#sepulcherwrites

[sepulcher666]

Demetrian Titus x Reader

Writing Exercise: Sleep

He looked so peaceful in sleep. It was the only sleep he would get before their next campaign on some…far flung world in the ultimate segmentum.

You cradled his head as it rested on your strong thighs.

You should be getting sleep too, but something keeps you awake. Was it how you were disturbed at the age becoming ever more present on his face despite him being so young for a space marine? Only 175?

You were partially lucid as you stared down at him, feeling his head of hair brush slightly on your skin. He looked to be at peace…peace he would get in short bursts in the Emperors Service.

You wanted better for him. You wanted better for you both, but your duties took you elsewhere, far far apart from each other. You needed him to an extent, and he needed you. He clung so strongly to the fragile brotherhood in his deathwatch squad.

You wondered why he stuck so close to you when he saw you were, like him, similarly cast out from your kin.

“Why are you still awake?” He asked, voice still dry from sleep. It was gentle, authoritative , yet needy.

“I…” you could not find an answer.

He got up from your lap and pulled you into his bosom. You rested your head against his chest, smelling the familiar musk of death and blood that so eagerly clung to him.

“Sleep.” He rumbled. And soon enough, you fell asleep to the steady rhythm of his two heartbeats and the furnace-like warmth of his body.

[sepulcher666]

It has been what, 2 hours? I've sent away the serfs. Now i'm left by myself to reflect and grieve.

My thumb scrapes away that one fleck of paint on that sun I've drawn.

My brush paints the fading aurora that colors the skies. My callused hands feel so numb as they shake. I've not taken a heartbeat to set my brush down and rest. My fingers hold the delicate brush, refusing to let go.

My pain must be let out. I must realize that he is gone. Forever.

My vision tunnels on the details of the image I've drawn into existence. I want this to be perfect, whole, complete.

My mind will not accept anything less.

I've tried to wail, to let my voice crack and the pain tear my throat out. I find nothing but silence and loneliness in my inability to cry.

Now i must let it all out on this canvas.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Gentle Spirit

[sepulcher666]

I, Blackshield.

bouncing off of @able-ryder99's idea

He sat alone as they dined.

He had sat alone since being released from Inquisitor Thrax's custody. His mood would shift between rage, sorrow, and despair at any given time.

It was hard, really, to trust another astartes again. There was this ever-present barrier in his mind that prevented anything from happening, even if he tried to reach out of his bubble.

It took more mental energy than anything to just endure the brutal routine he had consigned himself to. Wake up early, train, pray, sweat, bleed, and he'd do it all over again the next day. There was little to no rest in his routine. It helped to silence the shame that hung over his shoulders like a cloud.

He'd be joined in the sparring cages of the Watch Fortress by other astartes hailing from different chapters. It took time for him to be able to lose himself in the simple act of sparring, but he was able to do it. A few space marines became recurring characters in his life- the same ones that would accompany him to Kadaku.

They would banter, fight, and banter again. And he'd laugh as each session concluded for one reason or another, and they would have to return to their duties.

It felt..good to possess some measure of anonymity and just..not worry about the past. It helped dull the pain of his abandonment.

"You ever think about yer' old chapter, Titus?" A strong hand pat him on the back. He recognized who it was. Ulfar.

"No..." It was as much a lie as any. He could not admit he struggled to banish his past and how it took so much to get here.

"Why not?" Ulfar sounded genuinely curious. Titus could hear no offense in the question.

".....Old wounds." He decided to give the wolf's question a kernel of truth.

"I see...well, would you like to join us for supper?"

He paused, considering the wolf's offer.

"Of course."

This was a good start.

-----

(aaaand he has to start all over again after kadaku. poor blorbo.)

[sepulcher666]

Titus gets a hug

The war on Demerium seemed like it would never end. Here, the second company was, recovering the best it could from its losses.

You approached the lone figure, the hero of the battle who had distinguished himself in the hellish hours past.

