whorety-k

[whorety-k]

ooo i love these

Coffee or tea | early bird or night owl | chocolate or vanilla | spring or fall | silver or gold | pop or alternative | freckles or dimples | snakes or sharks | mountains or fields | thunder or lightning | egyptian mythology or greek mythology | ivory or scarlet | flute or lyre | opal or diamond | butterflies or honeybees | macarons or eclairs | typewritten or handwritten | secret garden or secret library | rooftop or balcony | spicy or mild | opera or ballet | london or paris | vincent van gogh or claude monet | denim or leather | potions or spells | ocean or desert | mermaids or sirens | masquerade ball or cocktail party

NPT: @ms--lobotomy // @sleepyfan-blog // @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan // anyone who wants to!! <3

This or That Tag Game

Thank you so much to @gemmahale and @cosmicpro for the tag!!

Coffee or tea | early bird or night owl | chocolate or vanilla | spring or fall | silver or gold | pop or alternative | freckles or dimples | snakes or sharks | mountains or fields | thunder or lightning | egyptian mythology or greek mythology | ivory or scarlet | flute or lyre | opal or diamond | butterflies or honeybees | macarons or eclairs | typewritten or handwritten | secret garden or secret library | rooftop or balcony | spicy or mild | opera or ballet | london or paris | vincent van gogh or claude monet | denim or leather | potions or spells | ocean or desert | mermaids or sirens | masquerade ball or cocktail party

NPTs: @vampirekilmerfic // @kit-williams // @madstronaut // @sageyxbabey // @pricesugarwife -- and anyone who sees this, please @ me so I can check your list out ✌️🩷

#several explanations due because some of these were hard #i have dimples! so i chose dimples #but I love freckles #garden vs library is evil #why not both #i could make it work #also anyone who hasn't done a masquerade party needs to get on that #those are so fun

[whorety-k]

I'm so on board for the Konrad Curze piggy back ride it's not even funny

Is it like that one shitty twilight scene but without the dialogue??

The less formal primarchs carrying their beloved like a ferret has me in actual stitches. How do the rest of the primarchs carry you??

Assuming this is a grab you without thinking

Lion: holds his beloved properly (princess carry)

Fulgrim: either under his arm or a princess carry

Perturabo: if he's not thinking about it very much a ferret otherwise just over the shoulder better hang on

Khan: under the arm

Leman: pick you up under your arms or literally grab the back of your clothes like how a man will just pick up a baby

Dorn: princess carry

Konrad: will hold you like how a child holds a stuffed animal, or throw you over his shoulder and you better hang on (you will most likely end up getting an unintended piggy back ride from him)

Sanguinis: bridal carry so that you also look graceful in his arms when he flies

Ferrus: ferret hold or under the arm or even one arming you

Angron: back of your clothes

Robute: bridal like a proper lady

Mortarion: ferret, under the arm, or just holding you in one arm

Magnus: use his psykic abilities to carry you or will also 100% ferret hold you forgetting you're there when he gets excited

Horus: bridal or over the shoulder (he will slap your ass)

Logar: also bridal (he wants you to be close)

Vulkan: will one arm hold you

Corvus: princess or bridal

The twins: they will totally hold you together but also it depends one will do over the shoulder the other will do bridal

(I don't have my tag list on my phone)

#mutuals #i love this so much and it has me cackling

[whorety-k]

I want to hold her pretty face while she's mean to me

gay sex

Summary: Kesh needs to blow off some steam after losing the last Blood Game.

Word Count: 1092

Content Warnings: SMUT, she's literally insane but that's like half of why i love her, maybe light degradation if you squint, have i mentioned gay sex yet

Image Credit: @squishyowl

You lay on your side on your bed, clad in nothing but a nightdress. You flipped through a book, one of the many you had stockpiled while you were waiting for your lover to return, but you couldn't keep yourself invested in the material. You carefully placed your bookmark in the book before you cast the book aside. You flipped onto your back and sighed. You tried to close your eyes, but they couldn't stay closed for long.

You thought of being held in her strong arms, being kissed by those scarred lips. You melted as you thought of her honey-brown eyes roving your body, her hands venturing to places you dared not say. You shuddered as you wrapped your arms around yourself in the cold room. Something forced itself into the lock in your door, and you curled up by the bed.

"Who's there?" you asked, grappling for something to defend yourself with.

The door opened, and you heard a familiar chuckle. "No need to hide, darling, it's just me."

You saw her silhouette as she entered the room. Her golden armor made her even bigger against the light from outside the room. It made her look like an angel in the doorway. She removed her helmet, shaking out her dark hair and placing it on the nearest table.

"Cal-" you started, as she closed the door and stepped ever closer to you. You shifted on the bed, bare legs dangling by the side.

She said your name, wrapping her metal arms around you. They were cold. After a while, she pulled back, taking your hands in hers. "Can you help me remove my gauntlets?" she asked, rubbing your knuckles with her thumb.

"Of course," you said, feeling your heart thump in your chest. You fiddled with the controls on the side of one glove before you removed it. "Your other hand?" you asked as she offered your other hand. You hummed as you took it off. "So, how did the games go?"

"Mm," Cal sighed, wrapping her free hand around your waist. "The surface of Terra is still intact. If it weren't for that damn..."

"Oh," you said quietly, as her hand trailed precariously close to your chest. "Well, there's always next time, isn't there?"

Her hand cupped you as you spoke, and you let out a small whine. She smiled coyly down at you. "Well, we can think about next time later. I just got back to my partner. Can't I enjoy her presence for a little bit?" She squeezed your nub through your clothes, and you let out a little squeal, grasping the side of the bed.

"That's it, that's my girl," she said, loosening up just enough for you to finish taking off her other gauntlet before feeling your thigh with her now free hand. The silky fabric of your nightdress bunched up beneath her hand as she moved up your leg, cupping the other side of your chest and pulling you in right next to her. Her armor was rough against you, but you sighed into her anyways.

"Cal..." you mumbled, your head resting against her cold armor.

She let you rest as she played with your nub for a little bit before hoisting you onto her lap. Your hands rested against her armor, lightly tracing the lightning emanating from the cyan stone in the center. You looked up at her, and she looked down at you with a mischievous expression. She slid you down on her legs, positioning you mid-thigh before she put her index and middle finger up on her lap.

"Ride."

"What?"

"You heard me, princess. Ride."

Your cheeks flushed warm as you inched closer to her fingers. Her smirk showed teeth, a fang-like canine catching the dim light. You moved to the side to pull your underpants off. They disappeared by the side of your bed as you swung your leg over her again, her chestnut-brown eyes roving your body.

You moved up on her as you grinded on her, teasing yourself on her. Nevertheless, you moaned her name, finding ruts on her armor to use as handles to steady yourself. She put a hand on your head, guiding you down onto her fingers as you let out a small yelp.

"Enjoying yourself?" she asked as your breathing sped up.

"Mmh-!" you exclaimed, your eyes squeezing shut as you buried your face in her armor.

Soon enough, you were down to her knuckles, biting your lip to keep you from whimpering pitifully on her. Her hand moved to your cheek, tilting your face back up to look at her.

"You call that riding? I asked you to ride me, princess," she chided, running her free hand along your waist.

"S-sorry," you choked out, moving your hips up and down on her. Despite everything, you let out a high moan on her. She chuckled down at you, moving the hand on your cheek through your hair.

"Good girl," she said as you sped up on her. She moved her fingers along with your rhythm, letting you control the speed at which you went. She leaned down to whisper sweet nothings into the top of your forehead as you bounced up and down on her fingers, working your way up to a climax.

"Oh, you're my sweet princess," she mumbled on top of you. "So soft, so sweet on me. Hm?"

You couldn't formulate any words; all of your energy and thoughts were focused on her, her rough fingers under you, sliding in and out of you. You let out another loud moan on her, grasping desperately for her shoulder pauldrons before you finally came on her, loud and hard.

"Hngh-- Cal!" you shouted as you gushed on her.

"Hm? What is it?" she asked as you soaked her fingers. You shivered after you came, burying your face yet again in her armor. You felt tears welling up in your eyes, despite everything. Dammit-

"I... I came," you said weakly, a small smile on your face.

She pulled her fingers out of you, tasting you while she looked into your eyes. Her free hand grasped your waist, squeezing slightly. "You taste so good," she mumbled. "Although, I might need some more help taking off my armor. Care to help me?"

Your shaky hands found their way to the controls of her chestplate. As you fumbled with them, she ran her hand through your hair again.

"That's it, that's my princess," she said, reaching down to plant a kiss to the crown of your head.

Taglist: @bispecsual @justeverythingnothingelse @bleedingichorhearts @nekotaetae @historitor-bookshelf

#i usually hate being called princess due to my upbringing but OWIWJEIAJAJAJHW #yes mommy #kesh is so incredibly attractive because she's batshit AND ballsy #“You heard me princess. Ride.” WOOF WOOF WOOF BARK WOOF #happy pride bitches #claire s lobotomy got me acting down horrendous this june #i now want to write for a 9 foot tall custodian woman

[whorety-k]

"The house feels a little empty."

Horus Lupercal, at mach jesus:

Oh my GOD now I'm thinking about other ways a Primarch's S/O can lure them. Google how do I pspspsp my 10ft+ space husband????

With Perturabo, you lure him in by deliberately spouting misinformation.

