My most insane take on trans guy Aphrodite is that it’s DeathMask who did his top surgery at 3 am in the Cancer Temple while they were both high and drunk as fuck.
He threw the boobs away somewhere in the depths of Hell.
Zadkiel was dying. It was a simple inevitability. The wounds he had received, the blades lodged within him, they were not the sort of injuries he could just shake off, and he was ok with that. There wasn’t pain at this point. There had been before. Now it was just a dull tingling, his body acknowledging the damage. He was ok with this. It was quiet here, at the top of the hill he had dragged himself to. He had fought well. He had fought hard, and now he was tired. The breeze running over him was nice, it was comfortable, and the grass was cradling his head as he stared up at the crimson sky. He wondered. Was his father waiting on the other side, standing there with open arms and a smile? Would he be small again? Or would he come to him in his prime? Would he be able to watch Dira and Tyberos? He wondered. He didn’t bother looking down as he heard his hearts slowing. He could see them if he wanted to, the World Eaters had made sure of that. He could touch them, he could squeeze them and send himself off, but he wanted just a few more minutes.
The breeze kicked up, the smell of rot and blood lingering on it. So many Lamenters dead, so many World Eaters, and here he would die beside them. One of his hearts stopped, and the other struggled to keep pumping. He struggled to keep his eyes open as he watched the clouds pass overhead. Footsteps caught his attention and his one remaining eye looked over. A man stood there, balding and frowning as the strange device on his back chirped and whirled, tools emerging. He said nothing. Their eyes met. Zadkiel’s vision began fading. He could hear a strange rumbling as his heart stopped.
The world felt like it was gently rocking him, soothing him into his final rest. The man crouched into his view, and he felt a blade grace his neck. In one swift movement, Zadkiel died, and on the other end, there was no one waiting.
How different would things have been, had Fulgrim been an expert marksman rather than a duelist?
...he'd be like bayonnetta.
Trying to compensate for the small numbers of his legion by relying on distant engagement when possible rather than constant melee...ambush and flanking.
And if they're dealing with Demons, who are best injured by archaic weapons, then archery it is!
I couldnt finish this drawing today cus i was working on some comms- but i still see the sketch as looking good 🥹
I think the progenoid area would be one hell of a thing between space marines that are lovers. Oh, this intimate zone, your neck/chest. Which will be cracked open as soon as you are dead, while your blood is still hot. No other part matters. That's where I hear your heart but it's also the part that least belongs to you. It'll be another man's future. Will I know him? Or will I get to die at your side?
Summary: shocking news, grumpy psyker Nomad showing a bit of emotion and...some quite colorful imagination about a ship crew member. Things get a little spicy
Genre: fluff with some smut
Pairing: Nomad space marine x fem!oc
TW: Explicit "funky" times near the end Idk the clothes get torn and the psyker is h0rny so-, dom space marine, fluff stuff more than spicy one.
Also first time ever I am posting something slightly more spicy so beware of inexperience (heh pun intended)...I TRIED OKAY qwq
Word count: 3020 words
Goblin tag squad (lemme know if you wanna get tagged too): @cardinalcanis
Blind words and crimson demigods
Roaring laughter and mirth filled the room; the Emperor's Laughter pub was bustling with activity—servitors roamed to and fro, tending to the tables whilst customers caroused and drank themselves into total blackout. A few were discussing the latest news; others played the traditional Imperium tarot, gambling away their meager fortunes.
The place was packed with all manner of citizens, most being part of the stationed Ember Nomads fleet. A group of unruly, obstreperous Ogryns bashed their tankards on the pub’s countertop, ale spilling everywhere and drenching the surrounding soldiers with their stench and spilled drinks.
At the sound of a newcomer arriving into the room everyone fell silent, chairs were quickly moved as every single soul rushed to stand up and salute the giant figure that had just entered the pub; the only human that hadn't stood up was a Iterator in the farthest table, seemingly not aware of her surroundings or just too focused on her meal to pay proper respects.
