#space wolf oc

[treeheehoohoodraws]

Im going to color him

But SVERRE full body XDD

Actually my first time drawing Space Marine power armor

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Answer the Call

Prologue =-= Next

Author's note: Symith's debut in Husbandry!

Warnings: None. Let me know if I need to add anything.

Summary: Symith wakes up on a world he hadn't been on when he'd gone to sleep the night before.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged continued: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k

Tagged continued: @i-am-a-dragon34

The last thing Symith remembers before waking up on this warmly temperate forest floor was celebrating a victory with his brothers. That consisted of feasting, drinking, and boasting of fights and stories of the glories of the past. He'd been very drunk and had helped, as well as been helped by a couple of his brothers as the staggered to their beds, singing and drinking loudly in the halls of their ship.

They'd collapsed in a drunken heap, and fell asleep, he knows that neither of them are on top of and/or next to him, because Vaskarl snores like a bad engine, due to a badly broken nose that hadn't been fixed and Alvunn had a tendency to kick when he slept, the bastard. So he's not Happy when he realizes he's just in his sleeping shorts and weaponless.

He gets up, glad that his Space Marine Constitution means that he doesn't get a Hang Over that base line humans complain about if they drink too much. He takes in a couple of deep breaths through his nose as he looks around trying to gather his Barings. He can smell some pollution in the air, that means that civilization is somewhere on this planet, even if he can't see it at the moment.

Shrugging his shoulders he looks around and tilts his head to the side as he tries to hear for a river or stream as he scratches one of his cheeks as he starts to slowly spiral out from where he was placed. He wonders if this is a 'surprise' training session or if some of his naughty little shit Scouts had decided to prank him and his fellow Sergeants by separating them and putting them on a safe, if unknown planet and were watching and snickering at him from a distance.

If that's the case, he's going to find them, scold them for their audacity, and tell them he was impressed that they managed to pull of something like this. And to impress upon them to Never. Do This. Again. By having them run training sessions until they cried mercy, which he'd only grant two more cycles later.

Pups, could be, should be rowdy at times, but also need to learn respect and to listen to those who know better and have more experience and age under their belts. He'd learned of the Larger Pups- er Primaris Marines. They are an… interesting bunch, getting them to warm up to the rest of them had taken patience and skill.

Some of his brothers had been… uncertain about the pups, but they gotten to know them. Good pups, Large, strong, clever, good hunters. Just need to sharpen their teeth, but that comes with age and time and battles won. As he continued to explore the forest, he finds a river and watches how active it is and slowly scoops up a handful of water and drinks from it.

The water is nice and cool, refreshing, and only a hint of pollution making it bitter on his tongue. Watching it's flow he nods his head a little and starts to walk along the water's edge downstream. Most civilizations build along, around, or near sources of water. Unless some other reasons, environmental or dangers, made them build farther away.

He continues to walk, it's a nice forest, filled with life and greenery. He's used to the bitter ice and cold of Fenris, but more temperate worlds can be a treat to relax on from time to time. It takes several hours, but he hears the sounds of civilization a lot sooner than his sight starts to see the outline of base line human built buildings.

He hears the sound of city life clammer out cacophonously as he hears the… hm… He doesn't recognize the language that the locals are speaking, which will make things difficult. Well, time to see how these base liners react to partial nudity and Astartes in nothing but shorts.

The reactions from base line humans can be hilariously entertaining at times. Some can't stop but stare at his form, as muscular and strong as he is. Their eyes tracing his scars and what not. He's walking through the city and is amused to see the way that the base line humans to double takes and sometimes gawk at him. One of them is on a miniature data-slate, tapping away at it furiously and several minutes later some Imperial Fists show up. Boo. They can be No Fun at times.

As they head over to him, the Imperial Fist in Charge taking off his helmet and saying, "Greetings Cousin, I am Brother Captain Castor Polion of the Imperial Fists. What's your name?"

"I am Brother Sargent Symith of the Space Wolves, Fourth Company," Symith says with a drawl, "And before you say anything. I woke up in a forrest several hours on foot in the south-westerly direction."

They explain to him where, and when he is, and how randomly Space Marines from various Eras would arrive. It didn't seem to matter when or where they were from. Which Legion or Chapter, as well as which Alignment they are from. They also explain about the Alliance between the various factions, in order to not tear apart Ancient Terra.

He's not sure how he feels about that, but so long as the non-imperial factions don't start shit he won't. He tells them as such. The Imperial Fist Brother Captain nods in agreement and he decides to follow the lot of them back to their base.

He's glad to have more clothes and shoes, and a bit grumpy, but understanding that they don't have armor for him. What with it being damn impossible to make more in Ancient Terra. Still, he'd like to have something more than cloth to protect himself.

They likely want him to prove himself before arming him, as much as it chafes, it makes sense that they would have to be cautious and hoard their resources on this precious lonely blue pearl of a planet.

[idle-skull]

Woof

[lore-pls]

tmw you do a dumb little sketch of an OC idea and immediately realize you love this idiot

[taddymason]

Alone in the darkness They're coming for you I know they will try to catch me too

the doomed father and daugther duo

[0bananadog0]

Russ and his happy little cubs

[plaidpyjamas]

I wonder how the Yautja view depression (is there any canon evidence of them dealing with someone with depression? 👀)

Do they see it as a weakness? Or would you be thought of as more tough because you manage to fight off suicidal ideation and unpleasant symptoms all day every day, on top of functioning in the world? What about the days when you just.... can't? What would your yautja s/o do - would they do whatever they could to help you? Or would they leave you be, watching from a distance, until you got back on your feet?

Maybe one day, after a few days of being stuck in bed after an even worse couple of weeks, you wake up to a clean new skull on your bedside table. You'd been feeling a little extra sad with your partner gone (especially since you weren't sure where he was) but this gift puts a smile of your face for the first time in days. So he was on a hunt, off finding you a suitable trophy in an attempt to cheer you up. And it worked, if only a little. When you finally get up, wrapping yourself in a blanket and heading out to the kitchen, you see your Yautja there cooking something. Whatever it is it smells fantastic. You come up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, stretching a bit to try and clasp your hands together. He huffs out a small laugh at your attempt and places a hand over yours. The two of you stand there in comfortable silence while your Yautja finishes cooking. You feel a bit better, for the time being.

