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slaytheusurper · 11 days ago

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⭑ When in Rome ⭑ (Domina Mea, Chapter One)

Masterlist

Chapter Warnings: Death (gladiator fight)

Summary: After years you returned to Rome to visit your father, General Marcus Acacius, to celebrate his recent victory. However, when the Emperors Caracalla and Geta get you in their sights, they will not let you go so easily.

Word count: 3.3k

Your fathers victory stretched far and wide, as did the people's love for him. This provided you with an opportunity, a chance to leave one of your fathers estate’s and visit him in Rome after all these years. You were fairly young when your mother died of the horrible antonine plague. It had struck many and even your noble family was not safe.

It took years for your father to overcome his grief, little by little he started to show pieces of his old self again. And it was Lucilla ‘the mother of Rome’ who fully healed him, you hadn’t spent that much time with her but you knew she was a good woman. You were happy for your father even though after your mothers death he had sent you away for your own safety.

The Aurelian Estate was grand and well protected, it was lonely too. Your mothers death left a gaping hole in your heart, and with your father being the general, he was needed elsewhere. The estate had made you grow bored and even though Rome was still unsafe with the twin emperors in power, you longed to see your father.

Knowing well he would refuse your visit, you lied to the household guard. You informed them how you were to visit your father and attend the games with him at the colosseum, all to celebrate his victory in Numidia. They were hesitant as they had not received orders from the general himself, but agreed after your promises.

The road to Rome was long but durable, the stench of the city came closer and it made your face contort in disgust. Beggars were divided on each side of the road you were travelling and it made you uneasy. Your father had told you many times why Rome was grand but fragile as well, it was ridden with disease and plots, as well as two emperors who were as unpredictable as they were mad.

Still, it intrigued you, the last time you were in Rome, you were young and you barely remembered it. The walls of the Aurelian Estate being carved into your mind deeper, while Rome eroded. One of your servants handed you a cloth on which she had poured some lavender oil, she gestured to hold it to your nose.

You thanked her and glanced out of the carriage again to notice the Capitoline wolf upon the gate of Rome. Your fathers voice echoed through your mind upon recalling the legend that was behind the statue. Soon after passing it, Praetorian guards halted the carriage, demanding to know who you were.

When your name left the lips of Edas, your personal guard, the Praetorian muttered an apology and barked around to make way for the carriage. You had almost forgotten how respected your father was and kept in mind how useful it could be, being his daughter.

You had, however, not thought about what your father would say or do upon your sudden arrival. It was safe to say he was not pleased that you lied to the household guard and travelled all the way to the most dangerous city without his knowledge. Lucilla however was a bit more enthusiastic, giving you a warm welcome.

Standing in the inner courtyard of their estate in Rome was like a dream, even though you were born there, it didn’t seem real to you. To be back after all these years. Lucilla guided you to a table where fruit and wine was spread out, while your father continued lecturing you.

“You know how many times I have warned you of this place, it is not safe! Especially not now these mad-” Marcus stopped himself when he noticed one of the servants being a little too interested in what he was about to say next.

“You should not have come.” He said now calmer. “Father, I have not seen you in three years. How could you blame me for seeking you out? I miss you.” His expression softened at your words, Lucilla gave your hand a squeeze on the table and smiled at you. “She will be safe here, with me. Nobody would dare lay a hand on my daughter.”

It was still a bit weird to hear her say that, but you had gotten more used to it a long time ago. You returned her smile and your father seemed to come to terms with your arrival. “I- I’m just afraid of losing my only child, it’s safer for you outside of Rome, protected by thick estate walls and our own men.”

Lucilla offered him a sympathetic smile, understanding all too well after having lost her own son. “She is here now, safe in our estate. If she stays here, nothing will happen to her.” Marcus gave in and let one of the servants show you to a guest bed chamber. After your servants had unpacked your belongings, you finally got to get some rest.

The next morning you woke up feeling happier than you had in a long time. The dangers of Rome did not seem too much of a concern to you. No, being reunited with your father was what you needed to regain your spirit.

Lucilla made you realise how much you missed your mother but she made sure you had a maternal figure in her, as she showed you the whole of the estate the next day. You shared stories, meals and laughs with her as you regained your energy from your travels, when evening fell, that peace was shattered.

A messenger came, announcing during supper how Marcus was commanded to be present at the games in the colosseum on the morrow, alongside his wife… and child. Your father was furious, abandoning his food to isolate himself with his anger. How did the emperors find out you were in Rome?

You had only been ‘home’ for two days, nobody except for the household guard and your fathers own men knew you were here. In truth you were excited to see the colosseum and witness the well loved gladiator battles. “I do not understand how they know, and why they want you there. Oh sweet child, it is not entertainment for a young lady such as yourself.” Lucilla expressed.

You wondered why it was so bad for you to go, of course you knew of the stories surrounding the two ‘mad’ emperors but you were sure that with your fathers station they would not harm you. Your title as step-daughter of a princess and daughter of a loved general made you already liked by the people, you were untouchable, right?

Sleep evaded you that night, you were excited yet afraid. What Lucilla said haunted you, were gladiator battles really that gruesome? And she was right, why did the emperors want you there? Lucilla told you it was probably in retribution of your fathers ‘rude’ request of taking leave to see his family, but how would they know your father didn’t want you there?

You were awake early, only having caught some hours of sleep. And so you had already eaten and bathed before your parents were ready. When Marcus and Lucilla at last emerged to leave, the dreadful ride to the colosseum began. Your father didn’t speak a word the entire way. You knew exactly what he was thinking, that it was your fault, if you hadn’t come, you wouldn't be about to be face to face with the sick men that ruled Rome.

Upon your arrival at the colosseum, your father left the carriage first, helping Lucilla out before he helped you. The ginormous building was riddled with praetorians and onlookers, to your surprise they not only chanted your fathers name but also yours and Lucilla’s. The grand entrance took your breath away, before you were grounded when your father pulled you towards him.

You hadn’t even noticed the man that had walked up to your father and Lucilla. “Daughter, you were asked a question.” Marcus said. The man in front of you looked at you expectantly, he almost looked royal himself, although you did not recognise him at all. “Forgive me, I was distracted by the grandeur of the colosseum, it has been so long since I’ve been in Rome.”

“Do not worry Lady, I do not fault you. I merely wished to know how your travel had been, no complications I hope?” You shook your head. “No, it was fairly smooth. I am sorry, what was your name?” The man smiled at you and took your hand before kissing the back of it. “Macrinus my lady. Again, no need for apologies.”

You felt Lucilla’s hand on your back and you were suddenly grateful for her presence, the man seemed kind but your intuition was telling you otherwise. “Thank you, Macrinus, for your warm welcome.” He gave you yet another smile. “Shall I escort you to your seats? The emperors are already there, I’ve heard they are- eager to meet your daughter General.”

Your fathers lips thinned at Macrinus’ words but before he could snap back the man gestured you to follow him, Lucilla’s hand never left your back, your father keeping a fierce grip around your shoulder. Macrinus led you through the guarded halls and stairs of the colosseum until you noticed the light atop the last staircase.

It was the emperor's box, nerves suddenly overcame you but you felt the reassuring and protecting grip of your father on your shoulder. As you reached the top, Macrinus greeted the emperors before moving out of the way, so you were face to face with them.

Your father greeted them first. “Emperor Geta, Emperor Caracalla.” He said as he bowed, letting go of you for but a short moment before his protective grip returned. However the emperors barely paid attention to him or Lucilla as their eyes burned into yours.

You were speechless for a moment before Lucilla placed her hand on your lower back, recentering you. “Your Majesties.” You spoke while curtsying. Everyone had always spoken of their madness, their ruthlessness, but no one told you of their beauty. You were taken aback by how handsome they were, though they had a mad look in their eye.

Emperor Geta spoke first. “General, you have quite the beauty at your side. Where have you kept her all these years?” You almost winced as your fathers grip tightened. “After Aurelia’s death, I sent her to a safe estate that was built in honor of her mothers memory. Rome was such a dangerous place to be at the time, your Majesty.” Geta hummed in response and Caracalla simply laughed.

“Mm, of course, what a delight that she has come to visit you then. No doubt wanting to join the celebrations, am I right Lady?” Caracalla spoke, both their voices made your heart thump louder in your chest. “Yes Caesar, that is right.” You answered respectfully, lowering your gaze.

“Tell me, have you ever witnessed a gladiator battle before Lady?” Geta then asked. “No your Majesty, I have not.” He smiled at your answer and you were relieved that you seemed to please them so far. No one could tell what they would do if you failed. It was then that a tiny monkey appeared on Caracalla’s shoulder, holding on to his hair.

You smiled brightly at the sight, never had you seen an excotic creature like that before. The only ‘creatures’ at your estate were horses, hounds and birds. Caracalla noticed your sudden change in demeanor. “Have you also never ‘witnessed’ a monkey before Lady?” Your cheeks burned red at his words, they must think you were stupid with how they spoke.

“No, your Majesty.” Caracalla giggled at that and guided the monkey into his arms. Geta’s piercing gaze never left you as Caracalla came closer. It was only then you noticed the weird scratches on his face. “Would you like to meet Dondas?” He giggled. “It would be an honor Caesar.” Your father reluctantly let go of you, as did Lucilla.

You caught Macrinus watching in the corner of your eye. Caracalla then led Dondas into your arms, you couldn’t help the big smile on your lips as the monkey made some adorable noises before holding onto the expensive fabric of your toga. Dondas inspected your necklace for a bit before he climbed around your shoulders and back into the Emperor's arms.

“He likes you!” Caracalla exclaimed excitedly, followed by a fit of giggles you already secretly found adorable. You smiled at him. “Well I like him too your Majesty, you have a very sweet monkey.” He grinned widely and his golden tooth met your eyes, why did it suit him so well?

“Since you have never witnessed a battle such as this before, Lady, why don’t you sit at the front, with us?” Geta spoke, although he rather commanded it then asked. You looked to your side at your father, who tried not to show his fury, Lucilla looked down. It seemed you had no choice, even though that did not bother you as much as it probably should.

“Of course Caesar, how thoughtful of you, thank you.” You answered politely, and relief washed over you once more when he smiled brightly. He commanded servants to move one of the large luxurious chairs to the front, between the thrones of the emperors. Then he gave the signal that the speaker could announce their arrival and that of your father.

“Emperor Caracalla! Emperor Geta! Citizens of Rome!” The speaker's voice echoed through the colosseum as the emperors now stood all the way up front of the box, in clear view of the audience. “These sacred games are in honor of General Acacius’ victory in Numidia!” Loud cheers and applause came from the audience.

“Acacius.” “General.” The twins gestured for your father to join them so the citizens could see him. He raised his hand and loud cheers filled your ears once more. “Speak to them.” You could faintly hear Geta say. Your fathers words faded in your mind as you took in the colosseum.

When he returned to go to his seat, he gave your shoulder a loving squeeze before taking his place. Lucilla was then announced and she too was welcomed with a loud applause and cheers from the crowd. Then both the emperors gestured for you to come forward, as you stood between them, the speaker's loud voice boomed through the colosseum again.

“In attendance today is the beloved daughter of General Acacius himself!” Your brows furrowed as people chanted your name. It confused you, they did not know you. Nor had you conquered lands or won battles like your father. It showed you how much your parentage could mean.

Lucilla had already taken her seat and after you too had raised your hand to the crowd, you took your seat just like the emperors on either side. The speaker then announced the gladiators, the slaves from Numidia, before announcing the gladiator of Geta and Caracalla themselves.

The gladiators had taken their place in the low arena of the colosseum before a giant gate opened. Your mouth parted at the sight, an animal you had never seen before with the gladiator standing on his back entered the arena. You didn’t even notice both the emperors grinning at your reaction. Neither did you notice the sharp gaze of your father.

You leaned forward a bit and watched as the big animal came closer. It then stopped before the gladiator greeted the emperors. “Heil Caesars!” He roared, his low voice sent a shiver down your spine, he looked terrifying and you couldn’t help but feel bad for the ‘slaves’ from Numidia.

Geta and Caracalla raised their hands in response before their gladiator made his first charge, the arena beneath you seemed to shake with the animal's heavy strides. The gladiators jumped out of the way at the last moment, except for one, who was launched into a nearby pillar and died upon impact.

Your eyes widened at the scene, you were slightly frightened but also intrigued. Maybe you understand now why people like the games. Both Geta and Caracalla clapped beside you, feeling victorious through their warrior. You were on the edge of your seat as you watched how the large animal and its rider turned back around.

One of the gladiators caught your attention as he stuck his sword in the ground before clasping his hands together to cup some sand. He then waited for the animal to charge, let it come closer, before releasing the sand into the air, creating a dust cloud. When it seemed he would get hit by the animal's large horn, he jumped out of the way, causing the animal to crash into the wall.

The audience as well as the emperors jumped from their seat, the animal was injured badly and the gladiator had been launched from his seat. You joined the emperors to see how the gladiator got up to fight the slave from Numidia.

It only took a little while before the gladiator had taken the sword from the Numidian and already raised his arms to excite the crowd. You moved back to your seat before Geta spoke. “Brother, it’s that poet is it not?” You had no idea what Geta was talking about. “I can’t remember, that night was a blur.” Caracalla responded before taking his seat as well.

“The gates of hell… are… open night and day- smooth- I forget-” Your brows furrowed, you knew that poem, Lucilla had once read it to you the night after their wedding, as she wanted to bond with her new daughter. “Smooth is the descent, easy is the way.” You answered.

Geta looked at you and seemed pleased, thank the gods. The slave had gotten up again in the meantime and fought back against the gladiator with a shield, they fought back and forth until the gladiator had picked up the Numidian and launched him over his shoulder, causing his back to collide hard with the ground.

The gladiator pointed his sword and looked up expectantly at Geta, the crowd chanted ‘mercy’. It seemed the emperors got to make the decision on who eventually got killed in the arena. Geta looked at Caracalla who almost immediately said ‘blood’. “My Lady, shall we show mercy?” You did not expect Geta to ask your opinion.

You did not want the poor Numidian to die at your hands. “Mercy.” You nodded, Geta smiled before turning to the crowd to raise his hand. While lowering it he balled it into a fist with his thumb out, before pointing it up. “No mercy!” The Numidian yelled. “Your life has been spared by the gods-”

“I would rather face your blade than accept Roman mercy!” You almost cringed at his words, he was clearly stupid to ignore such a presence as Emperor Geta. He then rolled over to grab a blade from the sand before launching it into the gladiator's chest. It was then he looked at the emperors expectantly instead, to which Geta gave the crowd what they wanted by pointing his thumb down.

The Numidian slave then beheaded the gladiator, leaving the emperor's champion defeated. Caracalla stood and clapped his hands loudly while Geta, on the other hand, stormed out. You turned in your seat to look at your father, who gestured that it was time to go. You stood, and curtseyed to Emperor Caracalla, “Your Majesty.” He gave you a nod, and you joined your father and Lucilla towards the exit.

When you had gotten back to the estate, your father retired to his rooms, not saying a word the entire way back either. You were relaxing in the garden with Lucilla, when that man, Macrinus, from the colosseum arrived. To your disappointment Lucilla requested you take a bath after all that happened and you left the two alone. The whole time you were bathing you couldn’t get the emperors out of your mind, neither the man that had won that day.

#gladiator 2 smut #gladiator 2 fanfic #gladiator ll #gladiator 2 #emperor caracalla x reader smut #emperor geta x reader smut #emperor geta x reader #emperor caracalla x reader #geta and caracalla #caracalla x reader smut #caracalla x reader #geta x reader smut #geta x reader #general marcus acacius #lucius verus #lucilla aurelius

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moodymisty · 5 months ago

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for requests, I'd love to see anything with Horus (if not necessarily the reader) having a good time. sex or not, just he's having fun with whatever is going on.

I'm kind of ridiculously into cnc lol

Author’s note: These requests couldn't go together better, so why not? tbh I really struggled with this one, but i can't really afford to do a total rewrite of it, so i hope this is still ok ;3

part of the 'horus takes lorgar's wife' plotline, but no pregnancy. yet

Relationships: Horus Lupercal/Fem!Reader, Implied Lorgar Aurelian/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Dubcon that could also tbh be just full Noncon, Horus interprets A LOT of body language incorrectly

Horus has spent months waiting for this moment.

He’s stayed by your side, offering support as you grieved through Lorgar’s abandonment. He wanted to be there, taking care of your every need while Lorgar danced around with frivolous religions.

Eventually however, your heart began to heal. You started smiling more, calling him Horus instead of Warmaster, or Primarch Lupercal. The first time his name fell from your lips was a joyous occasion, just for him alone. His men didn't understand why the simple gesture made a smile stick to his face for the rest of the evening.

Once you were emotionally healed, Lorgar slipping further from your mind with each passing day, Horus began to try and slip himself into the empty space he left.

You didn't need Lorgar. You never needed Lorgar. He could do everything Lorgar did for you and more, without paltry distractions and his possessive sheltering.

It was gradual- slow, gentle touches and kind words with implications behind them only he knew, waiting for you to welcome him into your heart fully.

The moment finally revealed itself one evening alone, and now he finally had you.

You wore a dress given to you by Lorgar; He can tell by the design and filigree. It doesn’t fit or flatter you properly, the style is all wrong; He will get you clothing that will be perfect.

Laying on his massive sea of a bed beneath him, your body tremors as he slowly lifts the hem of your dress, revealing your knees, then your thighs. The softness of your skin is instantly apparently and his muscles tighten with a yearn to touch.

"You are so nervous, i can smell it. I won't hurt you,"

Horus speaks with a gentle tone, his hand drifting up your thigh softly to reveal your underwear. He knows how much taller he is, how much bigger, the way his shadow consumes you must be unsettling. “All I want is to tend to you the way you deserve.”

You’re so fragile- your body shivers underneath his touch. Lorgar must’ve been too rough with you, to make you fear this; He can remedy your nervousness.

“H-Horus, please I-“

It’s not moments later that he pushes his fingers between your thighs, pressing them against your puffy outer lips. He can feel your warmth, your softness even through the fabric, and it isn’t long before he has his fingers hooked around them to pull them down your legs and toss them aside.

“Relax, let me take care of you. It has to have been such a long time since you were last with someone.”

The mere thought of Lorgar’s touching your body disgusts him. He doubts he cared what you desired, unlike him.

Horus slips two of his fingers into the soft tight heat of your cunt and listens to the way you gasp, gripping the pillow your head rests on.

You feel so wonderful, even just his hand; If he was a more selfish man, one less caring about your survival- or how you felt - he might just force himself into you right away.

His fingers curling inside of you he feels the soft velvet of your inner walls, the way they wrap around him and tighten and loosen. When he touches a sensitive spot he feels the way you clench down and how your back arches, body writhing under his touch. He can't think of a better sight, as the blankets bunch around you and brush against your skin.

“Let go my love, stop fighting so much.”

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes- you’re so close - and eventually he feels you tighten around his fingers as you bite your lip. The whimpers you let out of your mouth are the sweetest, most gentle thing he's ever heard; He wants so much more.

He removes his fingers slowly and listens to the whine you let out, as they leave you empty.

He’ll give you something much larger- you just have to be patient. He would call you greedy- if he didn’t know you’ve been long neglected since Lorgar’s punishment.

Horus' cock aches and throbs, twitching at the sight of your ass when he flips you over onto your stomach. You let out little noises as his handling, even with as gentle as he can be.

It'll be easier this way; Your thighs can't spread wide enough for you to take all of him, this way he can sink into you fully. As he does- Listening to your sweet little mewls and whines as your face grimaces in pleasure, as he groans at the feeling of your puffy wet cunt tightening around him until his balls press against your ass.

The way you feel is indescribable, your hot, velvety walls wrap around him so snug it’s like you’re pulling him in deeper.

The sound of skin of skin echoes in the room filling it, along with the sound of his grunts and your whines like music. Horus is almost lost in it, feeling the way your whines get higher in pitch when he drives himself deeper and the thick base of his cock fills you past your limit.

He’s big, he knows that well, but you take him so well and he’s being so gentle. You'll get used to it overtime, he has no doubt.

You attempt to rise up onto your elbows but quickly fall, face pressing back into the pillow and blankets. Horus chuckles and places a hand on your lower back.

“Careful, my dear.” You do little more than whimper in response, feeling the way he twitches inside of you and groans deeply. Suddenly your body tenses under his grip, and you once again try to rise up.

“W-wait, please don’t-“

He sinks himself deeper, barely pulling out a third of his cock with each thrust. You whimper some more, words jumbled together, but they’re all noise as he finally cums inside of you. You tense at the feeling; The warmth spreading through you as you feel his cock twitch over and over again inside of you.

He feels your gasp as the head of his cock stretches and pops out of your entrance, leaving his cum to partially slide out of you.

“Horus…”

You whisper, and he can see your eyes glistening. He cradles the back of your head with his hand and leans to press his lips to the corner of your mouth.

“What do you want, my love?”

#tw dubcon #horus lupercal x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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nightghoulz · 19 days ago

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I have nothing to post (Dorn is sketched don’t worry!) so here are my ratings for Primarchs on how much I’d want to share a room/house with them.

