>>16668058
thanks

Thank you, I hope that the littlest krieger and the drawfag(ette?) find this thread.

thanks bro, bump!

>>16668923
God i love you.

im having trouble updating the archive can anyone help add link to third archive to here

>>16670145
whatever it is. it's worth it

not mine.
Just reposting for great justice

>>16670505
>>16670041
>>16668947
>>16668923
dear god in color please!!!!!!

thx mang love your drawfaggotry anyway

bump
waiting eagerly for the return of tlk, tHf, and all artfags

>>16670041
my laspistol just discharged.

>>16670041
>>16668947
>>16668923
I-I can't... but... there is no really suitabel image macro for what I am feeling and I have one and a half thousand of them. Please just know that you are awesome and everything you do, have done and are going to do is awesome!

Bump in hopes of more snuggles

Bump for TLK

Bumping with 1920x1200 wp

>>16670757
Do you have deviantart or anything like that?

bmup

Bump

>>16670041
>>16668947
>>16668923
Am I the only person who opened these three images up in tabs at the same time and rapidly flicked through them at random?

And, if so, am I the only one who got the impression that Octavia doesn't wear underwear? Because head-canon now.

>>16674722
I believe a lack of bra is documented, but she did have panties, at least that one time.

pmub

Bumpan

Bumping with moar awesome

bump for the bump god!

TLK Bump

bump

given that someone deleted 50% of the content of the thread and that was 3 NSFW pics, we probably should not bump this thing.

nothing is happening.

Romance for the Love God!
Cuddles for the Hug Throne!

tlk is still afk so bout 1 bump per hour should be safe

bump

>>16677267
two of them were perfectly SFW, i have no idea why they were deleted.

seriously, what is wrong with this image?

>>16679781
the levels of d'aww when combined with >>16668058
and this pic can lead to diabetic shock

>>16679836
>>16679781
other SFW one, because who deletes daaw?

Any more pictures? These are cute.

>>16677267
Something I've always wondered. Where do those mechadendrites attach? Wouldn't they make it impossible to lie down or turn over? Same goes for humanoids with wings.

Image zip please?

>>16680879
this is normal for mechadendrites to attach at the back
you sleep on your belly.
The hard one is techpriest with shoulder and sternum mechs

Where is tlk? I need ma cuddles :( I understand I am being impatient but I haven't seen an update in awhile.

>>16681089

HE IS BUT A MAN!

He's been updating every day for around a week. Give the man a break, yeah?

>>16680030
Is there more of this to be had someplace?

>>16681314
just the one that got them all deleted.

>>>/r/9100062

>>16681324
Bless you.

babamp

>>16679836

my friends... my dear elegan/tg/entlemen and ladies.

Thank you for this. Let me feed, and i shall repay you all :3

>>16682243

So firstly, some house keeping.

your all awesome. Im sorry its been so long since an update.

secondly, drawfriends, all of you, are awesome.

I'll ammend the 1d4chan article to make the chapters, and without futher ado, on with the show.

Life seemed so simple to Octavia in that moment, surrounded by happy people, her lover beside her, the emprah was on his throne, and all was right in her life. Her cognitor attempted to point out the highly unlikely chance of this all occouring, but her fleshbrain hushed her, putting a metaphorical arm around her, and telling her to just enjoy the moment. She suckled on her drink, the brilliantly golden drink was finally half full, and she was beginning to feel the effects of that much amsec. Her fleshbrain giggled, appraising Rogal in his uniformed glory, as he continued to devour his steak. Such a simple man, she mused, content with the simple things in life. Her cognitor again tried to point out the sheer complexity that went into the husky commissar, but her fleshbrain hushed her once more, filling her mind with his muscled body, his powerful limbs and his… lascannon. She sighed happily, placing her drink down and continuing her meal.

The night continued, meals were finished, and Octavia sucked the last of her drink from the bottom of her glass. Gingerly, her mechadendrites lowered the huge stein to the table, as their owner let out a small hiccup. Her fleshbrain rolled around happily, its mechadendrites hugging around her metaphysical stomach, as her cognitor tried in vain to vent the excess alcohol from her system. She could feel how warm her cheeks were, and how funny everyone seemed, and how handsome Rogal was. The huge commissar stood, offering her his gloved hand, Caelistis and Tiberius having already left to go corner that barmaid they had been watching all night. The petite priestess giggled, that poor girl had no idea what she was in for. Octavia may have never seen exactly what her friend had done, but she had heard enough stories, cross referenced them, and come to her own conclusions.

>>16682421
>>16682347
>>16682243

Those conclusions were incredibly risqué, her fleshbrain noted with glee, pulling up memnor files of her idle musings on the matter. Here, an idea of how Caelistis used that particular kink she had in her third mechadendrite, there, a puzzlement of how someone could actually manage to do that inside a sentinel. She giggled as she tried to stand, her spatial recognition wetwear corrupted by alcoholic interference, and she flopped back onto her seat. Her cognitor pointed out she wasn’t in the colledgia anymore, and how she hadn’t finished an emperors mercy that fast since her heyday as a drinker. Her fleshbrain shushed the logical thoughts from her cognitor, pointing out how fun this was, and how good her Commissarial cuddles officer looked, and how strong he was, and his powerful arms could just pin her down and-. That thought was cut off by her cognitor pointing out how silly commissarial cuddles officer was as a concept. Her body tried once more to stand, pulling on Rogals huge hand to help lift her, and she stood, for a moment. Her petite body leaned too far forward, caught just in time by Rogals large hand at her stomach. She giggled and looked up at him, her cheeks rosy,
“I may,” she said, the words rolling off her tounge slowly, “be a little bit intoxicated,”
The huge commissar nodded, as she got in under his arm, hugging him from the side, “I’d say that’s about right.”
A girlish smile crossed Octavia’s face, her mechadendrites wrapping clumsily around her massive lovers muscled arm, and she giggled, “Just a little bit, blood alcohols only just past point oh six four, I’ll be fine,” she said, as she tottered forward, bumping into Rogal again. His huge hand splayed across her back, pinning her against him, as he looked down,
“I think,” he said, a smile spreading across his face, “It might be easier if I just carry you,”

>>16682347

YESSSSSS

>>16682508
>“I think,” he said, a smile spreading across his face, “It might be easier if I just carry you,”
>Octavia balling up and snuggles up in Rogals arms like a kitten
That is so insufferably cute that I-

Her fleshbrain rolled of the psychoemotional constructed couch she had been wallowing on, hundreds of images filling the metaphysical space. How would he carry her, would he scoop her up in his arms, carrying her like a blushing bride? Would he throw her over his shoulder like a spoil of war? Would he just carry her under his arm, like he carried his hat? Over both shoulders, her wrists and ankles held in his huge hands? She giggled, her blush getting brighter, and she just snuggled against him. Her cognitor pointed out, with suprising glee, that her last idea was the most likely, that she would end up draped over his mighty shoulders, because that was the standard carrying procedure for wounded in the guard. Her fleshbrain tilted its head, thinking, before nodding happily. Rogal took a step, Octavia trying to follow, but, again, she stumbled. The hulking commissar let out a sigh, and leaned down. Huge arms snaked around the petite priestess of the machine god, under her knees and her back, and with no noticeable effort, Rogal stood once more. Octavia eep’d at the sudden change of position, before giggling again. The husky commissar leaned down to collect his hat, handing it to the red robed bundle in his arms.
“Hold onto this, will you?” He asked, as they crossed the officers club in a matter of strides. Octavia nodded happily, running her mechadendrites over the highly peaked cap. Rogal nodded at the Doorman, who fought down a smile as Octavia tried to put Rogal’s hat on his head. Awkwardly, her mechadendrites dropped the cap on the Commissars head, it falling to the side, as she tried to right it. He let out a chuckle and flicked his head back, righting the hat with practiced ease. Resting her head against his massive chest, Octavia smiled contentedly, letting out another small hiccup. Inside her headspace, her fleshbrain whimpered happily.

Too much hhhnnngggghh

TOO MUCH HHHNNNNGGGGGH-

>>16682982
BONDAGE! BONDAGE! BONDAGE!

DISCIPLINE THROUGH PUNISHMENT!

What in the HELL is going on in here?

>>16683045
Commissar and Techpriestess romancing, with some porn and the distinct possibility of bondage in the near future

>>16683111

oh god. must have more! please!!!

>>16682601
>>16682780
did we miss something between these two?

>>16683180
yes, we did, fixing now.

Octavia’s fleshbrain was relishing the feeling of strong arms around her, the rhythmic bass kick of his heart beat from inside the huge chest she rested on, the feeling of firm muscle protecting her.
“Where are we,” she said, pausing to hiccup, “Where are we going?”
Rogal looked down, the lights playing bright above him, “I was thinking, I would just take you home,”
The petite priestess shook her head, “Nooooo,” she complained, “Caelistis will be brining people home, and they will be noisy.”
Her fleshbrain grinned, and began dancing around, clapping her hands at the wonderful idea she had just had. She reached out with a mechadendrite, stroking her lovers cheek, before asking “Can’t I just stay with you?”
Rogal felt his chest go tight, he didn’t think it was possible for this woman in his arms to be any more attractive, but she had managed it. He swallowed hard, beating back the images that tried to fill his mind, before Octavia added, her voice low and breathy, “Please? Sir?”

With those two words, the floodgates opened in his mind, his simple farm boy brain doing what it did best: Think simply. Octavia whooped with laughter as she was slung over a broad shoulder, his pace quickening. Inside his head, his brain argued with itself, his commissarial mind demanding that yes, he take her home, but he put her straight to bed, and he would sleep at his desk. His simple farm boy brain pointed out that right now, getting back to the tent was the most important thing, because that’s what Octavia wanted. His not so simple farm boy brain pointed out a rather interesting point, but was ignored by the two heavyweights of his mind. His creative mind just sat, in the ornate wooden chair it had carved in the commissar’s psyche, with a smile on its face.
“I suppose you can stay,” He said, glad that the petite priestess couldn’t see the grin on his face, and how it grew with her reply,
“Really?” came the excited reply, Octavia wriggling happily on Rogal’s massive shoulder, her shapely rear bobbing happily in the air. Her fleshbrain was exstatic, here she was, thrown over a broad muscled sholder, like in one of the books Caelistis owned, but she had read, from time to time. Warmth surged in her stomach, as she remembered, the sweet innocent guardswoman, her hands tied in the belt of the inquisitor who carried her over his shoulder, how she was thrown down to the floor of her cell, his augmented hands tearing through her flak jacket like it was paper. She let out
a louder than intended eep, and Rogal slowed his pace,
“Are you alright?” He asked, looking over his shoulder and Octavia praised the omnissiah for the hood on her robe.
“I’m fine, why do you ask?”
Rogal grinned, “You made that noise again.”
“What noise?” Octavia asked, feeling her cheeks burning once more.

The huge commissar let out a chuckle, “You make this, eep, noise,”
Octavia’s eyes went wide, as she bit her lower lip, chewing it nervously, as Rogal continued, “Like you made it tonight, when Caelistis said about someone else liking being tied up,”
The petite priestess sucked in a breath, her fleshbrain sitting bolt upright, here she was, over his shoulder, his hand around her waist, clearly claiming her as his. Her mind flashed again with images of her being bound, Rogal holding her down by the sash that held her hands together, as he pressed against her,
“Oh, I did?” She managed to say, “Really?”
The hulking commissar nodded, “Yes, you did. What was that about?”
“Oh that, it’s nothing,”
“You made it twice actually. Once when I said about people needing to be hogtied,”
Octavia’s fleshbrain flopped back, images of her bound and tied filling her head, as she bit her lip, stifling the eep that threatened to escape, as the commissar continuing, “And then again when Caelistis said about their being someone else who likes being tied up.”
Octavia forced herself to relax, “Oh, yes, that noise, it’s nothing, really,” she lied, her cognitor pointing out the fruitlessness of such an action against a commissar. Rogal chuckled,
“So if I was to say, have an idea of tying you up with my sash,” The commissar said huskly, as they walked through the moonlit night, “bending you over my table,” Octavia let out a whimper, her fleshbrain’s mechadendrites sliding over its body sensuously, her mind filling itself with images, as her hulking lover took her from his shoulder and stood her on the ground, leaning in close to her ear and purring “And ravishing you, like a lady should be,”
Octavia shivered, her muscles tensing, acutely aware of Rogals huge hands around her waist, the smell of sawdust, and the fact that her knees were going weak.

