#Prayer to the Sanguinius

[emperor-church]

О, святой Великий Ангел, моли за нас Императора, даруй мудрость и рассуждение, чтобы отличать добро от зла, чтобы молитвой Императору сокрушать все помыслы диавольские. По Твоему ходатайству да стяжаем ум чистый, ясный, молитвенный, сердце доброе и волю, к Императору обращенную. Oh, holy Great Angel, pray to the Emperor for us, grant wisdom and reasoning to distinguish good from evil, so that by prayer to the Emperor you can crush all the thoughts of the devil. At Your intercession, may we acquire a pure, clear, prayerful mind, a kind heart and a will turned to the Emperor. (Художника найти не удалось)

[ponygabe]

patrick (warhammer oc) praying

[meangreennunseen]

Sanguinius hits me as that one overly positive man. He will always try to see positivity in everything, no matter how dire the situation is.

Because if that man gave in to negative thoughts, Dark Rage would set in and he would absolutely go on bloody murder campaign, making Curze's massacres look as child's play...

[thethronezone]

Primarchs holding their child for the first time

At first, Mortarion's hold on them is awkward, his body tense and brows furrowed like he's holding a bomb instead of an infant. But ever so slowly, he relaxes. His expression eases up into one of quiet contemplation and slight wonder. He suddenly feels younger. Not as broken. Like a tiny piece of himself that he thought died long ago have returned.

Fulgrim fusses over the baby in his arms, inspecting them with the eyes of an art critic. And he can't look away. Splendid. Spectacular. Perfect. Fulgrim calls them his greatest creation, his masterpiece. He coos to them, promises of grandeur and greatness. Oh, he's got such plans! So much to teach them, to show them, he can't wait!

Weeks pass before Angron decides to hold his child for the first time. Most people assume that he doesn't want to be a father, that he doesn't care about his child. They are wrong. The truth is, Angron is afraid that the nails will drive him to hurt them. He holds them only briefly, just for a short moment, but he treasures that moment of peace, sears it into his memory like he'll die without it.

Magnus knew his child before they were born. The moment their little soul formed, the moment they developed brain capacity, he formed a mental link with them. For curiosity? Yes. But also because he could not wait to meet them. Now that he has them in his arms, it feels like he's meeting an old friend, someone he's known for a long, long time.

Perturabo stares at the child sleeping in his arms. He had refused to hold them directly after birth, seeing no point in it. But now he's holding them and for once, Perturabo doesn't know what to do. They are small, they are fragile, they are weak and most of all, they are USELESS. Yet he can't bring himself to hate them for it, no matter how much he wants to.

Alpharius is the first to hold one to hold the baby. He smiles down at them, already proud of them despite the fact that all they have done so far is be born. Omegon gets to hold them later, when Alpharius returns with the child back home. Omegon practically snatches the child from his brother's arms, impatient and unwilling to wait any longer.

Lorgar holds the baby high up in the air, above his head, like he's showing them off to the stars themselves. Actually, he's probably doing just that. His child is his blessing, his life work. Lorgar needs the world to see them and feel what he feels. He then holds them close, forehead pressed against them as he mutters soft prayers. There are tears in his eyes, with a few rolling down his face.

There are not enough words to describe the amount of warmth and love in Horus' smile as he gazes down upon the baby in his arms. This is his treasure, his legacy and heir but most importantly, the child he's always wanted. Horus promises them the world and more. He refuses to put them down or for anyone else to hold them for a good while.

It takes a while for Konrad to hold his child for the first time. He's so scared that he will hurt them, that his thirst for violence and terror will get the better of him. But once he gathers the courage, once he holds them in his arms, he doesn't want to ever let go. He cradles his child in his arms and promises to never hurt them, that he would rather die than let that happen. And he means it.

Sanguinius folds his wings around him and his baby, shielding both himself and his baby from view as he holds them close. He can't stop staring at them, eyes wet with unshed tears and a soft smile on his face as he whispers them promises for the future and proclamations of love and assurances. You are enough, you are strong, you are loved, you are perfect the way you are.

Corvus sits in silence, a sleeping infant in his arms. He can't help but stare, as if they will suddenly disappear if he looks away for even a second. It feels unreal, finally holding them after waiting for so long. He gently swipes a thumb across the side of their face. Corvus slowly curls up around them, as if to shield them from the world he knows won't wait to tear them down.

When Ferrus prepared for the arrival of the baby, he thought he had it all under control. But now, holding them in his arms for the first time, he's suddenly so aware of how lost he is. This is a real person. Not just a concept. And he's all they've got. They are his responsibility and his every action, every word, every lessons he teaches, will have consequences. They depend on him. And Ferrus fears that he won't ever be enough.

Rogal has never been the best at expressing his emotions. He's stoic, disciplined. Even now, with his newborn child in his arms, the corners of his mouth does little more than twitch. But his eyes? There's no denying the love and pride in them. Dorn rocks the child in his arms as he tells them that he will protect them, now and forever.

Oh, Vulkan just can't stop smiling. Cradles the baby in his arms with such tenderness, almost as if they are made from glass. Vulkan tells them he loves them, that they are his heart now. He means every word of it and he's never going to let his child forget how much he loves them. For the rest of their life, Vulkan's child will never go a single day doubting the fact that they are loved.

Lion thinks it isn't fair the way the infant doesn't even know how wrapped around their little finger he already is. He would kill for them. He would die for them. He knows this for sure, can feel the truth of that statement in his very bones. Is this what all parents feel as they gaze upon their progeny for the first time? Did the Emperor once feel this way when he gazed upon them? So many questions yet for once, Lion does not mind not knowing all the answers.

Pacing around the room with a newborn in his arms, Leman won't stop talking to them. His pup, his fierce little warrior, his proud and joy. His voice is warm and energetic, but not loud like how it usually is. It rumbles softly, soft for small ears. He bounces them in his arms as he walks, eyes sparkling and teeth bared in a genuine smile, as adoring as it is wild.

It's with eager arms that Jaghatai picks up his child. He's waited for them, waited for this very moment where he gets to meet them and hold them for the first time. Already, he knows that his child is strong, knows that they will grow up and achieve greatness. He heard it in the way they wailed upon being born, can see it in the way they flail their limbs around. Jaghatai is already so proud of them.

Roboute doesn't speak as he holds his child, the wheels in his mind spinning and churning as he gazes down upon them. Suddenly, there's so much to do. He thought himself prepared but he now realizes that those preparations were nowhere near enough. How could it ever be enough? He needs to create a bright future for them, create a safe galaxy for them to grow up in and explore. A safer world in the palm of their hands.

[moociaoafterdark]

The last post was a rhetorical question, but, glad you guys want to hear me out!

Anyway, the Imperial Palace is haunted. "Haunted".

Surely, there are no such things as ghosts, right?

Except, when the Raven Guard Astartes began to report things disappearing when you don't look at them and also seeing pale ghostly figure stalking the hallways, people began to tense up, even though some just brushed it off as them confusing a ghost for one of their own. When the Custodes began to back up the Raven Guard's claims, the Primarchs got involved.

So, the main ghost hunting squad consists of Horus, Sanguinius, Corvus and Alpharius (and Omegon, but, shh). If we assign them the "Mystery Gang" roles, then Horus is Fred, Sanguinius is Daphne, Corvus is Velma and Alpharius is either Shaggy and Omegon is Scooby, or it's the other way around. No one notices the changes anyway.

A lot of their methods include things like a ouija board (from which they learned many interesting things about the ghost, particularly how many pickles it can shove up its ass), asking the ghost questions in the dark room, taunting the ghost (and screaming like little girls when the ghost retaliates), using a radio to try to communicate with it... That kind of stuff. A lot of the times, Corvus tries to negotiate with the ghost by offering Horus a sacrifice, much to Sanguinius' annoyance. Surprisingly, Horus doesn't really mind becoming a sacrifice (he thinks he can fight the ghost off) (he can't do shit). Alpharius and Omegon are both amused, however they initially didn't take the hauntings seriously. As time went on, though, they slowly started to plan their way out of the group.

