#40k au

[phlurrii]

Some more primarch hcs for the AU where Sanguinius survives since I noticed a few people followed for it! Half the reason I love Sangy so much is their sibling bond with Horus and thus I’d imagine upon Lion’s return there would be some very happy reunion despite what happened during the Hersey lol

Link for those confused on why she’s a girl and wtf is going on here

More below the cut for those interested ;P

Both their prowess for fighting gives me the impression these two would be each other’s preferred sparring partner and idk I could be way off base; but I like the idea their on the more physically affectionate side of their siblings. Especially with each other because of it. The type that at the casual family BBQ the minute the see each other it’s on sight, before descending into wrestling in the backyard while the rest of the squad barely bats an eye at it.

I also think it’d be neat if Lion had more casually exaggerated canines in contrast to Sanguinius’s more vampiric ones. Small sibling characteristics that slip through the cracks and are more notable amongst some than others. I also enjoy the fact they share a lot of physical similarities that I don’t see in the other primarchs. Pseudo twin energy as the galaxy continues to forget Alpharius and Omegon…rip

Last thing is I’m a wee bit obsessed with wings, hence how I got into this pit in the first place, and thus I love poking around with how Sangy’s wings would have to work. The HC’s for anatomy I settled on using is realistic (might do a breakdown how I draw them), but the weight sure as hell ain’t so just squint a little and bear with me. But for fun I’m placing each wing to be about half her body weight either side, doubling her weight in general.

So you’ve got a running gag of Sangy being deceptively hard to pick up when her wings are slack, let alone when they’re held up. Leaving few of the siblings able to handle her perching on them for shits and giggles, Lion and Horus being two of them who can handle it.

[artistapreguissosa]

🦎🕊️🦾🐺🦇🪲🐕💇🏼‍♂️🌳Just some drawings of a bunch of Boys™ doing Boy™ stuff like hunting lizards, pulling pranks, being MIT level engineers at 16 and other silly things like that what do I know anyway I am not a Boy™

The Agarponi's name is Calli, the Fat Iguana Dragon thing's name is Princess, and the wolfie's name is Leggy, because Russ and Ferrus is SO GOOD AT GIVING NAMES TO THINGS AREN'T THEY JESUS SPACE WOLVES AND IRON EVERYTHING ARE SO CLEVER

Vulkan, Arius and Megon, Peter, Leo, Angy, Russ, Ferrus, The Hoodie Depressed skinny One and the Other Hoodie Depressed skinny One but slightly taller who gets buff later,

[carrion-throne]

page of various bug primarch doodles (individuals below cut)

[roughtimeminicomics]

Here. Some of my 40k AU's (The Imperiac Heresy) memes.

[hairymonkeyhands]

When you're stuck on something, maybe due to indecisiveness, a lack of ideas, or just plain fear, all you need is a good kick up the arse. One of my wip.

A primarch on T'au is now on AO3.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

This is a living AU. It will change. As new characters are introduced, as new lore is revealed. I have deliberately been vague in some parts. It leaves a bit of room for manoeuvre in the future.

This is hopefully just a beginning.

@non-binary-clown-painting , I hope this helps?

But please feel free to take a few liberties if called for.

[nuclearloop]

Sordid’s trap and release pickpockets program is very effective, she sends her skittering back into the bushes with a little treat

[fullgrimdark]

The Caffeine Heresy - Part 2

(click here for part 1)

Sickly Sweet

A Tall Concern

Roasting

War Council

Too Easy

The lining of his leather jacket stuck to his skin as he waited for the bus. Lucius had half a mind to just call for an uber, and be out of the sudden heatwave, but a glance at the electric orange clock displayed on the stop told him patience would be rewarded. His mouth felt dry, steamed milk and acidic coffee tastes lingered in his mouth, and he knew he was becoming dehydrated. His day was busy, visiting café after café. 

The Emperor’s Children showed promise with their surprising barista. Lucius could see himself there, alongside the blonde barista. Closing his eyes, he could imagine other things done with the handsome guy who blushed and startled when their fingers met. Lucius grinned to himself, and opened his eyes to see blue lights high above the other cars, and red and white lettering of the Toronto Transit Commision. His bus was here, so Lucius stepped on and was off to the next café. 

