#gellar field

[darkmessiah2000]

These muthers pretty much just opened a portal to The Immaterium (Warhammer 40k) or better yet a Caul (Mage: The Acension/World of Darkness)

And those kids didn’t have a gellar field around them so now they’re food for The Ruinous Powers

[alternativeminiatures]

Source @vanilla_astartes

[ocherednoe-dno]

thinking so much about 40k worldbuilding has lead me to the point where an Ark Mechanicus Living Saint is a reasonable and justifiable proposition

[taryn40k]

Man seeing the Grey Knights together reminds me of Daemonhunter, that's good xcom-esque game starring a grey knight team.

Oh, they made turn-based games? :D Fun! Haven't even seen anything about it, but from that description it has a lot of potential! :) Sadly our trio of Grey Knights won't be killing much for right now.... Maybe once we make it into the Warp! :D

[rebloggingrexan]

Mint Leg Centipede cleaning and caring for her babies! (Scolopendra sp. Vietnam)

Centopéia pernas de hortelã (Mint Leg Centipede) limpando e cuidando de seus bebês! (Scolopendra sp. Vietnã)

[lovelytsunoda]

tell it to my heart // jenson button (instagram au!)

summary: jenson and his pop-culture icon wifey celebrate their wedding anniversary and the fans reminisce on how they got there.

pairing: jenson button x 2000s actress! reader

faceclaim: sarah michelle gellar

notes: genuinely sarah michelle and freddie prinze have my whole fucking heart…he’s truly and utterly infatuated by her and they just love each other so much, I’m getting weepy just looking at their wedding photos-

2000sthrowbacks On this day in 2010, "Scooby-Doo" and "I Know What You Did Last Summer" actress Y/N Y/L/N announced her engagement to Formula 1 driver Jenson Button. To celebrate, we're counting down our favorite Y/N roles, starting with Daphne Blake in "Scooby-Doo" and "Scooby-Doo: Monsters Unleashed!"

see all comments

user how jenson bagged this baddie i will never understand

-> jensonbutton i still don't understand it either but i love her and she loves me and i hope it stays that way

user mother

user I can’t believe they’ve been married for ten years already….they haven’t aged a day

user I love how they’re both majorly successful in their own fields yet still managed to make time to support each other, even when it meant that YN had to turn down an audition for ‘the ghost of girlfriends past’ so she could be there to watch brawn win the championship

user real talk, has jenson ever asked her to wear the buffy the vampire slayer costume in bed (because if i was him that's what i'd be doing)

->y/nbutton only once and it was awkward for both of us.

Y/N Button on Live with Kelley and Mark

y/nbutton added to her story!

jensonbutton just posted!

liked by y/nbutton, markwebber, lewishamilton and others

jensonbutton happy anniversary to the love of my life, the most beautiful woman in the world, the mother of my children. she's definitely too cool for me, and i take that in stride. in fact, on the day we got married, fernando asked me if i still wanted to go through with the wedding, and that i should tie you down before you realized you could have literally any man in the world. needless to say, it felt surreal that you chose me. we've spent fourteen beautiful years together, and i can't wait for fourteen more.

i love you, y/n.

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y/nbutton i love you more and more with every passing day xx

fernandoalonso you were punching way above your weight class hermano

-> jensonbutton and yet im the one with a wife and you're not?

-> fernandoalsonso shut up

alex_albon she's everything, he's just ken

-> user LMAO ALEX WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

user parents

user dilf

-> y/nbutton agreed.

-> user milf

-> jensonbutton yes.

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @diorleclerc @lorarri @cartierre @thatsdemko @userlando @twinkodium @sidcrosbyspuck

[robot-roadtrip-rants]

koh: ok we need to visit this planet, let’s dock and—

bile: nah i don’t feel like paying the toll

bile: let’s take this alternate, secret route

koh:

koh: that’s how daemons get in

bile: uh huh

koh: you want us to use the daemon road. which is full of daemons

bile: uh huh

saqqara: if we go that way, we will walk a path of madness, minds will splinter and souls will fray

bile: wow you’re such a poet *sarcastic applause*

bile: also did i mention that we gotta turn off the gellar field to do this

koh: HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND—

arrian: hey it’s a new experience! don’t you slaaneshi types love new experiences? >:)

koh: I HAVE EXPERIENCED THIS BEFORE AND IT SUCKED

saqqara: how do you not understand the magnitude of this. traveling this road will blast us with unfiltered, high-octane Lovecraftian Elder God mindfuck. this is blasphemy and it is—

bile: shut up saqqara we’re taking the daemon road. mama bile didn’t raise no tax-paying punk

[theurbanmechcomesforthee]

Reblog if your Discourse Gellar Field has failed you Yet Again

[the-crooked-library]

hmm. this reminds me of something

ah yes. here it is. i'm starting a collection, who's in?

Buffy and Spike, behind the scenes

[boneapplet]

Shrouded in Silence

Relationship: Magnus the Red x assassin!afab!reader

Word Count: 1036

Requested Tags for All Works: @beckyninja @runin64 @ilovewolvezz

Masterlist

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3

               The warp doesn’t scream. It whimpers. A sickly, shivering thing, trapped beneath glass and smothered under silk—still breathing, but barely.

Magnus stands in the inner sanctum of The Photep, the flagship of his grand Prospero fleet, deep within its command-spire, beneath a vaulted dome inlaid with gold-thread runes and Prosperoan obsidian. The room hums with energy. Gilded light pooling around his feet, drawn from psychometric projectors that render the Immaterium in complex threads of gold.

