#Horus Oc

[anooblii]

''Your Majesty, your sons have been caught dumping buckets of sand over the temple guards - again.''   

Oh dear, Thoth isn't too pleased! Thoth is an Ibis, and Advisor to Pharaoh Osiris. He's often the one who caught Anubis and Horus when they were up to no good as kids.

[ltmctrung]

it is a time of legend. And overpriced alcohol

[ardentinwoe]

To Dust

[komosharesocs]

Started working on a Lancer character, my creepy little scrungly

[nightscythe]

primarchs' obscure fetishes/kinks

as in random, not so talked about fetishes they may have. trying to improve my smut writing skills cause it's not my forte. i was trying to research some of these to make them better and i read some like. dirty shit. fucking loved it mate. i learnt new words and all.

would happily do a shitpost version btw, or more "taboo" vers.

very nsfw, 18+ below the cut. based on pre-heresy. i've tried to make each one as gender neural as possible.

tw for some of these, especially somnophilia and hypnosis. i have made them as consensual as i can. angron's one is reader unaware. it says at the start what the fetish/kink is, if you're not into it, don't read it, that's all i can say. enjoy otherwise!

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the lion: somnophilia. his jaw is clenched. every part of him ached. he'd not been sure why he came here, he should have been preparing, planning, but he couldn't get you off his mind. and now he as here, and you lay peacefully before him, his body only yearned harder. remembering the way you reached for him that morning, how he pulled himself away from you for duty, and regretted each moment since. each part of his armour is discarded, his trousers hastily unlaced as he kneels beside you, gently caressing your thighs, not wanting to disturb you too much. he leans over you, nearly each part of you touching, and presses a soft kiss to your neck, then your jaw, and whispers your name. his fingers twist into the sheets as the softest whimper leaves your lips. i'm back, my love, he tells you, let me take care of you now. when he thinks you’re not listening, that’s when he shows his caring side. 

fulgrim: vicarphilia. you're sat beside him, deep in conversation that you'd drifted in and out of. but then you hear it. really? do tell us more, as his fingers wrap around your wrist. you steal a glance his way, but his fixation on his guests doesn't change. they share an intricate story of debauchery, their narration not missing a single detail. as the story goes on, he finally looks your way, the sweetest of smiles on his lip, a silent ask as he grips your hand a little tighter. a polite excuse is given before he leans down to you, a murmur that you should have expected, every single thing they did, his voice pauses for a moment as that regal smile falls back onto his lips, i'm going to do to you tonight. he makes sure his guests never miss a single detail. every single touch, every single denial. his eyes get darker with each admission. he’d not explain why it makes him feel this way, maybe it is the thought of you in those positions, or maybe its just the thought of the sex itself. either way, he’s not missing a single detail. 

perty: kinbaku. he'd stood and admired his work. you were perfectly presented, restricted, artistically refined with beautifully intricate rope tied in all the right places to ensure you couldn't move without his help. he circles you, fingers ghosting your skin, each of your nerves sparking as he disappears from view. you're on your front, hands are behind your back, thighs and hips suspended from above. you can feel his touch drag across your thighs, the rope not too tight, but enough to feel everything, and when he takes his hand away, a soft gasp leaves your lips. don't move, his voice commands, and though you feel your thighs tighten in response, you keep still for what seems like minutes. when you feel him again, its a challenge. he dares you to go against him as he finds your most delicate areas. as long as you endure, he'll give you everything you want. good pet. 

khan: acarophilia. he used to tell you he loved it when you were on top. he loved seeing you that way, admiring you, watching you take charge. but recently, he'd always wanted you to be beneath him, writhing with his every touch, unable to form a coherent sentence as he filled you up. you thought it was a dominance thing, seeing you so small compared to him, but then it clicked. his hands hold you steady as you straddle his thigh, his leg bouncing, your face buried in his shoulder. as he rocks you back and forth, almost naturally in a way, your fingers clasp onto any part of him that's nearby, your nails digging into his skin. as you begin to lose yourself, you grip falters, your nails dragging over his skin, and you hear him practically growl. again, he dares you, mark me as yours, little one.

leman: odaxelagnia. he smothers you. he holds your hands above your head with one hand, he holds your body down with the other. he lives off each of your cries, the sweet sounds leaving your lips urging him to continue. and though you were both clothed, you could feel all of him, how his cock throbbed for more, but he held himself back. he was preoccupied, crafting a masterpiece of purples and blues on your neck, shoulder, and collarbone. he only stops to look up at you, searching for approval, then sinking his teeth into your skin one more time. you beg him, over and over and over, but he takes his time. only when he's satisfied does he stop rutting his hips towards you, finally giving you what you really wanted, knowing that next time his canvas would be the soft skin of your untouched thighs. 

dorn: joi. he didn’t want to rush. he wanted every single second of this moment of sin to stay with him forever. you’re sat across from him as he kneels on the floor, thighs spread, hand wrapped around his aching cock. you’d told him exactly where to be, how to sit, what you wanted him to do. he’d played the voice recording over and over to make sure he followed your instructions perfectly. faster, your voice calls to him, imagine its me. his hips stutter, sigh falling from his lips as he tries so hard to be composed. you’re not with him, yet he listens to you, even if he doesn’t want to. he wants you to be proud of him for following every instruction. he wished you were watching him to see how good he was and reward him with the mouth he loved so much. 

curze: psychrocism. he’s behind you, arms wrapped around your body. from above, the freezing water walls over you both - you’re still not accustomed to the temperature, your body squirms from each drop. the way your nipples peak from the stimulation, how you push your body into his to seek the smallest bit of warmth from him. his cock twitches against your skin, but he resists for a little longer. he presses his lips to your neck, his touch softer than usual, as his rough hands reach over your stomach, waist, hips; anywhere he could reach. seeing you shiver beneath him, he can’t explain what it does to him. but there’s a reason he always brings you back here, knowing he’ll fuck you against the wall under the freezing water when he’s done watching you whine for his warmth. 

sanguinius: pecattiphilia. no one would believe you if you said anything. no one would dare to think their pure and noble angel was capable of such acts. yet he knelt before you, on his knees, mouth occupied with pleasuring you with those perfect lips and masterful tongue. there was nothing pure about it, and he knew it. as your fingers twist into his hair, holding him down, telling him how good he is as he gets you off, he can’t help but think how others would react if they knew this side of him. submissive, yearning for touch, desperate for more. he fights back against your hands to look up to you, asking so politely, please can i have more. this side of him was for you, and you alone. but the thought of someone else knowing, that someone could walk in on him right now and see the truth… it drove him crazy. 

ferrus: technophilia. he had refined you. he’d removed every part of you that made you weak, and changed you into the embodiment of perfection. made you flawless. he had even impressed himself with his tiny adjustments, tweaking colours and minor wiring and other bits that wouldn’t have even crossed anyone else’s mind. he’d made you perfect for him. he’d sat back, leaning against the wall, looking down at your hands that wrapped around his cock, stroking him in the exact way he needed, watching him with an eye innate desire to learn precisely what it was that pleased him. and as he finally got his thick cock inside you, he’d know you could take more, he made you just for him. don’t make me repeat myself, he’d tell you, knowing you’d relax and let him take you. the smile that rests on his lips is intoxicating, and his fingers grip your chin to make you look directly at him as he speaks. good. obey me. 

angron: auralism. he’d be ashamed to admit to anyone just what he did. they’d think him weak for not approaching you. he could have as much of you as he wanted, yet here he was, stood on the other side of a wall that was far too thin, palming himself as he hears you. he’d discovered it by accident one day, but the second he heard a whimper leave your lips, he stayed. and he became obsessed. he had no idea what you were doing on the other side, but it didn’t matter to him. the way you moan, unaware anyone could hear you, whimper at presumably your own touch. it’s all he needs. maybe one day he’d let himself in, show you what attraction you’d gained without knowing, but for now he’d keep it his secret that he got off to just hearing you. 