Octavia’s mind was flooded with the moans of her fleshbrain and the images it created, Her pale flesh, mechadendrites held in a strong hand, Rogal pressed against her, filling her, tugging on her mechadendrites, relentless, overwhelming. She shuddered, as the huge commissar made eye contact. She bit her lip, her fleshbrain’s back arching, letting out a particularly loud moan as it imagined her on the commissars table, on all fours, his sash around her neck, tying her down. The eep was quiet, and breathy, and her eyes went wide as it escaped from her lips. From its throne inside Rogal’s head, a laugh of triumph spilled from his creative mind’s lips, as it reclined on its carved throne. The Commissar pulled back and smiled, “You eeping would be completely unrelated,”
Octavia blushed furiously, her mechadendrites fidgeting with one another, as she said quietly “Yes, completely unrelated.”
Chuckling, the huge commissar lifted his petite lover to his shoulder once more, covering the short distance to his tent in moments. Her mechadendrites didn’t stop twitching, her fleshbrain crying out for more, begging for another sweet release like she had gotten earlier in the day. Weakly, her cognitor cried out against the need for it, before it was swamped entirely, her fleshbrain taking full control of her body. Rogal threw aside his tentflap and strode into the darkness of his tent, Octavia’s eyes glowing brightly in the gloom. He gently took her from his shoulder, sitting her on a chair at his table.
“I’ll just go change my coat,” He said, smiling at her, his face lit by her eyes, before he went to his room, switching the new glowglobe that had been installed during the afternoon on to its dimmest setting. The tent was filled with soft light, Octaiva watching as the huge commissar take a fresh jacket from his foot locker, and slip into his washroom.

I would buy this in dead tree format.
Just saying.

Her fleshbrain leaped into action, dispite the weak protests of her cognitor, pointing out the highly illegal action that was going through a commissars personal effects. Her fleshbrain pinned her cognitor down, explaining that this was a good idea, and that the illegality would be quickly forgotten. Her mechadendrites lifted the footlocker lid, her eyes scanning quickly, searching for what she needed. Her hands darted out, grabbing a crimson sash, as she tore herself away from the locker, the lid slowly closing on its gas powered struts. She wrapped the sash around her neck, her mechadendrites throwing her robe aside as she climbed onto the table. Her fleshbrain squealed happily, directing her body like a puppet, images swirling around her head, as her mechadendrites tied her wrists together with the sash. Her metal knees slid on the smooth wooden table, and she righted herself, her heart shaped rear in the air, her back dipped in an elegant curve, her chest pressed against cold timber. She let out a quiet moan, her mechadendrites moving to help stabilise her on the table, knocking a cup to the floor. The metal hit the ground with a pang, bouncing loudly, and Rogal appeared back in the tent, his coat and shirt open, his hat still on his head at a jaunty angle. Octavia’s head snapped around, hidden behind her arm, the mechadendrite responsible for knocking the cup now trailing slowly up her leg, lifting her skirt slightly.
“Octavia?” Rogal said, confusion evident in his voice, overpowering the difficulty he was having in focusing. His eyes drank in the scene, Octavia on his table, tied with his sash, looked at him with wide eyes, realising her position. She opened her mouth to speak, but the Commissar cut her off, a smile spreading across his face, “That’s my sash, isn’t it?”

>>16683255
>his coat and shirt open, his hat still on his head at a jaunty angle
cue flak armour bursting and guardsmen turning gay

>>16683289
They already turned gay.
Now they are turning quadrisexual.

just cause

>>16683334
That's the second time I saw that. Where is the line "And I will leave my X on" from?

The petite priestess tried to hide her face behind her arm, as the open shirted commissar approached. He walked around the table, in front of Octavia, tracing a finger over the crimson sash, from her wrists, to her neck, and then down to the free end, which he took in his hand. He looked down at her, a smirk on his face, as he asked again, “This is my sash, isn’t it, Octavia?”
Her fleshbrain squealed with joy and terror, was this it? It asked, would he ravish her? Had she gone to far? Her mind went blank, every nerve ending, biological and artificial, on high alert, as she nodded, “Yes,”
The commissar coughed politely, “Yes, Who?”
Her cheeks went red, as she looked up at her lover, holding the red sash in his hand like a leash, her fleshbrain gleefully noted, “Yes, Sir.”
The Commissar nodded approvingly, “That’s better. Now, do you know what happens to someone who takes a Commissars personal belongings?” He said, his creative mind making sure he put just the right amount of cold dispassion in his voice to elicit a response from his guest. Octavia shook her head, “No, sir.”
The huge commissar knelt down, adding a new knot to his sash, which held it tight against the pale skin of Octavia’s neck. She let out a quiet moan, nuzzling towards the commissars still gloved hands, but he pulled them away, moving futher down the sash. He pulled down on the sash, tying it around the table leg, tugging it to make sure the knot was fast, before he stood. Octavia felt a thrill go down her spine, her mechadendrites twitching excitedly, as the huge commissar circled the table.
“Such, infractions,” He said slowly, trailing his hand up the petite priestess’s back, “Are punished”.

>>16683385
http://www.harkavagrant.com/index.php?id=120

>>16683385
http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/ooh-mister-x

>>16683217
If the littlest krieger finishes off his story and we get a drawfag that's willing to make the cover, we can easily do so for really cheap.

All i can see is a fa/tg/uy and a ca/tg/irl meeting with each other on a date and the way they recognise each other is that the fa/tg/uy waiting in the coffee shop has the book and a rose on top of it.

The huge commissar emphasised the word punish with a firm backhand to Octavia’s shapely rear. A gasp tore itself from her throat, and she tried to lift her head to look behind her, but the sash around her neck pulled tight, preventing the motion. It still stung from where Rogal had struck her, and she whimpered, hearing the sound of fabric moving behind her. She tried again to look behind her, to see what Rogal was doing, when suddenly, she couldn’t see at all. Her eyes flicked through the spectrums automatically, struggling to see, as she felt the soft fabric of another sash on her cheeks and forehead. Blindfold. He had blindfolded her with his sash. Her fleshbrain moaned lustily, relishing the complete lack of control she had. She gasped as Rogal leaned against her, feeling his immense size pressing against her, “How then” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear and cheek, “Shall we punish you?”
Octavia whimpered as she grinded back on the huge commissar, her mechadendrites reaching back to try and undo his trousers. She felt Rogal stand, and then gasped at the sharp tugging sensation of the commissar grabbing her mechadendrites in his hand. He held the mechanical tendrils firmly, tutting at the red and white garbed priestess, who merely whimpered again.
“I asked you how do you think you should be punished, you were not asked to, or told to do anything else,” He said, firmly, tugging gently on Octavia’s mechadendrties. Her fleshbrain moaned lustily, relishing her submissive position. “Please, Sir,” she begged, trying to wriggle against him, her mechadendrites pulling at his grip feebly. The huge commissar grinned, traling a hand up a steely leg, before it met pale, soft skin. Octavia moaned, pulling at her leash, trying to get closer to the commissar. His gloved hand ran over her undergarments, before coming to rest on her tailbone.

>>16683695

This is getting dangerously slaneeshy - but hey...

we love it none the less

Octavia wriggled her rear underneath his hand, “Please, sir,” she begged again, “Please?”
Her pink lips were open, her breathing fast, as she felt him lift his hand. With a pop, the clasps that held her skirt on were disengaged, as Rogal tore it from her hips. She let out a gasp and whimper, very aware of how exposed she now was. She felt her lovers gloved hand return to her tailbone, resting lightly on her hip, his fingers drumming. She tried again to free her mechadendrites, but his hand held firmly around them, and she heard him chuckle. Her fleshbrain let out a sigh of pleasure, he was so strong, and firm, how he held her now, so exposed, made her feel so wanton. “Please, Sir?” she begged again, and this time, she got an answer, as the huge commissar leaned over her once more.
“Please, sir, what?” he whispered, his warm breath against her neck making her shiver with delight, as she pressed up against him once more, his immense holstered weapon pressing back. He could feel the heat from her through his trousers, and he smiled, gently nudging forward with his hips. Octavia moaned lustily, “Please!” she hissed, “Ravish me, Ravish me like a lady should be,” she begged, and Rogal’s reserved façade came crumbling down. He grinned, his stately movements now frantic, as he released her mechadendrites and planted both hands on her hips, his fingers curling around the elasticised sides of her undergarments and pulling them down, letting them drop to her knees. Octavia’s mechadendrites followed suit, a pair curling under their mistress to cup her now heaving bosom, the other pairs snaking back to help the commissar with his trousers. With a few quick movements his weapon was unholstered, as he pulled a fresh prophylactic from his pocket, sheathing his lascannon in a protective film.

>>16683874
He is punishing her for breaking against the commands of The Emperor's own Imperial Guard.

No Heresy to be detected here.

>>16683874
>dangerously slaaneshi
Never go to /d/.

Octavia moaned quietly, as her mechadendrites slid against her sensitive body, the spiralling metal casing of the mechanical tendrils stimulating the densely packed nerve endings nestled between her legs, before letting out a gasp as Rogal’s huge hands clapped down on her thighs. Strong hands moved her hips to the right angle, her cognitor wrapping itself in a few extra layers of surge protection, as her fleshbrain groaned with wanton lust. Her mechadendrites whipped out, securing her as best they could to the rest of the table, as Rogal removed a hand from her side, to guide himself in. Her back arched, and she let out a gasp, as the very well-proportioned Commissar entered her. The gasp became a moan as he slowly buried himself inside her, with little bouncing increments. Her legs twitched, his massive hands clamping themselves in the curve of her waist, her hourglass shape so very apparent from his top down view. He smiled, she was so beautiful to him, her pale flesh and gleaming augments, hour glass figure and bright green eyes. He built up to a stead rhythm, his huge hips bumping against her, eliciting a moan or a gasp with every thrust. Slender hands grabbed onto the crimson leash that tied her to the table, holding tight with pleasure as the Commissar continued, powerful, relentless. Like a titan, her fleshbrain managed to think between waves of pleasure. A mechadendrite slid from its spot anchoring her to the table, to stab down into the floor, grounding the priestess, after a struggle by her cognitor to avoid what happened earlier that day. Her hips bucked, as the commissar put on a burst of speed, driving harder and faster into her, and she bit into the soft flesh of her upper arm, the power surging through the electoos making her teeth tingle.

Rogal slowed, adjusting his stance, before thrusting at a new angle. His movement was rewarded with a lusty moan, and he reached forward to grab Octavia’s ponytail. She gasped as he wrapped a huge hand around it, before arching her back further as he pushed her head down. Her fleshbrain moaned happily, this was better than she had ever imagined, and she was good at imagining things. Her body sang with pleasure, as the massive commissar continued at his steady pace, driving into her like a piston. She had lost track of time, and of most things, her fleshbrain enjoying this very human act to its fullest potential. “Please, Sir,” she pleaded “Ravish me,” such words from her mouth just drove her more into a frenzy, her mechadendrites crushing into the solid wood table. Behind her, the commissar switched his technique again, driving her to even higher heights of pleasure, the little bar in her head flashing wildly, her fleshbrain thrashing about in ecstasy.
“Hit me,” She cried, her mechadendrites pressing into the solid timber, as Rogal’s concentration was broken, “What?”
“Hit me!” Octavia pleaded, her shapely rear bobbing as Rogal continued thrusting. He slammed upto the hilt in her, pausing, his uninjured hand swinging out before backhanding her across he rump. Inside her head, lights flashed, as the bar tipped past the end, detonating into billions of tiny pinpricks of light. Her body seized, her hips bucked, and she clamped down on the commissar’s weapon, causing it to fire as she let out a shuddering moan. Rogal gasped as his lascannon discharged, his own hips rocking back with the recoil, and he sank forward, his hands moving from Octavia’s hips to the table to support him. His breaths came in deep gasps, his massive chest heaving, his hat, still on his head at its jaunty angle.

>>16683874
As hjarl put it, it's a little kinky, but clean from taint.

