#loyalist marines

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Where Secrets Hide

Author's note: Zaarius in Husbandry... @sleepyfan-blog and I were talking about... things. :)

Past =-= Next

Warnings: Addiction, drug withdrawal, drug use, making drugs, selling drugs, uh, so, Zaarius can use his Slannesh poison to make drugs. Has before, will do so even on Ancient Terra. Drug Claw Guy comes back into play. Let me know if I need to add any more warnings.

Summary: Zaarius is delighted to find out that some of his Clients are on Ancient Terra as well. And oh wonderful they are craving his goods and have been in withdrawal for a while. Some of them can be Quite Rude, but know to behave when he's the only reliable source that won't make it worse or more interesting and stays in one city.

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

Tagged continued: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k, @ms--lobotomy @bispecsual @thevoidscreams

Tagged continued: @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

Zaarius had intergrated as best he could with this Chaos War Band, it was one of the larger ones. They mainly stayed in one city within this part of the continent of Ancient Terra.

There were several Loyalist, Renegade, and Chaos Bases in this large settlement. At first he'd been terribly sulky about the fact that the rules limited him on his expression of worship for his Deity Slannesh.

However, over the months, he'd met, to his delight some of his customers, souls he'd thought died or gone to another source of Delights. Having some of his more Loyal customers find him again, had been… temperamental.

After all, some of them were quite… complicated in their emotional reactions to their needs and desires. The Cravings that could only be satiated with his concoctions that he makes with his poisons that he'd been blessed with by Slannesh themself.

He'd not been the one to give them the low level poisons, turned drugs that they craved. But, he is one of the Known ones, in certain, circles, to be able and willing to make such Delights.

For a price, of course, nothing comes free after all, and besides, his discretion and the fact that he doesn't put in additives, unless specifically requested to, makes him a… Safer alternative then some of his more capricious and mercurial brothers.

He was humming to himself, he'd been making the next large order for one of his more temperamental, and particular clients. The high-handed and arrogant fucker did pay him very well for his services, the poison he craves, and his silence on this matter.

His discretion and his time that he's owed. He packages the Delights he's made for this particular client in a particular way. He writes the Loyal Captain's name on the carefully packaged and wrapped in brown paper Delights.

He'd found out that the particular titration level that this one preferred went excellently in chocolate. He'd made a set of chocolates in various fruit flavors as a Treat, as well as adding in the Delights.

The rest of the Delights are in the normal, boring method, a variation of rations. Getting put on ration making had been dreadfully annoying in how dull it was to make.

But, needs must, with maintaining his clientele's delicate sensibilities and getting the poison to them in a form that wasn't a glowing liquid that all but screamed the truth for all to see. Honestly, Loyalists could be such hypocrites at time!

All that damnation and disgust and hatred for Chaos, and yet, they can come to crave and need it all the same. It was … such a delicious contradiction.

He couldn't stop the wicked smile that curled round his mouth as his Chaos sharpened teeth would cause base line humans to pause as he allowed himself to chortle.

He's in civilian clothes, as a way to be more incognito, granted he's still a Chaos Marine, and still Very Noticeable, but it allowed his clients to pretend it what was happening was more… innocent in nature than what it truly was.

Hura was out of the Chaos Base, tending to some of the Loyalists for some reasons or another that he'd not been told. He shrugs a little as he heads to the location that one of his Loyal clients had requested, he wait at for the drop off.

He hums to himself a song, an earworm that he'd heard on the Radio that his darling bonded had on while they worked on cleaning their domicile.

He was, eventually, going to move in with his human. But they were still at the beginning stages of their relationship, and they tended to be a bit shy around him sometimes.

As much as the distance between himself and his Bonded ached at times, he approved, even if it made him sulk, of their caution. And it made him preen, yes, he is a very dangerous sentient creature, isn't he?

He is also magnificent and ever seeking Perfection in all of it's forms that he wants to attain. He straightens up as he hears the swift marching of Ceramite booted feet and he turns to glance and gives a friendly smile to one of his Loyal clients.

"Greetings," Zaarius purrs to the Holy Captain. "It's been a while hasn't it dear?"

"Slanneshi whore," The Loyal Captain says scowling fiercely at Zaarius. "How dare you foul this place with your very presence."

"That was rude," Zaarius says, his smile fading as he scowls at the blue eyed bastard, "And here I thought you were craving some hand made Delights."

He sees the way the Loyal Captain twitches as he mentions the word Delights. Sees the way the fire, brimstone, rage, and a whole lot of bluster fades from the others eyes. Zaarius gives him a pleasant smile and sees the way the other's hands shake minutely.

"Darling, how long has it been since you were able to have Delights?" Zaarius coos to the other Space Marine.

"I have been on Ancient Terra for a few years," He says gruffly, clenching his hands into fists a couple of times as he scowls at Zaarius and then their surroundings, "None of the other Slanneshi whores who were Noble Space Marines, have quite the right… recipe."

"You flatter me darling~" Zaarius cooes, almost flattered by the others words. "Now, do you have what I requested for payment?"

"Yes," The Loyalist says with a grumble as he pulls out a satchel and eyes him and the paper bag with the desperate gleam of someone who's unraveling at the seams. The pain of the start of Falling to Slannesh can tear at the soul and be agonizing, and not in a way that could bring Pleasure and Excess in a way that could be enjoyed.

"Why don't you snack on these Delightful Chocolates?" Zaarius says, carefully pulling out the extra Treat that he made. "Don't worry, I have your whole order properly made into rations for you. But since this is the first time, in what seems like a long time, since you've tasted Delight, I thought something excessively delicious would help."

The Loyalist stares at him sharply, assessingly as he looks between the box of chocolates and the surrounding area, and at the descreetely packaged brown paper bag full of Delights. He huffs a sigh and shoves a hand out for the box of homemade Delightful chocolates.

"Now, now," Zaarius tutted, "what do we say before taking something?"

"Give it Whore," the Loyalist Captain snarls at him.

"Hm.. Cute, but no," Zaarius says shakingh his head, "Some manners are in order, darling one."

He sees the way the other grinds his teeth and the way his ears go a charming bright red as his stone face gives away nothing, although his blue eyes darken with rage as the Captain huffs out, "please give me what I ordered.'

Zaarius hands over the box of Delightful chocolates with another grin, "See, was that so hard?"

He gets a steely eyed glare as the other opens up the box of chocolate and swiftly eats one of the chocolates. Zaarius sees the way the other's body posture relaxes, the subtle shaking and trembling subsiding and he seems to stabilize with a relieved sigh.

"Feeling better, darling?" Zaarius asks with a coo in his voice.

The other Space Marine glares at him again, and he only chuckles at the other. He continues to look over the satchel of requested payment, seeing everything is in order. He carefully hands over the rest of the Order of Delights that the Loyal Captain had ordered. Zaarius had been told by some of the other brothers and cousins who have been on Terra for a lot longer that Falling to Chaos can still happen on Ancient Terra, but it was much harder, and the process as a result was much slower.

Zaarius wondered just how much more perfect and interesting this particular Captain was going to become as his slow desent into Slaanesh's embrace happened. He alos wonders if anyone has noticed that this bastard is falling, while it has been slowed, it is still happening. Some had hypothesized that there might be a way to stop The Fall, at least on Ancient Terra.

Not that he's seen or heard of such a thing happening. but one of the many oddities and curiousities that is being upon Ancient Holy Terra. He calls out to the Captain, "make sure to send be a Vox message when you need your next dose. I usually reside within this city for large cycles of time."

"That is good to know," The Captain says his back turned to him, "As you know, I am part of a wandering band of Loyalists."

"You know," Zaarius says slyly, voice like silk and sin, "If you have some brothers in that band who are Curious, allow them a taste of the Delightful chocolate. I'd be willing to give you, and anyone you recommend for my… Services a discount."

"I am not desperate," The Captain snarls, "And I won't allow your disgusting Chaos Taint to twist those of weaker wills."

"Very well then," Zaarius says with a shrug, "It is still an offer on the table, you only need to be bold enough to sieze is darling."