rob: endytophilia. he remembers when it started. how his gaze followed you all day, how his heart had raced as you got closer to him. his hands showed you just how desperate he was. he turned you around, pushed you against the wall, his clothed bulge pressed firmly into you. he presses a kiss to your jaw, hands roaming over your body, fascinated by how it feels under your clothes. the way you said his name made him growl. don’t move, he whispers, lips ghosting over your ear as he rolls his hips into you, you don’t leave until i say, my love. there was no time for him to find a more suitable place, to even undress you. he slides his hand into your underwear to please you, pushing it to the side to have his way with you after. he didn’t anticipate enjoying it as much as he did. now he has you dress in sweet clothes that he touches you through, pushes aside, and admires afterwards. 

morty: chastity. he’d been obsessed with your purity since he met you. how you were so different to everyone else he knew, how you spoke to him with such grace, how your touches were meant to be everything but sexual. but his wicked mind, it made everything into more. and now he can’t get the thought out of his head. at first it was just having you look pure, wear white, such a stark contrast to him, but then he had handed you the cute-looking leather and metal belt. my little fawn, would you wear it for me? his cock twitched at the thought of you coming to him, begging him to take it off because you wanted to touch yourself. knowing he had that kind of control, that you willingly let him take control over your purity? it was only for him. if you wanted to touch yourself, he’d be there to witness it all. every single time. 

magnus: hypnosis. it came naturally to him, letting his mind overtake your own, tell you how to feel, when to feel it, all at his mercy. he’d asked you to let him try something, to see if he could get you off without touching you. so there he sat across the room from you, nothing more than his words causing you to feel an intense ache. he’d tilt his head, curiously watching as your hands twist into the sheets and your body contorts as his words fill your mind. does it feel good, imagining my mouth all over you? his smile only deepens as you rock your hips. maybe he’d taken it a step further and used his powers to make you feel it too, he couldn’t deny you that much. my heart, do you know how much i want a taste? his breathing is heavy where he sits, his cock hard from how little of him it takes to have you squirm. even worse, when he knows you’re close to your high, he’d stop without warning, teasing you with the real thing. 

horus: narratophilia. he’s not an exhibitionist. the thought of someone else seeing what’s his? knowing your beauty in the way he does? never happening. but maybe its close. he’s sat beside you, a possessive hand splayed across your thigh, his grip light yet his fingertips still press into your skin to remind you he’s there. he’d smile like he was paying attention to whoever is speaking, but really, he’s planning. imagining. he leans to you, close enough that no one would be able to lip read, but maybe the words he says will carry in the slight breeze. if i had my way, you’d be on my lap right now, and i’d be fucking your tight little hole, his words are accompanied but nothing more than his grip on your thigh tightening. he shifts in his seat, so he’s as close to you as he could possibly be. forty minutes left. he can explain it all in detail. try to keep still, sweetheart. we wouldn’t want others knowing how hearing what i’ll do to you works you up. smug bastard makes it out like he’s not the one edging himself. 

lorgar: zelophilia. his heart rate is through the roof. his breaths are heavy. his hands grip onto the stone wall before him as he watches, knowing he’s powerless to it all. he could kill the man who had his hand on you without thinking, but then he’d no longer feel the ache through his body that grew the fire in the pit of his stomach. he reached his hand down, softly caressing himself through his clothes, eyes never leaving yours. when you finally catch his gaze, he has to stop himself from responding. anyone who looked closely would have noticed the way his eyes begged. and as you lean into the stranger's touch and let them touch what is his, not once breaking eye contact, he digs his thumb into his tip and starts to get himself off. he doesn’t care for anyone else. he just needs the agony of seeing someone with you to remind him that he couldn’t function without you. having you play along too? know exactly what your smile at another does? then go back to him and let him serve and devote himself to you? that is the euphoria he lives for. 

vulkan: lingophilia. he’s a caregiver. he wants to worship you, love you, support you like no other. and what better way to worship than his mouth? he hadn’t thought much of it at first, it was normal to love with every part of him. but something was different. feeling you in his mouth, tasting you, lapping his tongue whether makes you feel best. lay back for me, beloved, he’d say, his larger hands guiding you to a throne of pillows he’d built for you himself, you are meant to be cherished. he’s slow. devoted. relentless in his pursuit of adoring you beyond the realm of any other. he’d have you come multiple times, never expecting anything in return, just wanting to see you writhe from his mouth alone. but it doesn’t stop there. even when he’s buried deep inside you, length covered in your own release, he has his mouth around your nipple, or tracing kisses on your neck, or even finally stealing a kiss from your own lips for once. 

corax: hypoxyphilia. he had his hand around your throat. he’d been hesitant at first to do it, knowing how fragile you were. but when you’d been so eager to feel it, to be completely at his mercy, there was no going back. he’d imagined you’d be a whimpering mess in his arms, but this was different. you were on his lap, back against his chest, completely naked and at his mercy. his fingers gripped your neck tighter, knowing he could still go further without hurting you. his cock throbbed against his thigh as he fucked you with two fingers, working you open. your pretty little hands curled around his wrist and bicep, not wanting him to stop, but wanting to feel more. you like this more than you thought, right little dove? he chuckles to himself as he adds another finger, tightening his grip one more time. should i choke you whilst i fuck you too? he’s not lasting long when he does, if he even makes it that far. 

alpharius: sensory deprivation. it was just a pretty piece of baby blue silk he’d held in his hands, but it meant so much more. he’d been gentle as he tied it over your eyes, reassuring you, you don’t need to see. then you’d felt something slip over your ears, with his words whispered just before he left you with little more, just feel, angel, be good for me. no predictions, no warning – just trust in him. he’d take his time. he’d leave a lingering touch on your inner thigh, but then he’d be tracing your collarbone. his mouth, so warm and inviting, would be on yours, then it’d be tracing somewhere more intimate. he’s right there, touching you, making you feel pleasure like you haven’t before, and then he’s just… not. he can watch from the other side as your press your thighs together and shift on the bed, searching for him. but he’s in control. he decides when you feel good, when you can react, when you finally break. he’d be sitting across from you getting himself off just at the thought.

these are pretty tame. i will do a more taboo version if wanted, i have some ideas but not sure how they will be taken.

anyone want like.. a mournival version, or a night lords brooding pile version. i've got ideas...

[iluminatka16]

"From beyond the stars"

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

[Chapter List]

Summary: A girl from our world finds herself in a Warhammer universe in the 30th millennium. After a not-so-pleasant awakening, she faces a confrontation with none other than the Emperor of Mankind himself.

Tags: isekai, ending up in a fictional universe, primarchxf!oc (check note in the end), found family trope

Warnings: mention of failed suicide attempt, cursing

Word count: 3340

The first thing that came to Yelena's senses was the fact that it was… strangely quiet. Sure, she could hear the humming and beeping of machines, but nothing else. No conversations, no footsteps in the corridor. For a while she even thought that her suicide attempt had succeeded and she was now in some limbo or other shithole where she would have to listen to the annoying beeping for the rest of the world for her sins. After that, in addition to her hearing, her other senses began to work. She felt that her body was being enveloped by a quilt, made of a pleasant material despite its roughness, and that she was lying on a rather firm mattress and an exceptionally soft pillow. Then came the smell, and with it the sterile scent of disinfectant. Yes, this was definitely a hospital. Just why the hell was it so quiet?

Yelena tried to open her eyes, which proved to be a very difficult task. At any attempt to move, her body seemed to stand in hellish flames, radiating the worst pain she had ever felt. It was as if she had woken up from a long coma and had to learn all over again how to control her own muscles. Then she felt fear. The most primitive fear, like that of some animal. Something was wrong. Very wrong. She had no idea what it could have been about, but her mind was going crazy. She wanted to scream, whine, scratch her eyes out, curl up to hide vital organs or, preferably, jump off that bed and look for a small, sheltered space to squeeze into. She was not safe, everything was wrong. She didn't belong here, no, she needed to take shelter, hide, escape. Feelings of terror and panic flooded her like hot lead, sealing and burning her throat, suffocating her. The beeping of the machines became more and more unbearable with each passing second, like knives digging into her mind, torturing her, an invisible hand on her chest, pressing her to-

With the opening of her eyes, everything suddenly disappeared. Panting, like a wounded animal, she slowly rose to a sitting position and looked around. The room she was in appeared like a hospital room. The machines, on the other hand? That's another story. They were just… strange. Granted, the last time she was in a hospital was about seven years ago, but it probably shouldn't look like that. Second, why the hell was it so quiet in here? She should have heard at least some footsteps, not to mention other typical hospital sounds. But there was nothing. No voices, no rustling. Nothing, just the cursed beeping of the machine. She moved her hand, wanting to lift the quilt and get up, but felt resistance.