HHHNNNNGGGGGG
...
...
...
...
ahhhhhhhhhhh

i approve greatly

and BOOM goes the lazcannon

Octavia whimpered, her limbs heavy, as she slumped to the table. Her mechadendrites went limp, Rogal leaning over to untie her from his sashes. Bright light switched to dull as her eyes readjusted, and she blinked a few times. Gently, huge hands undid the knots at her wrists and neck, and she stretched out, her slender limbs glinting in the dim light. She rolled over to look at her lover, who lounged satisfied in his chair once more. He gently stroked her leg, humming happily to himself, smiling lopsidedly with post coital smugness. Wordlessly, he scooped her up in his arms again, carrying her towards his bed. A mechadendrite pulled her undergarments back up, and she snuggled into the commissars broad chest. Gently, he lay her down, pulling his blanket over her, and kissing her on the forehead.
“I need a shower,” He whispered, “Back in a moment, my pet.”
Octavia smiled happily at the term of endearment, snuggling down in the blanket, her mechadendrites wrapping her up in the warm fluffiness. She watched her lover collect a fresh set of undergarments and disappear into his bathroom once more. The sound of the shower filled the small tent, as Octavia lay, staring at the sloped ceiling. She threw the blanket aside and got to her feet, making her way to the bathroom. Quietly, she stripped from her garments, laying them beside Rogal’s pile, before slipping into the shower behind the massive commissar. Steam surrounded them, and she gingerly reached out to touch his back, tracing the lines where water streamed down.
“I wasn’t expecting a guest,” he said, turning side on, letting Octavia closer to the water stream, “But there’s room enough.”
Warm water cascaded over her curvy body, Octavia relishing the feeling, as rivulets flowed between the segmented plates of her augments.

>>16684206
No, lascannons are more FFZZAP!

Oh god, love it. This is even better than God-Emperor's writing.

>>16684547
careful there brother that's heresy no one is better than the Emprah at anything

Rogal stood behind her now, gently scrubbing at her upper back. Her mechadendrites moved lazily, playing with the water, her hands moving to cup her full breasts, the commissars arms moving around her waist to hug her to him, as he nuzzled at her neck, “You’re beautiful, I just wanted to tell you that,” He whispered, before nibbling gently at the back of her neck. She shivered happily, reaching up to tousle his hair, “You’re a handsome man, a very handsome man.” She whispered back, leaning her head against his. He reached forward to turn the water off, and the pair just stood there, in their dripping embrace. A mechadendrite snaked out and snared the towel, wrapping it around them both, before Rogal pulled it from his shoulders, wrapping Octavia in the black fluffy fabric. He stepped out from the shower onto the mat, water still dripping off him, reaching out to the shelf to grab another towel. The petite priestess of the machine god stepped out beside him, her mechadendrites patting her dry with the towel. The pair towelled themselves off, Rogal pulling on his commissarial issue sleeping trunks, Octavia slipping back into the crisp white undergarments, smiling happily. The huge commissar stretched, before letting out a yawn,
“Well, my pet, shall we hit the sack?”
Octavia nodded happily, “That sounds like an excellent course of action.”
Rogal smiled, “And this time, there’s room enough for us both,” he said, before flopping back onto his bed. The petite priestess crawled up beside him, rolling onto her side, her head on a massive bicep, her mechadendrites pulling the blanket up to cover them both. The huge commissar yawned again, then leaning over to kiss his lover on the forehead.

“Goodnight, my sweet Octavia, Omnissiah bless and keep you, sweet dreams, sleep well,” Rogal whispered into her hair. A mechadendrite reached up and stroked his face, as its owner rolled, lifting her head to kiss the commissar on a stubbled cheek,
“Goodnight, my commissar, Emprah guard you as you rest, omnissiah munus efficacius ad te tuta et,” The petite priestess replied, snuggling close, her mechadendrites splayed possessively over the commissars chest. Octavia closed her eyes, her fleshbrain sleepy but content with the nights adventure. Slowly her cognitor began her sleep cycle, shutting down the various parts of her mind and body, and she smiled, her commissar was with her. The Emprah was on earth, and all was right in her world. She felt Rogals strong heart beating, his slow breathing a lullaby, as she snuggled down, drifting gently off to sleep.
Meanwhile, at one of the more popular clubs in the entertainment district, Caelistis and Tiberius’s nefarious scheme to woo and seduce Elsa the barmaid, continued. The fact that the slender priestess had already convinced the leggy brunette to wear a collar and leash, explains how well the scheme was progressing. Tiberius grinned, maybe the Emprah wasn’t as disappointed in him as he had thought.

And that, dear readers, is where I leave you for the moment.

I'll update when i can, keep the thread alive. Drawfriends, keep up the good work.
Readers, I hope you continue to enjoy this.

>>16684692
>The fact that the slender priestess had already convinced the leggy brunette to wear a collar and leash, explains how well the scheme was progressing.

>>16684710
>Readers, I hope you continue to enjoy this.

How could we not enjoy the greatest love story in the 40k universe?

damn the OP that asked for this...

I never asked to be reminded I still have a heart with emotions ;_;

Emperor protect me from HNNNNGGG

>>16684692
Love can bloom in the... mess tent? fleshbrain? hands of a sexy commisar? lascannon?

damnit, why can't i shake this feeling that something HORRIBLE will happen?
i'm ruining this pure gold novel for myself!

tlk you da man updates plus chapter breaks on 1d4chan

>>Message from the council of the High Lords of Terra
>>To Librarian Littleus Kreiger
>>By unanimous consent you have been selected for special service
>>to the council working in the Propaganda Department
>>transfer orders enclosed on your data slate, Inquisitorial
>>escort will be provided under the supervision of =][= redacted =][=
>>shuttle for pickup arrives today be prepaid.
>>By his will

Well. I think we finally figured out why Cael and Octavia are such good friends.

If you know what I mean.

>>16685245
No, please elaborate on that subject and post it for, uh... research?

>>16685245
Drawfags: one of you needs to make a picture of our lovely ladies of the ad mech when they were still in the colledgia, preferably during an "experimental" phase

>>16685505

When they were researching optimal performance tuning ranges for engines in common Chimera patterns? Or when they developed a new, innovative technique to reduce grav plate shearing on Land speeders?

>>16685555
I was thinking more along the lines of interfacing. Hot techpriestess-on-techpriestess interface

Bumping before bed

bump that goes things in the night

bippity boppity bump

Bump after getting up from bed

I have not yet begun to bump.

>>16685204
>>Message to High Lords of Terra
>>Sent from: The Holy Orders of the Emperor's Inquisition
>>Concerning: Propaganda Department Escort
>>Message is as follows

>The Inquisition is fully aware of the importance of the work of Librarian Praesent Krieger and the importance of his continued existence.
>Therefore, the inquisition and it's Psykers are dispatching the following forces to =][= Redacted =][= :

> One Full Hundred of the Adepta Sororitas, To protect This servant of the Emperor from the filth of our own kind.
>Two Three member Squads of Grey knights, to protect him from the corrupted onslaught of chaos
> And one Elite Kill Team from the Deathwatch, to watch over all those not of the Emperors glorious redemption and to slay all those who do not cower in his presence.

>These are the extremes the Inquisition has deemed necessary to protect the Librarian.
>May the blood of the unclean become purified upon the hot sands of the Imperium.
>By his will
>>Message Ends

Emperor approved BUMP

Coming home from school bump

Enough time has passed bump

bump bump bumpity bump bump

Octavia’s eyes powered on, opening to slits in the morning light. She stretched out, her mechadendrites gently sliding over her lovers chest as he still slept. She rolled over, folding her arms on his chest, looking at the chiselled jaw, covered in stubble, the thin hairless line of a jagged scar now apparent on his cheek. Her fleshbrain lazily wondered the story behind it, her cognitor busy with her morning wake up process. The huge commissar opened an eye, looking back at her, a smile spreading across his face, a massive hand scratching at his chest.
“Good morning,” He mumbled happily, moving a hand to stroke gently down her spine. His fingers played over the recessed ports where her mechadendrites plugged into her lower back, sending shivers through her cyber mantle. She smiled sleepily back at him,
“Good morning, Sir,” she said, giggling girlishly and buring her face in her arms. The broad chest beneath her bounced, as Rogal laughed. She looked at him from behind her mechanical arms, her emerald eyes bright, “It is your title, Sir.” She continued, onyx arms hiding the smile on her lips, “As a member of his imperial highnesses Commissariat, you are to be addressed as either sir or commissar, as dictated by-“
“The Commissarial Edict, article sixteen, clause ninety. I know, I know,” The commissar said, throwing an arm over his face. Octavia giggled, again, a mechadendrite gently tracing a complex pattern over the commissars broad chest. The pair lay there, snuggled together, daylight streaming from the skylight in the ceiling, the faint sounds of the mornings bustle in the background. Octavia hummed a mechanicus hymn happily to herself, the day had started wonderfully. She traced a mechadendrite over the hairless line on her lovers face,
“How did you get this scar, Rogal?”
The commissar lifted his arm from his eyes, lifting his head to look at the petite priestess.

>>16695327

“You remember how I said I was there, when Tiberius did what he did to earn his honorifica?” Rogal said quietly, lying back onto his pillow. Octavia nodded, pulling herself up further on her lovers chest, “Yes?”
“Well, I got that scar then. Its why when I smile, it’s all lopsided.” He said, a tone of finality in his voice.
“So you won’t tell me how you got it?” Octavia pleaded, “Please Rogal?”
The huge commissar shook his head, “Not now, not today. It’s not a nice story. I will tell you one day, I promise, but please, don’t ask about it till then.”
Octavia was taken aback by the sadness in her lovers voice, so she snuggled closer to him, her slim arms wrapping around his barrelled chest.
“You’ve seen some terrible things, haven’t you?” she whispered, a mechadendrite stroking at the commissars dark hair. He nodded, “Such is the life of a commissar. We are the thin black thread that helps hold the line. We see what the guardsman fears, and we face it with them, lending them our strength so that they may overcome that fear”.
Octavia hugged her man tightly, “You’re a good man, Rogal Hephaestus.”
“I try.”
The huge commissar sat up, his blanket falling to his waist, his broad shoulders rippling in the morning light. Octavia sat in his lap, as he put his arms around her, returning the hug.
“What time is it?” He asked, before buring his face in her neck, nuzzling gently at the soft skin and cool electoos.
“Ten in the morning, local time. The mess would still be serving breakfast, if your hungry,” The petite priestess said, running a hand through the commissars hair, before ruffling it affectionately. Rogal’s stomach growled in agreement, and the commissar grinned, “Yes, I’m hungry. Shall we?”

Octavia nodded happily, standing up on the commissars bed, her petite frame backed by the bright light from the skylight, her mechadendrites splayed out behind her like wings. Rogal smiled, she really was a saint, at least to him. The petite priestess stepped down from the bed gracefully, landing on her augmented toes without a sound. She picked up her skirt and began reattaching it, her nimble fingers working quickly.
“Praise be to the Omnissiah, he who cares for the great machine, who powers the great machine, who fabricates its parts,” She sang quietly, “May we come to know you in your infinite complexity, may you come to love us in our elegant simplicity”.
She looked up at Rogal, stretching his arms as he made his way to the bathroom. She smiled as she heard the Commissar’s morning start up procedure, and thanked the omnissiah she no longer needed to resort to such primitive methods. Her body was hyper efficient, and she only needed to change a filter once a week. Her cognitor smiled proudly, finally able to point out a fact where her mechanical augments were superior to the weak fleshy needs of the commissar. Her fleshbrain shrugged, not caring in the slightest, happy with the image of rippling muscles it had taken moments before. The sound of Rogal shaving filled the tent, as Octavia straightened her skirt and top, pulling straps snug and generally making herself presentable. The commissar returned to the main living area, grabbing his uniform from the foot locker and pulling his shirt over his head. Dexterous fingers did up small buttons, before he pulled on his socks, and then his trousers. His boots were pulled on next, before he paused, looking around the tent.
“Have you seen where my sash got to?” He asked, moving towards the table. Octavia shrugged, her eyes scanning the room for the crimson fabric.

