#iron fists

[deleteddewewted]

Astartes Sex Ideas: P1

Ok, so random thought. The Astartes ports...... What if you fingered them, and because they're connected to their muscles and nervous system they just felt everything you do in a more intense manner. You play around with their ports as their already fucking into you and it only makes the act of sex more euphoric for them. They finally grasp why its so good to have sex and they want you to do it again.

Your Astartes has you on your back as he's fucking into you hard and rough and the moment you push your fingers into their port by their chest it sends chills down his body as the sensation feels good. It's so good that he stops moving and he starts panting like a dog in heat.

[yandins-beleagured-historian]

Entry.081.InterviewTranscript015.narr

“Tell me about Damat.”

“What about Damat?”

She took a sip. The tea was strong and pungent, the kind that stung the nostrils. It was hard to suppress the grimace, and the marine seemed to notice it.

“You are aware you need not drink it. It is made strong specifically for Astartes.”

“It is…interesting. I have had similar meetings with more than a dozen of your brothers across multiple companies. Every time it’s a different infusion.”

“This is Corinthian Rosemary. Whenever resupply is viable the victualler corps make sure to include whatever the local culture deems an acceptable substitute. Disparate companies and campaigns accumulate their own stocks and I cannot help notice you are still drinking it.”

She smiled sweetly. It was a textbook manoeuvre, only slightly spoiled by the sinus-blasting the tea was providing. “I was taught that acknowledging and participating in a chapter’s individual customs is the best way to integrate and make connections.”

“I do not see remembrancers sharing the ale of Space Wolves.” He gave a harsh bark, the kind you might find if you stripped the sound of laughter down to the bone and removed half the bones. “In any case, it is a Taralan custom, if the ascendants speak truly. Therefore it belongs to neither of us.”

“And yet the custom is observed by the entire chapter, and has been for the best part of two millennia.”

“An irrationality from the dark days, solidified through habit, and the veneration of its practitioners.” He removed the small vessel from the burner and refilled their glasses. They were little things of cut glass, barely thicker than parchment. She couldn’t help but marvel at the elegance and delicacy of his augmetics as he raised the glass in hard digits of silver and plasteel. “Even astartes are prone to nostalgia and sentimentality in extremis.”

She nodded. “I have read the treatises on Lord Avenii. It seems justified to seek reassurance in the familiar when faced with strife of that kind. In my opinion, it humanized him”

That seemed to change something in him. It was like watching the weight removed from a taut cable, a reluctant, almost painful relaxation. He stood up, the fine mail hem of his tunic jingling softly as he turned his back on her.

“We are beyond human. We should not need comfort. We are warriors. Anything that does not serve that requirement is a waste at best, a weakness at worst.”

“A weakness?” She prompted. The phrase had come up many times over her tenure with the Fists. The shadow of Medusa laid heavy around them.

“Flesh is weak.” He replied. There was no feeling in the words. Not even the flat, unshakeable faith that was these marine’s closest analogue of confidence

“So I’ve heard. The human body is frail and imprecise and so on…but the human mind is a different matter, is it not?”

His brow furrowed, eyes flashing for a moment.  “Careful now, Miss Calimorre. You have my favour, but do not test it.” His footsteps boomed over to the wall, lifting a long, weathered bolt rifle off the wall. Her eyes gravitated to the floor, and the glass clasped in both hands. The air had suddenly become very tense. She took solace in another sip. There was a long pause, broken only by a loud clank of metal as he pulled back the arming bolt and began to disassemble the weapon.

025.M42 / 370.120 post TCM.M42

“You wish to know of Damat?” He said eventually. She nodded. “Very well…”

Segmentum Obsucurus

The Nachmund Gauntlet

“It is clear that, whatever masters they serve, this council has no right to let the people of this planet live.”

“Of course they have no right to live! I thought we’d established this weeks ago!”

“My lords, surely another orbital bombardment is the clear solution. Crack their shielding under weight of fire and the Emperor’s Divine Judgement.”