The Captain gives him one, last snarl and parting words that are rude, vicious and cruel. Likely to make the loyalist feel better about going to a Slanneshi cock whore puppet for something that he definingly is addicted to but is pretending that he isn't for his own peace of mind. Or something. Over the next several days he greets some more of his clients, and they are more or less the same amount of polite to him as that Dear Captain was. None are so highly ranked as Him. But they are still wonderful souls that are starting to walk the path to Excessive Delights that is the Fall to the youngest of the Four.

[lumi-klovstad-games]

The Redemptor Roses ("Fulgrim's Faithful")

In the Grim Darkness of the Far Future, there is only war.

The return of the Emperor’s Avenging Son, Robuote Guilliman, has kindled the Era Indomitus, in which the Empire’s ailing defenses have been shored up, and glorious offensives finally undertaken against the forces of Chaos, which have long had mankind on the defensive. It is an era of hope and glory of a kind unseen since the Horus Heresy.

Yet in the dark immediately preceding Guilliman’s return, and the unveiling of the Primaris Marines, a desperate Imperium was forced to consider other, less savory prospects for restoring the Empire’s strength and filling in the holes in the Adeptus Astartes’ defenses. One of these prospects, was itself, ironically rooted in the opposing side of the Horus Heresy that had left the Empire so broken.

Guilliman had not yet returned. The Imperium did not yet know of the plans to restore the Avenging Son to life. The Space Marines were battered, Cadia had fallen, and the imperium was left reeling from the after effects of Abbaddon’s 13th Black Crusade. Gene-seed stores were, as far as anyone knew, the lowest they’d been in millennia. It was a time of darkness and desperation. In this dark time, the High Lords of Terra conspired to create a light, and it would come from a most unexpected source: the gene seed of their mortal enemy. The only gene-seed stores the Imperium retained in great quantity at this time were those of the Traitor Legions, left unused for fear of the risk that crafting new Space Marines from sources that had ultimately turned traitor might present. But, desperate times, as they say, call for desperate measures, and the need to defend the Imperium was paramount.

After much deliberation, the order was reluctantly given.

A test run.

A single Astartes Chapter, forged from the gene seed of one of the traitor Primarchs, powerful enough to be of use, but not so powerful that they couldn’t be eliminated if they Fell.

The Primarch was chosen with great care. Some, like Angron, had to be discounted out of hand – even before the collapse of the World Eaters and their Primarch into joining the Heresy, they had been possessed by an intrinsic violence. Pre-Heresy behavior had to be noted as much as their Corrupted behavior. For several years, The High Lords, Inquisition, and Adeptus Administratum scoured Imperial records that had not been used in over 10,000 years, studying their options carefully.

In the end, they came to three options: Horus Himself, Magnus the Red, or Fulgrim - the Phoenician of the Emperor’s Children. Horus was rejected - as the Warmaster of the Heresy itself, it simply raised too many concerns. Magnus was a strong contender, as his support for the Heresy only followed Leman Russ and the Space Wolves’ attempted destruction of him and his legion for an action that HAD been well intentioned for the defense of the realm. Still, his psychic potential and that of the Thousand Sons gave the High Lords pause, as it came with a strong potential for Warp Corruptions. 

Ultimately, Fulgrim was chosen. The Emperor’s Children had once been the glory of the Imperium, the only legion permitted by the Emperor to bear his own standard and his name. They had embodied all that it meant to be a Space Marine. Furthermore, Fulgrim’s corruption, and that of his legion, began on Laer, with the claiming of a Demonically Possessed blade. It was the judgment of the Inquisition many centuries earlier that, absent the corrupting effects of the Greater Daemon of Slaanesh inside the Blade of the Laer, Fulgrim’s fall could have been averted. It was therefore the hope of the High Lords that, absent such outside influences, Fulgrim’s potential descendants might live up to the best of the Emperor’s Children’s legacy while avoiding their ultimate corruption.

The crafting of the chapter was carried out in utmost secrecy, with no less than the vaunted Grey Knights themselves overseeing the security of the initial stages, while observers from the Sisters of Battle and the Ordo Malleus of the Inquisition oversaw the later stages.

The story fed to the Imperium at large was that the new Chapter was of Ultramarines descent. With the amount of existing Ultramarines Successors, it was anticipated that nobody would question or resist one more. This story was also fed to the new chapter, which was initially founded under the name “The Falcons of Calth”.

The Falcons of Calth were soon assigned to the Orders Militant of the Inquisition’s Ordo Hereticus, and often found themselves working alongside the various sisterhoods of the Sisters of Battle. The Falcons of Calth proved their value in every engagement, rising with honor and courage to become highly regarded Marines. Like the Ultramarines they believed to be their parentage, the Falcons of Calth embraced a Combined Arms and Logistics-focused method of warfare, but did so with a certain “knightly flair” that organically developed over the course of their frequent collaborations with the Sisters of Battle. They came to respect and admire the fighting women who were their closest and most frequent allies, and as the Chapter approached their 89th year of service, swore an oath to always defend and support “their cherished ladies”, and it was around this time that the emblem of the Rose first began to become prominent throughout the chapter. From this point on, the Falcons of Calth pursued a more idealized and chivalrous aesthetic and mode of behavior, finding inspiration in surviving tales of the Knightly Orders of Old, comparing them to the various Space Marine chapters in the modern day. Incorporating ancient notions of noble conduct, brotherhood, chivalry, and courtly love into their traditions, the Falcons began to diverge from their supposed Ultramarine sires, which raised some alarm among the Inquisition, who pledged to watch them more closely for signs of heretical leanings.

Ultimately, these leanings failed to manifest, and in the very month prior to the return of Roboute Guilliman, the Falcons of Calth were declared a successful trial run of the High Lords plan to produce emergency backup chapters from unused pre-heresy gene seed stocks. Guilliman’s return torpedoed the project, however. Greatly angered by the audacity of the program, he had it shut down immediately, and it was under these circumstances that the Falcons of Calth learned of their true origin when they sought approval from their “Grandfather” – Guilliman denied them, and in a rare moment of genuine fury, revealed enough that the Inquisition decided that keeping the truth from the chapter was going to become impossible in short order. Under these conditions, the decision was made to reveal the truth.

The Falcons of Calth had heard all about the Horus Heresy, of course. But to discover they were descended from the gene-seed of one of the most infamous traitors in Imperial history… that obviously landed more heavily upon the Falcons. The reveal brought a great clarity to the brothers of the Chapter, as they realized that the Sisters of Battle and the soldiers of the Ordo Hereticus, their most trusted and beloved allies, had been under orders to constantly observe them and report back, and to purge the chapter if necessary.

The Truth was a tipping point, the most vulnerable moment in the chapter’s history. Confronted with near betrayal, but most certainly breached trust and wounded pride, it would be recorded that at no other point was the chapter more at risk of turning traitor. Yet armed with full knowledge of the failures of those who came before them, and the understanding of why they had been made, the Falcons held fast to their loyalty, meeting the truth with flexibility and understanding.

Casting aside the Falcon as their sigil, they embraced the Rose, a symbol they had chosen for themselves, and one more heavily linked to the chivalrous past they sought to emulate. Little over a century after their Founding, the Falcons of Calth were no more, and the Redemptor Roses stood in their place. Sometimes referred to as “Fulgrim’s Faithful” within the Inquisition, the Roses have leaned into their Knightly visage since learning the truth of their origins. Standing by their oath to support the Sisters of Battle, they serve as true companions for the fighting women of the Ecclesiarchy, supporting them in battle, and even engaging in the tradition of courtly love off the battlefield. These self-proclaimed knights have taken it upon themself to be a model of what they believe a Space Marine should be: a consummate soldier, but more than that, a warm and protective image of nobility for the common souls of the Imperium to look up to, aspire to become, and take shelter beneath. Like the Salamanders, they prize defending the common people of the Empire. Like the Ultramarines, they seek professionalism and excellence in their conduct. And like the Blood Angels, they constantly desire to add beauty to the galaxy through art, poetry, music, and philosophy, as well as defend that beauty which already exists.