A giant, almost seven feet tall man stood by the doorframe, all of his yellow and crimson armor reflecting the lights of the pub in an almost blinding light. On the middle of his pauldron laid a insignia, the image of a single rune in the Cthonipem language, marking instantly the Order of Demigods he belonged to; a Nomad, in the flesh, standing right in front of all those people.
The man, if he could ever be called that, had been on the ship of his Chapter but, unlike his battle-brothers, not once the visage of that particular warrior had been seen by anyone in the ship until then. He was one of the psykers, a Witcher of the Storm.
He looked around the room, taking in every soul and every expression; he didn't seem to mind the sudden silence, in fact, it was normal to him and it wasn't the first time the common citizen had looked upon him that way; his helmet slowly pointed to the Iterator, who had yet to move an inch. He took a deep breath and made a single, slow movement.
His heavy footsteps resonated in the room like two giant rocks slamming against the floor, the jittering and clanking noises of his armor increased in volume as the giant approached the table of the Iterator. He stopped, towering above the woman who finally raised her head at whoever had approached her, the crowd gasped and held their breaths, thinking the lady had just offended one of the most elite warriors in the entire universe, but the woman didn't flinch, didn't move and didn't show any kind of fear. She simply put the cup of recaff down and smiled so brightly and innocent it bordered the limit of mockery.
"May I help you, Sir?" the woman asked, not a single sign of hesitation in her voice; the Nomad, however, didn't move an inch, his helmeted head looked at the woman for a long moment
"What is this?" The Astartes deep voice resonated like a giant bell, the words sounding as if coming from every direction at once.
"What is what?" The Iterator answered back. The man tightened his grip on the sheathed blade upon his right hip.
Everyone witnessing the scene felt a shiver run down their spine, a feeling of dread, a warning, a premonition of imminent danger, yet the woman kept her smile, unfazed by the imposing figure, even after feeling the change in the air, she remained calm and collected.
"I'm sorry, my Lord but, I do not understand"
The Nomad raised a hand, the gauntlet's metal shone and glistened, and pointed at her, the people surrounding the scene began whispering amongst themselves, trying to guess the meaning of the gesture. The Iterator felt a gust of wind hit her face from the sudden movement.
"Why are you not standing?" his tone was harsh, but not as harsh as his expression under the helmet
The Iterator tilted her head slightly to the right in confusion, then she understood. She began to laugh, a clear, innocent and cheerful laugh that surprised the giant before her, who tensed his muscles and grabbed the handle of his sword.
"It is not out of disrespect" She said after calming herself down and smiling again, her expression was soft and warm. "It is simply because of...this" She moved the strands of hair out of her face, showing her glassy white eyes, she was blind. "I cannot see you, I don't know who you are, my Lord"
The Nomad loosened the grip on the sword, the tension on his shoulders seemed to ease as he looked at her, then, the realization came to him, prompting the man to quickly speak once again, but with a hint of softness in his tone
"I see, my apologies"
"Oh, there's nothing to apologize for, my Lord. Do not worry" The woman waved her hand and went back to eating.
The Astartes didn't move, he kept looking at the woman, the crowd around the table exhaled relieved, loosening their shoulders after the tense moment had passed.
"So who am I speaking to, a noble? The captain of the ship?" she asked him after taking a sip from her recaff.
"A member of the Witchers" He answered dryly
"Oh-" The Iterator coughed, fixing her hair and clothes as soon as she heard the name
"It is quite surprising to see a blind Iterator, as your craft demands-" The Witcher paid no mind to her actions
"Sight? I know, trust me, I know" she laughed again. "But it is not as big as a problem as you may think, I can still do my work"
"Then why are you in a pub, instead of a more...suitable place for your occupation?"
"I could ask the same question, my Lord"
"I'm afraid I'm not understanding your question" His voice was firm and authoritative.
"Why is one of the Seers of the Nomads mingling with a mere human?" She asked with sincerity, not hostility or sarcasm.
The marine stood there, motionless, pondering his options. The Iterator didn't say a word, patiently waiting for an answer, she could feel his gaze fixed on her, she heard his heavy breathing and the clank of his armor. After a few moments of contemplation, the Nomad spoke again.
"A omen has guided me here for a reason, I was wondering if the Emperor's sight would show me the way, and it guided me here" his tone was serious.
