#emperor's saint fic

[lemon-russ]

The sapphic spirit possesed me and I just can't stop thinking about big gold muscle mommies today. Inspired by? Learned about the idea of? Aquillian Shield Custodes from This post by @moodymisty which has been in my brain. Then I was like, gasp, it could be g a y. Going to be multi-part bc I can't seem to rush smut and need sapphic pining first I guess.

Thank you @squishyowl for the divider!

Tags: @bispecsual @ms--lobotomy

Emperor's Saint (Pt. 1)

Pt. 2

Fem!Custodes x Fem!Reader

CW: GAY, SUPER SAPPHIC GAY

Summary: A diplomat of the Ultramarines, you've been chosen to receive the protection of an Aquillian Shield. Congratulations! you do not have a choice :)

Word count: 1,994

She appeared out of nowhere while you were preparing to leave for a meeting one day.

Nearly as tall as a primarch, golden armor shining, carrying an intricately decorated spear. She told you she was your Aquilian sheild, and you have been deemed important enough to need guarding. She would not say how long, or what you were meant to do, only that she was going to be hanging around 24/7 watching you until you completed whatever you were meant to accomplish.

Lord Guilliman said it was an honor to have one of the Adeptus Custodes personally guard you, so you tried to go about business as usual.

Heraclast, as she introduced herself, became your constant companion. Constant.

“Hera…” you groan tiredly, sitting up in your bed. “Must you guard me from in here…?” You ask. She’s polishing her helmet, her chin length warm brown hair falling around her face on the side that wasn’t shaved short. She looks up at you, pursing her lips.

“Of course, my Lady. What if dangers came to you while you sleep and are most vulnerable?” She says.

You pout. “Don’t you sleep…?” You ask. She insisted on staying with you while you were on this new planet to have your meeting, but you can’t fall asleep with her watching you. It made you, well, shy. Having a nine foot tall goddess of a warrior watching you snore? Emperor forbid you talk in your sleep.

She shakes her head, “No, my Lady. I can go weeks or months without sleep and perform perfectly.” She says, going back to polishing her gleaming pointy helmet.

Great.

You sigh and lay down, starting at the ceiling. You glance back over at her, sitting on a bed that is straining under the weight of her armor. Her face has a long scar from chin to hairline, and her eyes are so green they are almost luminescent in the dimly lit room. Or maybe they are? Who knows, Custodes were an enigma. Hardly seen outside the Palace until Guilliman returned, and more rare to see out of helmet, let alone armor. Their genetic modifications were even more intricate than their Astartes cousins, so Emperor only knows if they actually have glow in the dark eyes to go with their stunningly perfect looks.

You turn your gaze back to the ceiling, trying to not get hypnotized by how her hands look carefully polishing the gold. You definitely should not be thinking about those hands anywhere else. Especially not on you. Or under your nightgown. Which you had to change into with her in the room, which did not help any of this.

“My Lady?” Heraclast asks, making you jump a little as you’re pulled from your thoughts. “Your face has become feverish. Are you ill? I can vox for the best apothecaries to be here in under an hour-” she offers.

“No!” You interupt, blushing more. “No- I’m fine, I’m not sick.” You say tiredly, covering your face with a pillow.

She is quiet a moment, then you hear her go back to polishing, the rhythmic sound acting like white noise and helping you relax slightly. You pull the pillow off your face, rolling on your side to face her, trying to not look like you’re staring.

She glances up again, brow knit. “…Would my Lady sleep better if I sat over there, facing away?” She asks.

You blush, but think about it. She at least wouldn’t be staring you down that way. You nod a little, and she smiles, pulling over stool and sitting back down in front of your bed, back to you. You relax a bit not being directly in her sight, and then try not to think about how close she now sits. You stare at her back, partially covered by the purple cape of an Aquillian Shield, and try not to imagine what she looks like under it.

You squeeze your eyes shut and focus on the sound of her polishing, and eventually finally fall asleep.

The next morning you yawn, stretch, and then open your eyes and nearly jump out of bed. Heraclast looks up at you, confused. You look back at her, face burning red. She’s half armored, chest plate and shoulder armor removed and sitting sparkling and polished on the bed.

“My Lady? Are you well?” She asks, turning to you more and making you more flustered. She only has a tight wrap covering her chest, her sculpted abs and arms uncovered. You notice more than a few scars, one on the stomach looks like it was especially bothersome, but try and look away.

“I- I thought Custodes d-didn’t take their armor off-” you stammer out.

She tilts her head a little. “You are safe, my Lady, do not worry. I secured the area thoroughly before undressing, and only have been polishing a couple pieces at a time. Even without all my armor I am more than capable of protecting you-”

“Okay, Okay” you stop her, trying to look anywhere but at her tanned, toned abs, and why are they wet?? Her undercut was also damp, and in your desperate attempt to avoid her you see a wash bucket and cloth and realize she must have bathed. Which makes you even more flustered to imagine.

She frowns a bit, and your heart actually palpitates when you accidentally meet her emerald eyes again, full of concern now. She thankfully pulls on a tight silk shirt and starts re-fastening her chest armor.

“You really look unwell, my Lady. If you are feverish we should get you to the Apothecary.” She says, voice worried.

You frown, expression tight as you watch the way her arm muscles roll and flex as she lifts the heavy plates of armor and starts putting them back on. You swallow hard and will your breath to be even.

“I’m f-fine, really.” You say with a sigh, rubbing your hot face with your hands.

She looks unconvinced, but finishes armoring anyways. She steps into the next room briefly and brings you a wash tub, cloth, and soap. “Very well. I took the liberty of fetching you some cleaning supplies when I got my own.” She says with a smile, walking back to the other bed and sitting on it with a creak.

You frown, looking between the bucket and Heraclast. She looks unperturbed.

“Hera, I can’t wash with you looking at me.” You squeak out.

She frowns. “Why not?” She asks, looking genuinely confused. You frown deeper.

She scrunches her brow and purses her lips. “…Very well, I shall turn away if that helps you, my Lady.” She says, sounding confused but turning to the wall anyways.

Throne damned Custodes, haven’t been outside a palace in 10,000 years and forgot about things like human shame about naked bodies. Or maybe that is just something that was erased with their transformations. You sigh and start undressing as little as possible while still being able to wash.

After a minute Heraclast speaks up again, “Oh, today you have that meeting, yes? Shall I help you with your hair? I am quite skilled at braids from helping the other Custodians-” she says happily, turning a bit to look at you.

You yelp and cover your chest. She frowns and turns back. “Ah, yes, apologies.” She says, scratching her hair. “It is nudity you don’t want me to see, then? I will try and keep that in mind, though I don’t understand why you would hide the majesty of the human form-”

”Hera please” you groan, going back to washing.

She lets out a small “hmph.” But continues looking at the wall.

You sigh and finish up, washing as quickly as you can, then kneel down to wash your hair. “You can look now…” you grumble, dipping your hair forward in the bucket and scrubbing.

She happily turns back to you. “As I was saying, I am very good at intricate braids, If you would like. Many of my battle siblings keep long hair and braid it into crowns.” She says, moving to a stool near you to sit closer.

You glance up at her, smiling down at you, sun from the window sparkling off the intricate jewels and filigree on her armor. She looks so excited to help. You gulp.

“…Sure, why not.” You relent, rinsing your hair.

She beams, pulling her stool over to you and grabbing a towel and hairbrush from nearby. “Excellent, I think you shall make a grand impression on these important nobles with your hair orderly.” She says in a chipper tone.

She picks you up under the arms, making you squeak in surprise, and plops you on a pillow on the ground in front of her facing away, between her legs. Your face grows warm again as she starts to towel off your hair for you, humming happily. *By the throne you weigh nothing to her, she just picked you up like a stuffed animal*- No, don’t think about how easily she can toss you around, stop getting flustered, you chide yourself.

She starts carefully but efficiently detangling and brushing your hair, the feeling of the brush on your scalp and her playing with your hair sending a shiver down your spine.

“Hmph. Now you have chills to go with your fever.” She says with concern. “It is alright if you need to rest today, my Lady, I will not allow them to give you trouble about it.”

You try and focus hard on a plant across the room, “I’m fine.” You force out as she starts running her un-gauntleted fingers over your scalp, catching locks of hair and gently tugging them into braids.

She hums another unconvinced noise but doesn’t press you farther. She is quick with her braiding, fingers grazing your neck and shoulders as she works, the gentle touches making you get goosebumps. You start counting the leaves on the plant to occupy your mind and not just melt into a puddle on the floor.

“You have very well kept hair, my Lady. I’ve never been one to keep it long myself, gets in the way of my helmet, but I appreciate my Custodes siblings who do keep long hair. I’ve always admired the look of it on others.” She chatted happily.

You bite your lip. She likes long hair on others? She likes your hair? Does she think you’re- No, stop being ridiculous, you’re pretty sure Custodes can’t even feel attraction. Probably. If they did, they have all the other Custodes to be attracted to anyway, literally the most beautiful of humanity regardless of gender.

She runs her hands over your hair again before patting your shoulder and making a satisfied hmph. “There, all done.” She said, handing you a mirror.

You take it and your eyes go wide. She’s given you perfectly smooth, intricate braids forming a crown around your head, one even making a little flower shape over your ear, and the rest of your hair free and down, neatly brushed to not have a hair out of place.

“Wow.” You say, looking at her in the mirror as she smiles down over your head. “This is amazing, Hera.” You say, smiling at her reflection.

She beams proudly. “I am glad you enjoy it. Come, you should dress, your gowns have many complex layers.” She says, patting your shoulder again before she stands. “I must go do my bi-hourly parimeter scan, I expect to be finished in 6 and a half minutes. I know you dislike being seen unclothed, so you have that time to dress to a comfortable level.” She says, donning her helmet and picking up her spear.

You blink in surprise as she walks out, then scramble to start getting dressed.

[poliodeuces]

i didnt include this in the post but here's one of my older st sebastian gentaro, based on gerrit van honthorst's painting

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ HOLY GRAIL !

part one | part two

summary: in ancient rome, where survival is determined by the whims of a mad ruler, the empire's beloved general gives you – his first and only love – to the crazed emperor to ensure your safety. (6k)

pairing: marcus acacius / fem!reader, emperor geta / fem!reader

contents: established relationship, strangers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of war and violence, mentions of sex work, swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, m receiving oral, unprotected sex, cuckholding, exhibitionism) (this is a pretty dark fic so pls heed the warnings!!!)

Marcus Acacius was the name on the lips of a thousand fallen empires. His ledger ran a deep scarlet color, which dripped like proof from his sword. The war had destroyed the General over the years — had turned the man into an empty thing filled only by untamable ghosts. The relentless battle had wrung his boyhood from his body like a slow, merciless death. Any remaining innocence has since been replaced with violence.

Rome made a legacy of his grotesque evils, turned him into a saint. Marcus Acacius did not want to be a saint. He did not want to be angry; he did not want to be cruel. He only wanted to love and to be left alone with his tenderness. His mouth filled with blood instead.

You loved him like all doomed, grotesque things are meant to be loved. In the dark. In the shadows of war. In the depths of the soul.

“This is me,” he confesses, the great General Acacius, returning to you like a ghost to its haunt. “This is who I am.”

His golden armor is sullied from a victorious battle, tainted now with blotches of soil and dried blood that’s not his own. His dirtied, unholy fists tremble at his sides as he fights the urge to cross the threshold of your quarters to meet you. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve to be held by you now. Not when he still wreaks of death.

He can still feel the breath of a fist on his bruised cheek, but the way his sword felt plunging through the beating heart of an enemy soldier plagues him most of all. 

“Love turned on me long ago— It is not a burden I compel you to carry.”

So, please, do not love me, he doesn’t say. I only know how to destroy you.

You smile at him, eyes soft with sympathy, and cross the threshold of longing with an admirable effortlessness. You cradle his weathered, war-torn face in your palms, willingly staining your delicate hands with the blood stained there.

“I love you despite. So I imagine I’ll carry it anyway,” you coo to him, gentle eyes locked firmly with his heavy ones. “And I’m certain you love me in return, regardless of what you think the siege has made of you.”

“There is naught I can do about it,” Marcus admits, words heavy with choked-back emotion. He melts into your touch but continues to deny himself the want to hold you back. “Not while I still oversee this campaign. Not while there is a war to be won—”

“We love each other, don’t we?” you interject, pleading eyes searching for emotion behind his dark, stoic gaze. Marcus swallows hard. His scruffy chin scrapes your palm as he nods once in response. You grin and say the unforgiving truth out loud. “So fuck the war.”

You pull him down by his face to press a kiss to his unclean lips. Marcus rests his shaking hands over your waist and lets you build cathedrals in his mouth with your tongue. The blood in his teeth turns to holy water. 

Marcus long understood that bringing you to the city would be his last act of love.

Keeping you in the heart of Rome was the only way he could ensure your safety, with the surrounding towns still under merciless siege. The people there were docile, and loyal most of all to the General who had won them a thousand wars. They would not hurt you because it was not in their kind too, and because they feared General Acacius’ wrath as much as they respected his mercy.

This was known to everyone in Rome except its Emperors.

Geta and Caracalla ruled together following their father’s untimely demise but shared not a brain between them. They were boys, after all, the oldest being hardly two-and-twenty –– it was in their nature to talk more than they listened, and to pretend as if they knew the world despite never leaving the city walls. 

They were as cruel and as stupid as anyone who wished to rule an empire would be.

But the two of them relied heavily on their General to keep the restless public at ease. It made it easier for Marcus to bring you with him, knowing he had the trust of the most powerful men in Rome. He knew Geta kept meticulous care of his most precious gifts — all Marcus had to do was get you there, really, and the Emperors would do the rest for him. 

