#traitor ultramarine

[kit-williams]

Chaos Tulio: Superbeast

This is a Loyalty swap for Tulio. Not based off of any fan heresies a lot more work goes into those and I'm not willing to build from the ground up an alternate Horus Heresy. However all of the boys (Except Tyberos and other actual 40k characters) will be getting a Loyalty swap. There will also be a "Falling to Chaos" version for the Loyalists and (tentatively) a "Rising to Redemption" for the Traitors.

Also Psychi in this story has descriptions due to the more... graphic nature of this one to lessen any ick someone might feel about a reader insert

Word count: 3542

Tag List @bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts

@liar-anubiass-blog @thevoidscreams @barn-anon @sculptorofcrimson

Thank you to @squishyowl for the dividers

tw: sex ahoy, dubious consent, will also tag as noncon as well, yandere, Tulio is his own warning

Readers Discretion is Advised

The traitor realm of Ultramar was the largest holding of traitors outside of the eye of terror. Controlled by the fallen Primarch Robute Guilliman; it fell overnight following the charismatic leader that was the primarch of the 13th legion. The realm was a beautiful hell... a hell where they knew exactly how much worth you had in you the moment you were brought into their clutches. For a thing of Chaos... even the Chaos was calculated and planned for... for the Primarch hated surprises.

Tyranids were a surprise that the Lord of Ultramar despised and thus he dedicated several thousand of his sons to dealing with it and the profane rituals to insure that they could protect the realm of Ultramar. Profane rituals blessed these sons of Ultramar as to defeat their seemingly endless xenos foe... they chose to become like their foes. To become the beasts.

Lieutenant Tulio Sydo had secured a large victory for his Primarch, at the cost of thousands of his men, a few warp drives, and his fellow Lieutenant... the Hive Fleet barreling towards Macragge was no more... the splinters of the hive fleet would be hunted down but for now he was told to recuperate... to relax... to partake in revelry... as his worship of the four was far too lopsided according to the chaplain... the youngest deserved his worship.

The room smelt of sweat and sex as concubines bodies moved against mutated flesh. The four armed and eight eyed Lieutenant was watching the depravity... they couldn't be too rough given theses were the modified concubines... surely someone's seed would take. His lounged as his digigrade legs were spread open, his cheek rested on one of his hands, another held a goblet of wine, a third resting near a weapon, and his fourth hand laced through the blonde hair of his once favorite concubine as she took his cock in her mouth. He was fused to his armor in certain locations... his thighs, the tops of his hands and arms, and from the nose up was now twisted with a large singular horn coming from his forehead.

He could smell her... his black tongue lazily swiped over his needle like teeth. His eyes closer to the back of his head could watch her... his Psychoula. Comparing her to the concubines they looked far prettier... healthier... with a glow to their skin. His eyes darted to the symbol of the Prince on his former favorite's tongue just working her best to please him. Psychi feared him... he could see it in the way tears gathered in the corners of her eyes... those plain brown things. How thin her dirty brown hair was but oh what a rich chocolate brown it could be when cleaned. He had the pleasure of seeing her look good once... once again when his favorite was failing to make him feel alive.

Slaanesh wasn't his favorite of the four... Khorne was his main patron and it was hard to drag him back to the center of worship that being so high up in his father's good graces required. So Tulio had to... excessively indulge in Slaanesh to balance out his souls humors. Yet this... neglected looking thing drove him to feel such licentiousness desires. His eyes, the ones that could see her, focused on her as he churned his hips. Hand gripping the hair tighter as he closed those still green eyes of his just picturing those sad looking brown ones looking up at him.

He grew to dislike his erstwhile concubine when she had caught sight of her, of course ignorant of his interest in the feeble little thing, and simply upturned her nose to the poor little thing. But, her mouth was a good replacement until he could get those pale lips to wrap around his own cock one day soon. Oh yes orgy first then rewards for his men as they had all chosen their desired pitiful creature to have as theirs and theirs alone and he could tell they all were watching, or trying to not watch, nervously. He sees her tense as he catches her eyes dart over and notice how he looks at her and what is going on between his legs. Tulio can't help but grin as he lets out a groan letting the whore between his legs drink it up.

"Brother Cyrus." Tulio started as he was being cleaned off. His second also appeared to be boredly watching the festivities but really Tulio knew his eyes were focused on some one armed black haired waif. Such a tiny looking frail thing... Tulio might have been tempted to lust over such a cute looking thing but his Psychi caught his eyes first.

"Yes Lieutenant?" He replied with a bored sigh.

"You want a go at this?" He gestures to the concubine in his lap who looks at him confused. Cyrus looked over clearly uninterested before Tulio purred out, "Might make sure you don't... break your little waif... if you get some of that eager passion out. Whole point of this orgy really... don't need any of my closest men sobbing about breaking their new toy."

They ignored the concubine trying to get an answer to beg for her master's affection and Tulio could have ignored her but he looked down at her boredly, "You were always on loan to me my dear. I just tend to get possessive of my things." He says grabbing her chin and pushing her lips together, "However, I'm about to get a tight new toy..." He says before brother Cyrus grabs her and drags her into a side room.

The wine ran down his throat so smoothly cleaning away the acidic feeling from gorging himself earlier. He looked at the empty goblet holding it to the side and just gently rolling his hand as he watched his timid little Psychoula come over to fill the glass. Her cheeks flushed from the debased acts and the pleasured moans... perhaps glances from the women to entice them to join in and enjoy.

"What do think about this my dear?" He trilled to her watching confusion crawl across her pretty face slowly like a body divided below the waist... refusing to die and dragging it out like intestines across the ground.

He watched her mouth open slightly a few time as her eyes darted around trying hard to look away but knowing that she had to maintain eye contact with him. "I... I... its... it's not exactly... my first choice?" She tried her best not to stutter and if it was anyone else he would be offended at the lack of respect given to him. Tulio knows he'll teach her better manners she's just not use to his divinely gifted aura yet. Few mortals could manage to not be intimidated or struck with fear the first few times meeting him.

"Oh?" He cooed to her moving to him now lounging on his side giving her his attention. The saliva clinging to his cock has dried off and he was eager to replace it with something else. One of his hands began a languid stroke, "What brings you such hesitations Psychoula?" Tulio did his best not to have a predatory grin as he could see the other rewards looking at her with pity and fear as they tried to ignore the mewling and moaning throng in the center of the room.