The gang then turned to Lorgar for help. Their research led them to find out that numerous religions, in the past, had ways to ward off ghosts. Perhaps Lorgar can do something? Lorgar decided that a religious sacrifice could potentially pacify the paranormal ("No, Corvus, we are not sacrificing Horus"). He ordered Alpharius and Omegon to find and bring a small animal that they could sacrifice, while Lorgar prepared the salt, the candles and the prayers. Alpharius brought a little white rabbit from the Palace's kitchen. Sanguinius was sad to see such cutie get sacrificed, he made sure to give that rabbit some pats before the ritual. When the right time came, the Primarchs, all 6 of them now, stood in the circle made out of salt, in the room that was pitch black safe for some lit candles. Lorgar read the prayers and tried to stab the rabbit in order to kill it. The dagger, instead, bent to the side, as if the animal was made out of steel. The white rabbit then became possessed and jumped onto Alpharius, trying to bite through his helmet... And almost succeeding, had Sanguinius not grabbed and tossed the vermin out from the circle. Despite being tossed by a Primarch with full force, the rabbit didn't even break a sweat, instead preparing to pounce on its next victim. Thankfully it was put down by Horus and a couple of shots from his bolter pistol that he thankfully brought with himself. The killer rabbit was dead and Lorgar felt despair. Why didn't his faith in their father stop the malicious presence? He will make that ghost pay! Feeling wronged, he joins the ghost hunting squad and helps keep the group together and to coordinate the rituals.

Magnus thinks he can crack the case himself. He gets the photo evidence of paranormal activity, however, his recording skills are subpar. The photos and videos are blurry as fuck, as if Magnus covered the lense with a thick coat of vaseline beforehand. No one believes him or takes his evidence as, well, actual evidence... Except Jaghatai. His bike has been acting weird lately. Sometimes it turns on all by itself, drives itself for a good distance, sometimes it refuses to turn on, or strange things pop out on the display. Something is messing with his bike and the Great Khan is REALLY pissed at this. And, so far, he only trusts Magnus with this, so, they become a ghost hunting duo. Through the series of unfortunate events, the two have to race away from the pissed off ghost, with Magnus clinging onto Jagh and yelling "DRIVE FASTER, I'M SCARED".

The ghost also visited the Night Haunter himself. When Konrad realized he had an intruder he looked at the ghost, who decided to appear to him as a demonic looking old woman, taller than Konrad himself. Their eyes locked together and Konrad just... smiled, his rotting teeth revealed by a wide grin. He and the Night Lords were never bothered by the ghost again after that.

When news reached Roboute of what was happening in the Imperial Palace, he just made a shocked face and went "Oh no... Anyway!" and then went back to drinking the finest of wines you could find on Ultramar, while basking under Macragge's sun. Jackass.

Ferrus and Rogal were both working on the project together and didn't even notice the ghost. At some point, the ghost became a third participant: holding a hammer or shinning a light where it was needed. When Ferrus and Rogal realized what was happening, they just... Went back to work and continued to exploit the ghost. They would never say no to free labour.

[farseeryirith]

There are no weak Custodes

Felt the need to add a little continuation to my anxious Custodes reader and angel boy. I had a bunch of little ideas that I couldn't expand, so this is the result.

Once again, English - not my first language so pls forgive any grammatical or spelling or wording mistakes I might've missed. I am also yet to figure out how to properly format text posts in a more aesthetically pleasing manner. BUT my New Year's resolution was to ignore everything that tells me to keep hiding my little writings and get better at writing in English, so here I am trying to fulfill that.

Happy New Year!

Sanguinius x fem!Custodes reader

Warning: Canon-typical violence, death, blood, vague descriptions of anxiety, Canon character death

It's the Siege of Terra and no one is having fun!

“You are quite strong, My Lady.” The Angel lands beside you as the last of the orks are being picked off and you are pulling your guardian spear out of the heap of metal the greenskins had decided to call a vehicle. 

“Of course,” you look up at the primarch to reply. “There are no weak Custodes.” 

He smiles at you, and the way your face flushes makes you doubt your statement. 

“There are no weak Custodes, there are no weak Custodes..” you repeat in your head like prayer as you push past pain and exhaustion. “There are no weak Custodes” as your lungs are burning and your nerves are screaming. “There are no weak Custodes” as your once gleaming golden armour turns a bloody red and the bodies pile on and on. “There are no weak Custodes” as one of your still-beating hearts few out of your chest and now defends Eternity Gate alone. 

You want to run, to go to him, help him hold the gate, but you cannot. Your place is beside The Emperor, you are a loyal companion, you have no other allegiances. Guilt eats away at you for even thinking of being elsewhere, and the guardian spear sings its horrible song as you cleave through meat and bone and armour. “There are no weak Custodes” but a sickening image of charred and bloodied feathers takes root in your mind and blistering rage comes to defend you from the fear that seeks to devour. 

Sanguinius had found you on the bridge of The Red Tear, looking through the window at the stars, and came to sit with you for company. You had been so enamored with them, billions of worlds each different from the other, full of life and wonders you had only read about before.

You told him once you had never seen a tree and he took you to see a planet full of forests of them. You wish you could forget the way he had looked at you as you broke off a branch to keep in your quarters. He had flown away and returned with four more, each with leaves of different shapes and colours. 

He looks at you the same way now, with a gentle smile and his eyes flick between yours and your lips. You can hear the quickened pace of his hearts and you know what it means. You know yours are singing the same melody, but you do not want to admit it. 

“Please, My Lord.” you say, turning away from him. “Please do not look at me like this.”

“I can tell you feel the same way, My Lady.” he says softly, and it makes it that much harder to ignore the aberrant song. 

“I know.” an admission of defeat. “But neither of us should.”

You take off, back to your quarters before he can stop you, and you hear him call your name but you proceed ahead. 

Valdor is barking orders somewhere behind you, but you cannot tell what he is saying. There is only the sound of rushing blood in your ears and the muffled screams of the traitor in your hand as you repeatedly smash his head into the ground until it finally cracks and covers your helmet with red and grey. You wipe at your eyes and grab your spear, but before you can charge at your next target a hand grasps your shoulder tightly.

“Sister!” you are shaken from your battle haze. “Are you injured?”

“Lightly.” you barely recognize your voice as you answer. You sound like your throat is full of gravel, and you try to lunge forward to keep going, but you are pulled harshly back by your fellow Custodes. 

“Come then, with the Captain-General,” he says. “The Emperor has taken the fight to Horus. We follow.”

You turn and as your vision clears you can see the boarding party assembling - Valdor with your cadre, The Praetorian, and his sons have formed a phalanx as the Blood Angels file in. Sanguinius is last to arrive as you take your place beside your comrades. He looks at you for a moment, as if he can tell you apart from the other Custodes, and there is something in his eyes that makes your throat feel like closing up. His lips move silently and you recognize your name - he is apologizing to you and your breath stills. 

Over the months of your stay on The Red Tear, your quarters had begun to resemble a real home, as your collection of souvenirs from the planets you had visited grew. The tree branches rested in a vase, that had been procured for you, filled with a gell that kept the leaves green. A bottle full of salt water, and shells from an ocean where Sanguinius had urged you to come planetside without your armour and go for a swim - an experience you would never forget, there had been so much water. A jar full of red sand from a desert world - “It is a shame we are so far, else I would have taken you to see Baal.” He smiled as you watched the sun dip under the dunes. 

You knew you would most likely have to leave these treasures behind on the flagship - Valdor would question you and you would have to admit your delayed return was due to galavanting around the sector with The Angel, watching sunsets and swimming in oceans. And if you admit that, you would cave and admit everything else. 

You would have to admit how The Angel cradled your face in his hand and looked at you with so much tenderness that it made your skin feel too tight.

“I am not made for this,” you tell him, but you know your eyes betray how much his touch is welcome. “I am made for war.”

“So am I,” he says and his voice is just above a whisper as he comes closer and you can feel his sweet breath on your skin. “But we can pretend we were made for more.”

“My Lord..”