With Vulkan, you can get him to come running by lamenting how dangerous it is out here this rainy day and your poor delicate body might fall, oh if only there was someone here to save you~

With Guilliman and Corvus you just threaten to do something dumb and wait for the stomping as they race towards you

#mutuals

[whorety-k]

I'm stealing the 'thinking about situations' image

Well, what else would you have wanted? Truly your acts of kindness and vulnerability weren't for naught, right?

At least, he certainly thinks so.

Hello! Wanted to say that I really love your work about Konrad. I recently listened to the song Type O Negative - Love You To Death and realized that it would be just perfect for him. I would be glad if you get inspired to write a new post for it (´꒳`)♡

(sound warning) TYPE O NEGATIVE BESTIE?? YOU HAVE MY ATTENTION.

I love this song and you're absolutely right: it's perfect. This is targeting me for being goth (and a Peter Steele appreciator, rest in peace beloved) and I am unable to get it out of my mind, thank you. Type O Negative songs + Konrad Curze and just the natural progression of things. You ripped me right out of another fic like my soul ascending to daemonhood (sorry Fulgrim asker, this is one of my favorite songs).

Please have another really good Konrad song for what I've written! Tear You Apart - She Wants Revenge [YouTube] [Spotify]

without further ado, have some horny

Pairing: Konrad Curze x afab!Reader

Song Inspiration: Love You to Death - Type O Negative [YouTube] [Spotify] “I beg to serve / your wish is my law / Now close your eyes and let me love you to death / Shall I prove I mean what I’m saying, begging? / I say the beast inside of me is gonna getcha, getcha, get—”

Warnings: SMUT, porn without plot, dubcon (but not actually, reader is into it), injury, blood kink, descriptions of blood, not quite blood as lube but it’s there, physical restraints (bondage + gagging), we’re visiting an apothecary after this one everybody

Word Count: 666 (well if that's not telling...)

Tag List: @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams

A shudder rips down your spine from the chill of the room, bare nipples perking. He eats up your soft whimpers, digging his sharpened nails into the soft flesh of your hips as if you’d run away at the first chance you could get. The pain sends jolts of electricity down your legs, knees twitching limply from where he has you restrained. Navy blue cordage has your arms trapped helplessly against your sides, wrists bound to your ankles. A claw ghosts down the pretty arch in your back. “Gorgeous little rabbit, you are,” he croons, breath puffing against your ear. You whine, causing the giant to tut at you in mock sympathy.

Konrad’s hot tongue laves desperate laps up and down your thighs— hot, wet, chasing after crimson trails like a man possessed. The intensity of his eyes has you just as pinned as the soft ropes affixing you to yourself. “You were the one that wanted this, my dear,” the Night Haunter taunts, softly shaking his head. You try to choke a response, but your words are lost to limitations of the ball-gag. Curze perks up, eyes alight in false sincerity. “Did you not?” he asks, using a sharp nail to raise your chin. Your eyes fall as they refuse to meet his gaze. Loaded silence passes between the two of you before he roughly grabs your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. His voice is tense with disappointment, growling out, “Your body makes for an awful liar. I can smell you, bloody minx.”

A crimson hand traces the heat between your legs, rubbing tantalizing circles around your slit. “All of that effort to garner my favor… why act so ungrateful? Was this not your goal?” Konrad scoffs, sinking a thick finger inside of your wet warmth, “Only a fool shows such kindness without an expectation of repayment.” A second finger slips in beside the first, prodding roughly against your front as they pump in and out of your fluttering core. Stars fill your vision at the rush of adrenaline his ministrations send through your veins, and a muffled cry leaves your lips and your back arches forward against the restraints. You feel more than see the razor edge against your cheek before the gag in your mouth suddenly comes loose, dropping onto your spread lap. “Care to repeat yourself?” your captor inquires, continuing to tease your bud. 

A deep breath fills your lungs for the first time since the Night Haunter had lured you to his quarters. Your eyes rim with tears of overstimulation and delicious pain, thighs and hips aching with still-bleeding wounds. “Please,” you beg through glossy, spit-laden lips, angling your hips forward.

A wicked smile blooms on Konrad’s pale face, a modicum too wide to be ingenuous. He leans forward, whispering, “Good pet, finally being honest with yourself. Let me reward you.” Slick sounds of the Night Haunter working you open echo against the walls of the dark chamber, deadened by the rush of blood in your ears. The coil in your belly begins to wind tighter with each exploratory thrust of his fingers, large palm stimulating your nub. The harsh pleasure causes the tension to snap, and Curze dips his head to place a sloppy kiss to your parted lips, tongue devouring the inside of your mouth and eating up your cries as you clench around his digits. He coasts you through your high, bordering overstimulation before retreating his fingers from you. 

Konrad looks over his work, swiping up another trail of blood with a soiled finger. “Quite the mess,” he teases, dark eyes tracing your heaving form. He raises his hand to his lips and licks off the erotic mixture of blood and desire from his fingers as if it's his final meal, emitting low growls and grunts as commentary on the taste. When he’s finished, the primarch pushes you onto your front, pressing one of his massive hands between your shoulders. 

“One worthy of expanding, certainly.”

#replies #mutuals #this poor broken man #I could fix him #(I would make him worse)

[whorety-k]

Konrad finds a new passion that isn't stitching together human flesh or tying bones to his armor

It's tying up your flesh in pretty silks so he can bone you, like a civilized man

Hello! Wanted to say that I really love your work about Konrad. I recently listened to the song Type O Negative - Love You To Death and realized that it would be just perfect for him. I would be glad if you get inspired to write a new post for it (´꒳`)♡

(sound warning) TYPE O NEGATIVE BESTIE?? YOU HAVE MY ATTENTION.

I love this song and you're absolutely right: it's perfect. This is targeting me for being goth (and a Peter Steele appreciator, rest in peace beloved) and I am unable to get it out of my mind, thank you. Type O Negative songs + Konrad Curze and just the natural progression of things. You ripped me right out of another fic like my soul ascending to daemonhood (sorry Fulgrim asker, this is one of my favorite songs).

Please have another really good Konrad song for what I've written! Tear You Apart - She Wants Revenge [YouTube] [Spotify]

without further ado, have some horny

Pairing: Konrad Curze x afab!Reader

Song Inspiration: Love You to Death - Type O Negative [YouTube] [Spotify] “I beg to serve / your wish is my law / Now close your eyes and let me love you to death / Shall I prove I mean what I’m saying, begging? / I say the beast inside of me is gonna getcha, getcha, get—”

Warnings: SMUT, porn without plot, dubcon (but not actually, reader is into it), injury, blood kink, descriptions of blood, not quite blood as lube but it’s there, physical restraints (bondage + gagging), we’re visiting an apothecary after this one everybody

Word Count: 666 (well if that's not telling...)

Tag List: @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams

A shudder rips down your spine from the chill of the room, bare nipples perking. He eats up your soft whimpers, digging his sharpened nails into the soft flesh of your hips as if you’d run away at the first chance you could get. The pain sends jolts of electricity down your legs, knees twitching limply from where he has you restrained. Navy blue cordage has your arms trapped helplessly against your sides, wrists bound to your ankles. A claw ghosts down the pretty arch in your back. “Gorgeous little rabbit, you are,” he croons, breath puffing against your ear. You whine, causing the giant to tut at you in mock sympathy.

Konrad’s hot tongue laves desperate laps up and down your thighs— hot, wet, chasing after crimson trails like a man possessed. The intensity of his eyes has you just as pinned as the soft ropes affixing you to yourself. “You were the one that wanted this, my dear,” the Night Haunter taunts, softly shaking his head. You try to choke a response, but your words are lost to limitations of the ball-gag. Curze perks up, eyes alight in false sincerity. “Did you not?” he asks, using a sharp nail to raise your chin. Your eyes fall as they refuse to meet his gaze. Loaded silence passes between the two of you before he roughly grabs your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. His voice is tense with disappointment, growling out, “Your body makes for an awful liar. I can smell you, bloody minx.”

A crimson hand traces the heat between your legs, rubbing tantalizing circles around your slit. “All of that effort to garner my favor… why act so ungrateful? Was this not your goal?” Konrad scoffs, sinking a thick finger inside of your wet warmth, “Only a fool shows such kindness without an expectation of repayment.” A second finger slips in beside the first, prodding roughly against your front as they pump in and out of your fluttering core. Stars fill your vision at the rush of adrenaline his ministrations send through your veins, and a muffled cry leaves your lips and your back arches forward against the restraints. You feel more than see the razor edge against your cheek before the gag in your mouth suddenly comes loose, dropping onto your spread lap. “Care to repeat yourself?” your captor inquires, continuing to tease your bud. 

A deep breath fills your lungs for the first time since the Night Haunter had lured you to his quarters. Your eyes rim with tears of overstimulation and delicious pain, thighs and hips aching with still-bleeding wounds. “Please,” you beg through glossy, spit-laden lips, angling your hips forward.

A wicked smile blooms on Konrad’s pale face, a modicum too wide to be ingenuous. He leans forward, whispering, “Good pet, finally being honest with yourself. Let me reward you.” Slick sounds of the Night Haunter working you open echo against the walls of the dark chamber, deadened by the rush of blood in your ears. The coil in your belly begins to wind tighter with each exploratory thrust of his fingers, large palm stimulating your nub. The harsh pleasure causes the tension to snap, and Curze dips his head to place a sloppy kiss to your parted lips, tongue devouring the inside of your mouth and eating up your cries as you clench around his digits. He coasts you through your high, bordering overstimulation before retreating his fingers from you. 