[remembrancersticky]

I had a shower epiphany a few weeks ago and have just been working on cranking out this oneshot. Oh, I had so much fun with this. Thanks to @squishyowl for the dividers! They are very pretty!

You get dragged along for a fishing trip, scent a space wolf, and he carves your name onto his (metaphorical?) heart. Fenrysian is just Norwegian here for the sake of simplicity. Very fluffy given this is 40k. TW for hunting, non-sexual nudity, and cannon-typical violence. Asmundr art here and here.

Space Wolf OC(Asmundr) x Serf!Fem!Reader - SFW - 2.8k Words

The world of Silġ was not the coldest you had ever been to. But it was still the thickest part of winter on this side of the planet, and you could feel the moisture of your breath catch and freeze against your eyelashes when the wind shifted.

You waddled behind the three wolves you served today, waylaid by the heaviest furs and boots you owned and the sled-cart you pulled along behind you. The blizzard that had raged for the last month ended a few days ago, though the warp storm that trapped your ship here had not. The sky still sputtered out a sporadic scattering of snow, powdering the dense ice on which you tread.

The three in front of you wore no more than training armor and pelt. You were envious of their enhanced thermo-regulation as you flexed your fingers to stave off the chill that had seeped through your thick mittens.

“Here,” the venerable veteran, Ægir, announced, stabbing his chainsword into the ice.

You slowed as you caught up to the group and looked about. You were the only thing besides flat ice for several kilometers in any direction.

“Finally!”

The youngest, Asmundr, was not known to keep his opinions to himself at the best of times. He was brash and stubborn in every aspect of his life. He was the one that insisted you join them on this venture.

The company and ship’s crew were trapped on Silġ until the warp storm passed. You had already been stuck more than several weeks and many of the younger warriors were antsy for activity beyond their regular training. And, while rations were not depleted, it did no harm to secure supplementary provisions while they were available. Ergo, the Wolf Lord had allowed the formation of a few small hunting parties.

While you assisted the entire pack as your services were needed, Asmundr had all but named you as his personal serf. Not that he had asked anyone in particular, nor would he ever be granted a personal serf given his rank and status if he had. He was simply dogged in requesting your time, specifically. Not that you minded spending so much time with him; he had grown on you quite a bit, and you enjoyed the stories he would regale you with as you cared for his armor.

And so, here you were. Accompanying the small expedition on their fishing trip. You had given up on getting an explanation for exactly what you were meant to do beyond ferry equipment or attend to whatever unfavorable task may arise. Frankly, it was simply a nice change of pace from the monotony of the last few weeks, nice to be away from the stagnant air of the ship, and you were thankful to have been allowed to attend.

Hodr swiped his boot along the ground to disturb the thick layers of snow and reveal the solid ice beneath. Though not as old as Ægir, the scars upon his face told a story of numerous battles fought with unfettered ferocity. He was cold, stoic, but on occasion you glimpsed something wild lurking deep within his eye.

After stomping solidly on the ice without so much as a crack, Hodr gave a nod to Ægir, who activated his chainsword.

Still stuck in the ice, the blade began throwing up shards of ice and compact snow. You turned slightly and covered your face with a mitten to prevent anything from lodging in your eyes. You felt the pitter patter of debris against your form suddenly disappear. Looking up, it seemed Asmundr unthinkingly shifted his position to effectively shield you from the onslaught.

“Mortal,” Hodr called, as the roar of the sword died down. “Bring the pick and shovel.”

You pulled the tools from the sled and made your way to the hole-in-progress. In order to support the weight of three space marines (and especially the earlier stomping), the ice was undoubtedly thick. This pass with the chainsword had not even been close to reaching the water below. Hodr reached down to grapple with the large slab of ice that had been cut away while you worked on extricating the smaller shards. Once the site was cleared, Asmundr gently pulled you a step back as Ægir began his next series of cuts. This process repeated three times before a sufficient opening was formed.

Standing, you wiped the snow off of your knees and pushed the ice shards nearest the opening away with your boot. Suddenly, you felt something thick and heavy land across your back and weigh down on your shoulders. You were almost embarrassed about the surprised yelp you let out, but it was worth it to hear the youngest of the wolves let out a full bellied laugh.

“I trust you to keep this warm for me, vennen min!” Asmundr’s voice bounced with mirth behind you. You rearranged the large pelt he had thrown on you as you turned to face him. And quickly decided to look anywhere else as he undressed to the fullest extent possible.

“O-Of course, my lord.” You elected to keep your head pointed towards the sky as you extended your hands to take the remainder of his clothes. You could clearly hear the other two wolves snickering behind the sound of blood rushing through your ears. It did not seem nearly as cold out as it did just a few minutes ago.

Asmundr placed the wad of clothes in your hands with a smirk before leaning into the sled to fetch his polespear.

“Be ready, brother,” Ægir said as he nudged Hodr bodily. “You’ll have to make up the pup’s slack.”

The young pup bristled in agitation before he sharply pivoted on his brothers with a note of forced laughter. Coincidentally, you suddenly received a full view of all his glory.

“Ha! Afraid you’re not gonna be able to keep up, old man?”

You forced your eyes not to wander below his ribs, which was very difficult as he stood with his chest puffed out and fists confidently resting on his hips. Your face felt so hot that you thought the ice would melt under your feet and swallow you whole.

Despite your years in service to the Vlka Fenryka, you doubted that you’d ever understand just how…comfortable they seemed to be in their plain skin. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact they were Astartes, specifically. You’d imagine it would be difficult to feel vulnerable in any state with the physique of one of the Emperor’s Angels.

“Worried that you’ll drive the best game away in your haste.” Hodr’s voice sounded suddenly closer than you anticipated. Your heart jumped when you felt his hand reach around from behind you, lifting your chin to look Asmundr in the eyes and gently squishing your cheeks together. “It just won’t do if there isn’t enough to go around.” The narrowing of the younger wolf’s pupils was almost hidden by the steam billowing from his flared nostrils. “We can’t have thralls of skin and bone.” His whisper tickled your ear, sending a shiver shooting up your spine.

“I do not leave her wanting,” Asmundr snarled, closing the distance and gripping Hodr’s wrist tightly. You could hear something creak beneath your chin, but the grip on your face never tightened.