It was simple, but it was not easy; though he imagines no war ever has been or would be. Both of you had survived, yes, but neither of you had been spared. Bringing you here was a testament to that, which you seemingly could not comprehend. You were as soft and green as the countryside he plucked you from, too naive for politics.

Marcus tells himself that this was the merciful decision, anyway, as he gives you a tour of Caracalla’s labyrinthine gardens — the place farthest from the feasting hall where the noblemen dined. Hidden behind climbing leaves, free from prying eyes.

“I can’t imagine why you would be so apprehensive in bringing me here. It’s beautiful,” you marvel aloud as you walk ahead of the man guiding you. 

Your sandals pad faintly along the cobbled trail as you skim your palm over the bed of blooming roses. The petals feel like silk against your skin. You pluck one from the soil, careful to avoid its thorns, and hold it up to your nose. You turn to face Marcus with the crimson flower resting on your cupid’s bow.

“And it smells better, too,” you quip softly, tilting your head to your shoulder as you smirk behind the budding rose.

Marcus just barely manages to bite back his own grin until you reach out for him, tapping the delicate flower against the bridge of his strong nose. He exhales hard through his nostrils in place of a laugh.

Your giggling comes carried on the breath of a warm summer breeze — a symphony of salty ocean, dainty florals, and the pretty oils you’d bathed in. The wind billows through your thin, white gown and creates music with rustling leaves. You squint one eye when the setting sun peeks through the swishing tree limbs, bathing you in a golden-hour aura. 

You’re as beautiful as sin. Sweeter than death. Smiling at him like this is the beginning of something that died the moment you entered the city walls.

Marcus clears throat and gently guides your hand away. His cautious eyes flit around the vacant garden. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, you find, despite being the strongest man in all of Rome. You feel safest at his side, so you don’t know why he always looks so frightened.

“I know you are drunk on youth and immortality, petal, but we cannot get ahead of ourselves,” he advises, all stiff and stern, though the term of endearment spills effortlessly from his mouth. “We’re in the city now. So we must play the part. Like we discussed.”

He speaks to you with an unintentional sort of vagueness that makes you bow your head like a scolded child. Your arm falls limp at your side. A scarlet petal slips from its stem and hits the unforgiving stone.

“I know,” you murmur with a poorly hidden frown that conveys otherwise. Your sheepish gaze flits from the ground to Marcus’ unwavering stare and to the ground again. “I just thought— whenever we were alone, that we might—”

“We aren’t alone. We must behave as though the city is full of eyes. Understand?”

“I can’t,” you confess, peering up at the General from beneath your lashes. 

Marcus’ chest stings, like the fiery sun blazing his newly-fashioned armor. “What do you mean you can’t?” he bites emotionlessly.

He looks like a corrupt sort of angel in this light, unnaturally handsome and hopelessly wartorn. He was as hard as the earth below your feet — a statue made of clay, iron, and marble — cold to the touch and melting only for you. 

His heavy eyes were so brown they looked almost black, and they shone with a perpetual sort of gloom. His gaze swam with the prophetic darkness of a man who’s seen too much, though you often felt like you could drown in its void. For a man so adept at killing, he looked at you with a remarkable softness.

It wasn’t as shallow as physical desire. It was something far more cruel. You wanted Marcus Acacius the same way flesh wanted to knit itself together over a healing wound. It was simply in your nature to love him. 

“I mean, it’s impossible,” you ramble with a concerned furrow to your brow. Your grip on the flower’s papery stem tightens until the bulb rattles with the force. “How am I to be here with you but not touch you? That’s like asking the seasons not to change— It’s unnatural, and it’s cruel—”

Marcus swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His hands begin to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists instead.

“It’s the only way I know to keep you safe!” he confesses, words sounding heavy in his mouth. His eyes flit across the garden in a paranoid search of something that isn’t there. “Emperor Geta will take care of you. I know he will. And his brother is a half-wit, but he is kind when he wishes. He’ll take a liking to you, I’m sure of it—”

You interject his anxious rambling with a stubborn shake of your head.

“I can’t be someone else’s,” you murmur, voice as wet as the tears glittering in your wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t know how.”

“You will learn,” Marcus tells you with an emotionless stare. Not because he’s sure you will, but because he knows you have to. “For me.”

Your pretty features swirl with anguish. “Marcus…” you whisper his name in a feeble whimper caught in your throat.

He does not soften at your emotion like you’re used to. He’s practiced apathy for so long that it comes naturally to him now. He bites his tongue to keep from kissing you and lets the blood stain his teeth all over again.

“If not for your own sake, then for mine. The Emperors would have my head if they understood the pretenses I brought you under.”

You flinch at his words, perhaps finally understanding the weight of the unforgiving world in which you live. The surest example of such cruelty stands before you now, in the only man you ever loved now using your purest devotion as a means to keep you pliant. But your anger for the merciless arrangement is long eclipsed by your yearning.

“Then I will,” you tell him, rigid with a glacial disposition Marcus hasn’t seen before now.

The choices here were few. Either you were slaughtered outside the city walls by soldiers and pillagers, or you were slaughtered within them — in the metaphorical sense that burns physically in your chest now. 

Being without Marcus feels like a fate worse than death, but you want him so desperately to live. So much so that you’ll fall on the sword of your longing and bleed out at his feet. Knowing that you’re under the same sky would have to be enough for you. 

You can’t tell which it is — sacrifice or self-slaughter — but Marcus knows it isn’t as poetic as all that. 

Death is death.

Emperor Geta staggers drunkenly down the spiral stone steps of the west wing of his castle. The path to his chambers is illuminated by several dwindling torches hung along the brick walls. The subtle squeaking of his leather sandals sounds much louder in the quiet — filled only by crackling flames, a distant dripping noise, and the song he slurs under his breath. 

The latter ceases suddenly when he stumbles to a stop at the sight of General Acacius. The man stands like a statue outside his bedroom door — arms crossed behind his back, old spine perfectly straight — like the obedient guard dog he is. 

The thought makes the Emperor’s lips curl into a crooked smile. “What are you doing here, dog?” he calls to the General as he approaches him, voice echoing down the soulless corridor.

“Your nameday present, your majesty—” Marcus answers and tries not to make a face when the Emperor stands before him. The bittersweet scent of wine stains his breath, overwhelmingly so. Geta was never one to practice temperance. “—I was told to see that you got it.”

The younger man hesitates. “From my uncle?” he wonders aloud.

Marcus nods wordlessly in response.

Geta pauses for a moment. His wide, glassy eyes flit over the General’s shoulder to the arched doorway behind him. His stomach swirls at the thought of what may lie inside. The last nameday present his uncle sent from overseas was a monkey his younger brother has grown much too attached to.

“Well… What is it?”

Marcus swallows hard and steps aside. “Look inside, your majesty.”

Geta takes a deep breath in and swings the creaking door open. His bedroom is lush with crimson silk and golden candlelight, familiarly fragranced with cinnamon and sweet myrrh. It’s accompanied by something foreignly floral, a feminine rosy-lavender that catches his attention before his eyes ever find you.

He steps through the threshold and finds a strange girl standing by the window, before a platter of fruit and wine — bathed half in the silver beams of a full moon, and half in flickering orange flames. 

White silk adorns your frame, so delicate it’s nearly see-through. One of your shoulders is mouthwateringly bare, and there’s a slit in the fabric that rises to your hip. You look as pure as a dove, though you’re so obviously built for sin.

The ground sways beneath Geta’s unsteady feet.

You crunch audibly into an apple before you realize anyone’s there. The juice runs down your chin before you swipe it away with the back of your hand. Only then do your eyes lock with the Emperor’s, who seems equally stunned to see you there. You tense and say nothing as you hide the bitten fruit behind your back.

“It’s a woman,” Geta observes to no one in particular, though his dark eyes have not yet wavered from yours.

Marcus stands behind him and nods — hands still clasped behind his back, heart still pounding against his ribcage. “Yes, your majesty. In plain terms.”

“Well,” the Emperor glances over his shoulder. “What does she do?”

“Whatever you want,” the General answers, though the words taste like vinegar on his tongue. He swallows the bitterness down like bile and leers at you, looking upon his lover as though she were a stranger. “You need only ask.”

Geta, satisfied by his answer, turns back to you. His initial surprise has ebbed into something more pleased, diabolically so. His pink lips curl into a sneer as he walks slowly towards you, eyeing you up and down with curious eyes — a predator stalking its prey.

“Is that true?” he asks you, voice ringing through the quiet room. “Or is he confusing you for a dutiful hound?”

“A dutiful whore, your majesty,” you correct with an acquiescent smile, following the story as Marcus intended. 

The half-truth comes easily to you. Not a lie exactly, but not the whole tale either. You’d spent many of your years working in a brothel on the outskirts of Rome. You were a young woman, unmarried, without family or viable prospects — whoring seemed the most obvious decision then, though it feels so long ago now. 

You’d waited your whole life for something, for Marcus, though you hadn’t expected it to kill you when you found it. You won’t die a saint if the crazed Emperor decides to take your head, but perhaps you could be a martyr. Perhaps that’ll be enough.

Fear beats through your body like a second heart, but your eyes never waver from the Emperor’s. It’s easiest to meet his gaze. He feels more like a human that way. 

There are flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and dark strands in his gold hair. He’s got stubble on his long neck, spots on his broad nose, and wrinkles on his forehead. Not quite as perfect as the pristine white-gold armor would let on.

His eyes flit down your form once more. Something sparks in the deep brown of them, a flicker of silent realization. He spins suddenly on the heel of his sandal to flash Marcus an accusatory glare.

“Is she your whore, General?” he lilts into the heavy silence. His brows raise when he receives no answer from the man across the room. “The question was not rhetorical, Acacius.”

“No, your majesty. She is not mine,” Marcus answers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. It’s like he’s plunging a knife through his own heart. He can feel the cold sting of the sharpened blade and the burn of the blood on his skin. “Though, I don’t believe whores belong to anyone.”

A boyish chuckle spills from the Emperor’s mouth. “No. They don’t,” he says with an airy giddiness. “Not before now, anyway—”

Geta spins back again, pleated skirt fanning around his pale thighs. His smile fades with an eerie swiftness. “What are you waiting for? Undress,” he commands with a wave of his ringed hand.

Your wide eyes flit instinctively past him to Marcus, who still idles in the doorway. Only then does he realize how long he’s been staring at you. He forces himself to glance off in another direction, but his gaze keeps finding yours — like a magnet, or a planet with its own gravitational pull.

Your eyes lock, and the only thing you hear is each other, though neither of you has spoken a word. This is the only way, you hear his voice in your head as clearly as your own. This is the only way to stay together. The only way to survive.

Geta mistakes your fear.

“Don’t worry about him, little dove,” he coos, and taps the bottom of your chin with his fingers — as soft and petaled as your own. He smiles when your attention turns to him again, speaking loud enough for the General to hear. “He’s only the guard dog. And good boys get scraps, don’t they, Acacius?”

Marcus’ face screws like he’s tasted something sour. He’s grateful the Emperor isn’t looking at him to see it. “They do, your majesty,” he monotones.

“So you will watch. And report to my uncle how his lovely present fared,” he calls to the older man, though his eyes remain locked with yours. You tense when his pale hand reaches suddenly for your face. He holds your cheeks in his fingers until your lips jut in a soft pout. “Let’s hope I don’t have to send him back your head, little dove.”

He says it with an absentminded effortlessness, as though it’s something he’s done before. 

Still, you manage a small smile and blink up at him with innocent eyes. “What good is a dead whore, your majesty?” you quip.

Geta’s grin widens.  “Precisely. Now undress.”

You reach for the singular sleeve of your slip with trembling fingers. Your right hand sweeps across your left shoulder, skin blazing with fear and anticipation. The fabric trails down down down your arm before falling to your feet in a puddle of milky white silk. Your bare body glows silver and gold between moonlight and flame. 

Goosebumps pebble over your skin despite the humid summer night as Geta circles you like prey. His eyes trail slowly down your form in time with his rhythmic steps. The sound of his sandals scrapping the stone floor, crackling candlelight, and subdued breathing are the only sounds in the quiet room for several long moments.

The Emperor disappears behind you, and you forget how to breathe. Your wide, wet eyes find Marcus once more — pleading, though for what, you cannot say. His face reveals nothing but wrath burns in his gaze.

Geta reappears at your right side. You smell grape wine on his breath when he nears you, breathing heavily through his mouth as he reaches out to touch you. His ringed hands smooth over your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat. He smiles as though your fright pleases him.

“You’re skittish for a whore,” he muses, playful in a way that makes your stomach wrench. “Are you sure the General didn’t bring me a virgin?”

You swallow hard as his hand trails down your body. Over the swell of your breast, skimming his thumb over your taut nipple, before tracing the expanse of your ribs. His fingers run down your stomach and past the thatch of hair between your legs. They dip finally between your thighs. 

Geta hums a faint moan at the velvet feeling of your pussy. The way your lips part for his fingers, silky skin warm and wet to the touch. 

“I’m whatever you want me to be, your majesty,” you answer, breathing hard through your nose when he pulls his hand away — a warmth you find yourself begrudgingly grieving.

“I need only ask…” the Emperor coos, running his middle and pointer finger over your bottom lip. They shine with the honey you leak despite yourself. Your mouth parts, and he rests the pads of them on your tongue. “…Do I not?”

You nod wordlessly through the salty fingers in your mouth, trying to imagine their Marcus’.

Geta smiles when he parts from you. “Undress me,” he demands. 

You work at his tricky armor with nervous hands and bated breath. 

