#kydomor forrix

[magicalduck21]

most faithful

[neonjawbone]

idunno if i'll clean these up have some perty doodles feat. horus and forrix

[thethronezone]

Dying laughing at the poor pregnant Primarchs.

Found myself wondering how they would react if it was one of their favorite sons turning out to be pregnant instead. The Warp is feeling broody.

Mortarion - Goes "That's not physically possible" when Typhon informs him that he is pregnant. It's only after he performs an examination on his own that Mortarion admits that indeed, that man is pregnant. Somehow. Doesn't really trust it since this is obviously some magic phenomenon but does make it a point to make sure that Typhon is given the proper medical attention. Other than that... Well, as long as the man doesn't give birth to some sort of abomination then Mortarion won't say anything. Gives Typhon a thumbs up of encouragement from a distance.

Fulgrim - After overcoming the initial shock or learning that Julius Kaesoron is with child, Fulgrim decides that this is actually pretty cool. Much more appreciative of the pregnant form when he's not the one experiencing it. Nothing but encouraging and sympathetic to any physical side effects (nausea, vomiting, cramps) and does make sure that Julius always has a few serfs on hand that can help alleviate these pains. By the way, has he thought of baby names? Because Fulgrim has a full list. Not that he has to use them. But he can. Fulgrim has also picked out decor for the nursery. And the nanny. And the school the kid will one day go to. Hope you don't mind!

Angron - When did Kharn get pregnant? DID HE ENTER COMBAT WHILE PREGNANT!? Angron is straight up forbidding Kharn from entering any sort of combat exercise during the entirety of the pregnancy. That includes sparring, using the gun range, fuck, nothing but the lightest yoga is permitted! Meanwhile, Kharn is just rolling his eyes ("Ok mom"), already planning on doing some weapon's training with a few neophytes right after this conversation. Angron is stressed.

Magnus - Oh Ahriman, you are so full of surprises! Now, allow Magnus to perform a full body (and soul) examination! He needs to know just how this happened! Honestly, Magnus is so intrigued by the more scientific aspect of this all that he almost completely forgets that there's, ya know, going to be an actual child coming out of this. So intrigued by this all that he might just recreate whatever caused this to happen and make himself go through it. For scientific reasons of course. Again, completely forgetting that a whole ass person is going to be born from this.

Perturabo - Kydomor Forrix tells Perturabo he's pregnant and the man has the gall to click his tongue. He then goes on a 20 minute rant about how he expects Forrix to pick up on paperwork while he's unable to work in the field and that, just because he's pregnant, he can't expect special treatment. All of this Forrix both expected and accepts. Then, three days later, he is shocked to find a beautiful, handmade cradle outside his living quarters. He makes sure to thank his Primarch for the thoughtful gift later but Perturabo just grunts in response. Nonetheless, small, handmade toys keep popping up every now and then.

Alpharius - You're pregnant? We're pregnant. While Ingo Pech might be the one carrying the child, the whole legion is going to take part raising it. Indoctrination? Yes sir. That baby is going to shouting "I am Alpharius" straight out the womb. Meanwhile, Alpharius and Omegon are supportive in their own ways, making sure Ingo is provided for during the pregnancy. Lowkey excited for it, they see it as an interesting experiment/experience.

Lorgar - Say it after me; virgin birth. When Lorgar learns that Argel Tal is pregnant, with no apparent intercourse, he attributes it to some kind of miracle/divine plan. So congrats Argel! You've just been promoted to holy figure Virgin Tal! Your duties during pregnancy includes; daily purifications, getting blessed and praying until your tongue goes numb. That baby is going to be born in god's light and there's nothing you can do to stop it!

Horus - Garviel Loken might be the one pregnant but Horus is the one that's the most excited for it. Also secretly very jealous but he hides it well and copes with it by convincing himself that the baby is at least going to be partially his since Garviel has his geneseed and blah blah blah (he's huffing copium). Very involved in the whole pregnancy, lowkey acting like it's his kid that's going to be born, and is almost acting like Garviel is just a surrogate. Will deny it though if anyone accuses him of it.