“Prove it.” You could hear Hodr’s grin as he finally released you.

Oh, something in Asmundr’s eyes sparked as he threw his brother’s hand away. He spared you a brief glance as he squared his shoulders and quickly cracked his neck.

“Time me!” Asmundr yelled back to Ægir as he raced to the opening and jumped into the abyss.

The air was pregnant with silence for a moment.

“Well,” Ægir laughed, rough and gravelly, “He should be plenty motivated now!”

Ten minutes. It had already been ten minutes.

A space marine could hold his breath for approximately twenty-five minutes, or so you’d been told.

You had heard from one of the company’s Kaerls that she had once heard a story of a chapter that regularly held their breath for the better part of a standard hour. You thought it sounded a bit outlandish, but you prayed now it was true as the minutes continued ticking on.

The first several minutes were spent in a bit of an awkward silence. Or, at least, you felt it was awkward. You busied yourself by meticulously folding Asmundr’s clothes and running an inventory of the little equipment in the sled before cleaning the hole of any lingering debris. You noted that Hodr’s gaze seemed to return the distant tree line frequently while Ægir whittled away on a piece of bone.

“It’s been ten minutes.” The booming voice of the veteran seemed to rattle through your chest, and you nearly lost your footing at the sudden announcement.

 The undignified sound you made as you recovered your stance drew a chuckle from the eldest wolf.

“I’m curious,” Ægir said, pointing his knife in your direction. “What do you suppose the pup’s hunting for right now?”

You stared blankly at him.

“Fish, my lord?”

That veteran laughed, tried to control himself, and began laughing some more before he started coughing.

“You’re not wrong, thrall,” he conceded. You watched a flock of dark birds chitter and flee their roost in the distance. So far away they were like a smear against the sky.

“You know,” he started back up, dropping his gaze to return to the bone figure he was making. “I was out on campaign with the pup.” A thin flake fell away from his hands. “And it was fierce, to be sure. Well, while we were holed up in some throne-forsaken pit, the daft boy starts singing. Badly, mind you, and quiet, but singing nonetheless. And so, I ask him ‘Boy, what do you think you’re doing?’” Ægir looked up and you realized that you’d thoughtlessly drifted closer as the veteran continued. “And do you know what he tells me?”

“No, my lord.”

“He says, ‘Well, that little serf sings this when she’s in the armory, and I thought maybe it would help me focus.’” Another flake fell from his hand as he scoffs, “Focus, my missing big toe.”

Ægir looked like he was about to continue, loudly, but shut his mouth and looked past you a moment before you heard it.

A loud wet thwacking noise echoed across the empty plane and time seemed to pass slower than usual as you saw a vibrant, gleaming, blue fish that could rival the stature of terminator power armor surge out of the icy depths and caress the grey sky, before making its arched decent like an angry torpedo with needlepoint teeth.

You hadn’t survived this long in such a cruel galaxy without any wits at all, and ran to give the beast a wide berth upon its impact with the surface. Its furiously flailing body splashed little droplets of water against your form, which froze solid in the cold air.

“Ha! No wonder he likes you so much,” Ægir ribbed at you, as he seamlessly stabbed the wriggling thing through the back of its head, piercing whatever brain it could have. “You scurry about like ei lita kanin!”

The burning retort that had definitely been on the tip of your tongue was tragically cut short by a sudden series of muted vibrations that traveled up your legs. Something was hitting the ice…

Your feet were moving before you could think. What help could you realistically offer Asmundr from here? You could not dive into the freezing water, you could not drag him back to safety, you could not even pull his body up onto shore without dislocating your shoulder in the attempt. But you knelt stupidly by the hole anyways; you had to be as close to his side as possible, in case he needed you. Because you would do all those useless things if he so much as hesitated in telling you not to.

Not long after, the surface of the water began bursting with bubbles of air from the depths, bringing with them deep oily blood. You called out to him, as if he would be able to hear you meters away and underwater.

“Mundi! Are you okay?!”

Time seemed to drag on for an eternity as the bubbling died down and the water remained still.

You had just started to loosen the straps of your outermost layers to dive in yourself when a crimson streak began racing towards the surface. You could feel your heart fall back into place.

Asmundr’s red hair clung to his forehead and neck as he beamed at you in pride. Or, as best he could.

The spear he lifted out of the water held four native fish, each easily as long as your arm and thicker around than both of your thighs. A massive bony fish with pearlescent armor still wiggled in his maw, cracked where his fangs dug tightly into its flesh. He threw the spear up onto the ice before hefting his bulk out of the hole.

Sitting on the ledge of the ice beside you, he pulled the fish from his teeth. His smug smile showcased the gleaming red that clung to his canines and dripped down his chin. He glanced about briefly before his expression morphed into one of confusion.

“Where’s Hodr?”

Oh. You hadn’t even noticed he’d left.

“Not far,” Ægir said. “He picked up a scent while you were out.”

“Are you okay, Mundi?” You had been keenly looking him over for any obvious injuries he may have sustained since he surfaced. He didn’t seem any worse for wear, but maybe he just rammed the ice with his thick head. You stood up to get a better look. “It sounded like you hit the ice pretty hard.”

“What are you talking about? I wasn’t near the ice at all.” Rivulets of water trickled down Asmundr’s body, his core temperature just enough to keep the water from freezing against his skin in the cold air. “Are you sure you’re not the one that hit the ice?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to be annoyed by his teasing tone. You were just relieved that he was okay.

Asmundr’s gaze turned sharply from you to the horizon at a noise you could not hear.

“Finally done batting that pest around, Hodr?”

You turned towards Ægir’s call and watched as Hodr dragged along an enormous, white-feathered land-shark behind him.

“Six minutes,” the wolf bellowed, shaking the leg of his kill. “How long was the pup?”

“Thirteen minutes!”

Something rumbled deep in Asmundr’s chest at the veteran’s announcement and he huffed in irritation. If you hadn’t just been willing to throw yourself into the icy void after your companion out of shear worry, you would have found his pouting cute.

“Mundi,” you started softly as he plopped himself away from his brothers to work on his kills. He did not look up. He was still wet and bare and the wind was still so cold and you did not think you could handle the implausible thought of him catching a chill.