Konrad looks over his work, swiping up another trail of blood with a soiled finger. “Quite the mess,” he teases, dark eyes tracing your heaving form. He raises his hand to his lips and licks off the erotic mixture of blood and desire from his fingers as if it's his final meal, emitting low growls and grunts as commentary on the taste. When he’s finished, the primarch pushes you onto your front, pressing one of his massive hands between your shoulders. 

“One worthy of expanding, certainly.”

#“LET ME OUT” #bestie please #you're stuck with this wet rat forever now because you were nice to him #replies #mutuals

[whorety-k]

Hello! Wanted to say that I really love your work about Konrad. I recently listened to the song Type O Negative - Love You To Death and realized that it would be just perfect for him. I would be glad if you get inspired to write a new post for it (´꒳`)♡

(sound warning) TYPE O NEGATIVE BESTIE?? YOU HAVE MY ATTENTION.

I love this song and you're absolutely right: it's perfect. This is targeting me for being goth (and a Peter Steele appreciator, rest in peace beloved) and I am unable to get it out of my mind, thank you. Type O Negative songs + Konrad Curze and just the natural progression of things. You ripped me right out of another fic like my soul ascending to daemonhood (sorry Fulgrim asker, this is one of my favorite songs).

Please have another really good Konrad song for what I've written! Tear You Apart - She Wants Revenge [YouTube] [Spotify]

without further ado, have some horny

Pairing: Konrad Curze x afab!Reader

Song Inspiration: Love You to Death - Type O Negative [YouTube] [Spotify] “I beg to serve / your wish is my law / Now close your eyes and let me love you to death / Shall I prove I mean what I’m saying, begging? / I say the beast inside of me is gonna getcha, getcha, get—”

Warnings: SMUT, porn without plot, dubcon (but not actually, reader is into it), injury, blood kink, descriptions of blood, not quite blood as lube but it’s there, physical restraints (bondage + gagging), we’re visiting an apothecary after this one everybody

Word Count: 666 (well if that's not telling...)

Tag List: @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams

A shudder rips down your spine from the chill of the room, bare nipples perking. He eats up your soft whimpers, digging his sharpened nails into the soft flesh of your hips as if you’d run away at the first chance you could get. The pain sends jolts of electricity down your legs, knees twitching limply from where he has you restrained. Navy blue cordage has your arms trapped helplessly against your sides, wrists bound to your ankles. A claw ghosts down the pretty arch in your back. “Gorgeous little rabbit, you are,” he croons, breath puffing against your ear. You whine, causing the giant to tut at you in mock sympathy.

Konrad’s hot tongue laves desperate laps up and down your thighs— hot, wet, chasing after crimson trails like a man possessed. The intensity of his eyes has you just as pinned as the soft ropes affixing you to yourself. “You were the one that wanted this, my dear,” the Night Haunter taunts, softly shaking his head. You try to choke a response, but your words are lost to limitations of the ball-gag. Curze perks up, eyes alight in false sincerity. “Did you not?” he asks, using a sharp nail to raise your chin. Your eyes fall as they refuse to meet his gaze. Loaded silence passes between the two of you before he roughly grabs your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. His voice is tense with disappointment, growling out, “Your body makes for an awful liar. I can smell you, bloody minx.”

A crimson hand traces the heat between your legs, rubbing tantalizing circles around your slit. “All of that effort to garner my favor… why act so ungrateful? Was this not your goal?” Konrad scoffs, sinking a thick finger inside of your wet warmth, “Only a fool shows such kindness without an expectation of repayment.” A second finger slips in beside the first, prodding roughly against your front as they pump in and out of your fluttering core. Stars fill your vision at the rush of adrenaline his ministrations send through your veins, and a muffled cry leaves your lips and your back arches forward against the restraints. You feel more than see the razor edge against your cheek before the gag in your mouth suddenly comes loose, dropping onto your spread lap. “Care to repeat yourself?” your captor inquires, continuing to tease your bud. 

A deep breath fills your lungs for the first time since the Night Haunter had lured you to his quarters. Your eyes rim with tears of overstimulation and delicious pain, thighs and hips aching with still-bleeding wounds. “Please,” you beg through glossy, spit-laden lips, angling your hips forward.

A wicked smile blooms on Konrad’s pale face, a modicum too wide to be ingenuous. He leans forward, whispering, “Good pet, finally being honest with yourself. Let me reward you.” Slick sounds of the Night Haunter working you open echo against the walls of the dark chamber, deadened by the rush of blood in your ears. The coil in your belly begins to wind tighter with each exploratory thrust of his fingers, large palm stimulating your nub. The harsh pleasure causes the tension to snap, and Curze dips his head to place a sloppy kiss to your parted lips, tongue devouring the inside of your mouth and eating up your cries as you clench around his digits. He coasts you through your high, bordering overstimulation before retreating his fingers from you. 

Konrad looks over his work, swiping up another trail of blood with a soiled finger. “Quite the mess,” he teases, dark eyes tracing your heaving form. He raises his hand to his lips and licks off the erotic mixture of blood and desire from his fingers as if it's his final meal, emitting low growls and grunts as commentary on the taste. When he’s finished, the primarch pushes you onto your front, pressing one of his massive hands between your shoulders. 

“One worthy of expanding, certainly.”

#konrad curze x reader #konrad curze #night lord x reader #the night haunter #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 30k #primarch #primarch x reader #warhammer fanfic #raven lady writings #I'm so thirsty for him bestie

[whorety-k]

@kit-williams He looks like this, right?

#ily momrad please enjoy #Apollo (the dread host) and the dodgeball #mutuals #raven lady's art

[whorety-k]

I'm fucking barking over this being far too hot

Home is where the heart is... so where is my heart?

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @squishyowl @ms--lobotomy

@the-californicationist (You might like Horus ((Before he turned evil))) @justeverythingnothingelse (Since you kinda asked for this)

tw: Smut, canon compliant breeding kink

Word Count: 2437 (6 pages on Google Docs) ((I use docs to check the word count))

As always thank you @squishyowl for the dividers

Horus at one point loathed to return to his quarters alone... when his Mournival came it made it feel less cold but that wasn't always the case and he would come back to the room alone. You helped keep it neat and tidy but Horus tried his best to fill it with things... knickknacks... the walls in far more private rooms had graffiti that reminded him of home but all he tried to do only made it feel like a parody.

No matter how close he got it to look like an old ganger hideout that he remembers so vividly... it lacks the feeling... the smell of bodies passing through... the appearance that someone else other than him has been there. You find him so very glum as you feel brave enough to try and ask your Primarch what is wrong and listen to his woe...

"Would... would you like me to help with that sire?" You offered and you see that he almost jumps with excitement like a dog almost.

"Um what would you propose." He says with restrained eagerness.

He no longer dreaded returning to his quarters as there was at least one other person! Not the size of a gang that he wanted to share a space with but... he had his mournival always around him so he could survive having at least one person around at all times. He got you to move in basically when the Primarch told you what he was so use to... he didn't like to live alone... sure he could sleep alone but the sterile living quarters or bachelors pad that it was made him go crazy.

You moved in full time just adding your touch to living there and it made him actually relax while he was there. You were on the large sofa sewing patches on your clothes... He could just get you new ones... though... one of those was your favorite blouse. "What happened to your blouse?" He said leaning on the back of the couch.

"Popped a button." You say as he looks at how one of the buttons over where your breasts would be had popped. Horus bit his tongue as he looked you over and indeed... your breasts had grown slightly sending a fire to his loins. Not only that just... just the fact you were here verses your own quarters doing your mundane chores; once he caught you here on your day off just relaxing and doing some sewing as you watched a drama on your cogitator... eventually he pushed it onto the large screen as the two of you sat on his couch watching tv as you were sewing what he later learned was a baby blanket for another serf... He remembers holding it and looking at the little animals on it... he liked babies... he babied some of his own sons... but they weren't his babies...

"Horus?" You say looking up at him as he was zoning out.

"Hmm? Sorry..."

"It's fine you're just staring at my blouse still... do you want to talk about it?"

"No... do you want dinner?" Horus put the blouse back down.

"Augh thank you for reminding me." You said starting to pack things up, "I finished cleaning-"

"Where are you going?" Horus says frowning.

"Back to my quarters?" You pause as you're surprised by this sudden line of questioning.

"Why?"

"I have to get started on dinner?"

"Just eat here." Horus says waving his hand.

You let out an exacerbated sigh, "My Lord-"

"Why are you getting formal on me?"

"Horus!" You say stopping him from continuing on and he looks at you... and you just let any annoyance leave you as you see him look at you with some look in his eyes that silently pleaded with you to stay. "I... Just.... You don't have anything in your fridge for me." You finally relent as he just gives you a genuine smile as you sit back down and return to sewing.

"I'll get something nice brought for you... we can always get ingredients for you to use."

"Your kitchen is huge."

"But your quarters are so far..." He whined before you could feel him suddenly beside you. "So... what if you got closer quarters?"

"If I lived closer?" You say as you were getting dangerously close to moving into the same quarters as him, stars above if that happened...

"Would you eat dinner with me more?" He said as his hands move over your shoulders, his large thumbs gently rubbing against the back of your neck and you just groan in enjoyment at the sudden massage.

"Maybe." You sigh out enjoying this. "Can I stay on your couch tonight?"

You can't hear the way his hearts jump or the restrained excitement in his voice, "Oh why?"