“The Imperial Navy lost its right to put forth suggestions after the mess you made of the landings at Harzkov. The blood of my regiments is still on your hands, Commodore!”

“Agreed. Not even a knight cannot clear a drop zone and clear the skies at once.”

“Those bastards shot down a titan lander on your watch, Commodore. A TITAN LANDER, for Throne’s sake! How does that even happen?!”

“What about the Astartes, then? Do the Emperor’s sons support not even their own these days?”

“Confirm. Probability of optimum resolution projected to increase with the presence of but a single gunship.”

“Tread carefully, adept. The probability of this meeting’s optimum resolution just decreased.”

Cosrau is grateful to be helmed, and stood five paces back from the strategium. Both factors do a very good job at hiding his dismay. The meeting has ticked over into its fourth hour, with nary a resolution in sight, and Captain Exitas is looking almost as frayed as the rest of the mortals around the table. Cosrau has never seen a tech-priest show fatigue, never believed it possible, but the way that Adept Rhomule has been twitching over the last few minutes is beginning to challenge that belief.

“And you are…? Well, I know you’re Second Company, but who’re you to speak for this Trajan?” The Colonel glowers across the table, over his seventh mug of recaf. He is as much of a mess as the Crown-Princess, but he has spent the last three hours synthesizing his fatigue into anger, and has already left two stab-wounds in the holo-table.

The Crown-Princess pulls herself to her feet. Her heavily-ornamented pilot suit is oil-stained and rumpled, and the strain of two straight days on her Throne Mechanicum has left her pallid and slow: “And what of Captain Trajan? I was led to believe his company are specialists in such matters?” She is looking over Exitas’ shoulders, towards the two other marines in the room, towards Cosrau.

“Captain Trajan’s efforts are currently engaged in maintaining the void-corridors in system.” Cosrau finds himself saying. He has taken three paces forwards without noticing. Exitas is looking at him intently.

“That was unnecessary.” Sergeant Ryza grunts on a private vox as Cosrau rejoins him, five paces behind their captain.

“Sergeant Yandin, Colonel. I speak for Lieutenant Tellurion. He was planetside with me during the first wave, and is currently coordinating remedial air defences. He speaks for Trajan.” The Colonel’s glower does not falter, so Yandin continues. “And while I may, I’d like to pass you his compliments. Your second battalion was with us when we took the Astropathic relay, and we agreed that their conduct was exemplary.”

That clears the air a little. The Colonel removes his hand from his sword hilt with a harrumph of grudging acknowledgement, and goes back to concealing his face under his wide-brimmed hat.

“Maybe.” Cosrau sighs.

“The mortals require discipline, not empty platitudes.”

“And the table requires less stab-wounds.” Cosrau is just a little too slow in catching his tongue.

Ryza’s helmet turns just a fraction as he snorts ruefully. “These are not your problems to solve, Cosrau.”

“We have all been trusted to secure this world, Havarris. We’d be remiss to not give our all to the effort.” Cosrau sighs. This place was supposed to be their rally point. Not just for this cocktail assortment of mortal forces, but for the entire chapter.  To present a world in this state for the first assembly of all ten companies in two millenia would be a shame of astronomical proportions.

“Hmf. Politics.” Ryza’s voice is practically dripping with distain for that word. “Emperor knows, it wasn’t this bad on Arx. PDF officers know their place, at least.”

Cosrau chuckles wryly. “And tell me, how many of those officers were still there on our return?”

“++My lords. Conversial tone indicates you are unaware of the insecurity of your vox-link.++”

The third voice jolts both sergeants up to attention. Adept Rhomule has not spoken out loud, has not shifted position, but Cosrau can feel her softly-glowing cyberlenses boring through his own. Ryza has already closed the link before Cosrau can apologise, leaving him to stew in the discomfort of the unmasked, a feeling that is only slightly alleviated by the message beamed into his helmet’s display by a distinctly binaric outside force.