Konrad - Outright sneers. Why would you want a child? Whatever, it's Sevatar's problem, not Konrad's. At least, that's how Konrad puts it at the start of it all. But he keeps a close eye on Sevatar, snarling at whatever Night Lord that gets too close or even acts out in his proximity. And then extra rations appear on Sevatar's bed, which he's pretty sure were taken from some other Night Lord. Not that Sevatar is going to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Konrad wants to play scary fairy godmother then he ain't gonna stop him. It's only when Sevatar finds a few dead rats on his bed that he starts rethinking that decision.

Sanguinius - Watch Sanguinius channel all his anxiety for the future into Raldoron's baby. Like, this kid is going to be born into a world that will probably see it as some sort of apostle or something and Sanguinius won't be able to stop it. So, to make up for it in advance (partially to ease his guilt) he tries to make Raldoron's pregnancy as comfortable as possible. Tries to act cheerful but there's a hint of melancholy in all his actions. Still, he does look forward to the birth of the baby. Such moments are always full of joy and worth being celebrated.

Corvus - Uhm... Congrats? When Branne Nev informs Corvus that he's with child, the Primarch does not quite know how to react. But he's going to try and be supportive! Just, eh, from a distance. Almost treats Nev like he's got a contagious disease and that he'll also get pregnant if he gets too close. But in the later stages of the pregnancy, when it starts showing, Corvus sometimes get this soft, almost longing look in his eyes. He also starts leaving little trinkets for the baby that he thinks it will like.

Ferrus - Ferrus takes a long, hard look at Gabriel Santar and then sighs heavily. "No working in the forge or the lab until after the child is born". Not mad, not disappointed, just tired. But supportive! Do you like supplements, Gabriel? Because you are getting a bunch of them. Your baby is going to be born strong as fuck, don't worry. Ferrus creates a whole schedule for "optimal fetus development" which he put together with a council of fellow Iron Hands, tech priests and doctors.

Rogal - There's a lot of solemn nodding from Rogal when Sigismund is revealed to be pregnant. He then excuses himself for a few hours (much to the anxiety of poor Sigismund who is left wondering if he has angered his father) but when Rogal eventually returns he's got a 10 page document full of predictions for the pregnancy (due date, weight gain, health complications etc). Actually very involved in the pregnancy and demands regular updates on both Sigismund's and the fetus' health.

Vulkan - Straight up picks Artellus Numeon up twirls him around in a big hug. Congratulations! Oh, he's so happy for you! Vulkan is genuinely excited and immediately starts asking Artellus if he's thought of any names, if there's anything he needs, is he feeling well etc.. Oh, and yeah, he's confined to Nocturne for the entire pregnancy. Just to keep him safe! But don't worry, Artellus is still allowed to use the forge... Until his second trimester of course. Yeah, Vulkan is a bit overprotective but what can you expect? This is his first grandchild!

Lion - The look Lion gives Luther is one of disappointment, as if Luther somehow did this to himself! Then he sighs, shakes his head and just orders the man to be on desk duty for the duration of the pregnancy. At first, it seems like Lion is very disinterested, only occasionally asking if things are going well with 'it'. But then Luther finds some extra rations in his chambers. Then some pelts. A pillow? Luther quickly deduces that Lion is the one leaving him these things and while he can't outright thank him for it (Lion would never admit to it), he does mention out loud how much these things are helping him and not even Lion can hide the smug look on his face.

Leman - Ha! Hahaha! After Leman is done laughing at Bjorn for magically getting pregnant, he congratulates and reassures him that he's going to be a fantastic mother. Jokes aside, Leman gets very involved in the pregnancy. Call it pack instincts. Keeps bringing Bjorn food (too much food to be honest) and it's like he has a seventh sense for whenever Bjorn is about to chug a tankard of ale. Bjorn hasn't had a beer in 9 months and he's about to strangle Leman with his bare hands. He does appreciate all the pelts he's been given though.

Jaghatai - Summon the council of mothers! Shiban's pregnancy is a welcome surprise and Jaghatai makes sure that he has all the support that he will need. That being said, he lets women that have experienced pregnancy and motherhood take the reins on this one. What they say goes (though Jaghatai won't snitch if Shiban wants to sneak out for some jetbike rides every now and then). Also makes Shiban sit in on maternity classes in preparation. Promises to teach his kid how to ride a horse when they get old enough.