"It will be far too late and I'm not fighting a sea of second shift people leaving to get back to my quarters if you're also getting me dinner too."

"Of course I'll be a happy host you."

You wonder if this is what a noble who gets his undivided attention feels like as it feels weirdly intimate as food seems to arrive without you knowing... you had heard that he had wined and dined mortals before a bit before your time but... you move your stuff out of the way. But the food... the food was far too rich for you... far too good for your station... and yet you felt comfortable with how Horus ate like a commoner still. Oh he loved to relax as you had found him laying around with his men like a bunch of teenagers trying to expend as little energy but still get food into their mouths.

You don't know what happened... one moment you two were watching some horror and sharing food from your plates. How your lips bush against his fingers as he offered you to eat something as your eyes are focused on the predictable plot, "No bitch don't go in there." You say softly as you quickly burrow yourself into his side to hide from the killer that would show up.

"She's so fucked." Horus whispered but he was focused on you as you were hiding.

You hide your face in his side as the actress gets mauled on screen by the killer and he could feel your heartrate spike and he just soon pull you into his lap as you were watching through your fingers, "By the stars this is terrifying."

"I think the director is Nostroman." Horus said casually putting another piece of food to your lips and relishing the way your mouth moved against his fingers.

"I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight." You whined.

"You can stay with me." Horus says softly as you just mindlessly nod. The movie ends predictably... meaning that the killer might come back... and you lean against his chest just trying to dispel your fearful thoughts. "Did you really get scared?" He asks with some concern and you laugh and nod a bit.

"Its been awhile since I had a scare like that."

You feel his index finger curl under your chin as his thumb rests just below your bottom lip, "Good thing you have me to protect you tonight." Horus says in a husky voice that causes your breathing to hitch for a moment.

"My L-"

He cuts you off with a kiss, his hand groping the fullness of your ass as he carries you to the bedroom. Your clothes being removed piece by piece and you're in your underclothes by the time his foot closes his bedroom door. "You smell so good my little-" He cuts himself off as he kisses you hard. "Let me touch you darling... let me love you." He breathes against your skin and you moan.

"Horus... Horus..." You say spreading your legs wide as he pulls your underclothes away and his finger coaxes its way into the slick opening of your sex.

The restrained Primarch felt himself start to unravel seeing you writhe under him to his ministrations. So use to your presence he had become that the thought of you not spending the night any longer was driving him mad. You'd left your mark on this place, pictframes holding picts you had taken of Horus and his Mournival all the ones you had taken all of them being in such humanizing moments, a blanket you had sewn drapes across the back of one of the couches, your scent lingers in the couch cushions... it lingered in the air... it lingered how Horus needed.

"You'll be such a good mother." His gene enhanced voice dropped an octave as his desires were laid bare and he hummed approvingly as you clenched on his finger, your teeth pressing onto your bottom lip, as you covered your eyes with one arm whimpering as the lavished attention of your Primarch was an intense thing... and it did things to you. "You're taking my fingers so well my little wife... " He cooed into your ear, you wanted to ask what he meant by that but you also were pulled into the sexual fantasy so easily. His tongue tracing the shell of your ear, "Will you take my cock just as well?" He whispers to you and you whimper out a small orgasm as your walls clench around his fingers.

Horus pulled off his pants with such quickness you thought he had simply adjusted his position over you as he smears your fluids over his cock head. "Breathe." He orders and you obey as the sensation of his cock sinking into your sex causes you to exhale slowly and inhale sharply. Your small foot pushes against his chest during moments it becomes too much, his thumb making circles on your hipbones... Horus wondering how much more pronounced they would look on you after you had a baby.

Horus was utterly fascinated by the human body... and the way it shifts and will change to accommodate growing a life inside of it. Of course, your body would never be the same after having one... or two... or three... but the thought of you carrying something of his own making was utterly erotic for him. He sinks in more when you let him losing your breath as he bottoms out and you uncover your eyes just looking between your legs with wide eyes, "Oh by the stars." Your shocked voice shakes out as you weren't expecting to fit him, far to scared to see how big he was.

Horus chuckled softly, "Of course you would take my cock so well..." He looks down at you with such a sin ladened look that it causes you to be utterly flustered, "I seem to just..." He clicks his tongue thinking for a moment, "Have a good eye for people."

Your breath leaves you as he churns his hips and all you can manage out besides pleasured noises is his name. All the while the Primarch is whispering such lurid things in your ear; you honestly didn't realize that you might have a breeding kink as well given how he tells you what he wants to do to you in erotic detail. How he will just find a day to utterly fuck you silly and so full of his cum you'll look pregnant. How greedy he will be to suckle and lick your breasts when they start to weep... how this man can make it all sound so erotic... it makes you buck your hips back into his begging for him to give you what he is promising. Though in the back of your mind it dances how he calls you his, you are one of his menials yes, but the other how he keeps calling you wife....

You'll ask later as right now you're utterly lost to the way he fucks you from here to Terra only finally stopping when you're close to passing out to which he cums inside of you.... not that you're fully there as he kisses your throat... "Yes rest now my pretty little wife... everything... will be... care of."

You pass out not long after that the horror movie monster long forgotten as you sleep in such a lavished bed... waking up with your head on his chest listening to the twin beats of his hearts. You wipe away the drool from the side of your mouth, "Hey pretty girl." He says with a wink as his eyes darted from his datapad for a moment before looking back.

"The shift master is going to kill me." You grouse as you know you overslept.

"No he's not." Horus says amused.

"Well I guess not since I'm here to start my shift." You say with an amused snort. To which Horus copies.

"Really?"

"Can't be late to work if I never left it."

He lets out the most pleasing laugh, "Can you feel your legs?"

"Barely. So..."

"So?" He looks at you smiling.

"That breeding kink huh? You uhhh said some stuff."

"I certainly did say some things." Horus says with a smile as his hands move over your body grabbing the fattier parts with a possessive squeeze. "And I meant what I said."

You swallow as you were just a menial... not any of the pretty noble ladies that you saw in articles being friendly with the gregarious Primarch. You are soon on your back finally seeing the, once more, hard cock for only a moment before he kisses you but you were always a brave one... or perhaps stupid as you speak, "So... you want to start... something with me?"

"Did I lay it on too thick last night?" Horus says with a smile fully knowing what he said.

"Something like that my-" His hand squeezes your cheeks gently.

"None of that. No more hiding behind formality. Its a very easy way to tell you're trying to deflect. Try that again." He says as if he was gently correcting a child.

"I guess it was something like that... almost as if you wanted me for something more than a quick fuck." You force the unsaid words out.

"I do enjoy commitments. They make things more erotic for me."

You hesitate to ask about the wife comments but spin it in a way that might be able to possibly slow down the breed happy Primarch, "I... I suppose I can... um is this a way to ask me to court?"

Horus looked at you for a moment with a blank expression before it turns into his normal confident smile, "Something like that."

#this is the first fic I've had the chance to read in days and it's an absolute treat #“It's all because I miss my gang babe don't worry” while he's actively in the middle of legally changing your last name behind the scenes #you told this man you popped a button on your blouse and it was enough to make him decide to pop a baby in you #i love it #the best soup #the genius ploy of making your crush watch a horror movie with you strikes again #i was in actual tears over “No bitch don't go in there” “She's so fucked” #that's how you write compelling dialogue #“I think the director is nostroman” that actor actually died in that scene rip legend #nothing to butter me up like a snuff film before getting taken to bed #oh to be crushed by a big strong man absolutely rearranging your guts while he lays out the future for you #the Mournival never visit unannounced again lest they walk in on it #reader: “so we're courting now??” #horus who has had your legal documents changed for weeks now: “something like that” #mutuals

[whorety-k]

These are so incredible and I immediately had to show them off to the boys, so please enjoy our text exchange

I was too busy to participate as much as I wanted to in MerMay, so I'm making it June's problem feat. Mer!Kurze, Mer!Dorn, and Merturabo

#OP is such an incredible artist and I have so many questions for them about how they learned lineart because it's just so next level #Dorn the Hermit Crab and Perturabo the Mantis Shrimp have an ongoing feud over a reef

[whorety-k]

Hi!! Annon with the Guilliman+Azariah song ask! Thank you for filling it!! I really liked it, as I'm first and foremost a pure angst girl and oh this was such a beautiful piece of writing!! 💜💜💜The emotions!! No need to say sorry for it!

Also, the ending to Ebony Coasts, was perfect!! 💜

Thank you again! Hope you have a nice day!!

Hello my dear!!! Genuinely thank you so much for sharing that song, I listen to it too much now.

I'm glad you liked the fic! I got super carried away with the emotions and really wanted to hammer the songs meaning. I'll always bully our beloved Guilliman for a good cause :)

I'm also super stoked Ebony Coasts was to your expectations!! That was one was a joy to write and I never could have imagined the support it would get. Thank you to both you and everyone for your encouraging likes, reblogs, and tags!!! The tags, reblogs, and comments truly inspire me to keep going with how in depth you guys read into things.

Here's to simping for giant men with all of you in the future 🍷

#raven lady answers

[whorety-k]

Tag List

I have been asked about starting a tag list, and I am miserable at actually implementing those things (you know who you are and I am so sorry for already forgetting), so if you would like to be a part of my tag list, please either reblog or comment on this post!!

#raven lady rambles

[whorety-k]

LOOK BESTIE HE JUST NEEDS A FOREHEAD KISS AND A COFFEE HE'LL BE OKAY

And you 100% get it. The human dissonance of knowing what is right and still not being able to do it.

