#yandere Emperor of mankind

[kit-williams]

Hello🫶🏻 Hope you are doing well✨ From the very moment it turned out that you could try to write something for the Emperor, I couldn’t sleep😅 I kept trying to remember all those sinful thoughts🤭 But here is an excerpt from some fanfic. I roughly remember where this is from, but I can’t find the entry😞 Can you write something with this sentiment? Gentle Yandere, the Emperor does not need to stoop to physical violence with those warp things that he is capable of if necessary. "They say that only with death does debt end, but your debt is eternal. He loved a thousand lives and still loves a thousand lives. You felt the weight of each of them, and no matter how many times you ran away, He was there to find and love you as before. Chained. You have become chained to Him, an ornate chain that, no matter how hard you pull, cannot be broken. No matter the circumstances, it remains intact. They say that only with death does duty end, but your duty is eternal. And when He spoke His last words and transcended, when you were forced to go with Him, you realized that your duty had truly just begun. And even after death He would still love you."

Ever since you sent me this I have been trying to find it because I HAVE read that one and I can't for the life of me find it!

@thevoidscreams do you know since you're my resident Emperor Expert?

edit: It is from @wxnheart's Apex Predator part 2

But this is the reason why the Emperor is a challenge... he could be the ultimate yandere. There is no getting away from him... if you're a perpetual you've probably met him a few times throughout the ages or if you're a new perpetual he'll find you. Of course he will he can almost sense it one unnatural being to another. Oh yes he might be a gentle yandere but the Emperor is utterly possessive who gets what he wants when he wants it.

How he lures you in is all up to your tastes as he can appear however he wants to to you... or however you want him to be. There is no escape once the gilded trap snaps shut around you leaving you like a screaming animal till the hunter comes upon you and it's all up to him if he lets you go or if he brings you home... even if you manage to escape there is still that gilded collar on you until he comes back around to collect you back.

The Emperor is a far more intense version of how I would see a Yandere version of Magnus or really any of his sons.

His death? You think you're free until a Custodes once again comes around to collect you and you're subjected to the raw power of that psychic entity that he is. You wake up after dying something that was a risk when he was alive and you feel just as hung over as when that was... and once again you have to escape his grasp and you hope that it will be easier to escape the grasp of a corpse.

[sculptorofcrimson]

Yandere! Valdor

Valdor, the most loyal, the greatest of the Custodes, a Primarch in all but name. Who else can obsess more than him, whose every function besides loyalty was beaten out? A/N: Playing “fucked up obsessive twinks” on easy mode here, aren’t I? I’m sorry, SCP-XXXX who requested this, but you told me Valdor was a twink, and evil twinks are the best kind of men, so therefore this is your fault! Full throttle ahead, let us be damned together! ψ(｀∇´)ψ

Relationships: Valdor/Gn!Reader, mentioned Valdor/Emperor Mentions: @kit-williams would you like some food?

Valdor does not love. 

The Custodes simply can not love. Their love perished beneath treachery and fire, ten thousand years ago, and they simply cannot piece the remnants that was a heart back together again. 

The Emperor took away their ability to love any but Himself, and what else could be left but a hollow void, an immortality without substances, a heart that beats while it lacks its other half? 

There was simply nothing left of him to spare when the Emperor had brought down his claws. His love, his joy, his dreams, all gone, wiped away like sand upon the sea. Leaving behind nothing more than a hollow without sustenance, a phantom vestige of a dream crushed long ago, its corpse entombed within perfected flesh and bone and blood. 

He loves no one, not even himself. When the Emperor died ten thousand years ago, he lost his way. He lost his tether to life itself. And for ten thousand years he wandered for the corpse of his master. There was a poem once, a poem so long ago about the loyal dog that stood guard before his master’s bones, who licked the once-petting hand once, and laid down to die. 

Valdor’s loyalty is no weaker than that dog’s.

He loves no one, not even himself. But he loves the Emperor. He loves Him, so brokenly, so obsessively, so utterly insane in his adoration, the First Custodian would have let Him tear him apart if He wished. 

He loved the Emperor. 

And that is why he loves you. He thinks you to be his Emperor. If not Him, then at least a shard.

He doesn’t care who you were, he doesn’t care whether you were once a captain, a Chapter Master, a Thunder Warrior even. He thinks you to be his master, back from the dead, one of His shards caught in life and flesh. 

He thinks you’re Him. Or, if not Him, at least a fragment of His former glory.

Valdor calls you his Emperor, his shard, his beloved, he ignores any name you had once in favor of calling you his master. A name is only a word, after all, and you are nothing but his Emperor reborn, in his mind. A guardsman, an Astarte, a Thunder Warrior, you are all mortal beneath his eyes. He only smiles that cold, humorless smile of his when you attempt to correct him, when he brushes off your words with the same cold, humorless disinterest. 

Valdor thinks you to be his Emperor. And he doesn't care that you were once someone else, you were not always his beloved, you were not the master he imagined, that you are not the master he built from memories and bones. 

You were nothing before his master, he reasons, you will be nothing after his master, and you were his Emperor once upon a time. It is doubtful if he can even know love, if he had not projected his own delusions of his Emperor upon another. Valdor failed Him once and only now the fates have judged him fit enough to protect a shard of Him, one that is so frail compared to himself, so unspeakably mortal, his atonement for the master he failed so long ago. 

He failed the Emperor once, and watched Him die. He will not do so again.

Protection. You will never walk free again, never without his cold presence by your side, that effortless, confident stride as he accompanies his master. You will never know the taste of sunlight, the easy voice of another conversationalist before their words taper off into uncertainty, and then fear, beneath the jealous glare of your bodyguard. How their sentences trail off, how Valdor looms like some ancient, murderous harpy, his shadow constantly overcasting yours.

He knows nothing of love, of human emotion. But he knows protection. And he knows obsession. 

Valdor is not a passionate man. But he is neither a cruel one either. Of course, Valdor will never raise a spear nor blade against his adoration, to strike his master would certainly mean death, but he will slaughter your loved ones without even horror. He will whisper litanies of loyalty on his knees while his Custodes sink in the knives. He will speak ironclad promises and gilded oaths when they label your soldiers traitors and slaughter them upon the snowfields, when they hail for unity, and hear the blade fall. 

He seems to like walks in wintery fields. It reminds him of what he lost long ago, when the Emperor took him atop Ararat, and he enacted His first vengeance upon the Thunder Warriors. He sometimes brings you there, to altitudes higher than even what a Space Marine can withstand, and gathers you beneath his cloak, whispering memories that were never truly yours, asking for your orders, asking for your forgiveness, asking if you can remember what it felt like ten thousand years ago.

(Sometimes, you can nearly believe him when he says you’re a shard. It’s flattering, almost, to be under the eye of the captain-general.)

He can kill. There is nothing left of him if he could not. Nothing but the Emperor’s spear, a sharpened tool meant to kill and to serve, and to be cast away when its function is complete. You have nothing to fear from him, of course, he would rather end himself than raise a blade against his master. But he loves no other. He does not know how to love. And that makes him dangerous. You know it when you gaze into his eyes, you are sure you could imagine him covered in the blood of your loved ones, guardian spear flashing as he hacks through them without even the shadow of hesitation. He will take no fear, no regret, no relief, barely even satisfaction in the grim act, and yet that is somehow more profane than joy in slaughter. Not even a single hint of joy, wild and unfettered in the sheer cruelty, not even a single hint of an ambition for why he would lay such altars of blood before his master’s feet, only simply because He wanted it to be so, and simply because he loved Him. 

In his eyes, you are his Emperor. But he does not always obey you. He does not kneel as he would’ve knelt before his master. Because he knows, Valdor knows that to protect Him, to serve Him properly, sometimes he must smother Him for His own good. It’s the twisted rationale of a dog who has lost his master, whose death had rocked him so thoroughly he was willing to kill to save Him again. 

Valdor kneels, of course. He’ll kneel before you and speak his words of loyalty, he’ll give you his names one by one if you only ask. Valdor has never considered himself eloquent with words, but he’ll listen to you, he’ll even let you command him as the Emperor would have done. Rank be damned, he cares not if his Emperor had been reborn as a guardsman or an Astartes or even a Thunder Warrior. 

But he does not hide his obsession. To obsess is the only way he knows to love, after all. He’ll smother his beloved with his protection, with his adoration. He’ll hack his way to be their only protector, their only bulwark before the madness, the only man they can trust to defend them. Gaze upon his Emperor once, he’ll tear them apart. Love the Emperor more than him, and he’ll bury their bones beneath the snowfields. 

And be loved by the Emperor more than him….and he’ll betray them as he had betrayed the Thunder Warriors. He’ll sink in golden knives and golden spears in turned backs without even the hint of remorse, Valdor will remind his beloved that it is he who is the servant, it is he who serves to be praised for his duty. Valdor can take you from your family as the Emperor took him from his, he’ll so effortlessly ensure the utter protection of his new Emperor, all for himself. 

No one will protect you more than I, my liege. 

It is he who should be the favored servant.

No one can love you more than I, my Emperor.

He’ll croon those litanies of loyalty to you. He’ll whisper those promises of protection, of ambition, he’ll promise you an eternity while standing atop the frozen ashes of your loved ones. He’ll promise you a throne if you don’t cry, if you’ll love him as his master did. He’ll bring you a crown of gold, he’ll strangle the living storm for you, if only you promise to let him protect you, if you promise if you’ll be his Emperor. 

You died once. I will not let you do so again, my Emperor.

And his obsession would never be checked, and much less ended by the true power behind the Imperium.

You are his Emperor. In that mind He broke so thoroughly long ago, you are the Emperor, reborn. Heavy is the head that bears the laurel, bloodied is the hand that holds this mad dog’s leash.

It is Valdor who should be the favored servant. 

No one will protect you more than I, my liege. 

He will protect you. 

He will protect you, obsess over you, guard you with the hollow that is a heart. He’ll bring you a throne, a crown, an army, an eternity, if only you promise, if only you’ll be his Emperor. 

The Emperor died ten thousand years ago. And in turn, he casted you in His corpse.

[ishakeassfortyemasses]

‏I am mohammed Ayyad, I am 17 years old, high school student, I have 7 brothers, including 4 girls and 3 boys and my mother.

‏Since the beginning of the war, my family and I have been displaced 4 times, each time more severe than the other.

‏The first is from Gaza City to Khan Yunis, and the second is from Khan Yunis to the shores of Bahr Khan Yunis, then to the city of Rafah, and then to an area called Al Qarara .

‏My house was completely destroyed , everything is under the rubble my childhood, my memories, my books, and my ambition and Many relatives and friends were killed and life was completely destroyed.

‏ so l please you to help me and help my family collect donations to evacuation the war zone, get out of Gaza safely, and complete my school studies, via my donation link.

‏‎

Please help his family in gaza

[madwomansapologist]

one look and you knew | shan yu x fem!reader

for shan yu, you are his destiny. for you, he is the man that kidnapped you. love at first sight is a tale as old as time. he just didn't expect you wouldn't believe in it.

cw: love at first sight. meet cute. public nudity. accidental voyeurism. murder couple in the making. yandere. kidnapping. shan "i'll make you my empress" yu x fem!reader "what's your name?". in this house we hate the misogynist version of Shan Yu in Mulan (2020).

an: rip moon you would've loved hearing nu metal while doing the dishes. also my favorite dinamic is war criminal x someone that would have the time of their live being a nun.

