#and a bit of ultramarine blue | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moodymisty · 8 days

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ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔯𝔲𝔪 𝔒𝔣 𝔄 𝔙𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔵

Author's note: I have a few requests left to do but I really wanted to kind of do this sort of thing after a few asks brought it up. And the Victrix Guard designs fucking slap so, here. Part 1 of something maybe? I don't know guess I'll see how people respond.

Summary: Marcellus of the Victrix Guard has a crisis of faith.

Relationships: Marcellus(oc)/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Very vague references to lewd things, Digging into an astartes brain figuratively

"8th Company has requisitioned seven more landraiders, 2nd company needs another thunderhawk,"

Marcellus' ears picked up on your voice quickly this time, as you entered the massive room. Your Ultramarine branded robes are frayed at the bottom but in good shape overall- ornate and fitting of your stature. Unlike other chapters that allow their Administratum members to retain their original clothes, Ultramarines prefer they wear the deep blue that is symbolic of Macragge.

He watched with a bored interest, but as time goes on, the feeling yet again began to rise in him like water boiling in a geyser.

Why does his chest feel like this all of the sudden? He cleared his throat in the direction of the tiled floor.

No change.

He however still continued to watch you from his post as you flutter around, reading and writing papers. Commissars and Ultramarines give you orders, requests for more materials or arms. You shuffle around response times for fleets, combat data; Administraum taxes and tithes.

He watched you do it all with deftness- a grace and dedication- from his post at the entrance, silently.

He's spoken to you a handful of times; Thanking him for allowing you to enter and exit the room. A few times you've dropped things- and once he helped you pick them up, a gesture that made you smile and thank him profusely for the assistance. Your words stumbled off your tongue like they were just falling out, before your scurried away and leaving him with a feeling of, unfulfillment.

That moment is where he's traced this feeling back to. Where it all started. Ever since he crunched your parchments in his gauntlet to hand them to you, which you took with fingers so much smaller than his own and thanked him like he’d saved your very life- there was something in his gut that swirled like nausea.

First, he had tried the apothecary.

'All vitals come back normal, brother. You are in peak shape, as one would expect as a Victrix Guard. But if you are still feeling unsure, perhaps your ailment might be spiritual in nature. A visit to the chaplain would perhaps be your next option."

He had gone to the chaplain next, as suggested, walking through the nave as he approached the brother chaplain at the altar standing in contemplation.

'Brother chaplain. I might be in need of your guidance."

He turned to him, a peculiar and almost amused look on his face.

'Might? An interesting one.'

Marcellus adjusted his jaw and hesitated speaking for a moment; This feeling of unknown, of unsure nature, eats at him like a parasite.

'I feel, wrong. I have already gone to the apothecary and he said nothing is abnormal. He suggested that I, might need your guidance.'

He had listened to the chaplain's words with the utmost vehemence, prayed with him, remembered his vows as an Ultramarine- a Victrix Guard. He spent hours in that chapel the incense burning at his nose, the taste of its smoke coating his mouth- The Emperor’s glow casting over him through the stained glass mural.

He felt better afterwards. He rose from his knees and thanked his brother chaplain before returning to his duties. Perhaps a bit of righting was all he had needed. Doubt had planted its first seed in him and the chaplain was able to pluck it, righting his path back into the brightest of holy lights.

Three days later however, upon seeing you again, the feeling returned.

You nearly stumbled to your knees, a servoskull flying over your head. You quickly scurried to pick up your things and nervously laughed.

I am so sorry my lord, I seem to make a fool of myself in front of you quite a bit.'

Marcellus hummed, it coming out of his helmet with a distorted crackle.

'I suppose we cannot all be as deft and agile as those in Corvus Armor.'

You gave a soft laugh, smiling. When you stop why does he feel, disappointed?

'No I suppose not.'

You seemed like you were going to move on, but he impulsively speaks before he has a chance to catch himself.

'What is your name?'

You had hesitated, before uttering your name with a tilt of nervousness. He gave you his own, for no other reason that it fell off his lips without his control. Whatever his ailment is now coming for his ability to speak next, what in the name of The Emperor is next? His very ability to see?

Throne, what is wrong with him?

As soon as he could, he returned to the apothecary.

Once again, nothing was physically wrong with him. He'd begun to think maybe the apothecary was missing something. But he was the only apothecary aboard, one who’d served for over one hundred years- he throws the doubt of his brother away. That’s what this illness would want of him; To sow doubt.

He considered going to the chaplain again, standing outside of the chapel, but hesitated before making himself know .

If he keeps this up, what if the chaplain begins to suspect corruption? In a Victrix Guard? Even the mere suspicion would bring a stain upon him and his brothers.

He ended up entering despite the hesitation, and prayed in silence and solitude. For whatever was wrong with him to rear its ugly head so he could cut it off.

He returned to his post four hours later, the ash of incense on his armor.

He stood vigilant, though he feels the unconscious squaring of his shoulders as he noticed your approach.

'Greetings, Lord Marcellus.'

He found his eyes drawn to the shape of your lips. The soft skin, the peak of them under your nose, like the double head of his Aquila.

'Greetings.'

You passed by him, and he turned his head to continue following.

The way your hips gently curved was, interesting. You don't have the sharp lines and angles of armor, every part of you is this smooth, soft shape that confuses him. It’s so different, it felt almost unknown.

Marcellus abruptly bit the inside of his cheek, and pushed a sharp exhale through his nose. He doesn't understand why his eyes wander so. Yet again. He is lax in his fortitude- his faith. He is allowing trifling distractions possess his mind-

You're speaking to someone.

He watched you smile at the man. He can hear talk about the frigid air of the ship over other voices and the sounds of rattling pipes, and you laughed when he jokes about them turning to icicles. It's not until after the man leaves, that Marcellus realized how tight his gauntlets had gripped his shield until he loosens them with considerable noise complaint.

Staying stalwart at his post eats at him like a pack of rats, he can see his hearts rising and lowering in beats from the HUD of his helmet. When it is time for him to rotate out, he leaves with no parting words or even glanse.

He rushed to a corner of a random hall, tearing off his ornate helmet and allowing it to tumble across the floor.

His hearts raced in his chest, his throat is tight; His body is hot and his lower stomach is twisted in a knot.

Throne, it's getting worse. But he knows now.

It's you. You're doing something to him.

Anytime you are in his sight or in his mind is when this sickness overtakes him, when his body gets hotter and his hands almost feel like they're- Throne- like they're going to shake. His stomach tightens in knots, his skin feels like his blood is burning; He wants to tear off his armor and cure this indiscernible, throne-forsaken ache that overtakes his lower body.

He's never felt anything like this before. Bloodlust in the heat of battle sometimes felt similar, like fire was running through his veins, his hearts pumping hot blood. But this feeling is so much heavier, and isn't sated by the slaughter.

"Lord Marcellus?"

You let his name slip off your lips so gently, so innocently. He knows better.

You approached cautiously with your arms pulled close to your chest, tentatively looking at him.

"Are... Are you alright? I saw you leave quite quickly and forgive my prying I just, wanted to make sure you were-"

With a speed only an Astartes could muster he grasped your arm with a strength that has you yelping in pain, pulling you closer to him.

"Woman, what is this foul trickery you've placed on me?"

You looked up at him with eyes stricken full of fear, facing the full brunt of an astartes' booming voice. He could hear the fabric of your clothes scratch as you shook like a prey animal.

"Trickery? I, I have no idea what you're talking about!" He leaned inward.

“You know well! I feel this curse take over whenever you are close!”

He could already see the welling of tears in your eyes, shoulders rolled forward meekly.

Throne- damn that- he needs answers!

"I, I am so sorry for what I've done my lord, but I don't know what that is..."

Your arm shook in his grip, crippled by pain that surely radiates throughout your body. You've crumbled under his stare like a wounded animal laying down prepared to die- an expression he finds unfamiliar.

He let go of you. Your hand curled limply as you held it against your chest, unable to flex it without pain in your arm.

"Retrieve my helm."

Your eyes dart around his face for a moment before looking around, scurrying to pick up his golden helm off the ground and tentatively giving it over, while looking at the ground. He could see a few tears had fallen and stained your cheeks.

He took it with one hand, before leaving.

His quarters were the first place he thinks to retreat to. They're close, and he'll have a moment without the risk of prying eyes.

The walk there however is absent of such a mercy. Astartes look at him and the petulant expression on his face- he decided to put his helmet back on halfway there. Only when he reached the confines of his quarters did he remove it once more, hooking it onto his belt before sitting on the bunk as the metal let out a resounding groan of complaint.

His armoring suit felt like a gentle, teasing touch on his chest and back under his heavy armor. With each movement it sends jolts of something through his body as it brushed against his skin. He's never been able to actually feel it against him like this; Normally it feels like nothing. A second skin.

The sensation isn't... bad.

Marcellus shifted his jaw, feeling the muscles in his neck strain. He tries to ignore it, all of this, but time doesn't weather it in the slightest.

He wonders if you’re still crying.

"Lord Marcellus," A voice spoke over vox and interrupted a moment that had haken hold of his senses to a concerning degree. "You're needed on the deck."

Why must everything test him? What did he do, who did he scorn to have his mind fogged and in it for everyone to test his patience? Nothing works- it's only getting worse- his failure for letting the Emperor leave his mind and allowing it to darken.

"…I am on my way."

Marcellus rises to his feet- the mechanics of his armor let out a soft hiss.

He walked there with an overblown show of confidence, hiding his fear of the unknown underneath it.

What eats at him? He intends to find out.

#space marine x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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slutshamethesquirrels · 3 days

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Suguru Blue - Part 3

Pairing: cult leader!geto x reader

Word Count (Part 3): 4K

Warnings: dub-con, rough sex, mentions of violence, sexual trauma, murder, mind games

From then on, he was playing a new game. One he’d never before played, and one he wasn't very fond of. He’d always been a sore loser.

It was part of his problem with Satoru all those years ago. The white haired beauty had forever been two steps ahead of him in almost every facet, whether that be skill or strength or sheer willpower. Satoru was always just a bit better in every way. An inch or two taller, a smartass retort just a second quicker, the bravery to kiss another boy just seconds before he himself had built up the confidence to do so. It was only natural that the only person who could be even more prideful than himself was Gojo. He knew he had no chance of convincing him to join himself in his defection; to do so would be convincing him they were on the losing side of history.

When the time came, he couldn't even look at him, knowing the ultramarine eyes of someone who once trusted- once loved him were boring holes in the back of his skull. But in a way, he'd finally won. The victory wasn't sweet. Going back on that decision would be to admit defeat yet again, so he never had.

Victory tasted a lot like curses sometimes, he decided, but not as intense. Less of an assault on your tastebuds and more of a kind of bile and acid constantly lodged in the back of his throat. Perhaps it was his urge to finally taste something a little sweeter that had him bending over backwards for you.

It was uncomfortable at first, practicing your stupid therapy terms. Boundaries strangled him. Coping Mechanisms felt like a serrated knife to his jugular. Repairing and Rebuilding felt like getting tossed down the stairs of some abandoned hotel by a first-grade curse at sixteen years old, every step knocking the wind from his chest.

It was helping, though. Whether he liked it or not. His first real reality check had come not from you, but from Nanako, who’d casually pointed out over breakfast how happy he’d seemed recently. He didn’t know if that word had ever been used to describe him, and he wasn’t sure he’d use it himself.

And still. This had to be at least close, right?