His eyes dilated for a moment watching her pink little tongue wet her dried and chapped lips. His eyes wandered down to the front of her stolla where the fabric revealed the tattooed symbol of the Ultramarine's on her collarbone like all slaves. "It... it looks rather violent." She just says uncomfortably, he could tell she wanted to beg to be dismissed but she was trapped.

"Oh it is. But," He pauses taking a drink, "they are modified to handle such carnal appetites. Only the prettiest things can become like them..." Tulio leans in watching her start to shake but like a good girl she doesn't move, "I think you're pretty enough to become one." He whispers into her ear pulling back to watch her stiffen with fear. Those tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as she whimpers just biting on her bottom lip resisting the urge to beg for mercy.

Tulio stops playing with himself and sets his goblet down as his clawed hands grab her feeling the barest of resistance as he pulls her into his lap. This lower set of arms pulls on the low quality fabric apart causing her to start crying as everything below her waist was now revealed... he could feel how boney she was. One upper hand retrieved his gobelt... the other upper hand worked on throwing the last bits of her ruined stolla away... one lower arm was groping her ass, his cock twitching with excitement, as his other worked her breasts.

"You're so small zoi mou." He stated as her breasts were small from lack of food... lack of nutrition... oh they wouldn't do. Two of his hands rushed down and grabbed her ass with a smack causing her to yelp as he felt up the slightly boney thing, his cock leaking again with excitement at her being in his grasp and his hands felt up her body. "This won't do at all." He said tutting softly as he grabbed her chin. He loved to watch her cry... it stirred something noble feeling in his chest. She was a soft and frail thing that needed someone to protect her and he was going to be that one to do so.

"You'll fatten up soon enough and have breasts as enviable as any of the other concubines getting ravaged here." He made her look at one of the women face down on the floor with a pleasured look on her face as cum oozed down her thighs while one of the battle brothers was roughly rutting with her. She was too speechless only making whines of pleasure... he could smell the shameful arousal from Psychi... "Fat breasts for me to grope and hold," he whispers in her ear, "fattened hips for me to grab and feel my balls clap against." He turned to have her look at him, "You want to be in that position, dont you?"

He watched her shake her head and just chuckled, "I can smell you." He poked her nose like some amused child and not a being of twisted transhuman dread and the simple dread of the profane gifts he has gotten. He pushes her against his cock and she jerks in his grip.

"Please you're too big my lord please! Mercy!" She finally sobs and Tulio shivers, one of his hands gathering up his cum on some fingers.

"Hmm you're right... how about we change that." He leans her back slightly pouring the far too rich wine into her mouth. She lets out a sputtering noise as his cum covered finger pushed into her. She pushed the goblet away and coughed as the red wine stained her skin and wetting her hair as Tulio worked his finger in and out of her at a fast beat smearing just a light coating of his thick cum into her unprepared sex.

She felt her body relax and react to the way his finger moved in and out of her quickly and filled her with a thickness akin to a cock. Tulio's barbed tail twisted and coiled around itself in its own way to express its master's twisted glee. "Yes," he dulcetly crooned, "be a good girl and relax for me." A clawed hand moved over her stomach... claws gently tapping against those visible lower ribs of hers. Tulio loved the way she cried... the pitiful expression she wore just stroked something in him. Tulio felt that same sentimental twinge itch in the back of his mind... was this what loyalists felt over their charges?

He drags out a gasping moan as his index joins his middle finger. He pulls her dirty hair free of the frazzled braid and watches it spool out over the lounging chair. His eyes all focus on her... drinking in the full picture of her pleasure... his hands dance over her body. He held a memory covetously close to his wicked hearts... having seen her smile. Having seen her express a pure spark of joy even in hell. Her smile made such a frail looking creature like herself look radiant and glowing.

She whimpered under his ministrations as she writhed on the large lounging chair unable to stop squirming. Her eyes screwed shut as she was torturously close... Tulio leaned in as his long thin black tongue glided out of his mouth like some predatory beast and it moved into her... finding her clitoris... she squealed as she orgasamed and she tasted like he was expecting... unhealthily... but he wasn't a fully selfish lover... she'd taste like dark chocolate to him one day... that delightful bitter and salty combination mixed with an essence uniquely her's.

He knows she should have asked if there was anything else he needed... but his answer would have been a yes. His hooves touched the stone floor as he grabbed her by her upper arm and dragged her to another room, her legs seemingly failing her. She caught those pitying looks from the others but they would soon have to worry once the concubines were sent away with cum filled cunts. The sexual frenzy of his brothers would end soon... but he was going to indulge in his reward first.

Pressing her hands against the wall in the second room he rocks his cock against her back as he takes his time letting his eyes meander and wander over her body... again far too thin for his liking... he'd find out what fruits and sweets she'd like and help her indulge... oh he certainly was feeling the high that others got from the Prince of Pleasure. She was surly placed in his path by him to keep Tulio from giving it all to Khorne... just as the Weaver of Fate kept his mind sharp... and the loving Grandfather kept him hearty and hale... he would return to balance with his now continued indulgence of his dear Psychoula.

He tossed the empty metal goblet away as all of his hands moved over her body, two hands grabbing and squeezing her breasts on the edge of being too much for her body he could feel her try to flinch away but she was very much well trained... hardly flinching away at all. "I'll enjoy breaking you in... have you begging for my cock again."

She whimpered choosing to remain silent... Tulio clicked his tongue feeling a bit ignored. The way her eyes widened in horror as his palm talon shot out and punched a hole into the metal wall. How her body trembled against his as Tulio leaned in whispering, "I expect you to answer when I tell you something zoi mou. I'm being oh so very nice," He hissed into the shell of her ear, his hands on her breasts shifting to let his nails dig into her oh so frail flesh... "I could rip your flesh right off your body." That got a sob out of her, "Answer honestly my dear..."

He savored with sick delight as her mouth opened and closed as tears were flowing down her cheeks like rain. "Please just don't make it painful." She managed to squeak out of her without sobbing.

"Awww, zoi mou, is that what you're worried about?" He said grabbing her chin and having her look up at him. Of course, she'd be pain adverse for their first time together... perhaps they would work up to that... or not... Tulio just wanted her to be begging for his cock. To see her smile at him with a coy lustful grin in his bed as she wiggled her ass and bare sex to him just wanting to fill her. "I will do my best to make this a moment you want again." He kissed her temple.