The wind howled against his ears. Trees spoke in their ancient language. Silently, the world continue to move. Harmonic in its apparent chaos, carefully built even in its broken pieces, the world continued to be.

It was quiet there. Not maddening as the silence of soldiers well aware of their wrongdoings. Not numb as the moment right before a battle. Not debilitating as his sleepless, lonely midnights.

It was quiet there in the mountains, but not still. The world wasn't holding its breath, muscles clenching in tension or fear. It was what it has always been: uncaring, an indiferent witness to mankind.

Man can die, man can kill. The wind will keep on howling either way.

Marching forward in the monster's belly, he thought. A battle against time. An unstoppable war against the inevitable end.

Stupidly feverish, Shan Yu then admitted to himself. He ignored as his body plead for rest, instead riding his horse away from comfort. Shan Yu is the one to blame for his boiling mind and those irrational, melancolic thoughts.

Following an old path hidden by trees, Shan Yu travelled deeper into the mountains. The cut on his forearm throbbed. It would need new bandages, he could feel the blood drying against his sore skin.

Still, Shan Yu chose the ruthlessness of the mountain and whispers of a tired mind rather than the bought hospitality of an warm inn. More so, he chose silence over chaos.

He needed to think. To plan.

His armies invaded China. Battle after battle, they were always victorious. Now they understand this place. His generals trained soldiers with new formations that fit this land better. But real victory isn't as near as Shan Yu would want to.

His army is at disadvantage. They are in the enemy's territory. They are the ones moving forward instead of defending what they already own. They are the ones making arrangements with villages because a war this long means more food, more water, more time.

Shan Yu left his army behind, allowing them to celebrate. It was a good deal with the village's leader, whom only desire was to keep his people safe. He need his man confident, excited with the prospects of war. Let the alcohol soothe their minds, they earned it.

Alone, facing the place he must conquer, Shan Yu could deal with the stratagems. Challenged, he must find a way to humiliate the Emperor. To make even his own people turn their backs on him.

A sneeze made the strategist give place to the warrior.

The horse stopped with the pressure of his feet. Still as stone, Shan Yu searched for the source of it. He wasn't being followed. That he knows. This can't be a trap. At least not a good one.

He jumped to the ground, hand already searching for his jagged jian. He stopped at the handle, not wanting the steel to reflect light and warn his enemy. It was time to hunt.

Following his instincts, he wandered between the trees. His feet were light on the ground. This threat won't be able to gasp before he attacks.

He found a river bank surrounded by stones. No signs of an ambush. He couldn't smell anything strange in the air, only the... No. Shan Yu stopped moving. He felt something sweet. A strong perfume in the air.

Shan Yu glared at the river, now unsure of what he was looking for. Maybe it wasn't a trap. After all, that's not an important village. No soldiers or officers live here. Maybe this old hidden path isn't as old or as hidden as he thought. Maybe he's hunting something that simply isn't aware of him.

Then he noticed. Clothes folded in the river bank, a towel spread on a stonr, a basket half-filled with shells and stones.

Deep into the river, your fingers brushed against a shell. You grabbed it, and checked if anything lived inside of it yet. It was a few inches bigger than your hand, and in a beautiful shade of green.

A cold breeze welcomed you to the surface. You took a deep breath, shaking your head and getting the water away from your eyes. Your face felt like it was burning, but you know the cold was causing it.

You cleaned the shell, brushing your fingers against the mud stucked inside it. It really was a beautiful shade of green. Brighter than you could see underwater.

Absolutely perfect for your collection. All other green shells you've ever found had crustaceans living inside of them, and you would never leave them without a home. This one will make it all even more special.

You laughed to youself, observing all its details. You continued to explore the surface, crossing the river a few more times. You knew it like the palm of your hand. Maybe even better than your own bedroom.

You can be bored, overwhelmed, exhausted: this place solves it easily. Its silence involves your brain, and its water washes over the very fabric of your soul. You can feel it. The knots coming lose, the tissue shining, each thread becoming softer.

Shan Yu released the handle of his jian when you emerged, froze in place as his eyes followed your every movement. As if cursed, his body wasn't his to control anymore. Immovable muscles, unstoppable heart. His worries were shut down, any hardship simply erased from his usually sharp memory.

Moonlight blinded him for an instant. No, it was you. Your light was that bright. Was he seeing your soul? Brighter than the moon, as enebriating as barley, more soothing than popy.

Your light casts no shadow.

Were you a witch? A sorceress dominating his body and mind, sinking Shan Yu into a trance he would never want to get out of. Or were you a siren? Luring him into the water, waiting for the perfect chance to bite his heart out of his chest.

He can't believe you're any of those. None could be half as beautiful as you. A nymph. Only that could explain your beauty.

He admire you. The old scar on your knees, stretch marks on your waist, freckles on your back. The way your eyes shone as you collected your shells, how your body moved as if the water wasn't an obstacle but a path made for you to follow.

It was so cold, but that didn't stopped you from doing what you wanted. It takes a certain hunger to do something you desire despite the world around you. For now, deep into the mountains, you were free.

Your laugh made him forget about everything. That sound was deserving of a thousand praises. People should dedicate their lifes for the chance of witnessing you blossoming.

A small price for such a great gift.

But you sneezed, and that woke up Shan Yu from his trance. He was reminded of where he was and who he is. Of how cold it was. Shan Yu looked at your clothes again. Such a light tissue would never fully protect you. Unlike his fur.

Unlike him.

With a storm for a heart, Shan Yu approached. Glaring at your back, he purposely stepped on a branch.

Part of you hoped to be surprised by an animal, but you knew someone was standing behind you. You couldn't see who was there, but you knew someone not looking for trouble wouldn't be there.

It's fair ground then.

"If you want to approach me, do it", you whispered. You didn't need to be any louder to be heard. Your fingers clenched around the shell you were studying, aware the only thing stopping it from being a weapon was your intent. "But I am not fazed by blood."

A chuckled was heard. A man, of course it was. What surprised you was to hear him walking away.

You turned around, but all you saw was the stranger's back as he dissapeared among the trees. Folded over your clothes, you found a wolf fur coat. You hesitate before brushing your wet fingers against it. It was so warm and soft.

Warm, soft and real.

You were quick to get out of the river, drying yourself with a towel. You put on your clothes, took the basket and ran towards the old path you made sure to hide with stones. Apparently not everyone was deceived by it.

A scream came out of your throat as you bumped into someone. Your basket fell on the ground as a familiar hand squeezed your shoulder.

"Mom", you whispered. You blinked, trying to stop yourself from feeling... whatever it was that you were feeling. You gave her your brightest smile, kneeling down to grab all your things. "I know it's late, I was already heading back home."

That earned you a hiss. You did your best to hold the smile. "You're trembling", she said. "I've warned you. You'll get sick."

"I won't", you said. "I promise."

She bit back a smile. So calm, so full of certain. Making promises you can't possibly keep, and somehow keeping them anyway.

"You better", she took the basket from your hand, looking at your new findings. "Your father already has enough patients as it is."

Going back home was always the worst part, but even there you could feel the cage closing around you. One thing is to be alone at the river, other to be lonely at your home. There nothing can distract you from thinking until your mind is far away from this village.

Instead of walking forward, you glanced back.

Part of you knew he would be there. Like a ghost at the corner of your eyes. It still chocked you to see his sillhouet there, a blurr in the darkness, right where you left the coat.

Now, you were the one observing him. Trying to understand him. Had he stayed there, hidden somewhere to observe you after his gift? Or did he heard your scream, and only then decided to come back?

You forced yourself to move away. Your mother could never see him. It would be the end of your free evenings if she ever discovered you were naked, futhermore if she even dreamed a man was near.

Unaware of your curious gaze, Shan Yu brushed the mark of your wet fingers on his coat. It got your attention, earned your touch, gained the sweet perfume of your skin. It was a gift, and one you so politely declined.

As if a saint would ever accept anything coming from a conqueror. "Now that is a challenge."

Back at the inn, Shan Yu was a new man. Maybe it was your laugh. Perhaps your freedom. Now, Shan Yu wasn't worrying anymore.

He already knew what to do.

⋆✦⋆

A scream woke you up.

You pulled the blanket away from your sweaty body, hands trembling as you moved. Surrounded by darkness, your heart beating so loud you could feel it twitching on your ears, you sat on the bed and faced the darkness surrounding you.

A nightmare. Squeezing the fabric of your nightgown, you tried to force yourself to calm down. Don't allow it to consume you, you thought. Be good, be quiet.

They were gone for a while now. It's been a few weeks since you last woke up at midnight, silence devouring you alive, searching for a comfort that just wasn't there. After a lifetime of nights filled with terror, you saw the anesthetized sleep as a good omen.

Should you see this night as a bad one?

Part of you hoped to be proven wrong. With your fingers brushing against your lips, you wonded if you really screamed in your sleep. In worse nights, worse times, you would wake up to your father holding you down. He isn't there, your house is silent.

Everything is fine.

But hope is a treacherous thing. So easily it lift you up to your feet, so quickly it shoves you down on the ground again.

Of course you father isn't holding you down. Of course your house is silent. Of course you feel alone. It's because you are.

A messenger came a few hours ago. Someone was injured. If they didn't bring the girl there, the reason was obvious: it was so bad they were afraid to move her. And if your parents aren't home already, then it is worse than you have imagined.

You hugged yourself. You know that being alone in that house is the first step for your mind to break you. You would start to think about this place, about your old home, and soon your mind would worry about the place you need to go when he is back.

If he comes back. After this war is over, will you have a husband you despise or a funeral to attend? A husband you dislike is easy to deal with, specialy if he comes back sick and tired. To find another one is worse: they might chose one you hate.

Steps made you stop worrying. Your heard the gate swing open, and that made you walk barefeet to the entrance of your home. Brushing your eyes, you noticed a shadow getting closer to the main door. They're home now.

For now, all you wanted was to not be alone anymore. "I had another nightmare", you spoke while sliding the door open, aware they could hear you from the other side. "Is she dead?"

Instead of what you expected, you saw him.

His golden gaze felt so heavy on your skin. The tall man, surrounded by darkness as if it was his to command, covered by fur and smelling like steel and iron. His sword glistened, his teeth too.

You felt like a prey. A sleepy rabbit facing a hungry wolf. His gaze reminded you of a predator, a cruel one playing with its meal.

Then you saw the eagle on his broad arm. That made you aware of his name. Oh, how you head the whispers. A man surrounded by death and blood. The bearer of destruction and fear. Leader of an army with a single duty: to break China apart.

"No one died tonight", Shan Yu whispered, somehow apologetic. As if he was an unexpected visitor with a good reason to surprise you, not a wild man that appeared in the middle of the night armed while you're alone. "You had another nightmare?"

You should've screamed. You should've ran away from him. But instead, understanding the only thing keeping Shan Yu from being violent is his desire to do so, you looked into his eyes and pretended to be fine. "What do you seek here?"

Closer, Shan Yu discovered he was wrong about you. The light inside your eyes was a mistake of his. They're on fire. Burning inside you, you soul warmed him.

"Your heart", Shan Yu answered, taking a step back. "Care to join me?"

You glared at the open gates, then at his eyes again. You waited for a manic laugh, a mean gaze, anything that showed the violence implicit on his words. If it was there, your eyes didn't catch it.