Here, on the couch with you, some old band he didn’t know emanating from the television, the screen just bright enough to cast shadows on the walls of your living room. There’s a faint acknowledgement swirling in the back of his brain that there was midday sunlight streaming in through the windows when he’d settled here with you nestled against the plush of the sofa, but he can’t care, not when your giggles are flooding his ears, your shoulders shaking against him as you scroll through social media. In the past fifteen minutes or so, you’d found an account full of cat videos, and he’d found himself entranced by just how easily you were amused.

He was learning a lot about you. You didn’t have many friends, but the ones you did were incredibly good ones (“Quality over quantity”, you’d said.) , you preferred fruity sweets to chocolate ones, you had the most irritating habit of getting in bed with your socks on and then kicking them off in the night. Each new detail was a brush stroke, your quail feather pen dipping into indigo ink and broadening his horizons, somehow without the slightest hint of knowledge about his world.

He wanted to tell you, to kneel at your altar and confess his transgressions, but he couldn't even expect God to have mercy on him, much less a monkey- human girl.

In another world, another life, somewhere far away from reality it’s different. He decides as he twirls his fingers through a loc of your hair, watching the way the lapis glow from your phone screen makes it shine. It's just the three of you; You, Satoru and himself. The two of you fight over who gets to sleep in the middle damn near nightly, and he ends up taking the spot for himself. He swears it's to stop the bickering, but the truth is he loves the way your individual breaths caress either side of his neck. It is because he feels the best trapped underneath the weight of the both of you. It's because he knows you'll fall asleep first and he'll get the last kiss from Satoru, but not before he watches one half of his soul trace the other one's sleeping features with his fingers-

“Hello? So far away.” Your voice cuts through the fantasy, and he’s ripped back into reality, clearing his throat as if he'd just been caught doing something wrong before humming in acknowledgment. You had a habit of making him feel raw, but right. Like a callous cut from a heel. Tender, painful, exposed, refreshed.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You prod again when he doesn’t elaborate, and he chuckles.

“Just a penny? I’ll have you know, these are expensive ideas-”.

“A nickel then.”.

“Quarter.”.

“Okay, listen dude. I know the economy’s bad but holy shit.”.

He smirks as you discard your phone on the table and crawl up his body until you’re straddling his abdomen, his hands gently cradling your waist. It's the closest you’ve allowed him to get in a while, and it makes his skin itch. Though if he's honest, he doesn't know what to do when you finally let him truly touch you again. These days you felt more fragile than you used to, or maybe that wasn't the word he was looking for.

Not fragile, but delicate.

You were healing just as much as he was. Every time he saw you it seemed he made a new mistake. When he would move too fast and you’d jump, only to grab his hand and assure him you were okay. When he'd get a little too quiet, furrow his brow in thought and catch you staring at him like a deer in headlights. When he rolled over to hold you in the middle of the night last week and you’d awoken in a complete panic, desperately crawling away from him and gasping your safe word before he’d reoriented you.

“Blue!”

He didn't want to be the cause of your nightmares. And yet he couldn't bring himself to walk away. Not even for your own good. He’d done that before. This time, he was determined to do it differently.

Your hand moves to brush his hair back away from his face, and his eyes flutter shut almost as if to spite him. Vulnerable, raw. Hurts.

He's unsure if he's annoyed by or thankful for the shrill and sudden ringing emanating from the pocket of his hoodie, and at this hour there was really only one option for who it could be. And no matter how much he enjoyed his time with you, they would always come first. He can't explain why it is that he grabs the front of your shirt to keep you there as he shifts and produces his phone from his pocket and presses it to his ear. There's something in him that craves the pain, it seems.

Nanako doesn't wait for him to greet her before she starts.

“Are you coming home or not?!”

Somewhere in the distance he hears her twin chastising her for being so rude, and he cracks a fond grin at the sound, his eyes watching his own hands fiddling with the hem of your shirt as he argues with her. Yes, he's aware he’d been away quite a bit in the past week. No, of course he didn't hate them or wish them a slow and painful death. Yes, he would be home when they awoke in the morning. Yes, they could go out for breakfast.

When his eyes meet yours again your brow is furrowed, confusion twisting your pretty features.

“Who was that?” You ask, and he notices your shoulders growing tense. You didn't fully trust him yet, like a dog that had been wounded by a hand that was supposed to lead.

He flips through his repertoire of rules. Communication, honesty, vulnerability. Did it count when it came to his home life? Of course, he could never be completely honest with you, or at least not anytime soon. There was a large part of him that hoped he'd meet his end before he was cornered into breaking your heart like that. You were the only one that could make him feel real guilt. It was the one thing you possessed that Satoru didn't. Regardless, he had to at least try, to give you what he could.

“My kids.” His grip on you tightens as he watches emotion swirl in your eyes, unwilling to let you mentally or physically run from him until he could explain.

“They're not my blood. Fate brought us together when I was around nineteen. They were in a bad place, so was I. At the time, I think all three of us needed someone who understood… we just kind of never left each other.”

You soften a bit and he mirrors you, melting back into the couch as you seem to relax some. He loves that feeling, he realizes. There's some sort of reward center in his body that seems to be triggered only by your approval. It feels like when he used to steal Satoru's expensive jackets in the winter. Warm. Heavy.

“Nineteen is really young to take on two kids.” You murmur.

He can't exactly wrap his head around the way you're looking at him, so he just pulls you down into the crook of his neck instead, wrapping his arms around your frame.

“You're correct. Of all the mistakes I’ve made, though, that's not one of them. I’d do it all over again for them.”

“You're sweet.”

He doesn't respond, too focused on the way your breath is fanning across his neck to argue with you.

***

He can't justify his actions.

None of them. He’d never made a single rational decision in his life, actually. Geto was a rollercoaster of contradictions and conundrums, but somehow things always worked out. He survived, preserved, weathered the storm time and time again. His foundation was solid, though the paint on his walls weathered and the windows of his soul were cracked and patched with trash bags and duct tape.

He’d always been strong. Resolute. Assured.

So why, then, was he here? Standing at the door of your apartment in the dead of night, trying to find the will in himself to knock? Like you might reject him? You had every right to reject him. You should reject him.

He needed you. Never in his life had he needed anyone, but he was certain the weight in his stomach would crush him if he couldn't see you. Quickly. You’d become a strange safe haven for his sensitivities, something he wasn't all that happy about. It was like being stranded on a sinking ship.

Alone, he'd be able to consign himself to his fate, nothing but indigo waves spanning for miles around him. He could find a sense of calm in the inevitable.

You were a lighthouse. A beacon of hope in the distance. You gave him the idea that there was a way out of his fate, and with it, all the anxiety of chasing that faith. You gave him a chance, choice, and raised the stakes to desperate levels. Without you, there would be none.

He isn't sure what's worse, but he knocks anyway.

It takes you a minute and a few more rounds of knocking, but just when he's about to turn on his heel the door swings open.

“Suguru?” The half question comes through a yawn as one of your hands moves to scrub at your eyes with a balled fist. He’d feel bad for waking you if you didn't look so angelic in your sweatpants and oversized t-shirt. Your knotted hair frames your face in a way that makes you look younger, softer, more vulnerable.

He immediately feels a little lighter.

“I-”

Right. Here he was, running to you for comfort, with no good excuse as to why. He didn't even understand it himself.

“I had a nightmare.” He can't look at you when he says it.

A small hum escapes you, along with a yawn, and then you’re stepping to the side, motioning him in. He hopes you're too tired to notice the tension in his gate, the way his skin bristles like he’s stepped past the barrier of a veil and directly into a domain, like there was a guaranteed hit barreling his way and he could do nothing but his best to protect himself. He’d walked the floor of your apartment so many times, slept in your bed, ate at your table– so why now did it feel foreign? Why did the click of your lock behind him sound like the cock of Toji Fushiguro’s revolver?

He shouldn’t have come here. Not in such a chaotic state. He should’ve waited until the sun was out, until the sky was painted a much lighter shade of blue; one that wasn’t so difficult to see through.

Your fingers find his wrist, tugging him lazily back to a bed he considered sacred.

He lets you.

He lets you get settled, guide him forward, pull him down to you with delicate fingers on his arms, his shoulders, his jaw– until you’re tucking him into the crook of your neck, undoing the hasty bun he’d made out of his hair on his way over, massaging his scalp with your fingers– soothing him.

“I’m too heavy for you, y/n.”

It was true in more ways than you could possibly conceive of, but you only pull more of his body weight over your frame until your drowning in his hair, his broad shoulders, his battle-sculpted arms. The large scars that form an ‘x’ on his chest brush against the fabric of his tshirt, and it feels like they might tear open once again.

“Don’t care.” You sigh out, dipping one hand below the fabric of his shirt you rake your nails lightly along his back. He shudders, watches the way the moonlight streaming in through the window dances across his forearm, illuminating the scars you’d blessed him with.

He didn’t know where all his scars had come from, to keep count would be pointless. He kept track of the important ones, though. The four on his arm, the two across his chest, the bite mark on the inside of his thigh from where Satoru had gotten just a little too rough back in the sweltering dark of his dorm room. Sex was always like that with Satoru, with himself. Less of an act of love, and more one of consumption, of control, of power– of revenge. Another game to win.

“You deserve better.” He argues, self assured in at least that.

“I don’t want better.” You’re just as resolute as he is.

He lifts his head to protest, but you silence him by pressing your lips to his. It’s a comfort and a curse, a gentle hand and a closed fist, a lullaby and a jolt of electricity that makes every neuron in his body fire off in quick succession.

How long has it been since you kissed him? Did it always feel like this?

“Please.” The pathetic word escapes him before he can stop it. Would humans always be his weakness? You brought new meaning to the idea.

Another kiss, and then two, and then three. Chaste, gentle motions that burned worse than any fire he’d ever faced. His whimpers sing a song of mercy, knuckles ice white as he grips the bedsheets behind your head, head diving forward for more, more, more–

He wanted to consume you, swallow you down like one of his curses, pull you out when it benefited him, telepathically know where you are at all times, trap you in his web of darkness and chaos and never ever let you leave him. He licks into your mouth and you release a gasp that makes his stomach clench.

“Suguru.”

It sounds like a warning. His lips tremble when he parts from you, and he just can't move back as much as he knows you’d probably prefer. He rests his forehead against yours, keeps his eyes shut, breathes in deep drawls of your breath, whispers an apology.

Your hands card through his hair.

“You're really pretty, you know that?”

He peeks at you through heavy lids “So I've been told.”.

You roll your eyes and he grins, sly but genuine.

“I’m trying to be nice to you, dickhead.”.

This time, he giggles childishly as your hands push at his shoulders, guiding him flat on his back so you can straddle is waist. It's almost ridiculous, the way the heat of your body turns his insides to a blended mess of organs and raw emotions. His heart swells, his lungs tighten, his stomach flips, his cock twitches.

Your hands slip under his shirt, palms stroking against his skin as you slide it up over his head and toss it to the side. His abdomen flexes under the soft skin of your hands. Your fingers dance along the scars, trace his rigid form.

Your mouth replaces your hands, wet warm silk gliding down his chest, swirling methodically, flicking over his nipples. He gasps for air, fists your hair, trembles against the urge to fight you, begs himself to take your worship. He had no problem accepting it from anyone else, after all.

“You’re shaking” You note, but don't stop your assault on his senses, licking one long stripe from his naval to his neck, the way his back arches is mortifying.