“Just Sanguinius. Please.” he cuts you off, insistent. “I am not your lord right now. Right now there is no Crusade, there is no Imperium. There is just us in this room and there is no one guarding the door.”

“Sanguinius, I..” you begin but you are silenced by a gentle thumb caressing your lips. You had bloodied them again and for a moment you think he’ll be put off by your compulsions, but the look he gives you makes your head feel light.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” he says and all the will to continue denying your feelings crumbles. 

“I do not want you to.” he does not wait for you to say anything else as he closes the distance. His wings come around you as if to shield you from the world that does not exist at this moment. He licks the blood off your lips and his arms grasp you tight and pull you flush against him, a deep growl escaping from within his chest.

He loves you achingly tenderly as if you were something precious, as if your body was not made only for slaughter. Like a silken noose, he wraps around you, and you die repeatedly in his arms. Months later, when you return to Terra, you still feel a blazing trail across your skin, everywhere where The Angel had touched you. 

This is what ancient humans feared when they thought of Hell, you think. The ship is a black abyss and there is nothing but daemons around you. You quickly realize that the host of Custodes has been separated from the rest of the boarding party and your hearts stop for a beat, but you swallow the blood in your mouth and ignore the sinking dread. You must push on, you must find them. The Emperor needs you. Sanguinius needs you. 

You follow the Captain-General as you cleave a path through the abominations, and you try to ignore every dying scream you hear behind you. There are fewer and fewer of you as you keep going and the darkness keeps growing closer, threatening to suffocate you. You close ranks so as to not lose any more bodies to the void, but it’s no use - you are outnumbered and beyond exhaustion. “There are no weak Custodes.” and you keep going even after something slices deep at your leg and you fall to your knees for a moment. They.. he needs you. 

You can hear a sister periodically call out numbers near you and, with horror, you realize she is keeping track of time. Seventy-one, by last count. You have been fighting abroad for seventy-one hours now and your armour feels like it is eating you alive. Seventy-one hours and you cannot hear anything save for your laboured breath and your furious hearts. Seventy-one hours and your hands shake as you fear the worst. You are late. 

The darkness lets up soon enough, only to give way to a line of Astartes. There is only a second of stillness before recognition comes through - traitors. Valdor screams to charge and you do with no hesitation. Bolter rounds fly around you, catch you in the shoulder but you keep going. The stink of the traitors tells you all you need to know to ignore the pain - they still see a threat in you, they have not won yet. 

The host of Custodes descends upon the traitors and your eyes meet the ones of an unhelmeted Word Bearer. They are wide and wild as even your few exhausted numbers carve through his battle brothers and cousins with terrifying efficiency. 

“Did He train you for this? To kill Astartes?” the traitor screams at you, horror in his voice, a dreadful realization. “Did He Know? Did He set us up for the slaughter?”

You do not answer his questions. Instead, you grab his face, lightning-fast, and bring him closer. 

“You reek of fear, Word Bearer.” your sandpaper throat bleeds as you speak. “And you are in my way.” you crush his jaw with your hand and move on. You are close to the bridge, you can feel it. A door opens in the distance of the corridor and you are proven correct. And your hearts still again. 

You can see white wings in the air - Sanguinius is there, he is engaged in a desperate duel with the monstrosity that still calls itself Horus. For a fraction of a microsecond The Angel’s gaze darts towards you, and you know he sees you. Those furious darkened eyes go soft and you know he is apologizing to you again. You do not have the time to question why. 

Burned and bloodied feathers fly across the bridge and the Brightest One falls. A cry of despair, a horrid and awful sound, echoes through the halls of the Vengeful Spirit, and deep within you something breaks. You want to scream as well, to curse the traitor, to run and tear him apart. You want to rage, you want to rage and sink your spear into his corrupted flesh and rend him into nothing. 

But you cannot scream, your throat feels like closing up and you find yourself unable to make a sound. Your eyes go dark, but your blade finds new meat to carve, hands moving by themselves. There are no weak Custodes, and your body knows that so it continues to do what it was made for on its own. 

You do not know what happened next. You come through to the voice of The Praetorian barking orders to take what is left of The Emperor to the Golden Throne. You hear you have won - that Horus is no more and the traitors are retreating. But all you can do is fall to your knees and sob, as you look upon the body of the man you loved, and his once brilliant white wings now stained red with his blood.

Later you don the black cape, along with your brothers and sisters. The Adeptus Custodes were tested and found wanting, and have been forever shamed. You tell no one that you do not wear the black out of guilt only. You wear it as mourning garb. 

[wolf-tail]

Since I'm far more comfortable being weird on 40k tumblr than I used to be, I'm gonna say some unhinged things.

Now that you've all been thoroughly warned, I'm thinking about which Primarchs would be the best or worst to deal with if they got pregnant:

Lion-You do not know he is pregnant. He would preffer it that way. He seems crankier, meaner, more reclusive, amd just a bit rounder, but you don't know about it until he winces and slinks off during a meeting, then returns a few hours later with babby in tow. No one is allowed to touch or even look at babby for at least a week.

Guilliman-He's doing pretty ok, but very anxious. Lots of body aches, but you have a hell of a time trying to convince him to ease off the work and rest. You often find him fast asleep on top of his desk. Constantly craving olives. Overall not too bad.

Horus-VERY proud papa-to-be. Constantly showing off his big ol belly and bragging about how knocked up he is. He has a canonical breeding kink, he's wearing every embarrassing maternity t-shirt he can find. Mortifying ordeal, but could be way worse.

Konrad-OH GOD, whoever impregnated this man, answer for your fucking crimes. Anyone who so much as breathes too loud in his vicinity is a skinless splatter on the pavement. Mercifully, he doesn't seem to want to leave his room. Just avoid him as much as possible and you might survive.

Sanguinius-Glowing, positively GLOWING! He's vibrant, elegant, happy, the type of thing people tell you being pregnant is like to try and convince you to have kids. Happy to let anyone rub his tummy. (Would he even give live birth or just lay an egg?) He's eepy, so very sleeby eepy. He just wants to nap. That just serves to make it cuter. The only issue is that in the later weeks he starts going broody. That will not be a fun time.

Fulgrim- Also an idealistic glowing beauty, but probably is a struggling a lot more than he lets on. You just know he's nauseous as hell and his feet hurt like a bitch. Give him a foot rub , he deserves it. Has a bunch of super long baby names picked out, Definitely rearranged the nursery seventeen times at least because it's "not good enough". And the second fact that thing comes out the womb it's dripped tf out. Little fuck is leaving the hospital in a Dior onesie. Fulgrim insists on doing his makeup before leaving the maternity ward, because he refuses to look as worn out as he is. Let this poor man REST.

Ferrus-Oof. I don't know much about him, but he strikes me as the type to have body image issues. Baby has a normal ass name like "John" or smth. When it's born he's scared to hold it with his metal hands, but bub doesn't care, falls right asleep in them.

Perturabo-ABORTION. He has no time for kids. But in the chance he does keep it, he's even more cranky and insufferable than ever. Yells at his own belly bc MiniPerty is kicking him while he's trying to work. Sending u prayers🙏

Dorn-Hmmm, idkkkk. I have not read enough about him. Dorn fans answer this one for me. But from what I do know he'd have a hard time describing as his complicated emotions about it. Would swaddle the Dornling in his grandpa's blanket.

Angron-OH FUCCKKKKKKK. You thought Konrad was bad!? The sad part is, all of the parts of him that want and love the baby are being punished for it by the nails. But can you fucking imagine a pregnant hormonal Angron!? The galaxy shakes in fear. The second sperm met egg, Khorne shifted uncomforably upon the Skull Throne.

Magnus-He's having a great time! Studying every parenting book he can find (TAKE NOTES EMPS!), getting cool belly tattoos, doing mysterious pregnancy rituals, psychically communicating with MiniMagnus once they're developed enough. Has a BIG belly, sometimes hard to maneuver. Probably twins. Sons always happy to give it a lil rub when he walks last. Often found lounging in his tower, lazily talking to bubby while reading, go ahead and give him a back massage.