Hello! If you get the inspiration to do so, would you write something with Roboute Guilliman + Gát from Azahriah. I think the song would fit him.

Also on another note, I love Ebony Coasts💜💜 Looking forward to the next part!

Nothing shows my absolutely awful schedule like Ebony Coasts having finished before I even got to your ask my love I am SO SORRY

I had never listened to anything in Hungarian before this point so this was actually really pleasant for me. This song got me in a mood to destroy that blueberry though, so please forgive me.

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman (40K) x gn!Reader

Song Inspiration: Gát - Azahriah [Youtube] [Spotify] [Original Hungarian] “Ezért nincsen bennem már szimpátia / Elmegyek én bárhova, ha hívnak / Mert érezni akarom, amit régen / Mert régen tönkrement valami bent / Valami bent, valaki bennem.”

[English Translation] “That's why there's no sympathy in me / I go anywhere if they call me / because I want to feel what I felt before / Because in the past something broke inside / something inside, something in me.”

Warnings: Angst, Guilliman’s struggle to adapt to a new Imperium, relationship falling apart, heated argument, hurt / no comfort

Word Count: 2.5k (THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE 1000 OOPS)

The office light was dim, drained of warmth. Roboute could barely keep his eyes focused on his papers anymore, with how each stack continued to mesh and meld together in his mind. A request for aid in the Yannsi system. Reports of ork activity along an Imperial supplyway. Another noble house asking for his audience for a vaguely stupid reason in their horse-and-pony show. With a sigh, he pushed the expensive looking envelope off of the table and into the waste bin. 

Guilliman grew tired of it all.

But, in the name of the Imperium, he pushed onwards. Sheet after sheet, datapad after datapad, vox after vox.

He nearly missed the knock that rapped against the frame of the office doorway, timid and gentle. How he hadn’t seen them enter was either a show of focus or a token to his weariness, usually laser-focused senses dulled as day after day of piling issues droned by. Guilliman picks his head up out of his hands, rolling loose circles into his temples with his index and middle fingers. “Come in,” he beckons.

Your quiet footsteps echo in the chamber built to the size of a primarch. The scents of exhaustion and old sweat permeate the air, for even a being handcrafted by the Emperor himself is subject to the soil of exertion. 

Guilliman’s eyes soften substantially from their stress-induced glower as you draw near, but it’s not enough to fully smooth the deep-set furrow in his brow, or the everlasting scowl on his face. “My love, has something happened that needs my attention?” he inquires, leaning forward to get a better look at you. You stand before him in your favorite robe: a simple yet practical garment that he had gifted you for a holiday celebration, ultramarine blue silks embroidered with golden laurels along the neckline. He would give you so much more if you didn’t feel so guilty at receiving his affections, always so concerned with any excess spending given the state of the Imperium. He was too— more than you ever could be— but you were supposed to be his space away from the mess. It frustrated him to no end to be reminded of his family’s failings when he was actively trying to find an escape from it, and especially because he shouldn’t have you. 

You should have been long dead. After the failed Siege of Terra and the end of the Heresy, Guilliman had found you, a noble agent, desperately working far beyond your capacities within the Imperial Palace to keep things running. A tense friendship blossomed into an awkward, complicated relationship with private moments stolen whenever fate would allow. Neither of you were able or willing to put a label to it, given your pre-existing devotion to fixing the weakened state of the Imperium. Your knowledge of the parties both behind and beyond the Imperial walls proved invaluable to helping the Ultramarines hold it together, and Guilliman could not have been more grateful for your help. Roboute planned to express his gratitude and formally request your hand after your return from a diplomatic mission to help secure support from some of the world less affected by the heresy.

He never got the opportunity to do so. On the return voyage to Terra, your ship had been ambushed and knocked loose of its path in the warp. Your anticipated arrival date had come and passed, and no one heard any word from your vessel. Within an instant, any hope of creating a better future with you had been indirectly or directly ripped from him by his traitorous brothers, just as it had been before.

Roboute thought he had all but moved on by the time he was struck down by Fulgrim, thought had finally shaken the silent longing when he finally awoke from his ten millenia stasis into the disaster the Imperium of Man had become. The hellscape he has been thrust into gave him no time to dwell on any of the things he had lost ten-thousand years ago. It did not matter how hollow or angry he felt when everyone galaxy-wide was demanding something of him, and who better than the Avenging Son to fill the role? 

The day the vox came in that a ship with a downright ancient signature had entered Terra’s orbit is one he would never forget. Guilliman was prepared to have it destroyed, certain that the vessel had been overrun with chaos, but the sound of your voice asking for him over the vox channels stopped him. His hearts seized in his chest when you recognized him.

Roboute, is that you?

It’s been years. We just found a way out.

Roboute, can you hear me?

“Roboute.”

His head snaps up from his daze, not noticing how he had begun to nod off, lost in his ruminations. He hadn’t made the mistake of not asking for your hand soon enough a second time. The stern tone of voice alerts him that he’s missed whatever you had said before, and he sits forward again to reengage.. “I’m sorry, love. I am listening,” Roboute says, letting out the breath he had been holding.

You shake your head, gaze falling to the floor for a brief instant before your eyes find his again. “I asked you to come to bed, Roboute. You haven’t left the office for days, and I know you’re tired.” You call attention to his lapse with a gesture of the hand.

Guilliman’s scowl deepens, looking down at the paper before him on his desk. As tempting as that offer was... “I cannot, love. I am sorry.”

“Will there be a day I don’t hear that?” you rebut, stepping closer to his desk. Your head only barely hovers above it as you come near, resting a hand on the varnished wood. “Or shall I keep hoping?”

The primarch scoffs, taken aback at the rhetoric. He didn’t dismiss you that often… did he? His blue eyes burn into yours, expression hardening. “My work is important. It isn’t something I can just stop and abscond from. You know this.”

You fold your arms in response, doubling down. “Are these the conditions in which you can do your best work? Barely able to keep your head up?” 

For once, Guilliman can’t argue. His shoulders are tight, his neck tired and sore from staring down at a desk for longer than a baseline human could even stay away without death. His eyes stopped burning after a certain point, now nearly numb. He tries to blink the feeling away, only to struggle with opening his eyes again.

It doesn’t go unnoticed under your gaze. “Come to bed, Roboute,” you plead, resting your chin upon his desk. Sapphires of the softest cobalt land on you, and you reach a hand out toward him. Your drowsy voice continues, “I hardly ever see you outside of this dreaded space. I don’t remember the last time we shared a bed together.”

His massive hand dwarfs your own when he takes it, stroking the delicate skin of the back of your hand. “I would like to join you– truly, I would– but I cannot afford to step away from this,” Guilliman asserts, voice gentle yet firm in his decision.

Your expression falls, as it always does. Guilliman expects you to nod your head and concede as you normally did, letting go of your hand to pick up a pencil once more. He finds the starting line of the report and begins to peruse the document. The Lord Governor of the—

“When will it be enough?”

Guilliman tenses up, tearing his gaze away from the words he was reading. Your voice completely blindsides him, and he isn’t even sure if he’s certain he heard what you said. “I’m sorry?” he asks.

“When will you have done enough, Roboute?” you repeat, stepping away from the wooden desk. As your full body comes into view, he can see how your limbs tremble with emotion. “When will you have reached a point that you are truly satisfied with what you’ve done?” you challenge, crossing your arms over your chest once again. Your knuckles blanch with the force you grip yourself with.

It’s the second time you manage to render Guilliman completely speechless. When is enough, enough? He gawks as he looks you over, eyes jumping between your upset form and the page before him. It’s a question he didn’t allow himself to dwell on, unable to find a satisfactory answer. It has been, is, and always will be his responsibility to convert the raw data of a problem into something with a detailed solution; it was his strongest skill as a leader. He can stop when there are solutions.

You interrupt his train of thought with another siren call, holding eye contact as you tempt him away once more with your sweet voice. “Your standards you hold yourself to are honorable, but even the great Roboute Guilliman, son of the Emperor of Mankind, requires his rest.” 

And by the throne, he does. He well and truly does. Guilliman could use another ten thousand years in status if it wouldn’t make his problems any worse. Instead, though, he’s content to finish one more paper and go to bed. Finally, he nods, pushing aside a stack of documents to start tomorrow. It seems that Roboute would be the one conceding today, muttering, “I will join you shortly.”

Unfortunately for him, you aren’t having any of it. “No, you will come now,” you demand, putting your foot down. You continue, stern tone softening, “Please, if not for you, take care of yourself for me.”

The words make Guilliman’s head throb, irritation threatens to flare within him as the words cause an uncomfortable roiling within his chest. He buries his head into his hands with a grunt– it’s all he can do to prevent an annoyed growl of, “everything I do is for you,” from leaving him. Instead, he takes a deep breath and tries to cool his temper. “This final document is just a report from another world. It won’t take me long,” he promises.