It feels like forever you stay there, exchanging spit, moans, blotting each other purple with no teeth. All suction, pressure, aching.

When he finally dips his fingers past the band of your sweatpants he's met with an obscene amount of slick. He circles your clit a few times, swiping your whines out of your mouth with his tongue, panting when you get impatient all too quickly, reaching down to guide his fingers into your body.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs, but he already knows the answer.

“More.”

Who was he to deny you?

It isn't long before you become insatiable, finding yourself sinking down on his cock with his sweats still gripping his thighs and your shirt still clinging to your frame, damp with sweat.

He loves the way you look when he splits you apart, lips quivering and brow furrowed as you struggle to accommodate him. He loves hollowing you out, carving a place for just him to nestle deep inside your pretty little body. He loves the way your pussy clenches, sucks him in, holds tight like he was meant to be slotted inside you, jerking against your cervix, painting you from the inside out with his precum.

He helps you, guides your hips as you bounce desperately against him, chasing your high shamelessly, melting his brain with every moan. Electricity strikes his body with each stroke, his muscles jerk in tandem.

You struggle when you get close, your thighs jerking against your own desire, pace stuttering. He thinks it's precious, the way you're edging yourself to tears with your sheer inability to keep up with yourself.

Eventually, though, he does find a bit of mercy within himself, flipping you over on your back, fucking into you steadily, toying with your clit.

You dig red stripes into his back as you come unglued, sink your teeth into his already bruised shoulder. He hopes the burn never fades.

When he cums, he doesn't pull out, stuffs you full of him, hopes you can feel it in your soul. Your legs lock around his waist, hips rut animalistically against him, making sure nothing goes to waste.

He can't win this game, he tells himself as he watches you sleep, traces your features with his fingers. There was no world in which you were safe. Not in this timeline, but maybe the next.

Which game was more childish? Thinking he could change anything for Satoru? Or thinking he could change anything for you?

He falls asleep with you nestled in his grip, sometime after the sky turns a bright baby blue.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #geto suguru #jjk x reader #ao3 fanfic #geto x reader #jjk suguru #getou suguru x reader #geto smut #cc!geto #minor stsg

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lemon-russ · 1 day

Note

Your lion fic was beautiful. May I request more? Anything will do really. But here are my requests.

Lion angrily jerking it after experiencing one (1) emotion

Lion aggressively cuddling you. You're not hurt or sick or have lost feeling in your lower body temporarily, he just wants to be close to you. And be an ass about it.

You wear his legion colours/symbols and he gets really horny.

40k Lion reminiscing about an old lover from 30k (using that term loosely, they were probably just fuck buddies) and maybe they meet again in 40k. Let's say a perpetual reader.

Anyway these are just my brainworms. Feel free to ignore.

And yes, I am aware I have a thing for stoic men losing it and being absolute freaks. I am currently in search for a good therapist.

Sorry for the delay, but I feel adjacent to a human today, so I finally finished this! Also the way you presented it made me snort laugh haha, the kind message into "angrily jerking it" lmfao

Anyway here's The Lion straight jorkin' it (I like all your suggestions and might come back to the colors one especially!)

Tags: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye @lisikk

Thanks @squishyowl for the dividers!

Lion El'Jonson X Fem!Reader

CW: Lion straight up jorkin' it. That's all.

Stupid woman, Lion thought, slamming his chamber doors closed.

He started angrily undoing the belt of his tunic as he marched to his bed, fingers frustratingly fumbling the latch in a hurry.

Stupid, infuriating woman.

Guilliman had sent a representative to give The Lion updates about some missions the Ultramarines had been on, just the average doldrum of war talk. But the representative he sent was his little Ambassador pet.

“My Lord?” You had said, looking up at him between explaining supply lines, “You seem very tired. Did you not rest well?”

He’d been shocked by the simple question. He had indeed been without a proper rest for a bit too long. But, no one ever asked such things about him. He was a god to most baselines, infallible and untiring, beyond mortal needs. But you spent a majority of your time around his brother, so of course you could read him better than a random serf could. And you’d been… concerned. For him.

“Wh- I…” he had stuttered, caught off guard. That annoyed him. Being flustered by a tiny baseline woman’s concern for him annoyed him. The pang of unnameable emotion that shot through him annoyed him. The sudden pulse of pressure below his stomach, especially annoyed him.

“Don’t be daft woman-” he had spat back. You’d just smiled softly at the verbal attack, soft eyes scanning his face, studying the circles forming under his eyes. Then for some warp damned reason, you had gone and made him a cup of recaff. You placed it in front of the flabbergasted Primarch and returned to explaining your papers like nothing had passed.

Stupid woman.

The minute you’d given him a quick aquillan salute and been on your way out the door, He had turned on his heel and stormed off to his quarters, leaving confused serfs in his wake as he pushed them aside, some even falling to the floor. “No one disturb me.” He had growled, stalling their pursuit of him.

He finally pulled his pants down, holding his tunic aside as he knelt on his bed. That feeling that you had invoked in him had shot right between his legs. The whole rest of the meeting, he was struggling to focus on anything but how hard you had made him.

He grasped himself, groaning at the friction at last as he stroked. Your image assaulted his mind. You leaning over the table just enough that he could see down the far too loose tunic dress you wore. He growled remembering that glimpse of your breasts, infuriatingly framed in ultramarine blue. It should have been HIS colors.

He grasped himself tighter as he assailed his aching cock, falling back on his pillows. It should be Dark Angels green you were in. No- it should be nothing at all. You should be naked in his bed. You should be panting in his lap-

His hips bucked himself fruitlessly into his hand at the image. Your sweet face, flush and gasping as you rode him. Did you look at Guilliman the way you’d looked up at him? Did you fetch him drinks when you noticed he was worn? The thought enraged The Lion. How dare you go back to the Macragge’s Honour, back to anywhere but his bed.

He gripped the sheets, yanking at his tunic as he frustratedly picked up speed, ignoring the slight soreness from his calloused palm attacking his cock without anything to help the friction. It wouldn’t be an issue if it was you on him instead. He bet you were plenty slick, and tight-

He felt his balls start to tighten, drawing in a hissing, ragged gasp through grit teeth. His bed creaked with the cadence of his hips jerking up into his fist. You should be here. You should be wrapped around him, holding on for your life as he used you like a cocksleeve- he imagined your small hands splayed over his stomach for balance, trying desperately to hold yourself down against his bouncing.

He fisted his cock faster, frustrated by the sub-par sensation of his own rough skin, barely slicked with his pre-cum as he drove himself forcefully toward an orgasm. He was frustrated he’d immediately given in to such base instincts. He was Frustrated you could drive him to this with one little question, with one sweet look.

His mind flooded with the image of you giving him that little smile, eyes soft and concerned in defiance of his sharp words-

He let out a snarl as the heat in him snapped, shooting his spend over his stomach in jerking pulses. A few more hard pumps on his cock drained him, shuddering and mind blank, before he collapsed back on the bed, legs shaking and ragged gasps wracking his lungs.

He lay panting, covered in his own seed, twitching his hips up in the aftershocks. This was your fault. You stupid, damnable woman.

He groaned and let his arm fall to his side as the sensations eased from his need-drunk mind.

He had a very stern demand to draft. If his brother wanted him to keep playing nice- which he had been, he’d been very cooperative he thought, he earned some credit- If Guilliman wanted Lion to keep his word about their plans and supplies and defenses-

Then the cost was merely one insignificant little diplomat woman.

#lion el'jonson x reader #my work #asks #lion el'jonson x f!reader #reader insert #wh40k fic

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gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan · 21 days

Text

Polishing

Author’s note: More of Titus in Blueberry Pie

Summary: Titus requests that you help tend to his armor.

Warnings: none? Let me know if I need to add anything

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

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @ms--lobotomy , @thevoidscreams, @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

Titus had found that one serf who had gained the eye of a couple of his younger brothers, who were being… a bit unprofessional. One was being mischievous and needling the more easily provoked brother. Who is falling for the lure and bait, hook, line, and sinker.

Titus shakes his head with a sigh and a huff of laughter, he remembers the pair of bratty little brothers back when they were merely battle brothers- before they had attained their lofty ranks. The younger of the two squabbling brothers knew how much ‘improper’ speech could bother the hell out of the Noble born Ultramarines, and did it anyway.

It’s good- to try to find ways to humble some of the more… elitist brothers, drag them back into the soil and mud. Kept their egos in check, so long as it didn’t go too far, things going too far hasn’t happened in a while, but he’s monitoring that situation, just in case.

It’s good that more of Ventris’s personality is coming back out, as much as it’s sometimes aggravating. The poor younger brother had been tortured by a faction of the Inquisition, Titus grimaces to himself, he knows first hand how miserable that experience can be.

He spots you and calls out, “Miss Serf?”

You turn and look over at him, bowing politely and asking, “How may I serve you, My Lord?”

“I need help cleaning and tending to my armor,” Titus says, “Come with me.”

“Yes Lord Angel,” You reply

You had heard that Lord Demetrian Titus was known for being polite and soft spoken. Resolute and dauntless, caring and concerned for the baseline folk. Something that cannot be said for all Lord Angels, or so you have been told by some of the older, more experienced Serfs.

You help him take off his armor- which is incredibly heavy, he helps you shift the pieces of armor too heavy for you to carry to be carefully placed where he wants it to be cleaned. Once the Armor is off you try not to fluster.

The black carapace that is void-capable adheres to Lord Astarte bodies like a second skin. Then you try not to cough as your eye water, you have also been warned that the … ripe scent of a Lord Angel who’s been on campaign, and unable to be out of armor for weeks or months at a time can be quite… pungent.

“I am glad of the communal baths,” Titus says with a self-deprecating smile, “It helps with washing the mud of battle off one’s skin.”

“As you say, Lord Titus,” You say your cheeks are still pink and your eyes water a little bit.

“Stay here and clean my armor, I shall be back in a few moments,” Lord Titus says as he heads off to have a luxurious bath in the Astartes bathing area- joining a mixed group of battle brothers and officers.

While he relaxes in the baths, talking and listening to his brother talk about the battles they’ve recently fought, and some of the best currency they have gossip. Titus hears the story of how Sicarius- as a Sargent, The Chapter Master, The Head Librarian, and another brother, basically ruined an entire space marine’s career.

No one knows the reasons, official or otherwise for the reason they had done so, but it was good gossip to have- and a reminder of the power that their Chapter Master held, not just the martial power, but the soft power as well.

Part of Titus wondered if he should ask Cato his side of that particular story, and if the younger Space marine will tell him or not. Even odds- Cato is usually proud of his accomplishments, as well as helping their Chapter Master do Things.

While that was going on, you were carefully cleaning, scrubbing and polishing Lord Titus’s armor. The brackish, awful smelling armor slowly becomes that noble hue of blue and gold. You clean and replace the cloth and bucket of cleaning solution and water as needed.

By the time all of the armor is properly cleaned and polished, your arms are sore from carefully heaving the heavier parts of armor around to ensure that it’s properly cleaned on both sides. That the leather-mixture, whatever it was on the inside of the armor is also properly cleaned and taken care of.

“Thank you for getting my armor done,” Titus thanks you.

You jump a little, startled, Lord Angels are surprisingly light on their feet and silent out of armor.

“You are welcome, Lord Angel,” You reply, now that the smell of mud, blood, and battle was off of him, your cheeks flush a little as you try not to… eye the Lord Angel inappropriately.