They withdrew from Calth, returning the world to the control of the Ultramarines and their successors, and established a new home world, one fit for their redemption, Quatora Prime. Located not far from the Realm of Ultramar, Quatora Prime is a world of great extremes: a single arid supercontinent surrounded by a vast, freshwater ocean. Determining this as a place from which they could establish a bastion of those knightly and aesthetic values they prized, they set about transforming a large stretch of the Northeast Coast of the Continent into a slice of a well manicured garden world, with a presently small but thriving population eager to continue the terraforming project. While life outside civilized spaces is greatly dangerous, inside those spaces is a great and rising fiefdom where citizens live in relative comfort and safety compared to the incredible risks that those outside the Garden Zone take on an everyday basis.

The Lord of Quatora Prime, Chapter Master Gautier Boudreaux, is in many ways the apex of his chapter. He is inordinately beautiful to behold, very much resembling Fulgrim in his youth. He is ambitious and eager to prove himself and his Chapter, but also compassionate and wise, and his skill in battle is second to none in his chapter. However, he is also humble, admitting his youth leaves him significant room to improve. Despite Roboute Guilliman’s disapproval, Gautier has maintained close ties with the Ultramarines, and several successor chapters, and often seeks advice and wisdom where he can from older, more experienced warriors, all the better to lead his men down a True Path which might avoid the pitfalls suffered by his fallen brothers in the Emperor’s Children. To that end, he has sought much advice and wisdom from the Blood Angels and their successors, feeling kinship in their struggle with innate flaws in their own essential selves, and their never ending need to manage and control it. 

This has given the Redemptor Roses a number of rituals, or “Sacraments”, inspired by Blood Angel rituals meant to combat The Flaw, but in the Redemptor Roses, these Sacraments have been modified, both to make the rituals their own, and because the Roses have come to believe that there was nothing wrong with their gene-seed per se, but rather that the fatal flaw had been with the mindset of the Emperor’s Children. These Sacraments serve to reinforce each Rose’s bond with his oaths, bolstering his faith, and through faith, his loyalty. The Sacraments are administered by Chapter Master Boudreaux and Master of Sanctity Maximilian Clarisseau, with support once again coming from the Adepta Sororitas. Seeing the practical spiritual value in embracing the Imperial Church, the Redemptor Roses have become closely affiliated with the Ecclesiarchy, holding fast to the teachings of the Imperial Creed to enforce spiritual discipline and encourage adherence to their oaths. Furthermore, they hold to the Codex Astartes quite seriously, looking to its rules for wisdom, guidance, and discipline. The Redemptor Roses will reach out and claim with both hands any means to uphold discipline and resist the lure of Chaos.

After several campaigns that included the Battle of the Black Scar, the Siege of Stuxuhr, the Assault of Criod, and the Ambush of Cronecht, Gautier and most of the Chapter chose to undergo the Rubicon Primaris, hoping that such a process would help them better endure any weakness inherited from their “father”. The successful ascendancy of so many of their ranks to Primaris Marines has not significantly changed their battle tactics or methodologies – they remain steadfastly Codex compliant and determined to hold fast to their oaths to the Emperor and “their cherished ladies”, though some slight aesthetic influence from the Third Legion may have slipped in; the Redemptor Roses paint their armor white and purple, with gold trim, and their Chapter standard is a gold-winged rose on a field of dark blue.

The Redemptor Roses finally won Guilliman’s respect and trust during the Indomitus Crusade, at the Second Fall of Cannaey, wherein they confronted their twisted “brothers” from the Emperor’s Children on the field of battle at long last. Whatever hope the Roses might have secretly held that the tales of the Third Legion’s debaucheries and hideous hedonism were exaggerations, or that there existed a chance that their brothers might be redeemed did not survive first contact. Confronted with the warped visages and mutated forms of those who shared in their bloodline, the Roses reacted with pure disgust, and charged forth with a fury that shocked even the most veteran soldiers of the Emperor’s Children. At Cannaey, some 200 Redemptor Roses stood against three times their number from the Emperor’s Children, but charged with righteous fury and aglow with the Emperor’s fire in their eyes, they tore through the traitor ranks, slaughtering their traitor kin to a man like they were putting down rabid animals, and while they could not save Cannaey, they managed to rescue the civilians the Emperor’s Children had kidnapped to use as slaves and outlets for their unspeakable desires, escorting them to safety with the Sisters Hospitallers, though whether these civilians could ever fully recover from their ordeal was a question the Roses were not fit to answer – being themselves unsure they could ever fully come to terms with what their treasonous brothers had become.

Cannaey did more than earn the Redemptor Roses the trust and respect of the Imperial Regent. It also served as their full initiation into the galaxy, their first true glimpse at the horrors that awaited mankind in a hostile universe, and the depths to which such madness could drive even the mighty post-human warriors of the Adeptus Astartes. Their resolve tested, tempered, and ultimately hardened like the strongest steel, the Roses declared they would be the loyal sons the Third Legion had failed to be. Where the Emperor’s Children fell into corruption, the Redemptor Roses would rise in fraternity, loyalty, and glory. They would keep the Imperium safe from the perverse seductions of Slaanesh, stamping out its influence wherever, whenever, they encountered it.

Furthermore, while not actually Ultramarines, the Roses came to the defense of Ultramar during the Plague Wars, honoring ties that, while they may have begun as a lie by the High Lords of Terra, have grown genuine indeed, with the Redemptor Roses counting the line of Guilliman as dearer brothers than they would ever consider their actual kin.

From their new home world of Quatora Prime, the Redemptor Roses are knights overseeing a glittering kingdom, a world of beauty and art. They have risen from the din and grunge of traitorous gene-seeds to become cultured aesthetes and philosophers who invoke ancient traditions of nobility, chivalry, and virtue, and they hold fast to Imperial truths, and with the full knowledge of their treacherous origins, hold faster still to the friends and allies they have made – be it the Chambers Militant of the Inquisition, the Sisters of Battle, the Ultramarines and their descendants, or the Blood Angels and their myriad successors. The Roses see a universe of horrors, and are dedicated to not just rooting out corruption and deformity, but also preserving that which is still beautiful and good within it, while struggling to add further beauty and goodness back in. While the arrival of the Primaris Marines and Unnumbered Sons solved the very problem they were created to address, leaving them as a unique chapter that stands alone in their origin, they have shown the galaxy that the Sins of the Father remain with the Father; they do NOT pass to his sons. Whatever those who came before them might have become, the Redemptor Roses are determined to avoid the Fall, and have become the very image of the best of the Space Marines.

Call them the Falcons of Calth, Fulgrim’s Faithful, or Redemptor Roses… just don’t call them traitors, for none stand more loyal to the Emperor and his realm than the Redemptor Roses. They see a great future ahead for the Empire, and marshal towards it with their battle cry:

“Porro! Aurea enim via praecedit!”

“Onwards! For the Golden Way is ahead!”

[wh40kartwork]

by Darya Rudakova

[jacobpking]

THE PRIMARCHS - Sons of the Emperor (NEW!) I've made a bunch of tweaks and improvements to my Primarch chart, including a bigger key, better lighting and shading and better contrast. With this project, I wanted a diverse set of Primarchs to reflect more of the human race. - Dorn as an Inuit - Lorgar as Levantine (Christ) - Alpharius as Persian (Order of Assassins) - Corax as Native American (Cree) - Horus & Magnus as Egyptian With better lighting I can show that vision more clearly

[msflora-lynn]

Mechanicum Borealis Gazing

Original: lilalienz4ever (twitter)

Horus Heresy: The Thousand Sons (Book 2)

:( I really like this scene, guys. I really like it...

[cardinalcanis]

Compliance

*Comes out of a dark alley* "Hey kid, want some Titus smut to scramble that brain chemistry real good? I got your fix."

This is @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond 's fault.

Summary: Titus was struggling with some unexpected side effects from the Rubicon Surgery, luckily he finds relief in unexpected hands.

Pairing: Demetrian Titus x NB!OC

Tw: smut, Adeptus Mechanicus, prostate massage, edging, genitals are a social construct, technically tentacles, Astartes have more holes than you think (trust me), MATH.

Word count: 7316

Tag squad (let me know if you wish to be tagged on stuff): @druidwolf21 @wolf-feathers12 @artemisareia @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus

@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @kit-williams @egrets-not-regrets @jaghatai-khock @horuslupercal

@moodymisty @lemon-russ @thisuserislilsilly

@sinistermojo @beckyninja @justallll @ms--lobotomy @pluvio-tea

Mechanicus speech cheat sheet:

When the hyperfocus gets in my mind goes so hard into ideas it gets them pregnant. So as this has a lot of Math Symbols as I went hamm on writing the Tech Priest’s way of speaking. I’m not a mathematician, I played loosely with stuff and their meanings, do not scream at me. Here is a quick list: 

>    -> More than. 