"That is good to know, my Lord" the Iterator smiled, raising the cup to her lips and finishing the last drop of recaff.
The Nomad was about to walk away, turn around and leave the pub after satisfying his inspection of the place when the voice of the Iterator stopped his tracks.
"You should not be so harsh, my Lord, sometimes, enjoying moments of peace harden our resolve in times of conflict"
The marine turned his head back to the woman, who was still sitting, smiling. Under his helmet, where no one would know, a small smirk formed in his lips.
The crimson giant walked away from the pub, his steps heavy and loud as he disappeared behind the doors, leaving everyone still processing the fact one of those Demi-Gods had come to such a place.
The Iterator, feeling the surge of inspiration soaring in her heart, quickly snapped her fingers and asked for a pen and a piece of paper, ready to write down a new speech, the next one being inspired by the encounter with the wild warrior.
Days flew by for the Iterator, she had finished her speech just in time to present it in public, as she was supposed to accompany the Ecclesiarchy official who would be supervising her task to be accomplished righteously and, too, testify if her speech was up to standards for the Imperial Cult.
It was the second time she had been asked to give such speeches, as the Ecclesiarchy was aware of her talent, for as "useless" and "stagnant" her job had become, just preserving the title of "Iterator" but, in reality, she was treated more like a poet than a recorder of history or how respected were the Iterators in the 30k millennium.
Her speech was delivered as planned, the audience cheered and clapped, the Iterator couldn't see it but, she could hear the joy in their voices, it was the best she could do, to let them know she was proud to serve the Emperor and, even if she could never see His glorious image, her words would reach His ears.
As she stepped down from the platform, she felt a chill running down her spine that weakened her legs and almost made her fall to the ground, but her shaky legs stabilized just in time to regain her standing. She dismissed the few serfs that went to help her, excusing herself speaking of how it was probably the nerves making her act this way.
"Lady Iterator"
The sound of a deep voice, like the one she had heard from the Nomad in their encounter at the pub, echoed through her mind, she gasped as soon as the words hit her, but her expression remained unchanged. She turned around but heard no one calling for her again, there was nobody there. It was all a message, a private one, that she could only hear inside of her head; a psyker was doing this.
"Your speech was quite good, the words were…passionate"
"Thank you, my Lord" she thought, knowing the message would reach the Astartes.
"Do not mention it"
She could feel the marine was near, but she had no idea where, all she knew was that the warrior was close. She tried to focus her hearing as best as she could, attempting to hear a distant sound that would be unmistakable for a marine to do, or perhaps hear someone addressing a "Lord" so she could know where...
"Don't do that" The voice of the Witcher interrupted her trail of thoughts, she could visualize him grinning for some reason "There is no need for you to search for me, I already know where you are Roza"
The Iterator slowly nodded; feeling her body trembling again, she felt helpless, disarmed in mind and body by the sudden intrusion of the psyker in her mind, scared if she even thought something out of line the end of her life would be near, just a flick of his tongue or hand was going to be enough to blow her head from the inside out with some sort of Warp power. She tried not to think of that, instead the best she could do at that moment was trying to flee from the scene and find a good spot to hide in her own mind.
"I'm not going to kill you, I promise" The voice returned, and Roza could feel him smiling, as if he was amused by the situation.
"You promise?" Her mental voice echoed.
"Yes"
She nodded once again, her mind trying to find a good response to that, but none came up. She could feel her heartbeat increasing, her breath getting short, the sweat running down her back, her hands shaking uncontrollably, the urge to run away was too strong and yet there she was, unable to do so because a part of her felt attracted somehow to all of this, to have such an important figure as a psyker notice her to the point he was speaking to Roza in the most private of places: her own mind.
The Iterator bit her lower lip and held her holopad tightly, trying to get that thought out of her mind and at least focus on what she should be doing at that moment. The ceremony, it had concluded, what was expected of her was to return to her room, reinforcing that idea were the two escort guardsmen that by now had a puzzled expression on their faces, wondering why the poet was acting in such a strange manner.