You unclasp his cape first. The white fabric, now free from its chain, falls heavily to the floor behind him. Your fingers have gone noticeably clammy as they struggle with the sleeves of his tunic. It takes you a beat too long to loosen the laces at his shoulders. The cloth falls finally and puddles around his feet, leaving his lean body on display before you.

His torso is lean and mostly hairless, save for splotches of chestnut on his sternum and stomach. His skin is smooth and flushed from the alcohol. His stomach is slim but noticeably full. The Emperor is well-taken care of, though his subjects outside the keep suffer from the consequences of war.

Your trembling fingers curl around the hem of his loincloth. His pale skin is warm to the touch, boiling with desire while you freeze over with fear. You crouch before him as you drag the garment down his scruffy thighs. You hear Geta sigh above you when his half-hard cock meets the cool summer night air. 

He’s paler there compared to the rest of his golden body, though the mushroom tip glows a faint strawberry-red color. A vein trails in jagged lines to the base of his heavy cock, fading as it reaches the thatch of dark blonde hair at his pubic bone. He’s not nearly as thick as Marcus, though not many people could hope to be — but he is long and thin and soft like velvet.

“How do I look?” Geta wonders as he steps out of his loincloth. He tilts his chin to his chest to peer down at you, on your knees to untie the intricate laces of his sandals. You blink up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Without my armor,” he adds, then repeats. “How do I look?”

You realize, then, that he wants your praise. Though you’re unsure why, you’re not in any position to deny him of it. “You’re a— a very handsome man, your majesty,” you respond cautiously, with a wavering smile.

You hear his breath catch at the compliment. The corner of his mouth flickers upward, and his nostril flares as he takes a deep breath in. 

“Well, go on, then,” he insists suddenly, nodding his head to egg you onward. “Good whores don’t keep their masters waiting, do they? You don’t want to see me impatient, little dove.”

You wrap his stiff cock in a tentative fist, averting your gaze as you give an experimental kitten lick to the bulbous, strawberry tip. Your tongue swipes away the pearlescent pre-cum beading there. The salty tang is foreign on your tongue, sweeter and thicker than you’re used to.

You imagine your lover when you take the Emperor’s cock in your mouth. A practiced form of dissociation that comes naturally to you now. 

You focus on the way the stone floor digs into your knees as you cup his balls in your hand — a desperate attempt to finish him quickly. Geta shudders when you swallow him whole, burying your nose in the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock. His head tips back as he groans at the ceiling.

“You are a proper whore…” the Emperor moans with a delirious smile. He tilts his flushed cheek to his freckled shoulder to sneer at Marcus, then frowns when his eyes meet the back of him. “Are you distracted, General?”

The man keeps his back turned and his eyes trained on the wall, counting the bricks there to distract his racing mind. His mouth snarls at the Emperor’s words. His hands ball into fists as he fights to keep his composure.

“Just giving you your privacy, your majesty.”

“Nonsense!” Geta laughs, loud. “You should watch! You should observe— so you know what to tell my uncle.”

Marcus can hear the mischievous lilt in the younger boy’s voice. Like it’s all just a game to him. Like you’re just a whore to be played with, and like Marcus’ only hope of companionship is warfare. Both might’ve been true once, but not since you find each other.

The general smacks his lips against his teeth. “As you wish,” he deadpans and spins on the heel of his sandal.

He’s strangely grateful to find the Emperor’s body obscuring your own. Geta’s lean, pale form towers over your kneeling one — back muscles flexing, hips thrusting, fingers knitting in your hair.

But Marcus can still hear the sounds of your mouth on the other man’s cock. The room fills with heavy breathing, wet noises, and the Emperor’s unabashed whines. Embers of envy burn in the General’s empty chest. A wildfire of want and wrath rages behind his ribcage.

You swallow with Geta’s cock in your throat and squeeze softly at his balls. You hear his breath hitch just before a lengthy moan spills from his parted mouth. Several loads of salty cum spit down your throat a second later. The man shows you little mercy as he holds you by your hair, keeping your nose pressed to his pubic bone. You take shallow breaths through your nose and try not to choke.

You pull off of him when he lets you go. A string of saliva threatens to keep you connected. You take a deep breath in and swipe at your swollen mouth with the back of your hand, staying on your knees while the Emperor tilts his head back. He exhales a breathy laugh of relief at the ceiling. You peer up at him with wide, wet eyes, still so uncertain of your fate.

“Proper whore, indeed,” Geta muses, almost to himself, as he drops his heavy head once more. 

His flushed chest sparkles with a foreign feeling at the sight of you beneath him — eyes teary and fearful, lips swollen and rosy, features flushed with sweat and sex. His cock jerks, still sensitive but threatening to harden again. He grips himself with a loose fist.

“On the bed,” he instructs suddenly, then grins madly at your shock. “You didn’t think I was done with you, surely. Not until I mount you like a mare, anyway— Treat you like the bitch in heat you are…”

Geta cups your warm cheek in his free hand. His touch is strangely gentle as he cradles you there, right before he smacks gently at your jaw to urge you upward. 

Your bare feet pad towards the bed, then. Geta swats your ass as you go and laughs when you squeak in response. You fight the urge to look at Marcus, lest you see the rage burning in his eyes — lest he see the heartbreak swimming in yours. 

Marcus watches you crawl over the silken sheets, both of you sporting similar far-off gazes. He feels a bit like a ghost now. An empty, invisible thing, doomed to watch the rest of the world go on without ever being able to live in it. It’s dreadfully symbolic of how he’s lived most of his life, and how he’s spent the years loving you. Because even if a ghost is full of love, the only thing it knows to do is haunt.

The silk pillow feels cool under your burning cheek. The mattress dips under the Emperor’s weight when he kneels behind you. His ringed fingers smooth over your ass and down the arch of your back. He treats you with an uncharacteristic sort of tenderness, as though he were molding you out of clay.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” he whispers under his breath. “And timid, too… I like that…” 

Your pussy clenches at his words despite yourself. Geta’s chest swells with pride accordingly. “You don’t have to be scared, little dove. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Despite his words, he does not bother to ready you for his cock when he positions himself at your pulsing entrance. You hadn’t expected him to, of course — not many men were as kind as Marcus in that way, who often treated your pleasure as if it were his own. But the slick sticking to your thighs has made your pussy more than pliant. Your velvet walls swallow Geta’s cock with a pulsing vigor.

The Emperor groans as he fucks into you, savoring every inch as he buries himself to the hilt. His ringed fingers dig into the plush of your waist, as though you were a toy he didn’t want getting snatched away.

“Look at the hound!” Geta giggles boyishly to himself. “He’s itching for a feel of you— I just know it.”

Marcus remains as still and stoic as the battalion trained him to be. He reveals nothing on his face, though his skin prickles with flames of envy beneath his armor. 

Marcus Acacius was not a jealous man. His love for you was a testament to that. He visited the brothel you boarded in and spared the same coins as every man in the establishment did. But it was different now. Because the Emperor does not deserve you, and he forces Marcus to watch as if he knows it, too.

Something within him seethes, like a feral animal trapped behind his ribcage, desperately clawing its way out.

“Look at him,” Geta snaps when he sees you staring at the wall, eyes glassy and glazed over. He’s grinning all over again when your gaze snaps to Marcus’. 

The soldier’s weathered eyes burn with tears then. General Acacius has faced death a thousand times over, but it wasn’t quite as heartwrenching as this. His wrath simmers to a boil. He swallows it down like fire.

This is her salvation, he tells himself. This is how she survives.

Your features twist with the anguish of being seen as the Emperor lays himself over your back. His slick chest sits flush with your spine, pinning you to the mattress. “I bet he can taste you now. Smell you,” he murmurs in your ear, chapped mouth brushing the shell of it. “His mouth is salivating at the thought of putting his tongue on you— Isn’t it, dog?”

Marcus swallows through the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away stinging tears and feigns an air of nonchalance. “It would be… impolite to talk so brashly about something that doesn’t belong to me, your majesty,” the General responds. Obedient. Loyal like a hound.

Geta grins wide. “Good answer, Acacius.”

When the Emperor finally fucks into you, it’s with a sloppy sort of precision. There is no rhythm or care to his thrusts. He is led only by his blinding pleasure, like a man who has only ever fucked playthings and his own fist. He props himself on one forearm and curls the other beneath you, holding your breast in his ringed hand.

Geta’s flushed cheek presses against your own while he slides in and out and into you again. You hear his groaning as you feel it rumbling in his chest, still laid against your back. You stare at a framed portrait on the wall across the room and wait for it to be over, even as your body refuses to dismiss its simmering orgasm.

Your swollen clit ruts against the silk sheets with each of the Emperor’s sloppy thrusts. You can feel a wet spot forming beneath you, and your stomach twists at the thought of seeing proof of your own pleasure. 

His balls smack your leaking cunt, creating a symphony of lewd noises — moaning, whimpering, clapping, smacking. Marcus thinks the sounds of war were more merciful than this.

“Do you understand what that means, little dove?” Geta croons into your ear, words choppy through his labored breaths and irregular thrusts. “You belong— to me now… So whatever you used to be— whoever’s you used to be— no longer matters.”

He thrusts once, hard, and shudders above you with a choked-back groan. You grit your teeth to swallow down your own noises of pleasure. The assault on your clit, though unintentional, is still yet relentless. You feel the distant white-hot burning feeling begin to swell in the pit of your stomach. A coil about to snap.

“Fucking me— Making me feel good—” the Emperor pants, punctuated by his hips against your ass. “—Is your only duty now. Understand?”

You nod, cheek running over the silk cushion as you grip it in your fists. “Yes, your majesty,” you gasp.

Geta presses his smile to the apple of your cheek. He can feel you leaking around him. You’re enjoying this just as much as he is, to be sure. A proper whore, indeed.

“Now… Take my spend like a good bitch, and thank me for it—”

He fucks you harder, and your face twists with a pleasure you’re too weak to fight away. 

Your gaze falls instinctively to Marcus as your orgasm threatens to swallow you whole. Your eyes squeeze shut in a feeble attempt to hide. Your mouth parts with a silent moan as you cum around the Emperor’s cock.

“Thank you, your majesty,” you whimper obediently into the pillow as you tremble beneath him. “Thank you.”

Geta buries a whine in your neck when he cums again. He gives you only two pitiful, warm loads but still possesses more stamina than your Marcus. He stills, then shudders, then rests his unforgiving bodyweight on top of you when pleasure makes a puddle of him. And of you, you assume, as a mixture of your spend leaks out of your cunt and onto the sheets.

“Write to my uncle, Acacius—” Geta slurs into your skin, heavy through labored pants. “—A thank you for my nameday present.”

Marcus forgets, until then, that he can still be seen. He felt more akin to a corpse hidden in the walls, forced to spend his afterlife in a merciless purgatory. His heart has stopped beating, frozen over, and now sits dead in his chest. He will never be as gentle as he was with you. He will be bloodied knuckles and pulsing wounds. Rough and cruel and angry.

“Yes, your majesty,” the General nods, thankful that it’s over now.

Geta rolls off of your body and onto the empty spot beside you — not shy about his nude form or yours. The sudden lack of warmth makes you shiver. 

“And tell him to send another— To keep the General’s bed warm, too,” he says, patting your ass with his palm before smoothing tenderly over the skin. “One whore’s as good as any other, I’m sure.”

Marcus flinches at the thought of being with anyone other than you. He couldn’t hide the look of disgust if he tried. It makes the Emperor laugh loudly in response.

“Oh, did you— Did you want to try this one?” Geta muses knowingly, pointing to your limp body, still trembling beside him with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“No. No, no, no— See, this one’s mine,” he corrects the General as if he were a child. “And it would be impolite to touch something that belongs to me, would it not? It would be treasonous, even.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Marcus nods, lip flickering in a mere hint of a smirk as his plan finally comes to fruition. “It would be.”

The Emperor sees you now as his property, and no one hurts what belongs to him without meeting a certain death. Marcus is comforted only by the thought that nothing can touch you now. Not even him. But perhaps that’s the price he pays for love. Perhaps, in the end, love is grief.

“So best tread lightly, Acacius,” Geta warns with a crooked smile, petting you like a dog. “I’d hate for someone to get hurt.”

[goldenatreides]

dune masterlist

hi! i’m vee! she/her, 20s

my askbox is open! feel free to come chat or request—but no promises if requests will be finished or not. your honor i am just a girl 💌

i write mainly paul x reader. bc i am insufferable.

NO use of y/n. will also be branching out in paul x chani, feyd x reader, feyd x irulan. maybe even paul x irulan. feyd x paul!!!! who knows!!! not me!!

WARNING: most of my fics may be 18+ and will be marked as such. MDNI!

i dont currently have a tag list, but let me know if you want me to make one! 🏷️

[ - paul atreides x reader - ]

-> training season (18+)

[one shot, 2.7k words, fluff, smut, pining <3, friends to lovers] read on ao3

in a pinch, a dusty old supply closet turns out to be a good hiding spot, actually.

-> daylight (18+) [coming soon]

in which wine and ballrooms lead to an interesting arrangement. after all, who better to understand the burdens of an heir bound to duty than another?

-> espresso (18+) [coming VERY soon]

[one shot, 2k words, smut, emperor!paul, potential dubcon?? under the influence of spice]

you serve the emperor paul atreides his morning spice coffee.

-> worship at the altar of your sins (18+) [coming soon]

the fool saint, the false messiah, the despot prophet. he can give you the moon and the stars but all you ever needed was him.

-> maroon (18+) [coming soon]

both blood and wine are crimson in the snow.

-> untitled (18+) [coming soon]

[one shot, 1.5k words, smut, paul is a cocky little bitch]

in which paul shows you exactly why he wanted to be a pilot.

