#Wh30k

[enerisarchive]

By the blood of Sanguinius 🩸

[fromcommorragh]

Female Horus by @cnmbwjx3 on twitter

[augustender]

Saw a picture of armbands on Pinterest and it’s like a lightbulb appeared over my head

I loove how his hair turned out, it’s like a giant red mane

His pose looks like something from jojo, but actually it’s just elaborate pose from underwear ad…

[nevesmose]

✨️ TRAITOR PRIMARCHS x SCOTTISHPEOPLETWITTER ✨️

Loyalists + Bonus

[mahleb]

[suzanna-polixena]

It's much easier with Lucius though - currently we mutually flip the bird whenever we see other.

Felt stuck in an art block and tried drawing one of the "bad guys". Someone I would not feel too bad for drawing them poorly.

Eidolon came to mind, his voice nagging me for giving too much attention to some no name losers whose desire for perfection is superficial at best 😤 And he gallantly fought his way to completion. Good job Eidolon, you can now brag about your feat...elsewhere.

[scriberye]

🔞 Hunt

─────────────────────────── JAGO SEVATAR x GN!READER ⚠️🔞 Explicit Sexual Content, Predator/Prey, Violence, Blood It's a tradition on Nostramo for a groom to infiltrate and kidnap his future spouse from their family home. If he succeeds he's worthy, or he dies trying. a/n: Sevatar chases you around a ship. Good luck, Heretics!

You stand in the hangar bay of the 114th’s ship, trying to come to terms with what the hell just happened. Moments ago, Sevatar had announced over a ship-wide vox cast his intention to marry you. The next thing you knew, you were plucked from the Nightfall and transferred to another one of the smaller ships.

Tovac Tor, Captain of the 114st and the closest person Sevatar considered a friend, took it upon himself to act as your guardian, whatever that meant. “Stay close,” he orders you. “And follow me.”

You follow, taking the chance to look around the unfamiliar ship. Night Lords linger in the shadows, red lenses glinting and eager. There’s a strange lack of human crew, no lumbering servitors. They’re all strangely absent.

“Captain,” you call out, trying to get your ‘guardian’s’ attention. “Would you mind explaining this tradition to me?”

“He didn’t tell you?” Tovac hums thoughtfully, his pacing unchanging. He doesn’t even look back to acknowledge you. “It’s pretty simple. Sevatar is going to fight us to get to you, and if he wins you’ll be his cute little human spouse.”

“And if he doesn’t get to me?”

“He either succeeds or dies trying.” Tovac replies with a shrug, leading you onto the empty command deck. There’s not a soul here either, just the persistent hum of the ship’s system and flickering lights on the control panels.

“Where’s the rest of the crew?” you ask.

“You’re full of questions.”

You shoot him a sour look. “Of course I am, I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Backtalk. I see why he likes you,” Tovac remarks, a hint of amusement in his tone, adjusting the lightning claws on his gauntlets. “We moved them below deck. They’re not family so their participation is not required, and I can’t risk… collateral damage.”

That’s some relief. The crew is safe and not decorating some Night Lord’s armor.

Suddenly, the klaxons blare, signaling Sevatar’s arrival. You inch back, heart pounding, as Tovac takes a battle stance, energy crackling across his claws. His breathing quickens. You can see it in the way his armor moves. He’s excited.

The door slides open, and out from the shadows, Sevatar appears, blood still fresh on his armor. His chainglaive revs and snarls. A shiver runs down your spine. But those cold, dark eyes aren’t on you — they’re on Tovac, the last obstacle blocking him from getting to you.

“Run!” Tovac shouts, standing between you and Sevatar. You don’t need to be told twice. You turn and bolt from the command deck, escaping down another corridor with your heart pounding in your chest. The sound of their violent clash echoes behind you, fading as you get further away.

Your mind races, trying to think of what to do next. In your frantic searching, you find a storage room and dart inside, seeking a hiding spot. The room is cluttered with containers and equipment, and you squeeze yourself behind a stack of crates. There’s a maintenance hatch nearby, offering a potential escape route should you need it.

The door hisses open. Heavy ceramite footsteps echo in the room as he draws closer. They stop. Silence.

“You can’t hide from me,” he taunts you, his tone almost sing-song. “I will find you.”

And you know he’s right. Sevatar is relentless and you’re his favorite prey. Your breath catches as the footsteps come closer. You press yourself up against the wall, hands clamped over your mouth to stifle your breath.

The footsteps stop.

With a sudden, violent motion, Sevatar kicks the crate you’re hiding behind, sending it flying into others in a cacophony of noise.

“There you are,” Sevatar says. He towers over you, blood drip-drops from his armor onto the floor. He reaches up, releasing his helm with a hiss and tossing it aside, revealing the twisted smile on his handsome features. You bite your lip. He spots the hatch next to you.

“Oh, don’t even think about it, sweetheart.”

You slam your hand against the button, opening the hatch and throw yourself into the tunnel, scrambling to put as much distance between yourself and him. Sevatar reaches in after you, one massive hand feeling around as he reaches for you. He grabs your ankle in an ironclad grip and you let out a startled gasp.

