Unorganized Konrad/Corvus omegaverse thoughts. mostly Corvus projecting too hard and being a cute hypocritical omega, and Konrad with a fear of committing rape. Dead dove: do not eat
The real CW is Corvus POV
Corvus assumes, naturally, that his brother Konrad is an omega like him. No matter how repulsive he finds the cruelty of the Night Haunter, Corvus possesses a degree of connection with him as omegas, and loftily pitied him.
From what Corvus has heard from Roboute, Ferrus, and Vulkan, Konrad refuses to discuss anything regarding secondary genders and heat cycles. Heās reluctant to clean himself often, and uses filth to mask his natural scent and pheromones.
Konrad is evidently repressed and in denial. He antagonizes others and sees his omega nature as a weakness to be protected from the rest of the world. And Corvus understands that. Konrad came from a cruel backward home. Humanity did not unite and fight for better lives in the eternal twilight of that world. The lack of human compassion clearly has taken a toll on Konradās view on sex and his own body. Konrad internalized the hatred and itās okay; he needs time to adjust. Corvus hopes he finds the help he needs.
Things begin to go wrong when Corvus has to leave a small party of a few other alpha brothers because he can feel his heat coming up. His cycles have always been irregular due to past malnutrition, and his mind immediately goes to Konrad again, imagining Konrad with the same problem. Heās told that Konrad ate rats and dogs when he was young.
The primarchs are on planet surface and itāll take some time to get back to his ship in orbit. He has taken suppressants but they donāt seem to work well, likely since he stayed with alphas for too long when his heat is almost there (he wants to talk with Vulkan!)
Corvus made planetfall with a squad of Terran veterans in his legion, primarily to introduce them and let them share tactics with those from other legions. He doesnāt want them to know he returned early and somehow explain why. The only thing he wants is another omegaās presence, no matter how bad an attitude the other might have towards him.
Konrad never shows up in small primarch gatherings even if he does cross paths with them and stays on the same world. Corvus easily sneaks past a few Terran Night Lords and stops at Konradās door. He knocks, and sends a vox message āOpen the door. Itās me.ā Thereās no reply and he waited, clearly feeling Konradās presence through the wooden door of the chamber. The door creaks open when he thought he would be simply ignored. Konrad looks faintly weary, and seems to be dressed for sleep.
Before he could say anything, Konrad takes loud sniffs at the air and gives him a complex look. Corvus begins explaining his situation and that he wished to stay for about six hours over at Konradās before he could take a shuttle back to orbit. He asks if he could borrow scent-blocking spray if Konrad got those with him, as an omega might, as he steps closer, and Konrad hisses and this is where Corvus finally begins to realize somethingās not quite right.
He first tries to calm Konrad down and explain why heās here. He thought the company of another omega would be safer and Konrad only glares at him with big dead eyes. The small whites in those eyes deeply unsettle him. Is this how Vulkan feels when looking at him, too?
Then he begins to smell things. First, heās able to smell himself which is a bad sign. Itās rare for his own pheromones to have a scent strong enough to be detectable by himself. Then he smells something else, something sweet, alluring, as if heralding a rot. For a moment heās simply taken aback by how much the scent calmed his heat-ridden pounding hearts, unable to form another coherent thought.
Heās terribly wrong. Heās always been wrong about what Konrad is. He also glimpses into why Konrad is so avoidant of that. Things will not go well for either of them
Originally planned to draw something cute for Valentine's Day, but here I am in January with my stupid brainrot. Never be where the enemy desires you to be.
Which other Primarchs do you think would accept a splice baby like Samael as their own child?
I love Samael, heās a great idea.
OOOOOOOO THIS IS A GOOD QUESTION!!!!
Okay so on the one hand every creative writing class Iāve ever taken has told me one very important rule: The answer is never ānoā.
Basically means that nothing is ever impossible for a character thereās just always more steps and obstacles to get to the outcome. (And that makes for a very good story!)
