Funny request incoming! How would the Primarchs react to hearing one of their own Astartes say something unbelievably stupid within earshot when asked about where do babies come from by another younger Astartes?
Like when you hear someone say something so impossibly wrong and stupid, but with such confidence, that it leaves you stun locked for a moment
(I don't know how to name this🤣)
“Brother… where do babies come from?” A very young astartes newly enlisted and still with that tragic ‘I have never had a normal childhood and I think nutrition paste is cuisine’ energy asks.
An older astartes with the confidence of a man who has conquered worlds but never attended basic biology replies something so wrong that reality itself pauses.
Lion El’Jonson
“Babies are produced when a fortress monastery’s machine spirit approves a compatible pair of skull measurements.”
The Lion freezes and everyone in the room feels the temperature drop by seven degrees. He turns his head very slowly and gives the astartes exactly three seconds to realize his mistake.
“Explain.”
The Astartes tries but it only gets worse. The Lion places one hand over his face and is privately wondering whether the Emperor included basic reproductive knowledge in the great crusade educational package or if this was yet another one of his tbd details.
“You will attend a remedial lecture.” The Lion concludes. The Dark Angels later classify the incident, the younger astartes is told the truth, the older one is assigned to archival duty until shame becomes part of his personality.
Fulgrim
“Babies are made when two people both become aesthetically complete enough that a cherub manifests.”
Fulgrim hears that and for one brief second his face is completely blank in absolute psychic disconnection. “My son, that was the ugliest sentence ever spoken in my presence.” He begins a lecture that starts with biology, becomes art theory, detours into poetry, condemns ignorance as a crime against beauty and ends with the entire squad being enrolled in Foundations of Human Life, Courtship and Not Embarrassing Your Primarch in Public.
The younger Astartes leaves informed while the older one leaves emotionally exfoliated.
Perturabo
“Babies are assembled in batches like munitions, civilians simply lack quality control.”
Perturabo stops walking and turns around. “Repeat that.” The Astartes repeats and Perturabo just stares with the face of a man discovering a structural flaw in a bridge he personally designed.
“You believe the human species is manufactured like artillery shells?”
The Astartes hesitates. “...With less reliability, my lord.”
Perturabo closes his eyes and you can hear one of his remaining hopes die. He gives the most brutally efficient reproductive biology lesson in Imperial history complete with diagrams, mechanical analogies and insults.
“If I ever hear you explain biology through siege logistics again I will assign you to inventory every bolt in the fleet.” The primarch concludes. The younger Astartes now understands.
Jaghatai
“Babies come from speed, when two people ride fast enough beneath the open sky, the wind chooses.”
Jaghatai hears this and laughs immediately. “That is the stupidest thing I have heard this century.” The older Astartes looks embarrassed and the younger one looks confused. “Listen, life is stranger and far less aerodynamic than that.”
He explains it plainly and with surprising gentleness but keeps laughing every time he remembers ‘the wind chooses’. For the next several months the entire brotherhood uses the phrase ‘the wind chooses’ whenever someone announces a birth on a compliant world.
Russ
“Babies come from drinking enough mead and winning a wrestling match against fate.”
Russ nods slowly and for one horrifying moment everyone thinks he agrees until he speaks.
“That is wrong, but not as wrong as it should be.” He walks over and claps the older warrior's back hard enough to almost crack the armor. “You’ve got the spirit, pup, but you’ve missed several important steps.”
“Does wrestling occur?” The younger astartes asks.
Russ thinks about it. “Sometimes.”
A wolf priest immediately materialize from nowhere. “My lord, please allow me.”
Russ is removed from the conversation before he can make it worse. Later he hosts a feast where he tells a long extremely inappropriate Fenrisian version of the facts of life involving wolves, storms, endurance and respecting women because otherwise they will kill you and deserve to. The younger Astartes learns something but nobody is sure of what exactly.
Dorn
“Babies are grown when a household reaches sufficient structural stability.”
Dorn hears that and looks at the astartes with the expression of a fortress wall being disappointed.
“No.”
“No, my lord?” The Astartes straightens.
“No.”
The younger astartes waits for more and Dorn realizes with visible pain that more is required so he explains reproduction with the exact tone he would use to describe masonry, it’s terrifyingly practical with out unembellished or euphemisms despite the entire squad wishing there had been euphemisms.
“Don't invent civic infrastructure theories about childbirth again.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Also households do benefit from stability.” Dorn adds. “But that is unrelated to conception.”
Konrad Curze
“Babies come from nightmares, if enough people are afraid in one place a small human appears to continue the suffering.”
Curze hears that and makes a weird sound that may be laughter.
“Wrong.” He leans in. “But thematically… interesting.”
The younger Astartes is now more confused and significantly more traumatized, Sevatar who has been standing nearby ends up explaining the basics in the driest possible tone while Curze occasionally interrupts from the shadows with comments like “and then they are born screaming.”
Sanguinius
“Babies are made when two souls love each other so much that the Emperor sends them a tiny servant.”
Sanguinius hears this and looks physically pained. “My son, that is… very sweet.” He approaches gently and places a hand on his shoulder. “And almost entirely incorrect. Love can be involved, often, one hopes it is but there is also nature at work.”
He explains it kindly and with enough delicacy that nobody feels mocked and with enough accuracy that the sanguinary priests silently nod in approval. The younger Astartes understands, the older one is embarrassed but not crushed. Sanguinius later asks the Chaplains whether perhaps the legion’s education has been a little too focused on swordsmanship and blood rites.
Ferrus
“Babies are manufactured through inferior organic replication, the flesh copies itself because it lacks proper modularity.”
Ferrus stops hammering and slowly sets down the tool. “You are technically approaching a concept and somehow still failing. The flesh is weak, yes, but it isn’t a forge template.” He explains reproduction in blunt practical terms using enough biological detail to be correct and enough mechanical comparison to keep them from panicking.
“You won’t teach again until you understand the difference between organic process and manufacturing.”
“Yes, father.”
“And don't call infants unfinished components, civilians dislike that.”
The Iron Hands quietly amend several educational scrolls.
Angron
“Babies come from blood, enough blood spills and eventually life crawls out of it.”
Angron hears and everything stops, the older Astartes suddenly realizes he has chosen the worst possible primarch to say this near.
“No.” Angron turns, jaw tight. “That is what monsters tell themselves when they only know how to make corpses. People are born from bodies, women and from pain, yes, but not that kind, it isn’t a slaughter. Don’t make life sound like one of our battlefields.” Then he walks away before anyone can see too much on his face.
Guilliman
“Babies are issued by local family governance after a successful marriage petition and population sustainability review.”
Guilliman hears this, his face is calm but his soul nearly left his body.
“...Issued?”
“Yes, my lord, by civic authority.”
Guilliman blinks very slowly. “I have failed you.”
“No, my lord!” The Astartes immediately panics.
“Yes, clearly. Somewhere in your education a catastrophic omission occurred and now you believe municipal paperwork is reproductive.”
“It is not?” The younger astartes whispers and Guilliman visibly ages.
He organizes an emergency curriculum reform within six hours. The original Astartes isn’t punished but he is cited anonymously in the introduction as ‘a demonstrated educational failure.’
Mortarion
“Babies grow from spores in damp places, that’s why civilians keep their houses warm.”
Mortarion hears that and for one long moment he stays in silence.
“No.”
The Astartes waits.
“And never say that again.” Mortarion continues.
“But my lord, don’t they grow?”
Mortarion looks like he has been stabbed by stupidity. “Not like fungus.”
“But there is an incubation-”
“Stop helping.”
He gives a short and factual explanation stripped of romance, mystery and any possible joy, he makes normal biology sound like a diagnosis.
“Life is already unpleasant, don’t make it idiotic.” The Death Guard accept this as inspirational wisdom.
Magnus the Red
“Babies are formed when two psychic signatures resonate and attract a soul fragment from the immaterium into a prepared vessel.”
Magnus slowly lowers his book, the statement is wrong but in a way that has wandered too close to several metaphysical arguments Magnus would absolutely like to have.
“No, not precisely.”
Magnus gives a lecture about reproductive biology, genetics, psychic resonance and the philosophical question of when consciousness enters matter. The younger Astartes looks increasingly haunted, the older one tries to take notes and gives up after the phrase ‘ontological threshold’.
After two hours, Magnus concludes. “So, in summary, you were wrong.”
“Where do babies come from then?”
Magnus smiles. “Let us begin again.”
Horus
“Babies happen when a great leader inspires a population hard enough.”
Horus hears this and nearly chokes on his drink.
“What?”
“Because morale increases birth rates, my lord.” The Astartes smiles proudly. This is the kind of wrong that has a tiny piece of political truth inside it, making it vastly more annoying.
Horus laughs first until he sees that the younger astartes genuinely believes it. “Oh. You’re serious.” He puts an arm around both of them like a beloved warlord about to deliver the most uncomfortable fireside chat of their lives. “Right. We are fixing this before you embarrass me in front of a remembrancer.” Horus explains it plainly, with charisma, humor and exactly enough vulgarity that they will remember it forever, by the end the squad is informed and slightly traumatized.
Lorgar
“Babies are granted when faith pleases the divine and a household becomes worthy of receiving a soul.”
Lorgar hears this and his eyes shine, that answer is wrong but it’s spiritually marketable. He interrupts only because he remembered he is supposed to be responsible. “My son… there is beauty in what you said but we mustn’t confuse metaphor with mechanism.” He then gives a lecture that is half biology and half sermon, the younger Astartes leaves understanding the basic reproductive process and also believing childbirth is a sacred ritual written in flesh. The older one is gently praised for seeking meaning but corrected for being factually disastrous.
Vulkan
“Babies are made when a family loves each other so much that they build one together, like a small forge project.”
Vulkan hears that and his face does the thing where he is trying very hard not to laugh because the answer is wrong but also extremely adorable.
“That isn’t how it works, my son, but I understand why you said it.”
He explains with warmth, patience and absolutely no shame. The younger Astartes asks many questions and Vulkan answers all of them.
“So they aren’t built?” The older Astartes asks.
Vulkan pats his shoulder. “No but they are raised, that’s the building part.”
Corvus Corax
“Babies emerge from silence when loneliness becomes too heavy.”
Corax hears this from the shadows and remains silent for so long that both Astartes assume they are safe until a voice comes from behind them.
“That was poetry pretending to be information, don’t do that.” Corax steps forward and the older Astartes almost jumps out of his armor.
“But it sounded meaningful, my lord.” The younger Astartes says.
Corax sighs and explains the truth quietly and directly, though with a melancholy edge that makes the whole thing sound like a tragic folk story.
“Loneliness may lead people to seek love and love may lead to children but babies don’t condense out of sorrow… Usually.”
The Raven Guard are left unsure whether that final part was a joke.
Alpharius Omegon
“Babies are created when two adults exchange classified genetic intelligence through a covert biological operation.”
Alpharius is nearby or Omegon or both.
“That isn’t entirely inaccurate.” He says
“It is also a terrible explanation.” The other twin speaks as he appears from absolutely nowhere.
“Was I wrong?” The older Astartes looks between them.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Operationally.”
“Pedagogically.”
The younger Astartes is now more confused than before. The twins proceed to explain reproduction using intelligence terminology, espionage metaphors, at least three false examples, one true example disguised as a lie and a diagram that self-destructs after viewing.
