I love how when you first peek into Warhammer and catch a glimpse of Roboute Guilliman (who will likely be the first Primarch you see) you think ok well this is some boring staid stiff-upper lip male fantasy. I bet he's never cried in his life and grouses about ~honor~ all the time. He's just some ultra-masc roman empire (pejorative) jerkbait. Get the fuck outta here, cardboard ass character.
And then you get into it and yeah he is staid and uptight as hell, but he's also a nerd none of the Primarchs particularly like? People in the books are like "shut up, Roboute, don't you have some homework to do somewhere" and he goes "Actually yes thank you for reminding me".
He'll try to be funny but then it doesn't land.
When Ferrus Manus, one of the only guys MORE staid and stoic than him, finds out from Fulgrim that Guilliman admires him greatly, he responds "It is not reciprocated"
They think he's a lame annoying doopfuck. I don't think he has a single friend amongst his brothers beyond Sanguinius and that's because Sanguinius is your default friend. He comes included when you're born as a Primarch.
With the Lion, he's agonizing over how perfectly organized his legion is, it makes him insecure. It's like watching the straight A+ honor roll student find out his classmate got an A++ and then laying his head down on his desk in class to hide the fact he's trying not to cry.
He's a dork. It's kind of great. To have this guy who looks like a male power fantasy, but he's the least fuckable man in the galaxy. If you tried to seduce him, he'd go "The color of your hair reminds me of a wheat field on a warm summer day. I need to configurate grain transport logistics. I have to go"
It's actually quite endearing, as far as fascist bureaucrats go
Shout out to the real winners of the 40k Armageddon reveal... The Squigs!
Short for "Squiggly Beasts", the term Squig is a catch-all phrase for the multitude of Orky sub-species that emerge from the same fungal spores as Gretchin and Orks.
Squigs come in many shapes and sizes; but all of them are somehow useful to an Ork. From Hair-Squigs worn like living toupees, to Oil-Squigs that secrete fluids for lubricating machinery, to face eating Gnasher-Squigs that make for good Squig eating contests (swallow the Gnasher-Squig whole without it biting your face off).
None of these Squigs look particularly useful; but then again, who's to say what is useful to an Ork... other than another Ork.
Still, its good to see some extra Squigs kicking around new Ork sculpts just being there.
Some possessiveness, third person pov, nipple play, a lil slaaneshi magic/worship, a lot indulgent, nsft
Flat on her back, Erebus' serf laid bare before him. Somewhere along the way, she'd become 'Erebus' serf', not 'Erebus' personal serf'. Every day the lines blurred more and more, between duty and lust.
The fine brush held so delicately in his fingers tickled over her left nipple, his other hand pinching and tugging at her right. Golden wax, barely warm gathered and dried on her skin, marking her. With each finished stroke, pleasure thrummed through her spine and made her clench around nothing.
She was flushed bright red, unable to look at him, her eyes fluttering and flicking from candle to candle lit around the room. The behavior was excused, so long as her soft lips stayed parted and she let free her soft gasps and whimpers. Sooner or later, she'd be able to look at him during these moments of passion.
He smiled at her, twisting her nipple and earning a drawn out whine as he finished another symbol. Her left breast was thoroughly covered in them now, the Prince of Pleasure's power running through her. She shivered and trembled as though on the brink of orgasm already and he hadn't even begun on the right.
"Such a pretty jewel," he purred. Her eyes flicked to him, irises appearing black in low light. "To think, we've only just begun." His hand cupped her right breast, giving it a gentle squeeze as he rubbed his thumb over the nipple.
She could only whine and arch into his hand in response, trembling as her eyes rolled back. Bliss filled her, bliss as hot as a dying star. Her stomach trembled and her heels dug into the soft pillows laid under her body as she came.
"So soon?" He laughed, swirling his brush in the warm wax, preventing it from drying and hardening. "We've barely just begun, my jewel."
She made a soft noise, pressing her thighs together as she sank back. His large hand continued toying with her unpainted breast, soft despite being an Astartes. Her chest rose and fell with every deep breath, still twitching even as the orgasm passed.
It was always like this with him, with his rituals. Ink, wax, silks. He indulged himself and his gods as much as he gave her everything she wanted. As little as she cared for his gods, she would always find herself crawling back into his open arms.
He tugged on her nipple, pulling it up and guiding her spine to arch. Her other twinged as though in sympathy and she gasped as pleasure ran through her. Her head tipped back, her neck exposed as her hands clutched the silk under her bare body.
Chuckling softly, he released the tender nipple as he slid his brush from the wax. The clumped bristles dragged together as he began drawing around her breast. Each finishing stroke, each dotted mark, each twist of the brush left her trembling with want.
Sweat beaded the further he continued, working in a slow spiral up her breast. He didn't stop or falter when she trembled with a fresh orgasm, pinching the stiff and aching nipple of her fully painted breast. Even the lightest touch of his fingertip was enough to send her over again.
Her thighs were coated with her own slick once he finished the right breast, admiring the gold now painting her skin. He'd done such brilliant work, not a fleck out of place. The reactions were beautiful. She'd never been quite so noisy before, losing herself in these rapturous feelings bestowed upon her.
He brushed the pads of his fingers over her stiff nipples and she came. He pinched and twisted them and she came. He rubbed them soothingly and she came.
Every touch unwound her. She was helpless to it, her hands grabbing his forearms and her nails biting his skin to no avail. Her writhing did nothing to let her escape, trapped under his bulk.
Bowing his head low, he breathed cool air over the flushed skin. She wailed in response, arching up and latching onto his broad shoulders. Trembles wracked her body, her legs kicking helplessly at nothing in her weak attempt to escape.
He chuckled at her, circling one tender nipple as he let his breath fan over the other. She all but sobbed, tears falling from the corners of her eyes. Candles flared, illuminating her fully and she screamed her pleasure when the symbols began to glow.
White-hot pleasure coursed through her. Inescapable until he would end the ritual. She sobbed, chest trembling, thighs clutching, cunt empty and already dripping. He didn't need to check to see if she was loose - the Prince would ensure pleasure for all their loyal followers and Erebus was the most loyal of followers.
"So pretty," he purred. She mumbled a babbled response, tongue heavy in her own mouth. "All mine to serve alongside."
She made a protesting noise, and all he did was laugh at her failed reply. Again, his breath fanned over her nipple and she wailed, arching up, curling her toes, hips bucking as he came. Again, again, and again, he would remind her who she belonged to.
We were talking about Primarchs yesterday with my SO before sleep. I can’t remember the context, but I told him that, at the peak of my anxiety era, I wasn’t able to sleep because I was afraid I would die in my sleep.
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