“Found it,” Rogal said, grabbing the red sash from the seat of the chair. He wrapped it around his waist, and then again, before tying it off with an elegant knot. His sword and pistol belt went on next, followed by his jacket. Octavia threw her cloak around her shoulders, mechadendrites pulling the hood up, as the commissar picked up his hat from the table. Tucking it under his arm, he grabbed Octavia’s hand with his own, and pulled her towards the door. He stopped just shy of the tent flap, leaning down to kiss is petite lover,
“Sorry I didn’t do that earlier,” he whispered as he pulled away
“Better late than never,” the red robed disciple of the omnissiah replied, smiling sweetly. The pair stepped out from the tent and into the morning bustle of the base. Rogal looked around, confusion crossing his face,
“It’s rather busy today,” he said, as he lead Octavia towards the mess, “Very busy, strangely so,”
Octavia’s eyes scanned the crowd, density was up, guardsmen were in full gear, and a strange excitement seemed to dance in the bases noospheric umbrella.
“Maybe there’s a drill on?” Octavia offered, her cognitor deciding this was the most logical reason for the current situation. Rogal shrugged, “I hope so, seems odd I wasn’t warned though,”
“Inquisitorial matter, maybe?” Octavia tired again, her mind praying she was wrong. The commissar shook his head, “I would have heard about that.”
The pair arrived at the mess, Rogal grabbing them a both trays as they entered the queue. They shuffled along with the rest of the line, Rogal piling his plate with hot food, Octavia opting for a more balanced menu. They had made their way to their favourite table, and were about to start eating, when Tiberius ran up, slamming his hands on the table.
“Orders just came in,” He said excitedly, “This is it, the final push.”

*DRAMATIC MUSIC*

sorry for the tiny update, but i'm about to fall asleep on my keyboard. Enjoy the story, I'll update when I can.

>>16695579
Damnit, cliffhanger!

It's been too long since last bump

Bump

>>16683397
>Now, do you know what happens to someone who takes a Commissars personal belongings?
They get a BLAMing. And you see... the BLAMing I'm refering to... is my penis.

Bumping

bump because the boards are back

AH, here we go. The Orks are back.

Its been long enough, Bump!

last bump before bed, keep this afloat until morning!

bump for the bump god

"Why do you bump?"
"..."

Bmuping

Let's give this thread a lil' bump

From 6 to 0 bumpingan

Incidentally, the suptg archive seems to have stopped syncing.

Bumping after watching IMMvp and nestea performing an awesome final in SC2

>>16708019
if its not synced you can re-submit the thread and it should refresh manually.

Morning bump

Try that again.

Sorry for the wait errybody. New computer, new keyboard, getting used to everything.

new story soon

Rogal nodded grimly. He had expected this, but not so soon. He knew the orks had been pushed back to the huge crippled warship they had arrived on, which now acted as their final baston. The navy couldn’t just shoot it from orbit, to do so would detonate the plasma cores, blowing a crater three times the size of the ship into the planet, throwing thousands of tonnes of irridated fallout into the air. The only option was to go in there and tear the greenskins from their hole. Rogal knew this, and he hated it. He looked at his longtime friend, and let out a sigh,
“Let me guess,” the huge commissar said, leaning back in his chair, “They want us to dig in around them, bunkers and trenches five rows deep, under heavy fire from both sides.”
Tiberius grinned, a strangely honest gesture, “Traitors be damned they do, isn’t it exciting?”
Rogal shrugged, “If you say so, old friend.”
“Oh, I say so. Do you know if the Capitan has organised his entourage yet? Does he still need a voxman?”
Rogal shrugged again, “No idea, Tiber. I only just found out about the push. Give me half an hour, my slate will be packed with information for you.” He said, before taking a bite from his meal. Octavia sat quietly, poking at her cereal. Considering the night he had just lived, Tiberius was amazingly energetic, throwing himself away from the table, ”I’m going to find out, Vox me if you hear anything,” he called over his shoulder as he bounded off. The massive commissar let out a sigh, poking at a slice of meat with his fork. Octavia gently stroked his arm with a mechadendrite,
“The imperium needs you,” she said quietly, her fleshbrain in shock, her cognitor pointing out that this was an inevitability.

He nodded, looking at his petite red robed love, “I know.”
Octavia’s cognitor took over, her fleshbrain collapsed into its metaphysical couch, sobbing.
“Just, come back alive,” she said, her emerald eyes piercing,
Rogal nodded again, gently taking her hand, “I will. I promise.”
A siren blasted across the base, before a polite cough was heard.
“ATTENTION ALL SOLIDERS OF THE IMPERIUM. TODAY, AS ORDERED BY HIS LORDSHIP, GENERAL SHCTATTERSBURG,” Tiberius’s voice boomed across, “WE ARE TO MOBILISE TO RID THIS PLANET OF THE GREENSKIN MENACE ONCE AND FOR ALL. ALL UNITS ARE HEREBY PLACED ON FULL MOBILISATION ALERT. I REPEAT, ALL UNITS ARE NOW ON FULL MOBILISATION ALERT.”
The mess exploded into chatter and activity, guardsmen began wolfing down their meals. Rogal stood, before leaning over to his lover.
“I have to go, you know that. I promise you, by Him on Earth as my witness, I’m coming back alive.”
He kissed her roughly, before striding away into the bustle of the mess, leaving the red robed priestess alone with her thoughts. Inside her head, her fleshbrain wailed in sadness, her body folding its arms and burying her face in them, her mechadendrites limp. Octavia felt an arm around her shoulders, and she looked up from under her hood, her vision blurry with tears. Caelistis hugged her, wiping away her friends tear with a mechadendrite. The pair sat there for a while, before the taller techpriestess spoke,
“Come on, we need to do our part. Their more likely to come back if we give them the best chance of survival,” She said quietly, to reassure Octavia and to reassure herself.
The petite priestess nodded, wiping her eyes with the corner of her sleeve, “By his grace, the omnissiah brings them home again,”
“Exactly,”

>>16713736
Moar updates!

Rogal stood beside Capitan Brian Erriksson, the afternoon sun obscured by clouds. The battalion stood, ready to mount up and move out. The past day had been chaotic, as full mobilisations always were, but now, they stood ready. The Capitan finished his speech, offering Rogal a chance to speak to the men. He squared his shoulders and looked out over the battalion.
“You all know I hate speeches, so let’s keep this simple. You are combat engineers, that means you’re a special type of crazy.”
A chuckle ran through the battalion, and Rogal continued, “A type of crazy needed so much in war that Him on Earth saw fit to make an entire astares legion dedicated to it. You all stand here, regular men, you have no fancy armour, you have no giant gun. What do you have? An entrenching tool and more courage than anyone else. So we’re going to do what combat engineers are best at. Digging a hole and letting the enemy die in it.
The men barked out in agreement, as Rogal filled his massive lungs with air,
“FIRST WE DIG THEM,” he bellowed
“THEN THEY DIE IN THEM” The battalion roared back,
“YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT THE DO, NOW MOUNT UP, WE GOT SOME GREENSKINS TO KILL.” Capitan Erriksson howled over the noise of just over a hundred and fifty engines roaring to life. Rogal climbed up into the turret of the Leman Russ Exterminator, removing his hat to put a headset on, before jamming the peaked cap down firmly.

Oh god please end well....

I don't know if I could handle it if this ends in TRAGEDY.

Saved for later reading! Keep'em coming Kreiger!

“Welcome back sir,” came the friendly voice of Danarius, the driver of the behemoth, revving the engine experimentally as they waited to move out.
“Good to be back, Danarius,” the commissar responded, settling as comfortably as he could in the turret’s seat. His huge frame made riding in an enclosed vehicle bothersome, so he opted for turret duty as much as he could.
“That pretty little priestess of yours sure did a good job on the old girl, even fixed that ghost image on the targeter,”
Rogal smiled to himself, that was his girl. He swang the pintle mounted storm bolter, left and right, testing the bearings it was mounted on. The huge gun moved smoothly, responding perfectly to Rogals touch. He opened the ammo box to check the feed, and was greeted with a small white envelope with his name on it sitting atop the huge bullets. A huge hand reached out for the delicate paper, the commissar admiring the penmanship before he flipped it over. A small white wax skull and gear sealed the envelope, and Rogal smiled. He reached down to grab the spare combat knife he usually used to carve with, and sliced the end of the envelope open, puffing into the packet to free the letter inside. The tank beneath him lurched forward, Rogal quickly storing the envelope down in the turret, Danarius’s voice filling his headset,
“We ride in his name, we ride for his glory,” the driver intoned, and Rogal quickly made the sign of the Aquila. Danarius had done that before every journey in the tank, and it had always brought him luck. The commissar grinned, he didn’t believe in luck, he believed the Emprah helped those who helped themselves. As the huge metal behemoth surged forward, Rogal unfolded the letter, and began to read, using the pintle mounted gun to protect the thin paper from the wind.

The huge commissar looked up at the night’s sky, the clouds of the afternoon having dissipated, leaving a clear black expanse, peppered with pinpricks of light. The huge moon hung low, softly illuminating the swarm of vehicles as they drove. Rogal reached into his jacket, pulling the letter from its pocket, and reading it once more. He looked up at the moon, octavia’s words in his head,
“And when it is night, I will go out and look at the moon, and wonder, are you looking at it to?” He smiled, and wondered if his petite lover was doing the same. The vehicular tidal wave slowed as they approached the blasted clearing where the orkish warship sat, their campfires bright through nightspex, before coming to a halt at the line where plains stopped, and burnt, cracked earth began. Orders were barked across the voxnet, as troops began dismounting from their vehicles. Rogal sat in his turret, watching as a sniper team shouldered their packs and disappeared into the gloom. He gave them a quick salute, hoping the emprah would watch over them. Fire teams broke off, the crack of lumesticks filling the air, as they began to dig.
Octavia sat, staring at the package that lay on her table. Caelistis said it had been delivered earlier in the day. The small note pinned to it with an official commissarial hat pin told her more than she wanted. Her fleshbrain mewed weakly, and a mechadendrite slid forward to unpin the note. A mechanical hand took the folded paper and opened it. In writing that was elegant in its simplicity, she read, “I know you’ll miss me, and I already miss you, but this should help keep you warm at night.” Her fleshbrain let out a squeak, her small hands grabbing for the package. The sound of tearing paper filled the room, Caelistis poking her head in out of curiosity.

Mechadendrites held the huge black coat up to the light, golden braiding gleaming. Tears welled up around augmented eyes, as Octavia hugged the onyx jacket to her chest. Her tiny shoulders heaved with sobs, Caelistis quietly coming to hug her petite friend from behind. The slender techpriestess stroked gently at her friends hair, whispering soothing nothings in her ear, trying her best to comfort her. Octavia sucked in a breath, Rogal’s smell filling her with a sense of longing. She knew he was a solider, and that he would have to go and do what every solider did, but her fleshbrain didn’t care. Her cognitor tried to reason with it, but was rewarded with sulky silence.
“Look, ‘Tavia,” Caelistis said quietly, “if you want to wrap yourself in that jacket and sleep in my bed, I won’t say no”
Octavia sniffed, wiping her face with her sleeve, “I don’t want to be alone tonight,”
“I know, that’s why I’m offering,” The slender techpriestess said with a grin. Octavia scowled,
“No funny stuff though, and I’m only sharing with you. No friends of yours, you understand?”
Caelistis put the back of her hand to her forehead in mock horror, “But whatever will I tell Elsa? I promised her I would cuddle her tonight,”
Octavia glared at her friend, “I mean it Cael, you try anything like you tried back in the collegia, and I will personally make you into a servitor.”
The cable haired priestess laughed, “Alright, alright, I was kidding, just trying to cheer you up.” She said, before producing a dataslate, “Look, here’s something to take your mind off things. Its ghosting the noospheric connection, so it appears to connect twice, but doesn’t connect at all, and the screen skips sideways if you try to run any motomated content. Fix it for me?”
Octavia folded her arms and glared at her friend, who softened, “Please? Octavia? For me?”

Bump cos I'm laying in bed wanting to sleep but cant miss anything

Rogal still sat in the turret of the exterminator, his long legs over the rim of the hatch, as he chewed pensively on a mouthful of jerky. He was on watch, the relatively quiet sound of men digging and fortifying the position around him a whisper in the background. His dataslate buzzed, and he pulled it from the holder inside the tank. A datacast was unusual, especially considering the voxteam had barely set up. He thumbed the rune of opening and was greeted by another message from inquisitor Geergori.
“Commissar Hephaestus, by a quirk in the will of him on earth, we no longer require you to investigate Magos Radigan. She has made contact with another of our agents, and has been found clean of taint. We wish you luck on the battlefield. The Emperor Protects.” Rogal let out a sigh of relief, he had not wanted to deal with the inquisitor in the slightest, and he gave thanks to the emprah for providing for him. He took another bite of jerky and leaned back, his eyes scanning the sky. He hated this part of war the most. The waiting. It would take a few days for the trenches to be built, a few more spent playing glorified slapsies, before they got down to the real thing. The huge commissar sighed, swallowed his mouthful and took another. He hated waiting.
The night wore on, as did the next day, and the next. Rogal busied himself with helping dig trenches and build bunkers, almost relishing the few times where an orkish scout team was “discovered” and slaughtered. The men enjoyed themselves, the commissar making himself content with standing back and taking potshots, his sword arm still not fully healed. Every night, he lounged in the tank turret, and looked up at the sky, penning a short letter to Octavia that would be sent with the morning dispatches. The voxnet and noosphere were on full combat alert, so no personal messages, even commissarial ones were allowed through.

okay, Krieger, as much as I find it adorable and cool to read, I have a problem with your vocabulary.