“So… where do babies come from?” The younger Astartes asks at the end.
“Ask your apothecary.” Alpharius smiles.
“But don’t trust his first answer.” Omegon adds.
The veterinary clinic sat at the edge of town like a fortress of small miseries.
Magnus saw it first through the truck window as you pulled into the gravel lot. A low, flat-roofed building painted a shade of beige that had given up on ambition decades ago. The sign out front read ST. CELESTINE ANIMAL HOSPITAL in faded blue letters, with a cartoon dog and cat beneath it, both smiling in a way that suggested they had never actually visited the place. The windows were barred with security grates. The front door was solid metal with a hydraulic hinge. It looked, Magnus thought, like a building that had seen things.
More importantly, it felt like one.
The moment the truck crossed the property line, something pressed against the edge of Magnus's psychic awareness. Not a presence. Not a consciousness. An atmosphere. Pain, confusion, resignation clung to the walls and the parking lot and the scrubby bushes by the entrance like old smoke. Not malignant. Not hostile. Just... heavy. The accumulated distress of thousands of animals who had passed through those doors and not understood why.
Magnus ruffled his feathers and tried to draw his mind back. The sensation clung anyway. In his old body he would have dismissed it as background noise. In this one, every instinct screamed at him to fly away.
«Something is wrong with this place» he said.
Leman, already on his feet in the back of the truck, gave him a puzzled look. «It is vet. They fix things.»
«There is a miasma. A weight. Can you not feel it?»
Leman sniffed the air through the open window. His tail wagged once, experimentally. «Smells like disinfectant and cat urine. Nothing new. You are being dramatic.»
«I am not—»
You killed the engine. The sudden silence cut Magnus off. In the front seat, Fulgrim lay motionless on the blanket, and Corvus had gone limp enough that only the faint rise and fall of his chest proved he still lived. You were already out of the truck before Magnus could form another protest.
Leman shouldered the rear door open with practiced ease and jumped down onto the gravel. His paws crunched on the stones. He turned back, tongue lolling, and looked up at Magnus still perched on the torn bench.
«Come. I will show you where treats are.»
«I do not require treats,» Magnus said.
«You will. Nurse has good ones. Liver flavor.»
Magnus stared at him.
Leman stared back, entirely sincere.
Then you yanked the passenger door open and gathered Fulgrim into your arms with a care that made Magnus's complaint die in his throat. The snake was utterly limp. Blood had dried in dark patches along his purple scales. You cradled him against your chest, then reached for Corvus. The raven stirred weakly at the motion, beak opening, but no sound came out. You tucked him into the crook of your other arm and kicked the truck door shut behind you.
"Leman, with me. Now."
Leman fell into step beside you at once. Magnus had no choice but to launch himself from the truck and flap after you, landing awkwardly on the pavement just outside the clinic door.
The hydraulic hinge hissed as you shoved through.
Inside, the clinic was aggressively clean. White tile floors. Fluorescent lights that buzzed at a frequency Magnus could feel in his beak. A reception desk with a computer and a stack of clipboards. Chairs along one wall, the kind with molded plastic seats and metal legs. A woman behind the desk looked up as you burst in, and her expression shifted from routine boredom to alert concern in half a second.
"I need Dr. Chen," you said. "Now. Snake and a raven. Both attacked. The snake's been bleeding for at least twenty minutes. The raven has a wing injury and possible shock."
The receptionist was already on her feet, pressing a button on the desk. "He's in Exam Two. Go straight back. I'll tell him you're coming."
You didn't wait. You pushed through the swinging door into the hallway beyond, Leman at your heels, Magnus flapping behind in a controlled panic.
The hallway smelled worse than the waiting room. Sharper. More chemical. Under the disinfectant, Magnus caught the ghost-scent of blood and urine and the cold metallic tang of surgical steel. The psychic weight pressed harder here. Not evil. Just... heavy. The walls had absorbed too much animal terror over too many years. It seeped out now like groundwater.
Magnus hated it.
A man in a white coat stepped out of a doorway ahead. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with graying hair and a face that had settled into calm competence decades ago. His hands were already gloved. His eyes went straight to the animals in your arms.
"Exam Two," he said. "On the table. Tell me what happened."
You followed him into a small room lined with cabinets and dominated by a stainless steel examination table. You laid Fulgrim out first, then Corvus beside him. The raven's good eye flickered open and fixed on the vet with a venom Magnus could feel across the room.
"Fight," you said, breathless. "I don't know the details. I found them in the trees behind my property. The snake had talon marks all over him. The raven's wing is broken or dislocated. They've both lost a lot of blood."
Dr. Chen was already examining Fulgrim, fingers moving with a gentleness that surprised Magnus. "Colubrid. Purple glossy snake. These punctures are consistent with bird talons. Corvid, by the spacing." He glanced at Corvus. "Your raven did this?"
"I think so. I don't know. They were just... on the ground together."
The vet made a noncommittal sound and continued his examination. Fulgrim did not move. His tongue did not flick. For one awful moment, Magnus thought he had died in the truck without anyone noticing.
Then Fulgrim's tail twitched.
Magnus released a breath he had not realized he was holding.
"We're going to need to sedate both of them," Dr. Chen said. He was already reaching for a drawer. "The snake's wounds need cleaning and suturing. The raven's wing needs imaging before I can set it. Are they wild or yours?"
"Mine," you said, then hesitated. "Sort of. Rescues. Recent."
The vet nodded as though this explained everything.
Behind him, a young woman in scrubs appeared in the doorway. "Dr. Chen, we've got the surgery suite prepped."
"Good. Get Kim and start on the snake. I'll take the raven." He glanced at you. "You'll need to wait in the front. We'll update you as soon as we know more."
You looked down at Fulgrim and Corvus, and Magnus saw the war on your face. The urge to stay. The knowledge that staying would only be in the way.
"Please," you said. "Please save them."
Dr. Chen met your eyes. "We'll do our best."
Two more nurses appeared. One lifted Fulgrim with practiced hands and carried him out. The other, a stocky woman with a no-nonsense expression, scooped up Corvus despite his weak attempt to snap at her.
That was when Corvus started screaming.
It was not a bird's cry. It was something older and rawer, dragged up from a place that had nothing to do with broken wings. It cut through the hallway like a blade. Magnus felt it in his skull. In his chest. In every feather that stood suddenly on end.
You flinched.
The nurse held firm. "Easy, easy. You're okay. We've got you."
"Can I go with him?" you asked.
Dr. Chen shook his head. "It's better if you wait. Animals pick up on our stress. If you're calm out front, it'll help them stay calm in back."
Magnus wanted to point out that Corvus had not been calm a single moment since arriving on this planet, but he held his tongue. Not that he could speak aloud anyway.
You let yourself be guided back to the waiting room. Your shoulders were tight. Your hands were trembling faintly. Leman immediately rested his head on your knee. You scratched behind his ears on autopilot, eyes fixed on the door to the back.
Magnus perched on the chair beside you and stared at that same door.
The screaming continued for a long time.
---
The nurse named Daisy had very gentle hands and absolutely no fear of birds.
Magnus discovered this the hard way when she scooped him off the chair without warning, tucked him under one arm like a feathery football, and carried him into an exam room before he could process what was happening.
"Let's get a look at you too," she said, setting him on a towel-lined table. "Looks like you were in the wars as well."
Magnus opened his beak to protest. What came out was an undignified squawk.
"Shh, shh. I know. It's been a rough day."
He was not being comforted. He was a Primarch. He had commanded fleets and shattered worlds and bent the laws of reality to his will. He did not require shushing.
Daisy ran a gloved finger along the edge of his injured wing, and Magnus's entire body locked up.
"That's a nasty scrape," she said. "Doesn't look deep, but we should clean it and get some antibiotic cream on it. You'll be sore for a few days." She paused, tilting her head. "You're a big boy, aren't you? Biggest macaw I've ever seen."
Magnus puffed his chest feathers on reflex before he could stop himself. Leman, the traitor, was watching from the open doorway with his tail wagging.
«She called you big,» Leman said into his mind. «You are weak to praise.»
«I am not weak to anything,» Magnus snapped.
«Your feathers puffed.»
«That was a physiological response to temperature variation.»
«Sure, sure.»
Daisy cleaned the scrape with something that stung, then applied a cool gel that soothed. Magnus tolerated this with what he considered monumental dignity. She then checked his blind eye, made a soft sympathetic sound, and declared that she could not do much for it but it did not seem to be causing him pain.
Then she said the words that changed everything.
"Okay, big guy. Just two quick injections and you'll be all set."
Magnus went rigid.
He saw the syringe in her hand. It was enormous. It was sharp. It was filled with a liquid that gleamed under the fluorescent lights like liquid malevolence.
«What. Is. That?» he said, and his mental voice was not quite steady.
Leman, still in the doorway, tilted his head. «Medicine.»
«I do not require medicine.»
«You fought Corvus. You might have bird germs.»
«Bird—» Magnus's mind stuttered. «There are no such things as bird germs!»
«Nurse thinks there are.»
Daisy swabbed a spot on his breast with alcohol. The cold made him flinch. "It's okay big guy, just a little pinch," she said.
Magnus prepared himself for the worst pain of his existence.
The needle went in. It was, objectively, a very small pinch.
Magnus squawked anyway. Loudly. With feeling.
"Aww, poor baby," Daisy cooed. "Almost done. One more."
The second injection was worse only because Magnus knew it was coming. He held perfectly still through sheer force of will and stared at the far wall while she doing it. Leman's tail was now wagging hard enough to create a breeze.
«You screamed,» Leman observed.
«I expressed surprise verbally,» Magnus corrected.
«You did a loud bird noise. It was a scream.»
Magnus turned his head very slowly and fixed Leman with his one good eye. «I will remember this.»
A second nurse appeared in the doorway, the same stocky woman who had carried Corvus back. She had a bag of treats in one hand and a roll of bandages in the other. When she saw Leman, her face broke into a grin.
"Leman! There's my favorite troublemaker."
Leman's entire body wiggled. He trotted over to her and sat down with the precise posture of a dog who knew exactly how to work the system. She crouched and rubbed both hands over his ears while he leaned into it, eyes half-lidded.
"How's the mouth, buddy? Let me see."
Leman opened his jaws obediently. The nurse peered at the cut on his gums from the metal latch, made a thoughtful noise, and dabbed it with something from a tube.
"Not bad. Keep it clean. No chewing on metal, okay?"
Leman licked her hand.
«You are shameless,» Magnus said.
«I have treats now,» Leman replied, and it was true. The nurse had produced a biscuit from the bag and was feeding it to him in small pieces. «She is my favorite human who is not the handler. She gives the good biscuits. The ones shaped like bones.»
Magnus, still moping on the exam table with two injection sites throbbing faintly on his breast, hated him a little bit.
The nurses finished their work and left them in a small recovery area off the side of the waiting room. It was a quiet corner with a few cages, a bench, and a low table covered in magazines. Magnus hopped down from the exam table and retreated to the farthest corner, where he hunched his shoulders and glared at nothing.
Leman followed, still chewing his biscuit.
«You are sulking,» Leman said.
«I am recovering. There is a difference.»
«From two little needle-pokes?»
Magnus turned his back.