“Mundi, you need to dry off,” you chided as you unwrapped the outermost fur you wore from your waist. It would be warmer and drier than the one he placed on your shoulders, which had kept you plenty warm, but also collected a non-insignificant amount of flurries.

He grumbled something as he continued to work on dislodging his kills from the spear.

You pursed your lips before running the fur across his shoulders and up his neck, before tousling his hair the best you could. You left the fur draped across his shoulders, which he gripped closed across his chest with one hand. He remained incredibly tense before in-taking sharply and shaking his upper body vigorously. You did not escape the resulting splatter.

He tilted his head back to look you in the eyes, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you recognized amusement and joy in them.

“I’m keeping this!” Asmundr announced, sounding very pleased. “But you have to hold onto this,” he tugged slightly at the pelt that still engulfed the entirety of your upper body, “for me, in return.”

The request turned something in your chest.

“Of course,” you agreed, and you couldn’t help the smile on your lips.

 He smiled up at you in turn, his eyes softening as his gaze lingered. In that moment, it felt as if something in the universe had clicked into place. After a few seconds, he abruptly looked back down and dragged the armored fish over to him.

“And,” he drew the word out for a long moment, as he began carving familiar runes into the pearlescent plating with his spear. “You need to make good use of this.” He passed you the fish barring your name, and you had to steel yourself to keep from tumbling under the weight of it.

[north-heats-stronghold]

(When North goes on vacation, he goes all in!) (Animation and Sunny are made by @novalizinpeace) (Zane is from @moonspiritleaf)

(Space Riders au is made by @onyxonline)

[sleepyfan-blog]

Intruder!!

Author’s Note: This is the next installment of Joth’s adventures in the Husbandry AU! Other fics with Joth in them that I’ve written can be found here. 

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

Warnings: none? Please ask me to tag something if I missed it/it bothers you

Summary: Joth handles an intruder with the mercy you’ve taught him. 

“Put the goat down. Gently. Leave this property and return with money or never.” Joth ordered the Blood Claw who had his idiot hands on one of your goats. He had heard Maisie’s warning bark and growls, followed by Jacks and Sandy running to aid the oldest of your trio of Great Pyrenees. The canids helped Joth patrol the boundaries of your territory and chased away most predators and would be threats at night, while you slept in your home. 

“The fuck I will, Chaos scum! I’m hungry and this thing looks like it’d be a decent enough meal.” The young Space Wolf growled, bristling visibly. The goat in his hands squirmed and butted his horned head against the other’s armored stomach.

Maisie growled lowly, and Joth whistled, not wanting her to get injured by this insufferable Loyalist Fool. Jacks rumbled, equally unhappy. “Do you know where you are, Space Wolf?”

“... That doesn’t matter! I’m hungry, and I’m taking this as my meal!” The Blood Claw blustered, glaring up at him.

“We are on Terra. M3 Terra.” Joth rumbled, stalking closer to the Loyalist “Put. Down. The goat.”

“Why the fuck would I believe a word out of your mouth, you Traitor?!” The Loyalist huffed, still glaring at him, pulling the goat closer to his body, even as it bleated and kicked at him.

“Do you have a working vox-communicator?” Joth asked, struggling to not roll his eyes at the young idiot in front of him. 

“I do. But I am on a survival mission! To prove that I am capable of surviving, no matter the circumstances.” The Blood Claw snapped. 

“Aren’t baby Space Wolves left on frozen hell-holes to prove themselves? Most of Terra is far from such a world, even in the depths of winter that would qualify.” Joth asked, tilting his head a little as he took another slow step towards the young idiot. The other didn’t have armor on and was lightly armed.

“... To be entirely honest, I thought I was dreaming. This part of the world at least, is so temperate and pretty. Prey and edible greens and fruits are so plentiful here. And I’m not a baby!” The young Space Wolf protested, puffing out his chest up at him.

Joth took another step towards the Blood Claw, whistling another command to Maisie and Jacks, who kept the younger Astartes hemmed in on two sides, while the pup, Sandy padded up behind him. “Youngling Astarte. Put down the goat. It belongs to the one whose property this is. There is Astartes-food available, but to get it you put the animal down. Now.”

The young Space Wolf looked up at him, before looking around “But… But you’re a traitor! Why should I believe y-”

You call out from the porch “Is everything alright, Joth?”

Oh! He hadn’t known you were awake. He has an idiot youngling to wrangle. Faster than the little Loyalist could track, Joth lunged forward and scooped him up, pinning the Blood Claw’s arms between his side and one of his arms, in a secure grip that the other would not be able to easily break. His other arm carefully yanked the goat free before setting her down and giving the goat a loving pat on the head. “I found the raider.” He answers in the same language you spoke.

“Who are you talking to? Who is that?!” The baby Space Wolf growled in Gothic, wriggling ineffectually in Joth’s hold.

Joth grabbed the younger Astarte by the back of his neck and shook him a little “You behave. That is the owner of these lands, and the animal you tried to steal.” WIth that he trotted up to the porch, firmly holding onto the wiggly young Astarte, who wasn’t going to escape his grasp unless the thousands of years old World Eater let him go. Khorne’s Blessings of strength and endurance far outweighed what the whelp could muster up.

You look at the rough fur-clothing covered young Space Wolf struggling in his hands, a small smile appearing on your face “Do you know how long he’s been on Earth?”

Joth shook his head “No, but from what little he said, he hasn’t been here long. Naughty puppy has been eating your livestock that has gone missing, I’ll bet. He was trying to take a goat when Maisie yelled at him.”

“Joth, dearheart, he’s a person. What’s your name? Does he speak English?” You respond, having a sigh and shake your head a little “Bring him inside. I’ll heat up some leftovers for him to eat. He looks like he’s half-starved. No wonder he was going after my animals. Especially if he doesn’t know about the base he could visit for food and clothing if he felt like it.”

“Space Wolf youngling.” Joth huffed, glaring down at the wiggly Blood Claw. He snapped “What is your name, puppy?”

You sigh as you go get your cellphone “He’s still a person. I’m going to call the after-hours astartes response line for the closest Loyalist base in Gannet Point - unless. Is he a renegade? He’s not odd enough to be a chaos marine, I think.”

“As if I would tell you that, Traitor! You might do some sort of horrible ritual to fuck me up, or steal my identity if I told you! Who is this baseline mortal who cavorts with traitors! I-” The baby Space Wolf began to shout. 

