable alteration from the body plan of the otherwise invertebrate arthropods.

Considering this, we nominate it as a novel type species of the following taxa: Demichordata spinoarthropoda protochelicerata vertebroarachnida decapoaranae hominicephidae arachnoalfari|divinumaccursum arachnoalfari-troglodytum; with niche and mythotaxa of: Greeblius seductiva-monstrum …gygaxabberus fauxcentaurappalus aranaeavillainum

The 2018 account of cryptid biologist Dr. Ferox is itself worthy of some consideration at a later date, but appears to refer to a distinct form of Drider rather than the Drider properly-so-called of the Gygaxian Cluster.

Similar species are reported across many universes, including Nerubians, the Racnoss, and the Dornia, though many do not share the explicitly divine origin.

SHUNNED

The Shunned (first described Marmell et al, 2007) are more difficult to taxonomize. Like the arachnostridae and arachnoalfari-troglodytae, they are warped mutations of an extant Elfin body rather than the creation of a new one, sterile, and stable in form. Unlike the latter, and like the former, this new form involves, destruction, atrophy, and the grafting of new flesh - indeed, of entirely new organisms - to the body. Shunned are less a distinct species than an amputated Elf's head, artificially supported, that is used as the incubation vessel for a wide variety of parasitic spiders of the Underdark. We reject a hierarchical taxa for the Shunned, though we do suggest the following niche taxon: Greeblius decapito arachnoincubatrix

CHITINES AND CHOLDRITH

These grotesqueries are of somewhat ambiguous origin. Varying mythological accounts hold that they are the product of either non-Elf homids or Elves, experimented upon by the Drow, who have since obtained freedom. Noting the marked similarity between both species and the Driders, Shunned, and Chwidencha, the inclusivist position has narrowly won out in the Eternal Debate of the Temple, and subsequently, we tentatively endorse their inclusion as Elf-derived grotesques.

Chitines, having six limbs, do not fit neatly into the arachnoalfari taxa, nor the taxa of bipedal Elf-derivatives. They are a true-breeding and stable species, however, and must be accounted for. To that end, we nominate the following, beginning from an inclusion among the hexagracilis|arcamutandis: arachnacephelae servilis Niche: Greeblius arachnomannus savagus Mythotaxa: terriblahexapodae arachnomannus

Curiously, the Chitine is borderline eusocial- but the role of queen is filled by another species, closely related to it: the Choldrith (first described by Wyatt and Heinsoo, 2001.) The Choldrith is difficult to distinguish from the more common Drider, and indeed, is very closely related to it. We distinguish it on the grounds that its torso is considerably shortened, its face that of an arachnid, and it is reproductively viable - asexually, curiously. Choldriths are nominated as a subspecies of Drider, |divinumsancti arachnoalfari-troglodytum albaregina, with the niche and mythotaxa of greeblius albareginaranaea and …hierophantaranea.

ALTERNATE SCHEMA

Several of the species taxonomized within the Gygaxian Cluster may themselves be subject to alternative schema. For instance: The Winged Elves may be recategorized as Hexapoda, as they are, strictly speaking, six limbed - indeed, strict adherence to this model harmonizes the approach taken with Dragons with that taken for Elves. In that case, Winged Elves are Hexapodae synapsidae hexmammalia metahomidae-hexa hexagracilis alfrpennator alfrpennator; Faenare alfrpennator faenare; Zekyl metalfar-hexa alfrsquamata troglodytapennator.

The Complete Book of Elves

Figure 1: The Elf Taxonomy described by McComb, 1993

The taxonomy and phylogeny offered by the Book of Elves is not endorsed but is here reproduced for comprehensiveness.

What's next for the Universal Pedant? I dunno - something Fallout maybe, or maybe something normal, like even more elves. Or, probably, Evaposting on my main account.

[ladymirdan]

This is probably going to seem a bit hypocritical since I've written a ton of fanfic, but yeah, I agree.

It absolutely baffles me when I see the massive influx of self-insert/reader stuff. For the longest time, it has been a meme that no 40k fan actually wants to visit 40k because the whole premise is that it's the worst of all timelines.

There is also so much weird family stuff popping up, which baffles me even more. Without comparison, the best thing about Primarchs and Astartes is the complete lack of family stuff in canon. I know I can pick up any space marine book and I haven't read any of it; it's so good. And up until a year or so ago, fandom reflected it pretty well.

And it's not as if Canon 40k lacks factions where weird breeding is a thing. Just look at Genestealer Cults; that is their whole premise. And if you don't want it to be as ugly, Aeldari has some actually good family stories; the hammer and bolter episode with the mom and her kid always manages to make me cry. It's so good.

But I guess I'm just gonna sit here and be baffled.

(actually, no, I'm gonna slowly return to my obscure/rare lore posting, but I'm gonna avoid Ultras for a while because they seem to have been hit the worst with this curse since they are the poster boys 😥)

And as always, anyone veteran or newbie feel free to send asks or tag me in lore discussions.

(Just avoid family/pregnancy/reader stuff, that is a huge squick for me and I will block you.)

my hot 40k take is that I'm sick to fucking death of people thirsting over the Primarchs. they're not hot, they're fascist DILFs at best. i don't fucking get it at all. their characters have been explored Extensively!!! They're not that interesting! maybe I'm just pretentious and like obscure lore better. but I've seen everyone and their mom having the hots for dorn or curze or whatever but nobody's talking about the weird interesting background stuff

[inquisitor-gayfax]

Just wanted to put it out there that if you're looking for a beta reader for your WH40K fic, especially if you're scared to post it without one, I'm happy to do that for pretty much anything besides Drukhari/Aeldari/NonCon stuff!

Shoot me a message and let's talk!