The recovery area had a window that looked out onto the parking lot. The sun had shifted while they were inside. Late afternoon light slanted across the gravel, catching the dust in golden bars. Magnus stared at it and tried to sort through the tangle of his thoughts.
Fulgrim might die. Corvus might die. The day had started with a bath and ended with a truck full of blood, and somewhere in the middle of it all, he had seen roads that might have been built on ancient Terra. This planet, this absurd little farm world, was either the cradle of humanity or a very convincing echo of it. Either way, it was significant. Either way, he needed more information.
He also needed to stop being poked with needles.
Leman settled onto the bench beside him, front paws dangling over the edge in a pose that was not quite dignified. His golden fur was dirty in places from earlier.
«You have questions,» Leman said. «I can feel them rattling around. Ask.»
Magnus hesitated. He was not accustomed to asking Leman Russ for information. The old dynamic between them had been built on rivalry, suspicion, and the unspoken understanding that their father had pitted them against each other like game pieces. This easy, open offer of help was disorienting.
He pushed the old resentment aside with effort.
«The vet,» Magnus said. «You have been here before.»
«Many times,» Leman agreed. «Dr. Che is good man. Stitched my side when I fought badger. Removed thorn from my paw. Gave me medicine when I ate something I should not have eaten.»
«What did you eat?»
«Many things,» Leman said evasively. «The point is, he fixes things. He fixed me. He will fix Fulgrim and the Raven too.»
Magnus wanted to believe that. He wanted it with a ferocity that surprised him. The alternative was that he had watched Corvus nearly kill Fulgrim, then helped carry them both to this place of cold tile and chemical smells, only to have them die on a metal table while strangers poked at their wounds.
From somewhere deep in the back of the clinic, a fresh scream cut through the walls.
The scream faded into a hoarse croak, then silence. A moment later, Magnus heard your voice through the door, low and soothing, the words indistinct but the cadence unmistakably gentle. You must have been allowed back after all, or perhaps you had simply ignored the vet's advice and gone anyway. Magnus found he was not surprised.
«She is with him,» Leman said. «This is good. Her voice makes things less scary.»
«You sound like a puppy.»
«I sound like someone who has been scared and then not-scared because handler was there,» Leman said without embarrassment. «It works. You will see.»
Magnus did not answer.
Another scream. This one shorter. Then a long silence broken only by the murmur of your voice and the distant clink of surgical instruments.
Magnus looked away from the door and found himself staring at the magazines on the low table. They were the sort of publications that existed only in waiting rooms: issues of farming periodicals and pet care digests and a single copy of a news magazine with a headline about a local pumpkin festival. He hopped onto the table and used his beak to flip one open.
The pages were glossy. The words were in Low Gothic, or something very close to it. Advertisements for livestock feed. An article about rotational grazing. A photograph of a cow that had won a ribbon.
He flipped another page with his claw.
«What are you doing?» Leman asked.
«Gathering intelligence.»
«You are reading about cow.»
«The cow may be relevant.»
Leman made a sound that might have been a laugh. «You are bored.»
Magnus flipped another page more aggressively than necessary. «I am a scholar. I have written treatises on metaphysics and the nature of the Warp. I can find interest in any subject, no matter how mundane.»
«What does the article say?»
Magnus scanned the text. «It is about... the nutritional benefits of alfalfa.»
«Ha.»
He flipped the magazine closed and shoved it away with one foot. Across the room, a young nurse was watching them. She had her phone out and was pointing it in their direction, a small smile on her face.
Magnus went very still.
«Leman,» he said. «What is that object?»
Leman followed his gaze. «Phone.»
«What does it do?»
«Many things.» Leman's tail wagged slowly. «Takes pictures. Sends messages. Shows moving pictures of dogs doing tricks. Handler watches it at night and laughs.»
Magnus stared at the phone with renewed intensity. A communication device. A repository of information. Possibly a gateway to understanding this world and how they had arrived here.
«The nurse is pointing it at us,» he observed.
«She is taking picture,» Leman said. «You are very red. People like taking pictures of red birds.»
Magnus preened a chest feather into place before he could stop himself. «I am not merely red. I am Ara macao. The colouration is striking.»
«You are preening again.»
«I am maintaining my feathers.»
The nurse tapped at her phone, smiled at whatever she had captured, and tucked it back into her pocket. Magnus tracked the motion with sharp focus.
«Could I use one?» he asked.
Leman looked at him. Then, very slowly, looked down at Magnus's feet.
His claws, sharp and curved, designed for gripping perches and branches and the occasional Corvus Corax. Not designed for tapping on small flat rectangles.
Magnus followed his gaze. Understood. Felt a spike of irritation so pure it made his blind eye twitch.
«Do not say it,» he warned.
Leman said nothing. His silence was somehow worse than words.
«I could operate it with my beak,» Magnus said.
«Sure.»
«I am very precise.»
«I believe you.»
«You do not believe me.»
Leman's ears tipped back in what Magnus now recognized as suppressed amusement. «You would peck phone. Phone would break. Nurse would be sad.»
Magnus wanted to argue. He wanted to list every fine motor skill he had possessed in his original body, every delicate manipulation of warp-stuff and material reality that had earned him the title of sorcerer. But his current body was a bird. His beak was good for cracking nuts and biting his brother's wing and not much else. And Leman, the infuriating mutt, was right.
He settled for a low, irritated croak.
From the back of the clinic, the screaming had stopped entirely. Magnus noticed the silence the way one noticed the absence of a toothache. It should have been a relief. Instead, it made him nervous.
«They have finished,» Leman said. «Or sedated him enough that he cannot scream.»
«Those are very different things.»
«Yes.»
They waited.
The minutes stretched. The sunlight outside shifted another few degrees. The nurse who had taken Magnus's picture moved past the recovery area with a stack of folders. She waved at Leman. Leman wagged his tail.
Then the door to the back swung open.
You stepped out, and Magnus knew before you spoke that it was going to be all right. Your face was tired and your shirt was still stained with blood, but your shoulders had dropped from your ears. You walked like someone who had just put down a weight.
Dr. Chen followed you out, pulling off his gloves.
"They're both stable," he said, and Magnus felt something loosen in his chest. "The snake—Fulgrim, you called him?—had seven puncture wounds and some bruising, but nothing hit anything vital. We cleaned them out, stitched where we could, bandaged the rest. He's on fluids and antibiotics. He'll be sore for a while, but snakes are resilient. He should recover fully."
"And the raven?" you asked.
Dr. Chen's expression flickered. "Corvus is... a fighter. The wing wasn't broken, just dislocated and badly strained. We've got it back in place and wrapped. The bigger concern was blood loss and shock. He's resting now. Honestly, I'm surprised he made it this far. That's a tough bird."
You let out a breath that seemed to come from somewhere deep in your gut. "Can I see them?"
"In a few minutes. We're moving them to recovery now. They'll need to stay overnight for observation."
You nodded, and for a moment you just stood there, looking at the vet with an expression Magnus could not quite read. Gratitude. Exhaustion. Something softer underneath.
"Thank you," you said. "Really. I know they're just... animals. But they're my animals. Even the ones who bite me."
Dr. Che smiled. It was a tired smile, the kind worn by people who had spent years caring for creatures that could not thank them. "That's what we're here for. Now, what about the other two?"
You turned. Magnus and Leman were both watching from the recovery area. Magnus tried to look like he had not been eavesdropping. Leman did not try at all.
"Daisy took care of them," Dr. Chen said, checking a chart on the wall. "The macaw had a scrape on his wing and some bruising. Cleaned and bandaged. He also got his vaccinations updated, but he will need to go another day for follow-up appointments and vaccinations."
Magnus's head snapped up. «Again?»
"Good," you said. "He probably needed them."
"Also a beak trim might be in order, but we didn't want to stress him more today."
Magnus clacked his beak shut. «Beak trim?»
Leman made a sound that was suspiciously like a snicker.
"And Leman's mouth is fine," Dr. Chen added. "Superficial cut. He'll heal."
"He always does," you said, and the affection in your voice was so casual and so genuine that Magnus felt like an intruder hearing it.
You walked over to them. Leman stood up on the bench and pressed his head into your hand. You scratched him behind the ears, then looked at Magnus.
"You okay, big guy? They poke you?"
Magnus wanted to say that he had been stabbed twice, mocked by a dog, and threatened with cosmetic beak modification. What came out was a soft, involuntary chirp.
You smiled. "Yeah. You're fine."
Magnus wanted to be offended. He found he could not quite manage it.
---
They left the clinic an hour later, after you had visited the recovery room and stood with your hand pressed against Fulgrim's terrarium glass, after you had spoken softly to Corvus until the raven's good eye closed in something like sleep. The sun was low and orange. The air had cooled.
Magnus rode on your shoulder this time, claws gripping the fabric of your shirt. Leman walked beside you, tired but content, his tail sweeping slow arcs through the air.
They were almost to the truck when Magnus saw the boy.
He was small, perhaps six or seven years old, sitting on the clinic steps with a plastic carrier cage beside him. A woman who must have been his mother was inside talking to the receptionist. The boy was alone, kicking his feet against the concrete, and on his lap was the cage.
Inside the cage was a hedgehog.
Magnus froze.
The hedgehog was small. Smaller than a hedgehog should be. Its spines were patchy and dull, sticking out at odd angles. Its body was curled into a tight, defensive ball, but even from ten feet away, Magnus could feel the exhaustion radiating from it. The weakness. The pain. Old injuries healed badly. New ones still raw.
And beneath all of that, buried so deep it was almost lost, was a mind he knew.
«Perturabo?.»
The name tore out of him before he could stop it. A psychic shout so loud that Leman flinched.
«Magnus? What—»
Magnus launched from your shoulder.
You yelled in surprise. Your hand swiped for him and missed. Magnus beat his wings once, twice, and shot toward the boy and the cage like a crimson missile. The boy looked up with wide eyes. The cage rattled as Magnus collided with the wire door, claws scrabbling at the latch.
«Perturabo! Perturabo, it's me! Magnus! Can you hear me?»
Inside the cage, the hedgehog twitched.
Slowly, painfully, it uncurled just enough to lift its head. Its eyes were small and dark and rimmed with crust. They focused on Magnus with an effort that looked like it hurt.
The mind that touched his was faint. Threadbare. Dragged up from some deep well of exhaustion.
«...Magnus?»
«Yes. Yes, it's me. I'm here. We're here. Leman is here. What happened to you? How long have you been—»
«I don't...» Perturabo's thought frayed at the edges. «I don't remember. I woke up... cold. Small. Everything hurts...» A long pause, filled with static. «I am so tired.»
«Stay awake,» Magnus said. «Stay awake. I'll get you out of that cage. I'll—»
He yanked at the wire door with his beak. It did not budge.
«Magnus, what are you doing?» Leman was at his side now, looking from the cage to the boy to the hedgehog inside. «Is that—»
«It's Perturabo.»
Leman's ears went flat. «Storms take us. He looks worse than Fulgrim.»
«Help me open this.»
«How? I have paws.»
«Then find the handler! Get her to—»
"Hey! Hey, bird!"
The boy was on his feet, trying to shield the cage with his body. He looked scared. Magnus realized, distantly, that he was probably terrifying: a massive macaw with one blind eye and bandaged wing, attacking a child's pet carrier.