Roboute - Guilliman finally gets the real experience of being a father because Cato fucking refuses to relax for even a second, acting like a hyperactive 5-year old, and Roboute has to fucking threaten to court-martial him to get him to sit down for even just a single minute. Cato is acting like he isn't pregnant (ordering people around, running drills etc) and he sees it as punishment when his Primarch puts him on paperwork-duty for the duration of the pregnancy (no frontline combat for you sir). Secretly, Guilliman is looking forward to the baby being born since it's kinda like his pseudo-grandchild (he wants to spoil it so bad).

[bbrokenbback]

Yet another thingie from the Warhammer Ask.

Question for Kydomor Forrix: is there any other legion you respect? Or maybe one you despise?

[llleafs]

It's just a strange idea(￣▽￣)💦

我自封为幼儿园之神

[floralynn-arts]

🚧 Kydomor Forrix x Ahzek Ahriman 📖

[viceroy-jericho]

Within and without.

[picatea]

Bo's a good boss, really.

[1silentsiren1]

A little Perturabo from my AU to you)

Even though my alternate universe doesn't really appeal to people, I continue to work on it

[ladymirdan]

You know that scene in Hammer of Olympia where Perturabo destroys Lochos. Where is my Forrix?

[auroracoriolis]

[Fanfiction] Romance of the First Captains

A tale of when Forrix and Ahriman finally got together

---

This is the full Forrix / Ahriman romance arc from my fanfic series Red and Iron. I have taken the relevant parts from several chapters and edited them together here, cutting out everything else.

If you want more Forrix content you can read his introductory chapter first, it takes place just a couple of hours before the events below.

Tags: Romance, mutual pining, love triangle / jealousy, angst with a happy ending, eventual smut, drunkeness, Magnus being rather annoying.

8000 words. NSFW! There is some explicit smut.

This is set during the first half of the Great Crusade. The Thousand Sons and the Iron Warriors have just finished a compliance together, and now there is a victory party on the Photep. Ahriman has discovered that someone has been stealing bottles of rare and expensive wine from his personal stash. Also, for a moment it looked like a fight between the Primarchs was going to break out right before the dinner started, so Ahriman is a bit stressed out.

---

As Ahriman reached the head table and noticed that one of the missing wine bottles of his favourite vintage was being casually popped open by Magnus, all of his nervousness turned into rage. He decided that he was not going to talk to any of the Primarchs at all for the rest of the evening. There was no way he was going to keep his head cool enough to have an even halfway civilized conversation.

He refused to sit down in his assigned chair at the right side of his sire. Instead he walked past Magnus and past Perturabo. Next to the Lord of Iron sat his first captain Forrix, and the chair after him was currently empty. Ahriman swiftly stole that seat, grabbed the glass of wine in front of him and emptied it.

“Rough day?” asked Forrix, and put a hand on his shoulder.

The warm, steady touch was surprisingly soothing. Ahriman allowed himself to calm down and just breathe for a moment.

Soon the serfs came out and started serving the food, and the great feast finally began.

*

They had been through most of the courses by now. Ahriman had just finished eating the first dessert, and the second dessert was soon to arrive. He had lost track of how much wine he had drunk, and all his previous anger had faded away. In the background Magnus was being annoyingly loud and animated but Ahriman was able to tune him out, relax and focus on Forrix.

Ahriman enjoyed speaking with Forrix.

They had met during the compliance of course, but this was the first time that they could talk to each other while not in the strategium or in active combat. It was also the first time in a long while that Ahriman had seen Forrix without his armour. Forrix had clearly grown bigger. Based on the parts of his bulging muscle mass that were revealed by his formal-wear he was starting to look more and more like his genesire, but thankfully Forrix did not take after Perturabo's demeanour. Forrix was actually very kind, at least to Ahriman.

Suddenly Ahriman felt Magnus' soft but overpowering presence intruding in his mind.

+He likes you. You should keep him company tonight.+

+What?+

+I suggest that you stay close to first captain Forrix and ensure that he leaves this party with you and no one else... Perhaps you should invite him to your room for a drink.+

The sheer audacity of this allowed Ahriman to remember what he had been angry about before.