No less than three people on the bus were drinking from blue Rob Guilliman's cups. Lucius watched a trail of condensation on the side of what appeared to be a frozen pink lemonade with the name emblazoned on the clear plastic. He wondered at the marvel of market saturation, before the bus became too crowded to even think, and he just hung tightly to his yellow bus pole. 

There was a building coming into view, a church, Lucius realized while peering through the window, with a wide roof and the most remarkable solar panel cross laid out upon it baking in the sun. He almost missed when his street was called on the overhead and Lucius quickly pressed the stop request button, and made his way through the crowd.

Stepping out in front of the church, he scrutinized the solar panels a moment before looking around the neighborhood for signs of the café he was aiming for. 

His eyes found it across the street. Two empty little round tables sat on the sidewalk, wire chairs tucked neatly beneath. It was a humble café, exterior brick painted a pale, sandy yellow. Crimson lace curtains hung in the windows, and a delicately painted driftwood sign read Word Bearers. 

Lucius crossed the street, licking his teeth to try to get the previous cafés' flavors out of his mouth. The door jingled with a quiet bell, and cool air washed over him as he entered. Tapestries hung from clean white molding on the sand colored walls, and fans worked to filter cool air through the building. A group of elderly people sat in a round nook by the entrance, their benches lush with ancient, embroidered pillows. Greenery hung from the corners above them, and Lucius took note that succulents, cacti, and pots of vines creeped throughout the café. 

This was not a place Lucius could work, he knew that immediately, but he wouldn't write off their coffee just yet. He approached the unfinished wooden counter, stepping around tables busy with patrons. 

A deep voice greeted him, and Lucius saw a tall, fit, bald man come from behind a curtain. He wore long sleeves and a high collar under his grey apron. His face was kind as he said, "Welcome, what can I get for you?" 

The quirky menu almost didn't match the setting of the café. Lucius read through it with growing dread as he realized they used a single coffee blend for each drink, that the only difference was how they prepared the coffee. Their menu was filled with mixed drinks of varying types - coffees, an extensive tea list, iced beverages and hot, each drink named something increasingly ridiculous in Lucius's opinion. 'Peace' for the iced matcha, 'Desire' for a frozen peach-strawberry icee. Lucius turned his eyes away from the menu, he wasn't here for the frills. "An ice water and an espresso," he told the barista. 

"Sure," the bald man rang him up and moved to prepare the drinks. Lucius hung by the counter as he waited for his order, taking stock of open seats to find where he'd like to hang. 

There was something of a hallway towards the back, with a set of lonely little single person tables. Lucius took his drinks with a small thanks, and maneuvered to the back. Curiously, the plate holding the espresso shot was decorated with a side of drizzled chocolate, and a tuft of whipped cream. A tiny silver spoon indicated he could scoop the sweets into the espresso if he wanted. 

There was a door cracked open across from his table, and a light creeping out. Lucius noticed people inside, and assumed employees milling about. He paid it little mind as he took his seat, and pulled his notebook out. Lucius took stock of the notable cafes, having already visited a number of them since his rising this morning. He quickly drank the ice water, finding himself all too thirsty, as he flipped through the pages. 

Since dawn, Lucius had visited four cafes. He began with the one near his bnb, The Imperial Fist. An odd name for a cafe, and though the reviews were generally positive, the cafe lacked the style and creativity that Lucius was looking for. He’d taken a nitro cold brew, having gotten a taste for the clean sharpness produced by the nitrous brewing method back when it first rose to popularity in 2012. While he was there he took breakfast as well, for the croissant cinnamon rolls sitting on display looked too fine and rare a treat to pass up. When it came down to it, the rustic shop was more of a patisserie than a cafe. After finishing up there, Lucius soon learned that the next closest coffee shop was a second Imperial Fist - this brick and mortar being where they based their catering from. 

Leaving the neighborhood with the sickly sweet taste of caramelized sugar on his tongue, Lucius then set about looking for something fresher. He’d taken note of a vegan cafe, which seemed promising, and was able to catch a street car there. Their sign was a welcoming green, Salamanders, it read. Geckos, lizards, and little drakes decorated the cafe, and Lucius found he wasn’t entirely against the aesthetic. Their menu had the obtuse personality of a speciality store, however, and though the barista was likely the kindest person he’d met yet in the city, he couldn’t really see himself making a living there. Lucius enjoyed his wheatgrass shot - it had been too long since he’d cleansed with one of those - and his dark roast, which had a warm nutty taste and was absent of the burnt aroma that came from an unkempt brew pot. 