Your hands closed around him from behind.
"Magnus! What the hell!"
He fought you. He had never fought you before, not really, but he fought you now. His wings beat against your arms. His beak snapped at the air. He was screaming, a horrible raw sound, and he did not care.
«Perturabo!»
Inside the cage, the hedgehog curled up again. Slowly. Like a door closing.
«It's all right,» Perturabo's voice came, very faint. «It's all right. Go. I'll be... I'll be here.»
«No. No, I'm not leaving you. I'm not—»
You pulled Magnus against your chest and held him there, one hand gentle over his wings. "Shh. Shh. It's okay. Whatever it is, it's okay."
The boy's mother came running out of the clinic. There were voices. Explanations. Someone apologizing. Someone laughing nervously. The cage was picked up and carried away.
Magnus watched it go. He watched until the boy and his mother climbed into a car. He watched until the car pulled out of the parking lot and vanished down the road.
Then he went limp in your arms.
You were quiet on the drive home. Leman lay across the back seat with his head on his paws, staring at nothing. Magnus sat on your shoulder again, pressed against the warmth of your neck, and did not speak.
The farm appeared through the windshield as the last light left the sky.
«We will find him,» Leman said into the quiet of their shared mind.
Magnus did not answer.
«We found each other. We will find him too. I promise.»
Magnus closed his eyes. The memory of Perturabo's threadbare voice echoed in his skull. The image of those patchy spines, that exhausted curl, stayed printed on the inside of his eyelids.
He was a scholar. He had written treatises on metaphysics and the nature of reality. He had believed, once, that knowledge could solve anything.
Now he was a bird in a truck on a backwater world, and one of his brothers was trapped in a cage and being carried away by strangers and there was nothing he could do about it except sit on a warm shoulder and wait for tomorrow.
«Rest,» Leman said. «We hunt tomorrow.»
Magnus let out a breath that was almost, but not quite, a laugh.
«Since when do you plan strategy?»
«Since I became dog,» Leman said. «Dogs are very good at finding things. It is what we do.»
I love him okay? So I decided you can have this one, too.
Whether I start posting any of the fic as a whole is up in the air, but I might if I can figure out where it's going any time soon.
Also, to answer the question of how one person ends up with so many primarchs in her orbit in character: "I don't know but please get them out of my sanctuary before more show up I just want to live in PEACE."
From the same fic as Leman and Fulgrim's versions.
You set the bucket down with a grunt. The only time you missed having either of the two primarch's around was when you had things that needed carried. Leman was always happy to throw whatever it is on his shoulder and take it wherever you told him to. It's a fun game to him, you think. Or maybe some reminder of who he might have been before he became a king
Regardless, it would be really nice if he were here to carry your shit for you right now. But alas- he'd left hours ago.
You turn and start to head back towards the church, making it about halfway when a shudder runs through you, and suddenly everything in you is screaming that something is very very wrong.
You whirl back around, eyes scanning the expanse of the moonlit garden, nearly tipping over at what you find.
It's easy to guess how he got there. You're partially underground and have a wide open ceiling. He could have just climbed, or jumped. Leman does it all the time if he's too lazy to walk all the way over properly. But you hadn't even heard him, hadn't realized he was there until your intuition screamed at you to turn around.
You'd heard about the wrongness of Konrad Curze from his brothers, but you never thought you'd see him in person.
Even hunched over so much, you know he's massively tall like the other two, but thinner than both of them. You can still see muscle on him, but he's far leaner than Fulgrim, and practically a twig compared to Leman. He's far too pale, as well, with black eyes staring both at you and through you at the same time.
He really needs a bath, Your shocked mind tells you, incredibly unhelpfully. And a meal or ten.
And something to wear, but you were really trying to ignore that part. He at least had his waist covered in…something, but it looked flimsy at best. You tell yourself to just not look down too far.
You search your brain for every story you've ever heard about this particular primarch. All you really knew about him was that he 'wasn't all there' and 'isn't as bad as he pretends to be,' according to his two brothers.
Also, you think eats people, but you're praying that's just a rumor.
"M-my lord?" You say. "Can I help you?"
Your voice seems to almost startle him, and he cackles out a laugh that makes your skin crawl. Whatever he mumbles back at you, you don't quite hear, and it becomes unimportant the moment he lurches forward at you.
"Wait-!" You scramble back, just barely avoiding him. He was frighteningly fast, but he was also…off balance. He stumbles and sways, almost like he's drunk, or sleepwalking.
Not all there.
If he was having some kind of episode, maybe you could shake him out of it. Right- you could handle this. You just had to not get snatched and definitely murdered and eaten before you could figure out how to do that.
He comes at you again, and despite being prepared this time, manages to actually claw at you. His extremely sharp nails slice through your arm, the weight of the impact tripping you.
Great, now you were going to have to deal with another lecture from Fulgrim about getting hurt. Honestly, that man was practically your mother- this was not the time to be lamenting!
You scramble to your feet, and try again to reach wherever he is through words.
"I'm not an enemy! I swear!"
Your plea does not reach him fully, but you think you see a flicker of something in his endless gaze. He hesitates, and it's just long enough for you to back away farther.
You startle a little when your heel hits the bucket. You've managed to circle back around to it. Looking down, you find your answer.
Water. You were filling the fountain with water. Your voice may not be getting through, but a shock of cold water might. Or it could just piss him off more, but the risk is worth it if it means he stops trying to maul you.
The next few moments happen fast.
Thanks to the amount of adrenaline running through you, you manage to lift the bucket easier than you had before, and throw it's contents at the primarch as he makes for a third grab at you. The water arcs perfectly, hitting him dead in the face. His momentum makes it impossible for him to stop, but your attack does cause him to hiss and stumble, before he completely topples over.
Then, a tense silence as he processes what just happened.
You see him come back to himself, from whatever faraway place he'd been before. He blinks several times, looking down at his hands that were wet with water and your blood. He lets out a shuddering breath, then starts clawing at his face and suddenly you know exactly where all the scars on it came from.
"Hey- hey-" You drop the bucket and move towards him, reaching to grab at his wrists. He jerks away from you, shoving at you with one hand and sending you hard to the ground. You land on your back with a wheeze, your head spinning.
He's muttering again, but this time you can hear him better. He's cursing- though, whether it's at you, or himself, you can't totally tell- and rambling.
Once your breath returns to you, you force yourself back up and limp to him again. You shouldn't get close to him, not after all that, but he was just so…pathetic, it made your heart hurt for him.
"My lord," You keep your voice low, and hope he can't tell how shaky it is. "It's alright, everything is alright."
You reach for him again, and this time he lets you grab him. He's stopped clawing and is now looking at you through the gaps in his fingers, refusing to budge when you tug at him.
This close, his eyes are even darker than you realized, and the more you looked, the more they reminded you of the night sky somehow. They tremble, and are filled with so many different emotions it's hard to pinpoint his mood.
"Let me see," You say, tugging on his wrists again.
He listens this time, letting you pull his hands away just enough to assess the damage he's done to himself. His scratches were deep, and would probably scar if he didn't get them looked at. Luckily for him, you could do it.
" 's not so bad," You hum. "I can get you cleaned up real fast-"
"You're going to die," He blurts. His voice is rough and shakes more than yours does. He flinches at his own words, but you just stare at him for a moment.
"Sure, we all will at some point."
He blinks at you.
"What-"
"I think I have some ointment I can put on those for you," You cut him off, returning to what you thought was a slightly more important topic. It startles him, clearly not used to this kind of reaction.
You release his hands, and much to your pleasure he lets them fall to his sides. He stares at you like you're a puzzle he can't solve, head tilting to the side.
"I'll be right back. Don't move," You leave him in the garden and head inside to search for something to treat both his face, and the bleeding gashes on your arm.
You return to him with a smaller bowl of water, some bandages, and the promised ointment, actually surprised that he's still there.
He's shifted from his knees to sitting cross legged, and is picking grass from the dirt. His eyes lift towards you, and he looks every bit like a little kid who's already been- or is about to be- scolded. Or a pathetic wet cat.
How strange it is to find someone so unnerving that cute.
He's perfectly still as you wipe his face clean from blood and grime. He'd still need a more involved bath, but this would do for now. He keeps his hands clasped together tightly enough to wound himself even more, which earns him a sigh, but he lets you take care of them.
"Why?" He asks once you finish tending to him.
"Because you needed it," You say.
He makes a noise, kind of similar to the one Leman makes when he's unhappy about something, but more…him. He didn't like your answer, but you weren't going to change it.
"I did that to you," He points at your arm. It still hurt, but you think it's stopped bleeding.
"You did, yeah."
"You should be afraid of me."
"I was, in the moment, but not anymore."
He sits with that for a moment, and just watches you as you start to care for your own wound finally.
"Why?" He asks again. You pause your struggle to tear your sleeve away so you can treat yourself without taking the whole thing off in front of him.
"I dunno," You admit. "I guess once you calmed down, I saw someone who was just as scared as I was. One of us had to be brave."
He laughs at that. It's not as frightening as the first time, and you think this might be a real, genuine laugh. Not one filled with madness or malice, but true amusement.
"Funny," He mumbles.
Then he reaches out. You jump a little when he grabs you with cold hands, but you watch as he rips your sleeve off for you without any trouble. Then he holds your arm with one hand while reaching for the bowl of water with the other.
You say nothing as he awkwardly helps you. He's not good at it, rubbing at you too roughly with the cloth and putting way too much medicine on you before wrapping your arm in what must be the worst way possible, but you don't complain. It's his way of apologizing for the trouble without saying the words, you think. Why take that away from him?
"Thank you, Lord Curze," You say, offering him a smile. He scowls back at you.
"Don't. I don't use that name."
"What should I call you, then?"
"I am the Night Haunter. Nothing more."
You cough to hide a giggle. That honestly felt so on brand for him, and you've only known him a handful of minutes.
"Alright, sure, I'll remember that, lord Night Haunter."
He perks up the tiniest bit, and you think he looks a bit proud of himself at getting you to call him by his chosen title. Something tells you, you might be the only one.
"Good."
You stand, offering him both your hands as if to pull him up as well. He takes them, but stands entirely on his own.
"Come on then," You say, pulling him along. He follows without complaint.
"Where are you taking me?"
"For a bath. It will help you feel better. Also, if you could tell me where I might find one of your astartes to get you some better clothes to wear, that would be fantastic."
He scoffs, then snorts, and you think he's laughing silently behind you but you choose not to turn around to see for sure.
A tidbit from a fic I'm unsure I'll finish- mostly because I can't decide who I want the reader to end up with in the end so it's kind of a mess right now.
Anyway, you guys voted for this so I hope you enjoy. I'll post Fulgrim's first meeting later today.
You press the heels of your hands into your eyes with a soft groan as the morning sun beams down on you. The grass under you was soft, and usually this would be comfortable, but stars above you felt heavy- it felt like a wall had been laid over you.
You turn your head to the side and feel your heart drop.
Ooohhh no. Oh no no no no no no.
You sit up, the massive arm holding you sliding to rest around your waist easily while its owner slept surprisingly quietly next to you. Then you run a panic checklist of just three things.
Are my clothes on? Yes.
Are his clothes on? Yes.
Does anything hurt? No. Well, yes, but not like that.