But on the other hand just based off of what little Iāve read, without the characterization Iāve taken on the primarchs I think realistically every primarch wouldāve destroyed a splice clone like Samael. Especially given the threat level one would technically represent as a xeno weapon. (Even Sanguinius the way I wrote him was supposed to kill Samael)
But thatās boring.
So hereās a list of every primarch reacting to a splice clone baby (according to my interpretations of what a primarch is!)
Cw: Transhumanism, description of corpses, implied child death, death
Lion ElāJonson: He knew to expect xeno technology, but nothing could have prepared him for this. The battleship had been long abandoned, fuel tank damaged and engines beyond repair as his tech priests had noted, so it was only a small squadron he brought with him to investigate. Dust, rot, and abandoned stations were the only thing to greet their path. With his men occupied on the ships databases Lionel took the liberty to explore the rest of the large space. The technology was different but the uses were obvious, this was an abandoned lab. Tubes of dark murky liquid lined the walls and what little remained of their previous inhabitants floated in disgusting red-green clouds of rotted mass.
Only one tube was free of the rotting green liquid, the crack in the glass and drying green residue on the ground spoke volumes to its fate, and peeking inside Lionel felt his hearts squeeze in sympathy at the tiny emaciated form within. Wait. It still breathed. Lionel wrenched the tube open without hesitation and was immediately greeted by the foul smell of old human waste and the cloying remnants of the mysterious fluid, but beneath that was the faint buttery sweet scent of newborn.
His newborn.
With a level of panic Lionel had never once known he scoops the child, āhis childā his mind frantically wails, into his arms and calls for his men. Only later in the safety of his own ship with the baby stabilized by the apothecary would he even begin to question the origins of his child.
II: Took his baby and fled to escape paying Xeno child support.
Fulgrim: He hadnāt actually meant to find a child. Really he hadnāt meant to find anything at all. He and his highest ranking sons had been invited to one of the recently conquered imperial planets for a diplomatic visit. A few days of wining and dining while treaties were signed and supply lines were established. Really this was all Roboutes area of expertise, but Fulgrim was nothing if not an adaptable man so off he went. Truly, genuinely, the snooping was supposed to be superficial. The second night of their seven day stay had seen the nobles a little more eager on the drinks than anticipated so the next mornings activities had been canceled in favor of rest. Fulgrim certainly wasnāt complaining. He took the opportunity instead to admire the architecture of the mansion, a royal palace prior to imperial conquering, and explore some of the areas not used for the dinners.
Discovering the hidden lab had been an accident. Entering the hidden lab, slightly less so. Rows of cages and annotated diagrams filled the space, but what alarmed Fulgrim the most was the crib in the corner of the room. Fulgrim stared into the crib. A tiny purple-eyed baby stared back. He didnāt hesitate to pick up the child as soon as it reached for him, how could he? A million thoughts ran through his mind analyzing the situation and the child itself. But it all came screeching to a halt as soon as the scent hit his nose. Fulgrim hugged the child closer practically burying his nose into their hair as one bone-deep truth resonated through him like the growling of a great beast.
His baby smelled too much like that disgusting ex-king, and not nearly enough like him.
Heād have time later to contemplate when and where a planet like this had gotten their hands on his DNA. But for now he plastered his scent on every inch of his child as he made his way back to the ship.
Perturabo: His troubles started like many of his troubles usually start. Immediately after the conquering of a planet. Heād brought back a veritable mountain of technology from a recently conquered Aeldari planet to analyze and deconstruct. The xeno technology had proven difficult to overcome and he was eager to learn all of its weaknesses. Walking through the maze of crates yet to be unpacked Perturabo noted with flat dissatisfaction that a green liquid had begun to leak from the corner of the smallest one. Heād be sure to scold his astartes on proper handling of packages at a later date, but for now he had a turret to analyze.
In truth, the troubles didnāt start until a few days later. The items in his workshop were counted and placed to perfection, so it was blatantly clear to him that someone had been moving his things around. He was certain it was neither a serf nor a servo-skull as he was familiar with the noises and scents that both left behind, and the scent that was slowly becoming more common in his workspace was far softer than either. Days later, finally fed up with the constant displacement and the maddening scent, Perturabo took it upon himself to track the intruder down.