"Brother." It was a query as much as a greeting. You wondered why the lieutenant brooded alone.

He turned to acknowledge you.

"The last few hours have been difficult for us all... I wish to know if you would accept an embrace." You offered a hug, arms outstretched.

He offered no resistance as you tentatively wrapped your arms around him in a warm hug.

"Welcome back, brother. You were sorely missed."

You could feel his body tense.

"I-Thank you..."

He returned your embrace. There was something in you that could tell his spirit had lifted if just a little.

[sepulcher666]

Damocles 1

The world was being cleansed. They had chosen to watch it before they were due to be picked up and returned to the fleet that orbited overhead. . Chairon sat down on the craggy rock and propped his rifle against it.

Gadriel stood beside Titus as they watched it together.

"I can feel the heat on my skin even from all the way back here."

Titus turned to him. "Have you seen the death of a world before?"

He considered Titus's question. Exterminatus was usually a last resort, so it did not happen very often. Not before the opening of the Cicatrix Maledictum. "Twice."

His lieutenant nodded. "It is a difficult time for us all. But we must believe the Imperium will prevail. That this will no longer happen at the frequency it happens now. For we have no choice."

He swept his hand across the horizon, indicating many of the souls that once lived in the ruined city that was being burned from above.

"You reiterate what has already been said thousands of times."

Chairon piped up: "I've heard the same thing on Calth. People spread the message of hope to each other. That the siege would end, that it would be ok. All i saw was ashes before i was interred for the next few millennium."

Titus nods. "You bring up the past. Yes, desperate times visit us again. But do you know why it has to be reiterated? Because the baseline humanity we protect is prone to despair. They need the message of hope, lest they despair and give in to chaos."

"We are symbols of hope. We are the fire, the torch in the darkness. We cannot afford to fail. Countless souls depend on us."

Gadriel shifted his feet a little, as if Titus's words were sinking in. "You are correct."

Chairon got up from his seat and walked over to the pair. He clasped Gadriel's pauldron.

"Let us light the way for those that cannot defend themselves."

They could hear the roar of engines behind as a thunderhawk descends onto the grass.

"Let's go back."

[sepulcher666]

-…would my brother spare measures of patience if I were to say what troubled me?

I fear what he might think, and what he might do if I were to say…

To say what tore at my heart with its vicious claws and polluted my spirit with its inky darkness?

I fear I will be shrugged off, or reprimanded, even. It is why it I struggle to utter those words.

For to admit weakness would be a condemnation in a brotherhood of war. It is to admit I could not measure up.

I have no wish to replace my silent, heavy chains with glimmering laurels of shame.

I do not want to think of this now, but the truth must come out sooner or later. They are beginning to notice something’s wrong with me.

-Judiciar Taharaen

—Albert Camus

[sepulcher666]

Dreams

(Trying something new)

he does not know who he is. He does not recognize where he is. He looks down and sees his body, naught but a dark, incorporeal shape that swirls within light.

It’s dark. Through his peripheral vision, he can see colors. Swirling, beautiful colors. Stars dot the dark, yet aurora sky he floats through.

He swims through the nebulous sea and feels his body pass through the strange phenomena.

For but an instant, he is struck by wonder and dread. How far did this sea stretch for?

He swims through memories, he experiences smells, tastes and scents that feel so..tangible. So real. He dives into the thicker clouds of color, wanting to see more.

He sees…battle now. He feels the acrid taste of blood and ash, and battle thrill that hums so strongly it sends him reeling. He hears..familiar battle chants. As he submerged himself further a horrific realization came to him; the original owners of those memories no longer lived.

Something is starting to come back to him. His body starts to take on a recognizable form. The hissing shadow of his body starts to form into the flesh that could only belong to Demetrian Titus.

Anger grips him as he starts to recognize the situation. Familiar doctrines and litanies start to come back to him.

Abhor the machinations of the witch.