++Conveyance – In spite of occurance: lax EM discipline (addendum – will be reported to Astartes Superior), This one is appreciative of the…Enrichment.++

Cosrau exhales. It’s going to be a long night.

[domjordanillustration]

choose your fighter

[cashcoffeecup]

[yandins-beleagured-historian]

OKAY SO,

because the Iron Fists are a (semi) homebrew chapter and therefore by definition a whole CHAPTER of OCs, let's limit the scale of this to five particularly prominent members of the chapter.

Cosrau Yandin

One-time sergeant of the sixth squad (tactical), Second Company, now captain of the Seventh, this boy is our PoV character. He's a lovable little control freak who's read everything in the Chapter's tactical, technical and historical archives because no-one told him not to. As an initiate, his mentor imbued him with a particularly noble view of how a company is supposed to work and what the relationships between ranks are supposed to look like. Cosrau is perpetually disappointed and frustrated by those that don’t honour that picture, least of all himself. He's currently trying to speedrun the Astartes-equivalent of burnout and shake off the feeling that everything that happens to his subordinates is his fault. Career highlight - charging a Chaos Terminator lord with nothing but a combat knife and a meltagun, and not dying. Favourite question: “What do you need from me in order to do your job?”

Samas Tenebra

Cosrau's direct superior during his time in the Second, Captain Samas Tenebra is everything you'd want in a mythologised superior. He's a dyed-in-the-wool assault marine with a flair for the dramatic, an overdeveloped sense of vengeance, and a nothing-but-cheese approach to strategy. He's lead the Second to a number of successes over his seventy-year tenure, which can largely be attributed to two factors. One: he's cultivated a highly competent pool of subordinate leaders, and two: he keeps throwing himself at the highest value objective in the battlespace - often from several miles up. By the time of Cosrau's own captaincy, Samas Tenebra would be raised to First Captain, fail to save both his predecessor and his successor, and would die trying to fight a Chaos Titan as Imperial forces pull back across the Stygius sector. Cosrau's favourite Tenebra-Legend: That time he killed nine terminators atop Eidolon's ruined command bunker on the day the Indomitus Crusade arrived at Taralus. Tenebra's least favourite Tenebra-Legend: That time a Thousand Sons Sorceror prophesied his death, amongst other things Oh, the gates swing wide for Him, do they not? Varl hungers for your sixth, o shadow. Pray to your corpse-god for his sake that it is only the empyrean that comes to swallow him up!

Harcast

Oho, now here's the spooky lad. Sixth Captain Harcast is, on paper, somewhat of a kindred soul to Yandin. While records are hazy, it is known for sure that before his current posting, he was a Sternguard veteran of the ninth squad, First Company, and one of the most experienced kill-team operatives in the Chapter before his promotion. It was a sensible pick - the Sixth have been infiltration and recon specialists since the days of Haya Merojan, and it's rumoured that Harcast had an in with Captain Llameharr, the previous incumbent But even for a black ops afficionado, Harcast is...weird. A scant few, Yandin included, claim him to be good-humoured, level-headed and an excellent teacher, there are many in both the First and Sixth who swear dead-to-rights that they have never seen him out of his armour, or even heard him speak. This is probably fine and normal and has absolutely nothing to do with whatever the fuck the "Legan Schola Incident" was, of which Harcast is the only listed survivor in records so buried and so redacted that ++REMOVED FOR SENSITIVITY++ Favourite/only sentimental attachment: A bespoke bolt rifle of hiiighly questionable origins that, according to legend, was boring holes through skulls a full century before anyone had so much as heard the word 'Primaris.' Leads to interview for more information: Lieutenant Trimer (missing), Ascendant Trazis (asleep), Epistoliary Tyvus (I am not going anywhere near that, and I emphasise, Senile Terminator Psyker, stop trying to get me killed Hester.)