=    -> equals. 

!    -> negation of, no 

+++    -> increase. 

<=    -> less or equal to

&    -> and 

- - -    -> decrease 

T(statement)    -> that statement or thing is always true. 

=>    -> therefore, implies, if… then

!=    -> not equals to

∈    -> belongs to

⇔    -> if and only if, only.  

\/    -> or

P(statement)    -> probability of statement

Statement1 | statement2    -> statement1 happened because statement2 happened. 

E(statement)    -> the statement is an expected result. 

∅    -> null

F(statement)    -> that statement or thing is always false. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lieutenant Demetrian Titus of the Ultramarines, Liberator of Graia, slayer of Grimskull, veteran of the Deathwatch, bane of xenos, executioner of Thousand Sons… reduced to this pathetic drooling mess.

It had started around a month ago, the last bloody bug had been ripped to shreds but still he felt this hunger to keep going. He checked the state of his armor’s system, to his surprise the reserves of adrenaline shots hadn’t been used during the battle. Why did he still feel so restless? When did his bodyglove become so overstimulating? Had the material always been that noticeable on the skin when it was supposed to be seamless? Every single one of his nerve endings was screaming for touch, begging to be rubbed against something, ANYTHING. The worst was his aching groin, he had been close to believing that his codpiece was about to slingshot off him and get someone killed any second now. 

“Testosterone > expected Astartes levels. Positive note. Risk factor = low. !(Possibility) of death.” had stated Magos Biologis Mu-Oragon, brown eyes scanning the dataslate. 

“Low risk factor? I can’t barely focus on anything else Magos. What’s causing this?” 

The mechanicus lifted their gaze from the datapad, pale skin bathed in its faint greenish glow. Titus couldn’t decipher if the person had been male or female before embracing the Omnissiah, but there was a graceful beauty on the mech priest that had been lacking on others of their kind… shit this is bad he’s now sexualizing one of those tin cans.

“This unit understands, patient’s +++frustration = expected. Rubicon <= a year.” 

“Yes.” He had started to rock slightly on his seat, trying to focus on anything else rather than the heat coming from his core. At least his armor helped with masking the worst parts of his current condition, unlike the joke that tried to call itself a robe which he had to wear for examination. 

“[(Rubicon <= a year)&(Testosterone > expected Astartes level)] = normal occurrence.” One of Mu’s mechadendrites reached for the shelf, pulling a heavy binder. They then held it open with the help of their four mechanical arms. “---Symptoms expected. T(Normal progression).” 

“And what do you want me to do in the meantime! I thought the apothecary had referred me here for a solution.” he exclaimed out of frustration standing off the examination table. “Don’t you have any meds you can give me?”

His whole body shivered at the unexpected cold grasp from three mechadendrites pinning him back into a seating position. Blood flowed to his cheeks due to the surprising arousal that came from being manhandled by the seemingly meek Mu. 

“Hormonal cycle must !(be) disturbed => not compliance.  Compliance => possible late implant rejection. I !(compromise) unit Titus’ safety.” Mu-Oragon said in what was a wholeheartedly caring tone, even through the respirator’s distortion.

Titus had been told they had been the one in charge of his rubicon surgery, the one who saved his life. An incredibly dangerous procedure in normal conditions, but with the scale of his wounds it almost meant impossible success. Even with all that he didn’t imagine the Magos would feel protective of him, he was just another number in his surgery record anyways.

“Mu I can’t fight like this…” The same shiver again but now caused by the Magos’ grasp leaving him. Only the phantom feeling of the touch floating over his skin, another painful release he couldn’t attain, adding to the breaking down of his sanity. 

“That statement is true. Hopeful contrast. !(medication) != !(relief).” 

It took him a moment to wrap his head around the meaning of Mu’s words. He had become better at understanding the Magos after the repeated checkups on his condition following the rubicon surgery, yet there wasn’t a chance he could call himself fluent in mechanicus speech, less with someone’s accent as strong as the one in front of him. 

“You can help then, is that what you mean?” 

“Titus attempted stimulation for release = True?” they asked, pulling what seemed to be an informative pamphlet from the binder. 

“You mean if I had tried jacking off?” 

“That statement is true.”

A soft flush washed over Titus’ cheeks, glad the Magos’ examination room was empty today, Emperor only knows how hard this conversation would be in front of others. How could a room feel both so hot and cold at the same time? One of Mu’s mechadendrites tilted his head to drive his attention back towards the mechanicus, the touch has such softness uncharacteristic of what a machine would have. Yet the exception existed on Mu-Oragon, every single one of their four arms and many mechadendrites was designed for careful surgery where an eighth of a millimeter could prove life or death. He couldn’t recall all the instances during previous examinations when he had been touched by them and only noticed it once the contact became absent. 

“Yes I have.” He answered, unfamiliar with the open disclosure of his intimate activities. “It hasn’t been working.”

“Elaboration on process required. Accurate solution given ⇔ accurate description of event.” 

Mu-Oragon seemed to be deciding between a collection of pamphlets and booklets, skimming through them with the many prosthetic ocular lenses around his forehead while keeping their human eyes on Titus, which added to the multiple limbs, gave them quite an arachnid appearance.  

“What do you want me to say? There is not much science to it…” Even though the theoretical was quite clear, for the first time since his neophyte years his mind found itself struggling to find a proper practical for it

Titus held Mu’s gaze, curiously the Magos Biologis had retained both of his human eyes, only attaching more ocular addons around. A thing the astartes found quite curious if compared to others of his kind, who preferred replacing the lesser biological counterparts first. Theoretical: Mu-Oragon retained their human eyes, practical: it was a conscious decision due to the more patient oriented side of their occupation, it helped to establish trust.

He found the practical fitting. Wide almond shaped eyes with a reassuring stare, a window to the candid individual living inside machine parts and shrouded in logic based statements. 

Mu-Oragon’s mechadendrite surprised him again by resting part of its weight on Titus’ shoulder, comprehending the man’s struggle for words. He pondered on how much was Mu’s intent and how much was the limb’s machine spirit acting, he would have been lying if admitting that the relationship between mechadendrites and users wasn’t something he found interesting. One of his brothers, a tech-marine, had explained how they were beings of their own possessing an individual machine spirit; yet perfectly synchronized with his mind. Many times acting upon his thoughts without realizing. 

“Following procedure occurs on common stimulation practice. True \/ false?” asked the Magos, extending a thin booklet towards him that read ‘Comprehensive guide to prostatic stimulation’.   

“No” he answered as stoically as he could, looking at the object being handed to him. 

“Inference: this unit’s previous statement = false.” chirped Mu, computer-like clicks emitted as they spoke, possibly running calculations. “Response to Titus’ current statement: compiled. Deeper stimulation > external. [+++P(relief) = P.relief (Release | deep stimulation)] > [+++P(relief) = P.relief (Release | external stimulation)]. E[(---surplus testosterone) \/ (∅surplus testosterone)]” 

“You mean I can fix this by showing things up my ass?” 

“Statement’s truthfulness cannot be validated. P[ ((---surplus testosterone) \/ (∅surplus testosterone)) | (Simple anal insertion) ] = not conclusive. Remark: Relief of ailment ⇔ proper technique = true.”   

Titus swallowed a knot in this throat, followed by a long sigh. He didn’t expect the prescription for his ailment to be a masturbation technique. 

“Doubts prostatic stimulation = E(relief)?” Asked Mu tilting their head to the side. “Inexperienced = true?” 

Titus nodded, noticing how he had been holding Oragon’s gaze the whole time. 

“I can provide asistance ⇔ (consent = True). (Perform on Titus & explain) ⇔ (consent = True)” 

The booklet crunched a bit as he held it tighter, Mu had pulled him apart and back together before, likely there is no piece of him they haven’t touched… in the medical sense. Throne that simple though made him almost produce a low gasp. A different occurrence may have ended up in the rejection of such a proposal, but his situation was all but common. He could barely stay still without rubbing his aching crotch against something. Theoretical: this is just a medical procedure; practical: nothing else will come out of it. 