This was no normal dream. No conjuration of his mind. This was a trick of the warp, he was sure of it. He had to inform someone of this.

Light forms around his body, a brilliant, blinding golden light. It casts him out of the dream-nebula and sends him reeling back into real space.

He wakes up and smashes his fist into the steel wall of his small cot. He was free for now. There was no telling if it would come back.

“Brother?” A voice intones from the doorway. It is Chairon.

Titus lets out a breath he’d been holding since jolting out of his sleep. “I need to see the chaplain. Now.”

[sepulcher666]

visits

inspired by this thread

inquisitor reader & Titus

You visit Thrax’s project on occasion. You pass by the servitors, down the archways and into the secret chambers where a space marine was being held.

Each time, you bring a needle-vial big enough to administer pain-suppressants just to make Titus lucid enough to talk to you. You had to practice on dummies several times before you could effectively do it. The thing was far too big in your hands; you had to don power armor to make use of it. It was a small mercy in a way, bringing Titus out of stasis and giving him small respite from his pain.

It didn’t make up for Titus not being around his brothers, but you had to try your best.

The first few times he would refuse to talk to you. The next ten-twenty visits he would start to ask you about Thrax and tell you of his situation. You tell him about your co-worker and what rumors are going around about him. You tell him Marneus Calgar had been asking for him only to be denied.

“What did you tell Calgar?” He gentle voice was akin to a ruined harp, it was barely a rasp as it passed his lips. The servos in your power-armored joints steadied him as he fell forward from his chains.

“I told him nothing that would force me to put an end to my visits, but I did tell him of Thrax’s obsession with you.”

“… Why are you helping me?” He regarded you with an intense stare. You struggled not to look away.

“I have faith in you. Faith that the accusations brought against you were false.”

Titus grasps your power-armored pauldron and shifts his gaze away from you as he groaned quietly in pain. “I see…You will see your faith in me was not misplaced, inquisitor.”

The most you can get out from your power and connections was a way for Titus to be submitted to the Deathwatch. You tell him of this when he expresses a hint of despair at not hearing much from the ultramarines.

“I know little of your old chapter…but I can get the Deathwatch to take you. You wish to declare yourself a Blackshield?”

Titus grimaces. “I dishonored my chapter. It is the only way forward for me.”

And at last comes the day Thrax dies, and Titus is declared free from corruption. You bring his robes and scant few belongings you’ve managed to save from being cast into the fire.

He looks at you expectantly as you help him out from his stasis pod.

“You’re a free man, Titus. I will take you to the Watch Fortress, and our paths shall separate from there.

He turns his head and offers you a rare smile.

“I will not forget your kindness. Thank you.”

———

He looks upon your casket.

Not a soul offered him resistance as he passed them into the sepulcher.

Now he wore his old colors again.

It has been two centuries since you last spoke. Now, here you lay, finally given rest.

Titus knew you were but a mortal. That you would not live long enough to see him again.

But he had remembered you and had come to pay you respect. It was the least he could do.

[sepulcher666]

The Black Rage

(something of an experiment)

Feel free to self-insert if you like.

CW: ANGST _ Mention of injury, blood and nudity. Canonically Dark. Titus x Reader implied to have been FWB in the DeathWatch.

(Gender-Neutral) (Both Former Deathwatch) Blood Angel Reader x Titus

Summary: Was this what you got for befriending (wink wink) titus?

It had been but a day since you felt yourself grasped in the throes of the black rage. You thrashed and screamed old cries of grief and rage at long dead memories as bloody bile came to the surface of your lips.

Two of your brothers struggled to hold you down as you howled and fought whatever was left of your energy out.

You were in chains by the time someone came to visit you.

It was Demetrian Titus. You had accepted him into the Deathwatch squad, treating him like any other of your chapter. You shared meals with the former blackshield, you joked, laughed, and even offered to share your bed with him when he had naught but the ground to sleep on.Seeing him now, You could not help but feel a tinge of pride that the former blackshield wore his old colors once more.