A hun after a chinese. A man oathed to destroy your nation asking for your heart. Maybe a few years ago when you were young and stupid this could almost sound like a fairytale. You know how to name this situation: spoil of war.

"You said no one died tonight", your throat burned. "But if I don't follow you... someone will, right?"

It took him a second, but the true meaning of your words hit Shan Yu like a poisoned arrow. "I wasn't threatening you", he started to clarify his intentions, but you stepping forward shut him.

Shan Yu saw anger on your eyes, disgust on the curl of your lips. Violence fits you heavenly. "But you will hurt others", how dry you sounded. Heartless. But he could see the truth behind it all. You were about to explode, but couldn't allow yourself to. "I rather not see this village burn like the others you passed by."

Shan Yu takes what he wants, claims what he desire, get rid of what doesn't fit his goals. But you're not a thing to be possessed. You're a person. A person that shines and burns. He can't take your love from you. Shan Yu can only hope for it.

Shan Yu wants to earn you.

"You will be my empress", he declared. "My heart is yours. I will wait until you feel the same. I won't touch you unless you allow me. I will protect your honor, defend your body and mind."

You chuckled. "Shan Yu, do you really believe in love at first sight?"

"Moon, I will give you China as a dowry", was his answer.

Your name coming out of his mouth made shivers run down your spine. You sighed. "You won't give up, will you?"

He wouldn't. Shan Yu would never.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

general taglist: @lovelyy-moonlight

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The Destiny

Summary: You desperately try to know if Gods exist. Chaplain Erebus wants to enlighten you.

Erebus/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, possessive behavior, manipulation, noncon

Author's note: so it's finally happened... God-Emperor, forgive me (no)

Word count: 2666 (lol)

Song: Enigma - Sadeness (Part I)

Sade, dis-moi Qu'est-ce que tu vas chercher? Le bien par le mal? La vertu par le vice? Sade, dis-moi Pourquoi l'évangile du mal? Quelle est ta religion? Où sont tes fidèles? Si tu es contre Dieu, tu es contre l'homme Sade, es-tu diabolique ou divin?

The Imperial Truth is the only truth in the galaxy. All must adhere to it and bring its light to all corners of the universe. If anyone dares to resist or dispute it, then they are not worthy of living. Billions lived with this truth. You lived with this truth.

But for you, these were just words, a tyrannical law that all worlds were forced to follow. Perhaps there was something wrong with you, otherwise how could an ordinary citizen of the Imperium have such... heretical thoughts.

But what happened was. You did not say them out loud, did not try to change people's minds. You simply lived in your vacuum, a safe environment. Even when the Emperor announced the creation of the Order of Remembrancers, you felt nothing. Your talents could have been revealed with new strength, you could have become famous, glorified the Legion, but you did not want this. Why, when you do not believe in the truth.

If it was the truth at all.

And yet your Master Librarian gave you no choice and deliberately obtained permission for you. As if you were a slave without will. But your Master assured you that it was for your own good. It was your destiny to be part of the Crusade.

But you were not upset for long. When you realized that you had a chance to choose a Legion, you took it. Many remembrancers wanted to join the Luna Wolves or the Emperor's Children. Quite a few wanted to join the Ultramarines. But you had another goal. Although it was difficult to get to them, as the Legion refused to accept remembrancers for two years after the triumph at Ullanor. But in the end, even the Word Bearers opened their doors for them.

You were not the best historian or iterator in the general sense. The thing is, you only studied what interested you. And if something stirred your feelings, you dove into it headlong. Your master once joked that if you had your way, you would conquer the world. Part of you wanted to say that you would.

But you weren't interested in material power, wealth, or the Imperial Truth. You were far more drawn to other things. Especially religion. Faith is an unshakable feeling, and the Emperor's desire to rid himself of it seemed almost comical. No, mankind will always seek to find God. The question is which Gods are true and which are false.

You knew that Lorgar's praise of the God-Emperor was not a rumor. This legend was not invented by evil tongues to spite the primarch. No, you knew that the Word Bearers were indeed bringing a new religion to the worlds. One that had long been ignored by the Emperor before he burned Monarchia. After that, Lorgar renounced the faith.

But even though you were not a believer, you knew that faith cannot be renounced so easily. You can't get rid of this feeling that torments your heart. Makes your soul sing and glow, fills with blessed light. You can renounce religion, but not faith. And if the God-Emperor was false, then there are other true gods.

Have the Word Bearers found them? Perhaps. You immediately thought of this when you learned about Cyrene Velantion. The Blessed Lady, whose eyes lost the ability to see after the burning of Monarchia. Some chroniclers had already met her. But it was just simple curiosity or simple politeness.

You wanted something else. To know the truth. You remember you were overcome with fear before meeting the Blessed Lady. Mercy and cruelty go hand in hand. As well as love and hate. Whatever the true deity was, it was not fed only by bright emotions. There is no order, only pure chaos. You were afraid to know the truth, for you were only a mortal girl. But you could not remain in sweet ignorance. Sooner or later the truth would come and it was impossible to prepare for it.

However, Cyrene Valantion did not preach, but listened. She could not tell the Truth, since she did not know it. And yet she listened to your fears, anxieties and doubts. She did not judge you and yet asked if you really wanted to meet the Gods.

And looking straight into the portholes you understood that no, you don't want to. But the divinity won't go away from this, it won't disappear. The Immaterium that opened before your eyes captivates your mind and you regret that you only decided to look at it now.

The battle with the traitors is approaching. Horus has rebelled against the Emperor and Lorgar, along with his brothers, must give the first and last battle. To bring down the Warmaster himself. Perhaps you should have been horrified by such events or proud that you ended up on board one of the saviors of humanity.

But you felt nothing. Perhaps Horus did the right thing by rejecting the Emperor. Or maybe you were completely lost in your doubts, justifying the traitor. You didn't know. You only knew that the troubles of the material world are nothing compared to what is happening in the warp.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" - a deep languid male voice cuts through the silence and you squeak in surprise and turn around.

You had never met him face to face, but you had seen him from afar. You had heard of his influence on the Primarch. Fortunately, it was not the old and burning with hidden malice and envy Kor Phaeron. But chaplain Erebus. There was something about the man that made you want to approach him like a lamb to a shepherd… but something about his predatory eyes and gentle smile repulsed you.

“Y-yes, beautiful.” Feeling uncomfortable, you turned away from the space marine, turning your gaze back to the Warp. You did not know why, but the space behind the ship seemed safer to you than the Chaplain’s proximity.

“In truth, I was disappointed when I returned from the Warmaster. And the remembrancers have arrived here. They scurry like rats through the corridors, reveling in their uselessness. Their only role in this story is to become bloody meat,” the man said the terrible words gently, as if lulling you.

You listened to him in confusion. Of course, you guessed that the Space Marines did not like the Remembrancers much, but you did not think that one of them would say it outright. Even if he was close to Lorgar. As if he did not care. Words and actions are unimportant, and you are meat.

“But I had to admit,” his voice echoes over your spirit and you turn sharply to meet his gaze. The man leaned in, almost breathing on your shoulder. “That your zeal to touch the Gods has excited me.”

“I-I,” you gasped like a fish, while Erebus enjoyed the spectacle. “It is not what you think, I, um-”

“No wonder the Emperor exalted men. You women are so weak.” - Erebus smiled at your indignant expression and you felt fear envelop you again. - “But it is the emotionality of your gender that most strongly pushes you to worship. Beautiful servants of the Dark Gods.”

Your heart was pounding like crazy and you swallowed, trying to step back from the chaplain. Not looking him in the eyes. While the words about the Gods screamed in your head, not allowing you to think rationally.

You wanted to know the Truth. And now it is revealed right in front of you. Did you really think that everything would be so easy? Alas, but it is the chaplain who will reveal the secrets of the universe to you. The one whose face is shrouded in such impenetrable darkness that it is surprising how it has not yet swallowed the whole world.

“P-please, please, I”

“Hmm? Asking to continue? Your desire is the law.” - Erebus mocks your request, circling around you like a beast preparing to attack. - “You don’t believe in the Imperial Truths, do you?”

“I-I do,” you trembled like a leaf in the wind, looking at the floor. - “B-beloved Emperor-”

“Don’t lie to me,” a whistle pierced the air and you watched in horror as a neat cut appeared on your palms. How? Where from? - “I am your confessor and I want you to speak frankly.”

You looked at Erebus with tears in your eyes. The man was not in armor, but in a robe. His face was gentle, while his eyes looked at you with a hidden heat. You didn’t even understand how he cut you. But you knew that he enjoyed your confusion.

“N-no, I don’t believe it,” you sobbed and the man smiled even more.

“Do you believe in the God-Emperor?”

“N-no”

“And in others that you know?”

“No”

“What if I told you,” the man almost whispers, but his words sound clear in your head like the sound of a drum. “That the Gods exist? That they watch over us, are a part of us, because we created them ourselves. Where do you think they are?”

The answer did not have time to form in your head, but your body already knew where the path lies. Your eyes flew up to the porthole, looking at the shimmering purple colors of the Immaterium. Only in such a place could the Gods live. The warp itself was a sea of ​​souls for you.

“Clever girl,” a silent cry leaves your chest as you feel heavy, massive hands on your shoulders. The man's weight pressed you to the floor, turning you to the immaterial world. - “They are right there. In the Immaterium. Waiting for us to destroy the false Emperor. When we bring the Galaxy to the true faith, to”

“To Chaos,” you either ask or state. The man behind you falls silent, before a light laugh creeps through him. The grip on your shoulders tightens. You feel the Chaplain’s fingers drop to your collarbone.

“Yes. To Chaos. But serving the Gods is not at all scary, no. I can show you the truth. You can become one of many servants.” - Erebus leans down and breathes so hotly that your ears burn. - “The Skull God will grant you the desire to taste another’s blood. The Architect of Fate will show you a great future. Grandfather will grant you health, he will take care of you. And the Dark Prince will grant you sensuality, make you his concubine.”

Silence fills the hall. Short in the material world, but it seems like an eternity to you. Before your cheek began to shine with someone else's drool and a seductive promise. A tattooed hand cupped your right breast, stroking a nipple hidden under layers of clothing.

"But I would rather make you my concubine."

You break free from someone else's grasp, overwhelmed by emotion. You look into his golden eyes again. Now you know what heat was hidden there. Lust. And Erebus wanted you to see it. He let you escape because he wanted to.

"What?" - you don't even know how to weave the words together. Doubts, fears and misunderstandings wash over you from head to toe. You felt cheated. You were played with like an insect.

"I was given the power of the Astartes, but a pathetic attempt to correct my mind failed. I have never been loyal to the Emperor and never will be. I desired blood even before the ascension. Never will I be a simple soldier, but only a servant of the Dark Forces." - a deep voice fills the silence, not giving you time to come to your senses. - “And I will never stop desiring feminine beauty, as I do now.”

“You will be my concubine. My lover. My whore.” - the man almost purrs, squeezing his hands like an ancient monk. But his words are not full of holiness. - “The world will soon change, the Imperium will fall. The Chroniclers do not have long left, but you. You have always been an outsider. I will lead you to a new era. It is enough just to throw off the shackles of the old order… you will like your destiny.”