Kastal Verchen

That's CHAPTER MASTER Kastal Verchen, thank you very much. Fifty-Second Lord Commander of the Iron Fists, High Castellan of Taralus, The Arcan Herald, the Silent Hero of Blakkspanna's Bay, etcetera etcetera. Having said all that, as far as Chapter Masters go in general, Verchen is a touch underwhelming. His most glorious accomplishment is a tie between not getting killed by Eidolon and not getting killed by an avatar of Ynnead. But not dying is perhaps Verchen's greatest skill, and one that he's somehow managed to promulgate amongst his subordinates. Granted, there's been rough spots in his relatively short tenure as Chapter Master, but he's brought a mauled chapter of less than three hundred up to more than a thousand in twenty short years. Beneath the tempered, diplomatic pragmatism is a fierce compassion that's somehow escaped the attention of other Iron Hands successors. This comes as no surprise to those with access to Verchen's full history - before his induction into the Arcan Temple, he was the best Savant-Apothecary the Iron Fists had seen in millenia, and he manages the chapter like a patient, rather than an engine of war. Favourite metalore tidbit: Kastal Verchen is one of only two named characters in the breathlessly-few scraps of canon lore on the Iron Fists - he's referenced in passing in the Battlefleet Gothic Armada rulebook "To Cleanse the Stars" as backsassing the Imperial Navy about pirates interfering with the Dudzus landings.

Mokuba Tyros

Mokuba Goddamned Tyros. Also known as "the scariest bastard ever to wear the golden gauntlet", the fifty-first Lord Commander of the Iron Fists has been terrorizing the galaxy for the last seven hundred years. He was at the Feast of a Hundred Duels when the World Eaters attacked, and came back a century later to win the Feast of Blades for the Iron Fists. Tyros led the Fifth Company over the ocean world of Poseidius VIII and personally turned Waaagh! Izdakka away from the borders of Segmentum Solar. He conducted a thousand diplomatic missions to raise support for the reclamation of Taralus, and orchestrated the subsequent campaign down to the slightest detail. When the Noctis Aeternia rolled in, Tyros drew fire away from the chapter's more vulnerable ships and gave more than a million men and women the chance to reach the homeworld's service. And when three thousand unnumbered sons dropped into Taralus' atmosphere to liberate it for good, Mokuba Tyros was the iron point of the spear. Mokuba Tyros is less of a tangible character, more of a living standard for the chapter to aspire to. He is to the common marine what the Iron Hands are to the chapter at large, and so distanced from the line troops that he might as well be a legend, glimpsed only fleetingly at the grandest of events. Even a captain might only experience two or three one-on-one encounters with him during their career, and none have ever gotten a successful read on him. All they've been able to report on the man behind the blades is that "He has given much of himself to the Chapter" - whatever the heck that means.

There was only ever one man who truly knew Mokuba Tyros - a bodyguard of the Arcan Temple, spoken in whispers of as the best Savant-Apothecary the Iron Fists had seen in millenia.

Reblog and tell me about your Warhammer OCs!!!

(seriously, I see so many cool fanart and fanfiction, I want to learn about everyone!!)

[fangsxii]

My Experience As A Moon Knight Main

Part - Protecting Strategists

[n30nxyl00]

The grind is taking over me

[wakethedevils]

[jaemongus]

i heard that the marvel are rivals

[d3rpydoods]

This took YEARS off my life with all the details but i WANTED THEM THERE so i suffered - pls enjoy the fruits of my labor 😩

Thanks to naiokenx10 on twt for their Blender content of these - i'm so mentally insane about it

[yandins-beleagured-historian]