She could feel the pointed head of his cock force its way between her prepared folds... it started out thin but got thicker towards the base. She pressed her forehead against the wall, forced to the tips of her toes as Tulio sunk inch after inch into her. Tulio on the other was clenching his jaw trying his best to not just break her and rip her apart for his first time with her. He had to be gentle...

His eyes snapped open, he didn't realize he closed them all, he licked the inside of his mouth as he adjusted his hips and began the slow thrust in and out of her divine sex. It's how he didn't burn himself out... he savored each time he had sex keeping them far enough apart that it made it feel so wonderful and new... he probably would be indulging so much more often if this is what was waiting for him.

Psychi whimpered as he picked her up, hands still on her breasts on the edge of being so painful. The way he wrapped his arms around her... she could feel him starting to squeeze... more and more. Her moans became less and less sure as the distraction of the sex was waning and the impending dread returned.

Tulio tilted her back and started to squeeze causing her to thrash around him, her walls fluttering around his cock causing him to groan as those tears rolled down her cheeks, "Lord Sydo! Lord Sydo please!" She screamed fearfully as she has seen what an Astartes can do to normal human flesh...

"Tulio." He hissed, "Call me Tulio... moan that out for me!"

"Tulio! Tulio!" She screams trying to moan but she just sobs as she can feel the pressure against her body... she was going to die.

"You say my name so sonorously how I am compelled to listen." He trills to her before tossing her naked body onto the bed in the room . He watches her try to recover but he is upon her swiftly and he plunged his cock back deep into her as once again she feels it dance on the edge of painful but Psychi can't help but moan slightly.

Tulio has been a kind lover... as he is certain she has orgasmed at least 4 times since he started giving her attention. The soft whimpers as his cock gently grinds against her cervix... perhaps he lied a little promising that this time wouldn't hurt... it would hurt a bit... one of his upper arms traps her in a headlock, he watches those eyes look at him with fear.

He promises zoi mou! Just let him breed you right now! You will come to love this! He thinks deliriously as his body suddenly floods with the right cocktail of chemicals and neurons firing. The tip of his cock pushes against the very back of her being... Psychi feels something move inside of her before she feel the pressure and she starts to just scream as it hurts. She claws at those ceremite ridges on his arm holding her, she's thrashing as she feels something move inside of her as Tulio's profane biology goes to work flooding his system with hormones as he lets out a soft groan as he finally releases inside of her.

I can't breathe! Is Psychi's last thought as it's too much for her... the racing of her heart... the painful pressure... his arm around her. She cannot hear the bellowed order from Tulio then the screaming from the "gift" mortals. No she gets no closure... as it all... fade... to ... black.

For the first time in her miserable short life... everything feels quiet... everything feels safe. She can feel sleep languidly pulling away from her but whatever she is on is soft. A gentle clean breeze kisses her cheeks and she can feel a gentle warmth on her skin that feels so comforting like a babe's blanket. She does her best to ignore the gentle light that dances across her eyelids occasionally.

She lets out a contented sigh and feels like all of that hardship... it was all a dream and she was finally dead. Something rustles behind her and a warm voice... strong... assured of itself... but it whispers to her, "Welcome Home." The voice says before gentle kisses are pressed against the back of her neck coaxing her back into the deep slumber. Home... what a funny word to here but if this was home... then she never wanted to leave.

Tulio Sydo Lieutenant of the Tyrannic division of the Traitor Primarch Robute Guilliman's Ultramarine legion... sighed contently watching his new wife, consort, concubine, possession. Return to her sleep as they were back in the Ultramar system and he was back home. He once more pressed kisses to the back of her neck as he thought how she would be modified soon... for now he would just enjoy finally having his zoi mou all to himself. His tail lazily swayed behind him as he closed those grass green eyes of his and trilled contently.

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

Ultramarines Champion vs Chaos Lord by Daniel Rosa

[titanomancy]

See, this is exactly what I'm talking about.

[wh40kgallery]

Traitor Titan Down

Artist Unknown

[eddiebreeg666]

Well, let's see how Rowboat Girlyman finds the 41st Millennium.

[kit-williams]

God please give us some Space Marines

I am this 🤏 close to learning how to animate in 3D just give some much needed space marine porn.

you'd be the hero we need, and deserve.

would pay for a animation of getting spitroasted by two Imperial fists

[candyswirls]

Space Marine Cuddle Pile PT 2

Continuation of this. PT 3.

@wolf-feathers12 you owe me fifty cookies and I’m gluten free

Imagine:

Titus is not quite new anymore to the watch. He’s slowly opening up to his squad mates but still is apprehensive. The mission has been a success and his squad wants to celebrate. They worked well together. But Titus does not wish to participate. He is bitter and mournful. News that the Primarch, Roboute Guilliman, had returned came through a few days ago. He was overjoyed at hearing that. But he doesn’t get to celebrate. Not when he’s dishonored his chapter. Not when he’s a black shield. Not when he can’t celebrate with his brothers. Before he can go to the training cages, a squad mate pulls him back, not taking no for an answer. He may have not told them his chapter and was using another name but they can tell how hard the last few days have been. Rather than celebrating they all huddle together, one with another. They miss each of their chapters and brothers. But they can find comfort in one another. It’s a moment of reprieve for the ex-captain’s broken heart.

As an Emperors’ children you are far more prone to cuddling than one might think. You were always underestimated. Many scoffed at your legion and chalked you up to pompous and egotistical men. Some of that was true but it didn’t make it hurt any less. Even more hurtful was the rejection of your Primarch. He didn’t want you or your brothers. He would not lead. You all were so desperate that some followed his clone when he showed up. You’re all scattered and trying what you can to make Fulgrim proud and have him return. Sometimes the rejection hurts so much you’ll curl up together in a pile. Pretending the weight is your Primarch, welcoming you back and saying that you’ve done well. That you’re worthy of his love. Those who are a part of war bands tend to be flock to bigger Astartes. Craving large and warm arms to wrap around you and say it’s okay. You’re not useless or worthless. You’re not an object or disposable.