He gives you a small smile and a gentle nod as he releases you from the task of trying to put the armor away properly. Which he does easily, he dismisses you and you bow to him and head out to return to your previous duties.

#warhammer 40k #warhammer #adeptus astartes #titus #demetrian titus #captain titus #reader insert #serf!reader #space marine/Reader Insert #blue berry pie au

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hanakoofthejungle · 5 months

Text

HuskerDust watercolor fanart based on the fanfiction, Casino of Love by @artwaterfall. The fanfiction, in turn, was inspired by the Overlord Husk AU created by @celestialalpacaron.

Drawing timelapse

This scene comes from Chapter 15 where Husk and Angel went on their first date at Fizzmodeus' restaurant. They had lobsters. Angel did not know how to eat a lobster so Husk came to the rescue. Basically, they just abused the hell out of that poor dead creature. (It occurred to me: Where does the lobster's soul go? Does it end up in hell, watching its body being consumed?)

---

Angel tried again to pry the shell off still looking over to the side. “Am I doing it?”

Husk barked a laugh so loud the pianist looked up frowning.

“Ya gotta look at what ya doing.”

“Ugh,” Angel deflated and let the lobster rest on the plate, “ maybe I shouldn't have lobster.”

“Here,” Husk got up and walked behind his chair. He laid his hand over Angel's and resumed trying to pry the poor crustacean body.

Angel blushed at the proximity, Husk was practically whispering into his ear about the damn lobster but Angel had trouble focusing with the overlord's hand on his own.

Still Angel butchered the first half of his lobster and screamed in joy a little too loud at having half of it done. People downstairs looked up at them again, frowning.

Husk was still helping him with the second half, juices and lobster bits flying everywhere at Angel clumsiness but every time they joined stares at each other, he would find the cat laughing along with him.

---

Now why did I choose this scene to draw? Because it is fun, simple, wholesome couple interaction and very relatable. It reminds me of the time when I had lobster for the first time in Brussels, spending more time to crack open the lobster than actually enjoying the dish. Turns out lobster did not taste that great, but at the least the group of elderly American at the next table got a good laugh out of watching me and my friend absolutely butcher that lobster :)))

Having never watched Helluva Boss, I had to look up what the inside of that place looks like, but mistakes ensure due to that very wrong heart shape and lack of patterns on the wallpaper. I was lazy but hey at least I got that lamp thingy on the table right :))) As usual, the clothes are the focal point of my fanarts, "a beautiful deep blue, floor length dress, there was only one shoulder strap and a lace veil came from it all the way to the floor behind his shoulder" and "freshly pressed black suit with a deep blue tie that matched Angel's dress". Husk's suit in this drawing is not actually black but a mix of ultramarine and sepia. I usually don't use colors straight out of the pan, but mixing them. I made an exception in this with the lake red color of Husk's wing. I forgot to draw the wings before I did the line art, so I need the color at its strongest to cover the line art which was not supposed to be there.

My tools still include pencil and Leningrad watercolor. I have been using that watercolor set for over 10 years and it is still the best watercolor set I have ever had. This time I use the Blue Uni-ball pen by Mitsubishi Pencil instead of black M&G gel pen. The line art looks much smoother and the waterproof blue ink added a nice touch to the drawing. I expect nothing less from one of the best pen manufacturers out there.

#hazbin hotel #huskerdust #husker x angel dust #overlord husk #angel dust #hazbin angel dust #angel dust x husk #hazbin hotel husker #husk hazbin hotel #hazbin husk #angel dust hazbin hotel #vivziepop

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ladymirdan · 1 month

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Hey, can you rec me some Ultramarine books aside from the Ventris ones? I’m wrapping up the Cato omnibus and I’m kinda on the fence about diving into Ventris cause I don’t really like McNeill’s writing, but I need blueberries in my life.

I 100% get you on the Ventris books, they are rough. I mean they almost made me lose my interest in Ultramarines altogether, and im not even the whole way through yet. (They do have a lot of good parts as well, but man getting there is rough.)

It was up to another book (Cassius by Ben Counter) to get that spark for my blue boys again. Incidentally, that book is just for Ultranerds, I sqwee all the time reading it, but if you dont like blue boys (kind of failing to) smashing tyranids for 300 pages while looking lovingly at each other, that is not a book for you.

But lets focus back on excellent Ultrabooks (that isnt in the Sicarius omnibus):

Calgars Siege by Paul Kerney - the best Black Library book I have ever read, even the human characters are interesting. This is a book that is actually good, like for real, not even “good for a 40k book”.

A brothers confession (short story) + Blood of Iax (book) by Robbie Macniven - Features two of my absolute blorbos Kastor and Polixis. They are just fun books overall. Well written, good suspense, nailbiting ending.

Knight of Talassar by Steve Lyons - Short novella that is only available in the “Legends of the Dark Imperium - Ultramarines”-omnibus. It is a fantastic story about a young captain Sicarius, and how he makes friends with Krieg.

Well you might have noticed a trend here, all of these books are fighting Orks. But orks are fun. But just to spice things up a bit im gonna throw in a quite contentious book as well:

Catechisms of Hate by Gav Thorpe - Everything that is annoying avout Thorpes writing is precent here. The novella is like 100 pages long but feels like reading an onnibus. But the story is fire. There is horror elementa in this book that usually isnt present in Space Marine books and that is done extremely well. And I do like the more extreme elements to the Ultramarines in this book. They are shown to be absolute fanatics and it is pretty cool and chilling to read. Frustrating, but in the end satisfactory.

#40k #warhammer 40k #warhammer #ultramarines #space marines #black library #book recommendations

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tangledinink · 1 year

Text

Okay! One last I'm Sorry, Teenage Mutant What Now? oneshot, and then next week we'll get a new chapter... and this week's piece is about Mikey! :) Read it on ao3 or below the cut.

It had all started with a beautiful shade of ultramarine.

And it wasn’t as if Mikey took issue with the color itself-- it was a lovely shade of blue. That wasn’t the problem. And quite frankly, he didn’t notice it at first, but at some point halfway through his fifth-period class, while his eyes were wandering idly around the room, looking at nothing in particular, just roaming for the sake of roaming while he listened… he had paused, frowned, and back-tracked to do a double-take.

Ultramarine?

That was so odd, because… Usually, Mona was midnight blue. Her life color was a lot darker than this, richer, slightly less saturated, and closer to a shade of navy than… this.

I mean. There was nothing wrong with it. Ultramarine was a good color. It looked good on her…!

But it wasn’t hers.

Mikey had frowned a bit, his brow twitching slightly. He had never seen anyone’s life color change before. Was that a thing?... He supposed he had no way of knowing since it was just this weird little quirk that he enjoyed on his own, so it wasn’t like he could look it up or ask anyone, but… he had never seen this happen before.

Did something happen to her, he wondered? He had worried about this for a bit and endeavored to check in with her later, just in case, but then had let it go. I mean, what was he supposed to do about it?

But then she wasn’t the only one.

He noticed it slowly, but more people’s colors seemed to shift throughout the remainder of the class. Bit by bit, things began to tilt just ever so slightly to either the left or right on the metaphorical color wheel, not wrong but not exactly right, either. By the time he got to his next class, everyone’s colors were just a little bit off, and beginning to blur slightly, kind of fuzzy around the edges, and Mikey was starting to freak out just a tiny bit.

The shimmering, bouncing lights came after that. They teased at the very edges of his vision, tickling at his eyelashes, but never there when he tried to turn around and see them. And the more it happened, the more nervous he became. His stomach flip-flopped, and he resisted the urge to fidget in his seat. Something felt… wrong. He wasn’t very focused for the rest of the class.

It had been just after the final bell of the day, amongst the chaos of the entire school’s excitement of being dismissed, racing through the hallway, when a portion of Mikey’s field of vision gave out from under him. And suddenly, there was this big, fuzzy patch of black on his left side. No matter how many times he blinked and rubbed at his eyes, it wouldn’t go away. It was suddenly like he was halfway blind. And then he for-real started to panic.

He was debating whether he should take out his phone and call one of his family members, like, right now, or if he should try to make his way to the nurse’s office on his own (could he still do that--? School was technically over--) when the pain started.

It was like being hit by a freight train.

He nearly dropped his books at the impact of it when it truly settled in, the knot in his stomach from before now rising up into full-blown nausea, threatening to overtake him. He came to a very sudden stop in his journey, finding the nearest wall to hang onto and squeezing his eyes shut, fighting back the urge to vomit.

Oh my god.

It hurt so bad.

The pain was absolutely dazzling, pulsing bright and vicious through his head. It felt like he had some sort of hot, heavy, alien creature attached to one side of his skull, burrowing its way into him, and he could feel its heartbeat. And it was absolutely all-encompassing. He couldn’t even make his feet move-- all he could do was stand there for a second and try to breathe, to swallow repeatedly, and try desperately not to throw up here in the hall.

For a second, he just stood there and he thought, maybe it’ll go away.

Maybe it’ll get better.

But it was just getting worse.

It was so loud. It was so bright. Every voice and shuffled foot and slam of a locker door was like a drill buzzing straight into his brain, and the fluorescent lights overhead were eating him alive, and he couldn’t move, but he had to-- He had to do something.

He was so, so certain that if he stayed here any longer, he was absolutely going to die.

We gotta do something. Come on. Move. You have to get-- somewhere. Not here. To the nurse’s office. They’ll be able to help, but you have to move. Go on. Move! Move your feet! He begged, and eventually, miraculously, his nerves listened to him.

If anyone noticed him, stopped him, asked if he was okay, he couldn’t hear them, because he was putting every piece of energy that he had into making his body move instead of curling up into a little ball on the floor. A few tears were already beginning to track their way down his face as he trembled, panicked breaths rattling through his chest. He ducked and weaved past other students in his frantic retreat, but he couldn’t see anything properly out of his left side, and he kept bumping into people. And he wished he could stop and apologize and see if they were okay, but he couldn’t. He just-- He had to not be here. He really, really had to not be here. He was on the fifth floor. His goal, the nurse’s office, was on the ground level.

Oh god.

This was the worst pain he had ever experienced in his life.

He made it about as far as the stairwell before he couldn’t move anymore.

---

Once he hadn’t been able to make himself go any further, the pain and nausea overwhelming him, he had stopped for a bit, leaning against the cool concrete of the wall and clutching his books tight in his hands as he focused simply on breathing.

At some point, he had taken out his phone, attempting to text one of his family members to send out an SOS, to tell them that he was fucking dying in the stairwell and that he loved them and that his final wish was for them to give all his artwork to the MOMA, ‘cause they’d be damn lucky to have it, thank you, and everything else to charity, but it was like looking at the goddamn sun. Every time he tried to draft out a message or even just navigate enough to place a phone call (at this point he was tempted to just straight up call 911, which felt pretty dramatic for a headache, but every second that passed the statement ‘I’m dying’ felt a lot less like hyperbole and a lot more like a real, actual possibility,) he was hit with this bright, hot white pain on top of the already thick layer of pain and his head would throb and his stomach would lurch and his knees would buckle, and eventually, after a few attempts and a good deal of frustrated crying, he just gave up.

By the time he had gotten here, the crowd had already thinned out quite a bit, with the main max exodus of the final bell already having tapered off. Only the occasional group of students would come through, and some of them looked at him, but with him crying softly and squinting at his phone in the corner, most people probably figured he was fighting with a friend or going through a breakup or something and seemed to feel it wasn’t any of their business, and they didn’t bother him.