The chamber pulses with layered data— casting luminous maplines of warp-tide shifts, the harmonic resonance of Gellar-field hymns, the pulse of astropathic traffic threading between vessels into the air like drifting constellations. And something within all of it was...wrong. Not shattered. Not broken. Muted. Not in the ship’s mechanisms—those obeyed. Nor in the discipline of his sons. It is subtler than that. A wrongness of absence. An echo that returns no sound.

His hands twitch behind his back, fingers tightening around the edge of his belt. The Eye of Magnus, the flame-slicked orb that blazes open in the center of his brow, narrows as it drinks in the flow of the Immaterium. Warp-vision flooding his mind in ripples of light and resonance, revealing the thousand candles that flicker across his fleet: psykers, ship-minds, astropaths, thought-forms echoing between Librarius cells and choir sanctums. But in the heart of it all, there is a place where nothing stirs. A blind spot. A cold seam in the weave. He reaches toward them, threads of warp-light vanishing like dust motes the closer he drew.

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

By the third day, the whispers had begun. Not from the serfs, they are always muttering, but from his own sons. In the Librarius vaults, where words are chosen carefully and meanings wrapped in precision, even there he hears it:

“Fatigue in the astropaths.” “Dream disturbances among junior initiates.” “Shielding instability. Vox thrones returning static.” “The resonance of thought feels... displaced.”

Displaced. The word needles him. They don’t bring him panic or accusations—his sons are too composed for that. But the signs were there in their tone. The measured hesitations. The way they linger after dismissals. The unusual frequency of dream journals being submitted for peer review.

Magnus stands before the central warp-array during morning diagnostics when Librarian Valessan approaches. Having been summoned to the secondary Librarius wing, beneath a sphere of muted starlight and ritual-scripted iron. The two stand in silence before the sealed pict-records of the last astropath who had perished during warp-channel alignment. The younger psyker bows his head, his aura flickering pale yellow with unease, seemingly decided to finally voice it aloud.

“My lord,” Valessan begins, “we lost another astropath during the dawn shift.”

Magnus turns slightly, his cloak rustling across the inlaid runes on the deck. “Cause?”

“Translation collapse. The last three occurred within seconds of contact. Autopsies reveal hemorrhaging across the primary psychic cortex. No warning. No strain signatures.”

“And the survivors?”

“Unstable. Listless. Dreams flicker and die before the second layer of trance. Even the strongest of them are complaining of... vagueness.”

Magnus’s third eye opens wider, pupil blazing like a solar flare. Warp-sight flooding his perception—and even here, among trained psykers, he sees it: A sagging in the weave. Like water heavy with salt. A shape where resonance should be. The primarch’s silence is heavier than accusation.

Valessan continues quickly. “It is the fifth in a week. And more report disorientation. Even the Gellar-chant priests speak of their voices echoing back... empty.”

“What do you feel, Valessan?” Magnus asks.

The Librarian hesitates, words forming and dying in his throat before finally surfacing.

“A weight,” he finally says. “Not on my limbs. On my thoughts. Like someone placed a mirror in my skull—and I cannot see myself in it. As if someone’s taken a part of the world and…erased its voice.”

That catches Magnus’s full attention. Slowly, he turns. His gaze meets the younger man’s. The Eye above his brow flares once—subtle, inquisitive. Not madness. Not sabotage. Something was pressing in from the outside. Something that made even memory quieter. Magnus says nothing, but he too had felt it.

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

That night, long after the deck chiming of the sixth cycle, Magnus remains in the data sanctum. He is methodical in his search, filing through countless forms. Incident logs. Vox-trace failures. Subdeck air integrity fluctuations. Gellar-shield misfires. Crew transfers. Minor deaths, unnoticed errata. Patterns beneath patterns.

It emerges like a bruise through the layers. Everything—every anomaly—clustered around Decks Thirteen through Sixteen, lower midship, near the secondary astropathic choir chambers and the warp-buffer harmonics. Too low for remembrancers. Too secure for outsiders.

There, one name repeats, never overtly. No one filed complaints. No citations. No malfunctions tied directly to her, but she is always nearby. Aetanna Vale: Handler-Adept, Theta Clearance. On record, she is assigned to oversee shielding compliance and astropathic emotional telemetry. Standard duties for one managing long-range translation staff. Though she doesn’t appear in pict-feeds. Or personal logs. Or mission rosters beyond the minimum. A blank space in the latticework of discipline. Her name surfaced where warp-resonance dimmed. Where dreams falter. Where voices stopped.

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

Magnus doesn’t confront her. Not yet. Instead, he sends Valessan to walk the decks. Told him to check for faulty harmonics in the psychometric altars, and to carry no overt power with him. Just presence. Valessan returns hours later, sweating, pale, and silent.

“She was there,” he says simply.

Magnus studies him. “And?”

The Librarian struggles for words. “I lost my thought mid-prayer. I began to speak—and forgot the tongue. I could feel her, Lord. Not through the warp. Around it. Like she wore silence as a second skin.”

“Did she see you?”

“She looked through me.”

Magnus nods slowly. He walks the lower decks himself that night, silent, senses wide. In the guise of inspecting a collapsed astropath personally. He passes the secondary choir chambers. Past the scriptorium. Past the meditation vaults. As he turns down a side hall—and feels it, viscerally: The warp recoils. Not flare, not surge. Recoils.