Lucius then had taken a shot in the dark, and visited a cafe called Space Wolves. On the name alone, Lucius already knew he couldn’t, with dignity and honor, work there. Good to know the competition at least, and so he went, just to try. The cafe had less of a space theme, and more of a hunter/wolf theme, to the point that it made Lucius question why bother to name the place Space Wolves? The menu was indecipherable, and the place honestly just reeked of masculinity. Lucius got a coffee with a shot of whiskey in it, downed it, and was on his way. 

That’s when he found himself at the door of the Emperor’s Children. Lucius crossed his legs, leaning heavily on the table at the Word Bearer cafe. Something pinched in the pocket of his jeans as he shifted, and he remembered the little card he’d been given. He pulled it out, running his thumb along the thick cardstock. Emperor’s Children, he thought, there was something innocent about the name, loved, and regal. The card had the cursive, glowing script that matched the neon sign in the window, and the purple glaze on their mugs. Lucius wasn’t sure if that had been the best latte he’d ever tasted, but when he thought about it, it definitely ranked top ten. Maybe it was just the eyes he felt on his neck as he drank it that made it all the sweeter. 

A tense voice raised in Lucius’s ear, and he turned his eyes towards the cracked door to his left. A stern reply, “Erebus, I have warned you before … .”  The first voice spoke again, “You have to know … this is the best … make the decision.” The voices came in and out as the people inside tried to keep their voices quiet, and in their passions, failed. “... is already prepared.” 

Lucius could only imagine what drama they were getting up to in the office of a cafe, and was left to his imagination as the door to his left suddenly snapped closed. The voices were more muffled, but Lucius could still hear the passion in their discussion. 

“So, what? What would you have me do?” This question came clear through the door. 

Lucius looked from his empty water glass, to his little espresso cup, and decided the ambiance of this cafe wasn’t for him. He finished the last thick sip of espresso, and made on with his day. 

☕☕☕

Khârn could not hear what Esca was saying over the noise of the blender and the thumping music and shouts from the floor above. He saw his mouth moving, chatting away, but with his hand on the lid of the blender, Khârn couldn’t hear a thing. Finally, the cycle stopped, the protein shake was done, and he could cup the liquid and pass it to the hunk waiting on the other side of the counter. 

“What were you saying, Esca?” Khârn asked while spraying the chocolate remains out of the used blender. 

“Oh,” Esca began, “you couldn’t hear me,” he realized, and fiddled with a pen by the counter. “I was saying who do you think would win in a fight, Kargos or Delvarus? Like, I think Kargos might have the upper hand, but Delvarus has that strength of mind and body thing going on, so odds are he could outlast him. Not like I’m taking bets on their match, I’m just curious what you think?”

Khârn glanced up from the sink and saw past Esca to the stairs leading down to their basement cafe, and smiled to himself as he saw two figures approach. He went back to his work, “I think speak of the devil and he will appear.” 

“Is it break already?” Esca asked, and turned to wave at the pair. 

“Not for us,” Khârn supplied quietly. 

Delvarus, heavy with the weight of celebrity, put his hand down on the counter, “Ring me up for lunch,” he told Esca at the register. 

Khârn ignored the trio at the counter, and went about making their lunches. It wasn’t so much that they always got the same thing, rather more that they trusted Khârn to give them what they wanted. Khârn knew his boxers well, he’d made this three tiered cement building his own over the years. He he mixed sweet smelling frozen fruit with juice, protein powder and nutritional seeds. In a little grill, he placed small pre-made sandwiches, and then waited with hands on hips for everything to finish. 

It wasn’t the most glamorous job, but Khârn liked his living, and being close to something he loved.

The toaster dinged, and Khârn wrapped the sandwiches in thick paper, and set everything out on the counter for Kargos and Delvarus. 

Kargos nodded to Khârn in thanks, and Delvarus tore his teeth into the sandwich with nothing more than an appreciative glance before they took a seat at one of the tables.

"Don't you want to go talk with them?" Esca asked, helping Khârn with the clean up.

Khârn looked sidelong at Esca before glancing to the two diners. "I'm on the clock," he offered.

"You don't talk to them anymore when you're off the clock either though," Esca pushed.

"Esca," Khârn clenched the handle of the blender, as a sharp pain flashed through his skull. "It doesn't matter very much," he said once it passed.