"I'm sorry, I-I will be leaving now" She said in a weak tone of voice, feeling as if the world around her was spinning, she took one step forward, followed by another, the escort guardsman followed her with puzzled looks, not knowing exactly why the poet was acting so strangely once she had done her duty for the day.
She tried to walk in a normal way, even though she was shaking like a leaf in the wind, there was no need to rush, even though it was clear that the person who was talking to her wasn't going to do anything bad to her or the like, there was a sense of uneasiness in the air, the Witcher's presence in her mind was still there, although he wasn't doing anything to her, the mere fact he could chime in at any second was not the most calmest of thoughts, it only made her more nervous.
Roza walked slowly down the aisle, towards the large metal door that would lead her to the outside and back to the guest quarters where she was supposed to be resting by now. It took a while for her to reach the exit, each step was slow and steady, almost as if she was trying to delay her return as much as possible.
The door opened with a loud screech, the metal grinding against each other as it did, the Iterator took another step forward before stopping; her heart racing inside her chest, her hands shaking uncontrollably, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she remained silent for a second. She didn't know why she was feeling so anxious about all of this, perhaps it was the fear of having the undivided attention of an Astartes, a Nomad no less, or maybe she just wanted to know what he wanted from her.
It was then that a sudden realization dawned upon her, she had been so focused on the Witcher himself, on the fact he was talking to her that she hadn't even considered the reason for it; it couldn't be just because he wanted to tease her, nor could it be for any military subject since she was only a poet. It was other, much more intimate reason, wasn't it? She felt her face burn up at that thought, and for a few seconds she forgot about the fact there was an Astartes inside her mind.
It was then that a sudden realization dawned upon her, she had been so focused on the Witcher himself, on the fact he was talking to her that she hadn't even considered the reason for it; it couldn't be just because he wanted to "play" with her, nor could it be for any military subject since she was only a poet. It was other, much more intimate reason, wasn't it? She felt her face burn up at that thought, and for a few seconds she forgot about the fact there was an Astartes inside her mind.
So focused she was on that trail of thought she didn't heard someone knocking at the door, only snapping out of it when the knocking became banging. Rushing with trembling hands she pushed the button and the door grind upwards, showing the figure of a tall man with his face uncovered. It was him, the Witcher, and it was here right in front of her, even if she did not had eyesight, she just knew it was him.
"Can I come in?" His voice was surreal coming from a real mouth and not inside her head
"I…I…of-of course" She stuttered still in shock
Once she moved out of the way, the Witcher had to lower his head to fit in the "small" space of the room, he towered even the largest of bookshelf in her chambers; his gloved hands passing through some of the literature and opening a few of the books before putting them back in their right places. His demeanor was different from that which had been on her mind since the speech, confusing Roza even more than what she already was.
"My people have a habit when courting" The Witcher whispered "If you truly love someone you give them a gift so unique, so big and beautiful no other suitor can ever attempt to surpass your show of appreciation…and then your beloved would understand nobody else wants them more than you" He closed the gap between them in one swift step
"Your gift…?" Roza spoke up until the Witcher placed one finger in her lips to silence her
"Yes, my gift to you is the connection through my psyker abilities, one I have not shared with anyone before and will not share ever with nobody else" He looked directly at Roza eyes even if she couldn't see him in return
Roza inhaled deeply and held her breath, the Nomad was so close to her she could almost touch his face; she felt the heat emanating from his breath whenever he exhaled. It created some "heretical" thoughts inside her head that were very difficult to shake off.
"I want you" The Witcher gave one step towards her and she backed up, he stepped forward again and she again took a step back "I have seen you in my dreams, at first you were a shadow, a figure in the distance. Then your features became more clearer, I could hear your voice, your poems, your speeches. Then I could see your back, but your face was still hidden from me...I only realized it was you today, when I heard that speech, my songbird" He said so soothingly
"Lord…I-" She touched the edge of her bed with her body
She felt something touching her between her legs, his breathing hitting her naked thighs and then something wet….a sudden bliss took her by surprise when Roza guessed too late what was touching her body: his tongue. A bliss that for the next hour would only increase to heights Roza could had not dream of even in her most vivid dreams.