His third eye clenches shut. Not by choice. By reflex. He knew then, this isn’t coincidence. He hears footsteps, as he turns the corner but finds the hallway empty.

[al59]

… encore bien d’autres

Les sex-symbols des années 1980 attirèrent mon attention telles que sont Kim Basinger, Kathleen Turner, Jodie Foster, Kelly Preston, Linda Fiorentino, Meg Ryan, Ornela Mutti, Dalila Di Lazzaro, Valeria Golino, Barbara Carrera, Olivia d'Abo, Andie MacDowell, Phoebe Cates, Sean Young, Lea Thompson, Sigourney Weaver, Rosana Arquette, Bobbie Brown, Tawny Kitaen, Daryl Hannah, Nastassja Kinski, Carrie Fisher, Lara Flynn Boyle, Sherilyn Fenn, Geena Davis, Susan Sarandon, La Toya Jackson, Lynn Whitfield, Irene Cara, Laura Dern, Margaret Avery, Rae Dawn Chong, Robin Givens, Vanna White, Marisa Tomei, Jamie Lee Curtis, Michelle Pfeiffer, Beverly D'Angelo, Adrienne Barbeau, Betsy Russel, Erin Gray, Ginger Lynn Allen, Elisabeth Shue, Kymberly Conrad, Dian Parkinson, Mia Sara, Michelle Pfeiffer, Kathy Ireland, Daryl Hannah, Cassandra Peterson, Paula Abdul, Jennifer Beals, Meg Ryan, Molly Rignwald, Lisa Hartman, Susanna Hoffs, Kim Wilde, Brooke Shields, Heather Thomas, Heather Locklear, Sonia Braga, Kelly LeBrock, Brooke Shields, Robin Givens, Christie Brinkley, Kelly McGillis, Virginia Madsen, Leslie Easterbrook, Jami Getz, Kerri Green, Vanessa Williams, Vivica A. Fox, Stacey Dash, Ola Ray, Lynn-Holly Johnson, Carey Lowell, Melody Anderson, Kristina Wayborn, Maruschka Detmers, Patsy Kensit, Alison Doody, Papillon Soo Soo, Chingmy Yau, Maggie Cheung, Anita Mui, Michelle Yeo, Ellen Chan, Lui Hsiao, Akina Nakamori, Yū Hayami, Momoko Kikuchi, Hiroko Yakushimaru, Yoko Minamino, Rekha, Mary Stävin, Valentina Vargas, Kim Catrall, Charlotte Rampling, Mylène Farmer, Carole Bouquet, Katia Tchenko, Gabrielle Lazure, Fiona Gélin, Sophie Duez, Juliette Binoche, Christine Boisson, Marie Matheron, Cyrielle Clair, Fanny Ardant, et Anne Parillaud.

… sans oublier celle des années 1990 comme les sex–symbols américaines comme Julia Roberts, Sharon Stone, Angelina Jolie, Bridget Fonda, Renée Russo, Juliette Lewis, Winona Ryder, Madeleine Stowe, Rachel Weisz, Diane Lane, Gillian Anderson, Cameron Diaz, Selma Blair, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Jennifer Love Hewitt, Uma Thurman, Drew Barrrymore, Julia Ormond, Carré Ottis, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Jennifer Connelly, Liv Tyler, Erika Eleniak, Anna Nicole Smith, Charisma Carpenter, Heather Graham, Sarah Jessica Parker, Rose McGowan, Teri Hatcher, Christina Applegate, Shannen Doherty, Cindy Margolis, Gena Lee Nolin, Donna D’Errico, Nicole Eggert, Janet Jackson, Jennifer Tilly, Gina Gershon, Shauna Sand, Peta Wilson, Katherine Heigl, Natasha Henstridge, Lisa Rinna, Yasmine Bleeth, Gabrielle Union, Aaliyah, Regina Hall, Jada Pinkett Smith, Tatyana Ali, Nia Long, Theresa Randle, Kim Fields, Angela Bassett, Ashley Judd, Kristy Swanson, Brittany Murphy, Elizabeth Gracen, Marley Shelton, Angie Everhart, Lucy Liu, Victoria Pratt, Sandra Bullock, Kelly Rutherford, Christina Ricci, Claire Danes, Kate Fischer, Portia de Rossi, Alicia Witt, Courtney Love, Tiffani Thiessen, Elisabeth Berkley, Belle Avery, et Shania Twain.

… mais aussi les européennes comme Victoria Silvstedt, Rebecca Romijn, Helena Bonham-Carter, Sadie Frost, Miranda Richardson, Anna Tomson, Cate Blanchette, Kristin Scott Thomas, Minnie Driver, Joely Richardson, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Kate Beckinsale, Nicole Kidman, Virginia Hey, Nina Muschallik, Catherine Rabett, Florina Kendrick, Caprice, Victoria Abril, Mädchen Amic, Xenia Seeberg, Sophie Marceau, Ophélie Winter, Élodie Bouchez, Clotilde Courau, Virginie Ledoyen, Valeria Bruni Tedeschi, Emmanuelle Seigner, Inés Sastre, Roberta Gemma, Izabella Scorupco, Maria Grazia Cucinotta, et Francesca Neri,… et asiatiques comme  Gong Li, Amy Yip, Carina Lau, Rosamund Kwan, Yvonne Hung Yung, Loletta Lee, Vivian Chow, Veronica Yip, Michelle Reis, Pia Reyes, Joyce Jimenez, Aya Medel, Natasha Ledesma, Ana Capri, Priscilla Almeda, Nanette Medved, Misaki Ito, Ayumi Hamasaki, Namie Amuro, Koda Kumi, Hikaru Utada, et Nanase Aikawa.