Entry #001.v2.final

I have had the pleasure of meeting Yandin once before, in the aftermath of the Indomitus Crusade's arrival over Taralus. The navigator records on the Macragge's Honour had listed that dusty old ball of drab rock and snow as an Armoury World, so there was a fair amount of bemusement all round when we got word of a sizeable contingent of Astartes dug in on the planet's surface. Initial communications indicated they'd been holed up for some time in an old ruin near one of the old space elevators. They identified themselves as Iron Fists, and were claiming the planet as their ancestral chapter world. By all account, Crusade Command spent no small effort to screen them for foul play, corruption or infiltration. While the Iron Fists' claim to Taralus was eventually upheld, there was a general interest from higher up in gathering more information about the chapter and verifying some of the accounts that were coming out of Taralus. Remembrancer Anjelika Biscari led the effort, and took a small team down to the planet's surface to conduct interviews, appraise structures and write reports. I was still fairly new to the role then, and my visit to the Godspire anchorage terminal was the first time I worked alone in the field. Biscari had gone down a few hours before me and had emphasised an unusual need for brevity. "Broad strokes only", I believe her words were, and I didn't understand what she meant until I stepped out of the lander and saw the planet surface for the first time. The sights of war stretched all the way out to the horizon, and the ragged landscape of the Godspire mountains were littered with the husks of drop pods, tanks and bunkers. You couldn't walk twenty meters without passing a pile of burning dead, and it was here I first encountered sergeant Cosrau Yandin, sixth squad, second company Iron Fists. The moment stuck in my head rather prominently, as I recall he was helping a couple of disposal operatives clear a maintenace passage. The two men had been struggling with the body of a metahuman, still in its power armour, and as the sergeant reached in and dragged it out, I decided on a  bit of a whim to snag a pict-capture. It was only once I looked up that I realised I'd just got my first ever look at a Chaos Space Marine. Regrettably, I was only able to spend a few hours with the sergeant on Taralus. Broad strokes, Biscari had asked for, so that was all I could really capture. The Crusade did not linger long at Taralus, and before long the Iron Fists were well behind us. It's only been in recent months, as the Grand Conclave of Baal winds down, that I've had the opportunity and freedom to track the Iron Fists down and produce more of a complete history of the Chapter. It also gave me an opportunity to present Yandin, now Captain of the seventh company, with the pict-capt I took on our first meeting. (or rather, a remaster: most of my original pict-logs were scrambled quite badly during a brush with the bleak coil two years ago, so I had a colleague of mine, Artov Ilqar, recreate the pict with oil on canvas. See attached.) I've since had the opportunity to interview Captain Yandin on a number of aspects of his chapter's history, and hope to catalogue some of the more notable testimonies, treatises and accounts here. Throne willing, Hester Vinchix Calimorre, Historiographer-Moderatus, Logos Historica Verita.

[yandins-beleagured-historian]

The original take also drastically overestimates the availability of dreadnought chassis, for whom there's probably a waiting list longer than most mortal lifespans. But moving that aside though, there is a really interesting space to explore here with Space Marines and disability. For chapters whose doctrine or circumstances pressure them into putting as many bodies on the line as possible, bionics are a quick fix that gets them back in the fight as soon as possible. But for those that have the time and resources to take a battle brother off the front lines for a month or so, they can access vat-grown replacement organs or limbs, which could fully replace the functionality of lost or damaged flesh and leave only a gnarly scar at the point of implantation. So while you might not see battlefield mobility aids, it'd be totally reasonable to see an Astartes out of armour using something like this while his new legs grow in.

The interesting question to ask is how are these different treatments are viewed by their chapter. There are those dogmatic chapters that hold great sway in the purity of flesh or the strength of the machine, but are those with bionics viewed with admiration for wanting to return to duty so fast, or with scorn or pity for not having the time/resources to grow a replacement? Are those with vat-grown replacements admired for having the space to restore their flesh, or mocked for being obsessed with their looks? And then there's how the individual recipient reacts. Do vat-grown replacements feel alien to their recipients? Do they grieve their lost flesh, or does the new flesh feel stronger and healthier? Do they view bionics as an improvement or a hinderance? Do some prefer bionics as a show of how much they've sacrificed, and do some feel bad that their vat-grown replacements make them look less experienced to those who can't discern the scars? To draw on example close to home, this is Sergeant Westek, Tenth Squad, Second Company Iron Fists.