"They're kind of mean anyway, I guess," Esca seemed to have let it go, and Khârn was left with some peace. It lasted only a moment before Esca pressed on, "Do you think you'll ever come out of retirement?"

Khârn sighed, "Not until I'm given the all clear. And who knows how old I'll be by then, so to put it simply, no." 

"I wish I'd been there to see it," Esca mused. "The stories are nothing compared to what it must have been like to really be there and see you go off against The Butcher's Nails. Everyone says they fought dirty, I believe it." 

Esca, at the best of times, was conversational. At the worst of times, he prattled endlessly. The café floor was empty save for the two boxers having lunch, and a glance at his phone told Khârn that he could take his afternoon break any time now. 

"I fought dirty that night too, Esca. By the end it was all fair." 

"Not the way Angron tells it."

Khârn looked with surprise at Esca, "Been talking to Angron?" 

Esca laughed, "Oh, no, but he's loud enough to be overheard." Esca touched his nose, as if remembering the pain from the day Angron had broken it on accident. The kid still had nosebleeds from it. 

Khârn sometimes wondered why he stuck around, but with a glance towards Kargos and Delvarus, remembered that his care for Esca didn't extend that far. The pair were standing to leave, and Khârn took it as his opportunity for break. He waved to Esca, taking off his apron before he joined up with Kargos and Delvarus at the bottom of the stairs.

They smiled brightly at him, Kargos slinging an arm over his shoulders and practically dragging him to the ring. The three watched some young duo practicing for a while, complaining about their form the whole while.

Until a buzzing came from his pocket, and Khârn reached down to press the power button and decline the call. The buzzing stopped, and Khârn turned his attention back to the fight. Only a moment passed before the buzzing resumed, feeling more insistent this time. Khârn stepped back and away from the fight, and pulled out his phone to see that Argel Tal was calling him. He pushed out into the hallway to answer, "Hello? Tal?" 

"Khâr, hey," there was an anxious tremor in his voice, "Hey I'm actually downstairs, are you here?" 

"Yes, stay there, I'll see you in a moment," Khârn shoved away his phone, and sped down the concrete stairs. The dim café lights cast Argel in shadow. He moved forward when he noticed Khârn's approach. Khârn stepped to him quickly, and their fingers met as Khârn pushed his hands up Argel's sleeves to make sure he was alright. "What's the matter?" 

"They're brewing something nasty," frown lines etched into Argel skin.

Khârn, wanting it to be a joke, said, "Yes, their coffee's terrible, come sit, I'll make you something nice." 

Argel Tal gripped Khârn's forearms, "No, I don't have time," he paused, "Lorgar has sent me on errands."

"What kind of errands?" Khârn asked before his partner could brush it off.

"Just," Argel searched for the words, "just stuff for work, he's got us all running around the city." 

Khârn smelled the deceit, and pulled Argel close to him, "Don't," he emphasized gently, "keep things from me," he looked around the empty floor, Esca apparently on a break of his own, and walked Argel Tal to a corner. "You came all this way, tell me what's happening so I can help you." He searched his partner's face, "Don't tell me they're involving you in another one of their rituals," he hissed the word, knowing what past rites and practices had done to Argel. 

Argel Tal shook his head, "No, well," he paused and looked into Khârn's sincere eyes. "I guess, sort of a ritual, let me explain." 

They moved to sit at the closest table, and Argel reached across the ridged plastic to hold Khârn's hand. "Horus is planning something," he began, then continued slowly, "he's been talking to Erebus-" 

"-There's his mistake-" Khârn grimaced.

"-The Emperor is coming, he may already be here. Erebus, Lorgar even, they have plans for the café. Horus seems to have similar plans, if not for just his café, then perhaps for everyone in the industry. That would include you," Argel squeezed Khârn's hand. 

"What do they want with us, we're not a café," Khârn said and ignored the plain white sign above the coffee machine behind them which defied him by reading 'café.' He'd bought it as a joke at the time. He thought now it might be better to take it down.

"You cater to people, to their bodies, their bellies, and to their wallets, and you qualify for an Imperial visit like it or not." 

"'Imperial visit'?" Khârn leaned back, pulling his hand away from Argel, "He's not really an Emperor, I wish you all wouldn't act like this is war every time he comes." 