You were somewhat lucid as he kneeled before your stripped form. Your hearts beat with love and relief, temporarily soothing the pain you felt at present. You were in nothing but bare, filthy strips of cloth that somewhat covered your naked, muscular form.

"Titus..I-I thought you were dead. You wear your old colors again." You managed a hint of a smile.

"Where am i...?"

His eyes softened as his eyes drifted down to see the large bloody scabs all over knees and joints. His hand hovered fell to his side as he was unwilling to make any sudden moves that might trigger your violent episodes. It took but a few heartbeats for him to gather enough courage to caress your bloodied, bruised cheek.

"I have done much since we last spoke..But it is a tale for another day. You fell to the black rage, (Brother/Sister)."

Your eyes widened. Sorrow wrenched your expression from confusion to grief.

"Why-why have I been allowed to suffer this indignity? I-I should have been allowed to die on Kadaku." You rasp weakly, blood streaming down your lips as you heaved whatever air was left in your lungs. You were so tired.

Titus averted his eyes from yours. You did not like what he said next. You would have preferred sweeter, kinder words from the man you knew so well but he says the truth;

"It was on my recommendation. You are a warrior without peer amongst your kin. I said as much to your Chapter Master." You were too useful to die, so you were going straight to the mercy of your old Reclusiarch.

Blood filled the edges of your vision again as fury and anguish filled your mind at those words and the Black Rage claimed you once again.

You screamed enraged curses at Titus even as he retreated out of your cell and nodded at the guards to seal it back up, leaving you to your misery.

It seemed that your duty did not end even as your mind fell to madness.

[sepulcher666]

Warning:Mention of loss

Vassicus's backstory and his arc:

He remembered when the ground of Caliban shook as the ground artillery fired on the fleet above the atmosphere.

He was there. He fought his brothers in the world of Caliban as the ground cracked and was obliterated. He tumbled through the warp with many of his brothers, lost to time and space.

He did not know if his time in the warp had made him a changed man. When he came out, spat out of the warp many things were different. Too different for his liking.

There was an impermeable air of hopelessness and despair he could practically smell as he walked among the common populace of the Imperium.

It made him wonder what did humanity cling onto during the waning years of the great war and how did they survive all this time?

He has tried to look through Imperial Archives to catch up on the history he has missed but found them lacking, strange or altered in one fashion or another.

He survived the best he could on his own before the Lion, older and reborn, found him and gave him new purpose.

Upon his discovery, he reunited with an old friend of his. Both of them were to go through the Rubicon Primaris together, to be forged anew, stronger and more resilient then they had been during the Horus Heresy.

He was the only one to survive.

Now, haunted by the recent loss of his friend, he struggles to keep his head above the sea of sorrow as he fights once more under the Lion's name.

There was no strength to be found in the waters of loss or pain. He was no stronger for losing his better half, despite what his Chaplain might have told him.

Maybe a new perspective, a friendship with another astartes who shared his sorrow, could give him the strength to move on.

dunno what to call this

what can I say I really like my dark angel companion minis

[sepulcher666]

Titus reconciles with Leandros. Forewarning: Fanon, personal interpretation of canon,Gets sappy towards the end

@cardinalcanis

The silence felt so uncomfortable. The recycled air of the battle barge felt chilly to Titus despite his thermal-regulating armor.

The softly sung devotionals of the servo skulls and speakers permeated the Reclusiam. The beautiful impressions and work on the walls gilded in gold detail reflected the artificial light onto Leandros, illuminating his armored form beautifully.

The skull-helmet that covered his aged face was ever set into a stern expression. The red helmet lenses were ever-judging of what it viewed. But underneath it, Titus could sense the rapt attention that he was being paid by the chaplain.

It made what he wanted to say all the more important now. This was the last bridge he wanted to gap. He couldn’t let this opportunity slip away.