The search had him tracking whatever it was all through his workshop. Beneath tables, under crates, and through tunnels in supplies he never would have noticed before; every second he spent tracking this thing painted a more vivid image in his mind of what it could be. Small, clumsy, and most definitely human. Finally he finds a fresh trail, the scent soft and familiar in a way the he cannot yet place, and tracks it all the way to a secluded corner where he left a pile of discarded tarps and covers. The head of fuzzy hair and bright curious eyes make it blatantly clear what his intruder was.
A baby.
And with a certainty that came from something instinctual and more powerful than anything he had ever experienced before he knew that this baby was his.
Jaghatai Khan: His men had caught wind of the Drukhari plot long before he had, and with an efficiency that rivaled Jaghatai himself in speed they handled the problem. Or at least, they handled the initial problem. Because the secondary problem that arose was something far more nefarious.
The clone was adorable.
His men could not bring themselves to strike down the tiny infant regardless of its status as a Drukhari made weapon. Upon arrival to their home world the matron serfs had taken one look at the baby, seen its lack of dress in such a cold season, and had promptly taken it from the clueless white scars and swaddled it in the warmest furs they could find. While half of the white scars went to protest the acquisition of their baby the other half made the responsible decision of going to warn Jaghatai of the newest member to the tribe.
And of course this all culminated in every grandmother, mother, aunt, and son cooing over the infant clone of their primarch. Jaghatai had steeled himself to be the voice of reason and logic in this very trying time and approached the group. The child was the outcome of a Drukhari plot after all and they needed to act swiftly.
But, well, the child was very adorable. All rosy cheeks and swaddled to perfection. And oh those big sparkling eyes were just begging for affection. Maybe just a quick cuddle wouldnāt hurt. And, well, while heās at it he wonders if the baby still has the newborn scent, it is after all very young, just one quick sniff wonāt-
Oh warp damn it.
Leman Russ: Leman found the puppy fair and square and he was not giving it back thank you very much! The Eldar biomancer that his sons had dragged out from her hidden laboratory must have been desperate if she was resorting to āpolitely asking for the return of her projectā while in the midst of capture. Leman would have been more offended if he didnāt find her claims utterly hilarious.
The puppy looked like him, smelled like him, and acted like him. Clearly, the puppy belonged to him. Every time he brought that up the Eldarās face gained another shade of nervous palor. Now Leman was not an idiot, despite what some of his brothers would claim, and he could connect the very clearly drawn lines in the logic here. Somehow, some way, the pup actually was his. A silent side eye had two of his sons breaking off to gather data from the lab while Leman continued to make the captured scientist sweat.
Really it was cruel to play with his prey like this, his wolf mother had taught him better than that, but he couldnāt help it. A little bit of vengeance before justice was never a terrible thing, and besides, the peals of laughter his newest son let out every time the captive squeaked was well worth it.
Rogal Dorn: He knew without a shadow of a doubt that the child was his. Really it was embarrassingly obvious. The siege had been more than successful and going in to pick off the stragglers resulted in the situation at hand. The Drukhari biomancers nervously staring down the barrels of his astartes blasters after being ratted out by the screaming of one of their own creations.
A child, or as was more immediately noticed by Rogals instincts, his child.
Oh they had certainly tried to claim the child was theirs, had certainly put their best pleading act in to it, but more than the simple fact that this was his child there was one driving force behind his stalwart decision to claim the tiny thing.
Heād sooner die than let these filthy xenoās have one of his own blood.
Cradling the child to his chest Rogal sent a silent signal to his men to continue with their destruction of the facility. The biomancers had finally seen the futility in their pitiful attempts at persuasion and Rogal rightfully rewarded them with death. Allowing his men to continue their efforts he returned to the ship with his newly acquired son, there was much planning and preparation to do for his arrival after all.
Konrad Curze: The Drukhari were idiots if they thought they could keep this hidden from him. Even without his premonitions their plots and movements were painfully obvious. Sitting in the shadows of the pipes and wires that covered the makeshift lab Konrad stared down at the biomancers that scurried and fretted about the space. Anticipation and a rare flicker of joy fluttered in his chest as his eyes locked on the green incubation tube. So close.