"Khârn, it is war," Argel assured, and leaned forward, "shops get closed when he comes to visit. You've got the ring here, so you think yourself safe, but, think of the popularity. Even your boxers wouldn't want to come somewhere, somewhere D list. What if your boss runs into the Emperor while he's here, shows his famous temper? World Eaters could go from 4.6 stars to 3.4." 

Khârn didn't want to admit it, but he knew his partner was right. He also knew this wasn't the full story, "So where does Erebus come into all this? And Horus? Horus is safe from the Emperor, he makes coffee for the damn mayor." 

"I couldn't tell you what Horus wants, he's a marvel, a mystery. But Lorgar and Erebus want what's best for the Word Bearers, what's best for Toronto. Beloved shops closing, another Rob Guilliman's opening, these are not the workings of a city run by its people."

Khârn soaked it all in, hating how this ate at Argel Tal. He leaned forward and captured his partner's hand again. "We'll weather this. Don't listen to Erebus." 

"You know I don't listen to that weasel," Argel leaned forward, pressed his knuckles into Khârn's. "If I took any stock in what he said we wouldn't be together." 

"He ought to come here, let's get him in the ring, and I'll come out of retirement for a night." 

They shared relieved smiles, and a round of I love you's. The tension dissipated, as quickly as it had risen, and the pair were back to an easy harmony.

"I really do have to go, I am on the way to the bank," Argel Tal stood away from the table. "Be careful," he implored.

"Don't be ridiculous," Khârn protested, "you're the one running around with Satanists." He stood to lead Argel to the front door, but stopped at the base of the stairs when he realized they weren't alone.

A hulking figure stood at the top of the stairs, and blocked their exit path, someone whose body was somewhat dehydrated, and overworked for optimum muscle tone. Angron, owner of the World Eaters, whose face twitched when he saw Khârn and Argel Tal. 

"Creature, is that you?" Angron asked gleefully, thinking himself funny. He took two quick steps down, letting his feet fall and land with jerky movements. He loomed over them, scarred, meaty face peering with wild eyes.

Khârn steeled himself, and stepped up to meet his boss. Angron turned, an innocent, amused look on his face as he let go of the railing to gesture that they could pass - if only they could walk past his threatening aura. 

Khârn stepped up again, and lingered when he was at level with Angron, saying, "Nobody likes it when you call him that."

Angron's face immediately went dark, and tongue thick with disappointment, he said to Khârn, "He makes you soft." He spoke like Argel Tal wasn't even there, and Khârn ventured a glance back to see Argel quietly seething. 

Khârn let out a sigh, and clasped Angron's shoulder, "I'll be back. Word is the big E will be paying a visit soon." 

Angron grinned, too wide, giving the impression he could, and maybe would if given the chance, eat the world. "Is that what's got your faces so damn serious?" Angron looked between them, Argel still keeping his distance. To Khârn he said, "Fuck that guy, he can't say shit about the World Eaters." 

"You know he's boxed here before," Khârn warned.

"Sure," Angron gripped the railing, "twenty years ago, back when this place was called the damn War Hounds. Ancient history, who cares?" 

"Unfortunately, we all have to care," Argel Tal supplied, finally climbing the stairs. He put his hands gently on Khârn's shoulder, "And that's the truth of it. I am sorry to cut this short, but I really have to go. Good evening, Angron." He pushed on Khârn, who took his elbow to lead him to the front. 

"Evening, creature." Angron called after them.

Khârn snapped back to his boss, "I'll be back." 

☕☕☕

There was an odd pinching behind his eyes, which Desaan had been ignoring, or rather hoping it was just nothing, for weeks. But today, standing before his boss Ferrus Manus, he couldn't disregard the fact that there may be something seriously wrong. Burnt, misshapen croissants lay like a tray of dead beetles on the counter, offending the dignity of the café with their presence. 

"I'm sorry sir, we can make them again," Desaan tried.

Ferrus was furious, he pointed to the tray, "No, we can't make these again," he demanded. He continued, laying into Desaan, but the baker was having trouble listening. Blood rushed in his body, and he felt very light headed. His vision went blurry, and he reached up to rub his eyes as the pinching returned. "What's the matter with you, Desaan?" Ferrus asked.

"I think I need to sit down," Desaan admitted, trying and failing to bring things into focus around him. 

"Gabriel," Ferrus called for his manager, who appeared in the doorway. "Take Desaan into the office, and then go see if anybody else here knows how to bake." 

Gabriel nodded curtly, and carefully took the baker away, leaving Ferrus alone in the kitchen. The burnt smell lingered, sharp in his nose. He reached down to a croissant, they weren't black, but they were not golden brown either. They had an evenly ugly brown crisp to them, and Ferrus searched for any reason why Desaan might let him down now of all times. The croissant crumbled in his fist.

He stormed out of the kitchen, past the office, down the little hallway, and into the testing space. He locked the door behind him, turning on the lights in his miniature roastery. A neat row of silver sample roasters lined the far wall, a set of barstools tucked under the counter, and a pile of green bean varieties in rough cloth bags occupied the space by the door. 

The real Iron Hands roastery was in a different building near the outskirts of the city, but Ferrus liked to have this set up in the cafe as well. Sometimes they had classes here, explaining the science of the perfect roast. Ferrus stepped to the bags of beans, taking a fistfull to inspect the sharp little nuggets. He held Mexican Organic beans, a favorite of his. This one was known to produce a softly nutty flavor, and a crisp, clean beverage. He roasted them well into the second crack, making the flavors deep and dark. Ferrus let the beans drop back into the bag, knowing they wouldn’t impress the Emperor. He would be looking for something fresh and new from Ferrus, a Kenyan roast, a Colombia even. Ferrus knew an Ethiopian blend, with its favored floral notes of Jasmine and Bergamot, would impress nearly anyone - but he didn’t need to impress anyone, he needed to prove it only to the Emperor. Ethiopia was too obvious a choice for origin, being the fertile land where coffee first grew. Ferrus let his mind wander as he looked up to a painting on the wall depicting the legend of Kaldi and the Dancing Goats. The tale told of a goat herder, whose animals danced when they ate the coffee cherry. When Kaldi tried to share his findings with the world, monks cast his beans into the fire, only to find that they produced a beautiful aroma. 

Ferrus laughed to himself, and wondered what flavorful beans those must have been. He was lucky if his green beans smelled of popcorn or wheatgrass as they roasted. 

Ferrus set about preparing a series of test roasts, pulling just enough beans from each bag to fill the little machines. He had on hand coffee from three origins, Mexico, Peru, and Brazil. Measuring them out, and taking notes in a silver journal, Ferrus felt that singular purpose of perfection flowing through him. It reminded him of the day he’d met Fulgrim. 

They were at a conference, where coffee growers came to meet the industry leads in the city and lay out their needs for fair trade. After a long day of connection making, debates, and bitter espresso washed down with ice water that set your teeth on edge, Ferrus was nearly spent. He shuffled the pamphlets in his bag as he walked, distracted until he nearly walked into a tall man. 

“You,” Fulgrim had said, an accusation in his voice. Ferrus stopped short, looking down into a pale face, painted with thin black eyeliner that twisted and curled. “You’re the one who said single-origin roasts produced a superior flavor to blends.” 

Ferrus had straightened himself, seeing clearly the challenge this pretty boy was laying out. “I did say that,” he affirmed, “on account of it’s the truth. You get a purer taste.” 

“Pure and dull,” Fulgrim sulked. “I’d like to prove you wrong.” 

A wild grin lifted Ferrus’s face, and he offered his hand to Fulgrim. Their handshake was firm, the first touch of a coming friendship…

Ferrus was jolted from his work and his fond memories by the jostle of the door handle, followed by a knock when they found it locked. Ferrus sighed and stepped away from the counter to unlock the door. Gabriel stood awkwardly, “Someone’s got to take Desaan to the hospital.” 

“What?” Ferrus snapped, shocked.

His manager stood straight, “We could call an ambulance, an Uber, or I could just go run him if you’d let me.”

Ferrus was straining to hear Gabriel over the sound of the roasting machines, so he stepped out into the hallway and closed the door to say, “Yes, yes, go take him.” He hurried with Gabriel towards the front, “But what’s going on?”

“It’s the strangest thing,” Gabriel said, “he’s gone blind.” 

☕☕☕

“First,” Fulgrim began, sweeping his arms to gesture to everyone in the room, “I want to thank each of you for making the effort to come here tonight.” Long, violet fabric swayed as he moved his elegant hands. His eyes shone with sincerity in the warm light of The Pride where the managerial staff of his three cafes were assembled. “We’ve had a beautiful summer season, and I couldn’t have done it without you. We look forward to a busy fall ahead, and I’m sure you will all continue to impress me with your passion and creativity.” 