There were leather straps around her wrists, which were connected to the bed frame by some elongated piece of elastic material. Same for her left hand.

Ohh fuck fuck fuck. She was in so deep shit.

Apparently she ended up in a mental hospital and even more so in solitary confinement. Fuck, as if it couldn't get any worse, she looked down and saw that she was dressed in a white hospital gown. Great, that means someone else had stripped her down and dressed her in the thing. She was naked, not counting the thin material, and pinned to the bed. For a few seconds she considered trying to open her bonds with her teeth, but a quick inspection showed that they were too well secured.

A hiss. The sound of footsteps.

Yelena flinched, violently pulled out of her panicked focus by an unexpected new sound. She raised her eyes to see that a man dressed in a white coat was standing in the doorway. The first thing she noticed was that it was difficult for her to determine his age. He might as well have been in his late 20s or early 40s. Dark eyes, tanned skin, handsome face, long black hair tied in a ponytail. He was quite tall, but nothing… unusual? His movements were very calm and slow, and there was a slight, warm smile on his face. It was as if he was approaching a wild animal, not another human being. Although Yelena was not much different at this point from the terrified prey, who, driven into a corner, waited until the predator finally decided to lunge at her and rip her throat out.

“I apologize for this inconvenience. While you were unconscious, you had a seizure of spasms, which made us have to tie you up so you wouldn't hurt yourself.” The man's voice was low, but at the same time very pleasant. Again, a reference to the fatherly attitude popped into Yelena's head. She tensed up as he approached her, and the man, seeing this, held out his hands in a peaceful gesture. Slowly, as if he didn't want to frighten her even more, he unbuckled her right hand. Then he rested his hand on the edge of the bed and leaned over, reaching for her left wrist, and after a moment Yelena was free. However, she didn't dare move even a millimeter until the man took a few steps away, slipping his hands back into his coat.

“Can you talk?”

It was a strange question for a doctor. In general, the man was strange. His accent was strange. Even his fucking aura was strange.

Yelena concentrated, trying to gather herself to say something. Only now did she realize how dry her throat was.

“Yes.” her voice, even as she practically whispered, was hoarse. She forced herself to swallow her saliva, in an effort to provide any hydration.

“Good. What is the last thing you remember?”

It was a very good question. If she was now in a mental hospital, chances were that it depended on him whether she could avoid spending the next few days there.

“I leaned over the railing on the bridge and lost my balance. I fell over the railing and then the last thing I remember was the impending water.” Yelena was a good liar. A really good one. But something in the man's gaze made her feel as if he had just caught her at it. However, instead of confronting her story, he just smiled slightly. Again.

“How much longer are you going to pretend to be a doctor and play this game, My Lord?”

Yelena turned toward the sound and-.

oh

WHAT THE FUCK.

In the doorway stood an old man dressed in simple pale robes, looking at the “doctor” and at her with something like irritation. It was completely absurd, but the first thing she thought of was the fact that the man reminded her of a Warhammer 40k character named-.

“Malcador, I told you to…”

Yelena didn't listen further. As if burned, she jumped off the hospital bed, ignoring the pain in her muscles, and pushed it to the middle of the room, creating a barrier between herself and the two men. No, that didn't make any sense. It was some kind of joke. A hallucination. She had hit her head and now had brain damage. Or she was in a coma and just dreamed it.

“What the fuck. What the actual fuck.”

If it was a hallucination, why was the English he used so strange. Like, different sounding. She must have hit her head pretty hard. However, everything seemed so… real. She felt the cold tiles under her feet, the panic that flooded her body was as real as possible.

The pseudo doctor merely sighed, still not moving from his seat.

“I was planning to tell you a little more gently. From what I've read from your mind, our world is just a product of fiction, written on the pages of books, and believe your arrival is just as shocking to us-”

“Shut up. What the fuck are you talking about. It's just a hallucination, after all, there's no way anything like that could have happened. HE…” Yelena pointed an accusatory finger in Malcador's direction. “He…”

Wait a minute. Malcador was dead in the fortieth millennium. And he definitely did not address anyone as my lord, unless….

Neoth. The fucking Emperor of Mankind.

She just told the fucking Emperor of Mankind to shut up.

“You know one of my names. One of the many secrets you shouldn't have. And I hold no grudges for your words.”

Malcador just shook his head.

“Saying outright that you can hear her thoughts is unlikely to help the whole matter, My Lord. Look at her, she looks like, her heart is about to explode.”

Well, the old man's words were not far from the truth. Yelena felt as if her heart was indeed about to explode. Or her head. Or all at once. It didn't make the SLIGHTEST sense. NO SENSE AT ALL, ACTUALLY.

“Okay. Okay. Let's assume that you are not a product of my imagination. How the hell did I get here. And which millennium is it anyway, since Malcador is alive.” Yelena couldn't even think of using any sort of titles. Not now. She still couldn't believe what she was seeing.

“This conversation should wait until you calm down. Someone will bring you your robes right away, and in the meantime you should try to get yourself under control. I don't want to calm you down by force, so if possible, calm down, child.”

Well, doing so was not so easy. But just an hour later she was sitting in a comfortable, richly decorated armchair, wearing a soft tunic and wrapped in a fluffy blanket. In her hands was a steaming, creamy drink whose taste made her think of hot chocolate. She was told to wait here and the door was closed. So she had been waiting for the last twenty minutes, hearing hurried footsteps in the hallway. It wasn't enough time to grasp with her mind what had actually happened, but at least she managed to come to terms with the fact that it wasn't a dream. She had never seen the inside of the Imperial Palace (as it was clear from her deduction that this was where she was), and the decor of the place was completely different from what she had imagined. She had a chance to see the Custodians, and as they led her here, she passed at least three clocks along the way, and from each she could easily read the time, which matched in every clock.

That is, in short, she was fucked.

She was snapped out of her reverie by the turning of the key in the lock. After a moment, the door opened and there stood in it none other than Neoth himself. The doctor's coat had been replaced by rich robes, and long black hair flowed freely over his shoulders. However, his face, height and figure remained the same.

“I see you are slowly accepting the latest information. Good. We need to talk.” The emperor closed the door behind him and sat down in the chair on the opposite side. “You have many questions, but so do I. We'll do it like this. Once a question is asked by me, once by you.”

Yelena only nodded, not trusting her own voice.

“Good. So to answer your question, you are in the 30th millennium. And to answer your next question, which you would probably wish to ask. Yes, I have already created primarchs, but none of them have betrayed yet.” Neoth rested his hands on the armrests and looked at her with a slightly stricter gaze. “And before I ask my question, I expect you to be completely honest. You lied to me once. Don't try to repeat that mistake again. Tell me, what are you going to do with the knowledge you have?”

“I don't understand.”

“You possess knowledge about me that not even my closest friend knows. Knowledge that can harm my cause and me. What are you going to do with it. I'm not able to control your memories, so I can't just erase it.”

It was a very good question on which her life depended. Although the Emperor did not say it directly, Yelena was well aware that he was considering at that moment whether he should kill her or take the risk. She knew him too well, at least as a fictional character.

“And what should I do? Summon Tzeentch now and tell him your secrets? Or go to the cultists and give them this knowledge? I have enough knowledge of this galaxy to know how those who side with chaos end up. Xenos? The Orcs are not interested in that, and the Eldar would treat me like an animal, because I'm human. I have no one to turn to, even if I wanted to. And making an enemy in the most powerful man doesn't seem like a good idea at all.”

The emperor merely nodded. His facial expression hardly changed, except that he looked a bit more deep in thought.

“Your question.” It looked like he wasn't going to inform her so far whether he would leave her alive.

Yelena took a slightly deeper breath and put her cup down on the coffee table. What could she ask him? She had so many questions that she couldn't even formulate one.

“Why this form? I know that most of the Imperium knows you a little taller and in golden armor. I also know that neither the current one nor your official one is your true form. So why did you choose this one? You could have instantly changed into a huge man in shining golden armor and-”

“And give you a heart attack, child?” a gentle smile appeared on the Emperor's face. “The human psyche is fragile. I decided that the best choice for you would be someone less… intimidating. And warmer.”

