#moth ocs

Vanatas Borjigin

The self appointed leader of the trio. Turned into Astartes later than generally recommended, so has a decent memory of his life before; of raising a batch of squalling sisters, of scavenging for meat in Nostramo’s rancid streets. It gives him major older sibling energy, even now.

Taller than Shrike, shorter than Zakyr, with bone-white skin and void-black eyes. Wears his long dark hair in a ponytail more often than not; a severe hairstyle that accentuates his raptor-sharp cheekbones. He has the usual scars you’d expect an Astartes to carry, but due to the implants being carried out well into his teens (rather than in prepubescence) the surgery scars are far more prominent than normal, standing out liver-purple across his abdomen. 

Prone to fainting fits, in which he collapses, jaw tight against the screams welling in his throat, his skull singing agony. Blood drips from his nose and his eyes, and when he wakes he babbles nonsense — and yet the nonsense always seems to come true. That’s right: our boy Van is cursed with the gift of prophecy — something he is at pains to hide from the rest of his brothers. Zak and Shrike know, but they keep his secret. Normally, Vanatas can tell when one of the attacks is coming, and it gives him just enough warning to hide, or for one of the other two to shove him into a cupboard to stop someone seeing.  

He is mean mean mean to you. He really likes it when you cry, whether you’re begging for mercy or for him to slow down or please Mr Night Lord not back there — and he always gets a bit feral when you start getting weepy. He’s the most likely to treat you like a serf-shaped fleshlight, grabbing you with very little warning, yanking your skirt to the side and sinking in with a low, contented groan. 

Despite the above, he’s normally the one ensuring you’re functioning as well as possible. He remembers to feed you, shouts at the others when they’ve let you go too long without sleep, and even gave you painkillers one time, after Zak had been a mite too rough. Maybe there’s a shadow inside him, a whisper that remembers what it is to care. And maybe not. Who knows. 

Zakyr Lamnidae 

Large, even for an Astartes. Almost eight feet tall, all bulky muscle, and — as you might imagine — almost constantly hungry. The other two taunt him for being a lardass, but he always ends up with the best bits of any meal they’ve stolen (or hunted). They never say that they are doing this, nor does he acknowledge it or thank them. It is just how it is. You hide Van when he starts bleeding from the eyes; you give Zak the fat-marbled rump of an unfortunate heretic. Yum. 

Has the same black hair, black eyes combo as Vanatas and ninety per cent of other Night Lords. He wears his hair short, shaved at the sides, and has a distinctive scar on his cheek that crawls across his jawline, and down onto his throat. It looks almost like it was caused by the talon of a great bird — or maybe a set of claws, swift as lightning? Either way, he’s not saying how he got it. If you ask, he and Vanatas start getting a bit twitchy. Some secrets are best kept quiet. 

He was in the dungeons for stealing a loaf of bread. He was six years old and starving. That’s how he ended up getting shipped out to be a neophyte — this isn’t a story he tells much. He just sees it as a great amusing irony. Imprisoned for the most base of offences, and now free to commit far worse ones. That is justice, isn’t it?

Is the most intelligent of the three, if we class intelligence as ‘book smarts’. Speaks fluent Gothic, as well as a handful of other languages, and can threaten to flay someone in upwards of twenty three tongues, including some xenos ones. Is a truly excellent artist, and absolutely would not have given the poor serf that abomination of a tattoo. Back when they were neophytes, and thus not even allowed to smell women, he did very well for himself by drawing — uh — ‘special pictures’ for other Astartes. He likes drawing the serf, and has a sketchbook full of paintings that run the gambit from surprisingly beautiful to absolutely obscene. No one is allowed to touch that sketchbook — not since Van borrowed it and returned it with the pages sticking together. 

The others are doing their best to learn Gothic, and to teach you Nostramon. Unfortunately, it’s a slow process, so Zak often finds himself conscripted in for translation. The deal is simple: he will translate, but he gets to join in. 

