“I had our finest craftsmen make this weapon, and my Celestines and I blessed it personally.” The Canoness beamed proudly as she handed over the Bolter, “it is nothing more than a humble offering as thanks for your and your chapter’s defense of our homeworld.” Not for the first time, the Chapter Master of the Angels Sanguine was thankful for his face-concealing helmet. The worship of the Primarch Sanguinus as an Imperial Saint had long been a cause of some embarrassment to the Blood Angels (and much consternation to the Iron Hands), but the Sisterhood of Saint Sanguinus were on an entirely different level. Monuments to the Primarch blanketed their homeworld, his visaged adored every chapel, coin, and hab-door, and the sisters themselves incorporated the blood-tear into their fleur-de-lis. “And for you,” he replied, “My chainsword, wielded by every Master of our Chapter since the time of the Scouring, thank you for fighting by our side.” The Cannoness’ face lit up as crimson as her robe, try as she might to contain herself, she could not suppress a small squeal of delight as she touched the weapon. “Mayyouwalkalwaysintheemperor’slightIhopewemeetagainsomeday,” she stammered out, before blushing and hurrying back to her sisters.
On his battle barge, the Chapter Master considered the gift with his techmarines. ”Should we give it to a Scout, milord? It IS expertly made.” The Chapter Master betrayed no hint of emotion as he took in the craftsmanship of the weapon.
his eyes gazed down the length of the barrel, to the trigger, and then to the stock
where an exquisitely carved scene of Sanguinius fighting demons had been embossed in gold.
the skill of the artist was beyond question, and great care had even been taken in the accuracy of the Crusade era armor and weapons. Sanguinus himself dominated the image, his blade having just bisected the foul demon Ka'Bandha, his left hand crushing the skull of a Bloodcrusher, and his piercing blue eyes looking with determination at the unholy horde before him.
Sanguinus’s golden hair flowed for nearly a meter behind his head, its silken strands unblemished by the grind of battle. Nor was any piece of his body besmirched, save for his hand now covered in demonic blood. His toned chest was broad and muscular, with the dark pattern of the Black Carapace visible beneath it. His strong, powerful thighs stood proudly upon a mountain of defeated demons, his left buttcheek shone brightly in the sunlight
as his semi-erect penis hung down nearly a foot between his legs.
Clearly it was of expert craftsmanship, yes, but just as clearly his entire chapter would be the laughingstock of other Astartes were one of his brothers to wield it in battle.
“Contact the Temple of Holy Relics, tell them we’ve discovered a blessed artifact that we’d like to give them.”
It was a lovely present though.
Also, post Blood Angels/Sanguinus-the-prettiest-of-Primarchs
No way man, they're totes cool with anyone who worships the Emperor
It's those motherfuckers who keep going "he was a man, not a god" that get them all hot and bothered.
the sisters is the imperial faction i know the least about, only thing i have read with them in it was when the flesh tearers were hunted down by the sisters because they went into a collective black rage 200 years prior so i dont exactly have the best perspective on them
Well the Flesh Tearers are also cunts, but they're cunts with a named HQ so they can't really be hurt in the fluff
The sisters were originally conceived as the Space Marine police, and a tiny fraction of that has survived into their modern incarnation. But mostly they're Zealots who like other Zealots
>made in the image of the Primarchs, the Emperor's demigod sons
>purge the shit out of heretics
You know they're too busy abusing themselves
with their gauntlets on for the Real Astartes Experience (Tm)to memories of that one hunky Black Templar to hate Marines
How old is the average Canoness?
How young could they be?
Yeah sort of. Although some of them have started seeming a bit more Pious over the centuries, Space Wolves declare "For Russ and the Alfather" as their battle-cry, easily interpreted as the Emperor being a god, or at least God-like.
>Brother, I just realized something
>"What is it, brother?"
>Do you remember those sisters that kept staring at us during our patrol of their shrine world?
>"Yes, what about it?"
>I know why their faces were so red
>There are a lot of sisters in the galaxy, brother
>"Emperor preserve us"
Black Templars are Second Founding and they explicitly worship the Emperor. The Iron Hands themselves had a bunch of Marines leave the chapter because they were part of the Moreai Schism, in which Radical tech-priests and Ecclesiarchs proposed that the Emperor and the Omnissiah should be worshipped as a single entity, so even 1st founding chapters aren't immune to having pious members.