Yelena slowly nodded, taking in this information. Well, yes, it made sense. Neoth, or whatever his real name was, was choosing for himself what form he showed himself in. Merciful on his part. A little too… merciful.

“And your question?”

“I wasn't able to get details out of your mind about heresy and the future. Maybe it's a trick of the chaos gods, maybe it's a prank of Warp, or maybe it's a merit of your mind, because I know you have quite warm feelings towards my sons.” The look the Emperor gave her, made Yelena momentarily regret that she had ever read any Warhammer fanfiction in her life. “I want you to give me the names and reasons of my sons who betrayed me."

“No."

“No?”

Yelena had no idea what she was doing. But every cell in her body was screaming not to give him this information. She saw that his gaze became stern again, and the Emperor straightened up in his chair. She was treading on very thin ice. One wrong word and her head would be separated from the rest of her body.

“I know that if I give you this, you will kill them. But if the heresy hasn't happened yet, that means there's a chance they can be saved.”

“You know who I am, and yet you're taking a risk by defying me to protect men you've never met.” Neoth tilted his head slightly. “You're an interesting person. Very interesting. And at the same time extremely brave and so kind as to be deemed foolish.”

The emperor mused for a moment, as if considering something.

“Good then. We will return to this conversation the next day. I know enough.”

Seeing that he was rising from his chair, Yelena also got up quickly, throwing off her blanket.

“Wait. What's going to happen to me? Are you going to kill me?”

Neoth stopped in place and looked at her. A slight smile spread across his face again.

“You passed my test, so for now you don't have to worry about death. In addition, it's been a long time since anyone around me disregarded all rules of ethics and royal protocol by speaking to me in such a familiar manner. That's… refreshing. I think I'm starting to like you. Come, child, I'll take you somewhere where you can rest.”

Well, yes, fucking titles. Yelena should have addressed him in a formal way, using “my lord.” However, in the turmoil of emotions she felt since she learned the truth, she didn't even think about it. Fortunately, it seemed that the Emperor didn't mind. Neoth opened the door and walked out of the small office. Yelena immediately joined him, but as soon as she looked out into the corridor, the friendly man disappeared, and in his place was a giant in armor so golden that she thought for a second that she would go blind. It seemed that that form there was reserved only for her.

The Emperor put his hands behind his back and started walking ahead, a silent command for Yelena to follow him. So she did. They walked in silence for a good few minutes before two figures she almost recognized appeared before her eyes. Much taller than any mortal could be, handsome in face and well built. Even without their powerarmor, any fool would have figured out who they were. Horus and Sanguinius. She had seen a lot of fanart depicting them, but none could even compete with what they looked like in person. The men strolled along, discussing something until The Great Angel spotted her. Almost immediately he fell silent, staring at her visibly surprised by what he saw. Horus, after a second, also looked in her direction and opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but eventually abandoned the idea.

Yelena felt her throat constrict and tears gathered in her eyes for some reason. Now she understood how much of a curse the knowledge she possessed was. Unable to withstand their gaze, nor wanting to accidentally cry, she sped up her step and drove her gaze to the floor. Fortunately, they immediately disappeared around the corner, losing sight of the two sons of the Emperor. Neoth didn't say anything upon seeing this, continuing to walk at a rather fast pace until they stopped in front of an ornate door made of dark wood.

“We are in the guest wing. You have all of it at your disposal, along with the garden, but don't go outside this area. And in particular, don't hang around my sons' chambers. You are a very curious phenomenon for them, and their curiosity is often… dangerous. You will find everything you could possibly need in your chamber. Meals will be delivered to you by the servants. Malcador will probably cuss me out for not keeping you in your cell, so for now try to stay out of his way.”

Then, without a word of goodbye, the Emperor turned and walked away in the direction from which they had come. Well, it could always be worse. Taking a deep breath, Yelena opened the door and entered her new bedroom. If she had been in a better state, she would probably have been stunned by what she saw. A chamber larger than her crappy apartment where she lived in her universe. A large window with a view of the huge garden, a massive bed in the center, obscured by a canopy, a desk, a closet, a fluffy carpet, a cabinet filled with books. Everything in a style that she associated with the Baroque era. Well, not counting the strange TV on the wall. Yelena walked over to the bed, opened the curtains and sank her back on the fluffy quilt.

Oh she was so fucked.

Author's note

First of all, so far I am writing this from the perspective of oc, because I have no experience in writing x reader. However, if there is such a demand, I will try to change the style to x reader (which I can't guarantee will work, because, as I said, I have no experience in this).

Second: let me know if you want more information about Yelena because I have a lot of lore for her!

If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments.

Tag list: @beckyninja @athenaremo @justfreakynothingelse @lukarus @synfiction @thatnightlamp @pirateshippers-first-mate @amoelcafe12345

[megsdoodletag]

yes ok I have been asked about the updated codex let’s talk updated codex

So. Post Plague-Wars. Ultramar system. Guilliman and Yvraine have a strong alliance, and in completely and totally unrelated news have a daughter named Juno Vaeyncaria Guilliman.

MEANWHILE…

on the other side of the Imperium, the Emperor is given a Text-To-Speech Device. Now the original ITEHATTSD obviously happens prior to Plague Wars so while the basic framework is there (kitten exists, magnus is back, dorn and his Boy are there, etc.) it’s obviously a lil different. Through a series of convoluted events we don’t need to discuss at this point, Magnus accidentally pokes the timeline in a weird way and pops the dead primarchs back into existence. They remember everything just fine! They are just. no longer dead. and now in 42k.

This brings us to what I’m affectionately calling ‘2012 Avengers Tower Imperial Palace.’ All the known primarchs are active, though some are still running around 'lost-ish' in the warp. Most of the previously dead primarchs are ‘recovering’ in their former residencies alongside the TTS crew, seeing to what’s left of their legion and figuring out what the hell is going on with. whatever is happening in M42.

Horus in particular is in a weird spot. first, of all the returnees, he’s alone. Ferrus makes up with fulgrim pretty immediately, sang is permanently covered in various marines of his geneline, konrad’s having a Great Time Actually (we’ll get to that later). but nobody seems to like horus much, a position he’s never been in, and this includes his legion which is entirely under abaddon’s control and not going anywhere in the near future. so he does what any guy going through a midlife crisis does and gets himself a hobby.

See, two supposedly dead primarchs remain unaccounted for after Magnus’ spell, namely the two original Lost Primarchs. by logic this means they must still be alive, somewhere. everyone else is unbothered by this, as Malcador’s memory spell disallows any concentrated thought of the two, and even though the primarchs are aware they had more brothers, to their knowledge dad went out to meet with them and something Went Wrong 🤷🏻‍♀️ and then he came back and retired shortly thereafter. weird! oh well.

but horus was not just killed, he was Unmade. when he was reconstituted it was as though he was new, without the stain of chaos.

and free of malcador’s influence.

while ostensibly crashing on dad’s couch, Horus throws himself into finding out what he believes is the key to all of this, the thing that poisoned the imperium before even the Heresy, the original Deviation from the Plan: whatever actually happened to the two lost primarchs?

Ok it’s later now. Konrad Curze always believed in fate. He followed it dutifully into its darkest depths, to his own grisly death.

And then he came back! He never saw anything about that! He figures that, having lived out his fate to its completion, he’s now free of it entirely. Oh he still has visions, but he’s much more lax in interpreting them, and thinks himself above their dictates besides. So. He still likes flensing people and thinks fear makes a fine method of control and hes still got…issues…but he’s not quite as stuck and he's having a wonderful time about it. and he’s also hanging around the palace bc he’s also got very little contact with his legion, which is either scattered or under Sevatar and/or whichever NL prophet we're on now.

So he gets roped into fucking around in emps’ restricted history section with horus! yippee!

The two actually work really well as a buddy-cop kinda pair, with horus slowly repairing his relationships where he can while konrad trails him and learns how to be alive outside of the narrow scope of his futuresight. Magnus inevitably sticks his nose into things and gets to work undoing the mind-block on the rest of them. Alpharius gets involved because it turns out one of the lost legions might actually still exist. and even lion and leman join the hunt cause honestly they're really curious at this point.