“Leandros..” They were alone. This was a more personal way to address the younger Astartes after so long apart, and after a tortuous question left hanging, unanswered. Some part of him wanted to know if Leandros truly suspected him of corruption, or if he simply made of a mistake.

“Titus.” Leandros addressed him in turn.

“Were you firm in your convictions that I was truly corrupted by the warp?” His voice sounded strained, even to him.

“I was. But…” Leandros paused, as if trying to find the words to say.

“You have proven your purity of will time and time again. I have come to believe I was hasty in my judgement. The inquisition has not treated you well.” This seemed like it was difficult for him to admit as well. Titus suspected it was an ego-wound to his Astartes psyche.

He did not know if Leandros had truly moved on from his previous captain’s death or the past.

“And I should have been more direct with you, told you my intentions. Perhaps things would have played out differently.” He sighed.

“Let this be the last time we broach this issue..” The Chaplain replied..

A few slow-heartbeats passed between the two. A small hiss was the needle drop in the silence as Leandros took his helmet off to clip it to his belt.

Titus could see the sunken eyes and pale countenance of his chaplain. The expression he held now told of a weight lifted off his shoulders.

He moved a bit closer to try to comfort the chaplain, disregarding codex protocol.

And unexpectedly, Leandros hugged him.

“Thank you, Titus.” It was softly uttered, but pitched enough for an Astartes to hear.

Titus kissed his forehead and rested his own against the younger man’s in a gentle attempt of comfort.

It did not go unreciprocated as he felt a pair of chapped, scarred lips press against his own.

[sepulcher666]

Writing Exercise with a shameless self insert

——-

I help him up. The servos of his armor creaked on the weight of my efforts, the strength of my aching, gene-enhanced limbs. The terminator armor I wore worked overtime to haul him over my shoulders.

“You will not die this day, Blackshield.” I was determined.

“….sending…location..auspex..” he groaned as I took off into a run the best I could..

I turned my body, shielding him from stray energy blasts that traveled towards our direction. I fired my storm Bolter towards the direction the projectiles came from. As my auspex registered hits, I turned and continued to run.

I could hear the whine of the thunder hawks engines as it descended and as the ramp lowered.

“Onboard! Now!”

——-

*dim conversation. Perhaps this is something Titus isn’t meant to hear, but catches wind of nonetheless.*

“Why does it matter that we have a black shield in our squad? He serves the deathwatch as any of us do.”

“My concern is not with him being a black shield, but of the accusations leveled against him. He could be warp-tainted for all you or I know!”

“Agh! I’ve had enough of this! He was already vindicated when he was released from that fools custody!”

“I do not trust the ordo hereticus. That “fool” proved that neither should you, given your years serving the ordo xenos.”

“He wakes. I will go check on him.”

“Fine. Do what you will.”

——

I turn from my companion and head down the hall of the observatory. I see servo skulls float past on anti-gravity machines, playing sacred hymns and constant prayers to the God-Emperor.

His cot should be somewhere down the Astartes quarters….

I approach the cot upon recognizing the figure that sat upon the cushioned slab.

He acknowledges me with a single look, and beckons me to sit beside him.

“How do you fare, Demetrian Titus?” I ask, offering him a fresh flask of cold water.

“Well enough.” He seems somewhat stiff. I can see the icy blue melt a little as he sees the flask being offered to him. It takes me only a second to catch it.

He takes it, uncorking the flask and downing it in a single gulp.

“You did not join us for morning prayers. Is something the matter, cousin?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“I was given an exemption by the apothecary. A torn Achilles heel, ruptured arteries and a several broken ribs. I should be well enough in a day or so.” I don’t think he lies about his injuries, but I suspect that he was uneasy, given this was his first month in the Deathwatch.

I nod. “I see. Did he clear you for firing drills? The watch master wishes to see you today at the range.”

Demetrian Titus is quiet for a few seconds, as if he were considering my question.