Destiny. Your destiny is to become part of the Great Crusade. So your master told you, so the Emperor called you, announcing a new decree. You did not believe that you could bring something significant to this world by becoming a remembrancer. You did not believe in such a path, you realized the lie and falsity of what was happening.

But listening to Erebus, to your horror, you realized that you believed him. You believe that this is your destiny. To accept the will of the Dark Gods, to become their slave. And to give in to the dark temptation, to let a man tempt you. For you will not be able to hide from the Ruinous Powers, and the Emperor will not take you back into his arms. You were always a heretic, you were born to satisfy your master, who deserved a small reward from the Dark Gods.

You blink, smearing tears on your face, trying with all your might to wipe away the uninvited water. No, these are not your thoughts, these are someone else's desires. You are confused, you are scared. You have no one to ask for help. And even though Erebus is a child of Chaos, he is the only one who cares about you, he will take care of you.

What? How do you know? You are talking to him for the first time in your life.

"These are not my thoughts. This is not me. I, I" - you choke, almost falling over the pressure in your chest. - "I can't think about this, n-no, this is not my fate, not my purpose."

"Are you sure? If so, tell me this straight to my face." - a velvety voice sounded very close and raising your head, you see golden eyes with horror. A deceptively gentle smile is snow-white, but you can't stop seeing blood in the corners of his lips. - "If this is true, you will easily reject me. Tell me that you don't want this."

Pain squeezed your vice. Your heart fluttered, and your legs gave way. You desperately wanted to run away, to hide in the bowels of the ship. You reproached yourself for wanting to touch the unknown. You learned about the existence of Gods. Did it make you feel better? Did you find salvation in the truth?

Unable to bear it, you fall to your knees. If before these tears were running down your face in small streams, now you were choking on sobs. Your hands desperately wanted to grab something, just to not fall into the abyss of despair. You clung to Erebus' clothes like a drowning woman, denying that he is your doom.

"See? It's not so hard to admit your place." - the man gently strokes your head, as if you were a funny little animal, before kneeling. Rough teardrop-shaped fingers softly outline your cheekbones and curve your lips. - "I have been watching you for a long time. I could have taken you for myself a long time ago. But I had to prepare my pet. All the pieces are in place, the second betrayal is approaching."

Rough hands gently undress you, gently stroking the exposed areas of skin. And you listen to what Erebus says, wondering how quickly you fell into despair. How easy was it for you to break and turn human knowledge and arts into a slave? Were the boundaries allowed, or were they always blurred, and you were just waiting for them to finally be erased? Whatever the answer, you knew that in any case, Erebus like a boy played with you.

"We must praise all the Gods." - a tongue full of poison licks your ear before Erebus's eyes are fixed on your lips. - "But for now all the worship will go to the youngest of them."

Your kiss is sensual and tender like the sting of a scorpion.

[cheriecelestial]

Luminary Pt.1

pairing *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Yan Emperor!OC X Swordmaster!OC

disclaimer *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ yandere thoughts. hurt/no comfort. angst. mentions of violence and character death. lovers to enemies.

a/n *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Reposting a very old piece post editing (not really lol). According to my old a/n this was “very 3am spontaneous writing” meaning the idea was spontaneous not the process. Very manhwa-esque historical plot ig. Please listen to Joel Sunny’s Luminary for the whole experience. like always COMMENT LIKE & REBLOG (☆≧▽^)

Pt.2

Ceaseless noblesse chatter, clinking of glasses and rustling of ball gowns blurred into an unintelligible myriad of sounds. Cecily massaged the bridge of her nose in an attempt to calm the pulsating migraine in her forehead. As much as she loved dressing up on her own accord and dancing, she felt much repulsion to high society. Whosoever had compared high society to a sandalwood tree must’ve been a wise person - exquisite and ambrosial smelling but intertwined with serpents waiting to pounce. Her sharp gaze, reminiscent of a relentless hunter, swept the expanse of ballroom to locate her target attendee. He wasn’t here, not yet at least. But he was expected to be here soon, after all what king doesn’t show up to the party he hosted in his own honour ?

Everything the room exuded an elite air of grandeur. Golden tendrils resembling vines creeping up the wall and colluding in a labyrinthine pattern of flowers and leaves against the stained glass ceilings. Lush roses filled each vase placed exactly five meters apart from each other. In the centre of the dome were three collinear alchemy powered faux stars, the centre attraction and the nominative factor of the ballroom — the Syzygy Hall. Leaning against the stone wall, the crisp night air fills her lungs while the stars twinkle in the dark, velvety sky, and she watched them with a nostalgic sense of appreciation. The flashing memories of her stargazing in this very hall with a certain gifted mage tugged harshly on her heart stings but she forced herself to shun them and focus on the task ahead.

Cecily shifted her attention to the noblemen and women drift across the smooth marble floors like clockwork nutcrackers in grandfather clocks. It all looked so beautiful and for the lack of a better word, rich. A part of her would’ve wanted to join to the festivities had her heart not drowned in waves of indignation for the host. But then as having danced her fair share of high society parties — she knew of the incessant debauchery, corruption and vicious yet sugarcoated calumny at the core of this diamond and silk adorned marvel. Nobility was a word that evoked images of artifice, undeserved riches, wastefulness and textbook narcissism. Albeit belonging to the pinnacle of non-royal nobility — Cecily’s lineage was both a blessing and a curse. As the daughter of one of the three dukes in the empire and the daughter and successor of the continent’s finest swordsman , Carlisle Reginald, Cecily was taught to be wary of desperate social climber with saccharine laced tongues at a young age. Just the thought of her family flared the inferno of negative feelings further.

“This far behind enemy lines ? Can’t tell if it’s brave, audacious or plain stupid.” Cecily rolled her eyes at the new admission. “What would you know anything about bravery Marcellus ?” The red haired paladin flinched at the woman using his full name and bit his tongue to restrain himself from answering her verbal jabs.

“I did what I had to do” He muttered quietly with his gaze fixed on the floor as if it was the most scintillating creation known to mankind. “You mean leaving your men to die mid-battle and defecting to the enemy’s side ?” Cecily scoffed at his confession. She couldn’t help be reminded of the past when they were trainee knights and how they were a symbol of valour and justice. The nights they spent at taverns celebrating after successfully completing missions and training. Cecily couldn’t pinpoint when everything changed and when people she knew digressed beyond recognition but it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Marcel’s words were slow to come out but he sighed and answered, “I merely chose the winning side . Unlike you, I have a sense of self preservation.”

“Where I’m from , we call it cowardice”

“Probably why that place burnt to the ground,”Marcel was hit with a sense of instant regret the second those words left his mouth. He muttered a quick apology as if that ever solved anything .

“Don’t say what you don’t mean. Genuine care doesn’t suit the self-serving likes of you.” Cecily spat out with anger laced in her seemingly calm tone. Had it been some other place with someone else, she wouldn’t have hesitated to draw her sword. Knowing her temper, he saw fit to change the topic of the conversation, “ It’s a fine dress you’re wearing. But I have to say - had I not known better I’d say it was a wedding gown. One refined enough for a duke’s daughter”

“It is a wedding gown. I just repurposed it since I don’t need it anymore and my other gowns were burnt along with my house. I’m sure you remember, you were there.”Cecily spoke in a monotone as she absentmindedly fiddled with the lace trimmings of her dress and the silver corsage on her wrist.

Marcel gulped at the realisation and looked away to the sea of jolly nobility dancing their evening away but he still couldn’t seem to shake off the chills floating in the air. Luck truly wasn’t on his side today “I know it was a purely political arrangement but Cedric was a good man. You have my condolences.”

His words evoked a humourless laugh from Cecily. Just how shameless could he be ? Leading the campaign that killed her fiancé and still have the guts to offer his sympathies.

“Losing a fiancé ? I’m sure you know what that’s like. Considering how you let Lucia Arden die just to save your own skin.”

Cecily remembered the sweet and gentle field medic who stopped at nothing to consistently heal her comrades and boost her fellow knights’ morale with her encouraging words. And she also remembered watching the radiant light leave her eyes and her skin turn frigid pale after Marcel defected and ambushed his own squadron. Cecily and Marcel were the closest of friends, maybe that’s why his betrayal stung so much. Had someone told about Marcel’s betrayal to her younger self from two years ago, she would’ve laughed at them and wonder if they lost their mind.

“What happened to her was regrettable. I asked her to join me. But she refused. Because she was -” so loyal to you, is what he wanted to say but something told him that not completely the sentence would serve him better. Cecily didn’t respond to him nor did she look at him. Marcel’s gaze fell to her fist which had clenched so tight that her knuckles were turning white.

“I tried you know. I really tried to convince her. That was more what I should’ve done considering what her family did to Genevieve—” despite his attempts to mask his emotions, venomous contempt seeped into his voice.“Lucia wasn’t her family. She didn’t know. She had no part in it.” Cecily countered firmly.

“She was going to be a mother ! And they—”Marcel swallowed thickly, unable to continue. Cecily sighed and massaged the bridge of her nose. Genevieve - the feisty barmaid at their favourite tavern who managed to capture Marcel’s heart and subsequently died a tragic death the hands of the Marquis Arden who couldn’t bear the disgrace of his daughter’s fiancé choosing a destitute orphaned commoner over his well-bred aristocratic daughter.

“What happened to her was unjust, but that doesn’t justify your treachery. You let your own men die. The very men that swore loyalty to you. The ones that fought, ate and bled by your side.” Cecily eyed him with simmering hatred. Marcel looked uncharacteristically startled for a moment by the her disdain but covered it up quickly. Silvers of guilt flashed in his eyes when he realised that even if he had managed to secure a future for himself as the commander general of the new king’s knights, he lost something truly important to him. The past him would’ve really hated him now.

“Of all people I thought you’d know what it’s like to lose the one you love the most. But in hindsight, you’re probably worse off than me. I’m sure you know, he isn’t what he used to be. The King’s scouts have been looking for you and the other rebels . You should leave before he sees you.” Warning her was the most he could do for her now. He had sworn loyalty to the new king but standing in front of his childhood friend - he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of conflict.

“Why ? Is he planning to send me and my men to the gallows ?” Cecily scoffed as if impressed that the king was putting in so much effort to locate her. “Your men ? Yes. You ? No. Corrupted or not, not even he could get himself to kill the woman he loves so dearly. But I’m positive whatever his plans for you are, would make you wish that he sent you to the gallows instead. He won’t kill you but beware— he won’t be soft either. He’s changed beyond recognition.”

“That’s exactly what I’m counting on,”she muttered to herself as she watched Marcel vanish from her side and melt into the sea of guests.

For a moment the entire ballroom stilled and she knew he was here. Her eyes swept the length of the ballroom till she met the gaze of the devil himself. Unlike what he used to wear when she knew him, he donned the most lavish robes and jewels she’d seen on a person. His unruly platinum hair were styled perfect to accentuate his looks. The crystalline vivid blue eyes she fell in love with were replaced by a sinister shade of ruby red. He stared intently at her, it is as if his eyes intended to pierce her skin and rip out her soul. Her stomach twisted and the chill in the air sent goosebumps down her neck and back. He never looked more glorious. The corners of his lips curled up into a slight smile as he made his way through the crowd. Her breath shallowed with each step that he took towards her.