It's not hard to believe that plenty of second founding chapters have begun to drift towards worship.
>battle brother protects his homeworld from Tyranids
>the Sister Hospitaller serving alongside his unit can't stop looking at him, but turns away and blushes when he look back
>She tells him her name is Ekatarina Stahlzorn
>Stahlzorn, why does that name sound so familiar?
>his first girlfriend was named Stahlzorn... 300 years ago
>they only did it once before he passed the blood trials
>Brother-Chaplain, I have a confession to make
>Speak, that your sin may be atoned for
>during the post-battle revelry, I engaged in impious acts with the battle sisters
>twelve hours in the pain glove
>thank you for your mercy
>I shall be joining you, as my purity also could not resist their own
>Battle-Brother, what is wrong?
>"Nothing to trouble you with, Brother-Chaplain"
>Nonsense, confide in me!
>"Well, Brother-Chaplain, some of my brothers and I have just came to the realization that there are likely hundreds of thousands of less-than-pious Sisters engaging in lewd mortal acts to thoughts of our perfect forms"
>"I am thoroughly embarrassed, Brother-Chaplain"
>You'll get used to the feeling after your first century, Battle-Brother"
Not for the faint of heart, I imagine, but I do remember one chick comment that it was a shame the Grey Knights were pious after seeing one showering, so they're likely not hung like horses.
Do not control the dick, surprisingly enough, though they influence libido and likelyhood of getting an erection via stimulus that isn't strictly physical. The hormone largely responsible for male libido is testosterone however...which I highly doubt Space Marines lack in any way.
>The worship of the Primarch Sanguinus as an Imperial Saint had long been a cause of some embarrassment to the Blood Angels (and much consternation to the Iron Hands)
In the grim darkness of the far future nobody remembers Ferrus Manus
>you, a mere serf, are snagged from your usual duties and dragged to the chamber of Sanguinius himself
>forced into the room and the doors are shut behind you
>Sanguinius is before you only half-clad, wings relaxed
>beckons you to attend his wings, practically begging
>has a few feathers out of place that he cannot reach himself, and the hands of his battle brothers are too large for such delicate work
>get to preen and massage Sanguinius and hear his blissful sighs as you return his wings to perfection
What's the matter anon, scared of big Space Marine dick?
Would you a primarch, /tg/?
Which would you?
>you will never be the scion of a powerful Ultramar family, married to the Demi-God Roboute Guilliman for purely political purposes
>you will never be fucked once on the wedding night and then forgotten about
>you will never sit behind a veiled curtain while your husband discusses policy with the low-born plebs he for some reason entrusts with noble affairs
>you will never see your man bow down to the emperor and embark on a galactic crusade, leaving you alone and unloved, to live out your years in a golden cage
>you will never die knowing that you still loved him
>Russia people like black but wrong color by accident
Jesus, I actually laughed out loud for the first time in a while
Horus Rising actually, I think. I have the book, and it's literally in the first chapter.
It's wonderful to think that the first book ever published for the Horus Heresy addressed space marine dicks... In the first fucking paragraph.
Basically it was a Luna Wolves captain who was naked, in a room with a 'Remembrancer' who was in just a robe. It was kind of implied that she was little more than a whore.
marines have dicks, big dicks
It just takes something truly important to make them rise to the occassion, but when they do...
Some sister's consider the space marines little more than useful abhumans like ogryn few think them mutants. It's mostly a jealousy thing as they think themselves the emperor's chosen and space marines don't fit that narrative.
"How can any self-respecting Confessor or Cardinal relate to a monstrous giant who can spit acid, crush a man's skull with one hand and practises crude acts of blood sacrifice?"
It's two separate scenes near the beginning, though that's not quite how they go. First is in the opening of chapter 2, when Oliton appears at Loken's chamber to ask him for an interview:
>Loken set aside the segment of armour he had been polishing and rose to his feet. He was almost a metre taller than her, and naked but for a loin cloth. She sighed inwardly at the splendour of his physique. The knotted muscles, the old ridge-scars. He was handsome too, this one, fair hair almost silver, cut short, his pale skin slightly freckled, his eyes grey like rain. What a waste, she thought.