[candyswirls]

Return of the Phoenician Part 5

Previous - Next - Master Post

Had to work on this chapter a bit to get it where I want. I'm not fully satisfied with it, but it's leading to where I want to story to go. I do like writing how his mood fluctuates and him struggling with what he's feeling.

Synopsis: Fulgrim is brought aboard the Emperor's Children Battle-Barge. He's fighting off the feeling of being a failure but gets to reconnect with some of those he knew.

The cargoship was placed in the bay of the old barge.

Since its Gellar fields worked properly and the interior was uncorrupted, he and the Sons of the Phoenix were placed inside.

Embarrassment filled him as he tried to hobble forward on his own. Sharp pain running from his legs and up his spine.

"Get Juno down here," Hebe ordered.

Fulgrim was placed on his bed, with Chemy in his arms. Dysseus stayed by his side, offering comfort and reassurance.

Hebe spoke, "You'll need to stay down here as we inform the rest of the company. There are things we need to prepare as well."

"We need to... purge a lot of stuff before you come up," Solace explained.

"Only daemons," Fulgrim said. "Please don't kill any prisoners."

Hebe nodded, "As you wish, my Lord."

"Do I have to get rid of all my drugs?" Questioned another.

Bors smacked the astartes upside the head, "Yes, you dolt."

A larger Astartes in Terminator armor skipped in.

"Hi, what did you bring back- Oh."

He stared at Fulgrim, eyes pink and bulging. Hard drugs and years in the warp had changed his features. But was this Juno? He had been an apothecary. An up-and-coming chirurgeon. He was much larger now.

"You look different," was all the astartes said. He spoke in a soft whispery voice.

Hebe came up behind him, "Juno, this is the primarch, now an uncorrupted clone. Take care of him."

"Okay," Juno nodded. "My Lord Primarch. You look so young."

The primarch smiled as he brushed away tears.

The apothecary scanned over him, studying him.

"You are young," he mumbled.

"You're like an infant primarch right now," Solace mentioned. "It's exciting to see you at such a young age!"

He didn't fully like that statement but nodded and looked back at Juno.

He looked shellshocked, still taking everything in.

The apothecary slowly nodded, "Yes... infant. I am to take care of you. Infant... take care of infant. Baby. I am to take care of baby. My baby."

He reached out and grabbed one of the Primarch's arms. He held the hand to his chest, staring at Fulgrim. Possessively, in a way.

"My baby," he mumbled.

"Your baby?" The Phoenician questioned.

Juno lit up, "Yes, my baby. Need to get rid of the daemonettes. Pesky. I'll be back. Rest."

Juno still stood there, holding onto Fulgrim's arm, staring at the Primarch.

"Ar-are you going to let go?"

He considered this a moment, "Yes, I'll be back."

He dropped the Primarch's arm and hurried out, constantly looking back at the primarch, as if he'd disappear if he looked away for too long.

Hebe looked pleased.

Bors turned to the captain, "Was that really a good idea? You know how obsessed and possessive he can get."

Hebe nodded, "He no longer has the daemon inside of him and I'm counting on his possessiveness. He will fight tooth and nail to protect our dear Primarch and give him the utmost care. If he gets to be too much, let him know."

The primarch didn't say anything. He just ran fingers over one of Chemy's lights.

"We're headed up," Hebe said. "Solace, Bors. With me. Dysseus, stay here."

Fulgrim rubbed his face and looked around.

The Sons of the Phoenix huddled close to one another. They tried wearing brave and undeterred faces, but existing exhaustion took over. They were tired, wounded, and weary. Only Thaedeus had his armor.

Some primarch he was. Ever since coming aboard, he'd been a teary mess. He could recall moments where his mere presence struck awe in anyone who beheld him. How those who caught sight of him on the battlefield were renewed with hope and strength.

He couldn't even do that now with a handful of Astartes. He was just a glorified prisoner, wasn't he? He wasn't even giving orders. He wanted to curl into a ball and disappear. But he was stuck.

Dysseus leaned against the wall. He didn't say anything, but Fulgrim didn't feel like talking.

Minutes turned to hours but passed like centuries. He wanted to tear off this stupid armor.

"It's true!" Gasped someone as they entered.

This newcomer had hot pink armor with neon designs across it. His hair was cut into various lengths and styles. Bright colors ran across it, and his shaved sides had been painted with animal print. Piercings ran up his face, and the folds of his cheeks had been cut and peeled back to be pinned to his temples.

He grinned happily, rocking on his heels with his arms behind his back. He waited at the entrance for permission to enter.

Fulgrim glanced at the others.

He sat up and bid him welcome, "Come in."

"My lord," he greeted happily as he moved in. His voice was gravelly.

"What is your name?" Fulgrim inquired, trying to pretend he didn’t notice the Sons of the Phoenix moving further back.

"Don't you recognize me?" His son asked.

The primarch opened and closed his mouth.

The legionaire laughed, "I jest, I jest! No one recognizes who I used to be. I've done so many body modifications over the centuries on myself. I change my hair as often as I can, too. My name is Rouge, but it used to be Roushal. I was there when a daemon possessed the original. Do you recall me?"