Fulgrim’s pink lips softened into a frown, “But I’m afraid tonight is not all about accolades and happy fall planning.” He reached for his bag, and pulled out a black magazine, to lay it on the table. “There is a certain necessity at hand,” he flipped through the pages, “I need each of you to be aware that he is coming again.” Fulgrim pressed his thin fingers against the pages to flatten them, so all present could see the photo printed. The Emperor’s strong hands, gesturing to display several cups of coffee before him. 

Saul Tarvitz felt his skin crawl, his heart suddenly racing in excitement. He steadied his expression, and said, “Is there word which of us he’ll visit this year?” Saul felt the eyes in the room dart to him with a mix of expressions. 

Leaving the magazine on the table, Fulgrim shook his head and crossed his arms, “I’m afraid not, Saul.” 

“He’ll be visiting us, though,” Marius told him, almost apologetically.

“And by us, he means us here,” Julius gestured to the bar behind them. 

“If only to see what new mockery you’ve made of the place,” came the raspy voice of Fabius Bile. When the table looked to him with daggers, he raised his hands innocently, “I say that with all the fondness in my heart.” 

“Please,” said Fulgrim gently, “we can discuss everything in detail, but what I want to make clear is that I want business as normal this year. Nothing more. I warn you all of this simply because there may be a dramatic energy about the cafes at this time. We may get unusual customers, or calls from the other shops. I didn’t want this to catch you all at a surprise.” Fulgrim took in the expressions of his team. Fabius was nonplussed, his associate Narvo Quinn similarly disinterested. Managing the third café under his name was a removed task, they were out of the city core, and Fulgrim largely let Fabius hold the reins after all these years. So the fuss about the Emperor didn't stir them. Julius and Marius were at ease, Fulgrim knew them eager to please - if he commanded them not to worry, they simply wouldn’t. Eidolon held himself steady, but Saul looked like he had something to say. 

Dread washed over Saul, as he worried at Fulgrim’s warning of unusual customers. He wanted to tell them about Lucius, but wondered if it was even related. 

“Your face speaks for you, Saul,” Fulgrim said, “what is on your mind?” 

Once again, the eyes at the table turned to him, and Saul felt alone in the room. “Probably nothing, just an eccentric traveller. He struck me as a critic, but he seemed to enjoy what I made for him.” 

“What was it about him that made you think of him now?” Fulgrim asked. 

“He was,” Saul began, searching himself for the reason Lucius lingered in his mind beyond just the rush of his blood, “challenging me, to make him a good latte, without actually posing it as a challenge. And he asked me about the other cafés as well, so I gave him our card. He said he’d be staying in Toronto for some time, too.” 

“We will expect his visit then,” Fulgrim nodded to the sets of managers. “What did he look like?”

Saul eyed Fulgrim, “He looked like you to be honest. A long white braid, nice clothes.” Saul hesitated before saying, “His name is Lucius.” 

“He may be an early scout,” Fabius thought aloud, “or he may be a curious traveller. There’s no way to know until the Emperor and his companions arrive in full force.” He swept his long grey hair behind his ears with gnarled fingers. "My question, Fulgrim," Fabius continued, "is why have us gathered for this? The announcement could have been an email, a text." 

Julius scoffed audibly. Fulgrim raised a peace-keeping hand. "A fair question, Fabius, for I know it is a trek here." He put his hands together, "I'd like to go over our seasonal transition planning, and discuss employment strategies in just a moment, and for this I want your attentions and opinions. But particularly regarding the Emperor's visit, I have something of a bad feeling about it, I must confess." His voice turned dark, "The timing is off, firstly. The Emperor always comes in spring, the nicest time of year. He announces his visits through his journals, or some publication, but this year I have been told of his visit from a phone call with my friend, and fellow coffee entrepreneur, Horus Lupercal. You would be familiar with his café, Luna Wolves, which if you've ever attended jury duty, or otherwise had business at the state offices, you may have even gone to." Fulgrim eyed a painting on the wall, a silky portrait of a warrior, "Horus and I had been talking some recently, before this announcement. He drew my opinions about the Emperor to light, and in the end, agreed with me - that the Emperor is an unwelcome traveller." Fulgrim looked back to his gathered team, meeting each of their eyes. "That he himself let me know of his arrival, means he knows something I don't. Has connections I don't. I think he's been planning for the Emperor's arrival. Some part of me," Fulgrim relented, "fears what he has in store." 