“Duchess Reginald. It truly is you and here I thought my senses were deceiving me.” Cecily flinched at the title knowing full well that she never got to ceremoniously inherit the title since the previous Duke died at the emperor’s sword following the coup d’état and the estate was burned to a crisp not too long ago. His gentle expression of adoration cut off air from her lungs and she felt as though the string of pearls around her neck turned into a noose. She wanted to scream, to cry, to seek retribution for all the havoc he wrecked but swallowing her emotions down she placed her hand on her heart and bowed lightly,“Glory and blessings upon the rising sun of the Asterin empire,” Cecily heard melodious laughter as response to her words. Her heart dropped from the sheer impact. Cecily Reginald was a creature of pure control and the idea of losing control, especially just by his mere presence, was offensive to her. Her heart burst into multitude of emotions as she tried to rein them and stay calm.

“And I never thought I’d see you bow. But then, bowing isn’t always submission. Now is it, my dearest Cecily ?” Electricity coursed her veins at the way her name rolled off his tongue in the same tender fashion as he used to when they were younger. He’s changed beyond recognition, Marcel’s words ringed in her ears. Cecily didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of eliciting a reaction so she shifted her gaze away. Much to her dismay, her refusal just swelled his need to provoke her further .

“Please don’t shy away duchess. It’s a glorious party, would you be so kind to grant me the honour of a dance ?” The king outstretched his hand towards her with seemingly innocent intent. The emperor’s first dance of the evening, an action that symbolised winning the favour of the emperor. Which was why — traditionally it was done between courting, betrothed or wedded couples. After a moment’s hesitation she took his hand and was guided to the centre of the dance floor. The king placed a hand on her waist and interlaced his other hand with hers. The position seemed so natural to them like two pieces of a puzzle that were created to fit together. He actioned the orchestra and the waltz began without a hitch as the band of musicians weaved pleasant melodies into the air.

“You look ravishing my dearest.” Cecily’s breath hitched as the king tugged on her waist, pulling her closer. His smirk widened in satisfaction at her visceral reaction. “Thank you your majesty.” She looked at him with her eyes betraying traces of emotion even though she was restraining herself to her best capacity. But the memory of his touch still fills her heart with longing but she still hated how much the sensation excites her.

“I was informed that troops stationed north of Demaris were brutally slaughtered by the rebel forces spearheaded by a certain raven haired general. You wouldn’t know anything about that, now would you duchess ?” Cecily’s face hardened and she replied in a sharp tone,“Depends on why those troops were present in the first place your majesty.” The king’s troops were sent to forcefully evict war immigrants that were rendered homeless by the conquests of the previous emperor since he regarded them as a political liability. The villagers were kind enough to house some of the rebels in exchange for protection against the monsters near the border.

Vivacious laughter bubbles from his chest and he responded ,“Very well dearest. And please, drop the formalities. Call me by my name. Your majesty feels unnatural.” She knew provoking him any more than necessary would only spell trouble for it. Her scheme had to work out as planned. “Atticus,” she breathed out with much difficulty. Saying his name was a tougher task than she had initially thought. A pleased smirk made its way onto his lips, leaving Cecily feeling as if she had lost.

“I know blue is your colour but I have to admit, you look utterly angelic in white. You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful person I have ever laid eyes on. What a fine bride you would make.”

Under different circumstances, she would’ve blushed and accepted the compliment graciously. Cecily felt a strange feeling of melancholy and what ifs shrouded her. She was so determined before coming here and she couldn’t afford letting her purpose dissolve just because she was holding onto the ghost of the man she loved.

“What use is beauty when you’re cursed with rotten luck the way I am. I have two dead fiancés on my tab already.” She laughed humorouslessly and eyed him with an insinuating sharpness. Atticus smiled with his evergreen charm before continuing knowingly ,“ Hmm. Maybe it’s a sign from the goddess of marriage that those men and you weren’t meant to be .”

Cecily arched her brow at his revelation. Is that what he was trying to paint them as ? Twists of fate ? She may not have loved either of them but they weren’t deserving of the end that befell them. “I know you’ve taken many aliases in your lifetime but goddess of marriage ? That’s a new one your majesty.” Atticus’ mocking clearly struck a nerve. She half expected him to take offence to her words but instead he looked at her in bemusement.

He clicked his tongue in a ‘ah’ gesture and suggested ,” Well you know what they say m’lady. Third time’s a charm .” Cecily knew exactly what he was implying but she didn’t want to grant him an ounce of satisfaction by giving him a favourable reaction .

“Unfortunately your majesty, I am above wedding kinslayers and dark magic practitioners .” She scowled at him as if testing to see if he had even an ounce of conscience intact . Atticus’ smile faltered and there was a brief flicker of discomfort in him as the implications of her words sunk in. His eyes narrowed slightly at her reaction.

“Ces I —,” but before he could respond Cecily cut him off ,“ And even if they had it coming . It doesn’t change the fact that you killed my father.” Memory of the pain of finding out about her father’s death on accounts of treason was clear as day in her heart. Carlisle Reginald was many things but not a traitor. He was so loyal to the crown that there were times when she resented him for choosing his duty over his own family.

Atticus visibly grimaced and his eyes turned to icy resentment ,“ The same father that abused you and caused you unimaginable pain in the name of training ? The same father who burnt the side of your face to destroy any chance of marriage because noblemen don’t wed women with scars ? The same father that nearly pushed you to end your life because you couldn’t handle the mantle of becoming the next swordsmaster ? Do you truly resent me for it my dearest ?” Cecily felt her throat tighten with emotion. She glanced away as though trying to think of an answer. There is no right answer to that question.

“ I don’t but —,” She admitted, her eyes still fixated on the corners of the room ,“ What about my Silas? Why did you kill him ? He looked up to you. He chose to pursue alchemy over swordsmanship because of you. He was a child . He didn’t deserve it.” The night her father died, the king’s men burnt her family estate to the ground and her brother with it.

Atticus stared at her for a couple of seconds before letting out a pained sigh ,“ My love, you must believe me. I never intended to put Silas in harm’s way . I just wanted to get rid of the duke because he was the only one standing between me and the throne. I was sure that Si would be at the academy. But unfortunately he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. If it provides any solace just know I had the informants and soldiers who failed to convey that Silas was in there executed .”

There were many things she wanted to say, to vent her frustration and anger but when the time came - her grief was too severe to be expressed in words so she just looked at him, hoping he’d see how much he made her suffer. Atticus tore his gaze away from hers and clenched his jaw as if keeping himself from saying or doing things that would just worsen their situation. Uncomfortable silence befell them as they continued to dance. For the first time she realised, that they were is a ballroom filled with people. The world seemed to have dissolved into nothingness when it came to Atticus but now she was starting to feel the weight of the other guests’ curious stares and whispers. Of course rumours would make their way across high society at the speed of lightning. Two star crossed lovers forced on opposite sides by fate. Cecily and Atticus had love, one for the ages but one chose the duty to her homeland over love and the other chose power over love. Love had no place in this fight of morality and duty. It was quite a pity really.

“But your crimes don’t end there. You delved into a form of magic that was forbidden for a reason, there is always a cost for power that wicked. Always.” She looked straight into his ruby red eyes. The vibrant blood red swirled in a way that resembled shadows obscuring a ravenous beast lurking underneath.

“Is that why you got engaged my brother ? To dispose of me and make him king ?” Cecily felt the temperature around them fall as Atticus’ eyes shone with a newfound sense of fury. Gone was the sweet and gentle man she knew, instead he was replaced by this - this thing. His fingers twitched where he held her waist as if wanting to tear into her skin.

“Sure. Let’s go with that .”She replied cooly. Logic be damned, she just wanted to shatter the mask he was wearing and truly see what he’d become.

“You think I’d let him have you ? Let him make you his queen ? I‘m so sorry if it hurts you my darling but I will slay any man who thinks he can have you . If you really want to be queen, I could make you this very moment. Just say the word.” For the first time, his suave facade cracked. He sounded almost desperate, so much so that Cecily was tempted to believe that a part of the old him was still in there. Regardless of Cedric somewhat sanctimonious and saintly character, he always lacked the vigour and the ambition it took to become king and most of all - to deserve Atticus’ goddess. Cedric was the only pure blooded prince who showed an inkling of kindness to a bastard of the previous emperor so Atticus granted him the mercy of a quick and painless death. But the idea of him wedding his beloved was beyond blasphemous and filled him with unimaginable rage; making him want to give Cedric a slow and painful death instead.

To him, Cecilia Seraphina Reginald was the closest humanity has attained to godliness. The passion she projected in her art and the fire that burned behind her eyes is enough to drive anyone to insanity . She used the sword as if it was an extension of her own body and where most fought with the crude desperation , every movement of her body was deliberate and precise as if she was floating like a butterfly through the air. With each step, she seemed to move through space and time, transcending the boundaries between ordinary and extraordinary. Each slash and strike was like a paint stroke on canvas, drawing a picture of beauty and grace in motion. Her raven hair striking a beautiful contrast against her emerald eyes . Even when her father burnt the side of her face , it barely obscured her beauty. Atticus had seen her in sickness and in health. At what she considered her worst, to his eyes — she was far more enchanting than any of the excessively powdered noble ladies he’d seen in court . There is something religious about the way he adored her. There never was a God in Atticus's life. No one deserved that title after what life had thrown at him since he was little.

He remembered the first day they met when she fended off the third prince bullying Atticus at their first day at the Royal Academy. She never once discriminated against for being an illegitimate child of the emperor. Atticus was born as a result of acts of cruelty on an elite battle mage of an enemy nation who was taken by the previous emperor as spoils of war. Despite his actions, the emperor never even bothered to officially make her his concubine so Atticus’ status in the Royal Palace was akin to that of a servant’s. Throughout his childhood, he had been a prince solely in name. His entire life, everyone looked at him as if he was some sort of abomination — except her. Despite that the dignified and legendary duke’s only daughter, the lady with the highest status after the empress and princesses themselves, when faced disapproval for befriending the emperor’s bastard, she never once turned her back on him. And not necessarily because she was kind but because it was the right thing to do. Cecily was first person in Atticus’ life who made him believe that he was worth being treated as a human.

“What have you become Atticus ? We could’ve—”

“We could’ve what exactly ? Huh ? There was no other way. And you know it.” Atticus spat out through gritted teeth, a look of abject misery flashed by Cecily’s face. He was right, unless there had been some great power intervention there was no way he could become king. It didn’t matter if the most elite swordsmaster or the nouveau rich nobles that supported him, he could never get past the old nobility and the six legitimate pure blooded princes.

“What is worth it ?” She asked with her words dying by the end of the sentence. For a moment, she felt as though she was back when they were kids and how he would talk about making them pay. No rebels or tyrants, no duty or thirst for power — just as Ces and Atty .

Something in Atticus’ snapped as he gripped her wrist tighter,“ Better than anything I ever imagined. They always acted so high and mighty, you should’ve seen how they grovelled and begged . It was worth it, all of it.”

“Was it worth losing me ?” Cecily knew she shouldn’t have asked something she didn’t want him to answer. She knew she shouldn’t have crossed that line. She shouldn’t have because she knew the answer. But she had to— in order to move on, to let him go, to fulfil her duty and destiny.

“I haven’t lost you” Out of all the responses he could’ve given , this was the least expected. Did he truly believe that ? Cecily searched his face for any signs of fallacy or trickery but found none. Her mouth fell open in disbelief and after composing herself she asked ,“ What makes you say that ?”