It feels like I'm reading

Huge petite petite huge. Huge huge petite huge petite. Huge. Petite huge petite. Petite huge petite huge huge.
-Huge!
-Petite petite huge, huge?
-Petite huge.
Huge petite huge huge petite.

Learn more words, you're ruining it for me.

Thats about it for the moment, g'night errybody

>>16714778
working on it, will be addressed for subsequent updates. hard to find good words that fit though.

>>16714898
lean, lightsome, lithe, limber, lissome, nimble, pliable, pliant, slight, slim, spare, supple, dainty, delicate, elfin, little, smallish

bulky, colossal, elephantine, enormous, gargantuan, giant, gigantic, great, humongous, immense, jumbo, magnificent, mammoth, massive, mighty, mondo, monumental, mountainous, outsize, oversize, titanic, towering, tremendous, vast, beefy, burly, heavy

There are free Thesauruses online.

>>16714898
The High Lords of Terra thanks you for your effort.

Bumping before bed

>>16668058
bump

Bumping after bed

>>16720502
>>16717034
Did you have a nice sleep?

Blumpu

>>16721222
Not really, I started my internship today so I woke up several times due to being nervous to oversleep. Thanks for asking though!
Also bump.

Evening bump

Bump before bed
>"LIVE DAMN YOU!"

bump

Bump after bed

Bump before internship

Bump

Bumb

Also, I now want to run a Lord Commissar and name him Rogel attached to a Techpriest Octavia. Wonder if I could model a female techpriest.

Bumping because its been far too long between updates

Octavia stifled a yawn, her mechadendrites pulling Rogals massive coat around herself tighter as she shuffled over to Caelistis’s bed. The slender techpriestess hadn’t returned from her adventure, and Octavia was tired. She crawled up onto the gigantic bed, pulling pillows this way and that, fashioning a fort around herself. She rested her head on her arm, and studied the fine gold braiding at the wrist of the jacket. She sighed to herself, breathing in the scent of sawdust that permeated the dark woollen fabric. Had he found the letter, was he okay, had she done everything right when she serviced the tank, these thoughts and more whirled around her mind, her fleshbrain sitting wrapped in a copy of the jacket her body currently lay under. Her cognitor sent a signal to dim the lights, her lithe body curling up, and she tried to sleep. Emerald green eyes dimmed, her cognitor beginning the sleep sequence, when the door was thrown open. Caelistis staggered in, talking loudly to herself, bottles in her mechadendrites.
“Ochtavia,” the inebriated techpriestess slurred, throwing her outer robe over a chair “I am home now, and I am so very pretty,”
She took a nip from one of the bottles, pulling it away and shaking it, confirming its emptiness with great disappointment as she sat down beside her friend. A mechadendrite began undoing the clasp of her tunic, the heavy red fabric falling to the bed with a whump. Octavia pulled herself up to sitting, Rogal’s jacket over her legs, as Caelistis put an arm around her,
“Ochtavia, I am home now, and am so very pretty, and also my tunic is open,” she said, giggling merrily. The dark haired priestess sighed, taking one of the full bottles from her friend and drinking deeply from it. Lowering the bottle from parted pink lips, Octavia sighed heavily.

“Whats the matter cutiecogs?” Caelistis asked, “Are you worrying about your big strong commissar?”
Octavia nodded, taking another nip from the bottle she cradled in her lap. Caelistis hugged her closer, “Look, I know it’s hard when they go off to play solider, but believe me, he can take care of himself. He wouldn’t have lived this long if he couldn’t.”
Her cognitor concurred, the fact that Rogal was still alive meant that he did possess excellent survival traits, no one tended to survive long in the guard without them. Still, her cognitor reasoned, the odds of survival dropped every time he went into combat, and now, with it being a pitched battle, versus orks, with his injured arm. Her thought process was thrown by Caelistis poking her belly with a mechadendrite, “No, don’t try and work out the odds. No good ever came of that. Listen, did he ever tell you he has an honourifica?”
Octavia shook her head, “No?”
Her slim friend grinned, “Figures, Tiberius said he wouldn’t talk about it.”
“He said Tiberius has one?”
Caelistis nodded, “He does. He doesn’t talk about it much either, but he told me he has one, and he showed me the report. The pair of them pulled off a suicide mission like no other, staggered back to the base bloody and bruised, and were, yeah, awarded an honourifica each.”
Octavia’s fleshbrain perked up, her Commissar was an honourifica recipitent. She pulled up his service file, her eyes working from side to side as the data scrolled past her vision, when she heard Caelistis click her tounge disapprovingly.
“They both asked for it to be redacted from their files, neither of them felt they deserved them.” She said, taking another draught from another mechadendrite borne bottle. Octavia stopped, the bright red [REDACTED] blinking. She sighed again, before downing more of the smooth amsec her roommate had brought home.

the king returns

Bump after internship

Caelistis, flopped back on her bed, her free mechadendrites pulling a pillow under her head, and she rolled to face her petite friend, “But, that’s beside the point. If we’re going to snuggle like a couple of collegia girls, you need to tell me gossip.”
Octavia gave a small smile “What sort of gossip?”
The taller priestess of the machine god giggled, trailing a mechadendrite over her friends stomach, “JUICY DETAILS” she cried, clapping augmented hands together with a metallic crack, “You promised,”
The smaller priestess lay back, covering her head with the obsidian coat she was using as a blanket, and pulling the bottle she was drinking from underneath the jacket with her. Caelistis poked at the coat covered lump with a mechadendrite, and was rewarded with a nervous giggle. She poked again, and was rewarded with Octavia slapping away her mechadendrite with one of her own.
“Cael, stop, I’ll spill my drink,”
“Then get out here and tell me what you and that mammoth man have been doing!”
Octavia pushed the coat down with her mechadendrites, her cheeks pink, “We’ve been, snuggling.” She said quietly, her mechadendrites wringing nervously.
Caelistis grinned wolfishly, “That’s not juicy, I want juicy, intimate details. I want to hear how he pinned you down and ravished you, or how he lifted you up and ravished you, or anything, so long as there is ravishment,” The slim priestess said, taking swigs from three different bottles. The small disciple of the machine god whimpered nervously, her friend turning to face her, “JUICY DETAILS, I SAY!” she roared happily, amsec thick on her breath. Octavia took another long drink to calm her nerves, as her fleshbrain began working out exactly what to say.

sadly, thats all for now. i forgot i have work early in the morning :C

please bare with me, i'll have more tomorrow.

>>16734014
It's OK. This lovestory is turning into a true /tg/ Epic Saga

Epic Tails!

>>16734014
Reality sucks, doesn't it?
Im happy to continue bumping this, stay awesome tlk.
Pic somewhat related to parts of the story.

Could someone re archive this? Its really messed up on suptg.

I want you all to know, the only think I've read about this, was from the first thread, which was:

>How cheesy do you want this thing to be?

>ALL THE CHEESE

And because of that I feel I must now read ALL OF IT.

Bump

Bump before bed

>After rdlerod
No captcha, BEFORE bed

bump

Bump after bed

Hooray I am unbanned! Unfortunately I don't have any new art for you guys either.

I'm sorry :(

>>16739634
for the porn right? You know I missed that. Still kicking myself for it.
Anywhere I could see that? you have a DA or something?

>>16740609
I have a FURAFFINITY just because I like to keep my art stuff separate from my doll stuff.

Here, if you DARE
http://www.furaffinity.net/user/krowzi/

Also my DA but there isn't much artwork on there
http://krowzivitch.deviantart.com/

I'm gonna try to set up a proper image dump area for later use because I'm sure nobody really wants to go to Furaffinity.

>>16739634
Say, how long a ban did you get for that?

>>16740803
a week, which I thought was a little excessive, but rules is rules.

bump cos I am not a patient man

Bump after internship

Bump

>>16740751
Oh dear omnissiah! Three supercuuuute pics of octavia!

You are a true scholar and a gentleman Krowzi. Thanks for doing those pics!

Le shaved hump

>>16742515
it's a girl

what kind of dude would spend so much time crafting puppets and putting photos of them all over the intern...

oh wait!

but seriously, it's a chick

>>16742431
Don't knock FA too hard. The "you can post anything but child porn" content rules are quite easy to live with. And you don't have to deal with any of the furfag drama. Just keep off the fourms and if someone drag it to your page its hell easy to block them.

>>16744027
Being a woman does not preclude someone from being a gentleman.

Though it does require Octavia plushes. For the cuddle god.

>>16744101

I...

I'd buy one.

and then I'd put a Tenga egg in it. A wavy one.

There is a point when we need to admit that things have gotten out of hand.
Let me know when we get there.

Bump before bed

Bump.

Also, how long till we should make a new thread?

>>16745406
>194 posts and 46 image replies omitted. Click Reply to view.

I think you do still have some time left in this one.

>>16745406
I dunno. 50, 60 more posts?

“Well, I took the chance, like you told me too.” Octavia began, a blush beginning to spread across her cheeks, “ So he pulled me inside the tent, we tried to talk…”
Caelistis grinned goofily, “Like that was going to last,”
Emerald eyes narrowed in annoyance, “Hmpht, we did talk, a little, but then…” A dreamy smile crossed Octavia’s face, her fleshbrain reliving the lunchtime romance. A mechadendrite slid under the coat to stroke her thigh, but froze when she was interrupted,
“But then?”
“Butthenhethrewmeonthetablecauseiaskedhimtoandweforincatedlikeapairoflumbunnies,” Octavia blurted out, quickly clamping a hand and mechadendrite over her mouth. The taller techpriestess tried in vain to keep a straight face, and failed miserably, throwing herself back on the bed laughing.
“You, making like a lumbunnie. I can’t believe you said lumbunnie.” She managed to gasp out between bursts of laughter, as Octavia took another drink to hide her nervousness. She had always been shy, but somehow, Caelistis had always managed to get her to open up. The inebriated techpriestess calmed herself, rolling onto her stomach and crossing her ankles in the air,
“So then?”
Octavia looked around nervously, “So then, hewaslikeamachine,relentlessandpowerfulandhedidthingsthatmademypotentiacoiloverload” the blushing brunette paused for breath, “andishockedhimandblewtheglowglobeaboveus. Then we snuggled, and realised we had damaged his arm.”
Caelistis looked confused, “What was that last bit?”
“We realised we’d damaged his arm?”
The slender techpriestess shook her head, “No, before that,”
“We snuggled?” Octavia said, realising what her friend wanted to hear, and deliberately avoiding it,
“Little more,” Caelistis purred, relishing the blush that now covered her friends cheeks, “Something about a glow globe?”
The brunette priestess eep’d, before mumbling an answer.

BUUUUUUUUUMP

Octavia let out a quiet eep, and her friend grinned. “See, and believe me, when I say affectionate, I mean, affectionate. He won’t want to let go of you,”
“Cael, stop,” Octavia pleaded, but the cable haired disciple of the machine god continued,
“There’s nothing like being very aware of your own mortality and the fact you survived another battle to make a man want to show his woman how much he loves her, in the most passionate ways possible, it’s true.”
“I suppose then, that said woman, having been very afraid for her man, would return the favour,”
Caelistis winked at her, “Exactly, so you might want to pop over to the infirmary to, stock up,”
The petite priestess finished her drink, “Right, well, I will make a note to do that.”
The conversation drifted to small talk, which eventually lead to Caelistis stripping down and snuggling upto the jacket covered ball that was Octavia. The libertine priestess kissed her friend on the cheek, cuddling her close, a mechadendrite pulling the blanket over her,
“G’night, ‘Tavia,”
“Goodnight, Cael”
Caelistis slipped off to sleep quickly, the amsec in her system accelerating the fact. Octavia lay awake, staring out at the dark room, the little blinking lights of various appliances trying to lull her to sleep. “Omnissiah, protect him, Omnissiah bring him home, though he is made of weak flesh, please treat him as your own,” She whispered to the night, praying to the machine god to watch over her Commissar.

bump

any more coming today?