In 972.M41, during the campaign colloquially known as the Green Hunt, Westek lost his right arm and both legs when his position was thoroughly overrun by a Dark Eldar wych cult. With such injuries, any other chapter would have interred him in a dreadnought, but the Second Company's ability to secure good quality chasses has been so historically poor that they have a backlog of injured veterans waiting in stasis to be interred. It was Captain Tenebra's call to have Westek extensively rebuilt with bionics, rather than take an experienced warrior off the board (possibly for centuries) and disrupt the cohesion of a highly effective devastator squad - one of precious few fire support elements available to the Second. y When Westek awoke in the Tsiolkovan's apothecarion, he was sixty percent steel and a hundred percent surprised. Outwardly, he appears to have coped well with the augments - he adheres to the chapter's dominant philosophy of steel over flesh, and will happily espouse the enhancements to stability, fire control and resilience his new limbs provide him. Privately though, Westek hates the level of maintenance they require, and how much he has to rely on serfs and Savants to help with a workload he never even expected to have. He longs for internment more and more frequently, and he can't decide whether to despise those who respond with overt pity more than those who venerate him as the image of peak perfection in the eyes of the Omnissiah. The Flesh may be Weak, but Iron does not heal itself.

So, a friend was venting about this in the Discord Server, and the result was an interesting discussion about disability in 40k. And I don't know how much it might have been originally purposeful, but I do know that later authors have definitely explored how characters interact with the world and with disability.

To ignore disability in 40k is to miss a huge aspect of the setting and it's characters.

In the grimdarkness of the future, you'll probably lose a body part.

There is a post somewhere on Tumblr that talks about how, if you need glasses/contacts/surgery to see properly, you have a disability. And there were a lot of people who were upset by this, saying that it was so common, how could it be a disability? But they're right - glasses or contacts are disability aids. A simple one to use, sure, but it's still an aid.

I bring this up because in our current day and age, needing glasses/contacts is not considered unusual. You don't see someone with glasses at the grocery store and be like "omg what is even going on."

And I feel like this attitude is to any sort of prosthetic/augment in 40k. There's definitely a discussion to be had about the quality of the prosthetic/augment, and how that can show class differences (which is very much a common theme in 40k), but their existence and seeing people with them is not unusual.

There are also many parts of the narrative that does deal with the issues that arise from this. Maintenance, malfunctioning, replacement, sometimes phantom pain. There are a few people whose bodies reject the prosthetic/augment, and so their disability becomes more severe.

It is also brought up that, in more idyllic sci-fi, this is less visible. There can be many reasons for that. I think it was part budgeting reasons that in The Empire Strikes Back Luke's hand looks so surprisingly like skin. I'm sure part of that inspiration came from the desire to not want to have to deal with an extra costume issue for the future.

I wonder how often in live-action sci-fi that this was done. Or throwing a glove on a hand like Luke does in Return of the Jedi to hide that his fake skin on his hand was damaged.

But Warhammer started out with written descriptions and drawn illustrations, which gave a huge amount of freedom to imagining how the world would look. They were only limited by a writer's ability to describe a scene, or an artist's ability to draw it. There wasn't the restrictions of what practical effects could do for live action, or budgeting, or Actual Physics. Prosthetics/augments could be wild and crazy and common.

Time has gone on. We now have animated episodes and so many video games, and characters having prosthetics/augments are a part of the setting. At this point, it would honestly feel weird to look at a group of people (and this includes space marines out of armor) and not see at least a few people who have something.

It's as common to us as wearing glasses, and it sure as hell ain't virtue signalling.

[tecochet]

..man

[wellfine]

Some highlights from my One Piece birthday art stream! Thank you so much to everyone who attended, I had an amazing time ♥

[kivizzaofficial]

Maybe I will have to install mods

[shibaleeart]

How my tanks should be protecting me

version w/o shield: