fenrisian-kennel-master
Barking Mad
Warhammer 30/40k fanfic-fanart enjoyer blog - 18+
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Leman, drunk as fuck: Thatās one of my biggest fears. If I ever, like, woke up as a donutā¦
Guilliman, also drunk: You would eat yourself.
Leman: I wouldnāt even fucking question it.
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More cross stitch-wisdom for the fandom!
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Bird Club :) (Fulgrim still hates the poor Khan :( )
Clud de Aves :) (Fulgrim aĆŗn odia al Khan :( )
#birbs are trouble#bitey boys#jaghatai khan#corvus corax#horus lupercal#ferrus manus#sanguinius#fulgrim
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Still working on this fic. What am I even doing? First attempt at spicy fic, first fic in this fandom. First fic at all in many years. And I have to jump in at the deep end? These two I swear. This Azkaellon/Sanguinius ship is causing me major brain rot so I will keep going but they both take themselves too seriously. If I ever finish this the next one will be over the top absurd. Probably involving Abaddon being placed in some silly situation. OK I'm already planning that one.
Anyway, here's a SFW excerpt of my WIP, enjoy?
Azkaellon was late making his report to the Primarch.Ā
Every security check, every investigation of unusual activity that could signal a potential Warp incursion, every attempt to traverse from one end of the damaged Red Tear to the other, took longer than it ought to.Ā The Blood Angels and what remained of the human crew had worked tirelessly to repair the shipās essential functions and return as much of the shipās armament to operational status as possible.Ā And, thank the stars, the Geller field had held until they were able to exit the warp into the safe haven of Guillimanās realm. They were very nearly in orbit around Macragge.
But attending to business as usual was nearly impossible when it took eight tries, a repair team, and finally, Azkaellonās frustrated punch of gold ceramite to the bloody console, just to open a recalcitrant door from one sector to another.
Ā And so Azkaellon was late. The other Sanguinary Guard redirected him from the primary war room, where the Primarch had been for most of the day, to his training room. āTraining roomā was something of an absurd understatement to describe the great hall with its impossibly high vaulted ceilings. Yet it had to be so spacious in order to accommodate the Angel, who fought in all directions including up.
Azkaellon entered the room, and turned his gaze upward, and further upward still. The Angelās pale, winged form was a blur in midair as he shattered a flying drone with a downward thrust of his training spear, pausing a fraction of a second before zooming toward the next. In that pause, Azkaellon glimpsed his lord, and his breath caught. Throne, he is perfect. Not in an abstract sense, or with any poetic license, but literally and truly perfect. Unarmored, wearing only a red loincloth, the Angelās muscles were taut, his wings outstretched, as he prepared to spring toward his next target.
Azkaellon was thrilled to see his lord in fighting form again. The physical wounds KaāBandha had inflicted on the Angel were fully healed, but now his soul was beginning to recover as well.Ā Shrouded in the darkness of the warp storms, Sanguinius had privately wondered to Azkaellon if all his brothers had turned against the Emperor, and if he and his Blood Angels would be entirely alone against the beasts Horus had unleashed. Now that he knew both Guilliman and the Lion remained loyal, it was as if a small part of the massive weight of Horusās betrayal had been lifted from the Angelās shoulders. And so, watching his lord soar overhead, Azkaellonās spirits soared as well. Ā
A drone had managed to sneak in close behind the Angel, extending its energy blade toward his back.Ā Without even looking, Sanguinius flicked his wing behind him, hitting the drone with such force he smashed the machine into the slope of the ceiling and dislodged several of his feathers.Ā One floated down toward Azkaellon. He caught it in one armored hand as it fell past him, examining it for any drop of blood that might signify an injury from the impact. He saw none, and now he heard the smash of two more drones hitting the walls. Ā Almost absently, Azkaellon brushed the finger of his gauntlet along the featherās edge, imagining its texture.
End program Epsilon,ā Sanguinius called out. Azkaellon hastily dropped the feather as the remaining drones powered down and the Primarch swooped down toward the floor. Ā
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I know I did this a while back but now that Tumblr has polls I got all excited and wanted to do this :D
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Corrupted Roboute Guilliman and Aeonid Thiel, based on "The Tyranny of Fire" by @circeius-invidioso.