All of this is based on what I would want in someone that lives with me :)

Under the cut because this had more than I thought!

Lion El’Jonson: 6/10. Still don’t know much about his character, but he seems more responsible then some of his brothers. Would keep to himself and that would be nice.

Fulgrim: 7/10. I <3 Fulgrim. He’d clean up after himself and would have nice decor for the house. Points docked for potential parties that would drive me insane.

Perturabo: 5/10. Still don’t know much on him. He liked puzzles. I like puzzles. Bonding. I feel like we’d disagree on furniture for some reason (that’s very important to me)

Jaghatai Khan: 6/10. He seems very chill. Most laid back of the primarchs from what I’ve seen. Also seems like he’d party/be very outgoing and have people over so points docked for that. Or loud motorcycle noises.

Leman Russ: 4/10. I’ve come to know him a bit more. The wolf stuff is funny. We both come from ice rocks. I’m worried he wouldn’t shower because of some wolf thing. House would be a mess.

Rogal Dorn: 9/10. Perfect roommate. Would respect personal space. Would help make stuff for the house. Both come from ice rocks again. Has a special blanket (fur coat) so that is bonus point.

Konrad Curze: 2/10. I’m sorry Konrad. I love diy. So those two points are for being a diy king. But showering is sort of important. (I love him but realistically this shit is not working) the house needs to be picked up too.

Sanguinius: 9/10. Perfect dude honestly. House would stay tidy. We’d have to be careful with fragile things because his wings would knock it over.

Ferrus Manus: 7/10. Crafty bff. I’d be worried about the house getting solder everywhere but otherwise he seems fine. Since his hands can heat up, he could be a microwave while watching tv when no one wants to get up.

Angron: 4/10. Without nails? Probably perfect. With nails? I’m scared of all of my work getting a hole punched through it. Rip to my walls.

Roboute Guilliman: 8/10. Knows how to do taxes we are saved! Would help keep the place tidy and wouldn’t throw parties. Furniture might clash though.

Mortarion: 5/10. I don’t know much on him still. Showering is important though. I do think he’d keep the place clean still. I wonder if he’d romance the grim reaper on our sims 4.

Magnus the Red: 9/10. Would contribute to book collection. Would watch documentaries with me. Would have a dedicated room to be the nerd shrine.

Horus Lupercal: 7/10. He’d have people over, but he’d be polite about it. The party gets cleaned up. The house is clean enough. Astrology stuff is everywhere.

Lorgar Aurelian: 3/10. I Just don’t think we’d get along. He seems very kind and comes from a good place, but I’d go nuts. Granted I still don’t know a ton on him.

Vulkan: 9/10. House is perfect and cozy. He respects everyone and everyone’s space. Has the best taste in TV. Also has cool artifacts for the shelf.

Corvus Corax: 8/10. Cool aesthetic. Furniture shopping goes insanely well. Thrifting king. Would respect space. Brings pet ravens so even better.

Alpharius/Omegon: 2/10. You don’t know they are your roommate. Whoops.

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varyathevillain · 2 months ago

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Ancient Rome Sidequest Mapping

here's a post of something interesting I've found ages back, and posted on (X)Twitter, concerning the Ancient Rome Sidequest. needed to save this because I am nuking/closing my accounts there.

this is following Sasha and Grizzop's path step by step, and how, back then, the GM mastery made my jaw drop.

when describing the room (or more like a hall) in RQG126, it's mentioned being lit by braziers, and that Zop and Sasha fall down onto a mosaic floor, the same one which is broken in present time. the closest imagined restoration of the Ancient Rome including intricate mosaic? Domus Transitoria. It was Nero's first palace, which, according to Seutonius, spanned all the way from the Palatine to the Esquiline, and according to historians had floor and wall mosaics, and in these times mosaics were restricted to only being on walls and floors. when the palace was replaced by Domus Aurea, mosaics were instead placed onto the vaulted ceilings, changing the art of future and partially influencing future mosaic art. there is also a 'gardened avenue' towards temples, which fits the path Sasha and Grizzop take. not to mention that Templo di Apollo lies *very close* to Domus Transitoria (the previous statements are backed up by following articles, in Italian, because I couldn't find English ones that didn't butcher the things I wanted to show)

romanoimpero.com/2020/05/domus-transitoria-di-nerone.html https://romanoimpero.com/2010/09/tempio

they get into a temple district (temple of Diana and then down the Palatium towards Aventinus, with actual real life temples somewhat applicable to the ones we hear about in the podcast), and that's how they figure out that there are still corresponding gods in Rome. the distance between the temples described? that they 'don’t have any sort of distance between them, next to each other on the streets', unlike the modern ones; which makes sense as Palatine Hill is very... compact in the building placement, even in ancient times.

there isn't much left from the actual temples except from preserved ruins by Italian archelogists, but there are skilful, artful depictions of how temples could've looked like in ancient times, for example temples of Apollo and Cybele in Palatine:

then we get to see the untouched Servian wall, which is then magicked by whoever is in charge (I don't think we get to know if that's just the Mars people, or several sources, or something else) to protect the city.

(Servian wall is in black here)

Servian wall is the first defence of the city of Rome, constructed around it in the early 4th century BCE. later on it would be succeeded by superior Aurelian walls; but by that moment in history (late 3rd century AD) in RQG that city did NOT exist as a bastion anymore. then, after they visit the temples of 'Pluto' (meet Cicero) and Mars, all three of them through the districts with human population, which corresponds to the parts close to Forum Romanum, also where, coincidentally, real life Cicero resided for some time!

and then, Cicero takes Grizzop and Sasha down into the sewers, which makes perfect sense because that district is where the Cloaca Maxima goes through!! there are several historical suggestions about how the system was formed, from an open air canal into underground sewers. BUT! that isn't what is interesting to us! what is interesting is that the passage partially connects the temples, which makes sense, because in this case temples are also in need of water system for the non-godly treatment of their residents and patients.

and then the three of them move towards the underground part/inner workings of temple of Jupiter, which, in fact, completely corresponds with position of the temple of Jupiter Stator!

depicted here in yellow, information of it referenced per this article

per "Rambles in Rome", the temple of Jupiter Stator, vowed by Romulus when his army was fleeing before the Sabines, if Jupiter would stay their flight; hence the name. "Romulus built a temple to Jupiter near the Porta Mugonia" (Dionysius, ii. 30). It was restored by Scipio, A.U.C. 459 (Livy, x. 37). It was in this temple that Cicero made his first oration against Catiline (Plutarch). Cicero says that here the goods of Pompey were offered for sale.

Rambles in Rome, as referenced

and the temple of Jupiter Stator like a light walk away from where the Colosseum would stand. only there is no Colosseum. there is the domed hall in which the big Mars vs Jupiter battle happens, the other part of which they can't even see, being underground and so far away. then, as dragons escape and Sasha and Ciciero are free to go, they trace their steps back out the Cloaca Maxima until they reach dead end and have to reach outside to gatehouse near Pons Subilicus (the temporary bridge dated ~1AD), just outside Forum Boarium

and that's why when they get out of the sewers they can 1) see the destruction of the walls 2) see the destruction of the palace in which Grizzop and Sasha were dropped 3) be only steps away from going away from inner city, while also technically being on Rome territory.

they have also, in my opinion, crossed Tiber afterwards and started going Northwest, because after some time it's mentioned that people flocking to necropolis, which, at that point, were on Trans Tiberim/more North and closer to Vatican/Campus Vaticanus, ergo, on the other side of Tiber.