“Loyalist puppy.” The Chaos astartes acknowledged in English. He then readjusted his grip on the Blood Claw so that he was covering the other’s mouth. An Astartes could accidentally injure the hearing of a mortal if he wasn’t careful, and Joth had encountered enough Blood Claws to know that the rough and tumble little lunatic pups were seldom careful.  “Shush. No yelling in the house.” He shook the growling pup who was trying to bite through his armored gauntlets with just enough force to get him to settle down.

“Alright. Nearest loyalist base it is. Do you think he’ll eat anything I try to give him? Or will he growl at me and refuse?” You muse as you press the numbers to the on-call phone number, knowing it by heart by now. 

“Probably would refuse. Keeps calling me a traitor, among other things, when I let him talk.” Joth answered, able to hold the squirming Blood Claw in his hands as he waited for you to make the phone call.

~

In less than ten minutes after you made the call, despite the fact that your farm was over an hour away from Gannet point by car ride, there was a mixed squad of Loyalists. Two were Ultramarines, one was a Salamander, and the remaining two were Space Wolves. 

The Blood Claw had tried and failed to escape Joth’s implacable grip the entire time, making angry little growling and whining noises behind the hand that kept his vocalizations quiet. Maisie had decided to stop growling at him just before the squad of loyalists had arrived.

“Sargeant Amicus, thank you for coming so quickly. I’m aware that it’s terribly early in the morning, but this particular Astartes has likely been stealing my chickens for the better part of the week and he looks half-starved.” You murmur, greeting the lead Astartes, the slightly smaller Ultramarine.

“It’s our duty to take care of issues like this. Especially when Brothers or Cousins are causing such problems. Faffnir, Ulric, would you mind retrieving the Blood Claw from Joth?” The Sargeant answered with a small, professional smile, gesturing to the two Space Wolves.

Ultric and Faffnir each grabbed one of the younger Wolf’s arms, with the latter saying “We’ve got the pup… You were a lot gentler with him than I expected you’d be.”

Joth shrugged “He is young and dumb. Nothing wrong with that, and I have been learning that kindness is not weakness here on Terra.”

“... Fair enough. No biting, you little shit!” Ulric answered, sharply reprimanding the Blood Claw as the young Wolf attempted to chomp one of the hands restraining him. 

“The muzzle I was brought here with should fit him well enough.” Joth remarked lightly as he loomed over the trio of Space Wolves “I would be willing to let you borrow it.”

“.. No, I think he’s finished being bitey, right? You’re going to be a good Scout and not try and cause more mischief, right?” Faffnir rumbled, his voice going low and growly.

The youngest Space Wolf let out a low, unhappy whine before looking away from Faffnir, his body going limp “Yes sirs… Why are we not murdering the heretic?”

“That will be explained later. Off we go, pup.” Ulric hummed before he and Faffnir dragged the Blood Claw away.

“As he is a loyalist, please send us a bill of how many animals he killed to feed himself, and you will be recompensed for it. I am aware that you’d rather have the a animals back, but money is all we are able to offer at this time. Though perhaps, after the young one has settled into Terra and how things run here, we could have him work on your farm as partial recompense, if you would be comfortable about that?” Sergeant AMicus asks you.

Joth’s tail swishes back and forth in agitation at the thought of that and he crosses his arms. He is scowling at the floor, but doesn’t saying anything.

“A tempting offer, but I would rather have the money, sergeant.” You answer honestly, shaking your head a little.

“As you say.” The Ultramarine acknowledged before turning and leaving, the other marines leaving behind him.

You wait until you’re sure that the Loyalist Marine sare out of hearing range before you smile warmly up at Joth and move in close. You gently touch one of his arms so that he is looking at you as you say “You did really well tonight, Joth. You protected my animals. You didn’t hurt the other marine, just restrained him so that ye wouldn’t cause more problems , and you were very patient.”

Joth beams at your praise and kneels down, lowering his head.

You smile warmly, knowing what he ias asking of you without words, and you gently pat his head, mindful of the Nails still digging into his skull. You press a kiss to his forehead “I mean it, Joth. You did very well.”

You hear the happy thump-thump-thump of Joth’s tail hitting your floorboards as he leans a little more into your head-pats. “I tried to be gentle, like you said I should be.” He rumbles.

You can hear the smile in his voice and you give him a couple more kisses on the forehead “And you succeeded. Well done, Joth.” You murmur as you try and fail to stop a tired yawn from leaving you.

HIs large, warm arms come up to gently encircle you, hugging you close. “Rest. I will protect, alongside your guard dogs.” His voice had an almost lyrical quality to it, and you nod sleepily, closing your eyes and allowing Joth to carry you up to your room and tuck you into bed.

[aldermoth]

To @AsreyTheHyena ~

[treeheehoohoodraws]

Okay so

Yeah I just made Tip into mechanicus priest yeah yeah yeah woo I love him XD

and the other guy is Sverre! my Space Wolf oc

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Calls of the Lost

Author's notes: Smyith's debut in Mermay And Poor Unfortunate Souls AU!

Warnings: None I think? Let me know if I need to add more

Summary: Smyith is with some younger brothers and cousins as they are out on a patrol. He notices that a

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @kit-williams, @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k

Tagged Again: @sleepyfan-blog and @whorety-k

Tagged continued: @i-am-a-dragon34

Smyith thanked the All-father and counted his blessings, he knows that it's a rare thing to have lived when he'd thought he'd be torn apart by that wretched Demon Arvax, may he rot and die eternally in Hel and be denied entrance to Valhalla. He has been swimming in this mixed shoal of Loyalists Legions and Chapters- helping the youngsters hone their skills and sharpen their skills and teeth, while keeping his hone to proper sharpness. He eyed the skies of Ancient Terra and scents the wind, calling out to the younger cousins and brothers a warning.

"A storm's brewing, time to swim deeper beneath the waves," Smyith tells them. "My nose tells me a storm approaches."

With that he puts his helmet back on, some of the youngest grumble and whine a little, but with a light smack to the back of the helm they settle down with some minimal sulking. One of the youngsters in bright blue and gold, an Ultramarine asks him with curiosity in his voice and posture.