+I would have no drinks to offer him, since someone keeps stealing my bottles from me,+ he retaliated.

+I'm sorry about that. But my point was not about the drink. My point was that you should invite him to your room. Alone.+

His room, alone – just the two of them?

Oh no.

Ahriman could hardly believe this was happening. When he looked over at Magnus, his Primarch did not meet his gaze – outwardly he was still keeping up some other conversation.

+Are you commanding me to seduce an officer of another legion?+ Ahriman demanded.

+There is no need for that – as I said, he already likes you.+ Magnus' tone was full of amusement.

+But is this an order, sire?+

+Merely a suggestion. Ahzek, I'm trying to help you – I strongly advice you to take the chance before someone else does. Because I assure you, there are plenty of others who would.+

As always, Magnus' psychic voice was warm and reassuring, and also extremely convincing.

Ahriman did like Forrix, after all. He was not opposed to the idea of, at some point, being alone together. A part of him longed to be held by Forrix's strong, beautiful arms. Perhaps he should just give in and obey this inappropriate demand. It would make him happy.

But all his rage and resentment towards his Primarch had suddenly resurfaced. This request was so wrong, so outrageous, that he had to refuse it out of sheer principle.

“What's the matter?” Forrix asked.

“I'm sorry I... I need to go check on something.” Ahriman excused himself and scampered off.

*

As it turned out, Ahriman could not handle the enchanted wine as well as he thought he could. He ended up sleeping long into the following day, waking up with a terrible headache.

When he eventually picked up a data-slate and started groggily checking the latest status updates, he found several things that confused and displeased him. The first and most obvious one was that the Iron Blood had not yet departed, and shuttles were still going back and forth. Second, there appeared to be around a hundred Iron Warriors lingering on the Photep without any obvious purpose. First captain Forrix was among them, and as he would be the appropriate person to ask how long the Fourth Legion were planning on staying, Ahriman decided to go find him.

Still suffering from nausea and a headache, he reluctantly got up and got dressed in his duty-robes, and then headed out.

He went down to the hangar bay and had a look inside the feast hall. There were no longer any legionaries sleeping there, but he found that the serfs were setting the tables for dinner yet again, and that several large, heavy boxes with the insignia of the fourth legion had appeared in the room.

Later, in a corridor, he passed some serfs pushing carts loaded with unopened wine bottles that he did not recognize.

Ahriman had been told that Forrix was currently in a room, close to the gym, that was often used for physical therapy. Once he arrived he saw that a number of massage tables where setup in the room and that most of them were occupied by Iron Warriors being tended to by members of the Pavoni.

Embarrassingly enough, Ahriman did not find Forrix by looking for his face or his aura. It was extremely easy to notice Forrix because he was the biggest body in the room – laying shirtless on the table in the centre with his broad, well-muscled back on full display.

Hathor Maat was standing right next to the table, leaning over Forrix. He was wearing sleeveless robes and his hands were glistening with oil as he was in the middle of giving him a back massage.

Maat made telepathic contact as soon as Ahriman entered the room.

+Ah, first captain, so you are finally awake.+ There was an air of amusement in his mental tone that Ahriman did not approve of.

+What is going on here?+

+Did our lord not tell us to take good care of the Iron Warriors while they are here?+

+I don't think he meant for you to go quite this far,+ Ahriman answered, +and they were supposed to have already left by now.+

+Well, you will have to ask him about that.+

As Ahriman approached, Forrix noticed him and was about to get up, but Maat pushed him back down.

“There is no need for you to get up, first captain. Please stay, I am not done yet.”

Forrix did not fight it, instead he stayed on the massage table and simply turned his head to Ahriman. “First captain,” he greeted him, nodding politely.

“First captain,” Ahriman greeted him back, using a formal tone in an attempt to offset the awkwardness of seeing Forrix so exposed. “Would you please explain why your legion has not departed yet?”

“There was a change of plans. Lord Perturabo has postponed our departure until tomorrow.”

“May I ask for the reason why?”

“It was because of logistics.”

“Can you give me any more details than that?”

“Unfortunately, my Primarch did not give me any more details either,” Forrix answered with a bashful smile, “but I am sure he must have had good reasons.”