Over and over he had seen the dreams. So familiar yet so strikingly different. The dead biomancers and the destroyed lab at the forefront of his mind but more importantly the one figure he was most eager to meet. His baby. At first the dreams had seen the child grow to kill him, a weapon in its own right, but very quickly they had changed. Dead biomancers, destroyed lab, and the baby blinking up at him from his arms all gummy smiles and shining black eyes.
A son, his son, would be born today. And his instincts sang with the rightness of it all. His claws worried grooves in the pipes as he heard the sound of his astartes approaching, no doubt following the trail the Drukhari left from their ship, and he settled further into the shadows with a vicious smile.
Dead biomancers. Destroyed lab. And one very happy baby.
He couldnāt wait to finally meet him.
Sanguinius: Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4
Ferrus Manus: Ferrus would be remiss to say he found the child because quite bluntly the child found him. On their way to aid an ally in a nearby sector their battle ship was rammed into by an Aeldari ship. He hesitated to call it a battle ship as the size of it was so small that the damage of its ramming had been confined to a single training room. No eldar survivors remained in the aftermath so, Commanding his men to continue on course to their allies, Ferrus took the brunt of the work in fixing the damage. Deeming his own hands faster and more well equipped than his men at the time he saw no need for aid.
The eldar ship groaned and screeched with every movement. And as he worked his way into scrapping the ship and sealing the hull he ignored many of the smaller sounds the ship released.
Laying on his front Ferrus felt his way through a narrow opening, gauging the integrity of the section, when he felt something gnawing on his other hand. Well, felt was a strong word, he noticed his hand moving without his input and turned his to head reveal the culprit. A baby, old enough to crawl, was teething on his arm. The child now sensing it had his attention crawled up directly to his face and sniffed at Ferrus curiously. Ferrus, having never dealt with children before, hesitantly sniffed back in response. Oddly enough it smelled like him and something strange in the back of his brain was very pleased by this.
But heā¦didnāt know how to handle this. So doing what he knew to do best Ferrus gently secured the baby into the groove of his gorget, a problem to be focused on afterwards, and returned to repairing the ship. Heād ask Fulgrim what to do about it later, he was sure to know.
XI: Escaping Child Support 2: The Squeakquel
Angron: For the first time in his life he found something stronger than the Nails. Another conquered planet, another bloody battle, another slaughter by his hands, but this one was different. He stared down into the wrecked incubation capsule with an awe and clarity that had not been afforded to him in quite some time. His instincts had latched onto the scent of the newborn with a viciousness and potency that surprised even himself.
The baby was tiny, smaller than his fist, and so young it could not yet open its eyes but he found the grip it had on his hearts was stronger than any foe he had ever faced. He reached a single hand into the tube with a gentleness he had never before experienced. As the babyās fist closed around his finger, a strong grip but so weak compared to his blood stained hands, he felt his breath leave his lungs as though by a physical blow.
The screeching of the nails was drowned out by one repeating piece of unquestionable knowledge.
This was his child, his baby, his son.
Roboute Guilliman: This strange encounter felt like it was spiraling out of control very quickly. When he and his sons had received a message from an Aeldari ship the reaction had, rightfully, been intense trepidation. But the vague message of āreturning that which he had lostā had prompted Roboute to allow them onboard. An emissary group of three Eldar had boarded, two guards and an important looking woman holding a child, and Roboute had assumed it was all a strange roundabout way of showing they were not a threat.
Until the lady had promptly handed him the child and proclaimed for the entire ship that she was returning what was rightfully his.
The shouts and chaos that came from his men were nothing short of unbecoming, but Roboute himself could certainly not judge. Any coherent thought or denial that came to mind was destroyed because yes this was most definitely his child. The wide blue eyes, the curly blonde hair, and the scent that matched his so closely left no room for doubt. But the problem was that Roboute had no recollection of actually ever creating said child. Sensing the confusion the Lady, Yvraine as she introduced herself, clarified that the child had been saved from a Drukhari lab in the sector. Her group having noticed both the resemblance of the child to Roboute and the movements of his ship in this sector had assumed that he was searching for his missing child.