I am on the edge of my goddamn seat aaaaaaaaaa Rogal better not die or I swear I'll come to your house and cry all over you for days

Morning came without event, the pair going through their morning rituals, before making their way to the barely populated mess. A skeleton compliment of troops were left at the base, as well as the standard mechanicum staff, so the line was short, the food still basic but hearty. A guardsman walked into the mess, carrying a box,
“Mail call,” He yelled, and everyone in the mess looked up. The guardsman called names, guardsmen and mechanicum moving alike to collect their mail.
“Radigan, Caelistis,” He called, “Persephone, Octavia,” The pair stood, and made their way over to the mailman. He handed them their letters, before calling out the next set of names.
“Letters, how quaint,” Caelists mused as she took her seat once more, tearing the envelope open with a mechadendrite. Her eyes scanned the brief note from Tiberius, smirking at his cheeky comments, and imploring her to enjoy herself while he was gone. Elsa was more than happy to oblige her, she thought to herself, folding the letter and tucking it into a pocket on her work apron. Octavia gently prised the flap on her envelope open, unfolding the parchment within. Rogals simple handwriting filled the page, telling her of his day, of the ride through the night, and the other small details that seemed so important to him at the time. She smiled, the warmth in her belly spreading from the love and affection the letter was filled with. He missed her terribly, she could tell, something in the slightly whimsical nature of the letter spoke of the longing he had for her. She sighed, folding the letter and placing it back in its envelope, which was then slipped into her cloak.
“Well, best be off, there’s work to be done, war never changes, no matter how far behind the lines you are,” Caelistis said, standing from her empty tray. Octavia nodded, following the tall priestess from the mess.

Bump after bed

>>16749313
War... war never changes.

This was Octavia’s life for the next week or so, wake up, mess hall and mail call, morning shift, lunch with her mechanics team, afternoon shift, dinner with Caelistis, and then sitting around their apartment, drinking and tinkering with whatever took their fancy. Every night before she fell asleep, the brunette priestess would read all the letters her commissar had sent, wrapped in his massive coat. She would giggle at the story of the orkish infiltrator who tried to sneak in, hidden in an empty oil drum, only to bump into the tank Rogal spent his off hours lounging in. He apologised for getting xeno’s blood in the treads, but explained it was the easiest way to kill the foul beast. She would swoon slightly, her cognitor preventing another swoon.emt crash, at his simple farm boy compliments, how he used the simple things in life to describe her, her beauty, how much she meant to him. This all changed however, the day after he told her that the final push was on.
The massive commissar sat in the turret of the Leman Russ Exterminator, checking the ammo feed for his pintle mounted storm bolter one last time. This was it, the final push was on. The guardsmen’s line fully encircled the ruined warship, trenches and bunkers bristling with weapons. The plan was simple, Ork’s loved to fight, so they would draw them out from the ship with artillery and a false charge. The Charge would halt before the minefield, thinning the ork lines, before the two forces would slam together in brutal close range fighting. Rogal sighed, many good men would die, but the imperium would live on, stronger for their sacrifice. The combat engineers would push forward under fire, laying mines and caltrops where they could, and generally causing as much havoc as suicidally brave men with high explosives can.

How lame.

Sadly, i need to go to work (again).

Will update more tonight. Things are coming to a climax, war has interupted our lovers, will they be reunited when it's all over?

find out when I write it.

Also, i need a title, any ideas?

>>16749467
I will await your return and I thank you for your efforts so far...

BUMPITY BAMP

Bump for the Emperor.

Bump for the Omnissah

And a huge BUMP for all Mankind

Man I dunno but Rogal seems to take great pride in having all his limbs, so do you think he would kind of find it a little strange that his love interest willingly had her arms and legs amputated? How does he know hes putting his junk in a real vag? Would it be rude to ask a techpriest that question?

>>16751991
I think he is too polite to ask

Also bump after internship

>>16749467
>title 1
Building a Future for
all the children of the
Emperor
>title 2
Hands of the Emperor
Hands of the Omnissah
>tag line
War Makes, War Breaks
But the Emperor always protects his children.

>>16749467
Love can bloom (without heresy)

Bump

A Commissar's Lovelife

I wish to see the Littlest Krieger's take on this, afterwards...

Bump before bed

>case livery be made. topyou

bippity bamp
where are you kreiger! the suspense is killing me!

The massive commissar sat in the turret of the Leman Russ Exterminator, checking the ammo feed for his pintle mounted storm bolter one last time. This was it, the final push was on. The guardsmen’s line fully encircled the ruined warship, trenches and bunkers bristling with weapons. The plan was simple, Ork’s loved to fight, so they would draw them out from the ship with artillery and a false charge. The Charge would halt before the minefield, thinning the ork lines, before the two forces would slam together in brutal close range fighting. Rogal sighed, many good men would die, but the imperium would live on, stronger for their sacrifice. The combat engineers would push forward under fire, laying mines and caltrops where they could, and generally causing as much havoc as suicidally brave men with high explosives can. He thumbed the safety on the storm bolter, as the word rippled across the voxnet.
“SAFETY’S OFF.”
Below him, the machine spirit of the tank awoke, “He-llo friend. Are WE going to kill SOME xenos, today?”
Dararius laughed, “That’s right girl, it’s xenos killing time.”
“I can’t WAIT. TarGET acquisition mode, active. Scanning…”
The turret swung lazily to the left, the massive twin barrels of the auto cannons sweeping across the front line. Rogal sat steady in his gimballed seat, the familiar thrill of combat beginning to fill him. All across the front line, guardsmen whispered nervously, a sense of excitement filled the air. The turret let out a soft beep as it finished its arc, swinging back towards the right. The commissar checked his chronometer, watching as the mechanical dial slowly clicked towards the hour.
“ALL UNITS,” Came the generals voice across the Voxnet, the dial at Rogals wrist clicking to the new hour, “OPEN FIRE.”

>>16759094
DAWWWWW

The turret swung to face the orkish lines, “WARNING, Dispensing imperial righteousness. Death to the enemies of man,” The machine spirit said happily, over the chattering bark of its autocannons firing. The ground shook as earth shaker shells slammed to the ground, the opening artillery salvo lighting up the orkish camp with huge explosions. The gargantuan artillery batteries began firing in sequence, a constant dull pounding, the drum beats of the imperial war machine. Rogal watched as the green tide began sweeping towards them, spilling from the belly of the downed warship. A noise began to make itself heard over the pounding of artillery fire, a bellowing, animalistic roar.
“WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH,”
Massive green apes charged, oblivious to the death and carnage around them, sprinting forward with glee in their piggy eyes.
“Steady boys and girls,” Rogal said to those on his local voxnet, “Let them come a little closer,”
He checked his chronometer again, looking up at the oncoming green tide, and then back to the dial. Smiling grimly, he jammed his cap down harder on his head, and took up the controls to his pintle mounted weapon. The click of a voxnet change tapped in his ear,
“RIGHT, JUST AS WE PLANNED IT, COUNTER. CHARGE.”
With a roar, the imperial line surged forward, boots pounding hard earth, and cries of “FOR THE EMPEROR” filling the air. This challenge only served to enrage their foes, who bellowed louder, putting on a burst of speed. Rogal grinned, snapping off a few shots into the green tide, as beside him, guardsmen continued to run and yell. He saw the checkpoint, and the tank slammed on its breaks, the guardsmen around it dropping down into the prepared trenches. Had he brought his binoculars, he would have seen the look of confusion on orkish faces, as the first line of them hit the minefield.

A ripple of explosions ringed the ship, as the charge continued, having built up too much momentum.
“Just as the General planned,” Rogal mused to himself, the autocannon beneath him twitching left and right, sending round after round into the green mass. The orks continued coming, dispite the horrific casualties the guardsmen were inflicting, inching closer and closer to the imperial lines. Valkyries screamed overhead, hellfire missiles deploying from their undersides, lasers and bolter shells spitting from their guns. Still the ork’s came, stampeding over their dead toward the imperial lines. Their numbers had thinned, the green tide slowing now to a trickle, those who survived however, were a combination of the luckiest and the strongest orks on the planet. Another wing of Valkyries howled past, thinning the lines further, but not enough. The orks passed into lasgun range, and with a sound like static, the imperial line started strobing red. Rogal squeezed down on the trigger, the storm bolter bucking against its mount, the pleasing ping of empty casings drowned out in the cacophony of combat. The low ammo warning blinked atop the gun, Rogal slamming the old ammo box from its cradle, and grabbing a reload from the bay provided in the turret. He linked the old chain to the new box, before ramming it home in the cradle and resuming his fusillade. The green tide was reduced to a green river, albeit a river filled with rapids and orks, but a river none the less. The orkish line passed the minefield, and Rogal gave a silent prayer to the Emperor, he just wanted to go back to Octavia, alive.
The Generals voice filled the voxnet once more, “THIS IS IT, WE DRIVE THESE FILTHY XENOS FROM OUR WORLD ONCE AND FOR ALL. IN THE NAME OF THE EMPEROR AND THE IMPERIUM OF MAN, CHARGE.”

Guardsmen surged forward out of the trench, lazguns firing on full auto. Behind them, heavy weapons teams continued to fire, the chatter of autoguns and the dull thud of mortars a constant drone in the background. The tank beneath him rocked, Danarius, coughing as smoke filled the interior, “Sir, that’s a mobility kill,”
“Just S- so SO you know, WE DO-N’T hate you. WE HATE THE XENOS.” The machine spirit said calmly, despite the distortion in its voice. Rogal sighed, nothing was ever easy. He unclipped the storm bolter from its mount and hefted it with his good arm. His nearly recovered right grabbed the firing controls and he leapt down from the tank, his massive boots sending a cloud of dust out around him.
“MEN OF THE IMPERIAL GUARD,” He roared, “LET NONE SURVIVE,”
A squad reformed around him, and they charged forward, Rogal’s mighty storm bolter punching ragged holes in orkish chests. The gun clicked, empty, the commissar dropping it with an apology to the machine god, before drawing his pistol and sword. He snapped off a couple of shots, before ducking under a ragged machete, slicing clean through the green arm it was held in, the ork rewarded with a face and chest full of lasbolts and bayonets. A deafening roar pulled the commissars attention, charging towards him in slabs of crude armour, was a nob. The orkish elite roared some garbled gothic at him, its massive metal jaw muffling the sound, but Rogal got the gist “You, me, winner takes all.” Rogal roared back in acceptance, his long legs carring him forward. A stray boltshell exploded beside him, shrapnel filling his leg, the commissar stumbling. The Ork took its chance, bringing its massive axe down, intent on bisecting the pointy hat wearing git. Rogal dropped to his knee, his injured leg screaming in protest, his pistol cast aside so he could use both hands to block the blow.

Doing this dance and f5ing like fist of the northstar

The Ork roared, its hulking green muscles buldging as it pressed down on the axe, lasbolts pinging from its armoured form. Rogal grunted, slowly being pushed back, the stench of orkish breath in his face. He prayed to the emprah, to give him strength, to let him survive long enough to see Octavia again, maybe settle down, have some children, live out his days in relative peace, not die here to some foul xenos. He felt the wounds in his arm reopen, and he realised this was it. He gritted his teeth, the pain lancing up his arm, his vision going white at the edges.
“No,” He whispered,” Not like this,”
The ork grinned psychotically, driving the axe down further,
“NOT LIKE THIS,” Rogal roared, throwing his weight forward, almost losing his vision to the pain. He managed to throw the ork’s axe back. His wounded arm continued forward, as he scooped his laspistol from the ground. With a sickening sensation, the Orks axe hewed though the guard of his sword and into his forearm, tearing away the limb in a shower of blood. His vision fading, the Commissar drove his pistol into the howling green maw, and pulled the trigger. He heard the faint cries for a medic as he collapsed to the ground atop his vanquished foe. A tear streaked down a dust covered face, as his world faded, he saw Octavia, smiling at him, her brown ponytail swaying as she tilted her head, before she too faded to black.

The fact that im telling you this is a cliffhanger lets you know there is hope, and more to come.

However, i need to pop out for an hour or so, back soon dear readers.

>>16759747
I CAN'T WAIT!!!

also bump

Bump after bed

>>16759732
>tearing away the limb
I KNEW it!