Eventually the uncles drag their niece and her friends into the whole ordeal, in part because she happens to have a particularly strong psychic presence that attracts lost and dead marine souls in the warp. Like a cooler, named character version of the Legion of the Damned. Usefull when trying to gain accurate historical info.

oh yeah and emps gets off the throne at some point. he’s not bothering with the Mystery Gang because he’s too busy being one half of a political deadlock with guilliman, where it’s very clear gman does not actually trust him to lead the imperium anymore and is essentially running his own show off-leash from ultramar, but neither of them are remotely willing to like, discuss this. in any way. so instead they’re just stuck awkwardly across from each other, guilliman never offering control of the imperium back to his father and emps never reaching to take the regent position from him and i think if he stopped to think about it this is bc emps would be. a little nervous about resuming full command back from guilliman. because he’s not sure guilliman would give it to him. and he’s not sure he’s in a position to handle that. again. but emps is allergic to being emotionally competent so his brain skates over that thought, unable to confront it directly with any introspection, and instead he just. doesnt mention it! and guilliman doesnt mention it and emps sits in the wreckage of the dream he accidentally set on fire himself while his son methodically does the work to put it out and they won’t look at each other and its fine its all. fine.

and that’s the Updated Codex! 👍🏻 feel free to ask more

thanks to @wolf_feathers12 for the chance to give my ted talk, and tagging @thisuserissilly for lore posts (tm)

[sigmaart39]

Introducing the Plague Chasers Homebrew Chapter inspired by the Plague Doctors

[littleouroboros]

Some light repairs

[linkedin-offficial]

new refs!

[dese-o]

Making this small comic was quite fun :3c (making the shadows with the textures was quite interesting, also still thinking on what craftworld to guide mr elf)

[singollofarseer]

The Order of the Jackal

It is one of my favourite things in the world, to dive deeper and deeper into the universe that currently interests me. I was amazed how the Fifteenth Legion was constructed in the time of the Great Crusade. The Three Red Orders, the five Cults, Fellowships, Sekhmet, the Rehati. You cannot convince me that Magnus’ special ‘rituals’ when conversing with his inner circle does not have its roots in the culture of Prospero, somehow. Every man had his place and his function, as well as symbolic meaning. I am here to spread my Prosperine propaganda, for this world lives in my head rent free for months now.

For anyone who do have their lives outside of fiction, context: The Order of The Jackal was one of the Three Red Orders, and was responsible for management of life and death in the Legion. Thus: training Acolytes, taking care of Dreadnoughts, etc. Often the members of this Order were former Apothecaries, because of their appreciation for life, and generally more compassionate character.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The Womb

Summary: You become Horus' cupbearer, unaware of the true role he has prepared for you.

Horus Lupercal/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, power imbalance, manipulation, forced medical procedures, breeding kink, dubcon

Word count: 4008

Author's note: Well, first of all, this is the most uncomfortable drabble I've ever written. Traitor Horus is a creepy dude. Secondly, I found the song he listens to every time before he goes to see his wife.

Song: Le Destroy - Breed

Crack the whip, break the skin Breed, breed, breed Take it out, push it back in Breed, breed, breed, breed

War spared no one. Neither the weak nor the strong, neither adults nor children. Everyone suffered, trying to find salvation in a Galaxy drowning in flames. You were one of trillions of people thrown out to be slaughtered at the whim of the Emperor and the Warmaster.

It didn't matter who you were in your past life. Whether you had many rights or were almost on the level of serfs. Whether you could provide yourself with everything you needed or you had to work until you were exhausted. All that mattered was that you were weak and defenseless. Meat that could drown the ambitions of demigods.

But instead of sending you to work like other slaves, they prepared a different fate for you. A much more luxurious and safe life than in your past. At least that's what they told you. They promised you a bright future, but you didn't believe a single word of it. How can the future be bright when worlds are burning in the fire of battle, and people are captured on ships like cattle?

You couldn't hope for anything good. Especially when you were told that you would be the personal cup-bearer of the Warmaster himself. The slaves who explained the rules of the job to you, preening you along the way, tried to calm your cries. They said that he was very kind to his personal servants. Besides, he chose you himself. Of all people, fortune smiled on you.

Perhaps you could have believed them, convinced yourself that everything would be fine. But you saw pity in their eyes. Saw relief. "It's good that it wasn't me," they thought. And it would have been better if they had said these words, and not the ones they constantly said out loud.

He likes you.

Damn them, they could have kept silent for the sake of sympathy. But sitting on the floor in the Warmaster's chambers, you wanted to hear their babble again. If only not to sit in this oppressive silence. Perhaps one day you would have been glad to be on the "Vengeful Spirit" and serve the primarch. But now you would gladly refuse such an "honor".

As soon as you hear the door creak, you immediately rise. You hope that your master will not see you trembling. He will ignore your reddened eyes and not pay attention. Hoping that Lupercal will show mercy to you and let you go would be too stupid and naive. Besides, as the slaves said, he desperately needed a cup-bearer.

He likes you.

Looking at the primarch, you were stunned. Thoughts got confused in your head, and your lips parted, unable to squeeze out sounds. Before you stood a massive giant, a creation of the highest human mind. A man who cannot be looked at without awe. One of the best warriors and politicians of the Imperium. The most beloved son of the Emperor. At least what he used to be.

Now before you stood a primarch who looked more like a daemon than a man. Horus' once beautiful face had become gray and old. But even with his short grey hair and wrinkles, the Warmaster looked like an old man, but he wasn't. He still towered over humanity and was ready to live a long, if not immortal, life. His bright, hellish eyes practically screamed it.

It is said that the sight of a Primarch would make weak-willed people weep in awe or even faint. Those who could cope with such feelings still felt the rapture of meeting the son of the Emperor himself. But you felt no awe. Only pure fear.

Horus smiled softly at the emotion he evoked in you. It only made you tremble more. How could such a gentle smile appear on the face of pure evil? As if Lupercal still saw himself as a hero despite the atrocities he had committed.

“Please, do not fear me. I promise I will not harm you.” - the Primarch slowly approached you and knelt down, as if talking to a wild, frightened animal. - “What is your name?”

You barely whisper your name, hoping not to burst into tears. And yet, a small worm of hope stirs in your brain. The Primarch probably knew your name, but still asked it out of politeness. Or out of a desire to calm you down. Perhaps he really will not hurt you?

“A very beautiful name, like its owner.” - your cheeks warm up and, under someone else’s laughter, you shyly lower your eyes to the Primarch’s chest. - “You will have simple duties. Clean the chambers, serve me drinks and food if I ask. And be near. I ask no more. Will you do this for me?”

You nod, thinking over his words, as if tasting them. Such a kind attitude towards you from the Warmaster baffled you. But he has no reason to deceive you. So why not let the man circle you like a wolf in sheep's clothing? As long as he keeps it on, you are safe.

“Yes, Warmaster.” Your voice is quiet compared to the Primarch. You cannot see his terrible face, but you feel it spread into a smile. You imagine it on a younger, truly kind Horus, not on your master.

“I am very glad to hear that.” The man's hand twitches slightly, as if to touch you. But instead, he rises from his knees and walks towards the table, leaving you behind. You inhale, realizing that you have not been breathing at that moment.

***

The job was easy, really. Horus Lupercal didn't ask much of you. Although you had a hard time handling the jug in your hands. But the primarch lowered the cup low enough for you to pour wine into it. He didn't have to do that, and yet the primarch took into account the difference in size.

He might not have cared about your needs. Yet you got the most comfortable, the best room among the slaves. In addition, your quarters adjoined the primarch's chambers. And you did not have to worry about who or what you would meet on the way to your lord. When you realized that the bedding was made of silk, you gulped. As a free citizen of the Imperium, you could not even imagine such luxury.

But that was just the tip of the iceberg. Your closet (you had a closet!) was filled with a huge number of sets of clothes. Including shoes and underwear. And even though it was obviously a servant's clothing, it was made of too fine a material. Too beautiful. The Sons of Horus pattern stood out in particular.

And that's not even mentioning your rations. Not to mention slaves, many free citizens of the Imperium could never afford such a sumptuous meal. Your entire diet was carefully selected. The food was tasty and healthy, and considering that you were forced to eat strictly at certain times, your stomach was always full.