>Though there was no disguising his inhumanity, especially in this bared form. Apart from the sheer mass of him, there was the overgrown gigantism of the face, that particular characteristic of the Astartes, almost equine, plus the hard, taut shell of his rib-less torso, like stretched canvas.
Then a short while later, in the scene that introduces the other two members of the remembrancer trio:
>Ignace Karkasy wandered into the retiring room and sniffed at a decanter of wine. He made a face.
>‘It’s fresh opened,’ Keeler told him sourly.
>‘Yes, but local vintage,’ Karkasy replied. ‘This petty little empire. No wonder it fell so easily. Any culture founded upon a wine so tragic shouldn’t survive long.’
>‘It lasted five thousand years, through the limits of Old Night,’ Keeler said. ‘I doubt the quality of its wine influenced its survival.’
>Karkasy poured himself a glass, sipped it and frowned. ‘All I can say is that Old Night must have seemed much longer here than it actually was.’
>Euphrati Keeler shook her head and turned back to her work, cleaning and refitting a hand-held picter unit of very high quality.
It's coming up.
>‘And then there’s the matter of sweat,’ Karkasy said. He sat down on a lounger and put his feet up, settling the glass on his wide chest. He sipped again, grimacing, and rested his head back. Karkasy was a tall man, generously upholstered in flesh. His garments were expensive and well-tailored to suit his bulk. His round face was framed by a shock of black hair.
>Keeler sighed and looked up from her work. ‘The what?’
>‘The sweat, dear Euphrati, the sweat! I have been observing the Astartes. Very big, aren’t they? I mean to say, very big in every measurement by which one might quantify a man.’
>‘They’re Astartes, Ignace. What did you expect?’
>‘Not sweat, that’s what. Not such a rank, pervasive reek. They are our immortal champions, after all. I expected them to smell rather better. Fragrant, like young gods.’
>‘Ignace, I have no clue how you got certified.’
>Karkasy grinned. ‘Because of the beauty of my lyric, my dear, because of my mastery of words. Although that might be found wanting here. How may I begin…?
>‘The Astartes save us from the brink, the brink,
>But oh my life how they stink, they stink.’
>Karkasy sniggered, pleased with himself. He waited for a response, but Keeler was too occupied with her work.
And again, in case you missed it:
>I have been observing the Astartes. Very big, aren’t they? I mean to say, very big in every measurement by which one might quantify a man.
>after 2 years of constant battle the Imperial Guard relief force finally arrived
>awe struck them as they saw the gigantic piles of ork bodies
>mountains, literal mountains of dead greenskins
>on one of them was a marine, his armour heavily damaged, big parts of it gone, shredded or left behind as they became too bent to wear with no time to fix it
>cautious the young IG officer approached the marine, wanting to ask for a status report
>tapping on the marine's back was his first last mistake in life
>the Black Templar did not react violently, he just turned, fast
And that's the story of how yet another young guardman died in his duty, with his neck broken by a gigantic shlong
Never forget kids, if your head's at their crotch, you'd better dodge!
I read this as "self-destructive merfolk" and go confused for a few minutes there
Should have ended with
"Contact the Blood Ravens, we have a "gift" for them..."
If she looked like this, you better believe it. I'd probably get executed but hey, won't get anywhere if you don't try, right?
No, yaoi refers to the actual boys rabu part (the manga, anime, etc.)
Fujoshi refers to the female enthusiasts of the genre. If I recall correctly, it translates as "dirty girl" or something similar.
>war game based off medieval European nations
>French are known for their heavy cavalry and obsession with nobility
>Bretonnians are known for their excessive use of heavy cavalry and obsession with nobility
Made me respond.
>implying you wouldn't swoon at the sight of his most perfect face and long, flowing, golden mane
>implying you wouldn't want him to take you in his great, powerful, skilful arms and fly you away somewhere secluded and quiet
>implying you then wouldn't get down on your knees in front of him and
swear to serve the Emperor for the rest of your born days through joining his legion and joining the Great Crusade, purging the xenos filth.