"The Vaticanum, or Campus Vaticanus was originally a level area between the Vaticanus Mons and the Tiber. During the Republican era, it was an unwholesome site frequented by the destitute. Caligula and Nero used the area for chariot exercises, and renewal was encouraged by the building of the Circus of Nero, also known as the Circus Vaticanus or simply the Vaticanum. The location of tombs near the Circus Vaticanus is mentioned in a few late sources."

I am not in any way shape or form the One and True source on this, and will gladly take critique from people more versed in the topic than I am; this was made originally for my personal use, and then I figured out hey, this is really interesting! and also I wanted to save this for everyone else who used this for their musings/fics.

#Rusty Quill Gaming #RQG #RQG Ancient Rome Sidequest #RQ Gaming #Sasha Rackett #Grizzop drik acht Amsterdam #Ancient Rome Sidequest #RQG Cicero #text post #Varya rambles #long post

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untitledesquire · 5 months ago

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Completely scientific and objective Primarch Tier List

1. Jaghatai Kahn, Kaghan of Chogoris cause he go fast.

2. Lion El’Jonson, cause he like trees.

3. Lorgar Aurelian, cause he just like me FR.

4. Vulcan, cause he best boi 💕

5. Alpharius and/or Omegon, cause he/they are the best loyalist/traitor to ever play the game.

6. Horus Lupercal, cause he heresy.

7. Robute Guilliman, cause he Hermes Conrad.

8. Magnus the red, cause he did nothing wrong.

9. Rogal Dorn, cause he just another brick in the wall.

10. Ferrus Mannus, the Cyclopes, cause he make guns good.

11. Fulgrim, the Phoenician, cause he babygirl.

12. Angron, The Red Angel, cause he hulk smash.

13. Corvus Corax, cause he batman.

14. Sanguinius, the blood angel, cause he cool but I haven’t read many books with him and don’t have a great sense of his character yet.

15. Perterabo, the Lord of Iron, cause he’s simply the worst.

16. Konrad kurze, the Night Haunter, cause he somehow worse than Peter.

17. Mortarian, Lord of death, cause he look like Rufus the Mole Rat.

18. Missingno1, cause he [redacted]

19. Missingno2, cause he [redacted]

#warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammercommunity #warhammer rogue trader #primarch #Warhammer #emperor of mankind #jaghatai khan #robute guilliman #lion el'jonson #games workshop

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joeinct · 2 years ago

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Entering the Eternal City, Aurelian Wall, Rome, Photo by Mario DiGirolamo, 1955

#Mario DiGirolamo

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nightscythe · 2 days ago

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v. appetence

→ lorgar aurelian x astreya [oc, she/her] → 5.5k, nsfw 18+ (but no smut?), tw its literally spiritual abuse, if you call it that, and pretty heretical → pre-heresy (on his pilgrimage thing), lorgar gets a lesson in devotion from the evil spawn of erebus and kor phaeron

“Have you ever knelt without expecting something in return?” she asks. He looks up to her. His silence is enough of an answer. “True devotion, my beloved, is surrender. To give yourself up fully, without condition. To not expect. Can you do that?��

Yes. He can. He wants to tell her he can. Though his tongue refuses a lie. His hesitation again is his answer. She nods, slowly.

She tries to take a step back, but he stops her. His fingers wrap around her lower arm, stopping her from abandoning him. He looks to her, eyes wide and glassy. “No…”

“You are not worthy of me yet.” She removes his hand from her arm. Her lips ghost his knuckles, soft, reverent.

And then she lets go.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Another hour passes.

Another hour wasted.

Another endless passage of time that drives him to the brink of insanity. Torment fills every crevasse, every aspect of life he had ever known. His father. His failures. His desperation for meaning. The walls of his chamber close in, suffocating, thick with the scent of burning incense.

His mind is restless. He is plagued by thoughts he cannot silence.

Her.

Lorgar has not slept in days. His mind was restless, thoughts plagued with her. Astreya. Not his Father. Her voice lingers in his mind, unbidden. The words that leave her soft lips, taunting him lip the scripture he bowed to every day, yet offering him so much more.

The candles in his chamber burn low. Shadows stretch long across the floor, disrupted by the flickering of the flames. His hands are clasped before him on the desk, eyes staring down at the scripture which had remained unwritten for… days. Longer than he can remember.

Her presence should not be so welcome in his thoughts. His burden should be his father. Faith. The mission that consumed every fibre of his being – just until he had laid his eyes on her. A servant so faithful, so devoted, that it consumed him.

He looks up to the door before a sound is even made. He knew. She was the other side of his door. She should not be welcomed into his privacy. She should be turned away as any other person is.

Then a knock at the door leads his voice to betray him. Intoxicated. Addicted. His breath is low as the words leave his lips. “Enter.”

She does as he asks. The door is opened slowly, Astreya’s figure hidden so delicately behind. She wore black silks down her arms, robes draped over each curve of her body, shadows decorating any bare skin. She gives him one nod.

“I felt you call to me,” she says, taking the step into his chamber with confidence. Her lips curl into a smile, slow yet knowing, and she gazes over to him with the foresight he so badly wished to have as well. “I am here, my prophet.”

Lorgar hesitates. Had he called for her? Had she felt it? Or was his yearning so obvious, so unholy, that it bled into reality? Oh, his need to satiate his fixation was worse than ever. At first it was stolen glances. Then it was words. Now, everything.

“You hesitate,” she comments, stepping closer to him. He expects her to stop where others do. Pay him the respect of a primarch. Yet she moves closer to him; too close. He should move away from her. Maintain distance. Yet, he remains still.

She leans over the desk, palms disturbing the flood of pages with scribbled words and endless meaning. Her eyes catch the candlelight, and the flame burns so unnaturally in its reflection. She doesn’t even look him in the eyes – her focus moves down to the unfinished writing below him.

“You doubt,” she states, voice little more than a murmur. The tip of her left finger draws over his words, but she is not reading. Her eyes trail down the paper, to his robe covered torso, then up to his face. She meets his eyes, and he cannot breathe. “You seek something your father will never give you.”

Lorgar’s breath catches in this throat. She saw him. She saw straight through him. His fingers tremble beneath her watchful gaze, and she smiles as though she noticed. For so long he had tried to ignore her. She was not faith. She was not divinity. Yet, she was what he wanted.

And tonight, she would not let him ignore her any longer.

His breaths are barely there. He can taste the bitter incense weaved behind everything that reminded him of her. Every sense. Every feeling. Anything that kept his sanity, she had set alight with the flame of the darkness he wished to understand.

Then, she burned it all around him.

She leans into him, pausing first when her lips are parallel to his cheek, then stopping when her lips ghost his ear. He can feel her soft, warm breath on his skin. She leaves a whisper knocking on his thoughts. “When you are ready to learn, you know where I will be.”