You let out a soft, relieved sigh, rubbing your hands over your face as you try to figure out how the fuck you ended up not only passed out in your garden, but with Leman Russ as your companion.
-
The atmosphere of the bar was…weird, when you walked in. Everyone who would normally be spread out along the different seats were all huddled close to the door. As far from the party of howling wolves as possible.
It wasn't that people here didn't like the 6th legion, it's just that everyone knew that they could drink an entire planet dry of it's alcohol if they wanted to. And they could get rowdy. Not dangerous, that you were aware of, but still.
That wouldn't have people giving them this much space though. No, only the presence of their extra boisterous primarch could do that.
He was sitting back away from the door, on the complete opposite end of the establishment, allowing for several of his astartes to fill in the space between. There was still arguably plenty of room for the baselines like you to fit yourselves in, but this wasn't his home planet. Terran-born humans weren't as used to having a primarch this close. Lord Dorn kept mostly to himself, and when the others visited, they also mostly kept to themselves, filtering to and from the Imperial palace and the private residences that had been built for them. Fulgrim was the exception, as he'd taken to visiting you as often as possible.
But primarchs were very rarely out in public like this on Terra unless it was a grand event like a festival, so Russ being out and about drinking his weight and then some in alcohol at what you would consider to be a random dive bar on a random night?
Definitely weird. And everyone else here thought so too. You squeeze in anyway, grimacing at the realization that the only seats really available were the ones closest to the wolves.
"What's going on?" You ask the bartender quietly. He shrugs.
"Not sure, they just showed up about an hour ago. Something good must have happened. Your usual?" You nod at his question, and let out a soft sigh. You wouldn't say you were here that often, maybe a handful of times a month, but it was your birthday and this place was tradition- even if you were alone now. It only made sense that the people here knew you at least a little.
You tell yourself once the drink is set down in front of you that you'd only have the one, then you'd go.
But then the bartender buys you a second round, as a gift, and says it just loud enough that one of the astartes hears. You see him from the corner of your eye, how he perks up, then goes and whispers something to his primarch. You think, at best, you may get a third drink bought for you. One you probably couldn't turn down because, well, it would come from a primarch or one of his sons.
However, like all things in your life recently, that idea gets shot out the window the moment you're literally scooped from your chair and dropped into a different one across from the great Wolf King himself.
It's that moment that you realize he's sitting on the floor. You barely have time to wonder if he's even comfortable like that before he's grinning at you and one of his sons is handing you a shot that burns the whole way down. He laughs, messes up your hair, and orders more.
After that-
-
You don't remember what happens after that. But if your nausea, pounding head, and aching body tell you anything, you went way harder than you have in a very long time.
At least you made it home, you supposed. You're pretty sure if you'd woken in his home, you'd probably be having a meltdown. And then Fulgrim would yell at you not being here to greet him when he showed up because knowing your luck, he would have shown up before you got back.
You weren't expecting him, but then again, you rarely ever were. He liked to not tell you before he arrived, so you were surprised by him often.
Russ shifts next to you, reminding you of his presence in your home.
Getting him out of here was going to be a chore, that was for sure. You wondered if he'd come alone, or if one of his astartes had passed out somewhere else in the sanctuary, and could be woken to help you get his father where he belonged.
You don't see anyone else in the garden, though, which means the only way to find out if there was anyone else here, was to escape the grasp of the great wolf.
It takes a lot of doing. You have to lift his arm so you can wiggle free, but you don't want to wake him just yet, so you have to move slow, which means whenever you pause, he scoots close again in his sleep like a needy dog who doesn't want his person to leave him alone.
But eventually, you get free. Standing to brush yourself off a little, you do another check-in with yourself.
Your clothes were a mess, but nothing was torn. Just dirty from sleeping on the ground, and rumpled from being stuck under a mountain of a man. A brief glance at him shows that he is also still clothed.
Your only aches were in your head and body, both from the alcohol and, again, sleeping on the ground under a massive man.
But nothing felt off. You didn't feel gross in the way you would if you'd done something lewd and been unable to clean yourself off. Nor did you have any pain in any intimate areas.
Another sigh of relief falls from your lips. The absolute last thing you needed was to have had drunk sex with a primarch of all people. Thankfully, though, you seem to be safe for now.
You cast a glance down at him, still asleep in the grass, and frown a little. You would both be needing a lot of water, and something to eat, but you weren't sure you had enough in your food storage for both of you. Shit, you may not even have enough for him on his own. A little was better than nothing, though, and you bet you could make something before he woke up.
Turning, you start to walk towards the church building when you feel a large hand wrap around your ankle, forcing you to a stop. You look back down and sigh yet again.
"My lord," You say, voice a bit hoarse. "Can you let go of me, please?"
Russ makes a noise, low and grumbly.
"Where 'r you goin'?" He mumbles at you, his eyes not even open.
"I'll be right back," You promise. "I'm just getting some water."
He makes that noise again, and you decide it must be an unhappy one, as his eyebrows knit together. One eye finally cracks open and he looks up at you hazily.
The look of horror on his face when he sees you is almost comical. You'd laugh, if it didn't hurt to do so.
"What- what happened?!" Fulgrim gasps, reaching for you. He doesn't touch you, but he gets close, practically cradling your face in his hands.
"I…"
Lying was probably a bad idea, but telling him the whole truth might be worse. Fulgrim didn't have any kind of weird exclusive claim on you or your friendship- if you could really call it that- but still. You're pretty sure if you told him his brother had been here just a handful of hours ago and that you'd been stuck napping with him that whole time, he'd have an aneurysm.
"I tripped over a stray dog and fell over."
He lets out a choked sound, then pulls away, pressing a hand dramatically to his forehead.
"We cannot leave you like this. Get your things, I'm taking you home with me."
"I- what?"
"We're getting that treated before it ruins your beautiful face more than it already has!"
Your eyebrow twitches, but you knew better than to argue about it, he would likely just end up taking you anyway. So much for everything you had planned for the day.
"I'm not gonna post more today," I say, lying to myself.
An old friend appears in a time of need.
Some very light Emperor x Reader.
Damn it all.
Golden eyes look on at what is happening around him, jaw tight, hand resting on the great big sword on his hip. For all his power, even The Emperor could get ambushed it seems.
The xenos had been waiting for them in realspace, sat in preparation for his ships to exit the warp, and had opened fire upon them immediately. Not only that, but it had taken his fleet far too long to get themselves together and fight back despite his orders. He would be having many words with his commanders after this.
It was those precious lost seconds that now had them in this situation. Ships scattered and disorganized, his own completely surrounded with no way of escape without heavy casualties- even if he personally stepped in.
In other words: they were royally fucked.
It's times like these that he has to remind himself that he loves humanity, and can't let his fleet fall. He's seen humanity at its worst hundreds of times before, he couldn't let this handful of fools ruin his years of patience. So he would stand. And he would fight. And he would get as many of them home as he could- as he always has.
Even if it meant falling- no matter how temporary his death would be. That was simply the man he was, and the man he would remain until time decided to finally allow him to rest properly.
"My Emperor!" His eyes find the owner of the voice. A weathered man who's been on the crew of his ship for many years now. He has a wife, three children, four grand children, and fifth on the way. "What shall we do!?"
"Hold firm," He says. "Prepare all we have. We are returning to Terra."
The man scrambles away, tripping over himself to relay the orders he was given while the Emperor looks back at the mayhem around him. Running the numbers in his mind, he was certain barely 1/10th of these men would make it out of this if nothing changed.
The ship jerks and groans as it's hailed upon by enemy firepower. It's so loud, he almost misses it- the crackling sound of the communication system.
"My Emperor- someone is hailing us-"
Likely one of the other ships in the fleet, probably telling him they were going down or were about to. More men and women to be added to his list of people to mourn.
"I don't recognize this signal-"
Was it the xenos, then? Preparing to make demands-
"It- it's coming from the warp?!"
He doesn't need to hear more.
"Open it."
His men look at him, dancing on his last nerve with their hesitation, but the line opens, and a voice he hasn't heard in a few hundred years comes through.
"Well isn't this interesting," You sound the same as you had back then. "Does the great Emperor of Mankind need a hand?"
There is no imaging, but he can see your face in his mind clearly- how you're probably grinning like the madwoman you are.
"When you told me that I had not seen the last of you, I was sure it was a threat upon my life," He says.
"Oh, it was," He has to force himself not to smile. "But I do need you alive if I'm gonna kill you."
Fair enough. Someone in the room yells about insult and insubordination, but he lets your words slide- like always. Malcador would be shaking his head if he were here, reminding the two of you that this was not the time for flirting.
"Heads up-"
It's only one ship that rips from the warp without ceremony, nothing that would make anyone believe the tides have turned, but he he knew you- knew what you were capable of. Their odds have gone up considerably.
"I see you still don't know what you're doing," He says as he watches your ship move erratically.
"That's not what you said when we-"
"Enough. We will talk later."
Your laughter rings through his ears, much clearer to him now that you were so close and he could reach you better psychically. It was as if you were standing at his side again. In fact, if he wanted, he could conjure the memory of the way you stand with your hands on your hips, eyes always ahead, always searching for more adventure, more life.
You were never to be tamed, not even by him.
His sons have not a drop of you in them, but part of him does wonder if he'd somehow given Jaghatai some part of you anyway. But that was a thought for another day- now was the time to focus on the battle ahead.
"Fine then," You say. "Shall we dance, Neoth?"
"If you insist."
There is no warning, no request for his orders, no questions asked. Communication is cut, and your ship opens fire on the enemy, and as it does, he feels the warp rip open again- a second ship barreling through, already firing as well. A pride he hasn't felt in some time rolls through him knowing who was likely on that second vessel.
He looks at his own men, frozen and unsure, and narrows his eyes. He doesn't need to say anything- the moment one of them catches his gaze, they all start moving. Your two ships circle the group of xenos ships surrounding his, firing from the outside while he gives the order to let loose from the inside. It's a scene remnant of some ancient film the two of you watched together all those thousands of years ago, and he finally allows the smallest of smiles to grace his face.
Your aid gives the whole fleet a second wind like none other, the other ships pulling themselves in line and fighting back with full force. His helmsman catches a hole in the barricade of xenos ships trapping his, and makes for it without needing to be told. They slam through debris, but it's nothing that can't be fixed.
The enemy breaks, and attempts to retreat. The Emperor does not allow them to. It's finally his turn to advance, his fleet running the ambushers down until there is nothing left.
There's always a kind of silence that comes after a battle as all those involved let themselves process before continuing onward. It's not a silence he's ever liked to sit in for long, but he's always let his soldiers take what they needed.
"My Emperor," Someone says quietly. "One of the unknown ships has started circling us."
"Let it." He says. "What is the status of the second?"
"It's still, highness. No signs of aggression."
He nods once.
"Re-open communications with our saviors. We owe them thanks."
The speakers crackle and hum. You take your time answering him, which doesn't surprise him in the slightest. But you will pick up, he knows you will.
"Neoth."
He says your name in turn.
"I hope you don't mind that I brought the boys along to our little date," You tease.
"Not at all. I am glad to see my sons are doing well."
"Ah ah ah-" He knows you're grinning again- he can hear it in your voice. "Our sons."
He could correct you, but he chooses not to. The two of them abandoned him to follow you, and he'd let them. They were yours by right, even if not by blood. However..