"How can you tell a storm is coming Elder Cousin?"

"I have lived on many worlds for several hundred years," He starts his explanation, "And I've learned how to tell that the weather is shifting for the worse by scent and the way the clouds and winds interact with the skies."

The younger ones are now huddling closer to him and peering up at the sky popping their heads up try to see better, and figure out what he meant by that. He hears some more questions and tries to answer them the best he can, mostly confusing the younger space marines more and he just says, "Experience and age."

They follow after their elder brothers, when that same young Ultramarine seems to be lingering above the water, looking in a particular direction. He sighs and pops his head up and says, "Lad, back down in the deep."

"Sir- there's a baseline ship a few hundred meters that way," The youngster says.

Smyith heaves a sigh and looks in the direction the youngster is gesturing and notices the ship and the way that the base line humans seem to be puttering around on the ship, and unfortunately, from the way the ship is moving, the base line humans haven't noticed, yet that there is going to be a nasty storm that's going to churn the ocean waves quite viciously in a few hours. Granted, base line humans aren't as acute in their senses. And there is much that the Ancient Humans of Terra do not know about.

"I'll warn them," Smyith says, "You head back with the rest of the pod back to the temporary base."

"Yes sir," The young Ultramarine says with a nod as he turns and swims with the rest of the mixed shoal of space marines, of chapters and ages alike.

Some of the space marines from the far future are... terribly strange and almost incomprehensible with their differences. But they likely think the same way of those of them from earlier times, especially much earlier. He can't help the way his lips twitch in a teasing grin as he thinks of how the King of Fenris would react to some of the youngest of the space wolves, and from the furthest in time's reaction to "nine primarchs". Which is blatant revisionism. Also, with how they've almost turned Father into a God, and has very much turned the emperor into a deific figure. That has him wincing, by the Throne on Terra, he'd like it not at all. Although some of his ranting would be really entertaining. Also, Leman's reaction to The Imperial Regent being the 13th Primarch would be, at turns, entertaining and annoying to deal with. He's glad for his new lease on life, even though he misses his first pack and brothers like someone's ripped one of his hearts from his chest.

"Humans," He calls out, hoping they speak one of the base line languages he's learned a little of.

There's some excited chatter in one of the near countless languages, they are all speaking rapidly as he patiently waits for one of them to approach them. Humans could be so skittish, yet most on Ancient Terra could be very Bold, or at least Very Bold for the standards of base line humans from the time that he's come from. Thinking about time travel is something for Rune Priests and Nerds. Kark, could he use a drink.

"Storm approaches, head to land," Smyith says carefully, slowly in one of the Ancient Terran languages.

"Our instruments don't say that one's coming," One of the humans says with a mild frown as they look at something and then at the sky.

"I can smell one coming; it will arrive in a few hours." Smyith says trying not to growl. Base line humans could be so... frustrating to deal with at times. "Heed my words and live, don't and die during a storm. Your choice."

With that he sinks below the waves and out of the sight of the base line humans. He's still able to watch and hear them. He's not actually not going to let any of the idiot base line humans die if he can help it. A couple of the little shits that he's traveling with have come swimming over to him peering up to watch the human’s squabble amongst themselves.

"We'll save them from themselves if they don't make the safe decision," Smyith tells the youngster who nods and swims off to inform the rest of the group of his decision.

At least the humans take their boat and start to head back to shore, which is nice, he and a few of the pod of loyalists shadow them, hidden and unseen from under the water as the humans make it back to shore before the storm starts going. He and his pod swim back to where the base is. Storm watching is fun, and interesting to see from underneath the waves. It can be terribly dangerous, but something every Aspirant of the Space Wolves was dared to do to prove their worth.

[idle-skull]

Einar Folke my beloved <3 <3 <3

Flat color of my boy because he’s the best, May shade & render later?? This was mostly just to figure out what color palette I wanted to give him.

He’s part of a fan-made Space Wolf chapter created by @jaegercat03 known as “the chained wolves”.

[lemon-russ]

I lived, bitch. jk I am back and feeling much better after being run over by the metaphorical train of my failing body lol.

The poll has time but Wolf Mother is winning, it was good I asked because I thought it was one that people weren't super into, but I'm glad for it! It was a nice change of pace writing Leman again ❤️

Thanks @squishyowl for dividers! Taglist: @sleepyfan-blog @scriberye @undeaddream

Wolf Mother (Ch. 3)

<Prev. | Next>

Ao3 || Taglist request ||

Leman Russ x Fem OC

CW: Trauma/ PTSD, Talk of missing limbs/ prosthetics/ bionics, General WH40k violence (playful fighting here), If I miss any let me know!!

Summary: Wren gets a tour of The Fang.

Word count: 2,932

Small note: previously I wrote Wren was in the Astra Millitarium. Obviously she can't be, we are in 30k. I corrected it in the first chapter to the Auxilia, which was my original intent, I just mixed up Imperial Guard and Imperial Army. Fixed now :)

Wren scrambles behind Leman as he makes his way through the tunnels of The Fang. ”So, Paper-thrall, what use will you be exactly?” Leman asks, inquisitive Space Wolves eyeing her as they pass.

Wren frowns a bit as she is leered at like a new chew toy, but the wolves seem to be curious and nothing more. “Well, for Lord Guilliman, I’ve been handling things like logistics paperwork, transfers, budget approval forms…” she says, trying to keep pace with his long strides.

Russ scoffs. “Busywork. Leave it to Roboute to have a form for every bolt round that changes hands.” He chuckles, leading her to a rickety lift. The platform never stops its slow movement, just suspended standing decks going up on one side and down on the other perpetually down a rock hewn shaft. She nervously hops on behind him and they are lowered down the dark hole down a few floors.

Russ disembarks the lift at one of the openings, and when he sees Wren not keeping up, he reaches back and picks her up by the scruff of her coat and plops her next to him. She blinks, a little confused, but just blushes as she returns to chasing after him.

“Having clear and concise forms and regulations keeps things moving,” she stammers as she catches up to him again. “Without it, how would we know when to order more supplies? Or who is where and who is available-”

“You just tell someone.” Russ chuckles. “My sons tell me we are almost out of rounds when they see we are low, and they tell me where they are going. All the paperwork causes is headaches for little thralls.” He says, smiling down at her in amusement.