And she was gone.

The door closes behind her, yet she was still there. Her scent, bergamot, blood, it lingers in the air. He watches the door as if she would return to him, but she does not. He’s alone with his thoughts, and things were not the same.

He looks down to the sheets on his desk. He tries to finishing writing, but his hands shake as he tries to put the ink to paper, fingers unable to perform such a simple task. His thoughts are simple, yet so loud. Astreya. Astreya.

He looks up again, slowly this time, though notices something new on his desk. A piece of the black veil that covered her hair lays forgotten on the edge. A scrap of fabric to be discarded, repaired maybe. He should leave it. Ask a servant to take it to her tomorrow.

He should not touch it. He should not grasp it between his fingers and lift it to his lips. He should not press it to his skin, feel it against his skin. He should not close his eyes and inhale deeply – memorizing her, intoxicated by her, devouring her presence in the only way he can.

But he does. Shamelessly. Pathetically. He holds it for far too long. His body betrays him, one more time.

The shadows mock him. This is not longing. This is not poison. This is not…

This is a lesson. She will teach him. He will understand.

She is with him for a reason. He could not escape her. It was a gift to him, for his true dedication. She would teach him, sweetly, thoroughly… with that saccharine venom she wore so well.

But the agony of wait would be too much.

He falls to his knees, trying to focus, to drown out her presence with his Father’s name, with the holy scripture he clung too. His salvation would be his consecration. Yet her name is echoed in every other word. He whispers a shadow of his own voice. Her touch still nearby.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Sleep never reached him.

He prayed, endlessly, emptily. Forced words of his Father broken by her voice that cut through. She spoke over his prayers. She spoke to him.

Instead of a bed, he made his way to the chapel. One place he thought he could find silence. As he walked, he avoided the mirrors, the pools of water, afraid to look inside and see her reflection behind him. His knees felt weak. His mind… broken.

As dawn had broken, he forced more prayer. He knelt at the shrine to his Father, to the Emperor, his hands clasped as he whispered verse after verse. You hesitate. You doubt. It was as though she stood beside him, whispering to him then. He looks around, like a mouse aware of the cat that stalked it, hoping to find her eyes looking back him. He never did.

You seek something your father will never give you.

It was the final straw. He had left the chapel before his prayers were ever finished. His Father was not the answer.

But everywhere he looked, he saw her.

The priestess who passed him in the halls, dressed in robes that covered all parts of her. He had stopped to look at her, his mind believing it was her. Her robes brushed against the floor just as Astreya’s did.

A whisper between maids. They wait for instruction, talking amongst themselves. A laugh – that was what caught him finally. He looks to the group, shocking them into silence. He searches their innocent faces, hoping to see her. Though it was her voice. Her laugh. He knew the very sound. It was unmistakable, yet she was not there.

His warriors address him, their words on empty ears. His First Chaplin and his First Captain, they must have known. He could tell. He could see it in their eyes, they mocked him as well.

He would find himself walking, just to pass the time until nightfall. The grand halls, the temples, the sanctuaries of his own making. It all felt empty. It was all absent of her presence, but he still felt her on him.

He finds himself in a room, cursed with darkness due to a lack of daylight. The room was used for sinners. Nonbelievers. Silence. He certainly felt it there, creeping over his senses, reminding him that he was alone. He no longer heard her voice, or felt her with him.

And it felt worse.

He stood in the middle of the room, embracing the darkness. His fingers clutch the piece of veil left with him, hidden in his pocket for the day as though he was humiliated by something so small, and it felt like it shackled him in place. He spoke her words now. That he was hesitating, he doubted, he wanted something his father could no give him. A prophecy yet to be fulfilled.

He closes his eyes, telling himself to stop. To forget. He can cast her from his thoughts, return to the path of faith, no longer accept what she may be to him. He did not need her. He did not have any use for her. She was another pawn in a game of faith, a test to him, to his piety.

He speaks her name.

Soft. Barely a breath. As the syllables leave his lips, he knows.

“Astreya.”

He lingers on each sound, the shape of her name rolling over his tongue like a prayer he was never meant to utter. Forbidden scripture, knowledge, something beyond him. The beginning of the end.

It feels like devotion. It feels like ruin.

He says it again.

And again.

Every repetition binds him to her. A silent admittance of the truth. She had overcome him. Conquered him. Owns him.

The silence that follows is deafening. Nothingness. In the absence of sound, the hairs on his body stand on end, nerves on edge for the slightest thing. She is not there, yet she stands behind him. A ghost, one that watches, waits, comes so close to touching him.

His grip on the veil tightens. I need to see her. I need to hear her. I need…

He doesn’t finish his thought. His eyes go back to the door, broken and old, and it’s almost broken from the force he opens it with. It slams against the wall, startling whoever walked the halls. They make way for him as he takes each step.

He returns to his chambers, breathing deeply. He tries to clear his mind. Cleanse himself of the madness. He could not be broken so easily. Chained by the yearning he knew little about. He thought he could erase her memory without consequence. He would return to her, under his terms, under his control. He would not linger. He would not crave her.

The moment he returns to his room he is met with the same incense as last night. A subtle reminder that he had already broken.

He looks down at the fabric between his fingers. He lifts it up, though stops the moment he smells her again. Another deep breath to clear his mind, or to drink her in once more.

His fingers unclench from the fabric. He sets it down on his desk, smoothing over the material with slow, deliberate movements, until it lay flat yet creased on the stone. He turns back to the door, but then he hesitates. Just for a moment. Only a brief pause. The smallest indulgence.

His fingers twitch. He looks back over his shoulder, as if yearning to reclaim what he has just put down. He steps forward and breathes. His hands are forced into fists at his side as he tells himself his own truth. What he wanted to hear.

He would never speak her name in the dark again. He would not desire her. He would go to her, learn from her in the ways faith had promised him, and he would be free of this. He is in control. He is… pretending. No. No.

He does not think anymore. His thoughts betray him like his body and his words. Poisoned, tainted. He could not trust himself. He could trust her. He no longer hesitates or doubts. He does not consider what this means. He just moves.

His feet carry him from his chamber, faster than they should. He does not run, but it was close. The halls blur around him, the golden light casted through stained glass casting shadows across his path. Like a man possessed, he hunts for her chamber, the room he had given her yet scarcely visited, knowing that she waits for him at the end.

She can explain this. She can tell him what it all means. She can make his thoughts orderly once more, she can cleanse the need he felt deep within.

She can remind him that this is all a lie.

The door is already ajar.

Another voice, another soul inside. The sight of his First Captain embellishes his eyes. Kor Phaeron steps out from behind the door, his smirk sharper than usual. He smoothes over the fabric of his robes, creased and tattered like they had been thrown aside. Lorgar meets his eyes, but the First Captain does not move.

Lorgar walks straight past him. He can see the smirk. He can feel the scrutiny, the unspoken amusement from his gaze. But he does not care. He doesn’t acknowledge him. He does not falter. He just moves.

She sits inside. Candles burn at every corner of the room. She had been waiting for him.