“The way I feel for you.” He answered without even skipping a beat. Cecily scoffed internally, the way he felt for her ? What a jest. It was common knowledge that the starting price for dark magic is a person’s humanity. Dark magicians were known to not be able to feel anything let alone remorse or guilt .

“That’s not true. You can’t feel anything.” She jeered at him. Atticus didn’t respond and twirled and lifted her into the air in accordance to the rhythm of the waltz. His lack of reaction almost made her think that he didn’t hear what she said, she opened her mouth to say that again but was cut off by his reply ,“Contrary to popular beliefs my darling , dark magic doesn’t completely deprive a person of all emotion. It merely diminishes emotions that were present in silvers and amplifies the most emotions felt by the person. In short, the user becomes absolutely sure of what they feel and what they want. Anger becomes rage , sadness becomes despair , fear becomes horror and love becomes –” As he spoke, he pressed his lips against her hand. She can feel the heat of his breath in the centre of her palm ,“ — unbridled obsession.” Cecily breath hitched as he moved his lips up her wrist to her palm again, tracing her veins with his lips.

"Pray tell, is that how it went ? Your barter of soul with a devil for dominion only to find yourself upon the throne, consumed by anguish not because you killed your family but rather by the realization that your affection for me would impede your ambitions ?"

Atticus got closer to her. His eyes were locked on hers, and his lips had a slight twitch to them. Lust. He was never the type to give into such base urges, but in the her presence - he craved her. A part of him hated this feeling even more than her tormenting comments. If only he could kill her and rid himself of this weakness of the flesh. “You aren’t far from it . You know I never understood the appeal my father saw in my mother but I guess I do see it now. Fiesty enemy general that just refuses to concede and all.”

“And here I thought you said you were never going to be anything like your father. I guess you kings are doomed to repeat failures of your predecessors. After all the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He absentmindedly hummed in response to her words as if neither agreeing nor disagreeing. His eyes were fixated on his thumb caressing her wrist, Cecily noticed it and tilted her head to her side as if silently asking ‘what’re you thinking ?’

“You aren’t wrong my darling. Maybe I am the same as him. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I have everything I wanted. Except for a couple things and I don’t intend on stopping until I’ve got them.” Atticus’ eyes gleamed with a glint of great impending danger. He paused for a second as if debating whether he should disclose his plans or not but in the festive atmosphere decided the former. “You’re quite a stubborn little thing you know. I wonder if I were to incapacitate you from wielding the blade ever again, would your resolve shatter ? All the princes are dead, there’s no one to succeed me. I’ve made sure of it. Who would you crown king after me ?” He wondered if he chopped her wrists off so that she couldn’t use her sword again, would she stop resisting then ? Or perhaps if he snapped her ankles then maybe she wouldn’t be able to run away ?

“Incapacitate me ? You think you could do that ?” Albeit Cecily knew she was playing with fire, she wanted to see to what limits she could provoke him before he took extreme measures. They were playing a dangerous game. Both were waiting for the other to make a mistake, to lose their cool and to drop the civil facade and settle the score .

Others might see Atticus as this stone cold man with no feelings, but his heart was beating loud and clear in his chest, seemingly for one purpose. He hoped that his emotional conflict would clear out once he made the deal but it didn’t help. Not one bit. He often found his eyes subconsciously searching for the familiar figure in the crowds of people he’d address every day, wanting nothing more than to reach out and have her with him again. The scent of her skin and the light lavender fragrance haunted him as he tried to sleep, the vivid image of her following him in his dreams. If it were up to him, he’d drag her to the church alter this very moment and make good on the wedding gown she was wearing. He knew she wore that to mock his guilty conscience, that is if he had any left.

“I have my knights stationed at every corner of the ballroom. One action and they’ll attack.”

“You think fresh recruits could even hold a candle against a swordmaster ?” She was right, no matter how trained they would never able to best her. The only one who stood a chance against her skill was he himself. No one else.

He chuckled at her spirit, it was one of the things he adored most about her. “No. Not really.” Cecily smiled with a victorious expression but at the same time she knew if he were to use his magic, things were bound to get messy. Although not their own, but much blood would be spilt and in a room full of the empire’s finest — it wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.

a/n 2.0 – After reading this my current writing seems so crappy wtf. I guess there is a reason this took three months to write. Tho good to know I couldn’t articulate my thoughts well enough to make a respectable plot even back then. Sorry for the abrupt ending, tumblr kept glitching so I had to split it in two. I’ll upload pt.2 in a week.

[shiyorin]

Hello👋 I hope you're doing well) if the requests are still open, can you write something for the Emperor of Mankind? 🤭 A soft Yandere with the reader psyker eternal. He does not like when anyone other than Malcador and the Custodians communicate with her, even the primarchs saw her only fleetingly at celebrations. But the reader is completely satisfied with everything. She can do her favorite things and not worry about anything. Dream🥰

The description of the Emperor here is quite vague because I like the way he is portrayed through others's POV. But here we are.

You gazed into the dying embers of the fire, listening to the familiar sounds of your chamber settling into nightly slumber around you. Another day had drawn to a close within the confines of the Imperial Palace, but not for you.

Not yet.

You rose and drifted to the window, looking out upon the sprawling expanse of the Terra below. Lights in thousands of windows flickered like distant stars, whole hive districts darkened as the citizens within their live. All throughout the realm, lives wound down in preparation for the coming dawn.

All except you, it seemed. Not until he came.

As always, your thoughts turned inevitably to him. The gilded cage he had granted you so long ago, this place that served now as your one and onlyhome, however grand. A sanctuary from the cruel outside world, and yet, a prison nonetheless.

His sanctuary. His prison. His… everything.

Always he came to you here at night's deepest hour, even his Custodes can't come here. When the shadows within shadows held dominion and privacy was assured. That was when he would emerge like a wraith to steal what moments he could find in your company, before withdrawing back into the places from whence he came.

The routine had repeated for centuries unchanging. Long ago you had ceased to question its purpose or meaning. It simply was as immutable. Their tryst formed one more link in the chain binding your existence to his in servitude.

Tomorrow, as always, you would see him withdraw once more into isolation, leaving you to continue existing at the periphery, useful, beloved, and ultimately powerless. Another day would pass, and another, each one leading you gradually further from the life you had known outside these walls. From the dreams, ambitions, and connections of your former self.

Until at last even memory itself began to fade like mist beneath the dawn. Only he remained, constant as the Star to guide you remaining years. Your Emperor. Your Master of Mankind. Your God.

His coming disrupted your musings, as inevitable as the tides. You sensed the stirring in the aether that preceded his physical arrival, the subtle bending of probabilities and skein of fate. A shiver traced its way down your spine in premonition.

Turning, you beheld him emerging from a fold in reality itself. Golden light spilled through the rent as he stepped free, severing the passageway behind with a negligent wave. Clad as ever in gold, eyes gleaming like twin suns beneath his ornate armor, he commanded the room utterly.

A god made from a human. Destined to rule all, whether worshipped or reviled. Yours, eternally.

"My dearest." His voice enfolded you, smooth as fine wine yet bearing weight of aeons. "You await me still."

A statement, not a question. He knew as well as you the path each night would take, the steps they must dance through countless repetitions. And the ritual brought them comfort, as all such familiar routines do in a chaotic universe.

You inclined your head. "Always, my lord."

Crossing to your side, he lifted a hand to cradle your cheek, a lover's caress from one who spurned all other connection or weakness. For him there was only duty. Only for you.

You leaned into his touch with a soft sigh, closing your eyes the better to engrave this fleeting instant of intimacy upon your memories. Savoring each sensation as though it were their last, though repetition had dulled the keen edge of uncertainty long ago.

Your Emperor. Your constant. Your prison. Your everything.

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐭. 1

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Ruslans’ moments in the 40K Universe.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams @egrets-not-regrets @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @sleepyfan-blog @bispecsual

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: Ruslan finds his lover over 15 years and something a bit more while he’s at it.

TW // Yandere Themes.

|°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| |°ɪᴄʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴀᴏ3°| |°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| • {Pt. 2}

Ruslan hears multiple footsteps approaching his guarded quarters. The heavy armor of ceramite rumbling the cold, stone floor under his bare feet. Clearly announcing the groups arrival as the heavy, wooden double doors behind him open up with a loud creak. Sets of armor immediately clunking around him as they flank at his sides. Something he finds himself getting irradiated at each time they flank him to speak to him. He has done nothing but be obedient and rather patient with his brethren since he has been here.

“Ruslan of the Fallen.” A battle-brother addresses him strictly, their tone heavy with underlying warning. Yet Ruslan doesn’t bring himself to care for it. If they have something important to say they can address it immediately instead of wasting his time to true matters. “Interrogator-Chaplain Zophiel has—”

Ruslan doesn’t even bother to listen to the battle-brother, his eye rolling and looking down on the withered parchment on his temporary desk. Observing the light and deep coal sketched details on the parchment.

He honestly couldn’t care less what the Interrogator-Chaplain Zophiel would want with him. He has spent far too long on this ship, and being belittled on it that his judgment doesn’t fare with him. Including his brethren’s judgment.

They all could not understand how much he had to sacrifice. How much he had to leave behind. How much he had to battle and conquer by himself as most did not accompany him. They had left him like they had left Luther at Caliban; abandoning him.

Yet, his loyalty to his once legion continuously burns at him and his soul. Blistering him; scorching him down to the very roots of his creation, leaving nothing alive for the flames to eat but its own ashes. It was like having a Salamanders Dragons Breath Flamer down his throat, scolding any tangling rot that might had taken place in his esophagus which he had a tingling feeling about that God of Rot watching him, eager to corrupt his mind of quiet despair.

He can feel how the Master of Pestilence whispers at him, prodding him through the warp of his subconscious. Promising him more what his brethren were offering him. Promising that he would not be abandoned like his brethren had. There would be others like him to confide in him. To be able to trust them, and to have his back. Unlike his legion would.

Ah, but this god could not capture his mind like he wanted nor could the Emperor of mankind. He is not bound by their words, why should he be? If they were to abandon him once they can do it again and again and again. It’s why he chooses to be…inactive with any side; becoming a mercenary between the lines. Neither chaos nor loyalist, but he does side with one occasionally, whenever the need pops up or if something pisses him off which is very rarely.

Ruslan mentally scoffs at himself, the top of his lip twitching as he twists a small piece of coal in his right hand with his pointer finger and thumb. Coating his fingers with a black layer of the coal. The battle-brother speaking to him becoming nothing but background noise to him. His Ultramarine-like speech going on and on it seems.

He was only here because he had lost something, someone long ago. They have the resources that he does not, and it drives him mad each life year that is passed without them, causing him to be more… unyielding than before. It’s how he was founded by the legion in the first place. Being all strongly yet strangely disruptive on a planet filled with the Nurgels rot.

Ruslan also had thought his legion had once liked to get things to the point and not play around and find out, and perhaps they still do. Perhaps this one is just rather talkative or training to become a diplomat? Either way, he was wasting his personal space with the marine and was growing quickly tired of it, but he knows better then to try and break the neck of a full armored brethren with others watching him so closely. It’s not possible against 5 versus 1 without his own set of armor on him. His was only in a grey chiton and a black decorative cloak that was provided for him by an Apothecary in order to confiscate his own black armor.