“Alright Mu-Oragon.” He agreed in almost a whisper. “Just… please be careful.” 

“T(Titus’ wellbeing is my priority.)” Even through the respirator their tone came out gleeful and reassuring. 

A couple days after, back at his chambers, Titus gasped and struggled to achieve the previous results he had experienced with the Magos. He was following the same movements and booklet’s instructions to the letter, his fingers were bigger and thicker than Mu’s; still the efforts left him wanting. He had made himself cum, and it had felt good, yes. But his relief was a cup with a hole at the bottom, never filling. 

Titus pressed his face against the drool covered pillow, recalling the memory from the examination room. Every time Mu had pressed their fingers inside him an asphyxiating wave of pleasure had drowned him over and over, his hairs stood with the remembrance of the Magos’ muffled exhalations due to the effort of manhandling such a heavier man. Another finger, he went deeper, a reminiscent thought of firm steel hands that had held his legs still; spread. 

Mu had played him like the director of an astropathic choir does his organ. Has Titus been the only astartes with a similar issue they’ve had to help? He bit the pillow hard enough to cause a rip, there was anger. The thought of Mu-Oragon giving similar care to someone else brewed an overflowing pot of jealousy and rage in him. But why? It was the Magos Biologis’ job to aid the Astartes, it was obvious there was no emotional attachment to the action. Despite the evidence he couldn’t stop the reassuring and borderline loving statements they had directed at him during the procedure to eat at his mind. How comfortable they had made him feel in his vulnerability, how in the time of their exchange he had silently craved for Mu to touch more of his body, to touch theirs. 

Titus sat in silence, frustrated tears sliding off his cheeks, a lone company in the otherwise relatively bare room. It was quite late at what the battle barge’s internal schedule had designated as ‘night time’, how much of a ‘night owl’ was the mechanicus? Was it proper to visit them? Were they busy? Were they saving another Astartes’ life? Were they soothing other Astartes’ post rubicon testosterone spike? Next thing Titus knew he was already dressed, one thought in mind. He should go to see them, by the primarch’s honor he had to see Mu. 

He moved with haste, weaving through the crowd of servitors engrossed in periodic station maintenance under the watchful vigilance of Mu’s brethren. No, they couldn’t compare to the Magos, none of them. Shit, why did he cram the stupid booklet and lube he was provided into his pocket? It was too late to return, his body would have not allowed him. 

Throne, those clothes were clean out of the dryer though they encountered themselves drenched with sweat. Titus’ walk to the desired wing was a blur, the fight between will and arousal occupied his focus in its entirety. Demetrian’s awareness returned to the front stage with his arrival at Mu’s laboratory, empty except for servitors. He pressed on past examination tables and towering shelves full of implements Titus had no idea of purpose, he didn’t need to anyways, he already had one. 

“Mu…” he mouthed at a sound belonging to what could be Mu’s binharic speech. 

The series of rhythmic computation sounds came out of a nearby room, the door almost fully closed. From the narrow opening left, aside from the overpowering smell proper of incense and machine oil, he could make sense that it was a private chamber.

There they were, sitting crosslegged on the floor, bathed in candle glow making their augments look like consecrated gold. Mu was perpendicular from the door, immersed in sacred meditation. In front of them a towering representation of the machine god crowned the extensive cogitator it was embedded on. The Magos’ hood was down, exposing their side shaved head, what was left of their brown hair in the middle presented tightly tied in a low ponytail. Cables came out of ports and cogitators on the sides of their head, neck and under their robes, connecting them to the one they were praying to. Two of their hands were in a prayer position, the other two resting on their knees. The many mechadendrites seemed deactivated, filling a circle around Mu as they laid over the carpet, like the resting wings of an angel. 

He had opened the door a bit more, taking one step inside yet regretting it instantly. It felt wrong, he was a trespasser, disturbing a sacred intimate rite he didn’t belong at. Titus tried to turn back but a mechadendrite stood to life, clasping hand pointed at the marine as if it could see him. Mu’s eyes opened accompanied by a quick inhalation, reminding him of someone waking up from deep sleep. 

“Unit Demetrian Titus…” surprise took over the Magos whose mechadendrites waved around them covering them until they could pull their hood back up. “Urgent assistance = true?” 

The door rattled slightly as Titus’ hand trembled. Was he feeling fear? The feeling he was made immune of? Mu tilted their head, emitting a series of concerned clicks. They patted a space on the rug beside them, limbs pulling aside to make space for Titus. 

“Permissions granted; accompany this unit. ⇔ desired so.” 

He entered further, making sure that the door was closed behind him. The intensity of the incense only increased with his approach. Titus gave the machine god’s image a look, its aura swallowed him, he was allowed into the room but that didn’t mean he was welcomed, that it welcomed him. 

“Detecting elevated blood pressure, presence of hyperhidrosis. Inference: condition disturbed.” They pointed out when he sat, the rest of their limbs focused on respectfully disconnecting the cables that joined Mu to the room’s cogitator. “Request: details needed.”

“Magos I… I have been doing everything as told.” The words were hard to come up with, this was a bad idea, he wanted to run. “Please, believe me.” 

“Complicance.” they said in what could have been a sigh. “Hormoral reading required. !(time) for a blood scan, +++urgency.” With their words they took the disconnected end of one of the cables still attached to them. “Expedited read | (direct connection = true)” 

A mechanendrite exposed the port at his nape. Even taking into account that the Magos’ intentions were clear and the connection into the ports around his body was a day to day affair; he couldn’t but instinctively want to lean away from the attempt. At least while conscious he had only been connected to external machines and his armor, making Titus and it become one. He was unsure of what linking to another conscious creature would be like. 

“Mu wait… ah…” 

He gasped at the connector’s insertion, a cold wave washed over him. Then, pressure. An extra force needed to be applied for the linkage’s proper attachment. Titus flinched when the plug was inserted to full length and secured. It has never felt this way, the imperceptive clicking shouldn’t be that all consuming, the effortless pressure shouldn’t send a shivering echo across his whole nervous system. The next breath came from lungs outside of his chest cavity. Parallel thoughts stood by his own. Connection state: stable. +++(blood oxygenation). Execute t01101000… wait what? 

“Requests: stand still for reading.” Mu pleaded, their voice sounding closer than the separation between them suggested. “Current testosterone levels = previous reading. Insulin levels within Astartes range = true. Leptin levels within Astartes range =  true. HGH levels within Astartes range = true…” they paused, Titus couldn’t see Mu’s throat but felt it on his own as it moved in a swallow. “+++(Oxytoxin levels)” 

A mechadendrite slid its rigged tentacle down his back coming into a wrap around the waist. The Magos glared at it with burning disapproval hasting the limb to release him. Unbecoming = true.

“What is that? Is it wrong?” Titus asked, a pressing heat that wasn’t the one already overwhelming him joined the room. 

“Oxytoxin = {social bonding hormone, love hormone, reproduction…}” 

The command for Mu’s arm to disconnect from him was clear, Titus’ enhanced reflexes were faster, applying pressure on the Magos’ hand before it could pull the connector out. A heart that wasn’t his drummed frantically. P(mutual) = 80%. Could it be that they have also been feeling something similar? P(mutual) = 88%. For how long? P(mutual) = 90%...

Titus leaned forwards pressing his lips on Mu’s cheek right when it met with the respirator, the skin was so soft, their smell like the rest of the room = {iron, candle wax, incense, sweat}. Mu’s arms resisted the approach but the many mechadendrites welcomed him, they acted upon their master’s subconscious wishes. 

“+++(levels) = {oxytocin, adrenaline, dopamine, vasopressin}.” They reported faintly. “Warning: Unit Titus breaching patient-magos protocol.”

“Are those hormonal readings yours or mine?” He asked with a tinge of humor, yet letting the wanting show. 

“Irrelevant.” The Magos chirped with higher pitch than normal before more mechadendrites started rubbing themselves around Titus like purring cats, then stopping when Mu directed a stern echoing mental order. 

“How long?” he asked, pressing his body against those appendages, begging for their touch. 