“If the watch master summons me I shall go now to save some time. Where is he?” He gets up, grunting a bit in pain. I help steady him.

“I will help you to him if your pains are too great.”

He lays his arm around my shoulder. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“No need. It is my duty to assist. I shall help you the best I can.”

We head out of the cot at and to the lift at a steady pace.

“Why do you excuse yourself from your duties to help me?”

I consider his question as we turn a corner.

“I am not the only one that wishes to help you. Several of my cousins wanted to help and welcome you to the death watch. I suspect their curiosities run deeper than that and would make you uncomfortable, given your status as a black shield. Some do not have the authority to excuse themselves from their duties.”

“I see. You are a veteran of the Deathwatch then?”

I nod. “I am, Cousin. Soon, you will be too, given time.”

“I shall hope that proves to be the case.”

——-

[sepulcher666]

Snatched from Nuceria no-nails angron

Lengthy preamble:(Probably late to this but ah well. This version of angron is very hurt and somewhat justifiably grumpy. Very dismissive-fearful.)

(if the emperor had helped this would be very different.)

(This version he's stolen away from nuceria- hates his legion and his brothers. He finds more in common with the baseline humanity that serves them. This one fights for the humanity that comprises the Imperium and finds absolution defending them against chaos.)

This version of angron probably knows what's at stake and still fights in the gladiatorial arena even though it kills him inside to do it. His mentor takes the fall and gets the nails.

He bides his time and still manages the uprising. He has his last stand, is scooped away by the Emperor who doesn't really see another way to save him.

He hates the emperor for this, still. He doesn't lash out at one of his custodians, he just asks-"why?"

"Why did you take me away from the death I rightly earned through fire and blood?"

"You were meant for more than this."

"...it never felt like that." He understands where the Emperor is coming from. Angron acknowledges that his father is a pragmatist-but he absolutely hates it had to come at the cost of his old friends whom he spent a lot of time with. It doesn't heal the very fresh wound in his heart.

The rest of the trip is spent in very uncomfortable silence. The Emperor is smart enough to leave the matter alone. He thinks; his son will eventually come around.

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

Even without the nails, Angron still feels like he's broken to his core. He absolutely struggles to come to terms with being ripped away from his old life and placed in a new one without any preamble, explanation or closure.

He hates what's happened to him, and he spends quite a bit of time brooding by himself. He gives Emps the silent treatment.

He takes quite a while to meet his Legion. Nobody has heard anything from him for a few weeks. Scouts have to be sent to look for him. He makes himself incredibly difficult to find- and once he's found, they find shrines he's made to the men and women he's fought alongside on Nuceria. He has spent this time mourning.

He's refused to see any of the world eaters that came to meet him.

When he finally meets Kharn, seeing him again is like being stabbed in the nuceria-sized wound he tried so hard to somewhat heal;

His expression sours at the face that so much resembled his own.

"Who are you? What does my father put in front of me? Did he do this to insult me?" He's so drained and bitter.

Kharn introduces himself, trying to keep a level head as he feels Angrons scathing gaze on him. It was like he was in front of something that absolutely wanted to tear him apart but kept himself from doing so.

Kharn feels a large hand grasp the back of his neck. Angron can feel the hope in him-the trepidation and fear that he would disappoint him. Within seconds he absorbs the myth that was told about him.

"I...am sorry." It stung like a blade that pierced his chest and twisted between his hearts.

Had the Emperor intended these men as the replacements? He knows this is false, but his bitter heart causes him to think so.

Angron turns away and stalks off into the darkness. A mixture of pity and trepidation poisoned his thoughts. He gives no explanation, he doesn't even acknowledge his gene-son even as Kharn calls out after him.

Angron is at an impasse. He feels if he turns around, he will somehow make this moment far worse for himself and Kharn. A wounded beast rests inside of his chest, waiting to lash out at a most inopportune moment. He is unwilling to let it out.