Rogal felt like he was under water. His body seemed to float, and he caught snatches of conversations.
“More sanguination fluid, he’s lost a lot of blood.”
“Big guy, big wound, hand me another clamp.”
The commissar opened his eyes to slits, warm white light surrounding him. He lay there, letting the cool sensation of, whatever it was, wash over him. Peaceful, he thought, very peaceful. He heard footsteps behind him, and more snatches of conversation,
“Emperor on earth, please guide my blade, this commissars life, we wish to save,”
“Look at him, how is he still breathing?”
Rogal rolled over, looking for his guest. Massive golden boots, his mind registered, and he looked up, a huge, even to his standards, armoured gauntlet was being offered to him. Weakly, he threw out his hand to take it, and was hefted to his feet.
“ON YOUR FEET, COMMISSAR.” The voice said, not loudly, but with such force that it caused the massive man to stagger. He looked up at his guest, a chest plate as wide as his shoulders, huge Eagles either side, and a face that was all at one regal and haggard.
“Sorry sir, I’m just so tired.”
“I KNOW, MY SON. I KNOW.”
Rogal stood, gingerly putting weight on his leg, which buckled, the gigantic golden hand catching him around his chest,
“MY SON, YOU MADE A PROMISE, I AM HERE TO ENSURE YOU KEEP IT,”
“Octavia.” The commissar said, his strength returning to his voice, “You’re him, aren’t you? The Emprah,”
The massive golden being let out a chuckle, nodding as it knelt down to look the commissar eye to eye, “I am but a fragment of him, yes, our full might would have wiped you from existence had you seen it.”

>>16761082
Holy Hallucinations Bat-marine!

Continue...

Rogal dropped to his knees, “My lord,”
The Armoured god lifted the commissar to his feet once more, “NOW NOW, NONE OF THAT, YOU HAVE MUCH LEFT TO DO,” he said, placing the peaked cap back on Rogals head, “IT IS TIME TO WAKE UP ROGAL HEAPHASTUS, TIME TO FORGE YOURSELF A NEW DESTINY.”
Snapping his heels together as best he could, the commissar saluted, the stump of his arm waving in front of his face. His arm, he thought, looking at the stump, where was his arm, he needed that arm to create things, to carve and to saw, to gently caress Octavia, to hold her close.
The huge commissar bolted awake, screaming, IV drips popping from their quick seal and release ports.
“MY ARM, WHERE IS MY ARM?” he bellowed, looking around frantically, a nurse hurrying over to calm him,
“Easy there, easy commissar.” She said in soothing tones, stroking at a massive arm, “Look at me, you’re alright now. You’re in a MASH unit, we’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”
Rogal sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He rubbed his face with a hand, his stump waving in his face, “Nurse, where is my arm?”
The auburn angel of mercy shook her head, “I’m sorry sir, you lost it in the final push. Earned yourself a shiny medal from it though, look,” She said, nodding towards the black box on the bedside table. The commissar sighed, and shook his head, “I don’t care about the medal. Look, I just need some time, something to eat, and to know where my hat is, can you do that for me?”
The nurse nodded, patting his arm reassuringly, “Sure thing, handsome,”
“Oh,” He added, “Can I also have my dataslate? It should be in my coat pocket,”
“As you wish sir,”

>>16761082
oh my lord this is so amazingly cheesy
I fucking love it

>>16761193

That's what's so great about his writing. It captures the Harlequin romance novel feel so excellently.

The nurse left the hulking commissar in his bed, and he looked down at himself. His arm now ended in a dull grey augmentation cradle, the flesh around it pink and raw. His broad chest was bandaged, his other arm covered in small sutures. He scratched his leg, and instantly regretted it, pain lancing through his body where he poked fresh wounds, but he thanked the Emprah his lasgun was still intact. He leaned over to pull his chart from the end of the bed, quickly absorbing the information contained within. The nurse returned with his dataslate, and his hat, handing the, both to him with a smile, “Here you go, sir,”
He smiled back, “Thank you, nurse. Just looking at this chart, I seem to be eligible for release, and I would hate to take up a bed that someone else could be using,”
The nurse laughed, “I can see why you’re a commissar, but it’s been a couple of days since the battle, all the cases that needed to be moved have been, and well, you’re fine just where you are.”
Rogal’s eyes went wide, Octavia would be worried sick, he had said he would write to her every day, and now,
“Nurse, under my full commissarial authority, I demand you release me and get me on the next flight back to base. Do I make myself clear?” Rogal said, his voice low, steady, and commanding obedience. The nurse looked at him, her eyes wide, “I’ll just go get you a doctor”.
She hurried off, and Rogal checked his dataslate, thumbing the new datacast rune. The slate started loading, and froze, an error screen flashing up, proclaiming there was a severe malfunction, and the slate would be shut down. The hulking commissar growled dropping his slate to his lap, the nurse returning with a doctor in tow.

Octavia was a mess, two day’s now, and no word from Rogal. She tried her best to busy herself, servicing weapons, and fabricating replacement parts for the various orders that came in, but it didn’t help. Her fleshbrain kept seeing him eviscerated, or shot, or blown apart, and she would never see him again. Every night she drank herself to sleep, cradled to Caelistis chest, Rogal’s coat wrapped around her. Her slender friend tried to reassure her, explaining how mail got lost all the time, or how he could be just doing what soliders do, but assuring her he was still alive. Her cognitor busied itself with the side project it had made, quietly engineering and designing while her fleshbrain alternated between the horror of her lovers possible death, and all the things she would do to him upon his return.

Rogal glared at the white coated man infront of him, his voice low and deliberate once more
“Doctor, under my full commissarial authority, I demand you release me and get me on the next flight back to base. Do I make myself clear?” He repeated, the Doctor looking over his chart,
“Sure, why not, I’m not about to tell you no. I’ve seen what you can survive,” He said, with a shrug, “Nurse, fetch the commissars things, he’s going home.”
“As you wish, Dr Alda,”

Tiberius sat in the back of the chimera, bouncing along on the way back to the base. The mood was that of solemn triumph, the cost of lives taking the shine off a total victory. He poked at the bandage under his tunic, as he thought of the best way to tell his story to Caelistis. His mind however, kept drifting back to what he would have to tell Octavia, when Rogal did not return with him. The last the vox officer had heard, the Commissar was being rushed to a MASH unit, and that was all he knew.

“Attention Mechanicum staff,” The binary chatter blared across the vehicle pit, “Magos Persephone, you are requested to landing bay four. Magos Persephone, landing bay four.”
Her eyes glowing brighter as the wielding shields deactivated, Octavia put the plasma cutter down and turned from her workbench. Her mechanics team looked at her, and she shrugged, a mechanicum transport vehicle pulling up outside the workspace.
“’Magos Persephone? I have orders to take you to the landing bay, as fast as possible, apparently,”
The driver said, still puzzled by this request. The petite priestess climbed nimbly into the passengers seat, “Then let us not keep them waiting,”
With a scream of tires on plascrete, the transport took off.
Rogal stood, putting his weight on his good leg and the walking cane he had been given, leaning against the wall for support. He released the cane and slung his duffle over his shoulder, before taking the walking stick once more, and hobbling towards the exit ramp. The few other guardsmen on the Valkyrie parted to let him though, bowing their heads respectfully. The huge commissar limped down the loading ramp, the wind pulling at his tunic. He looked around, sadly, wondering how he would be able to face Octavia in his now crippled state. A horn blared, and he whipped his head around, watching as the mechanicum transport screamed to a halt, a tiny red robed figure leaping from the passenger seat.
“Rogal?” He heard her call, and his heart started pounding,
“Octavia!” He bellowed back, limping towards her as fast as he could, ignoring the pain that shot up his side with every hurried step. The Valkyrie took off once more, the downdraft blowing his tunic from his shoulder, his missing arm now fully visible. Octavia stopped dead, staring at the empty space where once there was an arm.

>>16761484
>Dr Alda
ISWYDT

Rogal came to a stop infront of his petite lover, her tiny shoulders rising and falling with sobs,
“I’m home,” He whispered, and Octavia just let out squeal of anger, pounding against his chest with her fists and mechadendrites,
“YOU SAID YOU WOULD WRITE, EVERYDAY. DO YOU KNOW HOW WORRIED YOU MADE ME? NOW I COME HERE, AND YOUR MISSING AN ARM. DON’T YOU EVER DO THAT AGAIN. EVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREVER.”
She yelled at him, before slumping against his chest, sobbing once more. He put his stump around her, hugging her close, “I won’t,” he said soothingly into her ear, leaning over to hold her close.
“Your arm? What happened to your arm?” She asked pulling back, to look at the basic augment.
“Ork, big one.” Rogal said, “I’ll tell you about it later, right now, I have a promise to keep,” He said, before gently pressing his lips to hers. Her fleshbrain fainted, her cognitor barely suppressing the swoon.emt file from being fully compiled. She melted in his arm, her mechadendrites lazily making their way behind his head, as the pair kissed like it was their last moment together. A few guardsmen cheered as they passed, and Rogal grinned. Octavia broke the kiss, wrapping her mechadendrites around her commissars stump, and pulling him towards the Mechanicum transport.
“Driver, my workspace, as fast as you can,”
Rogal looked puzzled, “Can we stop by my-“
“No. You need a new arm. We’re making you one. Drive.”
The low level enginseer nodded, flooring the accelerator pedal, the transport roaring forth once more. As they drove, Octavia patched into her workspace noosphere,
“Listen up everybody, we’re making an arm. The best damn forearm agument we have ever made. Plans are here, I’m bringing the patient as we speak. Warm up those fabricators and plug yourselves in, we’re not stopping till it’s done.”

bump

BUMP GODDAMMIT!!!1

Rogal: I have a woman to get to. By commisarial authority, do it.

Octavia: I have a man to fix. By the omnisaiah, do it.

> With a sickening sensation, the Orks axe hewed though the guard of his sword and into his forearm, tearing away the limb in a shower of blood.

Octavia Face: D:
> wait, this means he'll need a cybernetic replacement
Octavia Face: :D

>>16761698
>Warm up those fabricators
Oh you went there.

She smiled as the team responded with smiling emotes and various agreements, the prospect of a challenge thrilling them all. The junior enginseer threw the transport into the corner, Rogal holding his little lover to his chest, bracing himself with his legs. The transport jerked forward as the driver slammed on the brakes, skidding to a halt inside the vehicle pit. Augmented eyes watched as Octavia hopped gracefully down from the seat, landing silently, her commissiarial companion thowing his duffle down with a thud, before carefully making his own exit. At the sight of the huge man limping and missing an arm, static filled the air, and was silenced just as quickly with one look from Octavia.
The tallest techpriest pulled a comfortable looking padded chair out into the middle of the workspace, and gestured to Rogal to have a seat,
“If the commissar pleases, we have work to do. Your new flesh will make that slab of meat feel clumsy in comparison,”
Removing his hat, the commissar glared at the techpriest, “I happened to like that, slab of meat, as you put it,”
Octavia barked out a burst of static, and the techpriest hung his head, “I am sorry Commissar, we have a different approach to the loss of a limb.”
Rogal nodded, dropping onto the seat, the red robed servants of the machine god gathering around.
“I’m sure you do.” The huge man said, smiling to himself as Octavia shoved her way to the middle of the group. Gently she moved his arm, placing it on a table beside the chair. Static hisses filled the air as the group discussed the project ahead, before Octavia spoke in low gothic once more,
“So you consent to us building you a new arm?”

Rogal nodded, “So long as you’re the one in charge,”
Octavia blushed, nodding, “I am. This is what is going to happen,” she began explaining. They would redo the augment mount, adding a fully integrative neural bridge, as oppsed to the standard interface that was provided, as well as anchoring the entire mount to his bones via biografting techniques, rather than the both sheath method. The arm itself, she explained, was based on the older JENSEN design, but would be using the newer DENTON arcology system, which allowed a far greater measure of control and dexterity, matching and in some cases, exceeding his old arm. Rogal nodded, the majority of the complex terminology going over his head.
“So I will still be able to carve and work timber like I used to,”
Octavia nodded, clapping her hands excitedly, “Oh yes, of course you will, and given time to get used to the new abilities in your arm, you might even do it better. The arm will also feature full modular capabilities, as well as interface ports for the most common linkages, as well as for standard imperial powerfists.”
Rogal nodded again, “Right, well, that sounds about right then. Should I be awake for this?”
Octavia paused for a moment, “I suppose you could be, if you want to watch, we’ll just use a local rather than general anaesthetic, but it’s really upto you, sir,”
The commissar shook his head, “I’d rather not. Just put me to sleep and do what you do best,”
Octavia smiled at him, pushing her way out from the group and circling behind him, “I will. Just think, a little bit of me will always be a part of you now,” she said, going up on her tiptoes to kiss her lover on the cheek.
“I like that,” Rogal said, gently stroking Octavia’s cheek, “I like that a lot.” He pulled himself forward to kiss her, their lips dancing for a moment, before he pulled away.