“Comprehension | (Unit Titus’ attention = true)” Oragon’s voice barely rose over the rushed clicking of their cogitators. “P(rubicon primaris success | healthy Astartes) = 61.6%. E(rubicon primaris success | medically dead Astartes) = ∅.” Was it a memory that flashed before him? Anger, defiance, approval, tension, relief. “Demetrian Titus: Omnissiah’s miracle. T(Demetrian Titus is my biggest pride).” Mu pressed their forehead against his. “T(Demetrian Titus is this unit’s most beautiful creation). Possessive desire = true.” 

He tried to get even closer, mind screaming to the magos’ to take him theirs as their right was. A slight passing migraine struck him, pushback. 

“I want ∈ Titus. I want Titus ∈ me.” 

They paused, a constant stream of data rushed from them to Titus. Failure = true. Unfaithful = true. Weak = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true.  Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. 01001000 01100101 01110010 01100101 01110100 01100101 01101011 00100000 00111101 00100000 01110100 01110010 01110101 01100101. 01001000 01100101 01110010 01100101 01110100 01100101 01101011 00100000 00111101 00100000 01110100 01110010 01110101 01100101 01001000 01100101 01110010 01100101 01110100 01100101 01101011 00100000 00111101 00100000 01110100 01110010 01110101 01100101.

“I’m here Mu, make me yours.” Titus purred, pressing his face on the Magos’ neck, their scent ordering his body into a surrender. +++(serotonin levels). 

“I want to execute statement compliance. Intervention. This unit !(execute) statement compliance. Mu !∈ Titus. Titus !∈ Mu. Mu ∈ The Omnissiah. Titus ∈ The Emperor.” With the great effort of several limbs they were capable of pushing Titus away, his whimper had a twin companion. “ F[P(I ∈ (Omnissiah & Titus) & Titus ∈ (Me & Emperor)) > 0]. Titus’ understanding = true?” 

“Mu, being with you will not make me stop fighting for the Emperor nor will distance you from the Machine God.” Unit Titus’ statement = True. “It will only make me fight harder, to fight for the Emperor is to fight for humanity, you are part of humanity, you are part of what I fight for; what I will die for.” 

Two of the Magos’ hands cradled his face, thumbs rubbing his cheeks, their eyes gifted him a loving painting colored in sorrow ahead of closing them tightly. Mu’s bodily cogitators’ clicking became louder, similar to a tired engine pushing itself up a difficult hill. Every single one of the mechanicus’ limbs trembled and rattled. Titus felt a piercing pain forming behind a skull that wasn’t his own. 

“Magos stop that! You are hurting yourse…” 

“I would hurt myself everyday if it means I do not hurt you Titus.” The lack of machine logic in Mu-Oragon’s statement caught him by surprise, that’s what they were doing, they were ending any process that would distort the message. To the extent of their modification, it hurt. “Attention  =... Listen to me closely please. What’s in your mind, what’s in my mind; it is a chimera Titus. Fantasy. !(logical).” continued as their registry jumped between two conflicting voice modulations. “I will never be able to fulfill your requirements for intimacy. Demand: compliance with silence = true… I am inside your head right now. You have expectations and desires that I cannot match.” Mu opened their eyes, they looked watery and puffy. The clicking sound became more urgent, the cogitators were screaming for it to end. “Body parts you crave that Mu… I…  do not possess. Blessed Cogitators Titus, look how hard it is for me to express myself in your language, do you think a relationship will work? T(I have no place in your world).” 

The hastened clicking relaxed, lungs that weren’t his struggled for air. Mu gave in and placed their forehead on Titus’ chest. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true.  Heretek = true. Heretek = true. They purred in the comfort they shouldn’t allow themselves to have. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true.  Heretek = true. Heretek = true. They were surrounded by strong arms whose warmth they had no business craving. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true.  Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Their face, implants included, being covered in kisses that had a better use on someone else. Yet they didn’t want someone else to have. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true.  Heretek = true. Heretek = true.

“You are no heretek” Titus spoke clearly, his voice making a body that wasn’t his own yet felt like it; to tremble. “I never asked you to change for me. I will not allow you to change for me. Whatever you bring to me will make me happy, because it’s yours.” 

“Counterargument. Titus feeling this way | (+++testosterone & +++oxytocin). (Hormonal stabilization = true) => Titus !(love) Mu. E(Desire = {∅}).” 

“Theorerical: the result of your reasoning is false. Practical: you are in my head, you must only look.” 

“Compliance.” 

There was an invasive tingle poking at his brain, searching, inquiring. They shared a long moment of silence, lullabied by cogitators and Mu’s binharic musings. It felt strangely intimate, not the idea he had in mind when he came out of his room desperate to have the Priest inside him. Yet he still ached for it. 

Mu looked up to him. Pulling their hood down then guiding Titus hands on how to properly hold their face without disturbing the cablework. Throne, they were so strangely beautiful. 

“This unit’s compliance: approval pending.” They said, “This unit’s compliance ⇔ (Titus’ trust = true & Titus’ consent = true).” 

“You pulled my body apart and back Magos, do you really need more trust?” 

“Mu-Oragon !(had) Titus’ consent for rubicon. Patient previous state = unconscious. Unconsciousness !(match) consent protocol. Repeating inquiry: Titus’ Trust = True?” 

“Yes Mu I trust you.” 

“Titus’ statement = true?” The Magos pressed. 

“With my life, Mu please just… ah…”

Another cable made its insertion into Titus, now at a port on his lower back. His vision blurred for a second after the push that made the connection click, he felt himself holding Mu’s face and Mu’s face being held by his hands. A series of satisfied binharic purrs came out of him… the Magos. A touch, a gentle hand caressing behind his earlobe and going down the jawline made him moan quite loud. Titus tightened his lips afterwards full of confusion and shame. Mu chuckled behind the respirator. 

“Proud remark: Any mortal knowledge of Titus’ body < this unit’s knowledge of Titus’ body.” Both him and them gasped in unison with the many limbs holding him in place. “Proceeding with statement validation.” 

Fingers brushed his hair back in a soothing motion, just like they did that day at the examination room to calm his nerves. 

“Retrieving previously used data; Titus = {good, strong, capable, beautiful}.” 

With every word a new limb joined the embrace. Hands, ribbed tentacles, mechadendrite claspers; they all rubbed and massaged Titus’ body over his clothes. Pleasurable yet with the Magos’ teasing, no contact was made with any greater erogenous zone. The Marine played against the scheme, moving himself in a way Mu would at least grace the most vocal centers about their hunger, the mechanicus fought back trying to anticipate Titus’ moves and not let him have a win. They both were absorbed by childish chuckle and sporadic gasps. Mu’s binharic clicks were cheerful, jovial notes, light and dark compared with the ones from earlier. 

He placed his lips on Mu’s neck, also feeling them on his. And ran kisses over both flesh and blessed metal parts. They tensed a bit when he attempted to touch their chest, Titus sensed a third heart rate increasing followed by a mental note reassuring him it was fine. Without leaving carefulness behind he went down the Magos’ neck, wrapping, what the jealous tentacle allowed, of an arm behind Mu’s thighs lifting their body enough for him not bend on a weird angle to keep kissing down, his lips making out of fleshy and non biological parts under the robe.

That was when the mechadendrites started to infiltrate the openings on his clothes and slide under. The metal was no longer cold as it had been warmed up by Titus’ own body heat. Had that been the Magos’ plan? 

They both moaned at the sensation of ribbed well oiled tentacles rubbing themselves against Titus’ nipples, lower abdomen and inner thighs. The Marine was sitting on his knees, holding Mu with one arm and kissing their upper robed body, the other hand kept making sense of the shapes hidden by red cloth. 

Anchoring themselves firmly on Titus’ shoulders with two of their arms, Mu used the leftover free hands to undo the ribbons, clasps and buttons keeping the robe on. They stopped, only them letting go would uncover their body. He eyed them expectantly, noticing how shades of pink bloomed on what could be seen on their cheeks. 

“Witness the miracle of machine and flesh ⇔ (Units > initiates). Exception logged: Demetrian Titus.” Their voice sounded even more distorted than usual, nervous binharic chirps made interference with their words. 

“You don’t need to undress more if you are not comfortable, Mu.” Titus indicated lovingly as he massaged one of their shoulders. 