Would Kharn even understand if he said he felt pity for him?

He feels a hot pang in his throat as he makes his way out.

In a way, this is worse than getting beaten up for kharn. He thinks he would have been willing to be the punching bag for Angron- to help him get a bit of his anger out. He would have promised anything. What was he sorry for? What did this mean?

No one knows what to expect from him. Angron makes no indication he likes any of them either but leads them out of a sense of duty and obligation. He can't find a lot of common ground with his legion.

He treats the human crew and serfs surprisingly well though. lol. He shares stories and receives them in turn. Hears their fears, struggles, and hopes. Spends more time talking to the captain of his flagship than he does talking to any of his sons. Gives a lot of advice and counsel to his circle of baseline humans. It's almost like they're his new family in a way.

His brothers hear about this- stories spread quite easily amongst baseline humans.

(I think he has a lot of potential- Ill write a part 2 and 3 sooner or later.)

[sepulcher666]

Warning: very suggestive. Consensual Rough foreplay.

Ulfar x Titus

——-

“Would you have me?” Is not a question ulfar thought Titus would ask.

From the way it was spoken, he would have thought it an invitation into his bed.

He was correct.

Titus’s gaze was heated full of desire, but his hands still remained respectful. Such was protocol.

Both of them were buzzing from adrenaline, and both of them needed an outlet.

“I would have you. This is not a contest I shall lose.” It was a challenge as much as a promise.

———

The tryst was a contest of wills as much as strength. Still, Ulfar found Titus a bit too gentle for his liking.

The force in his touch would kill a mortal a thousand times over, but it was too gentle for a fellow Astartes.

He taunted him as the Blackshield had him pressed against the wall. He could feel broken calluses scrape against old wounds. It was a pleasant sensation.

He could feel his hot breath at the back of his neck as they wrestled.

“I thought you better than this-“ He was cut off by a fierce kiss. He felt teeth draw blood from his lips.

He pushed Titus off and laughed, grabbing him by the hair and licking a stripe on his cheek.

“So you do have some fire in you after all! Good!”

He had made a mess of Titus’s neck, leaving marks and bloody kisses on his skin. Similarly, he had bloody bruises on his naked, powerful thighs and abdomen from fingers and teeth.

“I would have you know I’m not to be underestimated.”

Both of them were panting from exertion. Both of them were far from done.

It would be a long night.

——-

(Titus made no noise but ulfar could see the pleasure writ clear on his face. It amused him greatly and earned him a black eye when he teased Titus for it.)

[sepulcher666]

Guilt (no nails angron au)

i drew something for this tw:Blood

Perhaps it is guilt that draws me here, to a place where 7 of my own astartes have not returned from.

A medical evacuation transport stands at the ready for i fear what i might find here.

It is too dark here for any legionary to see without his auspex. The air is thick with the smell of blood and ash.

I can see around me a squad, their armor obfuscated and their bodies broken at my feet.

I kneel to inspect one. I wipe away the soot with my palm to reveal a familiar symbol, the one my astartes have painted on their armor. The symbol of the War Hounds.

I turn him over to inspect his other pauldron. To my horror, I recognize this corpse as belonging to the squad that Kharn was assigned to. What could have possibly happened here to warrant their sudden deaths?

I press on further. Perhaps there are survivors.

-----

I see something. I see a small river of half-dried blood pooling under a struggling legionary. His helmet lies discarded, casted onto the depths beneath the rock i stood on. A untriggered munitions charge laid at his feet.

Around him were some xenos that resembled...insects. Many of them lay dead, bloodied, and broken.

I make to go to him in a few, quick strides. I kneel, bringing myself to his level and help prop him up against the pillar. His chest rasps, as if he is struggling to breathe under some great weight. I wipe some of the blood off of his face.

There is something inside of me that needs to know who he is.

My memory comes back to me. This was Kharn. The astartes whom I have disgraced at our first meeting.