“Then it can wait until tomorrow,” you argue, fed up with the barrage of excuses to continue. “I am serious, Roboute. One world’s ‘report’ is not the end-all, be-all of the Imperium. I know that you are under a lot of strain to fix the mess we’re in–”

Guilliman abruptly sits up, chair flying back as he stands to full height. You can barely perceive the flash movement before the clash of the chair hitting the wall makes you jump. “And you could possibly hope to understand?” Guilliman spits, slamming his hands onto the table. The shout of the primarch instinctually drowns you in dread, and you’re unable to stop the reflexive trembling that kicks in as you stare up at him. Guilliman is furious, all of the signs of exhaustion he had exhibited so plainly before replaced with vitriol. He continues, voice laced with venom, “You could hope to understand what it is to be left with the bloated corpse of my father’s legacy, forced to pick up the pieces as nothing but a tool in his stead as everything he fought for has been so thoroughly perverted? When the mere thought of how things were before is now heresy, despite those fanatics worshiping a book written by a traitor?” His breathing labors, desk creaking precariously with the force he’s exerting upon it. At your lack of response, Guilliman scoffs again. “No,” he growls, turning away, “your mind couldn’t begin to fathom the depths of the pressure placed upon me.”

Your eyes burn with tears, cheeks warm and wet. The outburst leaves you completely shaken, clutching at your sides like a cornered animal. The sight alone fills Roboute with remorse, but you don’t give him the chance to apologize. “I was there,” you utter through shaky breaths. Roboute’s mouth clamps shut. “I lived the old Imperium, picked up the pieces of it beside you. Do you think this has been easy for me?” you press, unable to look the primarch in the eye. “I spent five years in the warp, unsure of whether or not I would ever leave it. Would I die there? Would I find a fate worse? What if one of your brothers was to find me?” Each word punches him in his chest, hearts heavy with the weight of instant regret. He can see how you tremble as you relive what you went through, all at the cost of his loud mouth. “I never gave up, even when so many others had, driven to insanity or the depths of depression. I continued to fight when even the Astartes had one-by-one resigned themselves to fate.” Hot tears roll down your cheeks, and you begin to find confidence in your words as your fear turns into rage, jabbing an accusatory finger in Guilliman’s direction. “I survived to find you again, and I have done nothing but stand by your side and help you try to make heads or tails of the absolute fucking mess we’re in. Does that mean nothing?”

Guilliman doesn’t look away from you as you verbally lash into him. Despite his pride, he knows you’re right. You haven’t truly been wrong once this evening, and in his stubbornness, he has only managed to make everything worse for the both of you. “I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Of course you didn’t, because you’ve only been thinking about yourself and what will become of you. Will your torment ever end?” you spit back, cutting him off. He bows his head, lips drawn tight. Tense silence fills the room as your words hang heavy in his mind. You shake your head, letting out a muffled sob. “I will be in the bedroom when you remember yourself, Roboute Guilliman.” 

With that, you turn on your heel and march out of the room, leaving Guilliman alone in the office with his thoughts. He can only stare at the doorway before the rush of the moment leeches out of him, causing him to slump down into his chair. Guilt claws in his chest, up his throat like an angry badger. His head spins as it fills with everything he should have said, should have done, instead of making a damned fool of himself. The rift between the two of you grew evermore.

Guilliman picks up his pencil from the floor, drawing the planetary report in front of him so he can focus again on the only thing he’s actually sure he’s worthy of anymore: fixing logistics.

#We love a good soul crushing in this imperium #it's what dad was best at #mutuals #replies

[whorety-k]

I'M SORRY

everyone thought this was going to be a comfort piece and uh

Oops <3

Hello! If you get the inspiration to do so, would you write something with Roboute Guilliman + Gát from Azahriah. I think the song would fit him.

Also on another note, I love Ebony Coasts💜💜 Looking forward to the next part!

Nothing shows my absolutely awful schedule like Ebony Coasts having finished before I even got to your ask my love I am SO SORRY

I had never listened to anything in Hungarian before this point so this was actually really pleasant for me. This song got me in a mood to destroy that blueberry though, so please forgive me.

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman (40K) x gn!Reader

Song Inspiration: Gát - Azahriah [Youtube] [Spotify] [Original Hungarian] “Ezért nincsen bennem már szimpátia / Elmegyek én bárhova, ha hívnak / Mert érezni akarom, amit régen / Mert régen tönkrement valami bent / Valami bent, valaki bennem.”

[English Translation] “That's why there's no sympathy in me / I go anywhere if they call me / because I want to feel what I felt before / Because in the past something broke inside / something inside, something in me.”

Warnings: Angst, Guilliman’s struggle to adapt to a new Imperium, relationship falling apart, heated argument, hurt / no comfort

Word Count: 2.5k (THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE 1000 OOPS)

The office light was dim, drained of warmth. Roboute could barely keep his eyes focused on his papers anymore, with how each stack continued to mesh and meld together in his mind. A request for aid in the Yannsi system. Reports of ork activity along an Imperial supplyway. Another noble house asking for his audience for a vaguely stupid reason in their horse-and-pony show. With a sigh, he pushed the expensive looking envelope off of the table and into the waste bin. 

Guilliman grew tired of it all.

But, in the name of the Imperium, he pushed onwards. Sheet after sheet, datapad after datapad, vox after vox.

He nearly missed the knock that rapped against the frame of the office doorway, timid and gentle. How he hadn’t seen them enter was either a show of focus or a token to his weariness, usually laser-focused senses dulled as day after day of piling issues droned by. Guilliman picks his head up out of his hands, rolling loose circles into his temples with his index and middle fingers. “Come in,” he beckons.

Your quiet footsteps echo in the chamber built to the size of a primarch. The scents of exhaustion and old sweat permeate the air, for even a being handcrafted by the Emperor himself is subject to the soil of exertion. 

Guilliman’s eyes soften substantially from their stress-induced glower as you draw near, but it’s not enough to fully smooth the deep-set furrow in his brow, or the everlasting scowl on his face. “My love, has something happened that needs my attention?” he inquires, leaning forward to get a better look at you. You stand before him in your favorite robe: a simple yet practical garment that he had gifted you for a holiday celebration, ultramarine blue silks embroidered with golden laurels along the neckline. He would give you so much more if you didn’t feel so guilty at receiving his affections, always so concerned with any excess spending given the state of the Imperium. He was too— more than you ever could be— but you were supposed to be his space away from the mess. It frustrated him to no end to be reminded of his family’s failings when he was actively trying to find an escape from it, and especially because he shouldn’t have you. 

You should have been long dead. After the failed Siege of Terra and the end of the Heresy, Guilliman had found you, a noble agent, desperately working far beyond your capacities within the Imperial Palace to keep things running. A tense friendship blossomed into an awkward, complicated relationship with private moments stolen whenever fate would allow. Neither of you were able or willing to put a label to it, given your pre-existing devotion to fixing the weakened state of the Imperium. Your knowledge of the parties both behind and beyond the Imperial walls proved invaluable to helping the Ultramarines hold it together, and Guilliman could not have been more grateful for your help. Roboute planned to express his gratitude and formally request your hand after your return from a diplomatic mission to help secure support from some of the world less affected by the heresy.

He never got the opportunity to do so. On the return voyage to Terra, your ship had been ambushed and knocked loose of its path in the warp. Your anticipated arrival date had come and passed, and no one heard any word from your vessel. Within an instant, any hope of creating a better future with you had been indirectly or directly ripped from him by his traitorous brothers, just as it had been before.

Roboute thought he had all but moved on by the time he was struck down by Fulgrim, thought had finally shaken the silent longing when he finally awoke from his ten millenia stasis into the disaster the Imperium of Man had become. The hellscape he has been thrust into gave him no time to dwell on any of the things he had lost ten-thousand years ago. It did not matter how hollow or angry he felt when everyone galaxy-wide was demanding something of him, and who better than the Avenging Son to fill the role? 

The day the vox came in that a ship with a downright ancient signature had entered Terra’s orbit is one he would never forget. Guilliman was prepared to have it destroyed, certain that the vessel had been overrun with chaos, but the sound of your voice asking for him over the vox channels stopped him. His hearts seized in his chest when you recognized him.

Roboute, is that you?

It’s been years. We just found a way out.

Roboute, can you hear me?

“Roboute.”

His head snaps up from his daze, not noticing how he had begun to nod off, lost in his ruminations. He hadn’t made the mistake of not asking for your hand soon enough a second time. The stern tone of voice alerts him that he’s missed whatever you had said before, and he sits forward again to reengage.. “I’m sorry, love. I am listening,” Roboute says, letting out the breath he had been holding.

You shake your head, gaze falling to the floor for a brief instant before your eyes find his again. “I asked you to come to bed, Roboute. You haven’t left the office for days, and I know you’re tired.” You call attention to his lapse with a gesture of the hand.

Guilliman’s scowl deepens, looking down at the paper before him on his desk. As tempting as that offer was... “I cannot, love. I am sorry.”

“Will there be a day I don’t hear that?” you rebut, stepping closer to his desk. Your head only barely hovers above it as you come near, resting a hand on the varnished wood. “Or shall I keep hoping?”

The primarch scoffs, taken aback at the rhetoric. He didn’t dismiss you that often… did he? His blue eyes burn into yours, expression hardening. “My work is important. It isn’t something I can just stop and abscond from. You know this.”

You fold your arms in response, doubling down. “Are these the conditions in which you can do your best work? Barely able to keep your head up?” 

For once, Guilliman can’t argue. His shoulders are tight, his neck tired and sore from staring down at a desk for longer than a baseline human could even stay away without death. His eyes stopped burning after a certain point, now nearly numb. He tries to blink the feeling away, only to struggle with opening his eyes again.

It doesn’t go unnoticed under your gaze. “Come to bed, Roboute,” you plead, resting your chin upon his desk. Sapphires of the softest cobalt land on you, and you reach a hand out toward him. Your drowsy voice continues, “I hardly ever see you outside of this dreaded space. I don’t remember the last time we shared a bed together.”