The grill covering Mu’s mouth didn't impede him from noticing they were smiling, the expression brightening their whole face. Adoring notes in binharic were said yet nothing in a manner Titus could understand, but he thought how it reminded him about how their prayers sounded like. With ritual reverence they let the cloth go, causing the scarlet to part and barely hang off their shoulders. He felt Mu shiver as that skin didn’t seem used to being uncovered, it was paler than their face and very thin, so much he felt afraid of his calloused palms breaking it open. Said skin was bitten into by metal, flexible pipes and transparent wiring transporting blood. Just as they did with their head Mu guided Titus’ hands across their upper body, reaching the pant's edge, a scar continuing down into the pubis was seducing him to follow it underneath. He would have if he hadn’t  noticed how in certain places clusters of purple broke paleness’ ruling, matching where he may have innocently grabbed or kissed too excitedly.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you were that sensible.” 

Titus got his mouth close enough to a bruise yet stopped leaving the lips hovering over it, only his breath making contact. He looked up to meet Mu’s gaze, a request for permission written on his. They tightened any grip on Titus leading to a shift of their weight forwards, pressing themselves against his lips. This time he could appreciate how the binharic purrs and notes actually started somewhere between their ribs and echoed towards the grilled respirator in their face to finish being properly enunciated. The pale layer vibrated and contracted with every joint moan, gasp, huff. 

Mu took hold of another cable connected to them that had an orphan end with no port to call home. Instead of going for it right away they let the cord slide over Titus’ chest, going behind him by the left side of his neck and coming out from the right. The cables had a different texture from the appendages holding the mechadendrites, he enjoyed the contrast between stiff ribbedness and flexible softness. The port on the right side of his neck, by the joining with the shoulder, seemed to be the desired spot. The very moment the plug’s tip was to get inserted into it; Titus moved minimally away with a mischievous grin. Playfulness was older than machines, Mu wasn’t the only one with teasing rights.   

Both continued the jolly game for a couple minutes; shifting, giggling. By the end, it seemed Titus would finally accept the insertion only for the marine to get Mu’s hand holding the cable with a light-hearted bite, not exerting a tinge of actual pressure. The Magos hummed then all together, their mechadendrites compressed his body right over spots he would feel their sting the most, the appendages close to his thighs pulled them firmly; forcing him to a more open and exposed sitting position. At the same time, Mu’s free hand seized as much as Titus’ hair it could and yanked his head back with surprising command; displaying the working area. All of it teared out a pained moan out his core. 

“Delivering request for stillness.” They said, the teasing switched its tone from light-hearted into a lascivious one. “Patient Demetrian Titus !(compliance) => Execute: unit’s protocol for unruly patient subjugation. Titus != {bad patient}. (Titus = {Good patient}) = True?” 

“Apologies Magos, I do want to be a good patient, please show me how.” 

“Compliance.” 

His heightened sensitivity perceived the contact between port and connector in ways words could barely describe. When the tip of the connector touched the outer ring, for half a second he could swear that the candles and lumens seemed to brighten then dull back to their normal luminosity. The friction of smooth metal against smooth metal from the middle of the insertion sparked ripples in his brain that reminded Titus just like a vox signal trying to connect. A final push brought the connection to properly click inside, if before it rippled across the nervous system; now there was no system left unassaulted by a powerful spasm.

Demetrian Titus went blank, only remembering short snippets drunk in this unadulterated euphoria, perception shifting quickly between bodies. Once his faculties adapted to the input stream he discovered himself in the same position but things had changed a little. Titus’ top was gone and his pants were down to the knees. Coagulated crimson lines decorated him all over, evidence from scratches his healing factor closed immediately. The marine was rocking his hips at the rhythm of one of the mechadendrites crossing between his legs, rubbing its oiled shaft over the crotch and between the buttocks. He was still holding onto Mu, quite closely. The Magos’ thighs were at both sides of his neck, Demetrian finding his teeth pulling at their pants’ waist band. Two of their hands were finding support from Titus' biceps, the other two grasping at the marine’s hair for dear life; robe barely hanging by their elbows. He saw no reason to stop it there. 

Firmly holding Mu’s waist with one hand he lifted them up a bit, then using the other to grip the waistband at the back Titus slid their pants down, pulling them fully away. His lips' curiosity could finally scout the track indicated by that scar on their lower stomach. His kisses, the wetness of his tongue, the texture of his shaved cheeks; all sensations were mirrored back onto his skin. Then he made an interesting discovery, when he began charting what was left or lacked on Mu’s crotch it also reflected on his cock with curious representations. A  lick on the front was actually felt at the base of his shaft, yet going and kissing a bit to the right from there was experience at the top of his glans. Mu’s moans were his moans, deep, hungry. Their connection was a cyclical loop of pleasure, what was felt on them echoed onto Titus then back into them. He wondered if the mechanicus was capable of feeling arousal from stimulation on that area without a two way connection. Maybe he could try to investigate in the future, as the now had Titus quite busy. 

Mu moved the anchor points from Titus’ biceps to his hands, a metallic finger pried his mouth wide open making sure the tongue was fully out, then lifting themselves up they started to fully ride the Astartes’ mouth at the same rhythm the mechadendrite grinded its length between Titus’ legs. Their speech reduced to huffs and frantic binharic notes weaving the tunes of their shared pleasure. Titus almost dropped Mu when both of them were run over on climax’s path. Trembling prosthetic legs’ embrace became stronger, pressing him firmly on his face, a mortal with not as good breathing capacity would have likely perished out of air. 

They shifted their weight around Titus to climb off his shoulders, sitting on one arm holding them, they pressed their face onto Titus’. That was when he perceived the respirator being slid down, thin soft lips and skin like the one on their other covered areas nuzzled him. Lungs that weren’t his momentarily ached as they readapted to unfiltered air. Mu’s kiss was shy, sloppy, and inexperienced. Their knowledge of other people’s bodies didn’t transfer well to the skill of kissing, it was fine, not like Titus had much either. They could learn together. 

He pulled back from the kiss, not for lack of wanting but the realization he could finally admire Mu’s full face. It was round with big cheeks that were artificially parted with a depression between the cheekbone and cheek caused by the long respirator use. 

“Isn’t it dangerous to take it off?” He asked quite concerned. 

“!(Every unit).” their unaltered voice was more melodious than when muffled behind the respirator. “Mu-Oragon = {sacred binharic, chemical filtration}. Lung condition: stable. !(Risk)” They kissed him again then moved down his neck, he had forgotten, now they were connected Titus’ unquenching lust was also theirs. “Request: taste Titus.” 

“You know the answer.” he smiled back. 

Hums kept emanating from the respirator but without Mu’s mouth to guide them there was no binharic aria, just airy vibrations. He was fine without the tunes, that mouth looked beautiful with their fleshy lips crowning his nipple, disappearing into the bountiful hairy mass of his chest. Cold, a hand stroked up and down his shaft being unable to fully wrap its fingers around it. And Mu’s mouth, it was already small, yet his cock made it look even smaller by comparison, it made the whole Magos smaller by comparison. 

They licked the leftover cum around the tip and down the shaft, maybe now discovering the taste he’ll have an enlightening comeback when Chairon jokingly tells him to go eat his own dick again. 

Titus buckled and moaned not by stimulation itself but a memory, one of Mu’s hands was running its fingers in circles around the entrance to Titus’ backside. They were slippery, quite well lubricated in fact. 

“Titus = {so good patient, follows prescription well}.” Mu teased him. 

A grasping mechadendrite lifted up, holding the opened lube bottle he had stuffed inside his pocket before. Mu’s fingers barely peeked at the entrance, stretching the aroused fleshy ring. 

“Titus’ memories: seen. This Unit's touch: requested. Compliance.”

They slipped inside with the same effortless precision as before, the joy of getting filled as he had been craving was unmeasurable. Titus grabbed Mu’s head and trusted his cock inside the Magos’ mouth, barely getting a third in. In vengeance they got another finger into him, he wailed at the stretch and pressure curling inside him. If before Mu played him like an instrument, the current Titus was the whole orchestra, from groans to wines they composed a melody out of the Astartes’ desire. 