You felt safe. Safer than ever. And the Warmaster was a kind. Even though you were frightened by his appearance and the deeds he had done, even now he exuded an inhuman charisma that confused you. His care was suffocating, but you could not refuse it.

Deep down, you hated the Emperor's beloved son, now a traitor, for what he had done to your home world. For what he had turned the Galaxy into, which he had once sworn to protect. But alas, with each day that Horus spoke to you, the burning feeling of rage gradually faded.

“You know, my sons used to attend the Iterators’ classes.” - the man’s voice is filled with sadness and you look in surprise at the Warmaster, who has thoughtfully settled into his glass. - “There will come a time when the wars will end, and my soldiers must be prepared for a peaceful life. So I said.”

Lupercal winces and throws back all the liquid before slamming the cup down on the table. You take your time filling it, unable to take your eyes off the man. The conversation is too frank for you to simply brush it aside.

“I love war. It’s in my blood. But I also love peace, I wanted the Crusade to come to an end. And for my sons to receive the recognition they deserved. For all the blood they shed for humanity.”

A wicked grin appears on the old man's face and you clutch the jug tighter.

“But not my father. Not the False Emperor. He wanted to get rid of us as Thunder Warriors. We were always tools, but I did not think he was truly going to destroy us. Did all those thirty years I spent with him on Terra mean nothing? I really, truly, unlike my brothers… saw him as my father.”

A crushing silence falls in the chambers. And although you still feel fear and the thin thread of hatred has not yet completely broken. You already feel something different towards Horus. A bright feeling that you did not think you would feel towards this monster. Sympathy.

“I am sure you would have been a better father.” - the words escape on their own, but you do not regret what you said. You really thought so, listening to the Warmaster's stories about his sons. Even about the “prodigal sons,” traitors like Loken, Horus spoke with unprecedented sadness. And with the hope of meeting again.

You see how something breaks in the man. Was it your imagination or were there uninvited tears in his terrible eyes? But the man only smiles brightly at you and holds out a cup, which you immediately begin to fill. Trying to ignore the primarch’s devouring gaze.

“Thank you, my dear. It means a lot to me.”

It is only praise. Just gratitude for kind words. Recognition from a mortal girl who will continue to remain in the shadows. You repeated all these soothing words to yourself, scolding your long tongue. Only it was too difficult to ignore the strange tension between the two of you.

And this was only the beginning.

With each passing day, you became more and more entangled in the nets kindly laid out by the Warmaster. You were afraid of his behavior, you saw that there was a ruthless monster in front of you. But you couldn’t help yourself, willingly following his lead. There was something bright in the man, which made you simply open up to him.

He increasingly talked to you about his past, hopes and dreams. You listened to his stories with unprecedented interest, akin to awe. Not because Horus chose you as a personal listener or remembrancer, if you could say so. It’s just that at such moments you forgot where you were, drowning in thoughts under the man’s voice.

And if before you tried to behave as quietly as possible, now you did not hold back your emotions. If before you stood still like a wooden soldier, now you could sprawl right in the chair and put your hands under your head. But most of all, Horus liked it when you were located on the floor right at his feet. This is how children usually sit when listening to a fairy tale.

“You had a terrible childhood.” - you purse your lips, pulling your knees to you. - “It’s terrible when your whole life has to be tied to death and battles. Especially from birth.”

“I didn’t approve of such rules either, but they appeared on Cthonia for a reason. Radiation, lack of resources, dangerous lands. You’re right, it’s not the best place for a child.” - the man looks into the distance, delving into his memories. - “But it was my “birth” there that brought peace to this lost planet. And I will bring it again when I arrive on Terra.”

Horus smiles softly at you and you smile back uncertainly. You couldn’t say exactly when you stopped being afraid of his inhuman appearance. And although the Warmaster sometimes withdrew into himself and it seemed to you that he was talking to himself, you became more and more attached to him.

You want to ask more about the gangs, but a sudden knock on the door confuses your plans. You quickly get up from the floor and move away from Horus, looking at him uncertainly. Should you open the door and let the guest in? You had already forgotten that there were other people on the Vengeful Spirit. And not only mortals.

But Lupercal stops you encouragingly with his hand before saying, “Enter.” You turn into a shadow again, and, having glanced at the Space Marine unnoticed, you even want to hide under the blanket, like a little girl.

Perhaps once, like his gene father, he was handsome. But now a man with the same disfigured appearance stood before the Warmaster. The new sewn-on face looked too unnatural on the man. And hearing that the guest was called Little Horus, you only cringed from the specific humor of fate.

But the worst thing was his look. Not because it was blazing with hellfire, not because they were covered in blood. It was just that Aximand occasionally, but still looked. Glanced at you. Like a beast ready to attack. You felt his invisible hands wandering over your body, stopping at places that were especially interesting to him.

When you had to pour wine for Little Horus, it was hard to stop trembling. He was still talking to the Warmaster, but at the same time he was staring at your face. Not at all embarrassed by his behavior. The worst thing was when before leaving, he turned to the Primarch, but he immediately answered “No.” You looked at the Warmaster with gratitude, who was smiling reassuringly at you.

“Please forgive my son. He is not yet accustomed to the presence of women.” - your uncomprehending look caused the Primarch to chuckle. - “I told you that my father planned to destroy all the Legions? It was for this reason that he took away my sons'... desire. So that they would never even think of creating a new generation of men."

The gears in your head begin to turn like a machine. You look at Horus in disbelief. "And you-"

"Yes. I gave them back what was taken from them. Of course, not all of them have fully grasped their new needs yet. And some can be a little... rough. But they learn quickly." - the primarch lowers his gaze to the bowl, speaking too slowly and quietly, almost seductively. - "Though I would welcome someone to show Little Horus what tenderness is. My son has been deprived of it for so long. He deserves a little peace, don't you think?"

Your silent and stunned expression said it all for you. The man chuckles, reminding you of a very pleased wolf.

"Well, all in good time."

***

You are becoming more and more confused. You do not understand what role fate has prepared for you. Why can't life be simpler? The fact that the servant (even though you were the Warmaster's own cupbearer) had her own servitors was already a misunderstanding. But when Horus inquired about you undergoing the necessary medical procedures, it became completely uncomfortable.

You were not tortured. One could even say that they took care of you all these weeks. They conducted medical examinations, treated you extremely tenderly, as if you were made of porcelain. But at the same time, they clearly performed operations. About which they told you nothing, not devoting you to a single detail.

Once you burst into tears in front of one of the medics and said that you were scared. You do not understand what they are doing to your body. But the woman stroked your hair and assured you that all the augmentations were personally approved by the Warmaster. They will noticeably improve your life and make your body strong enough.

"Strong for what?" the woman never answered.

The last time you went to the medic, you woke up in bed, expecting everything to be calm, like the last time. But in your lower abdomen, you felt a pain like you'd never felt before. It was like someone had punched your uterus multiple times, turning it into mush. You quickly pulled the covers away before sobbing loudly.

There was blood between your legs. Too much blood. All the white sheets were covered in it. Where did you get so much blood? Are you bleeding internally? Gasping, you touched your lower lips, unaware of anything wrong, before moving your hands to your stomach. You felt nothing. Nothing. But something was wrong. You couldn't be bleeding that much.

Did they cut out your organs? Did they put something in you? What did they do?!

“Am I dying?” Your muffled wheeze escaped through the flood of tears as you desperately thought about what to do. “I'm dying. Cut it out, take it away. What's inside me? What's there?"

You didn't notice when the medics managed to enter before you felt yourself being pressed hard into the bed. Panic attack. Hormones kicked in. Full compatibility with implants. Bless Chaos. What are they talking about?! But even if you had the strength to resist, it quickly leaves you as soon as the needle pierces your arm.

Darkness covers you. But instead of saving and peaceful calm, you find yourself in a nightmare. You hear the disgusting laughter of the people around you. No. Daemons. They laugh at your sacrifice, at your suffering.

They want to swallow your soul. Tear your body to shreds. But the only thing they can do is drip saliva on you. And laugh. And whisper. About how soft and pliable you are now. How easily you will stretch and fill up. What wonderful meat and functional organs you have. How well you have been transformed into prime cattle.