Maat was smirking widely, seemingly trying to hide it by keeping his face down, focusing on his work. He had not stopped massaging Forrix. If anything, he was increasing his efforts as if he wanted to make Ahriman as uncomfortable as possible. He did not look up as he spoke:

“Isn't it lovely? We get to spend even more time with our dear cousins. Did you hear that we are hosting them for another dinner tonight?”

“Wait, what?” Ahriman sputtered. “Another dinner?”

That would be unacceptable, and impossible – they literally did not have enough supplies left onboard to do anything even remotely similar to last night. Not to mention that the Thousand Sons would soon have nothing left but combat rations until they could resupply.

“Yes, it is already being prepared downstairs,” said Maat.

Ahriman stood silent and blinked twice, too dumbfounded to speak. Then he turned to Forrix.

“I'm sorry, but this kind of arrangement needed to be approved by our legion's leadership.”

“I was told that lord Magnus approved it,” Forrix answered, nonplussed.

“This is what happens when you stay in bed until noon, Ahzek,” Maat interjected in the most snide voice possible, ”decisions are made without you.”

Ahriman's eye twitched.

Forrix appeared to have noticed Ahriman's discomfort. “Don't worry, we are bringing over supplies from our fleet so that we won't deplete all of yours. Your ship still has the nicer venue, so it makes sense to be here.”

“We will get to try out Olympian wine, isn't that great?” Maat said, still smirking. “It turns out the Fourth had quite a lot of it in storage.”

Ahriman was frustrated about this turn of events, but he was also very distracted. He found it increasingly hard to keep his eyes on Forrix's face. All the muscles on the back of the Iron Warrior's impressive torso were visible, the massage oil and whatever Maat was doing to him were only making them even more obvious, and the many armour ports in his skin formed a mesmerizing symmetrical pattern. At this point in his career Forrix was wearing Terminator plate and you could tell just by looking at him – he was so large that he likely would not fit into any smaller armour. His body was a work of art, an exemplar of the rugged, powerful beauty of the fourth legion, and Ahriman found himself involuntarily salivating just from looking at it.

+He is handsome, isn't he?+ remarked Maat. +Though I must warn you that tonight, he is mine.+

+What?+

+I have been given a special mission, to take care of first captain Forrix today. To make sure he isn't lonely, if you know what I mean.+

+Did Magnus put you up to this?+ asked Ahriman with quickly rising ire.

+He was the one who asked me, yes.+

+Do you not find such an order deeply unethical?+

+This was no order,+ Maat stated, again keeping his eyes down on his work. +I know the difference between an order and my Primarch simply asking me for a favour. And the exact wording was to 'keep him occupied and prevent him from dragging Perturabo home too early again'. Anyway, I was not inclined to say no. I am simply taking some liberties in how I carry out the mission, and I am finding it rather enjoyable.+

Forrix looked between the two of them, seemingly confused as he was not privy to their telepathic conversation. To him it would look like Ahriman was silently staring at Maat, becoming increasingly agitated.

Maat pushed down harder on a muscle knot, making Forrix close his eyes and groan loudly.

+It's not like I plan to force myself on him,+ Maat continued, +but he hasn't said no to anything I have done to him so far.+

Suddenly Maat looked up and deliberately fixed his gaze on Ahriman.

+I saw the two of you sitting together yesterday. Ahzek, if you want this task for yourself, you should speak up now, before it is too late.+

Ahriman blushed. He could not confess his true feelings, not to Maat, one of his most obnoxious brothers – he would never hear the end of it.

Also, he knew he had no chance, as Forrix was surely way too proper and by-the-book to harbour such feelings as Ahriman did. He was logical and professional like all Iron Warriors, not plagued by any irrational emotions. His friendliness and kindness were certainly only politeness. Ahriman knew he would be rejected and would end up the laughing-stock of all the legions.

“Very well. Carry on then,” he blurted out as he turned around and then quickly left the room, a multitude of conflicting emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

A part of him was still wishing that he had done what Magnus asked of him last night. Now he had truly lost his chance.

*

Forrix slumped helplessly on the massage table. He wished he had said more, though he could not find any suitable words. The things he truly wanted to say were impossible to utter, for they were deeply intertwined with a terrible truth that he was forbidden to ever speak of under penalty of death or worse.