Mortarion- As much as I think he'd look cute with a baby, I don't think he was ever at any point in his life healthy enough to carry one to term. Isha, fix his uterus, he needs to be a daddy immediately. If he was miraculously to get preggers, he'd definitely be cranky, but not overwhelmingly so. He'd love the kid, but occasionally pat his tummy and gently admonish it for being such a little nuisance.

Corax- Drawing a total blank here. Raven guardies tell me plz. But he might go broody too, goes with the bird theming.

The Khan- Continues riding his bike until he's physically too big to do so. You can't even try to stop him. Little Jag is travelling at Mach Fuck You every day. Labor is 5 seconds long, and as soon as the kid's delivered he's strapping it to his chest and getting right back in the saddle.

Vulkan-Biggest cuddlebug EVER!!! Joyous and glowing, always up for a belly rub. You just know his ass is 8 months pregnant and still in the forge, working on little practice weapons for his lil Salamander. His water will probaby break and he'll beg you to let him quench a sword in his own amniotic fluid (don't, that's gross) Prone to hot flashes, get him a nice cold drink plz.

Lorgar-A baby is joyous blessing! He's insanely happy about it, going on about how his body was "chosen to bring forth a wondrous being". Touching the tum is a religious experience. Gets a new tattoo to celebrate, if he can find the room.

Alpharius/Omegon: You either have no idea which one's pregnant, or they all somehow get pregnant at once. Twins are a guarantee either way.

[zackprincebooks]

Beloved of the Blood Moons

While the planet of Baal and its twin moons are seemingly lacking in spectacular displays of nature, there is a singular phenomenon, albeit it is a rare occurrence: the Blood Moons. When Baal Prime and Baal Secundus are in perfect alignment, they reflect the sunlight back onto Baal with a red tint from the sand. This turns everything on Baal a red tinge for forty-eight hours. It’s a sacred time for the Blood Angels. They say Sanguinius was buried on Baal during the Blood Moons, and it’s a time for mourning and praying. Work is halted except for extreme emergencies. This year, things get…weird, during the Blood Moons. At least for you. (Sanguinius x Reader, explicit. 2nd person POV; Reader is AFAB but not addressed with any pronouns. Because this is Sanguinius, there is blood drinking involved.)

Want to read it on AO3? Click here!

Want to read my original fiction? Click here!

As Baal Prime and Baal Secundus move closer together, the sun’s rays align with their planetary surfaces. They become glittering rubies in the sky, projecting the image of their red sands onto the planet of Baal below so everything is bathed in a red tinge for forty-eight blessed hours. 

The Blood Moons are a momentous occasion. Not only is it a beautiful sight to behold, but it is a sacred sight as well. While not as sacred as Sanguinala itself, a Blood Moon had occurred during the burial of The Great Angel.

As the lid of the Golden Sarcophagus closed over Sanguinius, a red haze filled the air. Blood Angels and serfs alike looked up from their despair to marvel, for there could be no greater sign that Sanguinius was with them and always would be. 

From then on, the Blood Moons became a time of rest, worship, and reflection. Work would be cleared weeks in advance so they could dedicate their time to prayer of The Great Angel. They anoint themselves in special oil and lay artifacts and offerings at the Golden Sarcophagus. It is a beautiful time, and for a serf to witness the Blood Moons in their tragically short life is a miracle. 

Unfortunately, your first—and likely only—Blood Moon is spent in quarantine. 

You sniffle loudly and whine, trying to project your disappointment to the Apothecary, Brother Caphriel. He doesn’t lift his head from the computer he’s hunched over. “I understand your frustration, as this is a holy time of your life that will likely not occur again. However, until your temperature returns to 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit, you are under strict quarantine.”

Brother Caphriel reaches over and plucks the thermometer out of your mouth, plugging it into the computer. “Your temperature is still 104.5 degrees Fahrenheit, which is considered a high-grade fever. This will require strict bed rest, elevated consumption of fluids, and strict quarantine," he repeats. Though you cannot see Caphriel’s eyes, you can feel his judgmental stare on your prone, feverish body.

Too weak to protest, you shake your head and whine again, dislodging the wet washcloth from your burning forehead. You spent the last month planning for the Blood Moons; finishing your chores early, creating an outfit to wear, and preparing an offering for the Golden Sarcophagus. When you felt the tingle in the back of your throat, you thought it was just a sign of dehydration. When you began wheezing and sweating at night, you prayed it would clear before the Blood Moons occurred. 

Maybe you hadn’t prayed hard enough.

“I am not any happier than you,” Caphriel sighs, fetching the washcloth. He wrings it out and places it in a laundry basket. “I am also missing the Blood Moons in order to care for you.” Taking a clean washcloth, he submerges it in cold water and wrings it out. “If you rest and take your medication, we will both be out of quarantine faster.” 

Though the cloth brings some relief, your sour expression does not sweeten. No matter how much you rest or how much medication you take, you will not get better in time. 

You flip your pillow to the cool side and close your eyes. Sleep embraces you in its arms, and you fall faster than expected.

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

Though you come to consciousness slowly, you do not feel ill or fatigued. You are able to sit up unaided in bed, and when your Apothecary does not berate you, you realize his post has been abandoned. The computer he used to read your temperature is dark, with the thermometer still plugged in. 

You swing your legs out of the bed and shakily stand on your bare feet. The chilled floor of quarantine sends goosebumps up your legs and you wrap your arms around yourself. 

“Hello?” Your voice echoes in the medical bay. “Is anyone there?”

Stony silence greets you. Combined with the ruby haze of the Blood Moons, it feels as though you stepped into an ancient temple untouched for thousands of years—still sacred, still mystical. 

The door to quarantine is wide open. If you wanted, you could leave and bring your offering to the Golden Sarcophagus. You could do it and run back fast enough that you could get back in bed and the Apothecary would never notice. 

You take off running, the sound of your bare feet slapping against the metal floors. It’s not just the medical bay: everywhere in the Arx Angelicum is empty. No one is in the feasting hall, no one is in the armory, and no one is in the serf’s dormitory when you fetch your offering and tuck it into your medical gown. There’s no time to change into your devotional attire, so your cloak wrapped over your medical gown will have to suffice. 

You can only hope The Great Angel will forgive you for your disheveled appearance as you leave the dormitory and make your trek to the Holy Sepulchre. Every now and again, you have to duck behind a corner as you hear a voice or a creaking door nearby, trying to escape the exasperated frown of your Apothecary.

But each time, there is no one. The Arx Angelicum is completely empty, and you appear to be the only soul inside. There aren’t even any signs of habitation, such as abandoned snacks or weapons carelessly leaned against a doorframe. 

At least, until you approach the Holy Sepulchre and the sound of singing and chanting fills your ears. While the Golden Sarcophagus always gives off a glowing golden light, it seems brighter now as it spills down the stairs leading into the Holy Sepulchre. Under the Blood Moons, it has been painted crimson; like a velvet carpet, it invites you to ascend. 

One shaking, footstep at a time, you climb the marble steps. The singing and chanting grow louder until it vibrates your entire body. They praise the Blood Moons and thank The Great Angel for the gift of His presence.

…His presence…

With each step, the Holy Sepulchre is revealed to you: Blood Angels garbed in their ceremonial robes line the entrance, their voices lifted to the vaulted ceiling where incense burners gently sway. The Blood Moons shine through the stained-glass windows depicting The Great Angel’s many victories and splash muted colors on the walls.

Once you have ascended the stairs, you can see the Golden Sarcophagus. You have seen it on previous Sanguinala celebrations, where you gazed at The Great Angel’s visage in His eternal rest. It always occurred to you that He looked…lonely in there, laying in an ocean of red silk. You wanted to climb into His coffin and rest His head on your chest, stroking His hair. Candles throw soft light on the details etched across the lid and sides of Sanguinius’s great battles and victories.

Halfway through your approach, the lid of the coffin moves, for the first time in ten thousand years. You pause, heart in your throat, as you watch the lid shift in place before slowly lifting. It falls away behind the altar on which the Golden Sarcophagus sits, briefly overwhelming the chanting and singing with its clattering and clanging.