Of course she had. He did not need a purpose to be here. She served him. She was his disciple. She was everything he needed. He does not even greet her, but neither does she. Astreya only watches, a knowing smile curling at the edge of her lips. She does not rise. She does not move.

“You knew I would come.” He stands before her, breathing ragged, his hands clenched at his side. For the first time in days, he felt measured. Controlled. “This is your doing?”

Her head tilts softly to the side. The flame of a candle flickers in her eye, taunting him with her own amusement. Before he can repeat his words, affirm this time, she finally rises. She’s slow, like a tiger after a meal. Not a care for him or his troubles.

She stalks closer to him. Then, she’s too close. He feels his breath catch in his throat. She reaches out to him, the tips of her fingers ghosting the barest fraction above his skin, though never quite touching.

He does not move. He does not breath. Lorgar cannot do either.

And then, contact.

She touches his burning skin. Just the lightest graze. Her fingertips brush against his palm. The smallest of offerings to him, yet he reacts instantly. He inhales too sharply. His hand twitches beneath her touch. He had waited for what felt like millennia; for her words, her touch, her.

“My beloved,” she whispers to him. Her words hit like the fiercest lightning strike. Haunting. His throat is dry. His body betrays him once more. He can barely suppress the urge to grasp her wrist, to demand more, to force her to give him what he now knows he cannot live without.

She moves her hand up to his chest. It rises and falls too quickly. His mind races too fast. Then, she touches him once more, just her hand, just the weight of her palm against his skin.

And it undoes him.

His knees hit the floor. The stone may as well have crushed beneath his weight. He does not even realise he has fallen until the candlelight shifts, until he sees her eyes above him, watching his every breath. He is desperate. He is done.

He holds her eyes for less than a second, breath leaving him as he falls towards her. He rests his forehead against her stomach, bare from the usual robes she wore. As his eyes fall shut, he breathes in every piece of her, unable to think of anything more.

She is warmth. She is salvation. She is suffering incarnate.

He feels her fingers on his scalp, nails just scratching the skin, though he can’t be sure. The tattoos and scar had left him numb. His body shudders with every millimetre she moves. Then, she stops.

“Do not kneel,” she says. Her voice is soft, commanding. He doesn’t look up to her until he feels her hands on either side of his face, cradling his cheeks to move him away from her. She lowers herself before him, kneeling so they are both level. He is not below her. Not beneath her. “Do not kneel, my king.”

As she moves her hands away, he feels the loss of her touch like a wound. Though they are sooner replaced, her fingertips moving slowly across his skin. She follows the inked words, the scared lines that stretch over his skin. First his thighs, then his stomach, then his chest. His godhood, marked on his skin.

He closes his eyes when she reaches his heart. A single breath is exhaled, body shaking without restraint. He can’t bear to look. To see what may disappear. For this not to be real. He must confirm for himself. He has to surrender.

His hand rises before he can think to stop it. His palm is placed on her waist. One single touch on her. One single act of need.

“My beloved,” she repeats her earlier words. Lorgar’s jaw tightens. She leans closer to him, and he feels his grip on her waist tightening. He can feel her breath on his skin, her lips ghosting his throat, this jaw, hovering over his own.

He could take her. She would let him. He knows she would let him.

His hand slides lower, following the natural curve of her body until his fingers press into the small of her back. He urges her closer, silently, and she moves willingly.

Their eyes are fixed as she crawls forward. Though her head is tilted, lips open as though she has words left unsaid, she remains silence. She shifts her body until she almost straddles his thighs. Almost wishes him to move his hand down lower. Their faces are less than an inch apart. Her lips are right there.

He does not question anymore. He is past that. She moves closer, and his thoughts abandon reason – this is it. The surrender. The moment he has longed for. He will know her.

Then, her lips part, and his ruin follows. “You are not ready.”

His breath falters. His soul feels shattered at her very words.

He is so close.

He does not move. He does not force her hand. But, he doesn’t let her go. She would not give him what he craved. He almost says her name, almost begs. She pulls away so slowly that her warmth still lingers in the air. A smile graces her lips. Anger is somewhere within him.

Before she disappears entirely, she stops. He parts his lips to speak – to plead – but she silences him with two fingers pressed against his mouth. A cruel imitation of what he truly wanted.

With the softest whisper, she speaks to him. “Tomorrow, I will teach you devotion.”

She is gone before he can stop her. The air is thick with incense and something else – his own devastation. His fingers twitch at his sides, his nails nearly biting into his palms. He had not even realised he had been holding his breath until it escapes him in a silent, broken exhale.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He doesn’t recall the moment that slumber had finally found him.

It was not rest, it was exhaustion. His mind still felt tempestuous as his eyes fell open. The floor was cold, yet his skin burned. Wished. Yearned. He inhaled sharply, still grasping what was left of her scent in the air, desperate to hold onto anything of her before it faded. Before she was gone.

It offers no relief. He still aches. Still yearns. His hands press weakly against the stone as he tries to rise, but his strength is gone. His body is leaden, his mind ablaze. Across from him is the desk she had originally found him at, staring back at him in despair. Behind, a mirror, a vanity piece he had been told to not remove by his counsel. He can see her in it. She had left him, not truly.

I will teach you devotion. The words burn inside him. Tattooed on each of his organs, on his soul. Over and over, they repeat. His first prayer, his only prayer for that day.

He keeps his silence.

The day is long, longer than any other. He does not speak of the night before, even with the mocking smirk of his First Captain. He knew. Lorgar would not speak, but he could not say the same for others. He did not dare utter a single word.

They talk around him, his most devout warriors, the others sent to watch over him by his Father. Men who had given their lives to follow him were at his beckoned call. Ready. Willing. Waiting.

But his thoughts were so far from them. Not a man had occupied his mind in days. Not even his father.

No, it was her. His thoughts were with her.

He feels her with him. A ghost, a spirit, it sits with him. Embraces him. He looks down at his arm as though he would see her there, but nothing meets his gaze. As his eyes fall back to the table, the endless books that he had written, he falls trap to it again.

Her breath. Her touch. The weight of her in his lap. Her warmth. Her. She was so close to him. Her lips, then her fingers, then her promise. I will teach you.

His breathing hitches. The room around him falls silent, all eyes turning towards him. Did they hear it? Did they see him? Did they understand?

“My Lord?” a voice asks, curious yet reserved.

Lorgar’s breathing stills. He looks up to the council around him, meeting the eyes of his men. They do not question him in that moment. “Continue.”

He had not looked back to any of them. He thought the table was the only witness to his humiliation, his suffering. The truth was, they all saw, and they all noticed the unspoken tension within him. Something held him back. Something was happening.

The day felt endless. Words trailed beyond comprehension, the twisted vault of his mind possessing him. It dragged like a knife across raw flesh. All over his body, everywhere her finger had traced his skin.

I will teach you devotion.

His thoughts return as he stands in his favoured temple. He looks around, seeing the faces of his most devoted followers, his loyal disciples. His fists clench at his side as he finds his First Chaplain amongst them. Beside him, she stands tall.

She listens to the sermons, something he should be doing too. She watches his every move, as if he didn’t do the same back to her. He feels the warmth of her body. The press of her fingers to his lips. It’s unbearable. She’s so close. She’s right there.