As far as Ahriman seemed to be aware, this was the second time that the two of them and their legions had been on a mission together, but Forrix knew that in truth it was actually the third time. There had been two shared compliances – and these had both been rather routine, all things considered – but the very first assignment had been different. It was a rescue mission, or at least it was supposed to be. It had ended in tragedy, as they were forced to sacrifice the remaining population of the planet to prevent a horrifying corruption from spreading to other worlds.

But the important thing was that he and Ahriman had worked together on that mission. They had been in great danger and they had both saved each other's lives. It was sad that all their work amounted to nothing in the end, but both the Primarchs and their legions seemed to have grown closer, at least. Forrix thought that he and Ahriman had grown very close as well.

A few years later, the next time the legions were slated to meet up, his lord had come to him with a strange but very specific order.

“My brother Magnus has asked a favour of me,” Perturabo had said. “I am about to issue a new decree to our legion, and it is imperative that we never fail in upholding it. You know how much my brother cares for humanity... What happened on Morningstar saddened him immensely, and he says that it is a source of great pain for his sons as well. He has asked of me that from now on, whenever our legions are together, that planet or that mission is never to be mentioned again. It must be as if it never happened... I will honour the favour my brother has asked of me. It does not matter whether I agree or disagree with how he wishes this to be handled, I will see it done. The order will be disseminated to the entirety of the Fourth tomorrow. Now, Forrix, I want to impress upon you how important this is to me personally. I will not look kindly on anyone who, through disobedience or negligence, makes my brother sad. Do you understand?”

Forrix had seen his Primarch's icy blue stare and immediately understood how serious he was about this. Lord Perturabo was known to hand out swift and severe punishment for wrongdoings far smaller than someone hurting the feelings of his favourite brother.

Luckily, the Iron Warriors were not a legion inclined to talk unnecessarily. As far as Forrix knew, no one had ever broken that decree, and Morningstar was never mentioned again.

The true reason for Magnus' favour only became evident to Forrix once the legions met. As the two Primarchs embraced each other in greeting, Forrix had gone to embrace Ahriman, but Ahriman had seemed confused, as if he did not recognize him at all. As if this was the first time they had ever met. And then Forrix had understood – Ahriman's memory was gone, and there was nothing he could do. He was not allowed to ever speak of the time they had shared or of what they had lived through together.

As they embarked on the mission at hand, Ahriman was polite but cold and professional, clearly seeing him as nothing more than a fellow captain. They had no issues working together, but Forrix would never forget that they used to be so much closer. Ahriman was the most brave, brilliant and beautiful of the Thousand Sons, and for a short time, Forrix had dared to dream that his feelings would be returned. But he had lost his chance, forever.

The massage had been a somewhat overwhelming experience from the start, and by now, Forrix was so overcome with emotion that he felt tears welling up in his eyes. Embarrassed, he hid his face behind his arm.

“What's the matter?”

It seemed impossible to hide anything from the sorcerer who had his warm hands all over him.

Hathor Maat, this other captain of the Thousand Sons, who was not Ahriman but who was equally impossibly handsome. Who for some unfathomable reason was suddenly giving Forrix an undue amount of attention, and who had not allowed him to be alone for even a minute since he arrived on the Photep today.

Whatever magic of the flesh Maat was using, it was making Forrix melt to his core. It made him feel totally defeated in the best way possible.

“I simply don't understand why you are being so kind to me,” Forrix said. “What have I done to deserve this much attention?”

“You have worked so very hard for a long time,” Maat cooed, “we know you all have. We just want to give you a chance to relax for once.”

“Thank you.” Forrix did not know what else to say.

He did have an inkling that there had been a battle of wills between Maat and Ahriman, and clearly not all of the Thousand Sons were happy about the altered arrangements for the day. But there was nothing Forrix could do to change any of it, and it was not his business to try to figure out exactly what was going on.

He surrendered to Maat's pampering and allowed himself to relax.

If he could not have the heart of Ahzek Ahriman, he just had to accept it and focus on appreciating the good things that did come his way, even if he did not always understand them.

