#jaalcreative

“Ah, Rogue Trader. Your hospitality continues to surpass even my lowest expectations.”

@infernaldaydreams you have blessed me with a tag YIPPEE. thank you. and I have so many goodies. I GOT THREE.

random video that got onto my video files somehow. don't know how that got there. strange. truly. very. strange.

2. MY WOMANNNNNN (again) just a wee lil baby

3. More fic writing WIP purely to make @fictionobsession mind go ka-blam-o

There existed in the creed of the Mechanicus a singular comfort: that the Omnissiah adored metal more than meat, and that every plate of steel laid over tremoring flesh was a step away from the fragility of human error.  That the flesh was weak, and so it would ever be, was a shared truth on Metalica and on Mars—a mantra worn smooth by repetition until no one remembered who had doubted it first. In a theology as old as this, the body and its gifted functions were deviations fit only for correction. Its heat a kind of early heresy; its blood the colour of indulgence. Where each thought that strayed from its manual labour existed only to uncover another symptom of indulgent human emotion, logged as error and scheduled to be purged by deeper wiring, narrower code, and chastened will—physical and otherwise. But to discard the soul which troubles that flesh, to deny its longings entirely in the name of efficiency, was to be named a grievous sin. A sin which wholly existed in those deep, untouched chambers of the heart: where its supplicants could no longer hold the gaze of its god, when it would instead slip sideways into the forbidden luxury of touch, towards thought that another’s breath against their throat might matter more than a thousand perfect incantations.

Markus Vane

FILE REDACTED—TRY AGAIN LATER

It has just fallen to the wayside with my work and then with the second-job of the rogue trader gift exchange

Once that's over I'll be full steam ahead