Evidently not the case.
So after multiple quick explanations, and one incredibly awkward truce later, Roboute Guilliman had officially aquired an infant son.
Mortarion: When his sons had returned from battle he had not expected them to return with an extra passenger. A child, Small and pale and so very like him, had been recovered from the clutches of a Xeno biomancer. And his sons with all the blessings of their fathers geneseed immediately recognized a baby brother.
A small part of Mortarion had hoped the child would be a fluke, a false positive that he could write off or avoid, but the truth of the matter was simply unavoidable. The child was his, and that strange pull at the back of his mind was absolutely letting him know.
The child itself was inexplicably drawn to Mortarion reaching with tiny hands whenever he was near. Even days after it first arrived its fascination with the Primarch was unending. Mortarion himself held back on his affection for the little one because he was worried, afraid even, of what he could do to them. Mortarion himself was so much larger, so much stronger, so much more resilient than them and a hundred concerns crossed his mind in an instant. What if he was not careful enough? What If he squeezed too hard? What If he moved them too fast? What if the toxins he had become accustomed to would hurt-
Oh, thereās a baby in his arms.
The Astartes had apparently tired of the childās pitiful whines and passed them to Mortarion before promptly leaving.
ā¦.
Well the child wasnāt dead, in fact they seemed to be quite content, so Mortarion would simply continue to hold them. Exactly like this. And not move an inch. At. All.
He had this parenting thing down pretty well in his opinion.
Magnus the Red: He knew of his son long before the reports of Drukhari experiments reached his legion. How could he not? The tiny nascent soul, no more defined than the bubbles of a lava lamp, had begun to follow him every time he visited the immaterium with a burbling joy that only a child could produce.
The tiny thing resonated with him, soul of his soul, in a harmony known only to Magnus. A beloved companion in his pursuits through the warp. But as news of the Drukhari plot reached him, as the pieces of the mystery finally fell into place, Magnus finally realized what had been so blatantly presented to him all this time.
A son was being born.
Somewhere there was a child of his blood and Magnus would be damned if he did not find them. Locating his son within the material plane had been laughably easy, such a young soul unburdened by knowledge easily led him back to its mortal form, and finally seeing what his son would be born into caused Magnuās blood to boil. Cold calculating machinery, the impassive embrace of an incubation tube, and a Drukhari biomancer swearing vengeance on the imperium. Commanding all his sons to join him in battle had certainly brought questions, especially from his father and brothers, but their suspicions were nothing in the eyes of Magnus for there was something far more important currently awaiting his arrival.
Magnus would retrieve his son, and no one would stand in his way.
Horus Lupercal: Horus could not bring himself to strike down the child. His Father had instructed upon him the conquering of a planet; the destruction of another xeno threat. Every last enemy slain and defeated as was His decree. But here he stood and for once he hesitated. Every other mutant and squalling failure had been slain but here was a final perfect specimen. Something like him and the indescribable thing within him knew it.
Blood of his blood, flesh of his flesh, a soul that would no doubt match his own.
A son.
He cradled the small thing with an awe and joy that he had rarely ever felt in his life. His Father was bound to understand. How could he not? He had created him and his brothers much the same way this child had been created. Son of His Son. He was bound to understand. The planet conquered and the threat destroyed Horus returned to his ship to share with his legion this momentous occasion.
Lorgar Aurelian: The child was a sign. A sign of fortune and favor a sign of hope and prosperity. But more than that it was a gift. A child of his blood, of his flesh and soul, was clear proof that his preaching was the will of his Father. The child, born in a lab and through biomancy of human and Drukhari genome, born so like him that the pattern had to be by design and not mere coincidence, had been brought to him by his sons. Each and every one of them could sense the connection the child held to Lorgar, and by extension his Father, and knew without a shadow of a doubt the importance the little one would hold.