*

This night's dinner was a less formal and more relaxed affair than the one yesterday. Since there was no specific entertainment planned, both the legions had brought all boardgames and party games that they had. It had turned out that the Iron Warriors had a lot of pork and potatoes in storage, so that made up the bulk of the main course while the Thousand Sons provided apples and vegetables. There was still plenty of wine to drink, as the Iron Warriors had contributed several shuttle-loads of Olympian wine, but the Pavoni had only had time to enchant about half of it.

The seating at the head table had moved around slightly compared to the night before. Forrix was sitting next to Perturabo again, but on the other side of him was Hathor Maat. Forrix was telling Maat about why the pig was the best animal for meat and Maat was listening intently, smiling and laughing. Ahriman was quietly watching them from across the table, sipping on his wine and looking absolutely miserable.

After the dinner, the tables were cleared and the games were brought out. There was everything from regicide boards to the large and elaborate war simulation games that the Iron Warriors liked to make, complete with beautiful and surprisingly detailed miniatures of space marines, tanks and titans. However, the night would end up being dominated by a tournament of the tower game.

[ The tournament ends with the Primarchs playing against each other. It results in Perturabo losing the game, and he then leaves in silence. That seems to make Magnus upset and he runs away as well. ]

After the Primarchs left, seemingly on bad terms with each other, tension and unease spread among the members of both legions and the party died down somewhat.

Ahriman realized that the responsibility of playing host might now fall upon his shoulders, and he knew that he should act to salvage the situation but he was too miserable to figure something out. As he watched Hathor Maat climb up on the platform he was grateful to see someone else rising to the occasion (but he was also jealous of Maat's boldness).

“Brothers, cousins – calm yourselves,” Maat spoke, his voice amplified to reach everyone as he had connected his personal vox to the hangar deck loudspeakers. He threw out his arms in a dramatic gesture as he said:

“Forget about the Primarchs!”

That was shockingly brazen, but hopefully Maat would follow it up by making a rhetorical point that justified him saying something so irreverent.

“They will be fine,” Maat continued, “we know they will both calm down and be friends again in the morning.”

There was truth in that, even Ahriman had to admit. Surely it would take much more than a game of collapsing tower to cause a true falling out between Magnus and his brother.

“We can't let their absence ruin the night for us. The party is far from over – there is still plenty of wine to drink and games to play! We are here to celebrate and enjoy ourselves, because we have all deserved it, and celebrate we shall! Now, who gets to break this tower? First captain Forrix, come, get up here!”

Forrix climbed up on the platform and stood next to Maat, studying the tower. It seems that no one present could dispute Perturabo's claim that the game was over, but Forrix had been given the honour of making the next move in his Primarch's stead. After some consideration he chose to pull out one of the game-pieces near the base, which made the tower collapse in on itself a spectacular but clearly deliberate fashion. The crowd closest to the platform had withdrawn slightly, but this collapse was so measured, so controlled that not a single piece fell over the edge. It was destruction, but it was orderly and it was beautiful.

Once the clatter of cascading steel pieces ended, the crowd started cheering. Maat toasted with Forrix and they patted each other on the shoulders. As they stood there smiling in front of everyone they seemed to embody the warm unity and friendship between the two legions, like their genesires should have done if they had still been there.

The mood in the great hall was instantly much better again, and the party resumed. Ahriman seemed to be the only one who was not happy.

For a while, Ahriman tried to distract himself by watching two of his brothers playing a game of regicide, but he found himself unable to focus.

He was angry. He could not stand seeing Forrix seemingly enjoying himself with someone else. His ire toward Hathor Maat was quickly growing, but mostly, Ahriman was angry with himself... Angry for being too much of a coward to make a move when he had the chance.

He drank the last wine in his glass and stared blankly ahead. He was overwhelmed by an aching loneliness and a longing that he could no longer ignore. Something, a new feeling that he did not fully understand, stirred deep inside him and it finally gave him the courage to act. He desperately needed to feel Forrix's arms around him, at least once, while they both still lived.

Ahriman scanned the room and soon found the place where Forrix was standing talking to some Iron Warriors, and he started walking towards him with newfound determination. It might already be too late, but he still had to try.