[ - feyd rautha x reader - ]

my boy only breaks his favorite toys (18+) [coming soon]

you’re queen of sandcastles he destroys.

-> will be updated as stories get published. thanks for your support!! all feedback is always appreciated. 🤍

-> please do not reupload/redistribute my work anywhere else. the only other place you can find it is my ao3.

-> thank you to @cafekitsune for the banners!

[emperorundying]

TLT Dashboard Simulator- Pt 5

💀 drearybruh Follow

10,000 y/o lyctor gf who exclusively calls me 'lovey': Ugh they're still debating the ethics of using cavaliers as a resource to suck dry, I can't deal with this empire today.

me [heard 'suck dry cavaliers' and got so hard i got nauseous]: I think I hauve devils in me

(2,710 notes)

🫁 soulosexualll

omg guys im so sorry ive been MIA!!! the alexandrite id been talking about won custody over our baby so i had a bit of a crisis about my future on the fifth house alone and loved only by the spirits. and then of course i visit the third over vacation and get roped into a multi-week bender [have u ever snorted dried marrow? life changing] and then i was lost on the third for likeeeee four days and had to find my way back through hitchhiking and bartering with my own blood.

but i promise ill update my Joy/Patience/Duty threesome fic soon :333

#rpf #munposting #EEEEEEE GET EXCITED GUYS #joy strap time? joy strap time.... #i see ur messages in the askbox and i super appreciate them btw but i cant justify answering all of them #BUT I SEE U AND I LOVE U &lt;33

(42 notes)

🦴 skeletal-system-bracket

SKELETAL SYSTEM BRACKET ROUND 3 GROUP A

We had two ties last round [within a margin of error of .1%!!] , so we decided it would make the most sense to make this a four-way poll. Propaganda:

Occipital Bone: do you want an unprotected cerebellum??? the infernal surface is groovy af, and all the nuchal lines are actually goated. are u seriously going to look me in the eyes and tell me the three-part bone of all time [father son and holy spirit, anyone?] can even be stepped to by some normie basic bone shit???????? cmon..... [via. @skullfuckbonegod]

Fibula: VOTE FIBULA!!!! bone with a best friend <3 Tibia already got out round 1 so its ur legal duty to stand up for its legbestie... also my hounds r named Fibula and Tibia and theyre adorbsies [via. @sodiumradiation]

Thoracic Vertibrae: twelve bones. twelve bones, one combined goal: fuck shit up, take names, keep that back backing. least commonly injured part of the spine for a reason. its built different. this shit protects ur spinal cord, provides attachments to your ribs, supports your chest and abdomen, and literally lets yr body move. objective best bones. [via. @ithinkthereforisam]

Scalpula: Scapula sweep!! Those are your angel wings. Watching your Cavs shoulder blades move under their skin while they carry a big sword is the best part of being a necro. They're also just such a good plane of bone they're perfect for breaking up into little pieces for bone adepts to store in their pockets. Also the attachment point for a bunch of muscles!!and the yummy little joint cavity… [via. @kavkisser]

#polls #tumblr polls #skeletal system #tibia #fibula #vertebrae #scalpula

(450 notes)

📷 devoutofmymind Follow

ARE YOU GUYS SERIOUS WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE EMPEROR HASN'T COMMENTED ON HIS FIRST AND SECOND'S SAINTS DISAPPEARANCES

📷 devoutofmymind Follow

For my Edenite followers this is like if gun disappeared

#ARE THEY DEAD??? #Bro r we upping the fascism factor #STAFF THAT TAG IS A JOKE. I WOULD NEVER DREAM OF INSURGENCY

12,345 notes

🫀 gorewanker Follow

I swear they're like the septum piercing havers of cavaliering 😭😭😭

🦀 xx-0ct0g0ne-xx Follow

Ah. So you're unable to handle the pressures which are expected of the average Eighth House devotee, and as such, fall back upon insecure insults. Get a life + Praying for you + L.

(923 notes)

👤 boobmonger-deactivated-2917220

holy shit tower prince announcement this is crazy. liveblog time

👤 boobmonger-deactivated-2917220

TRANSMASC AWE??????????

(3,891 notes)

🦷 bitingyoubitingyoubitingyoubitingyoux3 Follow

(14,088 notes)

☠️ is-the-emperor-undying-d34d-yet Follow

NOT YET BUT WE ALWAYS COME BACK

[zeivira]

no rest for the wicked...

pls more

this shit is hilarious

like what are the others thoughts on this "illness" like garfiel, we've seen a bit of otto but i want more of him cuz he's best boi.

i imagine him going on full mama/big bro mood lmao

also that ficrec abt the crack fic by scissors? LMAO thx my parents knew im awake at 3am

point is

i like you now

so im gonna stalk- ahem- stick to you like a leach 🥺🌹

feed me more

The Cap’n's rule about everyone being strictly forbidden from watching him sleep—something about Garfiel being exactly like Rem but without pretty girl privilege—never actually stops the members of the camp from keeping an eye on him while the Cap’n's rests. 

The camp is nothing if not resourceful, and it’s not like they need to be inside the room when he’s sleeping to make sure he stays safe. Waiting a few feet away from the only entrance is just as effective. 

That's why when Garfiel smells a person approaching the Cap’n's room, during a time he knows he is asleep—they spent the last few days traveling to Pristella, like Hoshin traveled the desert to Banan after all—he rushes into the hallway and grabs the visitor's wrist right before it gets to knock at the Cap’n's door. 

"—the hell do ya think yer doin’?" Only after he finishes talking, under the dim hallway light of the mansion-like inn, he takes notice of the visitor's red, flame-like hair. A sharp horror, the one he had felt hours flooded through his entire body, as he realized whose wrist he grabbed. 

For a second, all is still. 

"Hello again, Sir Garfiel," the Sword Saint greets him, smiling as if they were pals and he hadn't evaded Garfiel’s senses and stopped his punch with a casual block a couple hours before. As if he weren’t the main obstacle between Garfiel and the title of Strongest. "I apologize if my presence alerted you, but all I wish to do is talk to Subaru." 

"W-well isn’ that convenient.  Anythin’ ya might need ta tell the Cap’n, ya can tell my amazin’ self instead." Big fat lie. There is a reason why the Cap’n is the Cap’n despite being borderline comatose and apparently not that much older than him. But Garfiel can’t trust anyone stronger than him, and as much as he hates himself for it…

The difference between him and Reinhard van Astrea is like a newborn Earth dragon and the Divine Dragon themself. 

His mere presence makes Garfiel's rawest instincts scream—tell him to either fight-or-flight. Garfiel doesn't want to be anywhere close to Reinhard, but much less he wants Reinhard anywhere close to the Cap’n when he sleeps. At least not until Garfiel proves himself a stronger shield than Reinhard. 

Even if the Cap’n is not defenseless—at least, not usually— he is useless while he isn't awake. And that means Galfield has to fight for both of them.

"I see," Reinhard's lips tilt downwards. "I do not mean disrespect, but what I would like to discuss would be related to something personal, unrelated to our respective camps..." 

Right. Garfield's eyebrow twitches. Right. The Cap’n said they were friends. 

"...the Cap’n's asleep," his voice sounds hoarse even to his ears. Maybe if he makes his tone drier than the Augura Sand Dunes, he can get Reinhard to give up and leave?

Reinhard's eyes widen. "Is that so. From what I gathered he mostly slept during the night." 

Garfield scowls. Of course the Sword Saint knew that much. "The Cap’n does, but he couldn' sleep during the trip, as we moved without pause, just like the Emperor of the Briar who never knew rest," Garfield crosses his arms. "So he is sleeping now and won't wake up in a while." 

"I see..." Reinhard says, and an uncomfortable silence falls between them. His gaze felt so heavy that if Garfiel moved carelessly, he wouldn’t know what his fate would b— "I wanted to ask about my father, actually—” Reinhard spoke up, breaking the silence. “I heard there were some issues close to Lady Priscilla's domain that involved Subaru and him." 

It takes Garfield a second to realize what he is talking about. His joy over learning the one and only Sword Saint's father was joining Emilia's camp to help Subaru stop the Argyle healer evaporated the moment his eyes actually lied on the man. After a couple days he just became Old Man, a skilled drunkard with a sob story, rather than a member of the family his mother used to read him stories about. 

"Issues,” Garfield snorts at Reinhard’s choice of word. “Tha's one way of sayin’ it." He makes a face. "Yeah, I was there too. The Old Man made us go lookin’ for a stupid chalice with the power to cure all sickness, but in the end it's only power w’s turning water into booze. Big ass let down." 

Reinhard’s shoulders sag. "So that’s what happened…” Reinhard’s eyes finally looked past Garfiel and looked at the still closed door, an unreadable thought reflected in them. “...I am glad father was with Subaru and you nonetheless. I can't imagine him taking another disappointment well..." 

How could any member of the group that went after the dumb cup not be disappointed? The chalice would have been able to cure not only the Old Man’s wife, but the Cap’n too. As the camp’s shield it’s his duty to protect everyone from everything—including hereditary diseases. When the Old Man mentioned the rumors, he was the first to tell Emilia they absolutely needed to go.

Still— the entire conversation leaves a bad taste in his mouth. The Cap’n was already carrying enough on his shoulder, with being the Hero that defeated the Archbishop of Sloth, the White Whale and the Great Rabbit— did he really need to trouble himself with family drama when the man ain’t even dead? “Why?” 

Reinhard blinks. “Well, it has been many years—” 

“—no, not that.” Garfiel’s scowl grows. “Why do ya need to imagine it? Yar dad’s alive, you could ask him.”

Reinhard just stares, before a bitter smile covers his lips. “Although true, my father doesn’t enjoy my company, so I wouldn’t like to impose myself when unnecessary.” 

But he is alive, is what he wants to say. “My mom’s dead,” is what he says instead. Because damn— he saw the Old Man, the even Older Man and him talk during dinner and how Ottobro almost lost his head trying to stop Old and Older from killing each other, right before Priscilla arrived saying this was the most amusing shitshow she had seen in weeks. The Old Man genuinely didn’t want to be with Reinhard and his dad.

But he is alive. All three of them are. They can talk. While Garfiel's mom is dead and gone and he can't tell her how much he loves her. "Just because your father is with us, and the Cap’n is strong enough to carry the weight of yar family drama, doesn't mean he should."

Reinhard's eyes widen again. "I—" 

"The Cap’n sleeps longer when he overworks himself," Garfield cuts, his words stronger than any punch he ever did. 

And Reinhard's mouth shuts with an audible click, expression shifting into one of horror— as it should. 

"He carries everyone's problems on his back— no matter how tired he is...!" He clenches his fists. "The Cap’n is so cool, cooler than the Sage and Reid! But precisely because he is like that is that we need to push ourselves harder. Be the people the Cap’n wants us to be, even if he is too shy to tell us. Because— because...!" 

“—will you two please SHUT UP?!" The Cap’n's door parts open with a bang, and the Cap’n appears in the doorway, rubbing his eyes while scowling. “Some of us are actually trying to sleep around here!”

Garfiel rushes back to his room only minutes later, but also doesn't miss Reinhard walking in direction to the Old Man's room rather than the hallway he originally came from.

beta read by @daemonerik

[calchexxis]

40k Femslash Appreciation Post

There isn't nearly enough good wlw in Warhammer 40k, and don't get me wrong, I understand why. Considering the majority of the narratives consist of manly men doing manly things while wearing a buick on their torso and a refrigerator on each arm, there's going to be an obvious skew, and that's okay!

But today, I want to highlight some of the ladies of the 40k universe, as well as the other ladies that those ladies like to kiss. For the record, all of these will be on Archive of Our Own.

In my own corner, I've contributed:

Ennui: A longform about a Dark Eldar Wych and a Sororitas who find unlikely love on a world plagued by Orks, and in the process, discover a much darker plot that will threaten the fabric of the galaxy.

From Afar: Local Eldar Pathfinder pines after a pretty PDF guardswoman from the distance in the months while the Great Devourer approaches.

Saintsbride: A series rather than a single fic, that creatively reinterprets Saint Celestine and Inquisitor Greyfax's relationship in the audio drama Our Martyred Lady as being very gay.

His Fury, Our Hearts: Three Sisters Militant of the Adeptus Sororitas Heavy Armor division do battle against cult elements of the Alpha Legion while defending an irradiated hellhole, and also they kiss each other.

More excellent femslash can be found in the hands of user OnTheHuh.

The Iron Tower: An unflinching look at the darker side of the 40k universe on the smaller scale through the eyes of the 'bedmate' of the Planetary Governor of a Feudal world. Absolutely mind the tags, but you're in the mood for some angst and Regency-era style lesbian pining, this is your jam.

Sister Militant: Some of the best Adeptus Sororitas work out there, follows the trials and tribulations of a haunted Sister Militant as she struggles with her worth, her faith, and the demons in her mind. Very much mind the tags, again, but also again, Lesbian Angst and Pining. Also some really top notch action.

Finally, some more excellence from user AncillaThings!

Nemain's Bellum: A story that follows the ascension of a Sister Novitiate by her mentor, Palatine Caddel, through her first war and onward, when I said 'Sister Militant' is some of the best, this would be the rest of the best. Great sci-fi action and more girls kissing. Also trauma, but that's what we're here for, right?

Pigeons and Eagles: For fans of the truly excellent Rogue Trader game by OwlCat studios, and who maybe wants to see Sister Argenta being cute and gay with the God-Emperor's weirdest perfect princess, Cassia Orsellio, this one is for you.

[moodymisty]

Hi, it’s Lorgar anon crawling back in your askbox like some kind of vermin. The way you write is just so gorgeous that I can’t stop myself from unleashing a follow-up headcanon ask to what you’ve written. Sorry in advance:

Lorgar, as you have said, has the tendency to vehemently worship. But I’m now thinking of the implications of that on the worlds he conquered. I mean, isn’t he already walking around and preaching about how much of a god his father is? What’s stopping people from starting to view you in the same light?

Because if the son of god treats you as an equal and calls you beloved, and if his sons call you “mother”. What’s stopping some agri-worlder from speaking your name during a prayer? I suppose it’s only natural, it’s so obvious to them that you’re holy.

Basically what I’m trying to say is you might accidentally become a folk saint.

Did Lorgar start it? Probably not, or at least he did it by accident. Does he encourage it when he finds out about it? Maaaaaybe. Just maybe. He can have a little bit of worship, as a treat.

Cue to you taking a trip to Monarchia and seeing a little shrine in the corner of a temple that is definitely of you (but with a halo or something). And you’re like “Lorgar please explain”. And he’s like “Let’s not explain this in front of your worshippers”. And you’re like “my WHAT-”

Well, this x reader idea is all fun and games. That is if The Emperor never found out about it. Because if he does then ohhhh boy do you have a second terrible father in law on your hands! You sure as hell wouldn’t want that to happen. But i'm sure he’d never pay attention to a planet such as Monarchia, right?

Right??

I've always sort of leaned into this idea with the Lorgar fics that he loves to worship his beloved, but it's a precarious pedestal you could fall off of at any moment. Lorgar is fickle at best, and with people like Kor Phaeron and Erebus whispering in his ear.

And in the eyes of people below him, either his legion or the people of Colchis, if he's that way to you, then clearly you're something they should pray to as well, right?

If their Primarch, lord and master, whispers praises to you and receives love in return, if his sons call you mother and raise their swords at the slightest danger, then surely altars in their homes, mumbled kneeling prayers and rosaries would earn your love as well?

Worshipping a Primarch is one thing, and even if this is 30k and they're far less treated as gods as they will be, they still see them as something beyond them. So anything attached tends to get similar treatment.

But his human lover isn't that far beyond them. You were chosen, gifted by a father or picked out from a crowd of dedicated worshipers (the story twists and changes depending on the person telling it) and rose above all the rest. To his people that is attainable, that faith has rewards.

Needless to say finding out that it's a thing let alone that Lorgar is in some way unconsciously (or consciously) encouraging it is quite the shock. Though you more than likely have little chance at stopping it at this point. You at least can get somewhat used to it, as long as no one goes absolutely insane about it.

(Lorgar also loves all of this. One of his favorite nicknames for you now is that you're his little goddess. It's usually used in more, intimate scenarios however.)

The Emperor finding out... yikes. Yet another tally for him in the reason why he's going to burn Monarchia into ash. He might take note that you aren't the one encouraging this, but at the end of the day, you and Lorgar are lumped into the same pile now.

[bluemoon1331]

Hello, hello! Welcome to my main blog, where the DCA fascination consumes! My alt blog is @sharetheartman, go check it out if you wanna see the amazing art this community has to offer!

My Ko-fi (if you're able to help a struggling writer, very much appreciated. Can request written commissions if you want): BlueMoon1331

Below is a list of all my current fics on A03 and planned AUs! Give them a read if you love fantasy and the DCA! (Updated to divide between the SFW and NSFW stories)

<<<<<First up, the SFW section!>>>>>>

Finished Works:

One Lost Star- You are a bit of a hermit, living solo off the land since the death of your grandfather. Until you draw certain godly attention, that is.

Scarlet Masquerade- The sole heir to your kingdom, you find yourself caught in the tangled web of the automaton emperor's plans. However, things are about to go from bad to worse when you catch the interest of the deadly automaton assassin sent to end you.

WIPs:

Cosmic Journeys- Trapped in the depths of depression, you seek an unfortunate out. The nearby land owner won't let that happen, though. Thus begins a journey of self-worth and finding hope in a world of madness and compassion, monsters, saints, and everything in between.

Come and Go- A Megamind-inspired AU with Sun as Metroman, Moon as Megamind, and Eclipse as Titan, while you are a delivery driver caught in the middle.

Unusual- An oceanographer, there is no place you'd rather be than scouring the depths of the seven seas, studying its plant life and creatures, in particular the infamous mers, beings most of your co-workers are quite wary of. They don't seem to mind you too much, though, a fact you try not to put stock in until an encounter on the beach near your house flips your entire world upside down. Strings of fate and a battle to rule the oceans with you as the key? Ridiculous. Right?

Of Metal Parts and Roadside Shenanigans- You are a trucker traveling home before unwittingly tripping headfirst into a giant mystery. (More of @deceptiveshadow's Blood Moon cause I love him and cannot help myself.)

One-shots:

Party Crashing 101- A piece inspired by the mafia episode from Helluva Boss. Badass, protective reader ftw XD

Blooming In Adversity- You and the princesses were great friends in your youth, until you had to move away. Years later, you return, your friendship blooming anew. However, dark plots turn in the background, and it may be up to just you to save them.

Phantom Tide- You are a siren, crushed under betrayal. Sun and Moon are brothers recovering from the throes of grief. Perhaps you may be just what each other need.

Connotations- Your duties as a druid are fairly life-consuming, but you have happily devoted yourself to them. Keeping the peace is not the easiest, but you do it all the same. Unfortunately, the arrival of contesting priests threaten your efforts, setting you on a collision course to meet three of the forest's most powerful caretakers.

Diamonds and Iron- Being a rather big-time mafia boss, of course Eclipse needs places to stash away his income. As an outdoor enthusiast, you love visiting the local motorsports arena when you can afford it. Oh, who's that standing in the middle of the track, where you can't see?

Birds of a Feather- You are stuck as the basically powerless manager to the newly opened pizzaplex. With problems everywhere you look, you're not sure which one to focus on or handle first. Perhaps you could find a kindred soul in a certain mechanic, however. (Based in the EAPS universe)

<<<<<<<<<NSFW area ahoy!>>>>>>>>>>

Finished Works:

Never Play Cat and Mouse With Vampires- Living alone is a necessity, your skills in hunting, magic, and evasion giving you all you need for contentment, or so you tell yourself. In your newest home you, unfortunately, find that your capabilities only draw the infatuation of three local creatures that are intent to finally capture you and make you theirs. Annoyingly, they may just get that chance.

Dancing In Orbit- The lunar vampire is the last of his kind, a deadly plague on the Earth that refuses to yield despite the uncountable years that have passed since the last of his kin and kind died off. You, running from your intertwined past, seek to finally put an end to that, with some help from friends old and new.

Familiar Constellations- The vampires get a bit quirky about you, especially when you egg them on. Mature. Very, very mature. Good gods they are rough, but you love it. After all, you can get a bit rough with them, too.

Gravity- Featuring another of @deceptiveshadow's lovely OCs, Nova. Normally quite the quiet and cat-like companion, you join him for a round of games in which his behavior becomes increasingly odd. That's nothing compared to when you strangely wake in the tower the next day, having no recollection of how you got there, and what comes after.

WIPs:

Embers and Ash- Ghost hunting is your profession, and you are damn good at it. Which is why you don't think twice when you're hired to cleanse an abandoned mansion of its otherworldly resident. Too bad this job is not the cake walk you thought it would be.

Burning Stars- You run your farm alone on a world teeming with aliens and humans, content with your animal family and helpful community, even if you keep the latter at arm's lengths. Until your peace is interrupted by a certain intergalactic bounty hunter, anyway.

Rosewood's Serenade- The eldest child of your kingdom, you have trained since birth to be all your home needs and more, intent to take the throne when the time comes, marriage or no. However, your parents harbor a secret, a deal struck when disaster threatened to destroy all they hold dear, and you soon find yourself meeting a most intriguing being...

Demonic- The saying of Hell is empty for all the demons are here has never been more apt. Caught smack dab in the middle of the infamous Hell-Day event, you come out with an unexpected passenger woven into your soul. Now, you secretly fight to preserve the fragile balance between mortals and the demons trapped on Earth, all while contending with the fact your new neighbors are the very ones responsible for sealing the gates, the infamous Celestial Graces. They also happen to be the mortal enemies of the one currently living in you. Fun times all around, especially with devil himself on your heels, seeking to reclaim what he lost.

Along the Akesh- Blessed with visions since your youth, you were taken and raised by the temple, becoming one of the highest-ranked priests, second to only the grand heijut himself. With an awe-inspiring festival and ritual that happens only once every five centuries under way, you are eager to meet the moon god, one of the many you have had the pleasure of conversing with throughout your prayers and oracles, in person. Things take an unexpected turn, however, when the temple must pay recompense for an accidental screw up with a gift left by an old friend. You are about to learn just how intrigued you and the moon god truly are with each other.

One-shots:

Bleeding Feathers- You weren't supposed to go into the exclusionary zone, but that's never been a problem for you before. This time, however, you might just get more than you bargained for. Fan piece for @deceptiveshadow's harpy au! (Not TSAMS)

Color Theory- Moving back to your late grandma's cabin, you pray for things to finally settle down. Unfortunately, her myriad of secrets seek to come back and haunt you, but hey, it might not be all bad this time. You could use the comfort of an old friend. Another fic inspired by @deceptiveshadow! Their god Blood Moon this time. (Not TSAMS)

<<<<<<<Lastly, miscellaneous potential AUs!>>>>>>>

Lich King AU- With the three realms in shambles, cut off from each other, it is up to the most powerful warriors of Earth to fend off the lich king and his Elite army, including his own brothers. You, whom offers them a secret safe haven and relaxation when they need it, cannot deny your love for Sun and Moon, nor they you, but with Eclipse hounding for any weakness he can use against his kin, is the danger really worth it? You find the answer may be coming sooner than you would like when the two go missing after a fight.

Spirited Away AU- You have moved to a more remote region in hopes of forgetting a troubled family life. Content to spend your time among the lush jungles of the land, you inadvertently stumble upon an obviously long-forgotten temple. Curiosity eats at you, and you cannot help get closer, initially unaware of the myriad of eyes watching you, until you spot...an icy blue leopard? It's a good thing you helped those snakes and that spider on your way here.

Harem AU- You saved them from certain death, and now the clan of vampire brothers serve you. For years uncountable, you have pulled the strings, quite happy to cause chaos around the world when it becomes too dull for your liking, going from hero to hero. On blood soaked ground, you are content with your helpful vampires, though can things really stay the same forever?

Skyrim AU- Every place has its demons, no matter how reclusive or small. You consider yourself one of them. Seeking an escape, you move to Solstheim hoping for a fresh start. How unfortunate for you that you would arrive during the island's darkest hour. Cults, strange creatures, a frost giant king, and the arrival of two Dragonborns drag you right back into the spotlight, dredging up your past as you all race against time and the greedy daedra of knowledge to stop each other's destruction.

Then There Was One- You wake up to an empty world. You don't comprehend how or why it happened, just that everyone seems to have vanished in the blink of an eye. Cars sit vacant in traffic, meals left uneaten, internet full of messages that abruptly stopped hours ago. You try to live on your lonesome, keeping yourself distracted, and ignoring the gnawing loneliness. Except, well, you might not be as alone as you think, a fact you find out far too late when your page gets flooded with AI messages and bots are suddenly knocking at your day. Just what the hell kind of universal joke was this robot apocalypse you were stuck in? Or...do you have this all wrong? Your new companions may yet help you figure it out.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Questions

Author’s Note: This is the next fic in Cedric’s Adventures. First. Previous. Next

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @the-pure-angel @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

Warnings: angst, 30k typical anti-religious sentiment, beating as punishment, unreliable narrator, ask me to tag if something bothers you!

Summary: Cedric asks captain Ash’val when morning prayers are. 

"Captain Ash'val... I... I've got some questions, if you have the time, sir." Cedric asked, having managed to pluck up the courage to go to the usually warm and kind Salamander Scout Captain. While there were many things he deeply missed about the time period he had been sent to, most of those things - and people - were wholly outside of his grasp. But there were a small handful of things that Cedric was hopeful that he could have in this time period, that he'd had in the time that he had come from. He was very deliberately not fidgeting with his hands, standing at attention as he waited for the older marine to acknowledge his presence in the other's office. 

The Salamander hummed, looking up from the machine that Cedric had been taught functioned similarly to a data-slate and gestured to one of the chairs on Cedric's side of the desk. "I've got time to talk with you, Cedric. Please, sit down. There's no need to be so formal, young one."

"If you say so, sir." Cedric responded, unable to keep direct eye contact with one of his superior officers, having been taught by both the Mechanicum and the Black Templars that doing so was both rude and a sign of defiance or challenge. He obediently sat in the chair Ash'val indicated that he sit in. He took in a deep breath, willing the anxiety welling in his hearts to not still his tongue as he asked "Where are the morning devotionals being held, sir? Or are they being held at a different time of the day, sir?”

".... The what?" The older marine asked, a frown appearing on his face. 

"Morning prayers? Part of the morning meditation exercises that every marine is supposed to take in? Or at least, the beginning of shift prayers and meditation that each marine is supposed to complete when not in immediate life threatening danger, should he be overheard, sir?" Cedric clarified, genuinely confused by the other's reaction, and doing his best to explain himself. Not every marine had the same work schedule, after all. 

"... Prayers to whom?" Ash'val asked, the frown on his face deepening, his voice shifting strangely.

"The... The God-Emperor of Mankind? The being on who's divine mandate we were all created to serve and protect humanity on?" Cedric answered, deeply confused by the other's question. Who else would Loyal Marines be worshiping? The Living Saints were more for mortals, though he supposed that some marines probably would send prayers to the nine holy Primarchs during their devotionals as well, depending on what they were doing for that day. 

"You... You believe that the Emperor of Mankind is a god?" Ash'val inquired, his face having frozen in a carefully neutral expression, though there was tension in his voice that confused Cedric tremendously.

"Yes sir. I was first taught by the Mechanicum to worship him in his aspect as the Omnisiah, but that was corrected by my Black Templar older brothers, after I was sent to them, sir. He is the Lord Commander of the imperium, the shining golden light in the darkness, sir. Without His protection we - and the rest of humanity - would be lost. Killed or enslaved by Xenos and Chaos." Cedric answered earnestly, repeating what he's been told over and over again in his home time. 

"... I see. This base does not have a morning devotional, nor would you find such things at four of the other bases in this city. The fifth is run by... Hmm. The fifth is a primarily Chaos base and their worship is of gods opposed to yours. I can tell that you genuinely believe in what you say, but I would suggest not speaking of the... The Emperor as a god in this base much. Most of us who live in this base are from a time before and during the Horus Heresy, and shortly after... And-" Ash'val paused, looking Cedric over carefully.

The young apothecary couldn't look at Ash'val directly. He could hear the recrimination and judgment in the older marine's voice. Guilt and confusion hit him harder than Tau ordinance and it took all of his self-control to resist the temptation to slowly ooze out of the chair and onto the floor. Cedric was keenly aware of how uncomfortable he'd made the Salamander, which hadn't been his intention at all. He... He'd just missed going to morning prayers with his Templar brothers. The sense of community, camaraderie and togetherness that the morning hymns and group meditation at the beginning of his shifts aboard the Sigismund, and in the mornings on whichever Monastery he ended up on occasionally had been wonderful. He'd hoped to participate in that again on ancient Terra. "I... I wouldn't want to make anyone uncomfortable, sir... and I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, sir. I... I'll leave now." He got up to his feet and retreated from the room as fast as he could, the hurt and confusion making his hearts ache and his eyes sting with tears that he refused to let fall. He was keenly aware of the fact that he was likely to face more punishment for the questions that had clearly made the well-liked and well-respected Scout Captain uncomfortable, and he heard the other call his name, but Cedric desperately needed out of that room.

Cedric threw himself into the chores that he'd been assigned to do that morning, frantically scrubbing the floors of the main entrance hall, watering the plants growing in the internal open spaces of the base and completing the handful of minor repair requests that had come in during the night. The fact that he did that while hyper-aware of his surroundings and avoiding every older brother he possibly could - especially Ash'val, who's steps and hearts'-beats he could hear coming from far enough away with his enhanced hearing to (hide from) avoid in order to not upset further - was just a bonus of his primaris physique. He would report to one of the chaplains to pay for his sins later. For now he needed to calm down.

~

There was only so long that Cedric could evade all of the older brothers and cousins who lived in this base - especially as he couldn't bring himself to disobey the order to stay on base. There was also the terrible misfortune he suffered of being larger than most first-born marines, and there were only so many places he could be without an older marine finding him at some point. Cedric had also not been created and trained for stealth missions either. He had managed to evade them for several days with his concerted efforts, though he was careful to complete each and every one of the punishment chores he had been assigned to, not wanting to make things even worse for himself. 

So the young Primaris marine wasn't terribly surprised when one of the chaplains who lived on base - a stern-faced Imperial Fist with steely blue eyes and greying hair - entered the room that Cedric was currently in. The young black templar was kneeling on the ground, scrubbing furiously at a stain on the stone floor with the scrubbing sponge that he'd grabbed after fleeing from captain Ash'val and beginning his punishment-chores for the day. He was acutely aware of the older marine as the other made his way across the anxiety-cleaned and meticulously cleaned floor. He'd stopped running when he'd known that Chaplain Feldarim was searching for him. While his older brothers likely thought otherwise, he wasn't stupid. He knew that running from a chaplain was a bad idea - and running from the highest ranking chaplain in the base was catastrophically worse. His breathing hitched a little, though he desperately tried to keep himself from visibly tensing or flinching at the older marine's approach. He continued to scrub on his knees, struggling to keep his breathing even and normal, hoping that the other wouldn't notice the way his fingers trembled around the sponge in his hand.

Chaplain Feldarim walked carefully across the room, coming to stand in front of Cedric, his ceramite boots within the younger marine's line of sight as Cedric continued to scrub and clean. 

Every time Cedric finished a one foot segment of floor and shifted over to the next tile, Chaplain Feldarim would side-step to keep within the young apothecary's line of sight. 

Cedric continued to scrub until each tile in this room was not only clean, but shined and polished to a mirror finish. His fingers ached faintly from the amount of strength he had used, and the hours it had taken to get this room's floor properly clean. He placed the sponge back in the bucket he'd periodically been dipping it into, to get more cleaning solution, letting it go. He sat back on his knees, placing his hands down on the floor in front of his knees, head still bowed. There was no way he was going to break the silence by speaking first and waited patiently, penitently.

Eventually chaplain Feldarim sighed. It was a heavy thing, filled with wordless condemnation.

Cedric fought the urge to curl in on himself, to hunch his shoulders to his ears. To cringe away from whatever just punishment he was about to receive from the chaplain, bracing for pain. Physical, emotional, or likely both. He did, to his eternal shame, close his eyes tightly and turn his head to one side, flinching a little as Feldarim began to speak.

"I've heard that you have some questions, lad. You brought them to Ash'val and then ran off. Considering what he told me those questions were, you'd have been better served going to one of the Chaplains, as you had questions about faith." Feldarim chided Cedric. His voice was surprisingly gentle, but Cedric suspected that the other was just getting started.

Cedric said nothing in response, unsure if he was allowed to, or if this was going to be a one-sided lecture. He erred on the side of caution and stayed silent on his knees, gaze firmly on the other's boots. 

The Imperial Fist Chaplain sighed again, and an armored hand briefly entered Cedric's line of sight, the gauntlet the gold and black of the older Marine's chapter.

To Cedric's eternal shame, he flinched backward when one of Feldarim's armored hands touched his face and chin. Shame burned his cheeks and he forced himself to still, waiting for the expected for his outward show of hesitation and fear to follow.

The silence stretched, heavy and expectant uncomfortably before the Chaplain spoke again "... Were you expecting me to hurt you, Cedric?"

Fuck. He was clearly expected to answer. He swallowed around the lump in the back of his throat that threatened to choke him "I... I apologize for flinching, chaplain. I will do my best not to do so again." Because what else was he supposed to say? Of course the other was going to hurt him. Pain was a common enough punishment inflicted upon misbehaving aspirants and battle brothers alike. Among Black Templars, Chaplains were most often in charge of the administration and execution of punishments. Cedric found himself intensely grateful that none of his squad had come with him. As an Apothecary, depending on what he had done wrong and the situation he and his squad were in, he did not always receive the physical punishments he had earned. Instead one or more of his squad brothers would be punished in his stead, and he would be the one to patch them up, while apologizing to them for being the reason why they were bloodied and healing.

"That is an answer, but not to the question I asked of you, Cedric." Feldarim pointed out, irritation seeping into his voice. One of the older marine's armored hands was still holding onto his chin and he was desperately trying to keep his breathing even and steady. 

He was trying to shove the shameful and un-Astartes-like emotions that were threatening to have him cry in front of a Chaplain about to administer punishment. It would only make what was about to come more agonizing. "It.. Is only be in service of making me a better marine, sir." He forced himself to say, hating the way that his treacherous body was starting to shake from the intensity of the fear and nervous anticipation running through him. As he had been taught before, during and after such punishments. 

"I want you to look at me, Cedric. Look me in the eyes, as I tell you something. So you know that I mean what I say." Chaplain Feldarim ordered, the grip on his chin tightening a little. Enough to be noticeable, but not painful.

Not yet.

Cedric let out a shaky breath as he complied, forcing himself to look up into the older marine's face. His eyes darted up to look into the Chaplain's before they slid down to the other's nose - a little crooked, looking as though it'd gotten broken and healed slightly off of center at some point. Probably multiple times, given the bloody and dangerous work of a Space Marine. No matter how he tried, he couldn't keep his gaze focused on the older marine's eyes, though he desperately tried to obey the other's orders.

"I. Am not. Going to beat you. None of the Chaplains in this base are going to beat you. None of the chaplains on any of the bases on Ancient Terra should ever raise a hand to you like that in punishment, no matter if they're Loyalist, Chaos or Renegade. You should never have been beaten, much less beaten as often and harshly as to make you flinch automatically at the touch of an allied chaplain. Has anyone on Ancient Terra beaten you and called it a punishment?" Feldarim asked, his voice shaking with rage and concern.

His words made no sense, but his fury was at least familiar. While Cedric did his best to behave himself, he'd been on the wrong side of a chaplains' wrath more than a couple of times. Some of the first-born older brothers really resented the fact that Cedric and his younger brothers existed. Sure, they had been gifted to the Black Templars by The Imperial Regent to strengthen their fleet... But some of the older brothers were incredibly strict and harsh on them, finding fault in everything they did, and culling brothers who did not conform quickly enough. "No sir." He answered earnestly. No one had lifted a hand to him in punishment on Ancient Terra. 

Some of the rage and worry left the chaplain, and he sighed again, eyes softening a little "There's that, at least. And stand up, lad. You've been on your knees for hours. Your knees are going to be complaining at you for a while for being on them for so long. Up you get, there's a good lad." The hand on his chin shifted down to one of Cedric's elbows as the older Marine helped him up to his feet. 

Cedric silently stood up, reeling from both the bit of underserved praise he'd gotten, and the fact that the older marine believed that he shouldn't be beaten as part of his punishments. If that held true for Imperial Fists, how then did they keep discipline? Was that why he had been restricted to base and given chores to complete? Was... Was that the extent of his punishment for being "rude" to two allied chaos space marines? 

Ancient Terra continued to confuse him on a soul-deep level. 

"Follow me, lad. While you've been quite dutiful in doing your chores, I know that you haven't eaten anything since your conversation with captain Ash'val. Missing meals isn't good for anyone, and I'm going to make sure you eat, lad." Chaplain Feldarim ordered, still holding Cedric by the elbow as he guided the primaris marine to the cafeteria, voice gently chiding.

"Yes sir..." Cedric mumbled, ducking his head a little, feeling intensely foolish for how he'd reacted, as he obediently followed after the first born marine.

[themetaphorgirl]

it’s Whumptober time!!

I’ve gone ahead and picked some prompts for myself and let some IRL friends pick prompts, and now I’m opening it up for other requests!

I will write

-Patron Saint of Lost Causes AU

-Lockwood & Co

-The Umbrella Academy (specifically Five centric or childhood era/pre Five’s disappearance)

-canon Criminal Minds (tentatively, just because I find canon so difficult to write)

-Six of Crows (Kaz Brekker, my beloved)

but also if there’s something I’ve written in the past or something you’d like to see me try, suggest it! I might run with it!

I am also, just for shits and giggles, including the prompts for this year’s Sicktember. I love writing sick fics and there’s not a lot of Whumptober prompts this year that lend themselves well to that. You can request just a Sicktember prompt or combine it with a Whumptober prompt, whatever you’d like!

Available prompts below the cut!

No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE

Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you.”

No. 18: REVENGE

Unreliable Narrator | Loss of Identity | “I see what’s mine and take it.” (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor’s New Clothes)

No. 19: BLOOD TRAIL

Abandoned Cabin | One Way Out | “Is there anybody alive out there?” (Bruce Springsteen, Radio Nowhere)

No. 22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES

Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | “Oh that’s not good.”

No. 23: FORCED CHOICE

Public Display | Broken Pedestal | “I’m doing this for you.”

Alternatives List:

Communication Barrier

Friendly Fire

No-Holds-Barred Beatdown

Shivering

Time Loop

Used As Bait

Venom

Vermin

BONUS: Sicktember Prompts

Too Much of a Good Thing/Overindulgence

Dizziness/Vertigo

Overdramatic Patient/Caretaker

The Sniffles ™

Medieval Treatment

Mononucleosis

"Who decided __ is ‘sick people food?’"

Toxin/Poison

Brain Fog/Spaced Out

Hypochondriac Tendencies

Medication Bribery

Under a Spell

Heart Condition/Cardiac Arrest

Pulling a ‘Ferris Bueller’

Sick on a Road Trip

Hospital Bed

“I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

First Aid Kit

Doctor's Note

[lemon-russ]

I have finally made more of The Gays (tm). And now with smut!

Bone apple teeth~

Taglist: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye (And i didnt have taglists before but since i tagged you guys before i assume you wanna know lol @ms--lobotomy @bispecsual)

Emperor's Saint (Pt. 3)

Prev || Next || Ao3

Fem!Custodes x Fem!Reader

CW: GAY, SUPER SAPPHIC GAY, FxF sex, Fingering, Eating out, what you expect from women fucking, plots real thin today ngl

Summary: Hera and The diplomat return to the ship and have a very normal evening of gals being pals in her quarters.

Word count: 4,290 (women take so long to fuck this is so much quicker with astartes)

“Thank you as always, Ambassador.” Guilliman says as you hand him the signed contracts. You made it back in one piece to the flagship, your new golden guard standing happily vigilant near a wall of Guilliman’s office.

The Primarch glances up from his work as he takes the paperwork, then knits his brow. “Hm? Are you well, Ambassador?” He asks as he studies your face.

You suppress a groan as you hear Heraclast suddenly push from the wall she was leaning on, now alert. You had been blushing and flustered the whole way to his office. Hera had been on a tangent on the way over about how she would wrestle with her custodes siblings for fun and how they always did so in loincloths only, to make it harder to get grabs in.

Needless to say the imagery had set your mind on fire. You could barely manage to reassure Hera your faintness and flushing was not a medical emergency, and now here was Guilliman, saying Hera’s trigger words again.

“I’m fine.” You tell the Primarch, trying to keep your voice even. “Just a little warm.”

“My Lady-” Heraclast says quietly, already behind you and placing a very unhelpful hand on your shoulder. “Will you not humor me and go to the medicae? Just to be assured of your health?” She pleads softly, her voice lower and sweet with concern.

Guilliman raises his brow as you flush even harder, his eyes going to Hera’s hand, then back to your face. He has the faintest smile as he processes the situation.

“Maybe your Shield has the right idea.” He says with a small chuckle, smirking a little in amusment. You grimace as you feel Hera’s grip on your arm tighten slightly. Betrayed by your own Primarch.

“Sir, I really am fine-” you try to argue, but it’s too late. Hera is already urging you out the door.

“Come, my lady, it will not take long, just to make sure you did not pick up any foreign illnesses in your journey.” She says, looking down at you with a soft frown and worried eyes. The sight makes your heart stutter again, and you shoot a glare back at Guilliman.

He is smiling, leaning back in his chair and chuckling to himself as you are hurried out his door. “Take care, Ambassador. You shouldn’t let your Shield have to worry so much.” He teases, and he actually has the gall to wink before turning back to his papers.

You scowl at him as the doors close. Betrayal. Cruel, backstabbing betrayal.

____________________________

“Hera I'm fine” you reassure her once again. She was pouting, sitting and watching you from the corner of your now shared quarters. You’d gone to the Medicae and were given a clean bill of health, much to Heraclast’s annoyance.

You sat at your vanity mirror, taking out the intricate braids Hera wove for you earlier from your hair. It seemed to take you more time to unwind them than it did for her to make them, and they kept tangling due to the complexity.

Hera huffs a bit, “Baseline medics, they haven't an idea what they're doing.” She grumbles as she pulls her chair with her, sitting behind you and gently moving your hands from your hair. She starts undoing the braids easily, still pouting to herself.

“They didn't even check for strange diseases, or take your blood, they barely looked you over.” She complains quietly.

Her hands gently tugging and running through your hair makes your shoulders slump in relaxation. You chuckle softly. You've never seen a custodes sulk before.

She huffs, and you watch in the mirror as her soft green eyes follow her fingers as they untangle your hair. You’re momentarily mesmerized by the way her hands move, the twitching of her forearm muscles as she works out the knots, and the way her pout makes her tense her sharp jaw.

Her eyes flick up from her work to meet yours in the mirror, and you suddenly find the chipping paint on your vanity veryinteresting. But not before Hera could clearly see the admiration in your eyes. You feel warm crawl into your cheeks as she softly smiles.

“Though, maybe I'm just worrying about the wrong causes for you always turning red and flustered, hm…?” She teases gently, running her fingers down your scalp and through your now free flowing hair.

Your eyes widen and meet hers in the mirror again, and she grins mischievously back.

“I have no idea what you mean.” You mumble, glancing away.

Heraclast's grin softens to a warm smile. “Oh, of course, My Lady. My apologies.” She chuckles, rising from her chair and stretching. She walks back to her bed- a large cot brought in after she showed up, She doesn't use it to sleep, but appreciated the thought- and starts unclasping her armor.

As she takes off her shoulder armor and places it gently on the floor, and you find yourself entranced again watching her muscles flex as she carefully lays each heavy piece down.

You turn around to face her, “aren't you going to do a tripple parameter danger check or something before getting defensless?” You ask with a nervous chuckle. She makes such a big deal about always being ready to protect you at a moments notice, it’s odd that she’d just get unarmed.

“Aboard the Ultramarine flagship?” She returns with a smirk. “Don't worry, I've done my research on all the marines currently aboard, and accessed all security records for the area and cross checked them with their schedules. They all behave as expected, and I do not worry about your safety from them.” she says with a gentle chuckle, finally stripped down to her under layer. She pulls off her tight silk top and you have to look away again.

There was a small knock on your door, drawing both of your attention. You start to stand but Hera is already at the door.

A somewhat Surprised Ultramarine stands in the doorway, brow raised as he has to look up at the massive woman. “Ah- apologies, I was looking for the Ambassador…?”

You sigh and join Hera at the door. “Hello, Andred.” You say politely. Your former bodyguard looks between the shirtless, massive, only dressed in a chest wrap custodes woman and your messy haired, slip wearing self.

“M-my lady.” He says, clearing his throat as his cheeks grow pink. “I, um, did not mean to intrude, I will come back tomorrow-”

You blink a couple times before your own cheeks warm, “oh!” You cover your mouth, “No no, it's not- Andred, this is my new bodyguard-” you say quickly.

His shoulders relax and he lets out a held breath. “Ah- of course, apologies, my lady…” he says nervously.

Hera grins, clapping him on the shoulder with enough impact to force the marine to balance himself. “Heraclast Ossian, Aquillian Sheild.” She introduces herself cheerfully. “You must be who's job I took! Don't worry, I have her fully protected for the foreseeable future.”

The marine gives a tight smile. “Andred Cestean. It is an honor to meet one of the saints of the Emperor, Sister Ossian.”

Hera tilts her head with a confused smile. “Sister? I do not believe we share any parentage.”

Andred knits his brow. “Oh, um, apologies again. Do Custodians not use familial titles?”

“No? Why would we.” She says with some amusement. “I refer to other custodians as a whole as kin or siblings, but metaphorically. We share no genes. Nor do I share any with you, Cestean. You may call me Heraclast, as all others do.”

Andred gives an apprehensive nod, “Right, of course. A pleasure to meet you, Heraclast.” He flances back to you. “May I borrow the Ambassador alone a moment?”

You smile and nod, happy to have a momentary break from your constant surveillance, but Hera shakes her head, fluffing her short undercut around her chin. “Alone? No. But you're welcome inside. I won't make a peep.” She chuckles, retreating to her cot. You roll your eyes and follow, sitting back at your vanity and brushing your hair.

Andred stands awkwardly just inside the door. “Alright, I suppose…” he mumbles before clearing his throat. “Lady Ambassador, I wanted to ask something of you.” He says, suddenly standing straight and at attention.

You smile and chuckle under your breath. Andred always was a little overly formal with you, but he was kind and respectful, and until Hera was here, he was a good bodyguard while you went about your diplomatic duties. “What is it then?” You ask, looking at him through the mirror as you tied your hair. If you didn't know better you'd think he looked nervous, but astartes don’t get nervous.

He pursed his lips into a line. “My Lady, since I am not in charge of your protection anymore, it would no longer be… a conflict of interests-” his voice actually cracked a little, making you raise an eyebrow, “-for me to ask, would you… would you care to spend more time together?” He finally managed, swallowing hard. “As in, well- romantically?”

You straighten in your seat, eyes going wide.

“Andred, I- I mean, I had no idea-” you stammer slightly as you turn to look at him. You feel the color in your cheeks drain a bit. You had no idea he had romantic feelings. You had no idea astartes got romantic feelings. You really wish he didn't. You considered Andred a friend, but, dating? The thought never once crossed your mind.

As you stammer and stall, Andred slowly deflates, frowning softly as he reads your expression. “Ah. I seem to have… miscalculated.” He says softly.

“No! I mean, well, yes- but-” you try to say, standing from your chair. You reach out to comfort him, but pull your hand back, realizing denying it would hurt him more. “It's not you Andred, Really.” You add a bit softer.

He looks away, taking a deep breath. You can see him trying to hold his heart together in his expression. In the corner of your vision you see Hera watching the scene with rapt attention, chin on her fist and leaning in like she was watching a cheap holodrama.

You try to ignore her. “Really Andred, it's not you, I really consider you my friend, I just-” you press your lips into a line. Your eyes dart back to Hera, and he doesn't miss the look, pressing his lips into a line.

“It's just… there's someone else.” He says softly.

You shake your head, “No, not that- I mean…” you sigh, grimacing as you force yourself to look into his sad eyes. “I just don't see you like that. I'm sorry, Andred.” You say apologetically.

His shoulders fall, deflating from all the confidence he was trying to hold himself up with when he came in. “I…. I see.” He says, glancing at Hera.

Heraclast doesn't even try to pretend she isn't fully engaged in the melodrama, chin on her hands and grinning. When Andred meets her gaze, she at least has the decency to pretend to look sad for him. He rolls his eyes and sighs.

“I'll leave you to your…” he looks you up and down quickly, taking in your state of undress, “…evening, then.” He finishes, trudging to the door.

You frown, scrunching your brow and taking a half step toward him. “Andred, you don't have to go-”

He holds a hand up slightly to stop you. “It's ok. I just misread things and… well, I need to go lick my wounds. I'll be fine.” He says, giving a half-hearted smile.

You frown deeper as he leaves, the door sliding shut behind him and latching with a noise.

Hera giggles impishly from her cot.

“Well, that was interesting.” Hera says with a little too much levity. She flops forward on her bed, head on her hands. “Why’d you turn him down? He seems to like you a lot.” She chuckles.

You sigh, giving her a tired look. “I just… don’t like him like that.” You say, trying not to stare at her chest as the wrap fails to contain her as she lays on her stomach.

She smiles and tilts her head. “Was he right? Is there someone else?” She says teasingly, scooting up on her cot.

You feel your cheeks warm again. “No.” You deny a little too quickly.

Hera blinks, tilting her head the other direction. Her eyes narrow as she studies you, sitting up and leaning forward, making you flush more. You cross your arms and turn away, trying to escape her dissecting gaze.

A playful grin slowly spreads across her face and you see a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

“Heraclast…?” You rasp, praying to the Emperor silently that she isn’t thinking what you think she’s thinking.

She chuckles, springing up from her cot to stand right in front of you, forcing you to crane your neck up at her. She’s smiling ear to ear, and you freeze as you feel her hand touch the bottom of your chin.

Your whole body feels on fire suddenly, and she’s so close that you’re surrounded by her scent- sweet spice and incense and a little rosewater-

“Is it me….?” She asks in a soft, low voice. Her eyes are warm as they meet yours, half lidded and just a little apprehensive.

You feel like the air has been sucked out of the room, momentarily worrying there is a hull breach siphoning the oxogen from the ship. You can’t lie to her, so imposing and so close and by the throne how can eyes be so green-

You try to swallow, failing to sooth your hot, dry throat.

“Yes.” You manage to squeak, voice barely above a whisper.

She lets out a deep held breath, gaze softening into a tender look. Her eyes flutter down to your lips, and her hand trails from your chin up your jaw, gently caressing your cheek in her calloused palm.

“Good.” She rasps, and your breath is stolen again as her lips envelop yours.

You melt. Her free hand splays over your back, pressing you against her as she cups your face in her other and hungrily moves her lips against yours. Your head feels dizzy, but you finally return her eager kiss, which earns a happy purr from the Custodian.

She moves you with her, the edge of the bed meeting the back of your knees and making you fall back on it as Hera eagerly pushes you back, finally breaking the kiss. You gasp for air, but only get a moment to catch your breath as Hera scoops you under the arms and moves you back farther on the mattress.

She leans over you, catching her own breath in soft pants, warm tanned cheeks darkened with a blush. She smiles playfully, running a thumb over your lips.

“I thought you blushed an awful lot for someone who wasn’t sick.” She chuckles.

You giggle, shy at being caught. “W-well, You keep getting all close to me and saying things and-” you stammer defensively.

She grins, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “And you’re so shy. Never letting me see you undressed, never letting me help bathe you.” She teases in a warm tone. “I feel silly not seeing it, but I suppose it has been a long time since I spent so much time around baselines…” she hums as she trails kisses down your jaw.

You see stars for a moment as her lips pepper your jaw and neck in soft kisses. “In your defense-” you mumble, hands snaking over her toned shoulders. “I was very subtle…” you giggle.

She lets out a low, rumbling chuckle from her chest, pulling back a little to smile down at you.

“Super subtle. So subtle Guilliman sent you to the Medicae to get checked for a fever.”

You laugh shyly, “Okay, well, maybe not very subtle.” You say, sighing as her mouth finds your shoulder, pushing your slip away to plant kisses down to your collarbone.

“Mm, I got there eventually. Only took seeing you completely uninterested in a kind handsome man, and seeing you very subtly look straight to me as you tried to deny having feelings for anyone.” She murmurs against your skin with a chuckle.

You giggle quietly, melting under her and running your hand up the back of her hair. “So… now what…?”

She smiles against you and slips your thin dress further down your arms, exposing more of your chest. “I figured that would be rather self explanatory, My Lady.” She purrs as she follows your dress down with her lips.

You look down at her, suddenly feeling a little bashful. “I mean- now?” You squeak. “Shouldn’t we, like, talk about things…?”

She scrunches her brow, picking her head up to look at you. “What? Why? You like me, I like you. There is a suitable bed for a little baseline here…” she says sweetly, lowering her head to your neck to nuzzle against you.

You bite your lip, head spinning as her hands ran over your waist. “That’s just all you need-?” You rasp, flushing warmer as she nestled her leg between your thighs.

She chuckled, gently nibbling at your neck, “Well, I bought you lunch. That’s a baseline courtship thing, right?” She teased.

You laugh, losing the battle of trying not to fold immediately to the heat pooling between your legs as she gently pushed her knee against you. “Technically, that was my money you paid with.” You chuckle.

She lifts her head again, grinning playfully. “Then you bought me lunch. Thank you, I accept your courtship proposal, My Lady.” She says with mock formality before returning her mouth to kissing the top of your now partially exposed breast.