He was basically alone by the time he accepted his fate of dying here in the stairwell, curling up sadly in a little ball and weeping softly to himself. Now that there were so few kids lingering, and therefore much less competition, anyone who did want to head up or down the stairs would likely take the elevators instead. And Mikey thought belatedly to himself that he should have grabbed someone and told them that his brain was melting when he still had the chance.

But now he was alone, and he supposed that was that.

And he didn’t know what else to do. Picking up his head hurt, and opening his eyes hurt, and everything hurt, so he just… sat there. His earlier sobbing had died down to just weak little sniffles and hiccups, tears dripping sadly down his face as he tiredly, miserably, manually sucked in each and every inhale and exhale-- just trying to somehow breathe through the pain.

He wasn’t really sure how long he was there. Looking back, he figured it couldn’t have actually been that long. But it felt like eons. Mikey had just about accepted this as his final resting place when the relative quiet of his hiding spot was split by the horrendous screech of the door opening, and Mikey winced--

And then he heard, “Oh, sweet Salomea Skłodowska–Curie, there you are! Mikey, where have you been!?”

And the noise hurt, but he recognized that voice. He picked up his head just enough to stare at Donnie in shock… and then absolutely sobbed in relief at the sight of him.

Donnie blinked in surprise, floundering for a moment before letting the door slide shut behind him, kneeling quickly down by Mikey’s side and examining him with worry.

“Mikey? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I-- I don’t know!” He hiccuped pitifully, his shoulders shaking as he sniffled. “It’s-- s-something is w-wrong, and, and I don’t know w-what but it hurts and I, I can’t see, and, and I don’t kn-know what’s happening, but everything hurts and I feel like I’m gonna die…!”

“You can’t see?” Donnie repeated, their voice pressing a bit with obvious concern. “You can’t see at all?”

“N-no, it’s, it’s just-- just a little over here,” Mikey sniffled, gesturing slightly to his left. “Like a. A spot, and. E-everything is just… f-fuzzy, and, and my, my head hurts…”

“Mikey, why didn’t you text one of us?”

“I can’t,” he sobbed. “It h-hurts too bad to look, Dee, it’s too bright!”

Donnie narrowed his eyes, frowning slightly.

“And you said your head hurts?”

Mikey nodded weakly, wiping at his eyes.

“Where? Show me.”

“Uhm…” Mikey wobbled for a minute, wincing before he finally kind of wiggled a hand to indicate. “J-just… over here, on this side, all the way u-up… It… It hurts so bad, I…! I d-don’t know what to do…!”

Donnie stayed quiet for a moment, seeming to consider this, before he sighed very softly, patting his brother’s knee decisively.

“Right. Well. Congratulations, Hamato Michelangelo,” he hummed quietly, his voice all careful and whispered. “I diagnose you with a migraine.”

Mikey kept quiet for a second, processing this, before he sobbed.

“This is a migraine?!” He bit out, his voice absolutely trembling.

“Yes, well, they are genetic--”

“I-is this what it’s like for you!? This-- this is h-horrible! You-- you have m-migraines every other week!” Mikey wept.

Donnie blinked in surprise, seemingly taken aback by his brother’s outburst before scoffing softly, waving off his concerns. “Experience is all relative,” he muttered. “The point is, you’re not dying, alright? You’ll be fine. It’ll just be… unpleasant for a little while,” he sighed, shrugging his bag off his shoulder and beginning to dig through it. “Did you take anything yet?”

“N-no…”

“Okay. Here,” he produced a small pill bottle from his backpack, cracking it open quickly and shaking out two little pills. “This is the good shit. We should be at approximately the same dose…” He paused to rapidly examine the label, humming softly to himself for just a second before he was seemingly satisfied, holding the drugs out to the other. “I don’t know if it’ll fix it, but it should at least help.”

Mikey sniffled, nodding a tiny bit and agreeably holding out a trembling palm to accept the medication. Donnie grabbed his water bottle from his bag, passing it over, and though Mikey took it, he hiccuped softly, hesitating for a second before he looked up at Donnie with wide eyes.

“Y-you don’t l-like it when, when people drink out of your water b-bottle…”

Donnie rolled his eyes. “As much as I appreciate the concern, Michael, I will disinfect it later. It’s fine. Just take the meds.”

Mikey hiccuped a bit, but he did as he was told anyway, tossing the pills into his mouth and swallowing them down with a generous swig of water. Despite this, this sickly sweet taste kind of burned the back of his mouth for a minute, and he wrinkled up his face at it. Ew…

“Yeah, I know,” Donnie hummed. “Okay. Uh. Look. Let’s get you to the nurse’s office so you can lay down and wait for these to kick in, and then we can go home.”

Laying down did sound pretty good, Mikey had to admit, and he nodded a tiny bit, his bottom lip still wobbling.

Donnie sort of hesitated for a second, his brows furrowed with concern as he looked Mikey up and down. “Do you think you can walk? Or do you want me to… carry you…?”

Mikey paused for a moment, and then he snorted.

“Carry me?”

“Look, I’m trying to be nice…!”

Mikey kind of laughed weakly, somewhere between a giggle and a sob, wiping at his face.

“Dee, you can’t carry me…! You’re too small!”

Donnie bristled in offense. “Pardon me!? I’m taller than you!”

“Yeah, but you’re smaller than me,” Mikey insisted, just barely managing a teeny little smile, his eyes still closed as his head drooped against the wall. “You’re… little… you weigh, like, five pounds…”

“Oh, you are so lucky you have a migraine, or we would be having a discussion right now,” Donnie hissed in reply, an absolute scowl painting his face. “I could…”

He hesitated.

“I could call Raph. He could carry you.”

Mikey’s trembling grin widened a teeny, tiny bit. See? He was right. Donnie couldn’t carry him. At least not for that far.

“No. It’s. Uhm. It’s okay. I can walk,” he said, taking a few long breaths, very slowly rising up to his feet. Everything kind of wobbled and swam for a moment, but it backed off after a second as he found his balance again. “Okay. Hang on. Here,” Donnie mumbled, “This will help…”

Mikey watched in shock as his brother pulled his headphones down off his head, reaching over to instead carefully place them over Mikey’s.

The muffled quiet that fell over the world was, admittedly, absolutely lovely, but he still gaped at the other.

“But-- you need these--” he tried to protest.

“Mikey, I assure you I can make it from here to the nurse’s office without a meltdown. You need them more right now. I will be fine,” Donnie promised, reaching over to adjust the settings on the headphones slightly, tilting Mikey’s head to the side with his hand as he did so, careful fingers nudging at his chin to get him to turn. White noise washed over Mikey like seafoam, lapping at the edges of him, cold and soothing and soft.

Mikey nearly started sobbing again. Because everything still hurt so bad, but even just this, even just taking away the noise, which there was very little of to begin with, made it so much better. He didn’t think he had ever been in so much pain in his life, and that was still true, but already it was just so much less than it had been five minutes ago.

“Alright. Is that okay?”

Mikey hiccuped softly, nodding a little bit.

“Alright. Let me know if you need a break or anything. And keep your eyes shut. The hall lights are gonna hurt, so just keep close and I’ll make sure you don’t walk into anything. Got it?” Donnie instructed shortly, reaching out to offer his hand to the other.

Mikey did sob a tiny bit this time, scrubbing at his wet face with his sleeve one last time before he took his big brother’s hand.

“Th-thanks, Dee.”

“Don’t mention it,” Donnie muttered. “I know how much this sucks. You ready?”

Mikey breathed deep, taking a long inhale, and then letting out an exhale, passing his trust entirely over to his sibling as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Yeah. Ready.”

---

[ Donnie: Have any of you heard from Mikey?

Leo: not since likkeee lunch. he sent me. like. eight tiktoks.

Raph: hes not with you???

Leo: dont you guys have dance r/n?

Donnie: No, I waited at the usual place so we could head over, but he didn’t show up.

Raph: what????

Leo: chill, he prbly got distracted w one of his friends or smth and wasnt looking at the time. U know how he is.

April: ^^^

April: ill try calling too. I havent left yet so i dont mind lookin around rq to see if i can find him anywhere

Donnie: Thank you. I’ll do the same. Please text if you see him.

Raph: if you dont find him ill come back

Leo: i can duck out of rehearsals if you guys need. but hes probably around.

Donnie: He’s definitely still in the school, as per geotracking.

Leo: stop geotracking us

(read)

Donnie: I found him. He’s fine.

Leo: seeee? hes finneeee

April: where was he?

Donnie: The stairwell.

Donnie: And he has a migraine so no one bother him for the rest of the evening, understood? Don’t call him. Don’t text him. Don’t come poking around his room to see if he’s okay. Just leave him alone.

Donnie: Raph.

Donnie: I’m gonna try and see if I can get him to sleep once we get home so he can at least be unconscious for some of this. And if I am successful in this and then any of you dum-dums wake him up, I swear there will be severe consequences.

Donnie: Light and noise should be kept to an absolute minimum until he’s over this. Got it?

April: oof!!! that sucks :( poor mikey. got it!

Raph: 👍

Leo: lol yah ok ✨boss ✨

Leo: thank god raph is older than u coz ud be a fucking nightmare lmao

Donnie: Die. ]

---

[ Mikey: omg i missed my phone 🥺

Mikey: migraines SUCK

Mikey: also PSA if anyone ever makes a noise above a gd whisper when D has a migraine ever again i will do unspeakable things because i have seen the error of my ways i s2gggggg

Donnie: THANK YOU.

Leo: eugh boi ]

#sorrywhatnowau #tw vomit mention #sorrywhatnowau fic #writing #tmnt #tmnt 2018 #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt fic #rottmnt michelangelo #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt donnie #rise mikey #rise donnie #rottmnt au #rottmnt human au #tmnt fanfic

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kirklandcultist · 3 months

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Halfway done now with my project of doing all 20(!) Heresy Era legions, some are better than others but here’s what I’ve learned from each paint job so far:

Thin lines require thin paint, and adding a little yellow really helps it pop against the blue.

Gold is probably the easiest NMM at least for me. But the sword was also quite a bit easier than I thought , but next time it needs to be more irregular.

Blue shadows don’t really work on green armor, and super bright light isn’t great for mini photography. NMM Copper is fun tho

Blood technical paint goes best over a dark red undercoat

I actually fuckin DUNKED this guy in my homemade wash mixture and I couldn’t be happier with the result … for him.

Also Orange speeedpaint over a decently highlighted grey makes a very convincing rust effect.

The Eyebrow thing didn’t really work but honestly this guy is perfect.

Less Blue in NMM Steel, thinner paint for freehands (See Lightning on the Night Lord)

This was the mini that started it all, and the most half-assed. I’ll probably redo him soon but until then I really like the “ice” effect I did. The rust on the power pack eventually was refined in the Death Guard.

I don’t like painting Ultramarines. This guy is sitting in Simple Green Right Now so I can take another crack at him.

Aaaaand true to his legion I don’t have pics of my Dark Angel. Gunna have to get those when I get home but until then….

Hydra Dominatus

#warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #wh40k #mini painting #miniature #alpha legion #angry marines #night lords #ultramarines #world eaters #death guard #thousand sons #sons of horus #emperors children

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mercurys-minis · 2 months

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Finally finished this guy after about a week.

I'm very happy with how the brick turned out. I'm gonna put the recipe for the brick under the cut, more so that I can remember myself when I do it again than anything else.

The brick is just little pieces of cork I cut out, with texture paste smashed in for grout. Made a dark greyish green for the grout by combining napthol red, ultramarine blue, and then mixing in permanent green.