Into womb.

***

This time the bed is warm. And so damn soft. You feel like you're sinking into it like a little kitten. You wish you could curl up into a fetal position and never get up. But a noise nearby reminds you that you can't hide in this place. That you'll never be alone.

You slowly open your eyes and lift yourself up on your elbows. You realize with surprise that you're right in the Primarch's bed. The man, unarmored, is sitting on the edge of the bed. Bright yellow eyes are watching you. A gentle smile appears on his face.

"See, Sanguinius? I told you she was strong." You looked around the Primarch's chambers in confusion. There was no one else there. A chuckle was heard nearby. "She's so cute under the anaesthetic. Now leave us alone, brother."

You pull the blanket up to your chin, not taking your eyes off Horus. The chambers are unusually dark, only a few lamps are lit. But it seems to you that even if the room were pitch black, you would still see the primarch.

“He’s gone, you have nothing to fear.” - the man moves closer and puts his hand on your leg. It would be easy for him to break your bone. - “The medic has been given a full report on your condition. All operations were successful. But how are you?”

Your heart squeezes from the knife of betrayal. He promised that you would not be harmed. That you would not be hurt.

“What operations?” - your throat is hoarse from tears, and your eyes have long since dried out. - “Horus, what have they done to me?” - panic again engulfed you from head to toe as soon as you remembered the liters of blood. You began to choke from an excess of emotions.

Seeing what was happening to you, the man pulled you to his chest. Softly and tenderly hugging as much as his strength allowed. You pressed your cheek to his massive chest, trying to even out your breathing. The smell of sulfur permeated the clothes and body of the primarch.

“You have been prepared, dear.” - the man’s languid voice envelops you, penetrating into your insides. You want to run away, but Horus squeezes you too tightly. - “Taking a man is quite a difficult experience for a woman. And a primarch even more so. But I want to do everything right. So that our child is born as it should be. Like a human.”

The words left your mind. You felt deceived, so pathetic and insignificant that you had no strength to fight. You could not and did not want to blame the Warmaster for anything. Just let it all end. Just let him shut up. But as always, Horus opened his soul to you.

“I love all my sons. And yet, it was not I who did not raise them. I was not in their lives from the very beginning. I had never had a connection with any of them as strong as I had with my father. I wanted to feel that same feeling, but in a different way. To be an example. To be a mentor. To be a real father. But better.”

“My legacy will not be grown in test tubes and used as a tool.” - the Primarch’s tone darkens and becomes lower, which makes you press yourself closer to the man you want to hide from. - “I will not get rid of them. I will not abandon them. I will be a better father than my own. And you-”

Horus unhooks you from his torso, still holding your shoulders. You can hear your own heartbeat in your ears and how your whole body is stretched like a string. A monstrous smile lights up his old gray face, and his eyes burn brighter than ever, promising a future you have never seen before.

The Primarch slowly lowers you onto the bed, undressing you along the way. You can only sniffle and continue to watch. Continue to listen. All the slaves said you were lucky. But no one promised you that everything would be so easy. You yourself are to blame for your naivety.

“My father may not have wanted grandchildren, but Chaos was kind enough to tell me how to make them. The best specimens were collected, capable of enduring surgery and occultism. But of all of them, I chose you.” - a monstrous palm gently touches your cheek. - “I liked you immediately. So pure, so kind, so fragile. The perfect mother for my true sons.”

Your now naked body is covered in goosebumps from the cold. But as soon as the Primarch is on top of you, waves of warmth pass through you. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes, but instead of withdrawing into yourself or pushing the man away, you cling to him. Hug him.

You are scared and alone. But beyond these chambers, it is even more terrible. You could have ended your life in grueling work or under the weight of a Space Marine. You could have been experimented on by soulless people or devoured by daemons.

But Horus will protect you. He was evil, he breathed it, he was the very embodiment of darkness. And yet the way he spoke of you with tenderness, the way he touched you... you won't have a better option. You may have fallen into the clutches of a wolf, but with you he would gladly wear the skin of a sheep, if only you were not afraid of him. If only you loved him.

"I'm sorry that you are afraid. You see me as a monster, for I was created for war. But I sincerely wish for peace." - the man whispers in your ear and you are surprised to realize that he is crying. - "And after the death of the Emperor, it will come. I promise you."

You sigh, feeling a foreign organ between your legs. But your renewed body, albeit with a stretch, still accepts the primarch. You say nothing to Horus, instead allowing yourself to cry quietly. While your body fulfills its intended role. And you know that this promise will not be kept either.

[s0d1umsuns37]

My interpretation of the Dark King if it ever ascended

Dude is a giant shape shifting creature, a mix of several mythological beings, the beast of mankind

[capricornrabies]

A lovely piece I commissioned from the wonderful and talented @omaano . Thank you so much for bringing Hathor and Horus to life!

I will most definitely commission you again in the future Edit: I'm loving the reblog tags for this so I'm just gonna mention some lore for these two cause I love them.

Horus and Hathor were fast friends forming into an elder sister-younger brother type dynamic as battle forged that relationship and lean on each other quite a bit up until the uh- Order 66 thing-

[nightscythe]

dark sides of the primarchs' relationships

some of these are very dark (esp lorgar, angron, ferrus I guess) but I wanted to represent some of the less enjoyable themes in their relationships. some are kind of obvious, but I wanted to expand a little. again, it's how I write them, so you may not necessarily agree!!

now has a light sides vers ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა

18+ below the cut pls, it's sfw but some themes of death, obsession, etc, mostly pre-heresy

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the lion: struggles to interpret his feelings and often mistakes them as needs - namely, sexual need, but really any physical need. the heavy feeling in his heart because he hasn't seen you for weeks? must be because he had become used to your presence and his body must adapt to being without you. the burning in his chest when someone else dares to speak to you with a more suggestive tone? well, its not jealousy, it is his body telling him he needs you. overtime this would start to go, he would learn to interpret feelings in a more emotional way, but realistically he would need to care enough to want to try in the first place. he would always struggle though, turning every single one of his feelings about love into his duty. you're his responsibility, everyone else is a threat.

fulgrim: whilst it is obvious that his desire for perfection may have an impact on you, it has an equal burden on him. he always doubts himself, always taking a pessimistic view of both himself as a lover and to relationships as a whole. and your reassurance may never be enough, even if you do mean it and he seeks it out. he will always make each gift, each speech, each act of love bigger to meet his own desire to be better. and really? it can become more exhausting than anything. especially if he is always trying to prove himself and it sometimes starts to feel artificial. there would be a breaking point though where he finally realises to you, he is perfect, and there is nothing else he needs to do. but there is always that little, teeny doubt.

perty: trust issues will get to him more than anything. he'd need someone who has so much patience that it wears you down, but ultimately it would be worth it. the worst part is that he wouldn't often share how he feels, he keeps it to himself and sits brewing thoughts in his own head that you may just be like everyone else and not truly care. he'd keep it from you, never uttering a word, silently letting it all fester until it gets too much. and breaking down that wall he builds from his own thoughts would take a lot of time, a lot of effort, and a lot of letting him work things out on his own. that's probably the biggest issue - he has a lot of time, something you may not as easily afford.

the khan: his idea of love is different. in a good way, maybe, but different to others. love for him is choice, and he will not restrict you to it. if you want to leave him, then go. if you want to spend a day without him, then do so. he'd really need someone who can deal with his laid back approach (or more so, his promotion of freedom above all other things) to love. that can be tough. his free spirit may just be too free to some people, and that's just what life is like. don't expect reassurance or speeches of his feelings, they are not happening. he's quick to make his decisions, his conclusions, and he's quick to temper. in the right conditions, this can make a storm. if anything ever goes bad.. good luck.

leman: it flips with him, very sudden, very easily. one day he's so enamoured, so utterly floored by everything you do that he's got massive heart eyes and following you around like a puppy. other times he's in his own world, following his own free spirit, that it can make you feel neglected. all of this just ends up causing more and more anxiety, unknowingly to him, and obviously to you. its all unintentional of course, he loves you so deeply. and his love itself? it's raw. he's so set on being stoic and strong but he is fragile too. he fears the worst, his emotions are never waste. everything he feels he shows directly to you. that can be overwhelming; all of this is overwhelming. especially when you could wake up one day and he's gone to do something without any warning, not evening thinking that you notice.