"Our?"
"I think it's time we discussed a custody arrangement if you're going to be getting yourself into more trouble like this."
The Emperor laughs.
Oh, how he'd missed you all these years. Perhaps it was time the two of you discussed more than just custody- perhaps it was time you discussed your return to his side where you were meant to be.
I Don't Need Lila's to be an Actual Master Manipulator
I've spent a lot of time talking about the issues with Lila's writing, so I wanted to step back and talk about reasonable exceptions for a character like Lila. My stance is not that the writers needed to create a true master manipulator for her to work. My stance is that her writing only needed to be strong enough for me to suspend my disbelief.
Suspension of Disbelief
"Suspension of disbelief" is the technical term for an audience being willing to play along with whatever BS the writers are feeding them. It's most often referenced in stories with magic as magic obviously doesn't exist. To enjoy a story with magic, you have to be willing to suspend your understanding that magic isn't real. If you can't do that, then you can't enjoy the story.
Suspension of disbelief applies to far more than magic, though. Stories are full of absurd coincidences, insane luck, and non-magical things that wouldn't work in real life, all of which require suspension of disbelief. Lila's lies are a perfect example. As far as we know, they're not magical. She's just a really good liar. The writers presumably know that they're not writing her like an actual good liar. They're asking us to play along and pretend that she is one. Here's the question: is that a reasonable ask?
Reasonable Expectations
Suspension of disbelief isn't a carte blanche to write whatever you want and blame the audience if they won't play along. It's a contract between the audience and the writers that the audience will play along for the sake of the story, but the writers still owe the audience their best effort. If the writers give a character that is so poorly written that the vast majority of the audience can't believe her supposed role for a second, then the writers have failed. This is where Lila falls.
The problem is not that Lila's lies aren't master class in manipulation. A show meant for young children was never going to give us a true master manipulator. Lila was always going to be simple enough that a child could follow her lies and the adult viewers always needed to be willing to play along even if the lies weren't that good. The problem is that the lies feel like the writers weren't even trying to make Lila work, a stance that is shared by a large number of viewers given the overwhelming amount of Lila salt in the fandom. Most plausible Lila take downs feature something as simple as a character talking to Jagged Stone about his cat or Rose texting her friend Prince Ali about his good friend Lila and learning that he's never met Lila.
When it's that easy for fans to spot ways to take Lila down and canon never acknowledges the problem, then the issue isn't fans asking for too much from a story. It's a story failing to even try to let fans engage their suspension of disbelief. This is why I often suggest fixes as simple as changing Lila's lie from "Jagged Stone wrote a song about me after I saved his cat!" to "I met Jagged Stone backstage at his latest concert." Neither of those lies is particularly impressive, but the second is strong enough for me to play along. The first is not.
Final Thoughts
When it comes to suspension of disbelief, there's always going to be an element of subjectivity. Every person has their own level where the BS gets to be too much and they can't enjoy a story, but I do think the average person is willing to give writers a good amount of grace. We know that any given writer probably isn't an expert scientist or a master manipulator, but we also know that stories need characters like that, so we go into stories with those kinds of characters expecting that there will be some weak points. There are stories where those kinds of characters need to be extremely well done for the story to work, but in many cases, that's not true! We know the hacker isn't actually hacking into a bank, but we'll play along because showing accurate hacking isn't as fun to watch.
I can think of several stories I adore where a character is supposed to be a master manipulator, but the writing falls short of that goal, yet I'm willing to play along because the lies work well enough. One of my favorite characters - Gen from Dr Stone - is a master manipulator with several scenes where his writing falls short of that goal yet I still love him and think he works well enough for the show he's in.
Even when my suspension of disbelief breaks to the point where I can't enjoy a story or plotline, I can usually see that the writers were trying, it just didn't work for me. I can name several stories that I found extremely silly where I'm quite critical of the writing, but none of them annoy me the way Lila annoys me because all of them feel like the writers were at least trying, they were just in over their heads. Lila is the rare case where the lies are so low-effort that they feel like an insult and that is my issue with her. I didn't need her to be a true master. I just needed her to feel like she was written by someone who respected the intelligence of the children the show was written for.
still caring about internet friends you lost touch with years ago is so embarrassing. yeah i had a deam we met up irl recently. the last time we spoke was maybe 7-8 years ago. i still wear the laces we randomly decided was a sign of our friendship. i dont know what any of your socials are or if youre even active on any. sometimes i see someones art resemble yours and i wonder for hours. do you still go by that name you chose? whenever i see it i wonder if its you. we couldve passed each other in this vastness a thousand times and not have a clue.
Hii! I see that your request open so can I ask for:
The little goddess was born at the same time as the chaos gods. But she was so weak that they didn't even consider her an equal. From the beginning she tried to please and flatter them to survive but many times she almost killed and was laughed at by the chaos gods made her realize. So she always hid in a corner deep in the warp, afraid that one day the chaos gods would finally bored and killed her.
Until one day she felt a beam of light shining into her hiding place, she realized it was the Emperor of Mankind. He did not despise or hurt her, He did not laugh at her for her weakness, so she ran after that light towards humanity, towards The Emperor. Meanwhile the chaos gods: ??? Where my goddess? We may not like her but she is still ours, now give her back. And big E belike: hehehe she mine now.
Yan!Chaos gods and Yan!Emperor
(This is just my delulu and I actually had a dream about it although I don't remember much🥹)
“Ough! I love this delulu! You are all such trouble makers my goodness. But that’s okay! For tis all cherished delicacies! I have thought about making something like this…” - Ichor
Summary - “You: a little goddess, born too weak to be even considered equal, and thrown to believe that you needed to please the other chaos gods until a certain event makes you realize things that were never true. Hurt, fearful and feeling betrayed, you hide yourself from their eyes, deep in the warp. Staying there until a light overcomes your own shadow. A man of gold appearing within, never mocking you, never pulling you down. It wouldn’t hurt to be by his side… would it?”
TW// Yandere, Neglect, Near Death Experience, Angst.
|°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°|
Their words “weak” echo through your mind as you lay their helpless, aching, hurting. Something a divine being like you should have never felt. The pain of war and combat. That was Khornes thing, not yours, but here you are. Laying in your own pool of ichor.
It was nothing of what you expected. You didn’t think you could die, but you could be greatly injured to a point where you’re feeling like you are feeling deaths embrace cradling you. Brushing through the strands of your hair, comforting you in your time of infinite, seeping life.
Again, it was not something you’ve expected, but you should have. You should have known they would just… toss you away like a piece of meat. You should have known with how they didn’t pay attention to you, brushed you off, but at the same time? You had hope. Hope they would change. Hope they would see you for what you’re worth, and it feels like they do change… sometimes.
Slannesh was the most horrible out of it all. Always trying to pull you in with their… strange and ludicrous ways. Always… having something, someone in their lap to empower them. The stench of intimacy staining them and their grounds of their realm. So, you don’t go there often. It wasn’t something you were comfortable with, and you don’t feel like confining much with them.
Khorne was rather chill with you, never really seeing you as a threat as you suppose he doesn’t think you are… worthy enough. He simply just sits upon his bloody skull throne, watching. Only moving when he really needs to. His realm was one that you find yourself wandering as it didn’t smell like the horrors of… sexual attraction, but it did smell of ash and blood. You find yourself in his realm more often than nought though.
Nurgle was… eerily kind to you, but just something about the “grandfather” tips you off. Not to mention that he well… stinks and his realm too. (You don’t ever find yourself there.) He was just… too… him for your tastes. You do like his followers however, they were like cute little insects. You don’t mind their looks, not everything was perfect.
Tzeentch creeps you out, but not as heavily like with Nurgle. Sure his body has like these morphing faces on him, and they just stare at you, seemingly mocking you, but you find a strange comfort when he suddenly appears in any form. It was as if he knows your next move, and you believe he at least gives you something to dream about. Though his realm gives you a massive headache each time you try and give it a go to visit and wander the mystery’s of the realm. So, you don’t get too far before you’re back, hanging around in Khornes’ realm once more. Getting used to the smell of the blood and cruelty.
Despite all of that, your all hopes were diminished on a special time. Your mind finally realizing all the sacrifices that you made to them didn’t even matter. You didn’t matter. Hell, were you even a god? A divine being? You didn’t have any followers yourself. So, how could you be? How could you be if you were laying in your own blood. Thinking of what you have been doing is finally wrong. Thinking the more powerful gods would just rid of you once they get bored enough of your overbearing presence.
It honestly took you a long time to recover your own divinity though. Since you don’t have followers, it makes your regeneration process a lot slower, and you’re not sure how long, but it was long enough that you could have thought about your past mistakes and make your next move to be for yourself for once, and to see if anyone would check up on you, but no-one came. Not a single minion. You were trapped with your own mind before you would get strong enough again to move.
You moved quickly when you could, not wanting to waste your time. You have been simply watching Khornes’ deamons carefully to rule out that one should move quickly if they do not want to be caught. That’s if they were even looking for you. You maybe have been… bullied, but you sure as hell watched what was going on around you and in the realms. Never missing a detail around you as well… you wanted to prove yourself then. Make something of yourself then to earn their acknowledgement.
Yet, now you know. They don’t care about you, but they simply care about themselves. So, in an effort to get time and space to yourself. (Definitely not running away for the fear of being disregarded like a mere tool.) You hide yourself into the depth of the warp. A place that you had somehow found a bit of solstice in as Tzeentch hasn’t even found this part of the deep warp yet. You know him and Khorne could find you if they wanted to, but you have yet to see their dedication on that matter. Have yet to see if anyone came looking for you.
They did not, but this one… man? God thing has. A human? No, too much of an overpowering presence, but they did look like a human when they go close enough to you without blinding you. You’re almost surprised as this little… being of gold didn’t tower over you as you would have expected such from a presence like him. A god too you thought him as… a tiny one for a divine being like yourself.
You and this little being of gold formed… something between the each other. Your head nodding, and listening to the being that calls himself “The Emperor” while he does the same to you. It was almost… charming. It also felt nice that someone was actually listening to you, acknowledging you. This little being made it feel… a bit worth it.
You talked with the being, and he didn’t judge you. You playfully flicked a whisp of your own power at him, and he didn’t seem at all fazed, at most amused with you, and well… that was amusing to you. You were… you were having harmless fun with this golden man, but… you do worry; have neglected thoughts that he was simply enduring you as well, like the other gods have. Yet, he reassures you, in his own way and words that was not the case. Despite you not talking him to him about anything.
Strange little golden man….
The chaos gods are furious once they found out you had gone out on your own, without telling them anything. Even Tzeentch couldn’t get into your mind when he wanted. It was like… you blocked them out, and let this scoundrel of a so called god in: The Emperor of Mankind.