As for the NSFW stuff — he can be very lazy in bed. He likes being ridden, because he does enough physical work in his day job and damn it he just wants to lie back and watch a pretty girl cry as she tries to get his dick inside. Is that too much to ask? He knows, theoretically, what a clitoris is, but good luck getting him to touch it. He likes degradation, but in his sadistic hedonist way he likes to get you to degrade yourself. He’ll whisper in your ear what a horrible little slut you are, spreading yourself for the legion, and get you to repeat it back for him. It’s also how he’s teaching you Nostramon. You have a very niche, very detailed vocabulary. 

He will threaten to get you pregnant at least once a week. If you hadn’t seen Vanatas and him get in a literal fight over it, you would believe the threat - he sounds so sincere. He will be buried balls-deep in your warm innards, cooing about what a shame it would be if he came inside, how awful it would be for you. It’s a game: you’re meant to beg him not to, to offer to suck his cock, or offer up your arse. And you probably should play it. If you don’t, he starts getting a bit huffy, and no one wants that. 

Shrike Melloria 

The man is an Emperor-forsaken pervert.

Right, you probably want more detail than that. Shrike is the youngest of the group, and was born in jail. His mother was a whore; his father some unknown vagabond. When the ships came for new recruits, they grabbed up the infant because, well, what else were they to do with him? 

The words ‘boyishly handsome’ aren’t usually used to describe a Night Lord — but Shrike manages to justify their use. Yes, he’s a seven-foot killing machine — but he also has golden hair, and eyes that are more very dark blue than black. He is pale, like all his brothers, but in a way that suggests he would tan under sunlight, rather than incinerate. Give him a paint job and a week on a farm, and he could pass for an Ultramarine (as long as he didn’t open his mouth, or come into contact with any civilians)

In battle, he is a stone-cold sniper; a prodigy. There’s very little that can escape his reach. As a consequence, he’s less scarred than your average Astartes, since the enemy doesn’t normally have a chance to reach him. In another, more foolish, Legion this might be seen as a mark of cowardice — but Night Lords are pragmatic, and Shrike’s strategy gets the enemy just as dead. 

Right, now the good stuff: he is a toxic mess of a man, clingy and snuggly and nuzzly, even while doing the worst possible things to you. He’ll fuck you full, almost render you speechless from fucking your throat, and then coo about how pretty you are while scooping his cum from between your legs and jamming it into your mouth. His brand of dirty talk is cloyingly sweet, while also being absolutely horrifying: “Sweet little fledgling, open wide for me! There we are, now that’s all you’re getting —“

Vanatas has explained to him multiple times that serf cannot survive on jizz alone, and yet he still considers trying it. 

Breeding kink like whoa. Doesn’t actually want a baby, but loves the idea of making you so completely his. Would be the worst father imaginable. Is being slipped birth control by both of his brothers just in case he gets any ideas. 

Yes, he did the tattoo. No, he did not ask permission. Yes, he considers you his wife. No, the others do not agree. No, divorce is not an option. Yes, of course Vanatas and Zak have elaborate ‘let’s cuck Shrike’ role play. 

So, these guys aren’t nearly as fully formed as the Night Lord Idiot Trio, but throwing them in here to remind myself to write something later. Here are my Black Templars: 

Ezra Rothenburg 

Captain of his squad, a venerable dilf veteran of countless campaigns. Tall, broad, grey-haired, with a bouquet of scars, including one that stretches across his lips, giving him a permanent sneer. 

Blessed by the Emperor and most devout in obeying His Commands. Those that know him note that the Emperor’s Commands tend to coincide with what Ezra was planning to do anyway. 

Can and will fake visions to get the more fanatical of his brethren to fall in line. The way he sees it, the Emperor would have struck him down if He disapproved. He has not, so He must be on Ezra’s side

Isaiah Bodenstein von Karlstadt 

Primaris Marine. Big boy. Very sweet and earnest and utterly devoted to the Emperor and his captain, in that order