The base color for the brick was burnt umber and cadmium red light mixed, and then highlighted with the same mix stippled on with more and more cadmium red light mixed in, little bit of yellow at the very edges, just stippled back and forth.

The dirt is just Vallejo leather, Vallejo flat earth, and burnt umber. No washes.

#40k #mini painting #warhammer 40k #miniatures #paintingwarhammer #my minis

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kit-williams · 9 months

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Courage and Honor

I once more am blaming the König girlies for this one

Jesus Christ I've basically channeled König into an Ultramarine

I'm finding more luck writing about civilians vs chapter serfs but if ya'll want some chapter serf loving please let me know. Now who wants an Ultramarine bf?

tw: Yandere, he's fucking delulu like holy shit what have I done

He was making your wedding palla. A customary gift to a bride was a palla made by her husband to be... to be always wrapped up in his embrace. Or if the husband did not make it there were other ways for the rule to make it count. He has used it as a pillow many times to impart himself onto it. He's made sure his essence is on it.

A palla to fit you... to wrap you up in ultramarine blues, whites, reds, and golden threads. Perhaps he was moving a bit quickly... he hasn't even started to properly court you much less free you from your indentured servitude.

But Tulio knew he would sweep you off of your delicate little feet. Those calloused hands of yours would only be working on a loom or helping bathe him in oils... no longer toiling in hard labors. He would give you so many pretty gifts that would complement your eyes. Even that small scar on your bottom lip would only be a distant memory of what hardships you had to face without him by your side.

He's known he's been missing something and he's found it! Oh have you've realized you've been missing your piece? He certainly hopes so... those warm smiles that call to him he hopes and will make sure will be only for him. He's just got to make sure everything is perfect. As he still has to approach your master and buy your contract... but it's been hard most of your skills are something an ultramarine do not need.

Sure it is not illegal for him to buy a contract but usually for his kind it is to bring them to be ultramarines and you are not a young boy, no you are a beautiful woman! His woman. But he would not want your reputation sullied so he is grateful for his companion to buy you from your master.

This way he could woo you! It wouldn't be improper at all! You wouldn't feel forced to spread your legs for him he wouldn't mind if you did willingly with him being your master it puts the power balance out of your favor though it never really will be in your favor and you might feel scared of him! He wants to show you how good of a husband he will be! Woo you and be the big hero to you! You'll certainly feel something back right?!

He would normally fear his companion to have ill intentions but he feels comfortable a gay man will not harm you. The threat has already been laid down should he hurt you. Nor would he try to woo you away from Tulio! But he hopes you enjoy an autumn marriage... it's early spring now! Which gives him plenty of time to court you over Spring and Summer. He pulls out his datapad as a message chimes on as his companion is going to head over to your master's house in the hour.

He grinned madly into the palla as thoughts of it being the only thing you wear for his homecomings dance in his mind. He tries to calm himself down but perhaps he could impart a bit more of himself upon the palla for you❣

#god tempted to make his nickname König #Ultramarine #Yandere Ultramarine #Yandere Space Marine #Space Marine #Yandere #warhammer 40k #Utterly delusional #Konigcoded #konig

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sentient-tent · 10 days

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I do a bit of painting and I quite enjoy learning about the different pigments and their properties, like what color, transparency, particle size, particle shape, or tinting strength.

when you mix paints together the properties of the pigments come into play in some complex ways sometimes.

So its helpful to know what pigments are in your paint.

Like if you mix cerulean blue and pyrole red you will get a mid tone muddy brownish purple. but Alizarin crimson and Ultramarine will give you a near black super vibrant purple.

Most of that has to do with how transparent the pigment is.

when you mix opaque colors the hue and brightness tend towards averaging out. And saturation goes down.

When you mix transparent pigments they mix to be darker than the sum of their parts and the saturation is usually maintained.

Or like most yellow pigments tend to be quite weak. so like to make a middlish green you might put 1 part phthalo blue to 20 parts hansa yellow. But for cadmium yellow might use like 5 parts instead.

Also there's interesting bits of history like when Egyptian mummies were used for paint and spices, in the case of Caput Mortuum or Mummy Brown.

Paris green is an arsenic based pigment that served double duty as rat poision. That is one of the most deadly things ever used for paint. Not sure if that's worse than the radioactive radium paint used in gun sights and watch dials in WW2.

Although much of the danger from the radioactive paint was process based, As the united states radium corporation had the radium girls lick the brushes to keep the points sharp. And had systematically dismissed health issues and gas lit workers with fake medical examinations.

#pigments

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moodymisty · 1 year

Note

Hi love your fics. Would you be willing to do an angron x reader. He gets so little content

Part 2

Author's Note: You are my light, anon. Thank you for giving me the platform to go fucking apeshit about my favorite Traitor Primarch. Even if he's not a traitor (yet uwu) in this. It's not my best work, but I've been sitting on this idea for awhile now and decided to just write it before I lost it to time.

Summary: Angron takes interest in a poor young soul who's presence can soothe the nails, much to your own terror.

Relationships: Angron/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Uhhh it's fucking Angron?, It's pretty early so he's not as consumed by anger as he is later in the Crusade, Angron looks at another Primarch's serf and goes yoink I want that, He doesn't kidnap you yet but he wants to lmao, General 40kness so war death blood mentions etc etc (for those curious, this is vaguely based after canon, where it's said that the thought of Sanguinius could soothe Angron's Butcher's Nails)

Word Count: 2002

You have ten more minutes. You know once these men finish their set of training drills, you'll have to be back in the librarium. Your desk and it's piles of documents hails you like some sort of terrible beckoning call.

This has been your system for awhile now, as the frigid air blows through your clothing. The Astartes in training are entertaining during your rare moments of peace, as you lean against the railing to watch.

To think so few people will ever live to see an Astartes, and you watch them train so often. A luxury to be taken advantage of, you suppose.

You lean against the railing with more weight, your arms crossed over the ornate topping. They're so far away you can't quite tell what chapter they belong to, but you can see bits of white and red on the few men that are wearing pieces of their armor.

You wonder if they even know you're here, and if they did, if they'd even care. You're not of their chapter that much is for certain, as they lack the blue gold coloring and the stalwart regime that is signature of the Ultramarines. These warriors fight like it's a free for all, unlike the rigid one on one training the Astartes of Macragge are accustomed to.

You swear you feel the ground almost shake for a moment, but you just end up assuming that it's from the training down below. Or perhaps something elsewhere out of view. You pay it no mind, and continue enjoying your few minutes of respite.

Then there's a feeling in the pit of your stomach that makes your lips purse, looking up at the sky. You can just barely see the legions of ships moored close enough to the planet. There's always so many, even more so when a chapter returns to Terra for brief periods of time.

You hear footsteps coming from behind you; Heavy and armored. More than likely an Astartes, if you had to take a guess. It's better for your own well being if you just make yourself small and don't catch their eye, hoping they don't even notice you.

The footfall continues closer, and closer, until it sounds like they're mere centimeters from you. They must be passing by, until they suddenly stop. There's a shadow overtaking your form from behind, And when you see it's outline, you freeze.

The shadow is massive. It swallows you up and the ornate edges of the armor cue you into the fact that this isn't just anyone. Unless they are of a high enough ranking to sport such unique armor. But you're gut says that this shadow is far too large to belong to an Astartes, and every other sense in your body agrees.

It has to be a Primarch. You can see the absolutely massive shadow, the booming footsteps from earlier, and the feeling. The feeling alone makes you know well this isn't a random Astartes who's becoming oddly interested in you.

The sons of the Emperor are known to have what can only be described as an aura around them, which seems to affect anyone in there vicinity. How they react to it depends on the person, but for most, it's usually fear hidden underneath a mask of stalwart servitude.

Thickly swallowing, you glance as far to the side as you can to see if you can figure out which one it is.

You can see, gold. brushed, but faded gold armor. Beaten and worn though still containing a particular luster about it. Higher up your eyes travel, and you see a faded outline of something around the kneeplate. It looks like, spikes, or a crude representation of teeth. Up a little farther, and you see something dangling from his hip; Cleaned bleached skulls and-

Oh god. Oh god.

You feel your heart slamming against your chest. It's going to break out, you just know it and you can't do anything to stop it.

It's not as if coming face to face with any Primarch is something to be taken lightly. But this isn't The Angel or The Raven. This isn't even your own Primarch Guilliman, who you've only seen a few times in your life.

This is Primarch Angron.

You can't run from him. He'd kill you within an instant if not for the sheer disrespect of it, but for triggering something in him that makes him think you're prey. You only hope that you can hold strong enough that he doesn't hear your heartbeat, or how your trying not to shake in your boots.

Slowly you turn your head more, eyes trailing up his legplate, then his chestplate, before finally reaching his face.

The metal cords coming from his head fall over his armored shoulders almost like chunks of hair, though distinctly old and worn. The metal is rugged; Beaten and warped. Underneath some of them you can see deep red tattoos, some of which trail onto his face. They're warped and shifted by his numerous scars, scattered across his face from forehead to neck. They're all old, long healed and forever telling a story that only he knows.

His eyes bear down on you, the deep red unreadable. He isn't reacting to you at all, but that angered expression is permanently spread across his face. The deep furrow in his brow, the look in his eyes. He's like a pot constantly on the edge of boiling over and scalding everything close.

He has to be toying with you. Like a Fenrisian wolf tossing it's broken, beaten prey up in the air like a game before finally taking the final bite. Is there any other reason why someone who dances along the line between man and god would look your way? Is he just waiting to see how long until you react?

But as quickly as he arrived, he leaves. Turns on one massive armored boot and begins walking down the gilded hallway.

You only have the will to turn your head and watch him move away when he's taken more than a dozen steps away, seeing the battered gold of his armor. His thick furred cape just barely brushes the ground- the frayed edge ripped from endless wear and tear flowing behind him . You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and look back down towards the training Astartes. You peel your hands away from the railing you didn't realize you'd been holding with a death grip, palms slick with sweat.

You hoped desperately that it would be the only time you'd see the Primarch of the World Eaters. To survive once you'd already consider a miracle.

But it wasn't. Maybe the gods that are whispered about in various tomes have something planned for you. Maybe it's some sort of sick joke.

You see him once more not long later, and the exact same interaction occurs. You don't say a word, he doesn't either, and you assume you either pass some sort of trial only he knows or he just grows bored of you, and leaves.

The third time however, you dare to speak.

"Lord Primarch, do you, require something of me?"

Your voice is so soft he barely hears it, over the sound of clashing weaponry and fists on flesh. You look up at him but hesitate to look him in the eyes, but his own look traps you none the less.

You're a librarian or historitor of some sort in allegiance to the Ultramarines. He recognizes the blue and gold symboling embroidered onto your clothing from the various Astartes that traipse around with it plastered all over their armor, and their fancy, hand woven capes.

Gawdy and pointless. You'd topple over your own robes if you tried to run.

But you aren't running, aren't you?

Other serfs he passes by crumple like paper and plastic flimsies, but you're holding strong; A steel box that might be crumpling and walls concaving but still held together.

Angron looks to his left and over the railing out onto the vast open area. Khârn is out there, training Neophytes and newly blooded World Eaters. The warrior has no need for the diplomacy that you're more than likely used to from the Ultramarines, as Gorechild smashes into a thick plating of ceramite with one heavy swing. It sends the Neophyte to the ground in a split second. He looks back towards you, and notices that while your eyes glanced for a moment to follow his own, they now look back at him.