Two hands extend from the Golden Sarcophagus to grip it on each side. Before The Great Angel leverages Himself out of His coffin, you’ve already taken a knee and averted your eyes from this sacred vision. The resurrection of Sanguinius is a hope that has sat in the heart of many an Imperial subject; a dream that blesses their slumber every night. You have been blessed with the opportunity to witness it firsthand, and you refuse to squander it.

Deep, rich laughter fills the Holy Sepulchre, silencing the singing of the Blood Angels and drowning out the roaring of blood in your ears. Sanguinius lifts Himself from His coffin and descends the altar, approaching you on bare feet adorned with jingling anklets. His wings rustle overhead, stretching after laying on them for so long. A single, white feather floats into your view, begging you to pick it up.

“Rise, Sweet One. I have need of you.” Sanguinius offers a hand decorated in gold rings and bracelets, beckoning you to His side.

Your throat unsticks enough to speak, “I am…worthy of this, Your Grace?” You reach for Him, but where you are hesitant, Sanguinius is not. His fingers encompass the length of your hand and wrap around the entirety of your arm as he pulls you up. Sanguinius could easily dislocate your arm in one pull, but He is gentle.

He is close enough that you can hear His breathing; a sound no one has heard for ten thousand years. You are at stomach height with Sanguinius and though you don’t dare to lift your head to His face, you can see His chest rise and fall through His gold and red robes.

“I have a gift for You, Your Grace. In honor of the Blood Moons.” Sanguinius makes an inquisitive noise and you reach into your cloak, through your medical gown, to pull out the necklace you made for Him. “It is a modest thing,” you confess weakly as you offer Him the chains of citrine and red tiger eye cabochons; as close as you could get to the rubies and gold of his armor on a serf’s meager salary.

“’Tis a princely gift,” Sanguinius insists, “for you made it with your own two hands, with all the earnestness in your heart. I shall accept it, and I shall do so with gladness.”

And—to your shock and horror—Sanguinius kneels in front of you.

He pays no heed to your stammering protests of unworthiness; you try to avert your eyes but you have no idea of where to look. It would be rude if you did not give The Great Angel your full attention, no matter how undeserving you are of His.

And so, you look.

Sanguinius sits with His hands folded neatly in His lap, waiting patiently as a child waits for their teacher. While the majority of His hair falls loosely around His shoulders, a singular braid encircles His noble brow in place of a crown. The lids of His sapphire eyes are painted with glittering gold, and His cheeks dotted with gold flecks. His nose, eyebrows, and ears have been pierced with gold rings and rubies, and when Sanguinius blinks, gold dust scatters across His cheeks and nose. Even when kneeling, He is eye-level with you.

“Will you please put it on for me?”

Your sweaty hands tussle with the clasp as Sanguinius patiently waits for you. After stopping to wipe your hands on your cloak, you’re able to unclasp it. He leans forward so the tip of his nose brushes yours and the smell of sage incense and sandalwood oil floods your senses.

When you put the necklace around His neck, your hands tuck under His hair. Touching Him feels like a holy act, and you savor the moment as long as you possibly can. Sanguinius indulges you, leaning His head back so your hands are engulfed by His soft, golden locks.

The gesture bumps His chin against your lips and you freeze. Sanguinius looks at you from under hooded eyes and some of His gold flecks shower across your brow like starlight.

“Fear not, my Sweet One. Show me your desire.” The hoarse register of Sanguinius’s voice goes straight between your legs and they squeeze together tightly. This does not go unnoticed by Sanguinius, as His eyes slip from your face to the opening in your cloak. His pupils are dilated so wide, the blues of His irises are nearly eclipsed by black.

You allow your cloak to fall to the ground. Under the eyes of Sanguinius, your rumpled hospital shift feels like a luxurious gown. “You were ill?” He tilts His head to the side, reaching out to pluck the fabric.

“A brief sickness,” you reassure Him, “I am well recovered.” And you find that it is the truth; your chills have subsided, your temperature feels normal, and your appetite has returned. Though the hunger lingering in your lower belly will not be sated by food…

The hand that plucks at your gown turns into a fist, and Sanguinius rips the fabric off your body with little fanfare. It joins your cloak on the ground and you are laid bare before Him, in all your mortality. The heat rolling off His form envelops you and Sanguinius’s eyes follow a bead of sweat trailing down your throat.

“What a luxurious gift,” He murmurs, following the bead of sweat as it continues down your chest. It stops near your nipple and Sanguinius lets out a deep breath that ruffles your hair. “Would you give this to me, as well?”

“I would, Your Grace.” Your voice is barely a breath, but it echoes to the ceiling of the Holy Sepulchre. “I will not deny you anything.”

His wings encircle you as Sanguinius lifts you effortlessly into His arms. He barely needs to exert effort as He carries you to the altar and lays you gently in the Golden Sarcophagus.

“Lord,” you protest, “I cannot! This is a holy place!”

“It makes for a most comfortable bed,” Sanguinius counters with ease, “for I have lain here for nights uncountable and had naught but the sweetest dreams.” And you cannot gainsay him when the silk cushions you and your skin is tickled by His discarded feathers. “You look lovely against the red silk.” As the Golden Sarcophagus needed to house Sanguinius comfortably, you can lay in it as though it was a bed.

“I once thought you looked lonely, laying here,” you confess as Sanguinius climbs in with you, “and I wished to lay alongside you, to comfort you during your long sleep.”

“Such kindness,” Sanguinius muses, kneeling on top of you. Your eyes are laser-focused on His fingers as they untie the knot of His robe; once Sanguinius realizes this, He slowly pulls the ties apart.

Sanguinius is a treasure. Inch by inch, His golden skin is revealed to you, glistening with oil under the light of the candles melting on the altar. His nipples, pink and pearly, are pierced with rings linked by a golden chain with rubies hanging from it. It’s so beautiful, it only makes you feel more self-conscious about your modest gift.

He is almost shy when the robe parts on His thighs, revealing His cock to you. As expected of a Primarch, Sanguinius is generously endowed, though longer than he is thicker. His pubic hair is well trimmed, and a darker color than His flowing locks. The veins along His shaft pulse enticingly, though the most mouthwatering part about Him is the gold ring pierced atop His cockhead.

“Would you like to touch it? I promise it’s not as frightful as it looks.” As though to demonstrate, Sanguinius grasps His cock and strokes it. Your eyes are fixated on the way that it bobs and twitches under His touch, and the shuddering groan that passes His lips is sweeter music than the chanting Blood Angels.

Emboldened by His noises, you reach out for His cock. Your fingers brush over His as Sanguinius moves His hand, and your fingers close around His cock. Sanguinius is oiled here too, and your strokes are smooth as you pump up and down. It’s warmer than you expected, and when you squeeze, a droplet of precum appears on the head.

“Have you touched another in this manner?” His voice comes out breathlessly, bucking His hips into your hand. You duck your head and bite your lip, but Sanguinius lifts your chin with two fingers. “Please, do not hide from me. I merely wish to understand.”

“A couple of times,” you admit, “but more than not, it is often my own hand.”

“Have you imagined me thusly?”

Your hand stutters in its stroking. Some of the statuary and tapestries in the halls of the Arx Angelicum of Sanguinius striking down the forces of chaos inspired your hot and heavy dreams later that night. “On the odd occasion,” you confess, resuming your strokes. He does not inquire further, but His throaty chuckling is a bolt of heat down your spine.

“Would you like to do more than merely touch? There is a myriad of things I would like to show you.” Sanguinius runs His palms up and down His thighs as He watches you, his eyes drawn to the quiver of your throat.

“Please show me,” you beg of Him, and Sanguinius gently disengages from your hand to lay down on top of you, supported by his elbows. When you’re so close to Him, you resist the urge to close your eyes as His breath cascades across your cheeks.

His lips are soft against your chapped and bitten ones, and His tongue swipes the space between to wet the kiss. Soft, slick sounds fill your ears, which burn red with arousal. Sanguinius is not quiet as He kisses you, humming against your lips as He pushes His tongue inside your mouth.