Little known fact about Iron Warriors. You will cuddle anyone but your own legion. You’re so touch starved and refuse to ask for it due to how the chapter is. Cuddling your brothers? Revolting. Your Primarch won’t do it. Cold and refusing to show any weakness. But the minute any other traitor Astartes wants to start a pile or even a daemon or cultist request a hug, you’re there. You will not say anything and you’re definitely not saying no. You will just join in. If you see a cuddle pile you won’t ask, you’re suddenly in the middle. Emperor’s Children tend to like Iron Warrior’s for this reason. Might as well write “Free Hugs” on the back of their armor.

Newly joined Blood Angels feeling the psychic wound of their genefathers death. The looming of the red thirst and the chance of falling to the black rage. Their new brothers hold them in a large mass. Safe and warm to let them know that they’re not alone. They all feel the pain. They all mourn their father and fallen brethren. They all share it. So they share their hugs and affection.

Black Templars having massive sermons where the chaplain gets emotional and they all hold one another as they recite prayers. Hold each other up. Being strong like Dorn. Their Primarch isn’t here but they are here for each other.

Night Lords will cram themselves into dark and tight places to hide, entangled in each other’s arms. Their Primarch was mad and didn’t care for them. They have to care for each other. Everything they do is vile and violent. Except for this. Ever so gentle touches, protective embraces, the most tender of running hands through hair, gentle head butting. They are one of the most affectionate legions but only with each other. Silent as they relish in each other’s deep rooted sadness and hatred for themselves and solace of being with one another.

Lorgar finally has a moment of silence as the word bearers are escorted away from Monarchia by the Ultramarines. The emperor’s wrath had been fierce. He ends up dropping to his knees and pulling his closest son into an embrace. The others around him move forward without thinking. He pulls so many into his arms, has them laying their heads on his shoulders and back. Pressing their cheeks and foreheads to his own as he cries prayers he wrote. They were innocent! Loyal to him! He had done this for him! All that work! It was a gift! A tribute! He just burned it away! Killed them all. Rejected it. He’s in so much pain and anger but having his sons close eases it a bit.

Magnus clings to his sons. They don’t react as dust swirls within the armor. Foolish stupid Ahriman. He had managed to save the remaining few and bring them into the warp. Relieved that they all weren’t dead. This seemed worse though. He presses a kiss to the top of one’s helmet, praying that there’s some bit of conscious in there. Those that were unaffected are huddled behind him as his new wings caress them.

He wasn’t very affectionate. Mortarion had grown up shying away from it and he rarely indulged in cuddle piles. But after so many had died from horrid plagues and sicknesses, he had to pledge himself to Nurgle. It didn’t matter though. His sons were saved and himself. He had sat himself on the ground and big then to come forth. Some were nuzzled into his side, a few rested their heads on his torso. He was surrounded by his sons. Safe. He didn’t care what it had taken or what would happen next.

[beckyninja]

Revelation

Pairing: Lt. Demetrian Titus x FemReader

Warnings: descriptions of torture

Description: Our favorite Ultramarine Captain Lieutenant realizes his personal serf means far more to him than he thought. And all it took was his subconscious concocting a truly horrific scenario.

Alright guys, you seemed to like my fluff. Now I thought I'd try my hand at some angst. As always, please forgive any non-canonical details. And thanks to @solspina who's Dante dream fic heavily inspired this.

Pain.

Demetrian Titus knew this feeling. In his long life as an Astartes, he’d experienced more kinds of pain than most Imperial citizens dreamed of in their worst nightmares. Stab wounds, shattered bones, burns, bites. He’d endured them all, healed, and moved on.

Not this time, though. This pain… lingered. It welled and pulsed within his very nerves, bypassing all attempts by his enhanced body to neutralize it. It stemmed from the chains bolted to his wrists and ankles, from the hundreds of injection sites scattered across his skin.

And from the mind of one Inquisitor.

“Ah, awake again, I see.”

The deceptively calm voice echoed inside his skull. A face came into view, seeming to float in the endless void.

It smiled.

Once, he would have lunged at that smug face. He would have strained against the shackles that bound him, warrior’s instincts screaming at him. Fight back! Kill!

No longer. That time had passed. Days? Months? Years ago, perhaps. Now he simply stared. He would not speak. He could not give the answers this madman desired, and he would not dishonor himself by lying. 

His silence was the only resistance he could give.

Normally, this infuriated his tormentor. He would rant and rail, promising new and varied forms of agony. 

“There is heresy within you, traitor. And I will dig it out, if I have to do so from your broken corpse!”

The Inquisitor often promised death, either as punishment… or reward. At times, Titus welcomed the idea. Then thoughts of the shame such a ignoble death would bring his Chapter filled him and he silently vowed to live another day. 

Eternal service. The vow of an Astartes. The vow of an Ultramarine. It did not matter the circumstances. He would endure. He would-

“I have something new planned for you this time, Titus.”

A sickly light illuminated his surroundings. It slowly revealed a figure crouched at the Inquisitor’s feet. After years of silence, a word fell from Titus’s torn lips.

“No…”

You. It was you. How? Titus’s mind whirled, trying to piece together a timeline that suddenly made no sense. You couldn’t be here. He hadn’t even met you yet! A deception. It had to be.

Then the Inquisitor reached down and yanked your head back. The hood of your serf’s robe fell and Titus looked into your eyes. Those beautiful eyes that had looked at him with hope and adoration. Now full of terror.

He jerked against his bonds without thinking, trying to reach you, trying to shield you from what was to come.

The Inquisitor laughed. “Such a reaction! And here I thought Astartes were above such mortal frailties as affection,” his hand left your head and strayed lower, “and desire.”

You yelped as that hand groped your flesh. Blind fury filled Titus and he lunged once again. 

“Do not touch her!”

“Or you will do what, exactly?” The Inquisitor gripped your chin and forced it up. “Look at him, girl. Look at your hero.” Another cruel laugh. “So strong and noble. And now all he can do is watch as I do this… and this…”

Your cries brought a pain greater than all the Inquisition’s tortures combined. Your eyes fixed on him, begging him to save you. He thrashed against his chains harder than ever before.

They only grew tighter.

The Inquisitor’s laughter rose to a shriek. “You swore to protect her, Titus! You swore to never let her come to harm again!”

He drew back his hand and struck you across the face. Again. And again. Titus watched welts and bruises bloom across your skin. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed. 

