Reblogging Because My Response Has Become Too Long To Put In The Replies:

The funny thing is they've basically got the opposite stance on FSM. One says they can't exist ever, because lore, one says they do exist and always have, because lore.

Given Malcador's expression, that's exactly what just happened.

You know that time a couple invited the Queen of England to their wedding and she actually showed up? Imagine someone kinda jokingly inviting a Primarch or even Big E Himself and to their shock (and likely horror) they rsvp

Fucking hilarious. Big E could technically shapeshift into a less recognizable form but where's the fun in that? He arrives as he is, with Malcador as his plus one.

Call my tastes tacky if you like but your heart knows it’s true

Really the people arguing that are just trying to make Perturabo seem super important. They understand his need for praise as a need for others to not receive praise.

'oooohhh perturabo is the only one who actually did anything for the heresy' EXCUUUUUUUSE YOU.

LOOKING PRETTY IS 'DOING SOMETHING'. its for morale i'm keeping morale up.

Killing Ferrus literally drives him to suicide and is the tipping point that makes him fall.

Whenever he's sober, he is haunted by shame for what he did.

i am punished by love

Gee, ya think?

What next? Maybe you shouldn't have had directors directly working to undo what the director for the previous movie did?

Well, if there's a better time for me to start glazing Messages For Dad, it would be now. https://archiveofourown.org/works/21518860/chapters/51293176

That fic pretty much carries the Guillivraine ship in my eyes. It does tend to focus more on things in 30k than 40k, and it does have some other weirdness (a lot of heavily enforced gender roles in the Imperium, among other things), but it's very good, and it does take the ship seriously, and does explore the dynamics of such a relationship.

I think the reason why I dislike Guillivraine so much is because of the fact that, imo, the majority of the shippers don't really take the ship seriously themselves. Jokes about ships are fine and cool, but that's literally all I see about the ship. Not two people carrying the burden of trying to save their respective races from certain doom and feeling understood by the other. Not two people haunted and traumatized by their respective pasts. Not all the nuances and difficulties that would happen in the case of Human x Eldar relationship: diplomatic, platonic and especially romantic.

But nope. Its quite literally just a xenophilia joke to even the shippers themselves. I don't mind xenophilia jokes about human x alien relationships in 40k, but not when it's... just everything there is to the pair.

The Emperor's Children are a legion of femboys, of course they love cuddles.

Jokes aside, the background lore you gave is giving me inspiration for my Sons of the Phoenix army.

Space Marine Cuddle Pile PT 2

Continuation of this. PT 3.

@wolf-feathers12 you owe me fifty cookies and I’m gluten free

Imagine:

Titus is not quite new anymore to the watch. He’s slowly opening up to his squad mates but still is apprehensive. The mission has been a success and his squad wants to celebrate. They worked well together. But Titus does not wish to participate. He is bitter and mournful. News that the Primarch, Roboute Guilliman, had returned came through a few days ago. He was overjoyed at hearing that. But he doesn’t get to celebrate. Not when he’s dishonored his chapter. Not when he’s a black shield. Not when he can’t celebrate with his brothers. Before he can go to the training cages, a squad mate pulls him back, not taking no for an answer. He may have not told them his chapter and was using another name but they can tell how hard the last few days have been. Rather than celebrating they all huddle together, one with another. They miss each of their chapters and brothers. But they can find comfort in one another. It’s a moment of reprieve for the ex-captain’s broken heart.

As an Emperors’ children you are far more prone to cuddling than one might think. You were always underestimated. Many scoffed at your legion and chalked you up to pompous and egotistical men. Some of that was true but it didn’t make it hurt any less. Even more hurtful was the rejection of your Primarch. He didn’t want you or your brothers. He would not lead. You all were so desperate that some followed his clone when he showed up. You’re all scattered and trying what you can to make Fulgrim proud and have him return. Sometimes the rejection hurts so much you’ll curl up together in a pile. Pretending the weight is your Primarch, welcoming you back and saying that you’ve done well. That you’re worthy of his love. Those who are a part of war bands tend to be flock to bigger Astartes. Craving large and warm arms to wrap around you and say it’s okay. You’re not useless or worthless. You’re not an object or disposable.

Little known fact about Iron Warriors. You will cuddle anyone but your own legion. You’re so touch starved and refuse to ask for it due to how the chapter is. Cuddling your brothers? Revolting. Your Primarch won’t do it. Cold and refusing to show any weakness. But the minute any other traitor Astartes wants to start a pile or even a daemon or cultist request a hug, you’re there. You will not say anything and you’re definitely not saying no. You will just join in. If you see a cuddle pile you won’t ask, you’re suddenly in the middle. Emperor’s Children tend to like Iron Warrior’s for this reason. Might as well write “Free Hugs” on the back of their armor.

Newly joined Blood Angels feeling the psychic wound of their genefathers death. The looming of the red thirst and the chance of falling to the black rage. Their new brothers hold them in a large mass. Safe and warm to let them know that they’re not alone. They all feel the pain. They all mourn their father and fallen brethren. They all share it. So they share their hugs and affection.

Black Templars having massive sermons where the chaplain gets emotional and they all hold one another as they recite prayers. Hold each other up. Being strong like Dorn. Their Primarch isn’t here but they are here for each other.

Night Lords will cram themselves into dark and tight places to hide, entangled in each other’s arms. Their Primarch was mad and didn’t care for them. They have to care for each other. Everything they do is vile and violent. Except for this. Ever so gentle touches, protective embraces, the most tender of running hands through hair, gentle head butting. They are one of the most affectionate legions but only with each other. Silent as they relish in each other’s deep rooted sadness and hatred for themselves and solace of being with one another.

Lorgar finally has a moment of silence as the word bearers are escorted away from Monarchia by the Ultramarines. The emperor’s wrath had been fierce. He ends up dropping to his knees and pulling his closest son into an embrace. The others around him move forward without thinking. He pulls so many into his arms, has them laying their heads on his shoulders and back. Pressing their cheeks and foreheads to his own as he cries prayers he wrote. They were innocent! Loyal to him! He had done this for him! All that work! It was a gift! A tribute! He just burned it away! Killed them all. Rejected it. He’s in so much pain and anger but having his sons close eases it a bit.

Magnus clings to his sons. They don’t react as dust swirls within the armor. Foolish stupid Ahriman. He had managed to save the remaining few and bring them into the warp. Relieved that they all weren’t dead. This seemed worse though. He presses a kiss to the top of one’s helmet, praying that there’s some bit of conscious in there. Those that were unaffected are huddled behind him as his new wings caress them.

He wasn’t very affectionate. Mortarion had grown up shying away from it and he rarely indulged in cuddle piles. But after so many had died from horrid plagues and sicknesses, he had to pledge himself to Nurgle. It didn’t matter though. His sons were saved and himself. He had sat himself on the ground and big then to come forth. Some were nuzzled into his side, a few rested their heads on his torso. He was surrounded by his sons. Safe. He didn’t care what it had taken or what would happen next.

I barely write, but when I do AI is nowhere to be found.

a writing competition i was going to participate in again this year has announced that they now allow AI generated content to be submitted

their reasoning being that "we couldn't ban it even if we wanted to, every writer already uses it anyway"

"Every writer"?

come on

"It came to me in a dream" is more compelling credentials for a source than having asked ChatGPT.