They give you whispers: Slaanesh begs, pleads. Nurgle promises that he will do better. Khorne is… silent, but you know better, not to take him for granted, and Tzeentch was trying to get into your head like the many times before, like the many times you had let him, and The Emperor? He did non of that. Never was he trying to pled with you, make you feel guilty. He simply left you to choose your place. Ņ̸͠ò̵̢ẗ̷̼́ ̵̛̪ţ̸̄h̵̒ͅa̶̳͐t̶͉͗ ̴̖̓h̵̻̽ë̷̜ ̵̲̒w̴̧͐õ̸̻u̷͖͘l̸̖̍d̶̖͑ ̵̣͘l̷͈̚e̶̗͌t̶̪̎ ̸͖̀y̴͉͌ō̸̖u̶̦͝ ̷̩͌g̸̮̃ỏ̶͈ ̸̤̚b̶̫̿a̸̯̍c̵͓̉k̴̜̂.̷̡̂
He would not allow it. Those pitiful gods lost their chance. Now? He was picking up the pieces of this divine being they had disregarded like mere shards of glass. Infuriating the gods even more when the Emperor seems… close to you; winning your favor.
Chaos runs over the tiny, golden man, but your favor doesn’t weaken. Shielding him and his little creations with your own power that were deemed weak. Oblivious to The Emperors ways, wanting that simplicity of care from someone, and he was giving that to you.
(What the hell Emp? You give a divine being your attention but not your own creations? What the hell man?)
Interesting…. Makes you wonder what aspect the little goddess represents. Something subtle and seems weak, but once missing, is very important. Even though emps isn’t great, he treated the little goddess better than the chaos gods.
Maybe the goddess represents the bonds between individuals? The Chaos gods are largely solitary beings, despite their armies and servants, simply because they are too powerful to care about 'lesser' beings. But a goddess of bonds? That's special.
At least, that's the idea that popped up in my head.
And that's the cool things about bonds, they can be negative! Or slip away!
While the goddess is weaker than the 4 Chaos gods, she is still, ya know, a goddess. Mortal displeases her? Whoops, suddenly your loved ones start distancing themselves from you. Or maybe your neighbors start to really, really dislike you.
Meanwhile, if she favors you? Oh, people just naturally like you, your friends make an effort to remain close etc. Small things that make huge differences in the long run.
Random contestant just enjoying the chance to relax and have fun, wanders off and just starts digging a massive hole/trench/canal so they make a cubby/hideout/secret tunnel system because why not?
Primarch wgoes for a walk, stumbles (possibly literally) upon Contestant.
Primarch: What are you doing?
Contestant: Making an underground hideout.
Primarch: Why?
Contestant: Fun.
Primarch: Ah.
Contestant: *digging*
Primarch: ...
Contestant: *digging some more*
Primarch: Shouldn't you be with the other contestants?
Contestant, slowly pops their head out of the hole they're in: Shouldn't you be looking for a wife?
Primarch: ...Touchè.
Rogal goes around, interviewing all the contestants one by one to find the one who's most suitable to be his spouse. Well, he did do this until he met this contestant and then he grabbed a shovel on his own and started digging with them. He completely forgets about marriage and just has fun digging an underground hideout.
They be down there, looking like coal miners, absolutely caked with dirt, arguing about the proper way to make a stable network of tunnels spanning the entire island and Rogal thinks this is all the most romantic thing ever. He's already planning the wedding, honeymoon, family and retirement for the both of them.
This is an awesome use of what is probably a master's degree if not a doctorate and I am 100% thrilled that she shared it even though it was embarrassing and she squeaked.
Californian (sup, fellow desert-havers) i've been using this since i saw it and it works so fucken good dude (i often have to put like 8 dogs in my car, so it's extra important my car isn't attempting to go super-nova when we get in)
I just had a thought and now I can't stop giggling.
Rogal Dorn with a Parkour Expert partner, who lovingly 'tests out' his defenses by climbing into his office through the window (which is several hundred metres up), hanging out in the hangar bay rafters, and generally just getting into places they rightly shouldn't be able to.
Rogal is torn. He's taking notes and appreciates them helping out in pointing out and covering potential weaknesses but also, HOW ARE YOU DOING THAT? THAT IS AGAINST SAFETY REGULATIONS! HOW DID YOU GET UP THERE?!?
Rogal Dorn: "Witness the most impervious fortress I have ever-"
Lady Dorn: *sticking her head over the edge of the roof* "This one was pretty good, honey! Took me two whole hours to find a way up here!"
Some possible happy endings with the Primarchs you could have if the universe wasn’t so grim dark and common sense was more common in the Primarchs!
Part 2 with the rest of the Primarchs
Neutral endings: Part 1, Part 2
Bad endings: Part 1
Fulgrim
The sword looked ominously and while he didn’t have the foresight like someone of his brothers but he could feel that nothing good would come of it. When he presented the blade to you, sitting behind a glass coffin, you looked uneasy and he didn’t realize it at first but your terror seeped into him. Was the voice in his head always there? You told him that it was not normal when he told you about it.
This abomination of a sword was communicating with him, talking to them, tempting him to do things in the name of supposed perfection. He could hear its voice whispering to him, telling him that you, is little dove, didn’t understand him. What did you know?
For him though you knew a lot and he trusted your opinions even when they weren’t always right. The backlash of your horror was certainly enough for him to know that something wasn’t right.
He will bring the sword to his father, keep it locked away from any sunlight in his vaults for now and away from himself and you. Let his father deal with it, he already has a sword from Ferrus. That and you were enough for him.
Sanguinius
He couldn’t see his death anymore. He had visited Horus as you requested since you both haven’t seen him in a long while and went togheter on campaign. He had covered his back, protecting the Warmaster from a blow before beheading the offender. After that fateful moment he had no visions anymore. What was Lorgars legionnaire doing there anyway? He was certainly not impressed by this Erebus and finally made Horus see sense that he had a nest of snakes on his ship.
He was not certain what he had managed to avoid but it felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Did you perchance have foresight too or just a good gut feeling? He didn’t know but you had been right to go and meet Horus.
He needed a break, maybe go back to Baal for a while. How about he treats you a bit too? He would wait a bit to make sure that the vision of his death doesn’t return but…if he truly wouldn’t die he could start to make plans on settling down with you? On his home planet, after the crusade is over and live out his days with you by his side.
Konrad Curze
“Sire? Should we initiate the bombardment?” Sevatar asked uncertain as Konrad and the rest of his commanders stood on the bridge and he overlooked Nostramo without saying a word for the past ten minutes.
He had been so sure what he would do once he reached this accursed planet. Destroy it and rid the world of its existence and yet…he hesitated. Something was changing in the warp as if fate was waiting on a crossroad. You had been terrified and begged him not to destroy his home planet, to change his mind and find another way to fix it. He had send you away for it, back into your shared room away from his eyes.
If he destroys the planet, he would seal his fate and go down the path that he had seen for himself but if he would not…the other option was murky, uncertain and for once he could not see exactly what would happen. In the first path he was alone, on the second he could catch glimpses of you.
“Sire?” Sevatar inquired again while Konrads hand lingered on the coms. His uncertainty was rubbing off on the legion who stood around antsy in anticipation like vultures waiting for a corpse.
“Call off the bombardment. I changed my mind.” Konrad said as he left the bridge. You had been terrified because of him and he needed to get you. He could see things changing in his fate twisting into something else. He had averted something terrible. Nostramo would be changed, molded by him but not destroyed today.
Angron
You were dying, was the first thing that came to mind when Angron looked at your old body. It had been a miracle that you lived long enough to see the end of the crusade, especially while being around him.
How he wished he could’ve given you more than his half crazed being, more than the war ridden world, drenched in blood and gore and yet you had not minded it. You endured his moods, his episodes of violence and all the death and destruction he left in his wake. You stayed and now he got the honor of dying beside you. Not on the battlefield in a glorious blaze but beside your bed with the Nails draining his brain and killing his body. He had dismissed the Apothecaries and banned everyone from entering under the threat of killing them all. He didn’t want to be interrupted.
He had not told you that he was dying but you could see it. He was tired and in pain but instead of an outburst he sat beside your bed, holding your hand while his head rested on the mattress. At least you would go togheter.
Two souls entered the warp, his intertwined with yours, not letting you go even after death and he had wished he could start again from the beginning. Without the nails, without the blood on his hands and give you a better life.
Luckily for him an entity, despite the Imperial Truth having been spread across the universe, looked favorably at you two. His wishes would be granted.
Two graves are placed in the Imperial Palace side by side. Somewhere on a distant planet, in the same city away from war and misery two children are born. Destined to meet each other again in their second life.
Roboute Guilliman
Day in and day out he was mowing the grass with his scythe, collecting crops, watering plants. He had gotten his peaceful dream. It felt liberating distancing himself from the court and let his sons take over. His time was over for now and he could concentrate on what truly mattered. Maybe his sons couldn’t understand why he would want to live the life of an agri worker when he could live the life of a second emperor in the realm of Ultramar but he did…when it was necessary.
But now it wasn’t. Now he could live togheter with you in a cottage, enjoy the sun upon his skin everyday and spent the evenings quietly in the porch while bugs sang in the grass and birds flew through the air. At night he could lay beside you, hold you and sleep even when he didn’t need to do it. All that without being interrupted by some urgent matter.
All he needed to do was to finish up putting away the wood for the winter and ho home. Maybe he would get a chance to taste one of your new culinary creations. Maybe his sons would visit soon too. He kinda misses this Aeonid Thiel with his sharp mind and a sense for trouble making. Or maybe he will send out an invitation to his brothers for a dinner. He was certain that Sanguinius or even the Lion would appreciate the nature and a homemade meal.
Perturabo
Blueprints were scattered around his study while he was working on another sketch on how to improve the structure of a city. Finally he could build things, not destroy them. Just a few more improvements on the infrastructure and water supplies and the pretty mansion for you and him in a pretty corner of the galaxy. The whole sector was ruled by him now and the beauty of his constructs could rival that of Lorgars churches.
He had longed to have that and despite his bitterness it actually came to pass. You were currently away, visiting friends and family and when you would come back in a few months, he will have everything done. Maybe he should commission a sculpture of you from Fulgrim, he muses. After all they look so realistic and he could place it on a fountain. Or not. He could do it himself and mold your body from stone. No, he was not jealous of another man carving you from stone. He just could do it himself!
Nothing was too hard or to complicated for him. He would learn and do it. Now he had time to build, time to construct the perfect home for you.
Well, I have a debauched thought and I've decided to inflict I mean, share it with you.
Primarch who has a crush on you, who is absolutely besotted, and craving you. Almost every spare moment, every scrap of privacy is dedicated to you. They touch themselves, thinking of you; of how you smell, how you'd sound with them touching you, inside you, how you'd look split open on their cock.
However, after a while, a problem occurs. No matter what they do, how long they rub and squeeze and stroke, they can't reach that tantalizing peak. They can't cum, even after hours of desperately fucking their own hands, no matter what toys they use, nothing works. They're pent up with no release, no way to relieve themselves. It's driving them insane.
Maybe they manage to... temporarily acquire something of yours. A scarf, a shirt, a pair of panties. It has your scent, and it helps. Finally, they tumble over the edge...
But it's not as satisfying, there's still that need humming right under the surface, it just makes them want you more. Soon your scent is soaked away, not that it helps much, but they just can't help it. They know the only way to end this is to go to the source. They will always want you, need you, but the only way to be granted mercy from this torturous, never-ending desire, is you. Even if only for a short while.
The only cure is you.