“This is your fault, Titus.” The Inquisitor grinned.

My fault. 

He had taken you for his own. Your companionship, in a galaxy that had abandoned him, soothed the ache in his soul. 

Now you suffered the consequences of his selfishness. 

For the first time in his life, the proud Ultramarine begged. “Stop, please!”

The Inquisitor threw you to the ground and brought his booted foot down on your arm with a sickening crack! You screamed.

Titus felt something break within him as well. “I WILL CONFESS!”

Silence. Darkness. He found himself alone in the void. He could no longer see you or the Inquisitor. For an eternity he hung there, waiting for something… anything.

Then, a voice whispered in his ear. “She means so much to you, doesn’t she?”

The sound of a blade splitting flesh. The overwhelming scent of blood. 

***

Titus’s eyes snapped open. All three of his lungs expanded as he gasped for breath. He lay on his cot, in his quarters, surrounded by the soft glow of candles. The omnipresent hum of the ship buzzed in his ears. 

His torment at the hands of the Inquisitor had ended over a century ago. You were not there. You had never been there. 

Why, then, did he still smell your blood?

At that moment, a soft beep came from the door as it slid open. You stepped inside, a bucket of cleaning supplies perched upon your hip. You glanced at him with a smile.

The scent of blood grew stronger.

In the blink of an eye he knelt before you, hands grasping your shoulders. “Where are you wounded?” 

“My Lord?” You gasped, the cleaning supplies clattering to the floor.

He noticed the reddish marks on your sleeves and growled, low and predatory. “Who hurt you?”

He’d find them and tear them limb from limb.

“No one, my Lord. I am not hurt.”

“Do not lie to me!”

You flinched. He winced, removing his hands.

“I am not injured.” You repeated. “The medicae are short-staffed at the moment and I offered to assist with the wounded in the infirmary. I know I should have asked your permission, but I didn’t think you’d disapprove. I’m sorry, my Lord.”

“I… I do not disapprove.” Titus closed his eyes and tried to regulate the adrenaline pumping through his veins. “There is no need for you to apologize.”

You were silent for a moment.

“You had another nightmare.”

“Yes.”

“It involved… me?”

“Yes. You were… injured. I could not… I tried to…”

Emotions ran riot through him. Some he could name: anger, guilt. Others were entirely foreign. He felt unmoored, severed from the comforting order of practical and theoretical.

“Perhaps I am indeed corrupted in some way.” He muttered, almost to himself. “Perhaps I deserve to suffer.”

“No!”

Something soft pressed against his face. He opened his eyes to find your hands cupping his cheeks. 

“Forgive me, but I hate it when you say such things.” Your beautiful eyes burned with conviction. “You saved me when no one else would. You are honorable and courageous and deserving of whatever happiness can be found in this life. You, Demetrian Titus, are a good man.” You hesitated then, your voice dropped to a whisper only an Astartes’ ears could have heard. “Emperor forgive me, I love you for it.”

Your words. Your touch. The strange emotions stirred up by his subconscious. All these things ignited in his mind… and Lieutenant Demetrian Titus of the Ultramarines experienced a revelation.

He covered your mouth with his own.

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@bispecsual @lemon-russ @kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus

@justeverythingnothingelse @scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen

@passionofthesith

I hope I tagged everyone who asked!

[deleteddewewted]

Some More Astartes Headcanons

MDNi

W: Angst, Fluff, Just more thoughts i have

Space Wolfs call their younger brother/neophytes pups.

Blood Ravens steal things to make a pile out of their stolen things to share with other battle brothers their "shiny discoveries"

The Raven Guard brothers are all a bunch of knitting lovers and sunscreen addicts. Most of them being very pale and in general, preferring the shadows, most of them will retreat to their chambers to knit. It's to the point that they need to place large orders of knitting materials every so often and the serfs are in charge of distributing the appropriate materials to the right Astartes.

The rumors of the Carcharadons being mean to their serfs or being cruel are not true. It's all propaganda that they started so that they are left alone. Their serfs are all people who are family or old friends. Their truly just a bunch of secret softies.

Onto that serfs play into this too. For all the chapters, serfs also follow the chapter culture, which brings me to the idea that Lamenter serfs are all mainly cuddle buddies to their masters and are there to make sure they don't get hurt when not in battle.

Dark Angels are all super paranoid so they all suspected that their returned Primarch wasn't actually their returned Primarch.

Abaddon misses his father badly. Yes, he's a daddy's boy. He sometimes writes letters to his deceased father knowing that they will be left unread. He sometimes cries in silence as he reminisces the days when he and his Luna Wolves would simply spend time together and play a match of regicide.

Word Bearers hold bingo matches. Yes, they're studied and religious men, but that doesn't mean that they cant have fun. (Even as traitors they still hold these bingo nights. No daemons not serfs want to join them cause they think its boring.)

Dorns sons did eventually develop some emotional development and they are now the ones that people would consider the "funny ones" if they ever had the chance to meet one of them in that way.

Alpha legion Astartes who did not undergo cosmetic procedures to look like their father make fun of the ones who did (this is semi-canon), and often flex that. (I want to pull on Solomon Akurra's hair. It is a must.)

Salamanders are known for their kindness towards people and to each other, so why wouldn't that translate to other things? They respect the tech-priests and their beliefs, the guardsmen, the servitors. The Salamanders are so kind that they will help clean up and will make their favorite baselines/allies weapons. (This is also semi canon)

The Ultramarines have an accent. Yes, they all speak high gothic but i cant get it out of my head that they have either a Latin or a Italian accent. Im only saying this because we know accents are a thing in 40k.

Speaking of accents, Horus isn't faking accent, he really just didn't lose it and likes it. He thinks it keeps him attached to his roots. Makes him happy to have people recognize where his accent it from.

[circeius-invidioso]

I do not get why the Red Corsairs are not a popular choice.

Like.

Like here is the elevator pitch for the warband and then we can come to some justified conclusion.

What isn't there to love?

You want me to turn into an infomencial and make a top 3 reasons why the Red Corsairs are great?

Cause I can.

And I will.

The Diverse Working Enviroment

Here in the Red Corsairs we might have started as Ultramarines but the barrier for entry is on the floor. So anyone can join.

You are Night Lord with a bad rep and no ship.

Buckle up we got you covered.