dorn: he's cold. he's so cold that it burns. or... is that the raging fire inside just reaching through the cracks? words mean nothing to him, and it can be difficult to truly know where you stand. he would never say he loves you, he would make you feel like he didn't ever need you, but should you ever leave? he'd tear the imperium down brick by brick until he had you back with him. it's unknowing to him. a duty. an unspoken loyalty. he doesn't believe in anything being temporary, so you're with him for life now. even if he never says it. and its the fact it's just actions, ones which may not mean anything to you, that makes it so hard. the door he gifted you with a heavy duty lock may be strange to you, but you did tell him you were worried about someone breaking in...

curze: does not feel he can be loved. he thinks he deserves it, but he never thinks anyone would dare. he thinks any affection shown to his is out of selfish fear and the second an opportunity presents itself, that love and affection would be gone. so he worries. he worries you are just like everyone else. makes assumptions, accusations, tells you that he thinks you're lying. probably because in the past he felt he should be loved and forced it out of people. he never once stops to think that maybe you lay beside him, you hold his hand, you take care of him, because you want to. it doesn't make sense to him, not without proof, or time, or anything to support your case. he'd get it eventually, he'd stop spending nights awake convinced you'll leave him when you sleep peacefully beside him with no intention of going.

sanguinius: his foresight is a burden, knowing what will happen to him means his guards are up. he would always be devoted, and he would carry the burden of fate to know he had shown you love in a way that mattered. but the sleepless nights would come, knowing the heartbreak would follow. especially at first, he'd try so hard, he'd want to protect others, you, from the fallout of fate. he'd never wanted you to see him in a way as more than a guardian, protector even, but it was inevitable. especially being who he is. and he would keep it to himself, and it would eat him up inside. he'd want to give you an easier way out, a ending where his death was the lesser of two evils, but he could never bring himself to leave. not before fate forced his hand.

ferrus: he has to make you better. you though fulgrim was obsessed with perfection? imagine that, but reversed, and intensified by a thousand. ferrus can make you better. he can make you stronger, he can make you everything you ever wanted. and over time, as he improves you, makes you need to know that he's impressed with you, it changes you. he's unrelenting. and it's not that he doesn't love you. oh, he loves you so so much. but there's a part of him that thinks his encouragement, his desire for your perfection, it helps you. together you can be the perfect couple, but not because of beauty or looks. then it feels like you're a project to him, little more than a toy for him to work on each and every day. and he'd let you go. he'd give you the choice, be free of him, but you'd hesitate. could you ever really be without him again?

angron: he only knows war. pain. death. love is so... small to him. he doesn't understand how to be gentle, how to replicate the love some of his brothers will. but he doesn't want to hurt you, either. and it shows. he will not hurt you, he will not make you feel pain, but he would die for you. and would you die for him? well. if you wouldn't, he would make you. love for him is a reflection of the strongest emotions he feels. the words he associates with it are different. violence. he'd kill anyone who stood between you. desperation. it's a feeling he can't describe as anything other than need. consuming. it grinds on him, wears him down, until he treats it the exact same way as everything else he feels. you're his, and you will become a part of him, whether you want to or not.

rob: it should be easy to him, but its not, and that makes him feel worse. he's not stupid, he can process love and emotion. yet... why does it feel so hard? he always feels like he is doing something wrong, always expression too little in case he reveals too much, whilst always trying to make up for something he fumbled already. its a vicious cycle. the reality of the situation is he's torn in every direction, he's needed by so many people, that he doesn't have time for love. yet he would fight to the very end of time to show it to you. and it exhausts him to no end. he'd just need a little patience, he'd very much enjoy if instead of something require brain or body power, he could just rest with you in his arms, enjoy the peace, but when that's every single evening, it could become a little hard

morty: he carries around a lot of anger and it's not always easy to hide. like a bitter old woman who sneers at kids for stepping on her lawn, but deep down she has a heart bigger than anyone - she just doesn't like it when he things are messed up. probably a bad analogy. the smallest things annoy him and he's got a quick temper. he constantly has to remind himself to check his own feelings, assess if he's reacting appropriately, then actually respond. so sometimes, it can feel artificial, like it's a brave face he puts on, and eventually you'll just want to know the real him. and you can, but it may not be as easily heard or understood. with time he would get better, he'd balance his emotions with your help, but until then it may never feel 100% real.

magnus: the poor guy, he just doesn't think (how obvious, I know). his actions are well intended but the way he comes across is a mixed bag. you're proud of something you've done or learned and in the spirit of sharing your achievement he does it in one try... or he tells you a more advance version of a spell with the intention of helping you but... it just comes across as him belittling you. like you were never good enough for him, that he is so so much better than you and his standard is so far above you. in reality, he's just happy, he's sharing those things because he thinks it will help you. he's worried that he's not good enough for you. he feels like he has to prove himself, to show you just everything he's capable of, elevate the two of you, together. aww :(

horus: he knows about his charisma. like a beacon that sits on his head and forces everyone to like him. and that makes him question the reality of everyone around him. are you nice to him because he's Horus, or because you want to be nice to him? are you kissing him because he's Horus, or because you want to kiss him? it's a guessing game that he is losing. he truly believes that those closest to him do not care, and overtime he has developed trust issues beyond saving. he'd never show it though, but inside everything can feel like a lie. he'd have a way to work it out though - he's not stupid - but his way is long and extended, tests and games which may not be appreciated, and it may feel like you need to prove to him why you care about him. was your love not enough? it was. but he just needed to know it wasn't manufactured by that damn beacon.

lorgar: love... its something different for him. it's not love. it's reverence. you become everything to him, his faith, his truth, his gospel. you become divine to him in every way, perfection incarnate, holy as the gods around him. and for that reason, it is all written in fate for him. you are meant to be with him, you are meant to stand by his side. he would build temples in your name, he would burn planets to the ground if it meant you were happy. he would destroy worlds to bring you what you wanted. but, if you are unhappy with that? if you do not accept his love and devotion? that's heresy. that's denying the truth. and escaping him, it can only come through death. his one is quite dark, i'm very sorry about that. unless you like it, then happy to help.

vulkan: he wouldn't have many faults, aside from obvious primarch things, but I think he's full of worry. not insecurity, but concern, always worried about you, always thinking he may hurt you, worried that the feats he puts himself through may have an unnecessary effect on you. he knows that he puts himself in danger but he can't stop himself, he know your concern that maybe just one time, he won't come back - but he will still test the limits anyway. he'd never show you every part of him, afraid it may just be too much for you, and though he's never hiding anything sinister, he'd always be hiding something. and you know it. and he'd smile, assuring you its nothing. it's literally just something like he's never tried kissing you in a certain way in case he hurts you. or he was wounded fatally again but he's okay. probably better if he just tells you... but secrets in the name of happiness, I guess.

corax: sometimes he goes, for days. for weeks, months even. some may even question whether you've just made it up in your own head. it's not that he doesn't care, or he doesn't love you, but... he got lost in his own head. what he needed to do. and it doesn't help that when you are together, he's cold, he's reserved, and its like you've never even met before sometimes. he can handle all of this, he's secure in his feelings and is loyal to you beyond anyone else, but can you? it's not that he would abandon you, or betray you, but when you've waited for him to come him for months and there's still no sign of him, your thoughts may start to go somewhere less pleasant. you can ask him to stop, but it's never permanent, even when he's fully opened to you emotionally - he'd unintentionally fill you with doubt.

alpharius: oh its a bit of a mindfuck. one loves you, one doesn't. one whispers sweetly in your ear, one just whispers. one touches your shoulder and catches the tips of his fingers on the curve of your neck, the other one just touches your shoulder. it's little things. barely noticeable at first. something the everyday person would have just shrugged off. but after time, you do notice. that's not Alpharius. and it makes you mad. to think he sent someone else in his place? he had to, and you'd never understand, but he hates it as much as you. do you know how badly he wants it to be him that is with you each day? how insulting it is to know that he was sharing you? it drives him to the brink of insanity. it's truly the worst feeling in the world. but there's nothing you can do about it, and you'll have to live with knowing that maybe the man next to you isn't the alpharius you love.

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