☕☕☕

The curving twin towers of Toronto’s City Hall were a place many visited, but few ever went in past the pale wooden doors. The cafe inside, catering to the member’s lounge, gave the polite impression of expert, professional skill. A generously sized office was nestled within, a wall of glass window overlooking the parkspace and reflection pool of the square below. 

Three figures spoke inside, grins on their bright faces, laughs in their honeyed throats. Sitting at a desk was a large, happy man, standing to either side were his handsomely reflected protegees. The first, Ezekyle, was tall, and wore his dark red hair in a pony tail, bound up high with silver rings. The second, Aximand, was short and stout, head shaved clean, an uncanny resemblance to the man at the desk. Sitting between them was Horus Lupercal, a broad man, broad chest, broad smile, and dressed well, but humble. 

A knock at the door interrupted them. Ezekyle moved away from the desk, taking a long sip of his frozen coffee, and opened the door. 

Ezekyle was faced with one of his employees, who with a gentle nod, announced a visitor. 

"Horus," Ezekyle opened the door wider, and looked back, "your friend Erebus is back." 

"Ah," Horus rose from his desk, "then leave us if you would." His expression was measured, but the loyal pair could see the fierce excitement in his eyes.

Ezekyle called, "That's our cue Aximand." The two stepped out, taking the employee with them, and leaving Horus and Erebus alone. 

Once the door shut, Horus put on the face of a proper business man. "It is good to see you today," he said. 

"The same to you, sir." The pair moved to sit at the desk, and Erebus began, "Every piece is set, we wait only for you to begin the game." 

Horus smiled gently, "Very good, Erebus, I admire your work ethic. Now," he pulled from his desk a leather bound calendar, "I would just like to go over the details once more." He flipped through the pages, taking out a ballpoint pen and poking it at certain days. "Today is Friday, the 8th of August." He flipped forward, "The Emperor will arrive from Italy on the 16th, giving us a total of seven days to begin the process. It is known that he will be expected in Moscow by mid-September, and so we shall have at least three weeks to encourage the man never to come back." 

Erebus nodded, thin skin tightening at his jaws, "Precisely, all evidence agrees. By September all his contacts will be yours, and you shall be the one to hold the influence of the industry in your hands." 

Horus smiled, "And there will be no more threat to the Word Bearers." He crossed his fingers over his calendar. "Tell me again how we will proceed." 

"The plan has three phases, sir," Erebus leaned forward, "Rumors, proof, and defamation. We will begin where he began, and strike nearest to his heart. My contacts are very eager for this story to release, and have agreed to publish all our," he paused, "anonymous findings." Erebus continued, "They will take his interviews, and sprinkle them with the salt of our sweat. When all is done he'll have no more credit to give." 

"It feels too simple," Horus leaned back in his chair. "How can you be so sure this will work?"

Erebus tapped his fingers together, "In times of uncertainty, I think it's important to have faith. I'll spare you the sermon, but there are forces far beyond us, and fate can be taken as putty in your hands." He let a smile crease his dry lips, "And I am confident in you. You will make this work, and others will follow your lead to rid themselves of the yoke tying them to the faraway Emperor of Caffeine." 

☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕

(A/N: Hiya, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed the drama laid out in part 2 of the caffeine heresy. I named it the caffeine heresy on a whim, cause it sounded silly. I fear this chapter may make this whole thing seem very dramatic and serious.

Part 3 may take some time, the expectation is it will come around February. I also will be moving from chapters with 5 subsections, to chapters with 3 subsections. I've been in quarantine, and so have had ample time to work on my hobbies, but soon I'll be back to my 40 hour work weeks and bumper to bumper traffic. I'm also getting a dog.

also, Satanists aren't actually like this :P I'm dramaticizing them lol feel free to hmu if u wanna talk about our good lord the devil. See ya around!)

[programmablesoul]

@fancycoatpossum

frankly if you rolled up on the nickelmaster with a properly-filled-out req form for some decent whiskey with your justification paragraph being "i want some decent whiskey" you'd get it, once

see, that “once”, that’s the thing!

anyway he’s going to work up the courage at some point to ask for a grimdark sourdough starter and kombucha mother and will guard both with his very life