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Renaissance-Fulgrim, as requested by @lastoptimist
OKay, it's just "inspired by" and 99% fantasy, because I couldn't decide on a decade and a region and so just invented my own version of a late 15th century outfit. With baroque shoes.
Anyways, he looks good with it. As he does in every outfit, because he was built to be adored. And to kill in one on one-fights really fast, artful and unparalleled.
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Horus Lupercal because I, as a fan of Luna Wolves, absolutely love him
[click for better resolution]
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An old wip for an old request. I still don't remember why I abandoned it.
The Angel gazed down upon the battlefield, as always seeing beauty even in carnage. But his eyes kept wandering to one figure in particular, gliding through the fray with grace.
You moved with a peculiar precision and enthusiasm, each kill becoming another piece in a game only you could see the rules of. There was a dark and sinister to you methods that Sanguinius found himself pondering, when he should have been contemplating strategy or the lives under his command.
Guilt would come later, for now there was only the strange thrill of watching you at "work." Not mere lethality but a art, service rendered almost as play. Each death a new toy to amuse himself with before moving on.
Sanguinius had condemned such attitudes time and again, as was his duty as a son of the Emperor and primarch of the legion. Yet watching you in battle stoked another fire altogether, one best left unexamined. A terrible fascination and forbidden interest the Angel feared he could never wholly escape.
You moved with a grace that seemed utterly at odds with the carnage you made, yet somehow made it more sinister. Every gesture andortal gait becoming another petty cruelty. A playfulness that saw nothing and no one as escaping becoming a pawn in your dark games.
When at last the battle was won, Sanguinius found himself scanning the battlefield for another glimpse of you. Hoping for a chance to speak, or perhaps more. Until he recalled himself, and the great wound that would be to his honor and legion should such dalliance ever come to light.
Guilt and self-loathing emerged, as always, yet still he believed he would find himself pondering you again on the morrow. A temptation too grand to fully escape, no matter the cost. The Angel, now as much a prisoner of dirty fantasies as he was a champion of the light.
Some sins were not so easily forgiven, no matter the justifications or rolled of fate's dice. Honoring the path of virtue meant sometimes resisting most perilous of dark muses. Yet your memory would not so easily be cast aside, becoming another shadow to haunt weary nights and guilty conscience alike.
When next their paths crossed, Sanguinius found himself making excuse to speak privately with you. His reasoning seemed pleasing enough, questions of strategy, requests for information on threats against the Imperium, and so on.
Yet his true purpose was merely getting you alone, and discovering what might transpire. Such sins he knew he could never truly justify, yet still his will seemed forever out of his keeping where this about you was concerned.
You appeared utterly unbothered by the Angelās attentions and requests, moving through them with a grace that seemed almost mocking. Always a smile hovering, dark and knowing. As if privy to thoughts better kept concealed.
As conversation wound on, Sanguinius found himself leaning closer, pondering those full lips and how they might feel against his own. The warmth of your body, pressed against his. Wandering where sinful hands might roam, were propriety and virtue cast aside.
He shuddered, struggling to compose himself, and your smile only grew. A terrible, cunning beauty. No judgement or disgust evident, only a strange, twisted fascination with the Angelās undoing.
No reprieve would be found here, he realized. And so, the Angel leaned in close. Any blow to honor or reputation a small price to pay, for a chance to know what dark delights might be found in your embrace. Virtue and duty meant little, set against the thrill of sin.
For now, there were no piercing cries to be heard. No witnesses to scandal and moral ruin. Here there were only two souls, lost to all lights save the black flame of corrupt passion. Guilt would come, but for now there were lips and hands and roaming touches to discover. Strange poetry of perversity to be written, upon their flesh and in moments that seemed fated to haunt.
The Angel had fallen, and for him, here in your arms, even the darkness seemed a welcoming bed.
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Posting another slightly longer excerpt of my WIP fic now that it seems my Tumblr probation is over. This is my first NSFW fic I've written that I feel like sharing. If I can manage to complete it I will publish on Ao3.