The future of the Legion of their peopleās faith and salvation all coalesced to one divine sign.
A mind to be molded, a child to be guided, a prized lamb in the flock.
Lorgar would not squander such a wonderful gift.
Vulkan: The Drukhari were looking for something. At least that was the conclusion that Vulkan and his sons had come to. The third strike team in as many months to be destroyed attempting to enter Nocturnes atmosphere. A curious persistence, and one that most certainly had his sons and his people on high alert. As a preemptive measure many of the more remote cities had begun to move their people to the old bunkers used in the time of the Dusk Wraiths. Vulkan, with a day to spare, was helping move one such city. Lost in thought as he watched his people Vulkan startled when something small latched onto his leg.
Looking down he was greeted by the delighted gummy smile of a baby. Vulkan felt his hearts melt at the adorable sight but a more pressing concern nagged at his mind. Whoās child was this? The bright red eyes meant the child was not a baseline, the child of one of his sons then? A rare occurrence but not unheard of. With a great level of concern for the child Vulkan spent the better part of the day looking for its parents.
It was late at night, the child comfortably asleep in his arms, when Vulkan finally came to a discomforting conclusion. The child had no parents. Not a single one of his sons had reported a missing child, no city was missing one that matched the childās description, and no one had come forth to claim it. Looking down at its peacefully sleeping face Vulkan could only feel tired concern squeeze his hearts.
Well.
If no one would claim the child, then he supposed the child would be his. Something deep and curling in the back of his mind was terribly pleased by this, how curious. Much later, after all was settled, his sons would come to learn that the Drukhari were in fact searching for his newest child. A clone created by their biomancers, their reasons unknown and no doubt nefarious. But it mattered little. Vulkan knew with the certainty and rage of the great salamanders of nocturne that anyone who sought to take his son would meet death at his hands.
Corvus Corax: He knew what he would find, but it did not make the surrealism of the moment any less potent. This particular band of Drukhari had been in a vicious cycle of battle with Corvus and his legion. A seemingly unending back and forth with far too many innocents caught in the crossfire. This planet, its major cities captured and enslaved, would be the final resting place of these filthy xenoās. And the Drukhari seemed to be of a similar mindset for they too had started to scheme. Corvus knew. He knew of their plot, knew of the traitorous serf that allowed it to progress, knew of what had been created. But it did not prepare him for this moment.
The biomancers walked past him without a second glance. Taking measurements, moving vials, doing their best to understand what had happpened. Their words meant nothing to Corvus drowned out as his world narrowed to a single point. A child. A baby. He knew to expect a clone, knew to expect a weapon, but his mind could not correlate the two. Something deeper and more powerful than the shock of the moment had latched on the scent of the newborn.
It smelled like him.
The baby blinked up at him, squinted really, and reached for him with little coos and burbles. Corvus reached out to the child and could not form a coherent thought distracted by how Its hand was smaller even than his finger.
Too small.
Too slow.
Failure.
The words, the intent, of the biomancers finally broke through the fog of his mind and Corvus felt a blinding rage. They would all perish here and now, this he would make sure of. Corvus stood amidst the aftermath of his rage, the unrecognizable gore of the biomancers and their foul creations, with his infant son cradled to his chest; a soft rare smile as he looked down upon his sleeping face. His sons had received his message, were no doubt already well into their liberation efforts, and would soon report victory.
And when the enemy was finally slain. When all traces of these foul slavers and their perverse creations were eradicated from the planet. Corvus would rejoice with his legion the arrival of their youngest brother.
Alpharius-Omegon: No one actually knows how the child got there. Oh certainly some claim they do: ridiculous ideas like the child being a xeno splice clone or the love child of the Primarch and a warp demon. But no one actually knows how the child got to be there. In fact most people arenāt even quite sure the child belongs to the Primarch at all. But the only thing anyone can seem to agree on is that there is absolutely a child in the Alpha legion base. Could it belong to a serf? Possibly. Do the legionnaires pay far too much attention to the child for that to be the case? Oh absolutely. But the child is there. Sometimes. Maybe? Debatable.
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