He yanks you back through the hatch; you scream and claw at the metal for purchase, but to no avail. Sevatar tosses you onto the cold floor, and you push yourself up onto your hands, chest heaving.

“Jago…” you gasp, eyes wide. His eyes wander shamelessly over your body, hungry and possessive. His smile widens as looms over you, unlatching his codpiece and tossing it aside with a clatter.

His hands are on you in moments, ripping at your clothes and exposing your naked body to his gaze. You suppress a shudder as the cold gauntlets run up your legs, leaving angry red welts in their wake. You let out a small whimper. Sevatar squeezes the flesh of your thighs, forcing them open and up.

Sevatar looms over you, leaning down to press his cold-scarred lips against yours. It’s a shockingly tender kiss by Night Lord standards. But you fight back, not content to let Sevatar just have his win. You push against his chest, knowing full well that it’s futile against his size and the bulky armor.

You bite down on his lip — hard. The bitter tang of blood floods your mouth.

He recoils with a hiss. And to add insult to injury, you spit the blood out — it connects with his cheek, leaving a crimson streak. Oh. A dangerous glint ignites in Sevatar’s eyes, a delicious blend of predatory delight and dark amusement.

“Oh, little one, you are going to pay for that,” Sevatar says with a smirk. He rears back and grasps your waist, hauling you back and up onto his lap. You bite back the urge to moan, feeling the stiffness of his cock pressing against your thigh.

He forces the head of his cock into you, and slowly, painfully, sinks himself deeper into you. Each little thrust is deliberate and rough, making you feel every inch until you’re as full of him as your body will allow.

“O-oh! Fuck! Jago…!” you cry out, pushed the limits of where pain and pleasure mingle together. You grab onto his wrists, grounding yourself as you breathe through the overwhelming sensations.

“That’s it,” he says with a grin. “You’ll behave next time for your husband, won’t you?”

He starts to move inside you, his pace quickly becoming relentless and brutal. The storage room fills with the sound of heavy pants, and breathless gasps echoing off metallic walls. The crack and hum of his armor. Your torn clothes rustling. And the slap of skin as his hips pound into yours.

Sweat coats your skin, trickling down your forehead. Finally, it becomes unbearable; he pushes you over the edge, your body trembling and shaking as you cum with a cry of pleasure. Sevatar doesn’t stop though. He tightens his grip on your hips and jackhammers himself into you. With one final, brutal thrust, he stills, and a deep, satisfied groan echoes through the room as he fills you with his release.

Slowly, he pulls out of you and you collapse back onto the floor. The cold mingling with your sweat soaked skin and sending a chill through your spent body.

“Still with me, love?”

You hum weakly, lifting your hand enough in a half-hearted thumbs up. “That’s one way… to propose,” you say as your voice cracks, rough and strained from the screaming.

Sevatar laughs. He leans over you once again, kissing you again, and this time, you don’t bite him. You reach up and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Let’s get you back to the Nightfall,” he murmurs, pecking your lips a few more times, “and I’ll drown you in the baths.”

Your laugh turns into a fit of coughing. Sevatar pulls away, your arms slipping from around him and he gazes at you in a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. He hunts down his missing codpiece and attaches it, before pulling his helm back over his head and sealing it with a hiss.

He returns to your side and scoops you into his arms. Exhausted, and a sticky, hot mess, you nestle in against him, soaking up the cold touch of his armor.

“If that was a traditional proposal, what’s a wedding look like?”

[tanknode]

Hes absolutely unhinged and Terrible I love him

[lmadsadness]

i dont like them i dont like them i dont like them i don

[nerael]

Моя самая сложная работа окончена. Не идеально, но мне нравится.

[kitto-paint]

In my Skitarii fanfiction RPG I had thalaxius/former Pretorian who was mysteriously brain-fried in ship-breaking conflict.

They weren't sentient or responsive, with only communication being broadcasting painful memories/nightmares during sleep. (players decided that the sound of their PTSD were actually active units conveging on them)

Their techpriest was obsessed on fixing them. Players, not asking why specifically, joined on obsession.

(quest was about letting this unit die, or maybe asking priest why they cared so hard, but it was obv that Skitarii are precious little meow meows and we don't let them die, even if it's way past their time! )

[enerisarchive]

"Greeting. It is I, Rogal Dorn."

[fromcommorragh]

Female Perturabo by @cnmbwjx on twitter

[augustender]

(version with black hair under the text)

Blood Angels are probably my favourites out of loyalist legions bc I'm a sucker for gene flaws (and tee hee, vampires - hence the pointed ears), so then I found a beautiful stained glass art piece I just couldn't resist redrawing it as Sanguinius

Also debated giving him dataports, but couldn't find definitive answers on a fact that primarchs have them (ik that Magnus has some version of them on his models, but still)

[nevesmose]

Curze grinned at the First Captain suddenly, transforming his visage into a death’s head rictus lit by febrile eyes. ‘Now you have met my brother, you must surely prefer crows to ravens.’

That was a joke, thought Sevatar. He did not understand jokes. ‘My lord, are we finished?’

For some unfathomable reason, that made Curze cringe, and he nodded like a rebuked child.

Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter by Guy Haley.

[mahleb]

I was thinking - why do I only draw Lorgar as a child? So today there will be little Dorn with Grandfather.