One one hand, this ship makes perfect sense. On the other hand, the level of angst, drama, and overthinking between these two makes them challenging to write together. There is little contrast in this dynamic. I probably will not write much in the way of plot :)
Azkaellon x Sanguinius (WIP) (NSFW)
Azkaellon entered his arming chamber, still limping from his bout with the White Scars champion. Qin Xa was a blindingly fast swordsman, perhaps even a little faster than Azkaellon himself, if he was being honest. He liked what he had seen of the White Scars and their Primarch so far. Proud and skilled without the arrogance of the Third, gregarious without the boorishness of the Sixteenth.
Ā A servitor began removing parts of Azkaellonās golden power armor, now dented and in need of repair.Ā He motioned for them to be set aside for his thralls to attend the next day.
Once free of his armor, Azkaellon noticed a curious tightness below his belly. He looked down and saw a bulge in his body glove. Thatās something new, he thought.
He hastily ordered the servitor out and locked the door. Hesitantly, he cupped his palm to his groin ā and nearly gasped at the pulse of pleasure that went through him. Ā He swelled even more in his hand, and his body glove was now uncomfortably tight.Ā He took it off, replacing it with a robe that belted in front, just in case he was interrupted.Ā He sat down in a chair and wondered what had brought this on.Ā A number of his brothers had these needs, but Azkaellon had not. Not since ā
He had a memory of being on Baal, before he was chosen for the Legion. He and another young man had sheltered in an abandoned warehouse from a rad storm, and they had spent that night with their hands all over each other.
A pleasant memory. Here in the present, he began stroking himself as he recalled it, feeling his face and chest flush as the heat built deep in his belly. But that night decades ago could have nothing to do with why his desires had awakened today.
Was it the White Scar? No, he dismissed that idea almost immediately. A fine warrior, but not a source of this attraction. Then what?
And then the image flooded his mind. The image of his lord Sanguinius, when they had spoken just before the Khan arrived.
His lord Sanguinius, resplendent in a gold silk robe that clung to his form, hair spilling across his shoulders as his servants decorated his wings with jewels. Azkaellonās fingers had twitched then, mimicking the movements, and for a second, he had felt compelled to join them and feel the snow-white feathers beneath his fingers and ā Oh.
Oh no.
He knew he should stop now, should stop bringing himself closer to release, but his hand was acting of its own accord, and his mind was relentless. Another image descended, of his lord Primarch leaning close, murmuring in his ear, his breath hot on Azkaellonās neck, his wings moving to envelop him.
His hearts ached. His cock ached. His soul ached. And as he spilled into his hand, he choked back a cry.
Please not this.
He could not permit himself to have such a longing for his lord. He was the closest to the Angel, his guardian and right hand. Did Sanguinius have lovers? Yes, Azkaellon thought so. But he was so secretive in this regard that even Azkaellon did not know who they were. Ā And it did not ā could not ā matter to him. Because if he could not stop this, or hide it, he could lose his place and everything he had labored for in this life.
He was starting to lose hold of his emotions. Realizing this, Azkaellon forced his breathing to slow. He cleaned up and dressed himself.Ā Pulling on his boots, he felt grounded, felt logic and reason return.Ā
A part of his former human existence had chosen to reassert itself, so he would do as others did, and seek a partner. Although not from his own Legion, he decided. He could not allow himself to be so vulnerable with any of his brothers, who could learn his weaknesses and use them against him.
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Hello Sister - Can you share any of Leman's better moments? Or his worst ones?
Hello and thank you for the ask. How about both at the same time? Depending on your point of view of course. Hereās some bits from Leman Russās exchange with the Lion about a compliance that went badly south. This is before they started kicking the crap out of each other.
From Leman Russ: The Great Wolf:
**
"The two of them held one another's gaze, and it seemed as if the air became heavier somehow, like a thunderstorm on the cusp of breaking. The ranks of Dark Angels made no move. Russ' retinue did not stir. The entire hangar remained silent.
And then, slowly, as if a cliff-face were grudgingly giving into the inevitable harrowing of time and tide, Leman Russ, the Wolf King of Fenris, moved closer to his brother and bowed his head.
'Let it be heard,' he said, a soft growl that nevertheless carried to all quarters. 'You were wronged. We wronged you. I come here for your pardon.'
The Lion smiled thinly and finally extended his hands in greeting. He came forwards and took Russ by both arms. 'It is given,' he said, less sourly now, though still with that sonorous seriousness of purpose that seemed to mark his every word. 'For those are noble words.'