You moan a little as her hand runs under your slip and over your sensitive nipple. At the sound of you folding to baser needs at last, Hera chuckles and takes it as permission to stop holding back.

She pulls your slip off, surprising you and drawing a soft yelp as it’s pulled over your head and tossed aside. She sits up, caging you in with her arms and admiring your now exposed body with a hungry gaze.

“By the throne…” she Murmurs, running a hand over your stomach. “You’re breathtaking, My Lady.” She says it with such soft admiration, her eyes raking over you so reverently, it causes your mind to wipe blank a moment. The way she calls you My Lady as she’s nestled between your legs like shes kneeling at an altar sends heat straight through you.

You swallow, and reach up to touch her toned arm with a shaky hand. You give her a shy smile, and she sighs and melts as she meets your eyes.

“I like you. And you like me. Your right. That’s enough for me too, Heraclast.” You say gently, squeezing her arm a little.

She lets out a low sigh, leaning in to give you one more soft kiss on your lips before pulling back with a smile and scooting back. She runs her hands from your waist over your thighs and up to your knees.

“Then, allow me to show you how much I have been admiring you, My Lady.” She teases with a smirk, pushing your knees apart gently.

You let out a small squeak as she takes you by the hips, easily lifting your ass up so she can pull your underwear off with her teeth, growling playfully as she slides them down your legs and tosses them aside. Before you have time to blush shes back between your thighs, and you’re taking by surprise again as you feel Hera’s warm tongue running up your center.

Your eyes nearly roll back as she laps over your clit, and she groans a happy sound that vibrates through you. “You taste amazing-” she purrs as she gently bites at your inner thigh. Your hands find the back of her short hair again as a moan escapes you.

She smiles against your thigh and chuckles at your noises, then laps at your lips again, devouring you like your wetness was ambrosia. You fist her hair as she wipes your mind with her mouth, and while you’re being worked into a stupor, the moans and gasps she makes between your legs makes you wonder if she’s somehow enjoying this even more.

Maybe something to do with Custodes competitiveness? The joy of a job well done perhaps? You chuckle internally at the thought before she envelops your clit with her soft lips and you forget how to think again.

She circles your hole with her eager tongue, chuckling into your pussy when it makes you whimper and pull her hair, grinding your hips up to her mouth instinctually.

“By Holy Terra, the sounds you make are so beautiful, My Lady-” she murmurs between lapping at your entrance. “The sweetest symphonies of the finest remembrancers could not capture the melodies of your noises-” She moans into you, drawing another whimper from your chest as she prods her tongue into you and her thumb starts rubbing your aching clit.

You arch your back up, one hand fisted desperately in her warm brown hair, the other grasping at your sheets. You could feel your stomach clutching with heat as she increases her tempo on your clit.

“That’s it- good girl-” she gasps against you. She returns her mouth to your nub, carefully working a finger around your entrance. You moan weakly, feeling her huge finger gently working into you. You never stopped to imagine how a 9 foot tall woman made of 99% muscle mass might be a little harder to get fingered by, but you don’t have time to think about much as she finally pushes it carefully into you.

She licks and sucks at your clit as you whimper and roll your hips on her hand, and she pushes a second finger in as she starts curling them up to meet your inner spot as you buck your hips with increasing desperation.

“Hera-” you gasp, gritting your teeth at the onslaught of sensations. You’re at the edge, breath catching in high, airy cries as she pumps her fingers into your clenching pussy. “Hera, close, I’m-” you plead.

She groans, increasing her rhythm into you and lapping at your clit in long, slow licks. She looks up at you from between your legs with burning emerald eyes, half lidded in ecstasy from being buried in your sweet pussy.

“Good girl-” she grumbles, “Let go, let me serve you-” she hums as she sucks your clit, gently letting it graze her teeth. She meets your eyes as she laps up your lips again. “Come, My Lady. Don’t hold back.” She purrs. She pushes her fingers deeper, stilling their pumping as she pets your gspot while sucking hard and rhythmically on your clit.

You’re pretty sure you die for a moment, eyes rolling back as she pushes you over the edge. When your ears start ringing less a few moments later, you realize you’re screaming her name. Your body trembles as she works you relentlessly, riding out your orgasm and making you cry out for her again as you clench hard around her fingers.

When your moans turn to whimpering she finally lets you collapse. She pulls her fingers out, making you twitch at the empty feeling, and props her chin on your lower belly, mouth soaked and grinning as she pants to catch her breath.

“Have I mentioned how much I enjoy that nickname?” She murmurs, planting a languid kiss inside your knee.

You hum out a mmm? Weakly. She chuckles warmly, smiling reverently down at your fuck drunk face. “That nickname you gave me. Hera.” She clarifies.

She pulls herself up next to you, pulling your head to rest on her chest and petting your hair. “The name you call out when you come, the name you say so sweetly when you’re annoyed with me.” She chuckles softly.

You blink as your mind slowly pieces itself back together, looking up at her from where you’re nestled between her breasts. “What do you mean…?” You mumble.

“No one else calls me Hera. Just Heraclast, or Ossian.” She says, smiling sweetly and brushing fingers down your cheek. “You calle me Heraclast when you speak to others, or when we’re being formal. But I adore that when you fluster and blush, I’m Hera.” She leans down and kisses the top of your hair.

You giggle softly, nuzzling into her soft chest. “I didn’t realize I was doing that…” you say with a contented sigh.

Hera hums into your hair. “Mm, I know. That’s why it’s so cute. You gave me a pet name almost immediately and then pretended not to be head over heels for me for days.” She teases, rubbing your back soothingly.

Your eyelids grow heavy with exhaustion, nestled against her chest and being soothed so gently. “Mmm… I was… very subtle…” you protest drowsily.

She chuckled, making her chest move around your face. “Yes, very subtle, My Lady.” She said with a soft sigh, right as sleep overtook you.

[adolin]

A reading from “Why do we pray to Lyctors? The role of Necrosaints in devotional practice” published by Abigail Pent, PhD, in the Journal of Early History, Vol. 876, No. 1 With oral commentary by several of the Emperor's Saints. Coffee to follow.

Do you think EARLY IMPERIAL HISTORY is neat? Do you think ACADEMICS should be MORE PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE? Do you peruse academic journals for FUN? Do you think the NECROSAINTS are OVERRTED? In short: are you A NERD?

If the answer is yes, this fic is for YOU.

(I posted this a few months ago but never crossposted it to tumblr, so here it is!)

3.3k words, rated G, No Warnings Apply

Featuring: Abigail Pent (the scholar). Harrow and Ianthe (reading her work). Augustine (offering commentary). The Body (watching)

Tagged: Academia, Worldbuilding, HtN era, Lyctorhood. Includes funky AO3 formatting and proper citations, as Jod intended.

[reflection-s-of-stars]

@ohladydimitrescu this is for the Saint of Love fic so your vote really counts

[hellcatinnc]

"Konnichiwa! Hajimemashite, watashi wa Danyale de desu yoroshiku"

Hi welcome to my Tumblr, my name is Danyale and this is a little about me and my blog. I have been into anime mostly shoujo for the last year as well as into otome games. I will share my reviews of love interests and games that are otome, shoujo, dating sim, and more. I also post some NSFW, Smut, Adult Fanfic, & Spoilers because I make fandom videos so be warned now but all things are tagged. Anyways hope you enjoy your stay and feel free to say hello I have many interests below if you see we have something in common say hi!

My social media:

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MASTERLIST

Writings/Fan Fics/Reviews/Walkthroughs

#2 Writings/Fan Fics/Reviews/Walkthroughs

AMV/GMV Videos

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Current Obsessions:

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Current Anime's Watching:

Uta no Prince Sama (season 4)

My Next Life as a Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom! S2

Free! Iwatobi Swim Club

The Ancient Magus' Bride S2

The Rising of the Shield Hero

The Case Studies Of Vanitas

Haigakura

I’ll Become a Villainess Who Goes Down in History

The Do-Over Damsel Conquers The Dragon Emperor

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Now Playing:

Piofiore Fated Memories

Charade Maniacs

My Next Life As A Villainess: all Routes Lead To Doom! - Pirates Of The Disturbance -

Love And Deepspace

Tears Of Themis

Tengoku Struggle -Strayside-

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Otome Games:

Forever Favorites:

Sympathy Kiss

Code Realize - All Of Them

Amnesia (All Of Them)

Cupid Parasite

My Forged Wedding

Love Spell Written In The Stars

Glass Heart

EPHEMERAL -FANTASY ON DARK

Variable Barricade

Kamigami No Asobi

Piofiore Fated Memories/1926

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Anime

Forever Favorites:

Bungo Stray Dogs

Amnesia

Code Realize Guardians Of Rebirth

Wolf Girl & Black Prince

Libra of Nil Admirari

Phantom in the Twilight

Magic-Kyun! Renaissance

Dance With Devils

Mr Love Queens Choice

Brothers Conflict

Diabolik Lovers 1 & 2

Kamigami no Asobi

My Happy Marriage

Uta Prince Sama

Snow White with the Red Hair

The Reason Why Raeliana Ended up at the Duke's Mansion

Tomo-chan Is A Girl

Sugar Apple Fairy Tale

My Apothecary Diaries

7th Time Loop

Endo and Kobayashi Live! The Latest on Tsundere Villainess Lieselotte

A Condition Called Love

Vampire Dormitory

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Favorite Fandom Love Interests

Bungo Stray Dogs

Chūya

Akutagawa

Atsushi

Sigma

Dazai

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Sympathy Kiss

Rokuro Yoshioka

Yoji Kobase

Nori

Esaka

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Code Realize

Saint Germain

Impey

Herlock Sholmes

Fran

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Amnesia

Ikki

Kent

Shin

Ukyo

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Love And Deepspace

Rafayel

Xavier

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Cupid Parasite

Allan

Ryuki

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EPHEMERAL -FANTASY ON DARK

Ray

Natsume

Shiba

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Lover Pretend

Asagi

Riku

Sena

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Radiant Tale

Liyan

Paschalia

Zafora

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Piofiore Fated Memories/1926

Dante Falzone

Nicola Francesca

Gilbert Redford

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Endo and Kobayashi Live! The Latest on Tsundere Villainess Lieselotte

Baldur

Endo

Sieg

Liese

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Misyr - Cafe Enchante

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Miraculous Ladybug & Cat Noir

Cat Noir

Luka

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My Forged Wedding

Haruka

Tamaki

Yomato

Saeki

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Irresistible Mistakes

Minoru Tsujimoto

Go Okuba

Toma Kiriya

Rei Kamiki

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Scandal In The Spotlight

Nagito

Iori

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Our Private Home Room

Shuya

Ryota

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Brothers Conflict

Tsubaki

Natsume

Fuuto

Kaname

Azusa

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Kamigami no Asobi

Loki

Hades

Balder

Apollon

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Variable Barricade

Ichiya Mitsumori

Shion Mayuzumi

Taiga Isurugi

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Dance With Devils

Rem

Urie

Lindo

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Diabolik Lovers

Azusa

Ruki

Yuma

Subaru

Laito

Ayato

Kou

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Libra of Nil Admirari

Hayato

Shizuru

Akira

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Snow White with the Red Hair

Obi

Zen

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Yukar From The Abyss

Imeru

Kiryl

Pewrep

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Star Crossed Myth

Partheno

Ichthys

Scorpio

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Collar X Malice

Kei

Aiji

Saike

Yoshinari

Mineo

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Tears Of Themis

Marius

Luke

Artem

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Vampire Dormitory

Ren Nikaido

Ruka Saotome

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Luke - Phantom In The Twilight

Teika - Magic Kyun!

Victor - Mr. Love Queens Choice

Kyouya - Wolf Girl & Black Prince

Lord Kudo - My Happy Marriage

Keiya - A Girl & Her Guard Dog

Arnold Hein - 7th Time Loop

Noah Wynknight - Raeliana in Dukes Mansion

Claude Jean Ellmeyer - I'm the Villainess, So I'm Taming the Final Boss

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Non Otome Games:

Detroit Become Human

Life Is Strange True Colors

Sims 4

Houseflipper

My Time At Sandrock

Tomb Raider

All Mario Games

Heavy Rain

Dreamfall Chapters

Greedfall

Lake

Last Stop

State Of Mind

Last Day Of June

Road 96

Second Life

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Favorite Blogs

@misschimotosuwa-blog

@dialovers-lover-xoxo

@afra-blueraz

@dialovers-translations

@most-datable-datable-bracket

@reverse-harem-protag

@protags-fic-blog

@xxsycamore

@kissmetwicekissmedeadly

[saintobio]

HI SAINT !!!

i hope you are doing okay and recovering well from your wisdom tooth removal.

i dont really read sukuna fics because i dont like him but blank canvas was good ! you did it so well. but it felt a lil bit too real when sukuna found his better half and getting married to them :') the sukuna in my life story also getting married this year. i've moved on and made peace and idc anymore. im just hoping my satoru will come to me soon !

and LLTV ! i cant wait for more ! the scene where yn ran out to because she had a breakdown seeing satoru again made me so :( also i have a question, is yn the only one knows that she got reincarnated? no one knows the past life right? also why do i get the feeling that yuta also got reincarnated? hm 🤔

thanks for reading bc still !! :D why do i keep hearing you guys have your own sukunas and that he’s found his other half 😭 like that’s just painful. but i’m happy everyone has moved on and are waiting to meet their satoru 🫶🏻

as for lltv, well we have knowledge that only yn has regressed. but yes, so far no one knows about her past life except her !! :)) and based on the final events in ayli, even yn had no idea that yuuta became emperor after she & satoru died so that’s gonna be an interesting ride