Fulgrim concentrated on the name and memories of a young Astartes matching the name floated through.

"Oh, Roushal," the primarch smiled. "Yes, I do remember you. I would expect you to have changed within ten millennia. Uh, how is it? The body modifications, I mean."

Rouge clasped his hands together, "Oh I love it. Especially when you can get a biomancer involved. I was considering getting a few speakers in my chest, but not now."

He stared eagerly at his lord.

Fulgrim cleared his throat and scooted to face Rouge fully.

"Um, what brings you to me?" He asked. "Were you just wanting to meet again, visit, or is there something I can do for you?"

"I'd also like to know that."

Rouge turned around to reveal Juno, who was glaring at his brother, almost murderously.

The other marine had silently moved up.

"A bit of all three," answered Rouge as he moved to kneel down across from the primarch. "It's been so long, and I wanted to see you. Many are... resistant. Some are resentful towards the original's actions, and many have... opinions on you being a clone, and plenty are afraid of what you'll think of them."

Fulgrim nodded. He knew this would happen. Juno moved the primarch's side, watching his brother.

"But I also really wanted to offer my specialties," the other Astartes offered enthusiastically. "I mean, new body, new you! If you ever wanted anything like piercings, tattoos, scarification, implants, or dental work, then I'm the one for it! I do it for all the others."

"Oh." Spoke Fulgrim.

"No," Juno said.

Rouge put up his hands, "It's not for everyone, and it can be a lot to handle. Especially if it's your first of any of them. I stress thinking deeply about it before committing. My best skill is actually hair! I work with all hair types. I can cut, dye, braid, style, extensions, anything really."

The other legionnaire backed down at this as Fulgrim slowly nodded.

Rouge buzzed with excitement, "I always wanted to feel your hair. It's so soft-looking and flowy. You're a primarch, after all. Perhaps it will boost your mood!"

The primarch blinked. He was offering to pamper him. Fulgrim, the original, had given him memories of others pampering him. Serfs and occasionally Astartes during the crusade. On Chemos, servants and courtesans did so. Those betrothed that he loved had offered as well.

But he, himself, he'd never experienced it. Throne. He hadn't even experienced much affection in general.

He recalled one time teacher had patted his head in praise. He had desperately craved it since. Hoping enough approval would entail that.

"I would like that very much," Fulgrim answered.

Rouge smacked his hands to his cheeks and tried to repress a squeal of glee through a wide smile.

"I'll go get my tools and supplies!"

Rouge dashed out, then returned just seconds later with a case.

"I brought it with me," he beamed. "Ah, you meant now, correct?"

"I assumed you meant it as well," the Phoenician smiled.

Rouge opened the case and began rifling through organized drawers of brushes and combs.

"What are you wanting today?" He inquired, giddy at the prospect.

"Um, show off your skills," Fulgrim decided. "You decide what hairstyle."

"With pleasure!" The Emperor's Child practically purred.

The primarch moved to the edge of the bed and Rouge bounced around behind him. The Sons of the Phoenix were slowly relaxing.

Fingers gently ran through Fulgrim's platinum locks. The Astartes parted his hair and sectioned it off as he began what was assumed to be an intricate braid.

"Do you see yourself and the first Fulgrim as the same person or completely separate?" Rouge inquired as he worked.

The Clone pondered a moment, "I will admit, I struggle deeply with identity. While I have many of the memories, I don't have them all, and I did not experience them fully. Teacher said that clones can differ greatly from the original being. I see myself as a separate individual but one who has to live up to the greatness anand d right the wrongs."

"Mmm," Rouge acknowledged. "I assume Teacher is Bile?"

"Yes."

Rouge paused before continuing with the brush, "I sense tension there. You did not part on good terms."

Fulgrim whispered, "No. He gave me away. To a Necron collector. I still don't know what I did wrong. He wouldn't tell me. He just... tossed me like I was nothing."

"We will not do that," assured Dysseus from the wall.

"He was always a creepy bastard," Rouge commented.

Juno hummed in agreement.

The subject soured the air, and Rouge tried to change it.

"It is far calmer down here than above," he commented. "Love the lack of fighting."

"What's going on?" Fulgrim asked.

Juno flinched and glared harder at Rouge, "You idiot! You weren't supposed to say anything!"

Rouge slowed, "Oo-oops? Sorry, it just slipped out."

Fulgrim turned around, "What is going on? I may be struggling right now, but I'm still a primarch."

Emotion cracked at the end of his sentence. He wanted to bawl again.

Juno muttered, "The ship is divided by those who want nothing to do with you and those who want to join you. Mainly Antioch vs Hebe. It was escalating quickly."

"It will be over soon," Rouge assured.

The Primarch went quiet. Fighting within his own men? But they're not mine.

Juno moved forward and cupped his face, "Only a handful of us have met you, and you're obviously sick. We've been on our own for a while. We can take care of you."

"Take me up there," Fulgrim ordered, refusing to listen.

"My lord," Dysseus protested.

"Now." The primarch growled.

"I can not allow you to be put in harm's way," Juno said.

"Then you will be by my side," he replied. "You're now part of the new Phoenix guard."

Juno paused, then nodded.

"Wait!" Rouge protested. "I'm almost done! Just tie this... over here... oh, can't have that fly away... aaaaaaaaaaaannnddd done!"

Rouge jumped back, looking proud. He grabbed a mirror from his case and presented it.