Sanguinius tastes like fresh figs and plums; sweet but with an earthy undercurrent. He kisses you gently at first, letting His tongue toy with yours in your mouth. When you try to push your tongue into His mouth to give Him the same treatment, Sanguinius presses against you almost aggressively, your wrists caught in His hands.

He finally deigns to pull away from you, a string of saliva stretching between your lips. “Please, allow me to take the lead in this. When you inflame me so passionately, I may lose control.” His lips are red and swollen, but beneath His upper lip is a glint that makes your heart stop.

“I understand,” you whisper softly, “though if you feel overtaken by your hunger, please grant me the honor of your bite, my Lord.”

You cannot stop your eyes widening when Sanguinius licks His lips and one of His fangs is exposed. It’s a sharp weapon, ready to plunge into your skin at the slightest provocation. Sanguinius must have powerful self-control indeed to reign in his Red Thirst during the throes of passion.

“You are the one who honors me.” He ducks His head to nose against your throat. Sanguinius runs the tips of His fangs along your jugular, scraping your heated skin and delighting in the shiver that runs through your body. But Sanguinius toys with you, continuing to tease you with the tips of His fangs against your neck. When He presses just a little harder against your jugular, your entire body seizes.

“I can feel your heart beating through my fangs,” He murmurs against your skin. Sanguinius licks the red marks He left behind before moving down your body. Where Sanguinius kisses you, warmth floods that spot even after He has moved on. It seems that Sanguinius is particularly fond of your nipples, as He swirls his tongue around the pink bud and applies pressure with His lips.

Or perhaps it is your reaction, as you cry out in pleasure and immediately fist your hands in His golden hair, loosening the braid encircling His brow. To ensure that your other nipple doesn’t go neglected, Sanguinius slides His hand over to twist and pinch it, playing the instrument of your body so your voice soars to the vaulted ceiling of the Holy Sepulchre.

Sanguinius is polite enough to let you come down from your ecstasy before moving on, though this is not the height of your pleasure. You watch with your heart in your throat as Sanguinius moves down your body, peppering kisses across your hips and belly in preparation for feasting on His prize.

His thorough affection for you has gone straight to your pussy, and by the time Sanguinius settles between your legs, you are wet and your clit throbs with need. “What a delicious meal,” Sanguinius murmurs. He slides one of your legs over His shoulders, nuzzling the interior of your thigh.

“I will not bite you here,” Sanguinius promises as His fingers spread your pussy lips. You are caught, unable to look away as Sanguinius blesses your swollen clit with a kiss but overwhelmed and wanting to look away.

Blissfully unaware of your internal struggle, Sanguinius keeps one hand on your thigh while His other hand slides up and down your pussy lips, gathering wetness until He can slip a finger inside of you. The hum that passes His lips vibrates your clit and your walls flutter around His finger.

It’s just His finger, but the enormity of His size means that even a Primarch’s finger inside of a baseline is stretching you deliciously. While He lavishes your clit with kisses and licks, Sanguinius slowly pumps his finger in and out of your pussy. His blue eyes are hooded by His golden lids, but you are pinned under Sanguinius’s gaze just as much as His strength.

The hand that holds your leg open begins rubbing the soft skin of your inner thigh. Sanguinius puts pressure on your femoral vein and holds it there, letting it throb against the pad of His thumb.

A second finger is added to your pussy and you whine, pulling harder on Sanguinius’s hair. His braid comes completely undone so His hair falls around His face and tickles your thighs. “Oh, o-oh, I’m so s-sorry,” you whimper, trying to push His hair behind His ears. Your fingers brush the shell of His ears, feeling the chains linking each earring.

“Hmmm?” Sanguinius chuckles, sending vibrations up your body through your clit. His eyebrows bounce into His hairline but doesn’t stop His attention on your clit. Once you settle around His fingers, Sanguinius resumes pumping his fingers in and out of you. They curl up into your pussy and stroke your sweet spot, making your toes curl and your mouth drop open, though no sound comes out.

Sanguinius finally lets off your clit with a soft, wet popping noise, but His fingers continue stroking you inside. “That’s it, give yourself over to me. Do not hide your pleasure from me.” His words of encouragement dance on your ears, distracting you as Sanguinius moves from your pussy to where your thigh is slung over His shoulder. Keeping His thumb on your femoral artery, Sanguinius runs His tongue along your inner thigh until He stops and sucks on the spot to make it tender.

You know what He’s going to do before He does it, but Sanguinius curls His fingers inside your pussy again to stroke your nerves. As pleasure bolts up your spine and white stars explode in your vision, Sanguinius sinks His fangs into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Any pain you would feel is lost underneath the waves of your orgasm. By the time you come down from it, the pain has faded and His fangs in your thigh feels…almost sensual.

It's hard not to, especially when Sanguinius wears a look of sheer bliss on His face. When you stroke His hair, a rumbling noise escapes Him almost like a purr.

“Drink to your satisfaction, Your Grace,” you whisper tremulously. His eyes have slipped closed as He drinks deep of your blood, the sound of His swallowing making a nest for itself in your brain forever. When you tilt your head back slightly, you are treated to the sight of Sanguinius’s neck bulging slightly as He drinks your blood.

You’re not sure how long He drinks; it could be anywhere from a few seconds to multiple days. But with a long, guttural groan, Sanguinius pulls off your thigh and cleans the bite wound with his tongue.

“I was right to call you my Sweet One,” He coos, “though I cannot tell if your blood is sweeter than your cunt.” Your blood decorates His mouth in a ring of shining crimson and when He licks it off, your eyes follow His tongue.

His arms wrap around you and pull you towards Him, so His cock slaps against your belly. Your legs can barely wrap around His waist, thighs straining with the effort. But it is worth it for Sanguinius to dip his head and nuzzle your forehead.

“I can no longer wait,” He warns you, using one hand to guide the head of His cock inside of you. It splits your pussy lips and the piercing rubs your clit. Sanguinius rubs Himself on your open core, wetting His cock with your juices while getting you wet with His precum. Only when you are both glistening does Sanguinius begin feeding His cock into your pussy.

It’s a tight fit. Your hands fist into the red silk and your eyes squeeze shut, your head hammering with overstimulation. Sanguinius’s wings flutter, sending more feathers drifting into the sarcophagus to brush against your bare skin and make you whimper.

“Do you think you can take all of it?” The rasp in His voice makes your pussy clench around Him, and Sanguinius moans.

“I want to take all of it,” you whisper, and grit your teeth as Sanguinius pushes the rest of His cock inside of you. The piercing on His cockhead rubs against your inner walls before it comes to rest at the entrance of your womb.

“And so, you have.” Sanguinius takes hold of your wrists again, holding you in place. You are helpless under His strength as He begins to move out of you, slowly at first until His glans brush the lips of your entrance—

—Before Sanguinius slams back inside of you, rocking the Golden Sarcophagus back and forth on the altar and knocking a few candles onto the floor, where they harmlessly sputter and die.

Your mouth opens to scream, only to have the breath punched out of you by another merciless thrust. Sanguinius closes His mouth over yours, forcing His tongue into your mouth. You taste your blood on His tongue, and Sanguinius scrapes your lips with His fangs when He pulls away.

“I will not apologize for my rudeness,” He groans, “not when I have been waiting for ten thousand years! I will have what I want, even if I must take it.”

“Take…every-thing…f-from me,” you wheeze, and His growl sends ripples through your body. Sanguinius does not slow down his punishing pace, continuing to rock the sarcophagus hard enough that you are afraid of falling out. His cockhead slams into your womb, opening you up with His piercing in preparation to receive His seed.

You barely feel your second orgasm; you’re only aware of it when Sanguinius’s thrusts suddenly become wetter and louder. Your body has become a vessel for His pleasure, and His alone.

It is the highest honor He could have bestowed upon you.