The rhythm became even faster, building a time bomb of pleasure inside his crotch. Drool and precum dripped down Mu’s chin, Emperor, Omnissiah, whoever was responsible: what a beautiful creature they were. Lustful indulgence was ramping up into a crescendo, Titus was getting close to relief he wanted to cry; and he did once Oragon stopped right at the plunge’s edge, denying him. 

Titus was about to ask why when they held his buttcheeks open for the lubed thin rounded head of a grasping mechadendrite pressed into him.

“Wait!” He howled. 

“Titus trust = true.” They whispered hugging the Astartes between their arms, and his cock between their thighs. 

Bastard, they had made it so aiding his throwing member would mean thrusting back and sodomizing himself into them. He had no choice and soon realized how Mu didn’t oversell themselves when they said they knew Titus’ body best, his hole was so well prepared it took the claw and following tentacle quite well. The stretch was so much yet it didn’t feel painful, Golden Throne, it felt like something he didn’t know he wanted but now will never be able to live without. 

Now the mouths of both of them were free he could appreciate how much of a mirror they had become, Titus was the baritone to Mu’s tenor-soprano, singing the same song in parallel harmonies. It was so much, he began bending over until he had the Magos pinned on the floor under him as he thrusted between their thighs, and the Magos had him entangled in many arms and cables as they stretched his insides. 

Titus had been shivering when he approached the same edge of the cliff as before, it being at a higher distance from the ground compared to the last. The Astartes felt as if the fall was going to make him blackout again, Mu had given him so many gifts, brought back to life and now another way to perceive life through the skin of the one he cherished, their skin. 

The timer on the time bomb in his crotch reached zero, a wave of pleasure after the other washed over him, he suddenly became aware of every pore in their skins, every hair on their heads. But it kept on, every single one of Mu’s appendages grabbed onto Titus as if letting go would cost them their life. He squirmed as his asshole didn’t see mercy nor rest, words were not able to be had with a throat so busy on pained moans. 

Wait, did he have so many cables inserted? Titus finally became aware that more than three ports on his body were in use, when did it happen? When he went blank? Realization dawned on him: he was trapped. All this time he had been a careless fly dancing around the spider’s net, every step entangling him more and more until he was fully helpless, ready to be consumed. The moans transformed into howls, those became wails, wails into whimpers, whimpering devolved into sobbing, culminating in the drained gasps of a fuck hole that knows its place. His mind gave up to the pleasure finally breaking and going  blank. 

He woke to the smell of incense and the realization of being so literally empty, laying on his side with Mu facing him. Mechadendrites and cables were still holding him, not with hunger but care. 

“I guess I ruined your rug.” He joked. 

“!(underestimate) martian chemical cleaner.” The Magos smiled sleepily at him, they hadn’t put the respirator back on yet, purplish red bite marks and bruising dressed their lips and lower jaw, Titus rubbed a finger over those. 

“My doing again I suppose, guess even my bare minimum of gentleness is still too rough. I’m sorry Mu, I didn’t want to hurt you.” 

“Reasurance. Preemptive awareness = True. Exchange | risk assessed. Titus design = {Strong, powerful, deadly}. (System’s status: fully operational) => no need to disable recurrence of interactions.” they said, soothing his worries. 

Mu’s voice returned to the metallic distortion as they put the respirator back on, gentle binharic hum seemed to communicate the Magos’ bliss on that moment more than any words they nor Titus could spare. 

Then the song changed to a familiar prayer, Mu started to go over the cables connecting them to Titus in reverse, from the last to be connected to the first. Before each of the disconnections the prayers sang a layered stanza Titus attributed meaning due to the tune; gratitude, mourning, hope. One by one he saw himself dividing from Mu’s senses, his mind grasping at any pieces left of that consciousness which melted into his, a cry of loneliness as what as one was became two separate beings again. He didn’t feel gloom though, as the prayer implied, separation only meant a new opportunity to meet again. 

“Wait a moment.” Titus interrupted when Mu-Oragon got to the final plug that was the first, the one at his nape. 

“Attention = True. Unit Titus wellbeing: stable?” They asked with the leftover sleepiness of someone coming out of a deep trance. 

“Titus ∈ to Mu, and = true - and that will always be true.” He spoke slowly, doing his best to speak on their lingo, knowing they may be doing a horrible job with laughable pronunciation. “Do Mu ∈ to Titus - this is a question.” 

At least his hope of not saying anything offensive by accident was reassured. The mechanicus’ face became as red as the clean parts of the rug they were laying over, nervous binharic notes escaped them like an open faucet. 

“Theoretical” they started, earning an instant chuckle from Titus. “Mu ∈ Titus. Practical: T(Mu ∈ Titus).” 

Just as it all started Titus kissed them on the cheek, right over where the skin met the respirator. Weird, Mu was rubbing the back of his neck, plug gone yet he didn’t feel a disconnection. Maybe the Omnissiah had finally made up their mind about him.

[emetheuhtitle]

Psst, I find myself ever so slightly twitchy when I see a meme I stole utterly trample past something I put genuine heart into. Here's a little 40K comic you can read

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

https://www.tumblr.com/emethethe/772920204794675200?source=share

[noxassula]

Super old doodle from last year of my first loyalist space marine. An ultramarine chaplain named Rakula.

[mistresssheo]

I don't think the Codex Astartes supports this action. But f*ck it! I think Astartes should also have glittering capes! :D

[sonofdorn-vii]

Captain Krist Kringle

[wolframtheregulator]

Thunderbirds Flakur Pæth, 1st Demi-Chapter, 7th Reserve Company, Envoy to Inquisitor Bru’Tus Damascan of the Ordo Diviticus:

Being the only Imperial Chapter currently active in the Barbatos Divide, the Thunderbirds have become no stranger to sending lone marines to work alongside humans in the sector. Especially important ones such as the foremost prominent Inquisitor operating within the sector. Their jobs become that of a liaison reporting information back to the Chapter while performing clandestine missions that, usually, coincide with the assistance of whoever they have been assigned to. Having recently been removed from Battle Line Company Three, Pæth is now deployed to work alongside Inquisitor Bru’Tus. Despite the importance of his mission the marine has shown some protest to his station, believing his effort to be better spent serving on the front lines against the Mors Dictares.

[lumi-klovstad-games]

So I have a headcanon that Roboute Guilliman has accidentally slipped and called Gautier Boudreaux (my chapter master for my fanon Redemptor Roses) "Brother" on several occasions because G-Man is so chronically overworked and tired and Gautier looks SO MUCH like a Young Fulgrim that Guilliman just… occasionally forgets.

For his part, Gautier tries to take it in stride, because on one hand he knows what Fulgrim became, but on the other hand, those slip ups show just how much Guilliman misses that time when all the brothers were united.

For his part, Gautier (and the rest of the Redemptor Roses) insists on calling Guilliman "Uncle" because dammit, his chapter spent the first few decades of their duty believing they were Sons of Ultramar, and having seen what their actual "brothers" in the Emperor's Children became, still consider themselves Ultramarine descendants in spirit, if not actuality.

[wh40kartwork]

The 1st And The 13th

by Konstantin Void

[jacobpking]

THE PRIMARCHS - Sons of the Emperor A month-long project that took a LOT of hours and a lot of research. For the Primarchs? it's worth it

[msflora-lynn]

𓆣 SIX CULT CAPTAINS OF THE THOUSAND SONS 𓆣

(At least my headcanon on how they look like? Aside from Phosis T'Kar, no one really have any official physical appearance described in the lore.)

Update: I am a fraud, turns out H.M was blonde. But let that slide...

Individual portraits:

Khalopis (Pyrae) & Ahzek Ahriman (Corvidae)

Phosis T'Kar (Raptora) & Hathor Maat (Pavoni)

Aqhet Hakoris (Aquilae) & Baleq Uthizzar (Athanaean)

Did you know? Aquilae cult was never formally formed because they specifically dwell into Warp research, and the members was scattered through the legion by Magnus because the research was deemed too dangerous.

Lastly...

The babygirl Crimson King himself -`♡´-, smiling gently at you.

Q: Hey MsFlora, why are they shirtless? A: I like sexy men.

[doolallymagpie]

tried to post this earlier and it just went into the void so

If you’re writing in an answer, it has to be a Space Marine chapter, not a Sororitas order, not a Guard regiment, we work on RT rules here