Russ gripped him back, making the embrace closer and dragging the Lion's ear to his fanged mouth. 'I said them for your knights,' Russ hissed, now in his brother's hearing alone. 'I'll ad this, just between us - if you ever fire on my sons again, boy, I'll rip your throat out and eat it. How do you like that oath?''
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Just wondering how long before I get to slip the leash be off Tumblr probation. Guidelines say I need to act like a human for a while so they know I'm not a bot. See Tumblr, I'm whining! Do pornbots complain about things? Didn't think so.
I would love to do some fic/WIP sharing, and general HC posting about primarchs and their boys, but it's no fun doing it by myself. No pun intended. Pun maybe intended.
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note: *Horny Heresy inTENSIFIES*; take this seriously. or don't. your choice. just keep fucking around and finding out.
Lion El'Jonson - You always wondered what a visibly frustrated Lion would look like but you didn't have the self-awareness to fucking STOP until it was too late. And so here you are, hands bound in shackles, suspended bare before the First himself. For a while, he said and did nothing save for his eyes roving along the contours of your body. That was soon replaced with a curious hand and the moan you let out was heretical, indeed.
Fulgrim - It's a... miracle you can walk. And talk. And still breathe. Mmm... you weren't expecting that out of Fulgrim were you? You look like you've fought a battle and lost while nary a hair is out of place on his head.
Perturabo - Turns out he's not an ass with a martyr complex where it counts. He's still an ass, though... who ironically has a nice ass. Who knew that armor hid so much. Bastard. He may or may not like when you smack it.
Jaghatai Khan - Simply put, you found out on his bike. You were stumbling for a bit afterward.
Leman Russ - Well you didn't have to fuck around for long. In fact, Leman was practically waiting for the moment to pounce, and pounce he did. There's a reason why he's The Wolf King because Leman had you howling all throughout the night, dear.
Rogal Dorn - Perhaps the most surprising encounter of the Primarch. Dorn has some freak bitch tendencies, let me tell ya. All the signs were there what with his fondness for the Pain Glove.
Konrad Curze - *stares in judgemental Sevatar.*
Sanguinius - Watching him succumb to his lust was so beautiful. He had you right where he wanted you, enveloped tightly in his arms, embraced fully with his wings. The Brightest One's eyes are so clouded with a feral desire. He leaned down, pressed a tentative kiss on the pulse of your neck, and you were putty in his arms.
Ferrus Manus - Yeah, Ferrus is many things but when it comes to the matter of the flesh, um... yeah, you had to make the first move. He's got the spirit, though.
Angron - Whew. You fucked around and found out, alright. You riled Angron up so much, all you remember is him growling, muttering something in his native Nucerian tongue, and the next thing you know, your clothes were in tatters around you and he looked feral as he eyed your naked body. Oh.
Roboute Guilliman - Turns out he's a fan of office sex; you fucked around so much that Guilliman had your ass finding out on his desk. With his head buried between your legs. Please be quiet, my dear. There are people beyond those four walls. And yes, please run your fingers through his hair some more. Tug on it a little, too.
Mortarion - *stares in seventy times seven whilst surrounded by seven of the Death Guard.*
Magnus the Red - You thought Guilliman was the only one who liked it when you pulled his hair? Comes with a side of... pleasurable Warp shenanigans.
Horus Lupercal - The hoochiest of the hoochie daddies. The Primarch meets your bullshit with the most blissfully arrogant smile ever and proceeds to keep you up the entire night, reminding you why the Emperor named him Warmaster. Those tactics in the bedroom are devastating, babe. You're practically a zombie the next day.
Lorgar Aurelian - D'aww, look at Lorgar's inner dom coming out. All that resentment came out in one of the best hatefucks of your life. Kudos to you, darling.
Vulkan - You fuck around and find out and it turns into an all-night bear hug bonanza. But naked.
Corvus Corax - He puts his abilities to... good use. "Nevermore", quoth the Raven as he pulled you into the comfortable embrace of the darkness and made you his wonderful Lenore.
Alpharius Omegon - GOTTA FUCK 'EM ALL! ALPHA LEGION!
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I should make sure Food Food starts a diet.
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These Barbies will add sparkle to your otherwise dreary day!
Not. Sorry.
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