"You enjoying watching them fight." It's what he's found you doing every time he's passed you.

But it takes you a moment until you look up and see that he's staring at you, and that he wants an answer from you.

"Yes. I do."

You see his hand reach out, massive- Your eyes blink closed for just a moment in preparation for whatever he was about to inflict on you.

But instead, he grabs your jaw.

It still hurts, squishing your skin upward and forcing you to look up at him from an awkward angle, but it's far better than dying. You notice the way he stares at you.

He stares back, watching as your wide eyes dart around his face looking for answers.

Then he feels it.

He feels the stabbing, shrieking, aching pain of his nails dull ever so slightly as he watches. Glances over your soft skin. Meets your eyes. So the first time hadn't just been a trick of the light.

Your hands are frozen hovering at waist height, trying to figure out what you should do. Should you put them down, hold completely frozen until he finds or doesn't find whatever he's looking for in you? Or should you reach up and dare to touch the tarnished golden armor that has such a hold of you?

"Lord Primarch?" You mutter, hoping for an answer he doesn't seem keen on giving.

If anyone has passed by this scene they've not so much as uttered a word. None of them would, you'd have to be insane to interrupt a Primarch doings. You wonder for a moment if this scene would look comical from another's point of view.

One of your hands reaches up, shaking as you place it on the armor of his forearm. It's almost hilariously tiny- but much to your surprise the armor feels less cold that you would've thought. You place it there in the rough area of his wrist and try gently hold on and support yourself.

You're still petrified; Angron can see that emotion no matter how deep it's layered beneath other emotions on someone's face. When young men were thrown at him to die in those sandy pits, and he'd see the fear hidden underneath their anger. But as it fades and you become more confused by him than frightened, he feels yet another soothing wave go over his Butcher's Nails.

It's nowhere near enough- they still rip through his brain demanding him to kill to main to scream and bellow, but to edge that away just slightly is to give him relief he hasn't felt since before they dug this hideous tech deep into the recesses of his skull.

He doesn't know what it is about you that's doing it, but he knows he wants it. He wants you.

"Your name. What is it."

You stutter for a moment before speaking. The name is foreign; But given you more than likely hail from one of the many planets under Guilliman's rule, it makes sense.

His fingers shift over your face, and your jaw aches. He notices your hand on his arm and when he lets go, you use that same hand to rub your face.

He'll have to be careful. You're more breakable than him. But if you can dull the pain that sears through his head at every aching moment, then perhaps he'll have enough room in his head to spare the thought to be.

#i love a man that would literally just kill me. rip my head right off.#Angron x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #Angron/Reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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sleepyfan-blog · 1 month

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Mattias' Arrival (1)

Author’s Note: This is Mattias’ introduction into the Astartes’ Husbandry AU and is connected to Cedric’s current character arc. For other adventures click here and here. First. Previous. Next. Thank you very much @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan for letting me borrow her oc Petras

Tagged:@egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @i-am-a-dragon34 @c-u-c-koo-4-40k

Warnings: Lying, manipulation, blood, violence, Petras being Petras

Summary: Mattias goes from chatting with one of his brothers to finding himself on M3 Terra. Luckily for him, he’s immediately found by a group of older Black Templars and made a member of their Crusade.

“So… What do you think it’s going to be like when we are deployed with our firstborn brothers?” Matias asked as he gently nudged one of his siblings.

Lestra hummed briefly before shrugging “I don’t know. Hopefully they are a bit less uptight on the rules than our Ultramarine minders have been.”

“... Can you really blame them for that, though? Their Primarch arose from near-death while Maccrage itself was being invaded by Chaos and Xenos alike. For the first time in ten-thousand years a primarch leads the Imperium. Their gene-sire walks amongst them once again.” Mattias points out, a tiny smile appearing on his face and he sighed wistfully “Imagine if you will, if Lord Dorn were found alive and willing to lead the Imperium once more…”

Lestra let out a small sound, muffled by the hand they’d pressed to their mouth, as their eyes widened “I… Oh. I get it now. Yes, you’ve made your points, and made them well. I’m… I’mgoing to need to take a moment to process that last thought you’ve given me…”

Mattias nodded, stretching and yawning a little. He found the strict training schedule that the Ultramarines kept them on to be both familiar and comforting. “It’s about to be lights out so we should head to our assigned bunk room to sleep.” He pointed out. They had four and a half hours of downtime that they were allowed to use to do any number of tasks or even… Learning a new skill outside of their assigned roles as Battle Brothers. It was amazing if mildly terrifying.

It was an unprecedented amount of free time, and Matias was eagerly learning to wield some of the other kinds of melee weapons that were available to practice sparring with in the Ultramarines’ armory. HIs favorite so far was a spear and short-sword combo that gave him all sorts of two-weapons techniques to learn and practice drills with.

“We still have over half an hour before our assigned sleep time and we’re in real-space.” Lestra pointed out “I want to look at the stars on the observatory deck. It’s so much better to be able to see them, rather than trying to memorize star charts that the Mechanicum gave us to memorize during basic training.” Lestra pointed out, green-blue eyes shining hopefully at his Brother as he asked.

Mattias heaved a sigh. Some of their more wary fellow Primaris brothers had quietly insisted that if Primaris marines were to wander around different parts of the ship and away from where larger groups of them were, to at least stay in pairs, for their own safety. While the Ultramarines had been accommodating and pleasant hopes, some of their more tightly wound fellow Primaris marines were convinced their kindness was some sort of test, and that the usual misery would fall upon them all at one point. Mattias was pretty sure that wasn’t going to happen - if the Ultramarines were going to be cruel to them, why pretend to be nice at all? But he dutifully stuck to the request. “Alright. We’ll go to the observatory deck… Again.”

Lestras sulked a little “Yes, again! The star charts that we were given to memorize have so far not been entirely accurate! Some of them were wildly inaccurate. I suspect that the reason why the star charts are incorrect is because of the time it takes to survey a given star system and get it sent back to Mars means that the drift and motion of the planets and star or stars in the system have already shifted out of alignment… Or because one or more of the planets have been destroyed for one reason or another. But I find it really fascinating to compare the information we were given to what is actually tr-”

Mattias held up a hand, pausing his sibling’s rant, the amused grin on his face dropping a little “I’d be happy to accompany you to the observation deck. I know how strongly you feel about this… But you know to question the veracity of certain things is heresy! Please be careful with your words, dearest sibling of mine. I know that you are loyal and true, but our hosts don’t know you as I do and the walls have ears and eyes everywhere.” He kept his voice light and calm, trying to shake off the ominous worry gnawing at his hearts.

Lestras huffed and grumbled “It’s just… It’s possible to travel through time as well as in space in the Warp, both backwards and forwards relative to one’s starting point. There have been several documented cases of that happening on a massive time-scale. If we ever do end up in the past, the differences in how the star charts we memorized are, versus what we see before us is one way to have a relatively accurate guess as to when in time we are. That is all I meant by it.” Lestras grumbled, though they nodded slightly in understanding.

“Mmm-hmm. Do you want to tell me more about it?” Mattias asked, even though he had heard this particular rant from Lestras more than once. It was a favored topic of theirs, and he enjoyed the passion and joy in which they took in talking about stars and astral-navigation. Mattias found their enthusiasm to be very charming and hoped to find a similar passion one day.

The Ultramarines encouraged their attempts at varied learning, which was a breath of fresh air. Compared to the rigid training of the Mechanicum. Especially as they did not like questions beyond the acceptable ones, and punished incorrect questions and lines of thinking with heavy mecha-dendrites…. Unless one’s questions were unfortunate enough to get The Creator’s personal attention. While he seemed to enjoy indulging others’ curiosity when in a mood… Those brothers were often taken away and never seen again.

Mattias managed to pull himself free of his mauldin musings when he and Lestras arrived at the Observation deck. His sibling was too focused on the stunning spectacle of stars and planets to notice the lurking Ultramarine Captain standing near one of the armored windows. They rushed in, dragging Mattias along with them and pressed their hands against the toughened glass, looking at the planet that the ship was in geo-stationary orbit around.

Mattias couldn’t remember if he had been told the name of this world… But this was where the Primaris Lamenterts, along with their assigned ships and supplies were being dropped off at, to be led by Brother Sargeant Hagiel of the Lamenter’s third company. “Woah, hey, Lestras!” He called out as the other dragged him across the floor, glancing briefly at the Older Cousin who was watching them, a small smirk appearing on his face as he watched them.

“What? It’s such a beautiful sight, and it’s not as if anyone comes into the observatory! It’s one of the least-used parts of the ship… Which I do understand, while we are in the warp, as it is quite dangerous to observe the warp, even through the gellar fields, madness and worse lies for the fool who does that… But in real space the view can be-” Lestras rambled, unaware of the Firstborn watching him.

The Ultramarine’s shoulders were shaking a little, and he put his red and white crested helmet on, presumably to prevent the laughter that was clearly shaking his body to be heard by either of them.

“Yes yes I know all that. But see, we-” Mattias started, before falling silent as the firsborn Marine raised an armored finger to his face plate, over where his lips would be, as a shushing motion before he slowly started to leave the observatory, moving soundlessly as he did so “-should be fine! Sorry, I thought I saw something. Now what do you think of the system?”

“The planets and other major bod-” Lestra started to say, before a blinding flash of white washed through the room, causing Mattias to cry out in alarm, throwing an arm over his face to try and preserve his vision, the other trying to grab blindly for his sibling.

Mattias could not say how long it took him to blink the blinding white out of his eyes. He knew for certain that he wasn’t suddenly teleported somewhere - teleporters had a different color and he both would have been forewarned about being teleported, or activated a teleporter beacon if he was high enough ranked to merit such an artifact… Mattias found himself at the bottom of some kind of ravine or canyon. The orange-brown stone walls stretched several hundred feet above, carved over time by the river that he could see. The water was a stunning shade of blue-green and shone in the bright light of the single star he could see in the sky. It was a cloudless day and he could feel a light breeze on his face.

He fumbled with his helmet, which had been clipped to his belt, before placing it on his head, hearing it click into place before he activated the vox-caster in his helmet, broadcasting on all Black Templar frequencies first “Hello? Is anyone nearby? Do you know where we are? I don’t know how I got here, I was in orbit around a habitable planet moments ago. This is Brother Mattias of the Black Templars, can anyone read me?”

There was a deafening silence that lasted for what felt like an eternity before there was an answering voice on the vox “This is Brother Cazzard of the Sprechembriech Crusade of the Black Templars. From the confusion in your voice, I’m guessing that you’ve just landed on Ancient Terra. Send me your coordinates and I’ll come get you… What’s your rank? I am a veteran battle brother.”

“Uhm… It’s a little complicated?” Mattias answered as he dutifully sent his exact location to the Brother he was speaking to “I’m a Primaris marine, sir. I am… I was with the Indomitus Fleet, along with the rest of the Primaris Black Templars, heading to where the Black Templar fleet was being assembled to swear fealty to the Imperial Regent, who is leading the Indomitus Fleet.”

“Ah so you don’t technically have a specific rank within the Black Templars because you haven’t met your older brothers, yet. Given what I’ve heard about Primaris Marines, you’d be considered an Aspirant, until one of us takes you on as an Apprentice. Who’s the Imperial Regent, by the way?” Brother Cazzard asked “Got your location ping… I’m close to the top of the canyon you’ve found yourself in. There’s a footpath that you can use to get to the top of the canyon. This place is a pretty popular attraction to the local mortal populace. I’ll bring you to the sarge and he’ll explain the hows and whys of where we are, Mattias.”