You are a Fallen and have 20 Dark Angels all up in yo business? Trying to shoot down the boss babe you are?

Fear not, or in our case. Know no Fear. We are strapped and don't get clapped.

You are a traitor that likes their Legion but sadly you got in our way?

Tough luck buddy, you will join or die and your geene seed will join our cause. Nothing personal battle brother. Just business as usual.

Everyone is welcome as long as they follow Huron's guidelines and don't aggitate the topless sweaty Khorne worshipping Ultramarines in the basement.

Sustainability

Unlike the corrupt Imperium of man and the corpse Emperor our leader is powered by miracles (which is trully a miracle how he survived but that on the next section), and we use 0 psyckers to power our crap.

Our carbon footprint is also minimum as we use salvaged goods and don't indulge in toxic industries that destroy worlds.

The Red Corsair base of operation is in the Eye of Terror and from there we expand our scope. A place greatly known for its constant shifts, and horrible conditions but the tan our serfs have are spectacullar from all that cosmic radiation.

Finally we are commited to recycling. As in we take from our victims benefactors and put those stolen goods to some great use. Nothing goes to waste, neither mortal, nor static object. If something is not nailed on the floor we will take it.

In fact we might take the floor too and the nails used to set it in place.

Nothing goes to waste!

Unmatched Leadership

Last, but certainly not least.

The man.

The myth.

The Legend.

Huron Blackheart.

Aka Lufgt Huron.

Aka what would happen if we gave a compressed Guilliman a daemonic familiar and left him to ferment in a warp storm.

Not only the name is so edgy you might cut yourself by saying it out loud. But also it's complex enough that if you say it quickly three times without twisting your tongue theres is a chance furniture might start levitating.

The man has put his Ultramarine brain to use and amased enough influence and power to put the Black Legion to shame.

Huron went from 0 to 100 in no time, he is a self made Warmaster. With no daddy issues or troubles in the world, he goes into battle blasting Alestorm in the voxxcasters.

He does not care.

He probably wears this when he wants to relax.

You think he cares?

He does not care.

He has a biker gang specifically organized to hunt down those who have betrayed him.

They slap those things on their armors not for the usual biker reason

(which fun fact the meaning is, 99% of the bikers are law-abiding, where the 1% are not. That's where the 1% comes from. The more you know 🌈)

no they wear that 1% because that's how high are your chances of escaping from them are.

Is that a bit extreme?

Yes.

You think he cares?

He does not care.

The dude once gathered his buddies and decided...

to you know. Have a casual outing. Nothing too serious, it was a sunday afteral.

So they decided on.

Kidnapping Guilliman.

Which they almost did if not for a Fallen of all people getting in the way.

But still.

The mad lad took Macragge's Honour and went on a joyride/ mini civil war.

Who in the galaxy can turn and say.

Yeah, I stole Macragge's Honour, almost captured my old Primarch. Told a daemon prince they are irrelevant on my way there. Anyway after crushing a fool who thought he could take my crown as king of the space pirates, I went to the home planet of the White Scars and kidnapped and tortured their Chapter Master. What did you do this week? 💅

Who wouldn't want to be a part of that?

You tell me I can be an immortal, gorgeous chaos Ultramarine goth boy going on pirate adventures across the galaxy?

Where do I sign up?

I don't need ink for a signature.

I will use my own blood.

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

Boltgun Key Art by Johan Grenier

[supercomputer-lizard]

Which tractor legion produces the marines with the fattest asses?

…

Edit: Concerning amount of people voting for the Death Guard, I guess for those farts and shits, you kinda need a very large ass to do it

(Appreciate all the jokes, please)

[c-u-c-koo-4-40k]

Got another Husbandry Rambling in the tank so here we go!

Due to some Awesome writing by the many talented authors in the husbandry space @kit-williams @sleepyfan-blog @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @egrets-not-regrets @bleedingichorhearts and others I will also tag cause I'm shit at remembering them all without looking directly at my messages and following list.

I've got some head canons I'd like to offer up!

How are Space Marine's punished for crimes in Husbandry?

Now there seems to be a consensus that those who Kill humans are hunted and culled. That seems to be the standard. This is assuming the offending Astartes goes on the run as soon as the crime is committed. Or that the human killer Astarte(s) have some kind of base where the killing occurs that eventually gets raided.

But what about those who commit lesser crimes? Or those who are apprehended before they can go on the run? Or even ones that aren't feral, but commited their crimes while living amongst the allied bases and humans?

I think Astartes Do have a prosecution system, though probably not one that is perfectly defined.

I imagine for some groups, the Astartes would hold their own responsible. I could see Imperial Fists, Salamanders, Ultramarines and Blood Angels "taking care" of their own bad actors. And for those groups I'd like to believe they'd generally take the task seriously and not just brush off wrong doings.

Others, and I hate to say it's mostly the traitor and chaos legions, might let things they consider "lesser" slide. Like if a Nightlord maims an unbonded human I could see the others of his claw covering for him. So he doesn't get punished.

But of course neither of the above examples are Always accurate. Just examples to help get the picture. There are probably hypocrite loyalists and traitors that meat out proper punishment for offenses.

But I imagine if enough problems add up like with a certain [redacted], and it can't be ignored any longer, the offending Astartes could be captured and put on trial.

The trial would involve reps from different marines hearing out evidence and probably a jury vote to determine guilt. This would occur in situations where the offender isn't caught literally in the act...or the murder den that we've seen in other fics.

But what comes After is what I'm most interested in. Once a marine is determined to be guilty; whether in a trial or by literally being caught in the act, who is in charge of the punishment...or in some cases...the execution?

Some legions would be the ones to remove their own bad actors. It would be a matter of Pride for both them and a small amount of honor for the guilty.

We purge you from our ranks and in doing so make up for the wrongs you've committed.

But what if a Space Marines actions are considered too Vile, too Agregious for an honorable death?

Well...thats when the executioners get involved. And only One Legion truly fits this parameter.

The Night Lords.

They were the Empire's shock troopers, the most frightening of all Astartes to Ever encounter as a mortal.

If the Court feels an Astartes has fallen so far from grace he requires not punishment, not rehabilitation, not even an honorable death, but a painful combination of vengeance and execution....

You call the Nightlords.

You hand the guilty off to them, not just so they may be punished....but so they can be made an Example of.

