The Concerned Commissar

very nsfw follow-ups here

He’s transfixed. The gentleman in him knows he ought to avert his eyes, but he indulges regardless, watching as the silk pools on the floor at her feet. She stands bare in the expanse of the room, flushed at her knees and elbows, adorned with freckles aplenty—like flecks of coal soot against storm clouds. Her pulse is insistent, and Heinrix can almost taste the eagerness of its rhythm. He doesn’t recall ever seeing her so vulnerable—at least, not in the waking world. His dreams—they’re different—rampant under the influence of biomancy and supplemented by memories of gloved hands against synskin. But this—? Gold sits flush against white-grey; the warmth of the sun after a rainstorm—a downpour he’s forever grateful to have been caught in. It catches him off guard—the ornate bands of gold that bracket her hips and her knees; the golden rings that adorn her nipples. Her skin is painted with scars both clean and jagged—a vast array of pink and silver. Commorragh. She’s leaner now, too, thanks to their visit to the Dark City. What she’s lost in muscle mass, she makes up for in scars and restored augments. Heinrix swallows down his anger; his guilt. It can wait. That isn’t the reason he’s here.

Show me what you're working on, if you want to!

In the distance, a high caliber shot rang out, the round glancing off the container edge, narrowly missing Argenta’s arm. Prisca hissed over the comm. “Get DOWN Argenta!”  Realizing her position was exposed, Argenta darted back to the tree line out of the sniper’s line of sight. Abelard went next, a round boring through the chest of a rebel wielding a power maul, crumpling them to the ground. The round cleared the first guard and struck the leg of another rebel behind them, dropping that rebel as well to one knee. Another rebel wielding a lasgun rushed to the aid of his wounded comrade, only to have his skull detonated by a round from Prisca’s rifle. The surviving rebels scattered out of range or behind cover, leaving their wounded companion behind to bleed out in the open.  Off in the distance, Prisca heard another high caliber shot ring out, the gunshot sounding similar to the whistling bullet that saved her in the Janus courtyard. Another high caliber round fire in response, Imperium standard - the rebel sniper. Prisca switched her vox line to Yrliets’. “Yrliet, what is your status?” There was a pause and Prisca wondered if they had lost the Aeldari already. A terse voice finally came over the comms. “Elantach, the sniper is wounded but not dead. Your kin appear to have some of your large mechanical battle slaves fighting along side them.” Prisca let out a string of curses before reactivating the comm. “Understood, keep that sniper busy, we will take care of the rest.” “As you command Elantach.” Prisca switched her vox line back to the main group channel. “Yrliet is still engaged with the sniper, but it looks like the rebels have at least one heavy combat servitor.  We need to keep the pressure up and draw that heat this way so she can handle the sniper.” Prisca surveyed the battlefield again, noting a ridge along their right leading to the top of a container. “Pasqal, Abelard, you are with me. We are going to hug that container on our right and see how many more we can pick off.  Argenta, go topside of that container to our right and see about harassing them with more of your grenades. Heinrix, you bring up the rear and defend our rear flank." “As you command, Lord Captain!" Prisca could hear the smile in Argenta’s voice as she got to her feet, taking another shot before she moved along the trees to distract the remaining rebels. Backs pressed against the cool metal of the container, Prisca could feel Heinrix close beside her, the reassuring smell of his cologne making her smile.  He was closer than he needed to be, should be, but Prisca found herself yearning for it all the same. To her left she heard a voice cry out, and turned in time to see one of the marksmen on top of a container drop to their knees, convulsing and felt a cool gust of air roll up her back. Turning her head slightly, she caught Heinrix’s icy eyes. “Thank you.” Heinrix said nothing and gave her a half smile, his eyes lost in the light of the Warp he commanded.

She may be a heretic but she makes a mean matcha.

Probably one of the best/worst things I've made

shout out to everyone who participates in fanfic culture, be it reading or writing fanfics. you are contributing to such a lovely thing <3