He seems to be barely conscious, his caplescean node having sluggishly put his body into survival mode.

He whispers, opening his eyes a fraction to see who held him now. "....Father?" He sounded so broken.

It stabbed a knife into my heart.

I gently pick up the legionary and hold him close to my chest as I run at a full sprint out of the cave and to the waiting transport. He would live. His primarch willed it.

He would live.....

----

I did not know why I held him as if a father would hold an injured child.

I do not know why.

I do not know why my heart bleeds so painfully for a son I did not have the courage to face.

[sepulcher666]

Space Marine Injury Recovery Rewrite

All he had to do now was wait. The Tyranids laid dead all around him. 

Broken demolition charges lay scattered in an abstract display. Archos himself laid in an unusual position. The damage on his battle plate is a wordless testament to the struggle that took place here.

He could taste the acidic tang of chemicals in his mouth. His Larraman’s cells had sealed up his wounds, but he had lost far too much blood. His body stung with the familiar pain of cracked ribs and bones.

Archos laid there and tried to prop himself up against something the best he could.

Even though muddled senses, he could still hear the heavy drumming of footsteps. Too heavy to be human.

It hurt too much to speak, but he tried anyway. Even as his brother-apothecary attended to him.

“Is it you?” His throat stung like it was severely parched. Blood poured between his teeth and flooded his taste with the tang of iron. He saw the apothecary shake his head.

“Do not attempt to speak. Yes, it's me.” Perhaps this was a blatant lie, as Archos did not recognize who spoke, but it comforted him all the same. He wondered who the voice belonged to.

Archos reached out, brushing his fingers against the helmet in wonder. He felt the servos in his brothers helmet thrum with familiar sensation. The unfamiliar brother did not take push his fingers or hand away.

Something close to hurt was visible in the expressionless visor.

Ceramite clad hands cradled his head. “Try your best to stay awake.”

What followed next was lost to him in a haze of pain and delirium. Even through it all, he did not scream.

A needle pierced his skin, bringing him back to reality.

“Put your arm over my pauldron. We’re heading back to the battle barge.”

The apothecary supported him as more thunder hawks landed next to the ruined fortress. 

He was glad to finally find some measure of relief, even if he promptly collapsed into his 

apothecary the minute the thunderhawk took off.  “Archos? Archos?”

The surprise of his sudden collapse miraculously did not cause them both to crash into the pilot as the vehicle took off with all haste.

-----

“Brother.” He felt a hand on his cheek. It felt familiar, warm almost. He could recognize each scar and callus on that hand. Archos blearily opened his eyes to see his friend. He smiled, trying to go back to sleep. This time, he did not get to.

Two strong hands were on his shoulders and lifted him up. 

“I do not wish for you to go into a sus an coma, Archos. The night is still young.”

His friend, Kairos, did not know of his quick recovery? Or was he just joking and trying to lift his mood?

“I know.” He winced, as he got up. Pain shot up his spine.

His world spun briefly as he blinked, trying to clear his vision. 

“Why are you smiling?…” He grumbled, bracing himself against the wall.

Kairos snorted before pulling Archos into a hug. The space marine took in the smell of the incense-laden robe his friend wore.

“There, there.”

A strong hand rubbed his back, causing him to unwittingly relax into his embrace. Tension and thoughts melted away. Here he was safe. Here he was home.

“I will have you know, my heart rejoices at your survival. I feared you lost to the xenos hive down there.” He pressed his cheek against Archos. He held his friend close, as if he were some loose substance that could slip between his fingers.

Kairos took a shuddering breath.

“We all must join the emperor one day, Kairos. It is the way of things.” He felt his grasp tighten imperceptibly.

“I know that. But I wish to share kinship with you before he calls you to join his side.”

Kairos withdrew and smiled mischievously.

“I have this free hour to spend with you. We shall skip evening prayers together.”

Archos laughed. “You never liked the chaplains devotionals.”