His massive hand dwarfs your own when he takes it, stroking the delicate skin of the back of your hand. “I would like to join you– truly, I would– but I cannot afford to step away from this,” Guilliman asserts, voice gentle yet firm in his decision.

Your expression falls, as it always does. Guilliman expects you to nod your head and concede as you normally did, letting go of your hand to pick up a pencil once more. He finds the starting line of the report and begins to peruse the document. The Lord Governor of the—

“When will it be enough?”

Guilliman tenses up, tearing his gaze away from the words he was reading. Your voice completely blindsides him, and he isn’t even sure if he’s certain he heard what you said. “I’m sorry?” he asks.

“When will you have done enough, Roboute?” you repeat, stepping away from the wooden desk. As your full body comes into view, he can see how your limbs tremble with emotion. “When will you have reached a point that you are truly satisfied with what you’ve done?” you challenge, crossing your arms over your chest once again. Your knuckles blanch with the force you grip yourself with.

It’s the second time you manage to render Guilliman completely speechless. When is enough, enough? He gawks as he looks you over, eyes jumping between your upset form and the page before him. It’s a question he didn’t allow himself to dwell on, unable to find a satisfactory answer. It has been, is, and always will be his responsibility to convert the raw data of a problem into something with a detailed solution; it was his strongest skill as a leader. He can stop when there are solutions.

You interrupt his train of thought with another siren call, holding eye contact as you tempt him away once more with your sweet voice. “Your standards you hold yourself to are honorable, but even the great Roboute Guilliman, son of the Emperor of Mankind, requires his rest.” 

And by the throne, he does. He well and truly does. Guilliman could use another ten thousand years in status if it wouldn’t make his problems any worse. Instead, though, he’s content to finish one more paper and go to bed. Finally, he nods, pushing aside a stack of documents to start tomorrow. It seems that Roboute would be the one conceding today, muttering, “I will join you shortly.”

Unfortunately for him, you aren’t having any of it. “No, you will come now,” you demand, putting your foot down. You continue, stern tone softening, “Please, if not for you, take care of yourself for me.”

The words make Guilliman’s head throb, irritation threatens to flare within him as the words cause an uncomfortable roiling within his chest. He buries his head into his hands with a grunt– it’s all he can do to prevent an annoyed growl of, “everything I do is for you,” from leaving him. Instead, he takes a deep breath and tries to cool his temper. “This final document is just a report from another world. It won’t take me long,” he promises.

“Then it can wait until tomorrow,” you argue, fed up with the barrage of excuses to continue. “I am serious, Roboute. One world’s ‘report’ is not the end-all, be-all of the Imperium. I know that you are under a lot of strain to fix the mess we’re in–”

Guilliman abruptly sits up, chair flying back as he stands to full height. You can barely perceive the flash movement before the clash of the chair hitting the wall makes you jump. “And you could possibly hope to understand?” Guilliman spits, slamming his hands onto the table. The shout of the primarch instinctually drowns you in dread, and you’re unable to stop the reflexive trembling that kicks in as you stare up at him. Guilliman is furious, all of the signs of exhaustion he had exhibited so plainly before replaced with vitriol. He continues, voice laced with venom, “You could hope to understand what it is to be left with the bloated corpse of my father’s legacy, forced to pick up the pieces as nothing but a tool in his stead as everything he fought for has been so thoroughly perverted? When the mere thought of how things were before is now heresy, despite those fanatics worshiping a book written by a traitor?” His breathing labors, desk creaking precariously with the force he’s exerting upon it. At your lack of response, Guilliman scoffs again. “No,” he growls, turning away, “your mind couldn’t begin to fathom the depths of the pressure placed upon me.”

Your eyes burn with tears, cheeks warm and wet. The outburst leaves you completely shaken, clutching at your sides like a cornered animal. The sight alone fills Roboute with remorse, but you don’t give him the chance to apologize. “I was there,” you utter through shaky breaths. Roboute’s mouth clamps shut. “I lived the old Imperium, picked up the pieces of it beside you. Do you think this has been easy for me?” you press, unable to look the primarch in the eye. “I spent five years in the warp, unsure of whether or not I would ever leave it. Would I die there? Would I find a fate worse? What if one of your brothers was to find me?” Each word punches him in his chest, hearts heavy with the weight of instant regret. He can see how you tremble as you relive what you went through, all at the cost of his loud mouth. “I never gave up, even when so many others had, driven to insanity or the depths of depression. I continued to fight when even the Astartes had one-by-one resigned themselves to fate.” Hot tears roll down your cheeks, and you begin to find confidence in your words as your fear turns into rage, jabbing an accusatory finger in Guilliman’s direction. “I survived to find you again, and I have done nothing but stand by your side and help you try to make heads or tails of the absolute fucking mess we’re in. Does that mean nothing?”

Guilliman doesn’t look away from you as you verbally lash into him. Despite his pride, he knows you’re right. You haven’t truly been wrong once this evening, and in his stubbornness, he has only managed to make everything worse for the both of you. “I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Of course you didn’t, because you’ve only been thinking about yourself and what will become of you. Will your torment ever end?” you spit back, cutting him off. He bows his head, lips drawn tight. Tense silence fills the room as your words hang heavy in his mind. You shake your head, letting out a muffled sob. “I will be in the bedroom when you remember yourself, Roboute Guilliman.” 

With that, you turn on your heel and march out of the room, leaving Guilliman alone in the office with his thoughts. He can only stare at the doorway before the rush of the moment leeches out of him, causing him to slump down into his chair. Guilt claws in his chest, up his throat like an angry badger. His head spins as it fills with everything he should have said, should have done, instead of making a damned fool of himself. The rift between the two of you grew evermore.

Guilliman picks up his pencil from the floor, drawing the planetary report in front of him so he can focus again on the only thing he’s actually sure he’s worthy of anymore: fixing logistics.

#i also thought it was #and then rosa the sea otter died today #so now i decided against pulling punches #sorry bobby g #mutuals #replies

[whorety-k]

Hello! If you get the inspiration to do so, would you write something with Roboute Guilliman + Gát from Azahriah. I think the song would fit him.

Also on another note, I love Ebony Coasts💜💜 Looking forward to the next part!

Nothing shows my absolutely awful schedule like Ebony Coasts having finished before I even got to your ask my love

I am SO SORRY

I had never listened to anything in Hungarian before this point so this was actually really pleasant for me. This song got me in a mood to destroy that blueberry though, so please forgive me.

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman (40K) x gn!Reader

Song Inspiration: Gát - Azahriah [Youtube] [Spotify]

[Original Hungarian]

“Ezért nincsen bennem már szimpátia /

Elmegyek én bárhova, ha hívnak / Mert érezni akarom, amit régen /

Mert régen tönkrement valami bent / Valami bent, valaki bennem.”

[English Translation]

“That's why there's no sympathy in me /

I go anywhere if they call me / because I want to feel what I felt before /

Because in the past something broke inside / something inside, something in me.”

Warnings: Angst, Guilliman’s struggle to adapt to a new Imperium, relationship falling apart, heated argument, hurt / no comfort

Word Count: 2.5k (THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE 1000 OOPS)

The office light was dim, drained of warmth. Roboute could barely keep his eyes focused on his papers anymore, with how each stack continued to mesh and meld together in his mind. A request for aid in the Yannsi system. Reports of ork activity along an Imperial supplyway. Another noble house asking for his audience for a vaguely stupid reason in their horse-and-pony show. With a sigh, he pushed the expensive looking envelope off of the table and into the waste bin. 

Guilliman grew tired of it all.

But, in the name of the Imperium, he pushed onwards. Sheet after sheet, datapad after datapad, vox after vox.

He nearly missed the knock that rapped against the frame of the office doorway, timid and gentle. How he hadn’t seen them enter was either a show of focus or a token to his weariness, usually laser-focused senses dulled as day after day of piling issues droned by. Guilliman picks his head up out of his hands, rolling loose circles into his temples with his index and middle fingers. “Come in,” he beckons.

Your quiet footsteps echo in the chamber built to the size of a primarch. The scents of exhaustion and old sweat permeate the air, for even a being handcrafted by the Emperor himself is subject to the soil of exertion. 

Guilliman’s eyes soften substantially from their stress-induced glower as you draw near, but it’s not enough to fully smooth the deep-set furrow in his brow, or the everlasting scowl on his face. “My love, has something happened that needs my attention?” he inquires, leaning forward to get a better look at you. You stand before him in your favorite robe: a simple yet practical garment that he had gifted you for a holiday celebration, ultramarine blue silks embroidered with golden laurels along the neckline. He would give you so much more if you didn’t feel so guilty at receiving his affections, always so concerned with any excess spending given the state of the Imperium. He was too— more than you ever could be— but you were supposed to be his space away from the mess. It frustrated him to no end to be reminded of his family’s failings when he was actively trying to find an escape from it, and especially because he shouldn’t have you. 

You should have been long dead. After the failed Siege of Terra and the end of the Heresy, Guilliman had found you, a noble agent, desperately working far beyond your capacities within the Imperial Palace to keep things running. A tense friendship blossomed into an awkward, complicated relationship with private moments stolen whenever fate would allow. Neither of you were able or willing to put a label to it, given your pre-existing devotion to fixing the weakened state of the Imperium. Your knowledge of the parties both behind and beyond the Imperial walls proved invaluable to helping the Ultramarines hold it together, and Guilliman could not have been more grateful for your help. Roboute planned to express his gratitude and formally request your hand after your return from a diplomatic mission to help secure support from some of the world less affected by the heresy.