Wren’s mouth twists down. “That sounds like anarchy.” She replies flatly.

“Hah!” The primarch barks a laugh, “Anarchy, or freedom from your tedium? We get things done just the same.” He gestures through an archway. “Come, I will show you around the main areas of the Aett. It is vast and complex for little baselines, so try not to get lost.”

Leman leads her through what feels like miles of caverns. Wren’s legs and lungs ache from having to jog after him. While she was a little out of shape since she’s been on desk duties, she still kept up on her fitness as any good ultramarine employee would. But Russ was tall, taller than Guilliman, his brisk walk and long legs outruns her jogging. He doesn’t slow for her, just expecting her to keep pace.

As he shows her various store rooms and barrack areas, she pulls out a notebook and starts noting things that she’ll need to start organizing. No inventory sign-outs in the storerooms, no regular counts on supplies, things tossed into mixed crates and shoved on shelves. She was going to need to commandeer a small army of serfs to get this place in working order. She stops and grimaces when they pass the bathing and laundry areas. Piles of dirty clothes lay haphazardly around washing pools where tired serfs scrub them by hand over stone with lye soaps. She notes to ask to import at least some rudimentary cleaning machines like wringers and wash tubs.

Everywhere they go she sees the same things, unorganized supplies with serfs working with incredibly low tech tools that make things take ages to finish. Which makes them not have time to organize and clean as much, so the mess piles and piles. Wren starts laying out the overhauls she would need to make to get things moving efficiently.

Leman peeks over her shoulder at her notes, making her jump with a start.

“Inventory lists? Washing Barrels? Rotating thrall schedules? Skíthof little paper-thrall, you worry about such minor things.” He chuckles, ruffling her hair.

She frowns and lets out a huff from her nose, pushing her hair back in place. “Minor things build up, My Lord. All the time wasted with having to search for supplies and wash clothes by hand make up hours and hours of wasted time, and more wasted time means more Serfs needed to run the place, which means more food and housing for them.” She says tiredly, closing her notebook with a snap.

He tilts his head, standing upright again. “So? We have plenty of food for the thralls, we are good hunters, and we have many miles of caves for them to live.” He shrugs. “Why not have many of them live here and not bother with the teeny details?”

Wren scrunched her brow and sighed. “Because it’s, well, inefficient. And messy…” But Russ was already walking ahead, ignoring her again.

He stops at a large archway, and she smells bread and meat wafting invitingly through the halls. Her stomach grumbles, she hasn’t eaten since getting on the thunderhawk this morning. Leman smirks at her, then nods at the archway. “Come, little paper-thrall. We don’t let let our pack go hungry.”

They head into the warm, bright hall, full of space wolves talking and laughing and eating. The sweet, acrid smell of Mjød mixes with the warm bread aroma, and a large crackling hearth serves as backdrop to an Astartes telling an animated story to a group of space wolves and baselines alike, who enthusiastically cheer and laugh at his tale.

Wren sighs and happily takes the seat next to Leman at a long table, her hand going to knead at her thigh above her bionic leg. Though her bionic moves it’s own weight, she still needed to use her real muscle to lift it. She hasn’t had to push it so much yet, and her quad thrums sorely.

Russ watches her hand massaging her leg thoughtfully, but is interrupted from whatever he was about to say when a couple of Space wolves sit across from them, grinning and giddily staring down Wren.

“See-” The blond one says and elbows his brother, “I told you, The Wolf King has a new pet.”

His redheaded brother tilts his head curiously at her, then leans over the table and sniffs at her, making her shrink back with a frown.

“She smells odd.” He huffs.

Wren furrowed her brow at that, sniffing her own shirt. Leman laughs though, “She is not my pet, she is my paper-thrall.” He proclaims. ”Assistant.” She adds with a sigh. “I’m his assistant.”

The wolves tilt their head at her again, then smile wide. They are young enough to not have fangs yet, and playfully move to sit next to her, making her pull back into herself as she’s suddenly dwarfed by the massive marines.

“You smell odd.” The blond one says happily. The red haired one who sniffed her first does so again.

“Yes, you smell like Ultramarines.” He adds. He gently tugs on the sleeve of her poofy coat. “And you wear their inferior clothes. Do you not have furs?”

“My coat is fine-” she starts, but the red haired blood claw interrupts.

“Ah, has no one killed for you yet? Is that why you have to wear silly clothes?” ”My clothes are not si-” she squeaks out, trying to crowbar her words between them uselessly.

“She must not!” The blond replies, “Would you like me to kill a Great Bear for you?” He asks excitedly. Wren could almost see his metaphorical tail wagging.

“No no- I will get you a much nicer pelt than Thorarr would, let me.” The Redhead interjects, grinning ear to ear.

The blond, Thorarr, scowls at his brother. “Myrnir, I would slay a far greater bear than you. You only attack small, weak bears that are easy kills.” He gruffs as he crosses his arms.

Myrnir scowls back. “How would you know! You have not seen me hunt-” his brother rebuked.

“I have see the sad pelt you presented that thrall girl who polishes your armor, it is no wonder she rejected you.” He retorted.

Suddenly they are on their feet, growling and snapping words at each other, Wren forgotten. She blinks a few times, disoriented for a moment at the sudden shift. The blood claws argue and shove at each other, Russ, however just chuckles. “The youngest of my sons have less restraint.” He tells her as he reaches across the table to a wooden tray of breads, handing her a large roll. “Their attention is fleet and their tempers hot. They will outgrow it after a few decades of battle.”

The blood claws start grappling at each other, and an older wolf throws a large mug at them, conking the redhead in the back of the head. “Take it to the fight grounds before you break another table!” He scolds the pair. Myrnir grumbles, rubbing his skull where the tankard hit him, and they both stalk out of the hall.

Wren chuckles to herself, “They are certainly spirited.” She says, taking a bite of the roll. It’s grainy and hearty, and she wonders when the last time she had anything that tasted so much like real food was. It feels like it’d been a decade at least since her meals didn’t come from a package.

Leman rumbles a low chuckle in his chest. “That’s why they go first in battle. To get them trained, to let out their energy, and so they don’t clip anyone else on the way in.” He says with a smile. He glances back at her hand, still kneading her thigh. “I’m sure you were similar in your new years as a soldier?” He asks a bit softer.