Or at least, one of them. Sanguinius gathers your wrists under one hand with ease, while His other hand grips your head and forcibly turns it to expose your bare neck to him. “I am yet thirsty,” Sanguinius moans, no longer hiding His fangs behind His lips. He is forced to slow His thrusts as He bends over your body, but Sanguinius compensates by grinding into your cunt so His piercing rubs on your womb and His pelvis rubs your swollen clit.

The overstimulation sends you into a smaller orgasm right as Sanguinius sinks His fangs into your neck. Blood flows from your neck and pools under your hair, staining the silk underneath you. It’s hard to tell which act Sanguinius derives more pleasure from: drinking your blood, or filling your womb with His cock.

Black spots fill your gaze. The last thing you see before you faint from blood loss is Sanguinius hunched over you, lips stained with your blood.

“Oh, my Sweet One…we have only just begun.”

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

Your mind and body float through space, cradled in Sanguinius’s arms. At some point He stops pummeling you and lets you rest, though you’re not sure when or why. You’re not sure if He finished, and when you raise your head to ask—

He is gone. Instead, the sterile wall of quarantine greets you, and you blink to clear your vision. Given the deep crimson color, the Blood Moons have not yet reached their apex.

For some reason, your arms are above your head and your blankets have been kicked down your bed.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Brother Caphriel leans back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. His helmet sits on the floor beside his computer, revealing his mane of white hair.

“You had an active night for someone with a fever, however…” Popping a sanitized cap onto the thermometer, he puts it into your mouth. After it beeps again, he plugs it into the computer.

“Your fever broke last night, so it seems your fervent praying to The Great Angel was successful.” His eyes cut over to you and you throw the blanket over your head to hide your pink cheeks from his knowing gaze.

[moodymisty]

So I had these sitting around for a bit and didn't have any use for them, so i just decided to clean it a bit and then post it. So here, two snippets of a nailsremoved!AU to be balm on the wound of the inevitable tragedy that is Angron. Apologies about any incohesiveness due to it's rough nature. I'm trying to get more confidence in my own writing and posting more of the ideas that I don't spend 80 years on.

Relationships: Angron/Fem!Reader (an AU of my 'stolen historitor' saga)

Warnings: None really apart from typical 40k talk and Angron's general existence

Snippet 1

The only word you can use to possibly describe it, is euphoric.

Never in a million years, in all of your hopes and prayers and desperate pleas, did you ever think it would even be possible. Even he hadn't; Though as with much of his life, he'd accepted his inevitable fate with the same despondent anger as with much else.

You shouldn't be awake, but you can't help but watch him for a moment.

Angron sleeps sitting. Perhaps its a remnant of his time in the gladiator pits. That would make the most logical sense to you, watching as his chin presses against his collarbone. He has one leg bent and one straight out, his left elbow resting on the bent one. He's prepared to fight, even in his sleep. Even his chainaxes are still within reach. You know if you even shifted towards them, they'd be in his hands within the blink of an eye.

But it's still odd to you, not seeing them. The nails were such a poignant, overt part of Angron's silhouette, that their removal has been an adjustment. It feels like a part of him is missing; In an odd sort of way.

You accidentally shift, and he opens his eyes. You smile at him.

He grunts. You snuffle closer to him and lay against his side, content to stay there for the time being. He doesn't remove you, so you assume it's fine.

You’re happy, but it’s bittersweet.

You know that while Angron no longer feels the full punishment of the nails against every other emotion but rage, that portions of the nails that couldn’t be removed; The pieces that replaced parts of his brain will always give him pain. To say that he is cured is laughable as like some sort of sick curse, he can have no relief in his life. A more accurate description would be that they neutered the Butcher’s Nails to give Angron some breathing room.

"Does it still hurt?"

You say softly, feeling his massive hand flop on your hip.

While there is no longer any nails for you to soothe, he does still feel as if your company gives him relief. Perhaps that's just another human emotion he's only just now been able to taste.

“No.”

You don’t know if he says it because it’s true, or he merely mistakes the neutering of pain as full relief it would make sense, given how long he’s lived with the nails; The pain becoming part of him and even its slight removal could feel like it was gone.

He could also just be lying. Though perhaps it would be more accurate to say refusing to show weakness. Someone like him won't simply admit that pain is affecting him. He'll never show his stomach to anyone, now matter how close you may be to him.

He stares at you. Hard. It’s always impossible to tell what he’s thinking until he inevitably says it.

“You worry too much.”

Your lips purse, and Angron grips your face not too hard, but hard enough to make your cheeks empty of air.

"I'm not the only one. I'm just the only one who admits it." The gladiator makes a disgruntled, irritated face and looks away.

Snippet 2

What an odd moment in time, Sanguinius thinks.

To imagine that out of all of his brothers, the one hailing from Nuceria would be the one to change so drastically. And to think they'd almost thought him lost.

Such is the nature of life, he guesses. For things to change so quickly. Even in their long lives it doesn't seem to slow down in the slightest.

Sanguinius looks across the massive room, watching the World Eater's Primarch interact with the only human he's given time of day. A question must've been asked, as they look up to him with a curiosity and Angron glances down to give an amused scoff.

It's barely there, but he sees it. It's just barely noticeable in the slightly softened look in his eyes. But the angel is keen, and catches it. He speaks up to either of the men in his presence, to neither in particular.

"I've never seen that man crack even the smallest smile. And it's been, what, three hundred years?"

Sanguinius' wings are fluffed, comfortable in the presence of two of his closest brothers. They've even seen Konrad smile; Though context proves to be a valuable marker in regards to him in particular. Magnus crosses his arms and looks towards Horus, not having heard him when the two of them exchanged an amused chuckle at Sanguinus' observation. Odd, for the Warmaster. Normally whenever he's in the Angel's company on Terra, it's hard to keep a laugh off of his lips.

"Have you, brother?"

Horus looks towards his brothers with a soft, charming smirk, one that fades ever so slightly as he looks to Angron. He thinks back, trying to remember a moment where the man hailing from Nuceria had ever shown anything but rage boiling just beneath the surface.

He lets out a soft chuckle when he comes up completely empty, and shakes his head.

"No, I don't think I have."

With all three in agreement Sanguinus makes some sort of lighthearted jest to Magnus at Angron's expense, looking away from the Warmaster for a moment. He doesn't let his perfect veneer drop, as he sees the old gladiator speak words not audible to him at you.

Horus watches for a moment longer, and then walks away.

[kit-williams]

Barn Anon. Just this little one because I’m hungry and I smell food. Should I also hold off on sending any more for now?

Anytime you cook bacon in particular, it instantly becomes food thievery O’clock for Gabriel. Other food tend to take longer to rouse the deceptively adorable food thief. You had tried using a squirt bottle to deter him but unsurprisingly getting his shirt drenched has no effect on the massive Blood Angel.

Using pepper spray is much more effective according to some of the other Blood Angels you’ve spoken to. But can you really bring yourself to pepper spray your very oversized golden retriever of a Space Marine? You’re currently using whatever you have on hand to simply smack his hands away. Of course you know that he’s more than capable of dodging every smack. You get the feeling that every hit you land is more like an older sibling throwing a game to let their younger sibling win.

Well, nothing to be helped there. You look at your freshly made omelet and look over at Gabriel’s own omelet that’s buried under a layer of bacon.

“It must be nice taking all the bacon huh Gaby?”

Gabriel could survive off the nutrient paste that they could make easily back at base and the donated blood too... but somehow food that his bonded made tasted so much better! He cared little for food in all honesty it was just calories and nutrients only when it called to rub shoulders with elite would he allow himself to taste but it wasn't needed.

Food here popped and tasted. His favorite was beef... happy cow blood also was another thing that the chapter would use to help stave off the red thirst was animal blood but they were picky about it. Gabriel liked happy cows... distressed cows he could taste in the meat and the blood.

Gabriel looked at you as your arms were folded... and he gave back half of the bacon. It felt odd with their not being an overabundance of food it caused the chapters having to rely on making food synthesizers and paste makers or whatever else the techmarines and forge masters knew how to make. Self reliance was not something that they were strangers of.