He never got the opportunity to do so. On the return voyage to Terra, your ship had been ambushed and knocked loose of its path in the warp. Your anticipated arrival date had come and passed, and no one heard any word from your vessel. Within an instant, any hope of creating a better future with you had been indirectly or directly ripped from him by his traitorous brothers, just as it had been before.

Roboute thought he had all but moved on by the time he was struck down by Fulgrim, thought had finally shaken the silent longing when he finally awoke from his ten millenia stasis into the disaster the Imperium of Man had become. The hellscape he has been thrust into gave him no time to dwell on any of the things he had lost ten-thousand years ago. It did not matter how hollow or angry he felt when everyone galaxy-wide was demanding something of him, and who better than the Avenging Son to fill the role? 

The day the vox came in that a ship with a downright ancient signature had entered Terra’s orbit is one he would never forget. Guilliman was prepared to have it destroyed, certain that the vessel had been overrun with chaos, but the sound of your voice asking for him over the vox channels stopped him. His hearts seized in his chest when you recognized him.

Roboute, is that you?

It’s been years. We just found a way out.

Roboute, can you hear me?

“Roboute.”

His head snaps up from his daze, not noticing how he had begun to nod off, lost in his ruminations. He hadn’t made the mistake of not asking for your hand soon enough a second time. The stern tone of voice alerts him that he’s missed whatever you had said before, and he sits forward again to reengage.. “I’m sorry, love. I am listening,” Roboute says, letting out the breath he had been holding.

You shake your head, gaze falling to the floor for a brief instant before your eyes find his again. “I asked you to come to bed, Roboute. You haven’t left the office for days, and I know you’re tired.” You call attention to his lapse with a gesture of the hand.

Guilliman’s scowl deepens, looking down at the paper before him on his desk. As tempting as that offer was... “I cannot, love. I am sorry.”

“Will there be a day I don’t hear that?” you rebut, stepping closer to his desk. Your head only barely hovers above it as you come near, resting a hand on the varnished wood. “Or shall I keep hoping?”

The primarch scoffs, taken aback at the rhetoric. He didn’t dismiss you that often… did he? His blue eyes burn into yours, expression hardening. “My work is important. It isn’t something I can just stop and abscond from. You know this.”

You fold your arms in response, doubling down. “Are these the conditions in which you can do your best work? Barely able to keep your head up?” 

For once, Guilliman can’t argue. His shoulders are tight, his neck tired and sore from staring down at a desk for longer than a baseline human could even stay awake without death. His eyes stopped burning after a certain point, now nearly numb. He tries to blink the feeling away, only to struggle with opening his eyes again.

It doesn’t go unnoticed under your gaze. “Come to bed, Roboute,” you plead, resting your chin upon his desk. Sapphires of the softest cobalt land on you, and you reach a hand out toward him. Your drowsy voice continues, “I hardly ever see you outside of this dreaded space. I don’t remember the last time we shared a bed together.”

His massive hand dwarfs your own when he takes it, stroking the delicate skin of the back of your hand. “I would like to join you– truly, I would– but I cannot afford to step away from this,” Guilliman asserts, voice gentle yet firm in his decision.

Your expression falls, as it always does. Guilliman expects you to nod your head and concede as you normally did, letting go of your hand to pick up a pencil once more. He finds the starting line of the report and begins to peruse the document. The Lord Governor of the—

“When will it be enough?”

Guilliman tenses up, tearing his gaze away from the words he was reading. Your voice completely blindsides him, and he isn’t even sure if he’s certain he heard what you said. “I’m sorry?” he asks.

“When will you have done enough, Roboute?” you repeat, stepping away from the wooden desk. As your full body comes into view, he can see how your limbs tremble with emotion. “When will you have reached a point that you are truly satisfied with what you’ve done?” Your voice comes as a challenge, crossing your arms over your chest once again. Your knuckles blanch with the force you grip yourself with.

It’s the second time you manage to render Guilliman completely speechless. When is enough, enough? He gawks as he looks you over, eyes jumping between your upset form and the page before him. It’s a question he didn’t allow himself to dwell on, unable to find a satisfactory answer. It has been, is, and always will be his responsibility to convert the raw data of a problem into something with a detailed solution; it was his strongest skill as a leader. He can stop when there are solutions.

You interrupt his train of thought with another siren call, holding eye contact as you tempt him away once more with your sweet voice. “Your standards you hold yourself to are honorable, but even the great Roboute Guilliman, son of the Emperor of Mankind, requires his rest.” 

And by the throne, he does. He well and truly does. Guilliman could use another ten thousand years in stasis if it wouldn’t make his problems any worse. Instead, though, he’s content to finish one more paper and go to bed. Finally, he nods, pushing aside a stack of documents to start tomorrow. It seems that Roboute would be the one conceding today, muttering, “I will join you shortly.”

Unfortunately for him, you aren’t having any of it. “No, you will come now,” you demand, putting your foot down. You continue, stern tone softening, “Please, if not for you, take care of yourself for me.”

The words make Guilliman’s head throb, irritation threatens to flare within him as the words cause an uncomfortable roiling within his chest. He buries his head into his hands with a grunt– it’s all he can do to prevent an annoyed growl of, “everything I do is for you,” from leaving him. Instead, he takes a deep breath and tries to cool his temper. “This final document is just a report from another world. It won’t take me long,” he promises.

“Then it can wait until tomorrow,” you argue, fed up with the barrage of excuses to continue. “I am serious, Roboute. One world’s ‘report’ is not the end-all, be-all of the Imperium. I know that you are under a lot of strain to fix the mess we’re in–”

Guilliman abruptly sits up, chair flying back as he stands to full height. You can barely perceive the flash movement before the clash of the chair hitting the wall makes you jump. “And you could possibly hope to understand?” Guilliman spits, slamming his hands onto the table. The shout of the primarch instinctually drowns you in dread, and you’re unable to stop the reflexive trembling that kicks in as you stare up at him. Guilliman is furious, all of the signs of exhaustion he had exhibited so plainly before replaced with vitriol. He continues, voice laced with venom, “You could hope to understand what it is to be left with the bloated corpse of my father’s legacy, forced to pick up the pieces as nothing but a tool in his stead as everything he fought for has been so thoroughly perverted? When the mere thought of how things were before is now heresy, despite those fanatics worshiping a book written by a traitor?” His breathing labors, desk creaking precariously with the force he’s exerting upon it. At your lack of response, Guilliman scoffs again. “No,” he growls, turning away, “your mind couldn’t begin to fathom the depths of the pressure placed upon me.”

Your eyes burn with tears, cheeks warm and wet. The outburst leaves you completely shaken, clutching at your sides like a cornered animal. The sight alone fills Roboute with remorse, but you don’t give him the chance to apologize. “I was there,” you utter through shaky breaths. Roboute’s mouth clamps shut. “I lived the old Imperium, picked up the pieces of it beside you. Do you think this has been easy for me?” you press, unable to look the primarch in the eye. “I spent five years in the warp, unsure of whether or not I would ever leave it. Would I die there? Would I find a fate worse? What if one of your brothers was to find me?” Each word punches him in his chest, hearts heavy with the weight of instant regret. He can see how you tremble as you relive what you went through, all at the cost of his loud mouth. “I never gave up, even when so many others had, driven to insanity or the depths of depression. I continued to fight when even the Astartes had one-by-one resigned themselves to fate.” Hot tears roll down your cheeks, and you begin to find confidence in your words as your fear turns into rage, jabbing an accusatory finger in Guilliman’s direction. “I survived to find you again, and I have done nothing but stand by your side and help you try to make heads or tails of the absolute fucking mess we’re in. Does that mean nothing?”

Guilliman doesn’t look away from you as you verbally lash into him. Despite his pride, he knows you’re right. You haven’t truly been wrong once this evening, and in his stubbornness, he has only managed to make everything worse for the both of you. “I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Of course you didn’t, because you’ve only been thinking about yourself and what will become of you. Will your torment ever end?” you spit back, cutting him off. He bows his head, lips drawn tight. Tense silence fills the room as your words hang heavy in his mind. You shake your head, letting out a muffled sob. “I will be in the bedroom when you remember yourself, Roboute Guilliman.” 

With that, you turn on your heel and march out of the room, leaving Guilliman alone in the office with his thoughts. He can only stare at the doorway before the rush of the moment leeches out of him, causing him to slump down into his chair. Guilt claws in his chest, up his throat like an angry badger. His head spins as it fills with everything he should have said, should have done, instead of making a damned fool of himself. The rift between the two of you grew evermore.

Guilliman picks up his pencil from the floor, drawing the planetary report in front of him so he can focus again on the only thing he’s actually sure he’s worthy of anymore: fixing logistics.

#roboute guilliman #roboute guilliman x reader #guilliman x reader #ultramarines #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 30k #primarch #primarch x reader #warhammer fanfic #raven lady writings

[whorety-k]

shrike in a maid dress

yeah that's it

shrike in a maid dress

#SHRIKE IN A MAID DRESS SHRIKE IN A MAID DRESS #oh my GODS LOOK AT HIM #This is incredible and I need op to know that I am thoroughly invested in this now #My favorite emo son

[whorety-k]

I promise that I'm working on something that has actual effort put into it. For now, muzzled Sanguinius.

#hey does anyone have some water??? #I'm fuckin parched