BUMP

“Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll take that anaesthetic now,” the commissar said, settling into the cushioned chair, “Let you get to work,”
A priestess gently cupped a mask over his face, and Rogal breathed deeply, drifting off to unconsciousness once more. Octavia gently stroked at his hair, her lover looked so peaceful. A couple of emotes popped up in her vision from various techpriests and priestesses, smiling or ‘dawwwing at the moment. Octavia clapped her hands to get their attention, a hiss of binary spilling from her lips. The mechanics team began moving as one, a pair moving in on Rogal’s arm to replace the mediocre mounting point, the rest spreading out to work stations, the chatter and whine of fabrication filling the workspace once more.
Slowly, the arm took shape, ceremite bones were wrapped in complex fiberbundles, layering over one another, twitching as small currents flowed through them. The mounting point now gleamed, obsidian metal only interrupted by the golden connection ports that would interface human nerves and complex circuitry. Actuators were fabricated, nano genus mechandendrites pushed to their limits. A hand took shape, matching as best it could to Rogal’s remaining one, the fingers long and skilful, the actuators within stronger than his flesh ever could be. With a click, the hand met forearm, the fibre bundles writhing as they interfaced, the fingers curling in and out. Hours had passed, many cups of recaf had been drunk, and Octavia sat at the table, inspecting every aspect of her lovers augmentation. The mechanics were done, the arm now an obsidian and silver parody of the flesh it replaced. A wet hiss filled the workspace, as the coverplates were quenched, gleaming black ceramite plates of various sizes being laid out, Octavia’s nimble mechandendrites manipulating them, etching litanies of durability onto the back of each one in her flowing script.

>>16748765

The omnissiah listens! Rogal will surely be protected by the machine god!
But first, he has to be touched by the machine!

So Rogal can carry an storm bolter, unsupported, and can use it while moving.
He also went toe-to-toe with a Nob.

Does this guy wrestle Astartes for fun?

The plates were then installed over the arm, the small silver self-locking screws pulling each plate tight over bundled muscle. Octavia plugged a mechadendrite into the access port, data streaming past her vision as she coded the augment, feeling for the first time Rogal’s digital self. Her cognitor gasped, the sheer power contained within his body astounding it. Her fleshbrain smiled smugly, pointing out how she had been right all along. Her cognitor waved her over, showing her how the commissar’s muscle memory was automatically superimposing itself into her programming, and gave praise to the omnissiah. Complex algorithms detailing the precision of his old muscles astounded the priestess, as she watched with fascination at the melding of man and machine. The hand moved now of its own accord, gracefully going through the test motions. The code compiled, her cognitor sat mute, words failing her, as the arm’s machine spirit finished itself, rearing up in the form of a massive Clydesdale. The metaphysical construct trotted towards her cognitor, stopping at the fence where the arm ended and the coding sandbox began. Her cognitor reached out and stroked the machine spirits muzzle, and it whinnied happily, nuzzling back at her. Her fleshbrain smiled, her cognitor finally understanding what she saw in the massive man. Patting the machine spirit one last time, her cognitor left the sandbox, and with a click, her mechadendrite unplugged from the port, The anaesthetist pulled the mask from Rogal’s face, Octavia brushing her hair from her face with a mechadendrite, before leaning over to kiss her still sleeping lover. He groaned, opening his eyes to slits,
“Is it over?”
Octavia nodded, gently stroking his new arm, the commissar grinning at the sensation,
“Yes, my love, it’s over.”

>>16762760
Rogal is the second best commissar for a reason.

I think we all know who number one is.

>>16762566

Make sure the hand has a vibrate function. For massages.

Also, might be best to use the word "simulacrum" instead of "parody." Parody should be mocking or otherwise humorous.

bump

Rubbing his face with his hands, he let out a yawn, “I had the weirdest dream, you had bought this horse for me, and some stuff happened and I can’t remember much else, but you bought me a horse.”
Octavia giggled, as techpriests and priestess’s congratulated one another on a job well done. They had fabricated the arm from scratch in record time, which would entitle them to a bonus in requisition power for the next month.
“The dream was just the machine spirit bonding to you. It’s a good arm, it’s strong, like you.”
Rogal smiled, pulling Octavia onto his lap and kissing her cheek. She giggled again, lifting his new arm up to the light so they could both study it. Rogal chuckled, looking at the tiny hands that held his massive arm aloft,
“We match,” He said, putting his hand next to hers, Octavia nodded happily,
“Same basic model, mine’s got a few more peripherals, but I figured you wouldn’t need many.”
The commissar nodded, hugging his woman close, “I’m a simple man,”
“I know, that’s why you got basic functionality, but a massive boost to durability. That’s ceramite plating, you could stop a bolt round with it, or an orkish axe.” She added the last bit with a macabre giggle, and Rogal sighed,
“Yeah, right after I need it,” He said, before laughing. The priests and priestesses dispersed, some going for more recaf, others headed for their bunks, leaving the pair alone in the workspace. The vehicle pit was quiet, the bustle of the day replaced with the sedentary buzz of night. The pair sat, Octavia still in Rogals lap, enjoying the quiet, the techpriestesses mind slowly wandering. Her man was home from war, wounded, but alive, and now with a glorious augmentation of her own building. That augmented hand now rested on her inner thigh, as he gently nuzzled at her neck and cheek.

F5 F5 F5 F5

Octavia jumped, and Rogal pulled his augmented hand back, his fingers blurring. With a click, they stopped, and he looked at the woman in his lap.
“What is that for?”
Octavia blushed, her fleshbrain now excited, he was learning the features of his new limb.
“I thought, seeing as you work with wood, that having an in built orbital sander like capability would be useful,”
Rogal looked at his hand again, switching through the various vibrational settings his hand now had, the low hum quickly escalating to a whine, before clicking off. Caelistis’s words rang in her head, about seizing moments, something which was now driven home after seeing her injured lover. She twisted on his lap, straddling him on the reclined chair, her Emerald eyes shining happily. Her mechadendrites opening her robe, she guided his hand to her stomach,
“Of course,” She added, her cheeks burning now with her wanton comment, “There are other uses,”
The huge commissar grinned, moving his hand over polished plates and up to the soft flesh covered in white fabric. The techpriestess let out a low moan, as augmented fingers flicked over firm perky nubs. Rogal switched his hand to its lowest setting, smiling contentedly at the reaction it bore. On his lap, Octavia jerked, her back arching as she planted her hands on his chest.
“Little lower,” He gasped, her tiny hand having slapped down on where the Ork’s spiked kneepad had punched into his lung. Octavia pulled her hand back, a stream of apologies on her lips,
“Omnissiahs cogs, I’msosorryRogalI’msoclumbsyand-“
The petite priestess was cut off by the commissar pulling her down to kiss him. The slow, powerfully vibrating hand made its way from her chest and down her spine, sliding down over her elegantly curved rear and back to her thigh.

rolled 61 = 61

>>16763129
HAH! Vibration achieved!

Now make them take their clothes off. Rolling for arousal.

Orbital sander, yeah right! Octavia, you are so lewd!

Octavia let out a shuddering gasp, having missed the commisars touch. Her fleshbrain moaned in ecstasy as her potential coil surged to life. Rogal’s cold hand traced longingly over the pale flesh at the top of her legs, his ceramite fingertips causing sparks to fly from the lace like electoos. She moaned into the kiss, her tongue flicking across his lips hungrily as she pulled herself closer. Rogals massive hand splayed across her back, fingers and mechandendrites entwined, as the passion that separated lovers reunited share fuelled them both. Octavia’s mechadendrites moved of their own accord, opening the buttons on her lovers shirt, as his hand splayed against the burning heat between her legs, humming softly. Thowing her head back, she moaned, as vibrations hit that massive cluster of densely packed pleasure feeling nerves, the commissar burying his face in her neck, nipping and biting with reckless abandon. Her hips gyrated down on the huge bulge in the commissars pants, her mechadendrites working at his belt buckle. The crisp white fabric that covered her was pushed aside, and Octavia gasped again, the night air cool, and Rogal’s mechanical finger cooler against the blazing heat inside her, as gently, he worked a humming finger inside her. Back arching even more, Octavia bit her lip, moaning wantonly, grinding down harder on the commissar,
“Please, sir,” she begged, her mechadendrites finally undoing his trousers, “It’s been so long, I need you,”
Rogal grinned, “As you wish, M’lady,”
He fumbled for his pocket, Octavia giggling as she reached into her own in her robe, pulling out the protection her lover sought,
“Caelistis said I should stock up for your return, so I did,”
Rogal grinned, “Oh she did, did she?”
Octavia nodded, as she tore the packet open with her mechadendrites, taking the rubbery disc and rolling it over Rogal’s lascannon.

F5555555555555555555555555555

Passion overruled everything as the pair crashed together, Octavia bouncing atop her lover with unbridled lust, the massive commissar unable to keep his hands off her. Frantically, and with passion derived from the fear of never seeing one another again, and making sure they made the most of their time together, they indulged their humanity. Octavia gasped and moaned, her fleshbrain writhing with pleasure, realising how much she had missed the huge man beneath her. His buzzing hand ticked at her chest, teasing tender buds, his other clenched firmly around her waist. She began to slow, her body not used to the exertions, the commissar understanding instinctively. He deactivated his hand and stood, lifting the petite priestess with his unaugmented hand underneath her. He swept tools from a work bench and sat her down, her slender legs either side of his waist, as he began powering into her. His massive frame stood over her, tiny hands now balled in his shirt, as he drove into her again and again. Throwing her head back, she moaned, “Yesyesyesyesyesyes, by the omnissiahs grace, rightthere,yesyesyes,” she babbled, a mechadendrite plugging into the grounding port as the little bar in her mind neared its terminus. The huge commissar put on a burst of speed, and Octavia clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle the ecstatic cry that threatened to come out. Her back arched, her fleshbrain cried out for more, and the little red bar hit full. Her hips bucked, and she clawed at the commissars back with her mechadendrites, her hands splaying out against his chest. With a grunt, he fired his lascannon, his hips moving back with recoil, before he let out a shuddering breath. He grinned down at her, their heavy breathing synchronised.
“I love you,” He whispered, lowering his head down beside hers, nuzzling gently at her ear.
Tiny hands slid up over his massive chest, as she whispered back, “I love you too,”

The pair quickly tidied themselves, Octavia putting the commissars hat back on his head with a tired smile, “My apartment is closer,” she said, “You should stay there, less of a walk for you and your injured leg.”
Rogal grinned, as he picked up his duffle in his new hand and slung it over his shoulder, taking his cane in the other. “Sounds like a plan, lead the way,”
Her tiny hand was dwarfed in his mechanical one, as the petite priestess lead her massive lover down the corridors to her apartment. As they walked, Rogal told her of the battle, how he lost his arm, and how his last thoughts before he blacked out were of her. Octavia felt tears well up in her eyes, as she hugged the massive man around the waist,
“Don’t you ever do something like that ever again,” she sobbed at him, his augmented hand gently stroking her back to sooth her,
“I can’t make any promises,” he said sadly, “But, I’ll do my best.”
“You better,” she said, “Or I’ll…”
“Or you’ll what?” The commissar asked, a smile playing on his lips,
“I’ll downgrade that hand of yours to a glorified bulldog clip.” She quipped back, nimbly skipping away and giggling, poking her tongue out as she turned. Rogal just laughed, “Alright, alright, no more fighting the elite of the orkish forces.”
The pair rounded the corner, Octavia racing ahead to the door of her apartment,
“Welcome back, sir,” she said happily, unlocking the door with a mechadendrite. The pair walked through the doorway and stopped. Tiberius looked up from the dataslate he was reading, Caelistis paused from dabbing at his back, and on the bed, a very embarrassed Elsa looked at them, a blanket clutched to her chest.

Right, thats it for the moment, my batteries are shot, if i keep going, quality will suffer, and i wont have that.

Have a good night you crazy kids, hope you're still enjoying the story.

i'll fix up chapters on 1d4 sometime soon.

Oh, and the obligatory cliffhanger