She smiles and chuckles softly. “I suppose I was. I had a bad habit of going after much bigger opponents.” She says nostalgically. Her early days in the Auxilia were full of feats of glory and adrenaline. She sometimes thinks back and wonders how she managed to make it so long without ending up paste under an Orks boot, but her ferocity was what helped her climb the ranks so fast.

Russ grins and nods to her leg. “That how you lost it? Bit off more than you could chew?” He asks curiously.

Her smile falters a bit. “No.” She says quickly, turning back to the table and picking at her roll. The primarch deflates a little, huffing softly. He watches her nibble at her bread, then smiles again, perking up. “I have somewhere good to show you next.” He says happily.

He leads her up a few more terrifying lifts and through more dank tunnels before they get to a large complex of wide rooms. She could hear growling and barking and big padded feet stomping before they got there, and the distinct but not entirely unpleasant smell of wolves gave her an idea where they were before they actually entered the kennels.

Massive Fenrisian wolves play, sleep in piles, and gnaw on bones the size of Wren, spread out across what was mostly left as natural cave formation rooms. One was coming in from a large tunnel that seemed to climb upwards outside, shaking off snow from its stark black coat. Another two roll in a play fight together, their white fur making them look like an avalanche. Dozens of them lounge and play, drinking water from a small natural stream through the rocks and napping on beds of dirt.

As they get closer, Wren’s steps start to falter. These weren’t just wolves. The smallest was, as she could begin to see, the size of two men. The larger black ones, some were the size of artillery vehicles.

“By the throne…” She mumbles in awe, feet refusing to bring her closer to the massive predators. Leman looks over his shoulder at her standing, jaw agape, and laughs. “Come, little paper-thrall, they will not harm you. Not these ones at least. These are our pack members, they fight beside us and lend us their speed and strength.”

As he speaks, the two largest wolves, one black and one white, perk up and thunder over to them, paws thudding against stone enough to feel the vibrations through the ground where she stood. Wren recoils back a few steps, but the wolves stop at Leman, licking his face and pawing at him as he laughs cheerfully.

He turns back to her and motions her forward. “Come! These are my kin, my brothers, I was raised with them by the same wolf mother. This is Freki, and this Geri. They my companions.” He introduces, rubbing their ears as they wag their tails and lick at him.

The two beasts are massive, taller than any space marine, coming up to Leman’s chest at their head. Wren swallows hard. “Uhm- h-hello, Lord Russ’s… brothers…” she says warily.

The black wolf, Freki, radars his ears toward her voice, staring her down with eyes that almost glow with reflection from the dim torch lights of the halls. He pads over to her, and she cringes down a little as his massive nose sniffs at her face.

He tilts his head and pads around her in a circle as Geri comes over and gives her a snuffles at her too. She grimaces at their warm breath assaulting her face, before Freki licks the side of her head in a long motion, making her squeak in surprise. Geri wags his tail and licks her too, making giggle as shes suddenly attacked by their affections, tails wagging happily as she devolved into breathless laughing.

“O-okay-! please-!” She gasps through her giggles, and Leman, grinning and laughing softly calls them off of her.

“Enough of that, give her a second to breathe.” He tells the wolves as they happily trot to him and nuzzle him with their snouts. He grins at the disheveled, slobbered Wren as she tries to still her laughter. “See? My wolf-kin are friends.”

She tried to wipe her face with her hands, making a soft blehch at the slobber. “They certainly are personable, sir.” She chuckles. She uses the clean stream water to rinse her face off and returns to Leman’s side when he motions for her to.

“I want you to see some of our pack.” He says, softer now. She follows his gaze to two playing wolves. They growl and play bite at each other's legs, tumbling and snarfing and wagging their tails. But one of the wolves has the advantage- a shiny, metallic limb replaces his back leg.

Wren raises her brow, looking up at Russ. “You… You give the wolves Bionics?” She asks quietly, looking around and spotting a bionic eye, a front leg, a missing ear….

“Of course.” He says, smiling down at her with a gentler expression. “They are our pack, and we care for them the same we would any who suffer an injury.”

Her gaze falls back to the playing canines. The wolf without bionics is playing just as roughly with its kin as the others are playing, snapping teeth and body checks and leg bites. The bionic using wolf returns it in full, even using the leg to it’s advantage - its friend doesn’t like to bite the metal, so it uses that one to kick at the other wolf.

Across the cavern, she sees another wolf with a bionic front leg. This one limps slightly, and still has stitches and shaved areas from whatever injury it had. It flops down, licking and chewing at the place where the metal limb meets flesh.

Habitually, Wren’s hand went to that spot where her own leg met her thigh, massaging the muscles there.

She has to swallow back some emotion, watching the juxtaposition of the hobbling, recovering animal licking its sore phantom limb, and the lively, playing wolf who is well accustomed to his own.

Leman glances down at her, seeing her a little misty eyed, and frowns. Following her gaze, then watching her knead at her leg, he smiles understandingly.

“They bounce back.” He says as he kneels on one knee to be more level with her. She glances to him at her side before returning to watching the canines.

“They have a period of readjustment.” He continues, nodding to the limping wolf. “They need time to heal, and relearn their senses. And I think also, to grieve.” He says in a low, careful voice, watching her face as she bit her lip. “It is not an easy thing, losing something so life altering.”

He points at the happy, playing wolf. “But they do come back, with encouragement. That one has had about a year with his new body, and now you could hardly tell. Sometimes he itches at it, or favors the leg a tad. But he is him again.” Leman says softly. “And the survivors, they come back even more driven. I think getting that second chance pushes them.”

It takes a lot of effort to swallow down her emotions this time, eyes wetting threateningly. She grips the knee of her pants on her bionic side. The primarch gives a small smile down at her. “How long have you had yours, little paper-thrall?”

She takes a steadying breath. “About… About a year. Year and a half.” She rasps quietly.

Leman gives her a firm pat on her back, making her have to stumble and balance herself. She looks up at him in surprised, brow knit in confusion.

“About time you get back to it then, right, little paper-thrall?” He says with a warm, fanged smile.

[meangreennunseen]

Posting helmetless version separately, because why the hell not?

*sniff* my stupid Deathwatch sons.

Adding helmet version, cause I want both arts in one place after all...