It is a fate worst than death, reserved Only for the most vile actors of Astarte kind.

[bieriestsk]

Some WH40k content

Most famous members on Unnamed Company. Yep, they're my ocs.

I couldn't decide on my favorite Astartes Legion, so I thought, why not create a company, where there would be Space Marines from different Legions? And so the Nameless Company was born. The core of this company is the Ultramarines. Their spaceship crashed on one of the abandoned forge planets, which due to the lack of depletion of natural resources turned into a desert. The ship was beyond repair, however, they were not the only ones whose ship landed on this planet and never took off again. After a long search, the Ultramarines found a very old ship of the traitor Legion, built even before the Heresy. Whose ship it was originally, was not clear, but from the drawings and emblems it was clear that for a long time the battleship belonged to the Night Lords.

Surprisingly, the ship was in good condition for its age. As it turned out, the ship had been maintained all this time by a local member of the Adeptus Mechanicus, who called himself Cassius Decimus Curio. He used everything that was left on the planet to keep the ship in decent condition and his life. Over the long years of solitude, the Mechanicus was going mad. His body began to resemble a huge mechanical centipede with many devices.

Flavius managed to come to an agreement with Cassius Decimus. It turned out to be much more difficult than the Ultramarine thought, because this Mechanicus did not prostrate himself before the Space Marines, did not fear death and had all the resources to blackmail the depleted remnants of the company of the sons of Guilliman. Cassius Decimus agreed to help them leave the planet, but on the condition that he would command the ship and crew, but Flavius could continue to command the Space Marines.

There was no navigator or astropath on board. Moving in space is not an easy task, especially in such a situation. Over time, the company's numbers grew from 26 Space Marines to 74. Many Ultramarines died, leaving only 13. However, they found prisoners, lost ones, and other superhuman rabble, persuading them to join.

[sorormaior]

oc spam time: battlesisters

okay so this is my “hey if james workshop came down form on high and was like YOU. RANDOM LESBIAN. GIVE ME THE ORIGINS OF FSM!” This is how i’d do it take. Cawl works around guilliman’s orders to avoid using traitor geneseed by creating chimera geneseed of loyalist/traitor combo. Guilliman then found out and got a bit pissed however: there are six five year old girls who kinda look like the brothers he misses so greatly. Sidenote i do need to draw guilliman in a “i’m not the stepdad im the dad who stepped up” shirt. They are primaris, if only because i couldn’t see a reason why cawl wouldnt make them primaris, and were raised in a variety of places such as cawl’s forge and labs, terra, various ultramarine vessels and at least one fortress monastery.

ANYWAY. Sargent Sister. Tank Sister. Knight Sister. Psyker Sister. Silent Sister. Radiant Sister. These are sort of… informal nicknames used between the squad and get shortened down even further to sarge, tan, ny, psy, sil and ray. They do have proper fancy space marine names but i haven’t picked those out yet.

Sargent wants to kill perturabo so bad, because she feels ashamed of him. is it not the right of a young woman to kill her father? Or at least one of them. the rest of the squad are far more normal about both their fathers, except for psy, who unironically thinks both her “dads” are really cool.

[moodymisty]

Hi love your fics. Would you be willing to do an angron x reader. He gets so little content

Part 2

Author's Note: You are my light, anon. Thank you for giving me the platform to go fucking apeshit about my favorite Traitor Primarch. Even if he's not a traitor (yet uwu) in this. It's not my best work, but I've been sitting on this idea for awhile now and decided to just write it before I lost it to time.

Summary: Angron takes interest in a poor young soul who's presence can soothe the nails, much to your own terror.

Relationships: Angron/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Uhhh it's fucking Angron?, It's pretty early so he's not as consumed by anger as he is later in the Crusade, Angron looks at another Primarch's serf and goes yoink I want that, He doesn't kidnap you yet but he wants to lmao, General 40kness so war death blood mentions etc etc (for those curious, this is vaguely based after canon, where it's said that the thought of Sanguinius could soothe Angron's Butcher's Nails)

Word Count: 2002

You have ten more minutes. You know once these men finish their set of training drills, you'll have to be back in the librarium. Your desk and it's piles of documents hails you like some sort of terrible beckoning call.

This has been your system for awhile now, as the frigid air blows through your clothing. The Astartes in training are entertaining during your rare moments of peace, as you lean against the railing to watch.

To think so few people will ever live to see an Astartes, and you watch them train so often. A luxury to be taken advantage of, you suppose.

You lean against the railing with more weight, your arms crossed over the ornate topping. They're so far away you can't quite tell what chapter they belong to, but you can see bits of white and red on the few men that are wearing pieces of their armor.

You wonder if they even know you're here, and if they did, if they'd even care. You're not of their chapter that much is for certain, as they lack the blue gold coloring and the stalwart regime that is signature of the Ultramarines. These warriors fight like it's a free for all, unlike the rigid one on one training the Astartes of Macragge are accustomed to.

You swear you feel the ground almost shake for a moment, but you just end up assuming that it's from the training down below. Or perhaps something elsewhere out of view. You pay it no mind, and continue enjoying your few minutes of respite.

Then there's a feeling in the pit of your stomach that makes your lips purse, looking up at the sky. You can just barely see the legions of ships moored close enough to the planet. There's always so many, even more so when a chapter returns to Terra for brief periods of time.

You hear footsteps coming from behind you; Heavy and armored. More than likely an Astartes, if you had to take a guess. It's better for your own well being if you just make yourself small and don't catch their eye, hoping they don't even notice you.

The footfall continues closer, and closer, until it sounds like they're mere centimeters from you. They must be passing by, until they suddenly stop. There's a shadow overtaking your form from behind, And when you see it's outline, you freeze.

The shadow is massive. It swallows you up and the ornate edges of the armor cue you into the fact that this isn't just anyone. Unless they are of a high enough ranking to sport such unique armor. But you're gut says that this shadow is far too large to belong to an Astartes, and every other sense in your body agrees.

It has to be a Primarch. You can see the absolutely massive shadow, the booming footsteps from earlier, and the feeling. The feeling alone makes you know well this isn't a random Astartes who's becoming oddly interested in you.

The sons of the Emperor are known to have what can only be described as an aura around them, which seems to affect anyone in there vicinity. How they react to it depends on the person, but for most, it's usually fear hidden underneath a mask of stalwart servitude.