He smiled as you smiled back and cooed your own thanks to him before digging into your breakfast. He did his small prayer to the Emperor and to Sanguinius thanking them for another day of life and well a small addition to him having his bonded.

Tag list sorry i forgot again: @egrets-not-regrets @liar-anubiass-blog @barn-anon @bleedingichorhearts

[emperor-church]

Прекрасный Сангвиний, непрестанно молим тебя мы, недостойные, чтобы ты оградил нас твоими молитвами, под кровом крыл невещественной твоей славы сохраняя нас, припадающих усердно и взывающих: «От бед избавь нас, как Великий Ангел!» Beautiful Sanguinius, we unceasingly pray to you, unworthy ones, that you protect us with your prayers, keeping us under the shelter of the wings of your immaterial glory, who fall down fervently and cry out: "Deliver us from troubles, like a Great Angel!" (Art Phi Nguyễn)

[wolffyluna]

Lost and the Damned cover art by Neill Roberts // Sanguinius by Alex Cristi // We Know The Devil by Worst Girls Games // 'did I write myself as gentle instead of hungry' by grendelmenz // Saint Michael the Archangel prayer // Genesis 4:10 // 'The Vampire Reminisces' by Dante Émile // 'Where it Begins' by Erica Jong // catherynne m. valente // Blood Angels Codex 3rd Edition

Sanguinius + everyone idealising you while you know inside you are tainted.

(Inspired by @irrealisms and @regicidal-optimism <3)

[meangreennunseen]

My favorite thing about Primarchs has to be that no matter in what groups you combine them, it's just pure chaos...

I have no idea how Big E planned to carrel all 18 of those idiots into giant pens rooms he built for them under Himalayan palace...

Not like Corvus wouldn't successfully escape in first hour.

Perturabo would break adjecting wall just to beat on Dorn who's been berating him (also Dorn was busy berating structural integrity of his room, because that's what Dorn does best)

Magnus already had teleported away via warp and Konrad's somewhere in the vents...

Vulkan got bored and teleported to Ferrus' room for a chat.

Fulgrim is singing his heart out, with Sanguinius joining in and Lion, in his room sandwitched between the two, is going insane.

To add:

Alpharius Omegon is not even there. There's random Alpharius locked in that room.

Moration already started to shovel out with a Primarch grade spoon.

Mournival are trying to sneak in to get Horus out. Meanwhile Horus joined sing along just to piss Lion off, because he's bored.

Angron hates everyone even more than usual.

Lorgar is reading prayers to drown out the singing.

Guilliman is reading a book in bed and discussing it over the wall with Khan.

Leman, most weirdly is just asleep snoring loudly. The chaos makes him sleepy.

As I said, pure fucking chaos.

[definitelynotalpharius]

Wings of Heralds:

"We ride for the Imperium, bolter and blade. We ride for The Emeror and Sanguinius. We ride for the people, their martyrs and saints. We ride for the blood and we ride out to meet death. If the blood will it, death is not where our service ends. Morte per Sanguine." - Prayer of the Wings of Heralds

A few photos of the outriders I managed to finish up after my last exam and before the announcement of yet another. Haven't yet had the chance to look at the new index, but a quick moving scout unit is almost always useful, I'd think.

[galgannet]

Это было долго и сложно, но все же удалось закончить.  Асторат заслуживает внимания. 

[nemossubmarine]

Warhammer 40k: Wrath & Glory RP #47

Izarak wakes up in a dream. He knows it’s a dream, but he worries how long he has been there; maybe he fell into a coma or something? He gets up. He is still where he fell asleep at, but it’s fall. The leaves on the trees in the forest have fallen, and the grass on the ground has turned orange. There appears to be no one around, but the bells in the castle are ringing; joyous like wedding bells.

Izarak starts heading for the castle. He notices a large man standing at the castle’s entrance, and as he approaches, he realizes that the man is Sanguinius. Chazaqiel had appeared to him in the form of the Primarch of the Blood Angels, but he had never been able to disguise his green eyes. This man’s eyes are soft honey-brown, so Izarak approaches the winged man with no fear. Sanguinius greets him and says he is not surprised to see him here. Izarak asks if he is needed here, and Sanguinius says that he is tied to this place, because though Chazaqiel is not alive, he isn’t gone either and his influence still remains. He tells Izarak that the Countess is on the planet, here to rub it in Chazaqiel’s face that he got defeated, but she is afraid of the darkness lurking within.

Sanguinius asks Izarak whether his faith still remains. Izarak says he still has faith in people, but not in the institution. Sanguinius recommends keeping faith on the living (apparently the people’s faith on this planet in him has brought him here) as he personally would like to rest. Then Izarak wakes up.

Before that, Alice has tried slapping Izarak awake, but since it doesn’t seem to work, he contacts Larry and Coco to let them know that Izarak is down. Coco gasps and asks if Izarak had a heart attack again. Larry asks Alice to check his pulse and whether he still breathes, which she does with surprising expertise. She determines that Izarak is fine, there’s just no one home. Coco and Larry say they’ll come back.

At the forest, they can hear noises of beasts running away. Coco finds that the vial of Emperor’s Tears in her backpack is reacting to something. Fafnik, upon learning Coco got it from some kid hanging out with the Dark Angels (Fafnik also explains that the Astartes don’t actually have kids, not even adopted ones). Larry is convinced he heard the Countess’ voice coming from the direction where the trees fell down, but they decide to rejoin Alice and Izarak first.

Alice also notices the beasts fleeing the forest. At the same time, Izarak begins to stir, and something falls from the sky, onto Alice’s shoulder; a large white feather. Alice thanks the Emperor and some of his sons (apparently Alice plays favorites).

When the party (and Fafnik) are re-joined, Izarak explains how he met up with Sanguinius. Alice asks if he was hot, but Izarak says that’s not relevant. He says Sanguinius confirmed that the Countess is on the planet, and that the drukhari are afraid of the darkness in the forest. Larry asks Fafnik to go away for a bit, so he can tell the others that he isn’t so sure just because the drukhari don’t like a cave, means it’s good for them; in fact it’s quite worrying, as the drukhari sure like to explore caves, as far as Larry knows (wink, wink, nudge, nudge).

They ask Fafnik to come back, and decide to go check out the forest one last time before they call out the Blood Angels. They make their way back under the stealth drone (everyone except Coco, since she doesn’t fit in). They go check out the place where they heard trees falling down. Indeed, they find the spot, where the explosion had caved in part of the tunnel (with the bad vibes). There’s a tree fallen over that has had the mushrooms on it, and some kind of a force seems to be killing them. They hear eldar moving to the north of them, and they also can hear whispered prayers coming from the cave (except Larry, who hears the Countess once again, and is getting frustrated that no one seems to believe him). Izarak says that if there’s a chance that there’s people there, he needs to go check it out. Larry doesn’t believe there’s anyone there, but in the end they all decide to go check out the spooky tunnel, except Fafnik who stays behind to keep an eye out.

The tunnel is dark, and there are whispers of prayers. The party moves stealthily under the drone, lighting their way with Izarak’s candles. They spot a small figure in the distance, who doesn’t notice them and continues deeper into the tunnel. They follow, and come to a room, where the feeling turns serene. There is a water-damaged statue of Sanguinius with something chained to the back of it, as well as a pool of water, where a blue light is moving. But none of that matters for the moment, as they hear sounds of battle coming from further in, and Coco claims that she hears Michael’s voice. Larry voxes Fafnik to let him know there might be the Countess and some Astartes here, and for some reason Fafnik is more surprised about the Countess’ possible presence rather than the Astartes, but it might be because the signal is breaking. Larry tells him to stay alert and ready to contact the Blood Angels soon.

So off towards the noise they go. They come upon a cavern, filled with strange light substance moving in waves. There are some kinds of monsters raising from the waves. There are also stones raising above the substance, there are the four Astartes, fighting against the monsters. Cassiel is against the wall, looking alright. Rødørn and Eirenaos share an island, fighting back to back, looking a bit more damaged. And on the other side of the room, they can spot Michael.

And on this image we’ll end this session on.