The Primarch blinked. It was an intricate braid, forming flowers and a crown upon his head.

He choked.

Rouge's face dropped, "I can redo it."

Fulgrim shook his head, "It's beautiful. I've never had this done for me before."

Juno was already catching tears and wiping his eyes.

Rouge's became misty, "I'm glad you like it!"

"Let's go," Fulgrim sniffed, hoping for anything to distract from his emotions.

As he stood, his knees threatened to give out.

Juno and Dysseus were at his sides immediately.

"Rouge," Fulgrim spoke. Stay here and ensure the Sons of the Phoenix are protected. And watch Chemy."

"As you wish." He replied with a bow.

The scarab sat on the bed, not a thought in its head.

Juno carried most of his weight as they hurried up the decks.

The higher they went, the more his legs ached. But he could hear the sounds of battle growing closer. That pushed him forward.

The same determination he had when he wanted to speak to Trazyn was coming back. He could not allow a civil war to happen over himself.

What was he doing? Sitting there and moping that everything had been ruined? He was not a small child upset that the first stroke of a painting wasn't what he wanted it to be. It was his stupid struggle with perfection! It wasn't going to be perfect, and it didn't need to be.

He had a duty here. He needed to foster harmony and hope.

They came upon some legionaries in the hallway. One was about to hack another in two when he spotted the primarch.

He dropped his blade and then fell to his knees. The others did the same.

He wished he could stop and speak to them, but the main fight was just beyond.

The doors slid open to reveal a cacophony of sound and bolt rounds. He clasped his hands over his ears as it washed over him. It was awful. Like scraping fingernails across a slate board. There was no harmony or coherence.

Waves rippled through the air as noise tore through. Blood sprayed up as brother fought brother. Some lay on the floor, and some reveled in the pain they received. Others delighted in the pain they inflicted.

He could see the graceful and well-coordinated marches they used to do in his mind. It was jarring to see the depravity now.

"Stop," he whispered. "Please stop."

He didn't hear what Dysseus said, but the marine had such hopeful and intense eyes.

"ENOUGH!" He yelled.

Most of the noise died away as his sons froze. Some dropped to their knees and began crying. Some immediately begged for forgiveness.

He yelled to those still fighting, "Stop it! This is ridiculous! Has there not been enough loss due to the heresy? We already fought the other legions. We do not need to add ourselves to that list! Please!"

The hall was so quiet that he could only hear the echo of his words.

"My lord," whispered one.

Some burst into tears, some dropped to the ground and crawled forward; Pleas of forgiveness on their lips. Some claimed praises at his return.

"False!" Yelled Antioch, waving his sword. "This is the false primarch! Thinking that you can come in here and take ownership of us?"

"I own no one," the primarch stated. "No one is forcing you to join me."

"You just shouted an order!" The captain growled.

Hebe was up, "That is enough."

"No!" Growled the other. "I will not stand by and -"

He was cut off once more as dirty brown armor appeared behind him. The captain was kicked down and landed face-first on the ground.

The being in the brown armor had rage etched across their face. Their mouth was gone. Sealed by a nasty-looking scar. They also had no arms. They were larger than the others and definitely not from the third.

Antioch looked back, utter shock upon his face as blood dripped, "Hermes?"

Hermes flicked his head, and a piece of jewelry fell to the ground. He stomped on it and stormed away. The astartes around him quickly parted.

Antioch scrambled forward, "Hermes? Hermes?? Hermes, please!"

He ran after them and grabbed onto his back. Hermes spun around with blinding speed and kicked him away.

"No!" The captain begged, any and all ire gone from his voice. "Don't leave me! Hermes, please! Just listen to me! Please, I love you! Hermes!!"

The two disappeared down the hall, Antioch on the verge of tears as he frantically begged the other to listen.

"Oh damn," Solace said from the middle of the group.

Hebe pointed his gun upwards, "Anyone else want to stand against the primarch?"

There were no protests.

One stumbled forward, "H-how? You have no touch of the warp on you? Is it really you?"

Fulgrim reached out, "Yes, Cassa, it is."

The marine choked upon hearing his name.

He had imagined this moment as having great decorum, but he surged forward and fell to his knees, grabbing anyone close and pulling them into an embrace.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as more joined in. He sat on his rear, his legs screaming at him. Others joined in, hugging him from behind, crying, stroking his hair, nuzzling close.

"I'm sorry," one sobbed. "We're hideous now."

Fulgrim laughed through tears, "You're beautiful still. I think you look fantastic!"

He meant it. He was afraid to say it out loud, but he'd always wanted various piercings and tattoos. To have his hair cut and dyed in what used to seem like a provocative way. He would have to bring up Rouge on his offer.

"We're cleansing the ship!" Hebe announced. "All signs of the God are to be gone. No daemons. No killing prisoners. Primarch's orders. Speak to an apothecary about weaning off your substances. We are returning to glory."

Previous - Next - Master Post

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Second Chances Don't come Twice

Author’s note: Atlas in Husbandry. Thank you to @sleepyfan-blog for letting me borrow Joth and Cedric.

Summary: Atlas remembers fighting demons on the ship- that had gotten lost in the warp and remembered the pain of getting torn apart by demons. He wakes up, he's in too much pain to be dead... But how is he alive? Where is he? Oh great- a Berserker Chaos Marine- A Khornate World Eater. Welp. He's gonna die. Again. and this time he's not able to move arms or legs. Shit.