Thickly swallowing, you glance as far to the side as you can to see if you can figure out which one it is.

You can see, gold. brushed, but faded gold armor. Beaten and worn though still containing a particular luster about it. Higher up your eyes travel, and you see a faded outline of something around the kneeplate. It looks like, spikes, or a crude representation of teeth. Up a little farther, and you see something dangling from his hip; Cleaned bleached skulls and-

Oh god. Oh god.

You feel your heart slamming against your chest. It's going to break out, you just know it and you can't do anything to stop it.

It's not as if coming face to face with any Primarch is something to be taken lightly. But this isn't The Angel or The Raven. This isn't even your own Primarch Guilliman, who you've only seen a few times in your life.

This is Primarch Angron.

You can't run from him. He'd kill you within an instant if not for the sheer disrespect of it, but for triggering something in him that makes him think you're prey. You only hope that you can hold strong enough that he doesn't hear your heartbeat, or how your trying not to shake in your boots.

Slowly you turn your head more, eyes trailing up his legplate, then his chestplate, before finally reaching his face.

The metal cords coming from his head fall over his armored shoulders almost like chunks of hair, though distinctly old and worn. The metal is rugged; Beaten and warped. Underneath some of them you can see deep red tattoos, some of which trail onto his face. They're warped and shifted by his numerous scars, scattered across his face from forehead to neck. They're all old, long healed and forever telling a story that only he knows.

His eyes bear down on you, the deep red unreadable. He isn't reacting to you at all, but that angered expression is permanently spread across his face. The deep furrow in his brow, the look in his eyes. He's like a pot constantly on the edge of boiling over and scalding everything close.

He has to be toying with you. Like a Fenrisian wolf tossing it's broken, beaten prey up in the air like a game before finally taking the final bite. Is there any other reason why someone who dances along the line between man and god would look your way? Is he just waiting to see how long until you react?

But as quickly as he arrived, he leaves. Turns on one massive armored boot and begins walking down the gilded hallway.

You only have the will to turn your head and watch him move away when he's taken more than a dozen steps away, seeing the battered gold of his armor. His thick furred cape just barely brushes the ground- the frayed edge ripped from endless wear and tear flowing behind him . You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and look back down towards the training Astartes. You peel your hands away from the railing you didn't realize you'd been holding with a death grip, palms slick with sweat.

You hoped desperately that it would be the only time you'd see the Primarch of the World Eaters. To survive once you'd already consider a miracle.

But it wasn't. Maybe the gods that are whispered about in various tomes have something planned for you. Maybe it's some sort of sick joke.

You see him once more not long later, and the exact same interaction occurs. You don't say a word, he doesn't either, and you assume you either pass some sort of trial only he knows or he just grows bored of you, and leaves.

The third time however, you dare to speak.

"Lord Primarch, do you, require something of me?"

Your voice is so soft he barely hears it, over the sound of clashing weaponry and fists on flesh. You look up at him but hesitate to look him in the eyes, but his own look traps you none the less.

You're a librarian or historitor of some sort in allegiance to the Ultramarines. He recognizes the blue and gold symboling embroidered onto your clothing from the various Astartes that traipse around with it plastered all over their armor, and their fancy, hand woven capes.

Gawdy and pointless. You'd topple over your own robes if you tried to run.

But you aren't running, aren't you?

Other serfs he passes by crumple like paper and plastic flimsies, but you're holding strong; A steel box that might be crumpling and walls concaving but still held together.

Angron looks to his left and over the railing out onto the vast open area. Khârn is out there, training Neophytes and newly blooded World Eaters. The warrior has no need for the diplomacy that you're more than likely used to from the Ultramarines, as Gorechild smashes into a thick plating of ceramite with one heavy swing. It sends the Neophyte to the ground in a split second. He looks back towards you, and notices that while your eyes glanced for a moment to follow his own, they now look back at him.

"You enjoying watching them fight." It's what he's found you doing every time he's passed you.

But it takes you a moment until you look up and see that he's staring at you, and that he wants an answer from you.

"Yes. I do."

You see his hand reach out, massive- Your eyes blink closed for just a moment in preparation for whatever he was about to inflict on you.

But instead, he grabs your jaw.

It still hurts, squishing your skin upward and forcing you to look up at him from an awkward angle, but it's far better than dying. You notice the way he stares at you.

He stares back, watching as your wide eyes dart around his face looking for answers.

Then he feels it.

He feels the stabbing, shrieking, aching pain of his nails dull ever so slightly as he watches. Glances over your soft skin. Meets your eyes. So the first time hadn't just been a trick of the light.

Your hands are frozen hovering at waist height, trying to figure out what you should do. Should you put them down, hold completely frozen until he finds or doesn't find whatever he's looking for in you? Or should you reach up and dare to touch the tarnished golden armor that has such a hold of you?

"Lord Primarch?" You mutter, hoping for an answer he doesn't seem keen on giving.

If anyone has passed by this scene they've not so much as uttered a word. None of them would, you'd have to be insane to interrupt a Primarch doings. You wonder for a moment if this scene would look comical from another's point of view.

One of your hands reaches up, shaking as you place it on the armor of his forearm. It's almost hilariously tiny- but much to your surprise the armor feels less cold that you would've thought. You place it there in the rough area of his wrist and try gently hold on and support yourself.

You're still petrified; Angron can see that emotion no matter how deep it's layered beneath other emotions on someone's face. When young men were thrown at him to die in those sandy pits, and he'd see the fear hidden underneath their anger. But as it fades and you become more confused by him than frightened, he feels yet another soothing wave go over his Butcher's Nails.

It's nowhere near enough- they still rip through his brain demanding him to kill to main to scream and bellow, but to edge that away just slightly is to give him relief he hasn't felt since before they dug this hideous tech deep into the recesses of his skull.

He doesn't know what it is about you that's doing it, but he knows he wants it. He wants you.

"Your name. What is it."

You stutter for a moment before speaking. The name is foreign; But given you more than likely hail from one of the many planets under Guilliman's rule, it makes sense.

His fingers shift over your face, and your jaw aches. He notices your hand on his arm and when he lets go, you use that same hand to rub your face.

He'll have to be careful. You're more breakable than him. But if you can dull the pain that sears through his head at every aching moment, then perhaps he'll have enough room in his head to spare the thought to be.