“Master Ruslan.” He hears the familiar, heavy voice of the Interrogator-Chaplain interrupt the battle-brother that has been speaking their useless laws to him that he already knows of. Ruslans’ head slightly turning to the side to actually notice somebody in his boring quarters that acknowledged him properly. “I see you have been… busy.”

He hums at the Interrogator-Chaplain arrival before glancing back at his sketches. His fingers still playing with the small piece of coal in his hands as he observes the drawings once more. Making sure that every pinnacle of detail he drew was not left out within them. It was something that he did to make him feel… sane most of the time. Cools the thought of the promising gifts of rot the Chaos god was pestering him with.

“They are very eccentric.” Zophiel complements his work as he gestures for the warband surrounding him to be at ease with his gauntlet. Their armored forms being a bit hesitant to do so before they slowly ease themselves. Zophiels’ dark green armored frame and bone-colored robes coming closer to stand beside him.

“Really? I would have thought you would have reviled me like the rest of your ship has.” Ruslan finally speaks, his chest rumbling his deep words of truth and question. His head not bothering to turn when the Interrogator-Chaplain puts his rather light gauntlet on his shoulder, no doubt looking down at his hand-sketched pictures some more.

“It is unusual to see one drawing the same person again over and over in different positions and poses.” Zophiel informs him, leaning a little over his shoulder to get a good look at one of his drawings in the light of a burning candle. “Not to mention perfectly nudely too.”

Ruslan briefly feels the urgent need to flip the page over. To only have the perky body of the sketch for his eyes only. He feels that it’s not right for another to look upon his work without some type of permission to do so, but then the Interrogator-Chaplain throws him off a little.

“Perhaps, you wouldn’t mind drawing out my own Angel? It is not most of the time a Dark Angel chooses to draw such visions.” Zophiel asks him with a certain tone in it the veteran knows all to well of. It puts him a bit more at ease next to the higher ranked Dark Angel.

“You have an Angel as well Chaplain?” Ruslan questions the Interrogator-Chaplain a hint off his Russian accent coming out at the word ‘Angel.’ He is genuinely curious on how a busy man like him has courted a small, loving Angel himself.

“Да,(yes,) she is very well behaved unlike you, Master Ruslan.” Zophiel hums down at him, patting his shoulder in a joking manner as Ruslan snorts at his playful hit of words. Amused by them as he wasn’t that far off, it was truth.

“Perhaps they would like to see each other, Да?” He asks, his head looking up at the Interrogator-Chaplain as he leans back in his chair. Rolling his shoulders while he is at it. Thinking of ways his little Ангел(Angel) could improve her health of socializing with another Angel.

“Perhaps, Master Ruslan, perhaps.” He hums again. Shifting in his spot, and resting his gauntlet that was on his shoulder to the hilt of his sword. His red visor looking down at him more properly. “Let’s retrieve yours first.”

This pauses Ruslan for a moment as his eyebrows pinch together in quick confusion, processing the Interrogator-Chaplain words. Have they found his own little Angel? Truly? If so, Ruslan queries’ him for the truth of his tongue. “You… you have found my Ангел?”

“Да.” Zophiel simply answers him, nodding, but Ruslan knows better than to take those words of confirmation with trust. Something maybe at play here. He is talking to an Interrogator-Chaplain: A Dark Angel of interrogation, torture and psychological manipulation. This man already has a few black pearls to show his success on convincing the Fallen like him to... repent.

“What is it that you want?” He questions Zophiel, his tone more serious, like interrogating the Chaplain himself. The skull-like helmet of the Interrogator-Chaplain tilting a little to the right in a semblance of stoic amusement.

“You know of what my position is, do you not?” Zophiel rumbles, shifting his weight. “You know what I want.”

Oh, and Ruslan does know what he wants. It doesn’t take a Neophyte to know it nor a Fallen or a pure Dark Angel, but he isn’t outright idiotic enough to just accept his fate either.

“Show me what is mine and then we’ll shall... negotiate terms, Interrogator-Chaplain Zophiel.” He addresses the Interrogator-Chaplain, rising from his chair as it creaks. Easily overthrowing the Chaplains height while the warband behind the Chaplain shifts in their place, unsure if he should be so close to their Chaplain. The middle of his chest nearly brushing up against the dark green cuirass of the Interrogator-Chaplains. His height being nearly as tall as the golden Adeptus Custodies of the Golden Throne while he narrows his eye down into the glowing, red visors of the skull-like helmet.

“Hmmm...Very well." Zophiel accepts the unspoken... challenge that he perceives him with. Never backing down from his spot as he gestures at the same battle-bother that talked his head off with his gauntlet. "Battle-brother Leon, get this fallen man his armor back on his body. He will need it.”

"Furthermore Master Ruslan, I do hope what you are perceiving is truly promising. I do not wish for lousiness in you." Zophiel continues, giving out another order with his gauntlet for the rest of the warband to leave his quarters before the Chaplain himself does, boldly showing his back to him as he walks away from Ruslan. "I even might take your little Angel as a consort myself too. If you fail that is, she is an openly beautiful little Angel to have by one's side."

Oh, Ruslan feels a spark of heated displeasure at his sudden proclamation but doesn’t move in his spot to absolutely pummel the Chaplain onto his stomach. His jaw clenching in subconscious thought as the doors behind the Chaplain ever so slowly close behind him. The warm light from the corridor mostly lighting up his quarters before the doors shut with a heavy rattle. Leaving him once more in the dark with his combating thoughts and the many sketches of his little Angel laying across his desk.

[thevoidscreams]

I cannot state just how scary a yandere the Emperor of mankind would be.

Privacy isn't even a word allowed to be in your vocabulary. You would never be alone. Ever and you can forget having any kind of say in that relationship.

Not to mention the possibility of mind control and stuff. Like damn.

[2lim3rz]

So it’s me again, the one who first asked about all of the emperor of mankind imagines and asks and I recently came back into the fandom. Alas all of your Yandere asks is/are amazing and I was wondering about your take on a reader escaping Yandere Emps? Like they escape and evade all of his attempts to capture them though sheer luck and will, but he still lovingly tortures them in their sleep. Anything from bribes, feral possessives, to anger, anything, and yet they don’t give in, don’t give away their location, until they let slip one tiny detail about the planet they are inhabiting.

YOU HAUNT ME ANON, GOOD JOB. SEND ME MORE EMPEROR X READER VHA IDEAS.

Your dreams were once haunted by flashes of the unknown. Of the vague and eldritch.. but now they were haunted with gold and bones. With wires sinking into your flesh and a myriad of voices all sounding deeply masculine.

"My sweet dove," it would murmur into your ears "come to me once more and I will grant you your wishes. You may walk more of my halls and explore any planet you wish to see. You will have the most luxurious of goods and the most comforting of beds to sleep upon. Only the best for you, my love." Comforting. Gentle. Tempting.

Other dreams were darker. Of oppressively opulent halls and beautiful clothes that drowned you. Of skeletal hands that tore into your flesh and a thundering voice roaring so loudly; loud enough so that when you woke up, you could not hear for minutes at a time.

"I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING, YOU THIEVING WRETCH. WHORING YOUR MIND, YOUR SOUL SO THAT YOU AVOID MY GENTLE TOUCHES."

Frightening and fearful, so that you wanted to run once more. They hadn't found you yet. He hasn't found you yet. Your dreams were always so fickle and yet you were prideful that you were somehow coherent enough to ward any thoughts of your current 'home' away from Him.

"I worry for you, my heart. I need you, I yearn for you. Even my most trusted warriors and advisors ask where you have been."

It was the sad ones that tore your heart the hardest. That made you awaken crying. You cried a lot these days anyways. Everything was so tolling on your mind. The smallest thing would send you bawling. You were only lucky to be some no body in some hive-world. Hiding in a not-quite-house not-quite-shelter.

And yet, you knew that when you awoke to Arbites pulling you to your feet and yanking you sternly to the spires above that you had failed yourself. That your mind betrayed you. What had you thought? What- Maguttol fruit. An underground delicacy that only found the will to grow on the planet you found. Something that was bitter and felt like eating snot but delicious and nourishing if you were starved.

The moment the Arbites supporting you let go, you fell to your knees only to be dragged up again by an Ultramarine the second you tried to sprint for it. Thrashing your malnourished body and wailing as if you were being burned alive.

Anything! Freedom in suffering was butter than captivity in safety! You howled your displeasure until your voice broke. Until you could do nothing but bleat out croakily. Until you were placed before the Emperor once again. Feeling the gaze of a godly thing that beheld you in mixed emotions.

Feeling the gilded cage wrap around you ever tighter as his skeletal fingers lightly lifted your chin, and mummified lips pressed against yours.

[wxnheart]

I just wanted to add an additional note for the last Yandere40k list that was posted. Though it's totally up to your own interpretation, I wrote Amāre Divinitatus with the intention of blurring the lines in determining which of the two is the yandere. You can easily make a case for them both being yandere OR you can argue that the reader is more so than Big Daddy E.

What IS concrete, however, is that the reader is written as an unsanctioned psyker who is taken on the Black Ships and, in the end, 'becomes One' with the Emperor via the Golden Throne.

In the original draft, the Emperor of Mankind was the yandere of the two and after the Horus Heresy, the Reader would've been the first victim of the Golden Throne on the Emperor's orders. The reader, while not condoning Horus's actions, sees the entire war as an opportunity to just breathe because it's the first time they've truly been apart from Him.

If y'all want, I can post the original version, too.

[kit-williams]

Eying up the Emperor like he’s the last feast on Earth

Puts him away

No we're not doing Yandere Emperor while I'm in Fluffuary

If ya'll wanna try to convince me to write more then it can be afterwards

[sculptorofcrimson]

Valdor(NSFW edition) + Yandere

Valdor x Gn!Emperor Shard (or rather, if Valdor assumes they're an Emperor shard.)

I bring MORE brainrot! My thoughts on nsfw Valdor, some yandere parts!

@kit-williams I bring another carcass to feast.

He's gentle. So damnably gentle. He would never raise a hand nor claw against his master. Unless his beloved is a Thunder Warrior or particularly hardy Astartes, he refuses to engage in penetrative sex at all, without far too much preparation, even for a Custodes.

He’s gentle. He doesn’t press. He doesn’t insist. It’s only a physical exertion for him, after all. 

The Emperor made it so that he would never speak against Him. Instead, He put his tongue to better use. Have you ever been eaten out/sucked off by a Custodes while reigning on a throne, as he purrs, pleasantly swallowing cum with that same, obsessive loyalty, gazing up with nothing but worship, thanking his beloved reborn Emperor for accepting him? 

Valdor insists on calling his beloved his Emperor. He calls them his master, his liege, his lord. His Emperor shard. He’ll use no other name. He’ll accept no other name, that broken mind of him will accept nothing else. 

Laurels. He loves laurels. Or rather, he loves what they once meant, he loves the Emperor that wore the crown. Valdor will insist his beloved relive these memories with him, even if the memories were never theirs to begin with.

Only a servant. Only a servant, and nothing more. He obeys. Whatever his beloved wants from him, he obeys. He’ll listen to any command, no matter how degrading it may be for him. But never to hurt them. Never. Valdor would never hurt his master, of course.  

Thrones. Thrones and worship. He loves to kneel. If there is any place he prefers, it’s upon a Throne, worshipping the body of his reborn Emperor. 