(That's it. Just them desperately trying to cum, over and over again, knowing they can't with you, and going a little -or a lot- crazy over it)
Lion El'Johnson : he'll never admit it, he hate that this is happening to him and he hate that whatever change in his body is happening because a baseline had entered in his periferic view. He hate that he had ordered a watcher to steal something of yours, and he hate that hebhad to wrap that handkerchief around his cock to finally feel some relieve from this agony. As soon as that piece of you will stop being usefull ,nothing can stop him to go to the object of his desire.
Fulgrim: when you allowed him to engulf you in that pretty dress with the excuse if posing for a portrait, little naive you could think so little of what his mind was planning for real. You were so happy, being holded so much by a Primarch that wanted to paint you himself seems like a dream! You thought nothing bur how happy you were, unaware that it was all a way for him to having you all for himself and something of you when he couldn't let you stay. He will stay all night laying in his bed, holding that dress, all while his lenght kept on brushing against pillows of satine and silk.He'll Imagine you're there, allowing him to love you like you deserve and making him cum in your insides. The painting? He'll come all over it imagine your open mouth. One day it would not be enough anymore, and that day he wish you could love him like he desire.
Perturabo: you're his slave, when he order you he expect you to carry out whatever kind of request he want you to do. He doesn't want to answer to your silly questions on his demands of your undewear, he just need you to execute it. He have to restrain himself, he doesn't want you to see his nose deep in the cotton, trying to memorizing the most inner smell you can have. And don't look horrified when you catch him masturbate with it, entangled on his dick, completely covered in old and new cum. And when he tell you to strip and let him taste you, you do as he say.
Jaghatai Khan: could you blame him? He's the wind, moving and raging in the great plane of Chogoris. You? You are the tree, standing and resisting against the world. He wanted to let it go, you were not meant to be together. One thing of you, that was all he asked for: a scarf, your parfume engulfing his nostrils like the smell of the fresh grass. It was enough, for him...for some time. He cannot count the times he had used it to recreate the fantasy of yoh two together, entangled in his tent, savoring eachother like your lives depend on it. He will propose to you, convince you to finally be his, to renunce to your roots to follow the clouds. He will, and you will be happy together.
Leman Russ: little wolf, so difficult to obtain uh? Always so hard to get uh? He should be angry and enraged by the look of disdain you deserve for him, instead...instead his mind wondered on your bed. He still remembered his laugh while you screamed to him to gave you back your ribbon, the one he stoled while still holding your hair up. And now, bounded to his wrist, he stroke himself with the fantasy of holding your hair like an handle, ravaging your mouth, putting you in your place. Aaah it would be so fucking good. And this continue, over and over again...untill one night?...the view is not enough. The fantasy cannot any longer satisfy the wolf king no longer. And while you sleep soundly in your bed, you cannot suspect the wolf breathing heavily on your doorstep.
Rogal Dorn: it wasn't something he wanted to do. Such a pathetic excuse of a man, he thought of himself, while holding that shawl like a gag. A secured knot, made to make sure it didn't slipped away, even if his teeth were clenched to the point that he could taste blood. The gauntlet gave him shock all over his body, all while his hand couldn't stop steocking his lenght. Before, only his hand was enough to satisfy him, but now? He needed more, and he feared that even the gauntlet would stop its usefullness. That thought...scared him, but nothing putted him more to the edge to the idea that his mind could not stop imagining you in such embarassing scenarios. He felt so little and unworhy of you, and aomehowbthat idea made him cum harder than before.
Konrad Curze: you were a dream, a relief of the mind. He shouldn't even dared to lay his eyes upon you and now here he were, close to your sleeping form, holding that shirt that you were sure you had just left to dry somewhere. Now it needed more than a cleaning...probably burn it was a better option. He had explored so many fantasies with you inside, he had flyed to one desire to another,to one scenario to the just need of your skin against his own. Such a despicable individual, he thought, while his hands carefully moved between a few losen hair of your head. He had already completely debauchered your image in his head and now? Now only reality could help his sorry state. Holding you in his arms, approaching his quarters, he smiled at the idea of finally savouring you.
Sanguinius:oh throne, what have you done to him? He was nothinf but a fool and a monster, a despicable being that could only dream of being so close to you. In yojr candor, you gifted him your handkerchief to vipe away the blood from his mouth, and that same object now was the one thin protection you have against him. Pressed between the pillow and his face, your aroma filled his lungs like oxygen, while his hips moved with frantic desperation against another one. This was better, you did not deserved to be used like an harlot from someone like him, you deserved a full and luminous light,away from the beast, away from him. It has been hoirs now, and his need of release was now a desperate cry. He needed you, he needed your warmth, your flesh, your cries, he needed to just take you. Would you allow him? Would you take him completely, body and soul? He beg for it, he'll be your slave, mo.moee the angel, just yours. His wings opened, magnificent in their beauty, puffed and trembling from the maelstrom of emotion. Just one time, you'll forgive him, he said to himself while taking off, heading towards your location.
Ferrus manus: the little thing that has been gifted by the tribe to him, one more way to gain his favor. He desliked the idea, aborred even, to think that someone could buy his attention by sending him someone to...know what. He tolerated it, he allowed you to stay, yet sending the bar between your father and his wives. No favors, you would stay there untill he can find a way to sent you away... the something shifted...slowly, almost invisible. He slowly started to realize how he did appreciated you, deeply, how lovingly he shared those day with you, how he cared. Then the small feeling shifted again in something carnal, almost sinister. You lived together, that's why you could never suspect that those missing undewear were in his quarters, hidden away from the world. He had lost count of the times he had tk hide away to reliese hia pent up frustration over the smallest aspect of you, even the simplest one became object of his desires. He hated how deeply you were grown on him, and he hated mostly the fact that those panties weren't sufficient enough to quench him. He detested that he needed to hear your voice calling him, imagine your touch on him, believing you would allow him to handle you with his hands. He hated it and he wanted it like nothing else. He just open you never stop locking the door of your room.
Angron: he felt bad amready by not giving you back that scarf, the one you used to wrap that nasty wound he got during one of his episode. He felt bad that your image in his mind had started to morph into something that everyone could had found vulgar or disgusting. And he absolutely felt horrible when he realized that, by just stroking it against his lenght, by sniffing it while curled up in his bed. He hated it, he hated that you make him feel this way, that you had reduced him like this and that by just existing you make the pain subside. And he hate himself by noticing that the scarf will not suffice forever, that he wish for your touch and love. He hate it, and he hate that he stare to your door like an animal.
Roboute Guilliman: he had always believed that certain methods of "stress relieving" were above him, that he was not the kind of person that would do it. And now here he was,completely drunk in the pleasure of his hand while holding a small satine glove, your glove. He couldn't condamn you to be his own, no, not with that damocle sword pending on him. He was okay, by just be graced with your presence, to know you were there for him. And knowing that made the action far more despicable to him. You are capable, relayable, noble and his mind can only picturing you like a mere whore for his own pleasure. He believed that, allowing himself by stealing just that one glove, he would satiate himself. Instead now he realized how harder it became to cum and to satisfied his need. He feared that he needed to cross a line he didn't wanted to cross, one that required noone else but you.
Mortarion: it was your fault. He was living his own life without more problems than he already had and you had to appear and making it harder. No one asked you to be nice to him, to be attentive, to understand him. You must had planned this, didn't you? A foul and disgracefull plan to make him fall, to make him wine like a dog. Wich was currently happening, his hand wrapped to his cock, his face covered by that thin layer of soft cotton that was your shirt, a big stain from his drool and his hands covered in precum. Usually he should have been done already, but nowadays hours could pass before he could finally satisfy his needs. You did it, you little freak, you made him like this. And taking you seemed like the most natural response to this attack of yours.
Magnus: He had always had the need of peeking in someone else mind. Sometime for curiosity, sometime for necessity and other times it was merely because he wanted it. You were such an interesting little thing, were you? So full of curiosity, ideas, your imagination a wonder of colors! He knew you were special, and now he knew it even more while holding close to his dick that stocking of yours. Taking it was so simple, he just had to use his pwers to take it off of you and made you believe you never had it in the first place. And while you believed him with all your trust, here he was cumming after long painfull hours of stroking and ministrations. He had counted the minutes, everytime he took longer and longer, wich was quite a bother. You were so so precious to him, but you were a distraction nontherless....He should had fixed the situation before it turned out worst.
Horus Lupercal: such little thing, adorable little thing. You are the worst you know? You were able to reduce Luoercal, the Warmaster, the favourite child into a moaning mess. Andbypu weren't even there! You refused him, looked at him and treated him like he was just any other man. When hebtried to be subtle, you ignored, when he was direct you just refused. You had smiled,like it was such a normality to refuse the affection of a Primarch! He should be angry, instead here he was, stroking his lenght while keeping in his mouth that handkerchief that he knew you left behind on purpose. Really good ,little one, you took is attention and his inability of preperly cum. He just laughed when he realized that a good orgasm wasn't in his body plans tonight, now what? Since you like to play dirty games, then why shouldn't he?
Lorgar: To him, he was not demeaning your image. He was just practicing another kind of praise and devotion! That what he has been telling himself everytime he ended up returning to that piece of garmet, that dress that was just perfect for you. You couldn't know, you shouldn't know. He didn't know of your reaction of the knowledge of what he had done with your stolen item. And yet, he couldn't ignore something that plagued him everytime he came back to that to find some pleasure and piece: that slowly, on a time he couldn't name, his orgasm became far more difficult to achieve. He begged for mercy, knowing that ,sooner or later, that piece of fabric would not suffice anylonger.
Vulkan:he felt ashame of himself. He had accepted his feelings towards his little drake, the fact that he cannot has one job done everytime you work at his side, completely satisfied with your friendship, now....this. How many time he had waited for you to leave the forge to grab your apron, the one he had gifted you, to use it to satisfy his needs when no one is around? Far too many times and, when the water flowed across the leather anolside the soap while he washed it, he can only blame himself. How could he get so low? How could he take advantage of your trust? That's hurted him more than the fact that this vile act cannot satisfied him any longer. What he needed was the resolution of confessing his feelings to you...and hoping you could accept him.
Corvus Corax: when he stolen from your hair that thin silky red ribbon, he had never believe he could had fallen so down to what he was doing now. He wanted to not spy on you, to be fine with just that small prize he was able to get, to feel throu his nostrils your sweet smell. He imagined to move his hand through your hair, caressing that so loving face. Now he can only imagine to desecrate your body, to get everything he could. He felt so bad, to use something so precious to him to gaining the pleasure he was so afraid to get from you, but the fear to put you into a more dangerous situation was like a wall he couldn't climb. And...what when the object could not be enough? What if his desire became too strong to be put in check. And while in pain he finally reached his climax, he trembled by the idea of doing something you would hate him for.
Alpharius/Omegon: it was honestly funny seeing your perplexed expression when you couldn't find another of your garmets. They had their own pattern, carefull detailed to not make you notice it, yet clear as the sun. Alpharius preferred more subtle object, like a shirt, a pants or that lost sock. Omegon was far more direct ,stealing panties, bras and everything that smelled of you. They also liked to gave them back, perfectly washed, exactely where they stoled them before. One mistake and you would had found the stain of cum, drools and many other fluids they enjoyed to temper with. It was fun!...but how long the fun could go on? Alpharius had already mentioned the idea of just testing the "real deal" ,while Omegon opted for a few more weeks to see how thing could go. It just a matter of time for them.
Just random ideas @itsnervoussalad - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