Foot path?... Hmm… Oh! He could see small groups of mortals, some of them riding four-legged animals, walking down the path. They were across the river from where he was standing. “I see the path. I’lll need to cross the river to get there. Is the water safe to move through?”

“It is. Are you in armor?” Cazzard asked. “And is it void-ready?”

“Yes sir, on both counts.” Mattias answered promptly.

“Good lad. Just walk across. There shouldn’t be enough pressure in the water of the river to cause you issues, and the water doesn’t run fast enough to cause you problems when crossing. See you soon, little brother.” Cazzard rumbled.

Mattias pouted a little as he did as he was ordered to, as he could hear the amusement in his voice.

Two months passed without Mattias noticing the time. The realization that he was on Holy Terra was a huge shock to the young Black Templar, who had never had the honor to step foot on those sacred grounds, despite having been trained ever since he could remember within the halls of the priesthood of Mars. He had briefly interacted with other wandering Crusades of older brothers, but mostly kept respectfully quiet and to the back of the group, observing how his older brothers interacted with one another.

There were groups of Firsborn Cousins who preferred to stay in one place and dig in, fortifying whatever town or region that they lived in. It was in one of these forts where he had briefly met a couple of his fellow Primaris Marines - an incredibly anxious Judiciar and a tightly wound Apothecary in training.

Both of them had been nice enough, but they had also been really weird and borderline hostile towards his older Brothers - who while strict, had taught him much. They also interacted with traitors on purpose and without the due venom and wariness that warranted, so Mattias avoided interacting with Ramiel and Cedric more than absolutely necessary.

Captain Deitrich - a venerable Dreadnaught who serves as the leader of their warband - called out to Mattias. He had been speaking with the leader of the other Templar Warband who were in the area, a Chaplain Captain. “Mattias, come here, lad.”

“Yes sir.” Mattias answered obediently, standing up from where he had been sitting on the ground, making minor repairs to one of his boots, sliding his foot inside of it before walking over to where his Crusade Leader was standing. “Did you require something of me, sirs?”

The Chaplain Captain looked him over critically before humming “You are indeed a Primaris Marine. Of the handful or so I’ve heard of being on Ancient Terra, you’re the only one I know of who is part of a proper Crusade… Which I find strange, given that there are at least two, possibly as many as a half-dozen Primaris Black Templars within the nearby mortal city. Not that the Cousins who run the base will allow us to meet any of them.”

Mattias blinked in confusion “Are… Are you talking about Judiciar Ramiel, and Apothecary in training Cedric? I’ve met them once or twice… They were a little strange, but nothing that some time around Older Brothers wouldn’t fix.”

“Care to explain that comment, apprentice?” The Chaplain asked, his steely blue gaze sharpening a little as Mattias spoke.

“Both of them were tightly wound and very anxious. I imagine being surrounded by strangers and forced to be polite to filthy traitors and corrupted heretics is awful.” Mattias answered, shuddering a little at the very thought. He couldn’t imagine staying in one place all the time. Being unable to wander and explore, on top of all of the nonsense that they had to deal with. He was perfectly happy to stay with his older brothers.

“... I see. Walk with me, if you please, Matthias. I think I may know this Ramiel, from Before, and I’d like to discuss what you know of him in greater detail, privately.” Captain Petras murmured, his voice quiet and thoughtful as one of the other’s hands lightly pressed against the middle of Mattias’ back.

Toroz looked up from where he was leaning against a nearby tree and tending to his chainblade “If you wanna talk about the other primaris marines, why not in front of us? They’re our little brothers too, same as Mattie here.”

There was a flash of emotion that crossed the Chaplain’s face, but it faded as quickly as it came. HIs voice was clipped and curt “Ramiel may be my apprentice, from Before. He…” There was a tremor in his voice and he looked away from the two groups “He was killed, in M42. I was unable to avenge his death, before being brought here by the whim of whatever brings us here.”

“... Oh.” Toroz responded, a guilty look appearing on his face as he took a half step back, looking away from the chaplain captain.

“I’ll tell you know about Judiciar Ramiel, but truth be told sir, I don’t know much about him.” Mattias answered earnestly, dutifully walking alongside the older Black Templar, mentally going over what he did know of the other Primaris marine.

“You know, you very nearly had me fooled for a moment or two.” Chaplain Petras murmured his voice light, and almost pleasant, if not for the strangely intense expression on his face.

“What do you believe that I’ve fooled you about, sir? To my knowledge, I have done or said nothing that would present myself or anything that I know of in a false manner, sir.” Mattias asked, a genuinely confused expression appearing on his face as he looked at the older templar.

There was a very strange and disconcerting look on Petras’ face as he stalked closer to where he had ordered the younger Astartes to sit. “That you didn’t recognize me. That you didn’t remember our last encounter. It did take me a few moments to place which of the abominations whom I had culled in M42 you were. But then I remembered your timid, babbling Brother. The one who rambled uselessly about star charts.”

Mattias felt his hearts lodge themselves into the back of his throat, and his eyes widened in utter confusion and distress. Cedric and Ramiel had both warned him that not all Firstborn Brothers had reacted well to the Primaris Rollout, particularly within their own chapter. “Are… Are you referring to Brother Lestras, sir?” He asked, voice cracking in grief and anger at the thought of his sibling being killed for existing. There was nothing wrong with them!

Petras sneered down at him, raising a power-claw clad fist and attempting to strike him across the face “Did I tell you that you could speak, abomination? But yes. Lestras was that waste of resources name, I remember now. I found him here, you know. On Ancient terra. His wounds were grave, but survivable. I knew that those soft-hearted fools would be coming by soon so I could not kill him fully, but I ensured that his wounds would kill him.”

Mattias had been so startled by the reveal that, had he not been trained since he could begin to move combat maneuvers, he would have allowed the blow to hit him. As it had been long-engrained inside of him, Mattias rolled backwards off of the rock he’d been sitting on, evading the strike. “You… You killed them here? On Ancient Terra? Why?!” Mattias snarled, now up on his feet, fury boiling in his hearts. How dare this bastard do this?

“You Primaris Marines are wasteful abominations of flesh and gene-seed. You should not exist, and it is my duty to cull you miserable wastes of sentience wherever I find you. The God-Emperor himself has granted me this second chance to continue the culling. Why else would I have been brought here, after I was struck down by that fool, otherwise?” Petras revealed, the utterly terrifying look on his face intensifying “I did not say you were allowed to move, abomination. You will kneel before me and take your punishment for existing and for daring to endear yourself to proper marines. To true Black Templars.”

Oh like fuck he was! Mattias hissed “The fuck I will! You just admitted to murder and you’re calling me the abomination? That’s fucked. You want to hurt me? Just try it old man!” With that he charged the chaplain at full speed, pulling out his blade and trying to slash at the other with an overhead, two-handed strike.

It felt as if time had slowed down to a near stop, as Mattias tried to continue his charge.

Petras laughed, one hand on some kind of device, the other hand curling into a fist as the electricity crackled in the power-fist before slamming his fist into Mattias’s rib cage. “You poor, foolish idiot. Do you think that you’re the first abomination to try and lash out?”

Mattias let out a pained whimper as he felt his ribs crack and the electricity set fire to his nerves, still stuck in some strange sort of temporal slowing unable to dodge or attack back. “You… Bastard!” He slowly, agonizingly slowly, staggered towards his helmet, intending on calling out for help.

In between one moment and the next Petras had somehow snatched up Mattias’ helmet and threw it out of his immediate grabbing distance and struck him with impossible speed, this time striking his back with another electrified punch from the depths of the warp itself “Oh no. I will not let you -”

Mattias heard something snap in his back and he felt the feelings in his legs go numb. His hearts were pounding away so loudly and so swiftly in his ears, his breath rapid and shallow, and yet… His body was so slow to respond. “Bastard!” he hisses, interrupting the other’s rant. There had to be something he could do? They weren’t too far from the rest of the group, so if he yelled loudly enough… They should hear him. Mattias took in as deep of a breath as he could manage and screamed “HELP! HELP ME PLEASE! HE’S TRYING TO KILL ME!”

The sound of his voice seemed to echo strangely off of the trees and bushes and Petras laughed, dark and amused “You poor, naive fool. Do you really think that I would have been so careless as to make sure that they could hear you? I am quite familiar with how far Primaris Marines’ voices can carry. How loud they can be, when they are desperate, sniveling and hoping for a rescue that will not c-”

The sound of several sets of armored footsteps echoed reassuringly back and hope blossomed in his chest, even as Mattias could not stop himself from falling to the ground. He used his hands to catch himself so that he didn’t smash face-first into the ground. “Please… Help!” Mattias called out, forcibly rolling himself so he was face up, yanking his limp legs to help in the movement with his hands.

Pain continued to blossom around him as Petras continued to hiss and strike at him until Toroz came charging into the clearing, staggering to a halt at the sight before him. “What… What are you doing?” He demanded.

Petras looked over and stated “I am punishing this insolent whelp. He has been incredibly rude to me while out of sight and hearing of you and his other superiors he actually listens to so I am administering the punishment he deserves.”

“Then why was he screaming that you were trying to kill him? Stop hurting him! You know the consensus - if an underling from a different crusade needs punishing, you need to go to their highest ranking Brother, not administer the punishment yourself. Not without permission.” Toroz snapped back, rushing over to Mattias side, blocking Petras’ next strike by grabbing the other’s hand.

“You have no right to -” Petras hissed, visibly incensed.

“I have every right to intervene. He’s already bleeding and I think you damaged his spine.” Toroz hisses, cutting off Petras mid-rant. “This isn’t the first time that your punishments have clearly gotten out of hand. I’m going to ask the captain to pull the council together to fucking censure your ass. I swear to-”

Petras yanked his hand out of Toroz’ grip and slapped him with the other, growling “You have no right to threaten me! I will have you punished for your cheek. Besides, Brother Sargeant Toroz has been dead for ten years. I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re certainly not him.”

Toroz growled and kicked Petras square in the chest, sending the other flying through the clearing and through a tree, his black and white armor turning to teal and silver. “Get fucked, you stupid bastard. To hell with this assignment, I’m not letting an aspirant get mauled to death by a lunatic in front of me. Come on, hatchling, let’s get you treated.”

“You… You’re teal?” Mattias whimpered, eyes going wide as the older marine walked over, bent down and scooped him up.

“Sure am. Don’t struggle, I am trying to help you. Alpharius’ tits, he’s done a number on you.” Toroz or whatever his name was swore, putting Mattias on his back and sprinting off “Keep talking to me. Yell at me about how much of a low-life I am. Come on, where’s that fiery temper your chapter is so well known for?”

Mattias whimpered again, the jolting pain from the other’s movements causing him increasingly difficulty to breathe “Oww… He said. He said I was an… ‘bomination… Why was he so mean to me? I didn’t do anything wrong? I didn’t not do stuff I was supposed to… Why does he got to be so mean?”

“I don’t know. There’s something deeply wrong with that fucker. But don’t worry I’ll not let him hurt you anymore, hatchling. You just focus on staying awake and keeping breathing.” Toroz ordered him.

#cw lying #cw violence #cw blood #petras being petras #cw manipulation #oc: petras #oc: mattias #oc: lestra #oc: cazzard #warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #my writing #space marine husbandry #writing prompt

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