Warnings: Let me know if I need to add anything else

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

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

Atlas had been fighting aboard the ship- they had gotten lost in the warp, and their gellar field had partially fallen. He and his brothers had been fighting against the Demonic incursion, trying their best to survive and wrest themselves free of the storm and the demons. 

He had spotted one of his brothers about to get dragged out of the group by some demons and pushed him back deeper into the group. Unfortunately that meant that the demons were able to grab him with their claws and taunting cackling.

He gave as good as he got- his brothers fighting their hardest to free him from their grasp. He saw Catius and Oleandros call out for him- arms outstretched as they tried to reach him.

That thought warmed him- before the unending pain and agony of demons trying to tear him apart had him scream, despite his best efforts not to.

Things go Loud. Things go quiet.

He feels and hears a wet, wrenching sound of bones breaking. A voice- he dimly realizes is his, which he can’t stop hollers out in soul breaking agony.

He hears the cackling of mad gods. He hears the roaring of something golden.

The Pain

A flash of light

A flash of darkness

Unconsciousness

Atlas opens his eyes. That in and of itself causes great confusion. He had been in a pitched battle on the ship. He and his brothers were trying to fight off demons who’d breached the ship. He is surprised to be able to open them again. 

He had thought that the way he’d been caught by the demons that he’d die, horribly brutally in front of his brothers. He is not surprised that he is in complete agony and his many wounds on his body are complaining.

He smells the tang of blood and suffering. His mind fogs and hazes as he stares up at the blue cloudy sky. He frowns a little, the effort to think as he stares at the sky. Sky. He had been on a ship in the warp. This is. This ground he’s laying down upon is ground. He is on a planet.

That  does not make sense. He was on a ship in the Warp. He continues to stare up at the sky and struggle to breath as his thoughts are slow and his brain is full of panicked jabbering half formed thoughts as he’s consumed by the utter agony he’s in.

‘How am I on a planet?’ is a thought that forms in his mind. ‘Is this a trick? An illusion? why?’

He continues to breathe, a task that seems monumental at the moment. Something of a great struggle. He hears the sound of something, and slowly turns his head to look and sees some… animals.

Farm animals started to approach him. Some herbivores that are used for meat, milk, and the fibers of their fur can be used to make clothing and other things.

Some of the creatures with horns bleat at him and one of them boldly comes over and bleats in his face. He flinches a little at the sound. But that movement sends waves of unending agony through him. 

Ow. He shouldn’t have tried moving. That hurt. That had really badly hurt. Part of him wonders if he’ll survive this. Or if he’ll die surrounded by farm animals.

As soon as he thought that part of him recoiled at that thought. While another part of him felt comforted that at least his body will feed the worms and other creatures of a planet, rather than the cackling maddened creatures of the Warp.

He hears more movement and a barking noise- and sees a trio of four legged creatures with fur- guardian dogs as they herded the herbivores away from the Strange Giant Metal Bleeding creature. The oldest of the Guardian canids snuffles and growls and barks and howls.

Atlas merely wishes the creature would stop being so loud. It’s not like he can do anything to get away from the creature. Or harm the canids charges. Oh- his head is ringing from how loud it is.

He hears the tromp and tread of something large headed his way and his hearts sink. He knows the stomp of Ceramite upon many different surfaces. With effort- far too much effort he shifted his head- trying to see who was coming towards him.

He hears a voice rumble out, and his hearts sink further. The dual toned almost staticky sounding tones of a Chaos Marine- the canid, blessedly stops barking and runs towards the Chaos Marine.

Atlas’s hearts sink further- he can’t do anything but watch as the canid heads towards the fuck he’s so fucked. The Khornate Berserker World Eater.

Instead of slaughtering the creature- the Chaos Marine does a gesture and says a phrase- it seems like a coded phrase as it has the trio of canids off to a different part of the … farm that he’s on.

Oh. He’s so fucking dead. Deader than dead. His skull and blood shall be used in a twisted Khornate ritual. And he can’t even put up a fight to try and get away form the Chaos Marine.

He wonders if the Khornate Chaos Marine will kill him, or just sneer down at him and watch as he dies, too weak, to pathetic for the mercy of a quick death.

Joth had heard the Guardian Dogs bay- in that particular way that meant they were trying to scare something, or someone off. And whatever it was, wasn't backing off.

With swift movement he heads in the direction of the dogs- and sees a ceramite covered form- lying on the ground and the iron tang of blood and pain scent the air.

As he comes closer- he realizes the fellow Space Marine- who he had readied to growled at was wearing Ultramarine colors- and was severely wounded and a Baby.

Joth approaches the likely severely hurt, and likely going to be skittish as fuck baby who looked like he was drifting in and out of wakefulness.

The baby manages to squint up at him and try very hilariously to growl at him, but was in too much pain to do that and merely made raspy whimpering noises.

"Not gonna hurt you Scoutling," Joth croons, at the very suspicious and heavily wounded baby. Who- to his credit, attempted to growl at him again.

Joth watched the way the younglings limbs twitch, but not move much. That. could be really bad. He sends a message to the local Astarte clinic about a heavily wounded baby needing immediate help, as well as not being stable enough to move.

He gets a swift response as he crouches down next to the youngster, "I know that you won't believe me, but I am not going to hurt you. Help is coming- some brothers are going to patch you up."

Joth is talking to the baby and grabs one of his hands gently, the baby seems to be hovering between wakefulness and passing out from the pain he's in.