Top or bottom? Valdor does not care. He’ll be whatever the Emperor demands of him. He could be used as a cocksleeve and cast aside, and he’d still thank Him for the treatment.

He doesn’t feel arousal the same way a human might. For him, it’s simply a physical exertion. Even sensations are different, they’re…more dulled. Less sharp, less primal, less human for him. He derives no pleasure from pleasure itself, he only derives pleasure from pleasuring another. Valdor’s a servant. He exists to be used. 

Valdor doesn’t feel pleasure the same way a human might. He doesn't pleasure himself. The only sensations he understands are only satisfaction, and failure. He cannot fail. He will not fail his master. He exists to serve, to please and to satisfy. He takes no pleasure in anything, he finds no satisfaction except in seeing the exultation in his master’s eyes.

Valdor doesn’t care, so long as it pleases his master. He himself doesn’t need to be pleased. He loves no one, not even himself. But he loves Him. He finds pleasure in His pleasure, simple as that. 

An Astartes, a Sister, a guardsman, it doesn’t matter. He finds pleasure when the Astartes that was the Emperor reborn gasps as he comes in his mouth, as hands skate across his neural interfaces, holding him close, the Custodian purring around the cock in his mouth, lapping at the warm fluid dripping across his immaculate features. He finds pleasure when she cries out, the Sister of Battle who had been so ready to believe she was the incarnation of the Emperor, when she pumps her hips into his face and he lets himself be ridden. Valdor finds pleasure when he is kneeling, grinding up against the pressure upon his hips, feeling the slide of skin against his, feeling his newest version of his master pleasure themselves with his body, coming apart in his arms. It’s not truly the physical sensations, of course, such primal instincts have been lost to him. But it's servitude. It’s his duty, his obsession, of doing well that brings him joy. 

Finally, it’s not precisely masochism, this obsession with pain he has. But pain doesn’t deter him. It is only a sensation, after all, and a sensation Valdor has learned to associate with his duty being accomplished, with hurling himself in front of blows meant for his Emperor, as is the duty of a bodyguard. He’ll let himself be hurt in bed, without even the shadow of hesitation. It hurts, and so what? What if he enjoys it? What if he enjoys hurting, by his master’s hand? What if he enjoys being reminded he’s nothing more than a dog licking the boots of his master? What if, in some broken part of him the Emperor ripped apart so long ago, he likes the degradation?

Yandere

Sex. It’s one more chain to add. One more chain to keep them close to him, to make sure they can never leave. Won’t they love him? Won’t they love him through these expressions of love and adoration, the meaning of emotion and connections lost to him, but the act itself still remains? Valdor may not understand why such bonds are formed from what is - to him at least - nothing more than an exercise, but it’s a weapon, it’s a spear he can wield to drag them back and chain them to him, to chain his beloved down and make sure they can never leave.

In his hands, it’s a weapon.

~~~

Valdor would stand there, so easy with his dancer’s grace, poised like a perfect ballerina, body all lean muscle and elegance hidden beneath silk, waiting only for a command.

There is no arrogance in his voice, sonorous, confident, and heartless. No fear, no emotion, simply sheer, unrelenting duty. He was always a cold, cold man, but he is also a beautiful one, as graceful as a killer in the night. 

He’ll strip if commanded to. He’ll fuck himself with any array of instruments if commanded to. He’ll set himself ablaze and slaughter your enemies and feed their carcasses to eagles, had he been commanded to.

All he waits, is a single word.

Slowly, without hesitation at all, a cold smile spreads across his lean features. His silk robes rustle as he advances, and slides into a kneel, bowing his head before you. The silk pools across his muscled limbs, hanging around his waist and torso. He holds himself with a ballerina’s grace. 

“Your commands, my master.”

[whatdoyoumeanitsnotcanon]

Ooh, cool! Do you have any headcanons for the God Emperor of Mankind from Warhammer 40k?

Like... for a yandere!Emperor? Oh... oh no, anon.

[yan-purgatory]

Imperial

admin: ღ

pairing: Yandere! Shownu x reader

word count: 1.1k

note: this was partly influenced by the oneshot ‘You should see me in a crown’ by thw lovely @sinning-on-a-sunday​! You should give her work a read <3

“You can come in.” (Y/N) jumped at the voice, awakening her out of a nervous state. The bath room was humid, so much so that it felt like a different plane of existence. No longer was (Y/N) in the dingy, cobbled streets but she was rather drinking in the clean air of luxury. 

She turned the corner to find the grand bath in the centre of the room, and her intended victim lounging against the side, head lolled back so he could observe her. His eyes fell on the tray clutched in her trembling hands and he smiled happily, beckoning for her to come forward.

“No need to be scared, kitten. You know I don’t bite.” His voice echoed off the marble walls.

To say (Y/N) was terrified of this man was an understatement. Her life was in his hands, and if she made any kind of mistake, she’d put the entire operation in jeopardy. And for the sake of vengeance there was no way she could let it happen. Not when the memories of his tyrannical cruelty still rang clear in her mind.

Shownu noted the concern on her face, and the beam dripped away into a concerned expression, instantly alarming (Y/N).

“Come here.” With cautious steps, (Y/N) approached him. The heat of the bath was making her skin moist, the light airy fabric of her servants robes now clinging to her skin. Not to mention the intense stare of his deep, dark eyes boring into her body.

“Here.” He patted the marble surface next to him, the designated perch for wine. (Y/N) snapped back into reality, ignoring the feeling of his gaze and placing the tray down so that he could take the goblet. She ducked her head, observing the bejewelled fingers that clasped the wine glass before snatching up the tray, determined to leave as soon as physically possible.

However, her pursuit of the door was stopped by the emperor calling out.

“I haven’t dismissed you yet, Kitten.” (Y/N) froze. 

“What can I help you with, your imperial majesty?” She managed to choke out.

“The servant that is supposed to wash me is sick. I’m giving you that responsibility.” His voice sent shivers down her spine, as she was forced to turn around and walk towards him again. 

Her shaking fingers clasped the washcloth before bringing it to his golden skin. His muscles visibly relaxed, lulled to drowsiness by (Y/N)’s touch. Trying not to be too rough, (Y/N) set about her task with the utmost care. Perhaps, she thought, if she was gentle enough, he could fall asleep, and then he could drown in the water. A much cleaner and less painful death than what she’d laid out of him already. He hadn’t even taken one sip of the drink she’d brought him. It was still in his grasp, his arm draped out of the bath. But soon enough (Y/N) had to attend to that part, and it was only as she ran the hat soapy water over that limb that he spoke again.

“Kitten, did you poison this goblet?” (Y/N) tried not to tense up at the accusation, wondering how on earth she’d been caught, but she kept her cool regardless.

“I would never, your imperial majesty.” She responded, keeping her guilty eyes away from his intense gaze.

“Don’t lie to me kitten. I can read you like a book. Now, why do you want to kill me?” Her hands shook, dropping the washcloth. She couldn’t hold it in anymore, not when she was certain he would have her killed on the spot anyway.

“You’re a monster. You’re responsible for the death of thousands of people: my family, my friends. Your death will bring joy to the entire empire.” (Y/N) scowled. 

“Is that so? I rather think that by being alive, I can be of great use to you.” His hand reached out to tug on her robes, resulting in (Y/N) tumbling into the water beside him. She tried to scramble away from his scantily clad body, but he had ahold of her arm in a matter of seconds.

“(Y/N), my kitten. If you’re obedient to me, I can give you everything. Think about it.” He pulled her close, whispering such tempting words into her ear. “You kill me, and you return to your life of poverty. Stay with me, and I’ll give you so many riches. I’ll make you a concubine, even my wife if I can persuade the council.”

(Y/N)’s lip trembled at the thought. She couldn’t imagine a life with this creep constantly by her side, no matter what he could provide. It wasn’t enough to live a safe life. (Y/N) wanted revenge.

Deciding to act coy, she smiled at him. 

“You’re right. I shouldn’t take you for granted.” She shuffled closer to him, feeling smug at the way he just stared as if she was mankind’s gift from the gods.

“So you’re going to be mine?” A triumphant smirk spread across the emperor’s face, as if what he was being told was too good to be true.

“Of course.” (Y/N) leaned onto his chest, her wet robes colliding with his bare skin, as she stared into his eyes with the best passion she could muster up. Before she raised her hands to grasp his chin and kiss him. The feeling of her lips on his was euphoric to Shownu, but completely devoid of emotion to (Y/N). She just wanted to end all interaction with the monster, and with her lifting one hand up to tangle it in his hair, she was ready to smash his head down onto the marble side, to knock him unconscious so she could leave him to drown.

However, just as he deepened the kiss and slipped his tongue into her mouth, one of his arms came up to grasp her wrist tightly, preventing her from enacting her makeshift. (Y/N) opened her eyes, surprised to see the emperor staring back, pulling away and wiping at the spit from his mouth with a smirk.

“I’m so glad that you came to, (Y/N). It would be a shame if you tried to kill me again. I can promise I won’t be as nice if you do try again.”

“Now, kitten. I believe there’s some important business for me to attend to.” He stood up, giving (Y/N) barely enough time to close her eyes as he reached for a robe to wrap around his bare body.

“You can take your time to wash yourself. Then you can wait in my bed chamber.” For the first time since she entered the room, he turned away from her to walk out, leaving the wet and flustered (Y/N) in a more dreaded position than she could have possibly prepared for.

[whyamiinopmhellagain]

What Kind of Vibe I’m Catching from OPM Characters.

Just remember, folks, this is the vibes they give off to me. Not what I think of them. If you want me to write that, let me know.

Tatsumaki: I’m short and will kick your ass.

Bang: Doesn’t know how to use facebook. Or what facebook is. Or what a meme is.

Atomic Samurai: THREE WORDS: EX FRAT BOY!

Child Emperor: Tired of your bullshit, and says “ok boomer” to anyone he doesn’t agree with

Metal Knight: That one white guy in your econ class that thinks he hold the solution to the world’s problems (Inspired by that one post by @metalbatandzenko​)

King: *sung* As a specimen, yes I’m intimidating. [Y’all better know which movie this is from]

Zombieman: A very tired, lonely dad. Needs a spouse the most out of them all. [Please write more fics for him, guys. I’m begging you.]

Drive Knight: BAD VIBE!

Pig God: A smart, reasonable person, who’s confident in who he is. And REALLY likes food. 

Darkshine: A super-chill, kind dude. Who never stops posting shirtless pics. Also, the one black character they added, so they could call their show “diverse.”

Watchdog Man: Furry gag-character. 

Flashy Flash: That guy who thinks he’s God’s gift to mankind. 

Genos: He’s on the brink of turning into a yandere. Or basic shounen protagonist. 

Metal Bat: The kind of guy who will laugh at you for forgetting your lunch, but will buy you food. 

Tanktop Master: The guy who only talks about going to the gym, hates cardio, and his only friends are his gym buddies. 

Puri-Puri Prisoner: The gay character they included so they could call their show “diverse.”

Amai Mask: Bisexual/Queer misogynist. [He needs more fics too, guys.]

Fubuki: Like most girls in high school: Insecure and Intimidating, yet very hardworking. Queen bee-ish.

Saitama: Very clearly depressed. Someone get him friends, and a therapist.

Sonic: Edgy.

Mumen Rider: Cinnamon roll who deserves better.

Garou: Clearly the antagonist that everyone is going to love. 

---

Alright, let me know what you think!