He sees it. An invitation. A small smile as their eyes meet. It is not a smirk, nor a grin. Something knowing. Amused. She didn’t watch him as her prophet. Not as a believer in his word. This was something else entirely. His temptation; his tormentor.

He takes a breath as he moves to step towards her. Quicker than others, she shakes her head. Not yet.

He endures. He burns. He waits.

He forces himself to suffer in silence, following her will above all else. He does not know how long he stands there. Time had been forced to nothing more than a crawl. Minutes feel like years. The sermon is not something he can tune into any longer. He only thinks of her words. His first prayer. Her body. Her voice. His mission is no longer what it was before, his faith has been changed in a way that others could not understand.

He listens. He learns. He does not move toward her again. Obedient, listening to her every word.

The second dusk had fallen, he no longer hesitates. His duties are discarded. He moves once again. He would think the very will of god had transported him in front of her, for he did not remember a second of it. To her. To his salvation. To his suffering.

To his obsession.

She is waiting. Of course she is. She is always waiting.

“My dearest Lorgar,” she says softly, inviting him into the darkness that surrounded her, “it’s time for your lesson.”

Tonight, she will teach him devotion – and Lorgar Aurelian will never be the same again.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The door closes behind him. He tries to look around, see who had disturbed them, but she’s there already. The tips of her fingers creep up his cheek to stop him from looking. To keep his eyes on her.

“You must concentrate, my prophet,” she says. Their eyes meet, the darkness of her eyes contrasting his own. He nods, gently, barely moving. Her hand drops to her side. His breath quivers unknowingly. “You will learn.”

He feels his hands reach for her, though she catches his wrists with the barest touch. Her grip is so loose, yet he feels bound to her, unable to move, unable to breath. His body trembles as he waits for more. Yet all she does is watch. She forces him to told still as she considers him, eyes gazing over his body, examining his very being, like he was little more than an offering to the Gods.

“You are desperate,” she finally states, meeting his eyes again. She moves her hand to his chest once more. Her nail edges over his collarbone, then down the centre of his chest. “Do you even know what you are asking for?”

“Tell me,” he pleads, “teach me.”

She hums. “My beloved, you know this. Devotion requires suffering. Worship demands sacrifice. You must endure.”

She strokes his cheek, watches as he shivers beneath her touch. His body aches. Yearning. Needing. He tilts his head into her touch, eyes falling closed as her name leaves his lips. Then once more, and again.

“You will be rewarded,” she whispers, voice beside his ear. His eyes dart open. She’s right there. Their skin almost touches. Then, it does. Softly, just at the corner of his lips, she presses a kiss to him. She watches him, lips gapped as her eyes flicker down to his own. “My dearest Lorgar. My prophet. My fallen star.”

She takes a step back from him an turns to face the other way. He can’t move, but his eyes watch. Beg. His voice barely breaks a whisper. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to be what you want.”

“To suffer is to prove devotion.” His own words sound twisted in her voice. She turns back to him, not looking away from his eyes. “What is it you need?”

“You.”

“And we must learn humility before we may ascend.” Her words are accompanied by her hands reaching to her shoulders. The drape of material is pushed off the edge. Beneath, her skin lays bare. His breath catches in his throat as her body is revealed. He shifts, ever so slightly, ready to move. “No. Do not move.”

His nostrils flare, feet planted back on the ground. He watches. His hands twitch. Her body, naked beneath, calls out to him. Begs for his touch. Wants to be his. Her watchful eye does not allow him to move. He will not be unworthy. He will not be weak.

“This is not your reward, my prophet,” she says gently. The robes meshed into a skirt are discarded. One step towards him, then another. She’s almost within touching distance. “No, I am your test. Your suffering, to prove your devotion.”

He wants to beg. Scream. Take. Demand. Claim every part of her. It would all be his. It could all be his. But he cannot bring himself to move.

“Until now, you knelt at the feet of a false god.” She steps towards him again. Her hand is on his cheek again, thumb tracing a line over a healed wound. “Not today. Not again.”

He understands. He feels her request. He makes sure her touch does not desert him as he moves to his knees before her. His eyes begin to tear. He leans towards her, reminiscent of the night before. His forehead reaches her stomach, pressing against it as he murmurs her name. Any other word is twisted until it sounds like her name.

Yes. He can. He wants to tell her he can. Though his tongue refuses a lie. His hesitation again is his answer. She nods, slowly.

She tries to take a step back, but he stops her. His fingers wrap around her lower arm, stopping her from abandoning him. He looks to her, eyes wide and glassy. “No…”

“You are not worthy of me yet.” She removes his hand from her arm. Her lips ghost his knuckles, soft, reverent.

And then she lets go.

His fingers shake. Plead him. Beg him to reach for her again. To feel more. Have her again. But she is already out of reach. “You have not prayed like this before.”

“Please.” His words are soft. Broken. Desperate. He sinks closer to the ground. “You cannot leave me like this.”

Her features remain still. The candles burn out behind her, shadows cast across her face. “You do not command me, my beloved.”

“We must give ourselves fully to faith.” His hands ball into fists on his thighs. Every part of his body throbs. Aches. He notices her intrigue. She steps back to him. He looks down her body. Scars, tattoos, her own devotion. She knows. She understands. He lets his hands go, holding his palms upwards on his thighs. “I give myself to you. I offer myself to you.”

Her head tilts. The smile she wears is full of amusement. She reaches behind her head, pulling something away from her hair to allow it to fall by her sides. It sways behind her as she walks. She stops before him again, sinking to the ground so their knees are centimetres apart.

She does not speak. She reaches for his palm, holds it in her own hand for a moment. His breathing is heavy, suffocating the room around them. Another candle dims behind her. She traces down the lines of his palm, waiting. Expecting. Requiring. She does not move. Not yet.

Lorgar realises. He makes sure her eyes are on his when he speaks. His voice is raw, hoarse, barely above a whisper. As he speaks, she moves towards him. “…Can I? Please?”

She pulls back from him. Deep at the pit of his stomach, he feels a burn. Agony. The tips of her fingers drag across his arm, up to his throat. Tense, hot, he feels her nails press into his skin. She traces his pulse, dull pain throbbing through his body as she reaches his jaw and turns him to look at her. She presses harder as she speaks. “Again. Slowly.”

“Please.” He follows her command. Each syllable is sounded correctly. Each repition strips him further. His breath stutters. His chest pounds. She watches, unblinking, uncaring as he unravels at her feet. “Please. Please.”

Astreya stops. She lets go of him, though her warmth still radiates around him. A pause, not unnatural, has his blood run cold for the shortest moment. Then he feels it. A flicker of hope. A reminder. She is mine. I can have her. I will have all of her. I… am hers.

She smiles. She leans in, her lips brushing against his ear. “Now… you understand.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

a/n: I am very sorry but I wanted him to suffer – and suffer he did. would very happily do a part 2 continuing, I think you know what happens next but... what an interesting read. anyway, hope you enjoyed!! :) excuse any mistakes pls...

#think I need to change her lil picture thing tbh she's very dark #lorgar x reader #lorgar x oc #primarch x oc #primarch x reader #lorgar aurelian #warhammer 30k #warhammer 40k

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