"Keep awake little cousin," Joth rumbles, gently squeezing his hand. He smells the stench of Chaos on his wounds. Poor kid got on the wrong side of a fight with some demons.

Joth's ears prick as he says, "Your brothers are coming- we will get you fixed up, stay awake little Scout."

Zariel and Cedric are running towards them with urgent battle care kits as well as a team with a stretcher just minutes behind him. The Baby Black Templar lets out a growly noise at Joth, before his eyes snap to the blue and gold clad Scout.

"Atlas!" Cedric calls out as he runs to Catius and Oleandros's squad lead and fellow Primaris Ultramarine's side as he and Zariel assess and patch up Atlas.

[echthr0s]

From the moment Marazhai knew himself, he knew noise, and clamour, and agony. He knew the grinding of the gears that powered Commorragh and the wailing of the victims that powered its denizens. He knew the blinding electricity of nerve pain and the endless rolling pulse of bruises and the throb of his blood bursting from his rent flesh. Every corner, every alley, every room in the Dark City was packed to capacity with sensory information, with chaotically layered sound, with shadows tangible in their intensity, with the potential for new and novel suffering. This was Marazhai's cradle. It would come to be his theater, and his role was assured.

The Rogue Trader's voidship was not much different, particularly in its depths. Engines, chanting, barking of orders. Brash bulkhead lights, blood- and oil-stained corridors, smell of overheated plasteel, hum of the Gellar field. The magos's clicking, whirring mechadendrites. The psyker's incessant babbling and murmuring and whispering. The heady miasma of blood that surrounded the spinner. The Warp, pressing, pressing, pressing. He was shielded from it by the Rogue Trader's inconceivable protection, but it pressed nevertheless, probing, questing, ever hungry, ever patient.

Noise, and clamour, and agony. And then, with one instinctive psychic push from the Interrogator's harried mind… silence.

Not purposeful silence -- not the silence of a cold shoulder, or of a pause before a shockwave hits, or of forced deprivation. Marazhai Aezyrraesh fell away from his cacophonous body, the cacophonous cosmos, and sank slowly into quietude. The knowledge of the boundaries of his form dissipated. The letters of his name drifted apart from each other. Anger, released. Restlessness, lost. Fear… forgotten. Marazhai, forgotten. Lost. Released.

Was this the Warp, or something deeper than it? Was this the death mon-keigh experienced? Or… beasts? It did not matter. The sharp, manic mind that would have asked these questions was naught but a small spark dying in the infinite silence.

Silence.

And then a small spark.

A mind, that knows space and dimension; knows it is far, far away, in a void. A mind, that knows it was once a body, of boundary and form. Where? There, whence a voice comes trickling in like a rivulet of blood? A voice? Words… words it knows. A plea that compels it… her… him. The spark grows. It is light, light like no other. It is light and it is coming into being.

Marazhai knows himself, and all is noise, and clamour, and agony. But he is remembering silence, and light, and to be here again amidst all that which once defined him, that now blinds and deafens and wounds him is enough to make him…

"Strange. Didn't know drukhari could cry."

"Be quiet, Interrogator, and concentrate. You are here to fix what you've broken, and nothing more." The voice, the plea that compelled him. Cousin. Asuryani. Yrliet.

Her long fingers, ghosting his hairline, an intimacy that is not earned but for which he yearns regardless. The realisation steals the breath that has just returned to his lungs. This is not me. I am not this. What is happening? "Stillness. You have known something many of us, even amongst the Asuryani, will never know. You are a new thing now. Do not fight it."

What am I, that does not fight? That weeps in the presence of agony? I would rather be devoured by She Who Thirsts than be this! Kill me. Kill me!

"Stop…" Marazhai rasps, trying to push Heinrix away, to interrupt the biomancer's healing, to--

"No. You stop. If you wish death, you will have to take it for yourself. Far out of sight of the Lord Captain, I imagine."

Lord Captain. Rogue Trader Noah Kingfisher von Valancius. A flash of confused pain in Marazhai's ribcage. It was him Marazhai was trying to escape, when he goaded the already-stressed Heinrix into attacking him. A flash of awareness in Marazhai's newly-wired mind. No. Not him. It was Marazhai that Marazhai was trying to escape, the new thing he had already been becoming, the new thing that Rogue Trader Noah Kingfisher von Valancius was coaxing forth into being. It is too much. To think like this is to no longer be Marazhai, Aezyrraesh, Reaver, Tempest, drukhari.

"What have you done to me?" But the question could have been asked of anyone, of anything. Of the drukhari, of the aeldari before them. Of Commorragh. Of the Warp. Of Heinrix. Of Yrliet. Of the infinite void. Of Noah. Of Marazhai.

"I cannot -- gasp -- live like this."

Yrliet, who would soon use her knowing to build an ideological foundation for him, upon which he would build an inner world, quirks the corners of her eyes in something like amusement. "Irrelevant. You will learn."

[aylameridiandrawsstuff]

Our journeys so far have been plagued with trouble - first, there were those communist Orks, then the gellar field malfunctions, the daemon incursions and last but certainly not least, a Dark Elf raid (while orbiting a black hole).  Our crew decided that they would only abstain from outright rebellion if our captain agreed to perform penance in order to lift the curse the crew believed had led to our misfortunes... Many uncomfortable days of reciting scripture for our poor captain. 

[sirobvious]

the gellar field has been breached by a greater milf of khorne