When Ahriman reached Forrix he gently grabbed his left arm. The heat rose quickly in his blood as he felt the firmness of Forrix's muscles, and he leaned in close and whispered:

“First captain, would you like to...” he trailed off.

It was not until now he saw that Hathor Maat was already holding Forrix's other arm. Maat was looking back at Ahriman with the bile of someone who just spotted an intruding enemy, while Forrix seemed surprised and confused. They all stared at each other for a moment, then Ahriman and Maat moved simultaneously to hold onto their respective sides of Forrix more firmly as if they were going to start pulling him in different directions.

+Please... I need him,+ Ahriman pleaded, feeling pathetic.

+I need him too. You had your chance, Ahzek! It's too late to change your mind now.+

“Please don't fight,” sighed Forrix.

One extremely large Iron Warrior suddenly appeared before them. He was as wide as Forrix but much taller. There were only a few Astartes across all the legions known to be this huge. Both Maat and Ahriman stood still and looked up as the newcomer greeted his first captain:

“Good evening, Triarch,” he said politely, “you appear to be outnumbered. Would you like some reinforcements?”

“Yes, can you take my right flank?” Forrix answered, indicating the side were Maat was clinging on to him.

“With pleasure,” he answered, grinning widely. “I was hoping you would give me the blonde one.”

The large Iron Warrior bowed down with surprising grace, pried loose Maat's right hand and took it.

“Hello beautiful,” he said, “my name is Barban Falk, but you can call me Warsmith.”

Falk then elegantly brought Maat's hand to his lips and kissed it, making him blush.

Falk possessed a rugged handsomeness not too dissimilar from that of Forrix. He had dark hair and a short beard that was neatly groomed. There were almost no scars marring the fair skin of his face (probably because he was so tall that it was hard to reach it).

Maat looked at Falk and breathed deeply, then once again sent his thoughts to Ahriman:

+Fine, you can have Forrix. I will take this one instead.+

Ahriman could feel Maat's unabashed desire through the telepathic link. He realized that the same feeling also burned within himself, but only now was he able to name it.

Maat let go of Forrix and focused all of his attention on Falk.

“Well then, Warsmith,” he said, and his voice was effortlessly seductive. “I am Hathor Maat, Magister Templi of the Pavoni. You can use my title as well. I hope you can endure some thorough examination.”

He reached up and greedily felt his bicep, and Falk obediently flexed it for him.

“A Magister, eh? Examine as much as you like,” Falk chuckled.

Meanwhile, Ahriman and Forrix held hands and gazed into each other's eyes. Finally, there was nothing keeping them apart.

“Kydomor...”

“Ahzek...”

“Let's get out of here,” Ahriman whispered, his mind too foggy to be more eloquent.

“Yes,” Forrix answered, smiling.

The four of them started slowly navigating through the crowd, holding on firmly to their chosen lovers.

*

Ahriman led Forrix to the corridor where many of the captains of the Fifteenth had their personal quarters. There were several other couples walking the same path, and even though Ahriman tried his best to ignore them he could not stop hearing their whispers and feeling their presence. Only once he closed his door behind them could he truly relax.

His quarters were relatively humble – there was the sitting area they were currently standing in, a small office and a bedroom – but these chambers were his and no one would disturb them here. Ahriman was immensely relieved at finally being here, alone just the two of them. He turned to Forrix and they both moved at the same time, rushing into each other's arms.

They had embraced in greeting before, while armoured, but that was nothing like this. Now, as they stood there wearing only their fine robes – Ahriman in sky-blue and Forrix in black – no eyes upon them and no bulky ceramite between them, they could embrace for real. Ahriman leaned his head on Forrix's broad shoulder. To feel those massive arms holding him in such a tender, protective way brought tears of joy to Ahriman's eyes. He wanted Forrix to hold him forever.

But as he relished in the warmth of the Iron Warrior's powerful body, Ahriman soon noticed a flowery scent lingering on Forrix's flesh. He remembered when he had felt it before – earlier in the day, when he had been forced to watch Hathor Maat touching Forrix. This was the fragrance of the massage oil that Maat had been using, and he recognized it as honeysuckle. Insecurity welled up in him, and he was forced to break the silence and ask:

“What happened between you and Hathor?”

Forrix shrugged. “As soon as I arrived here today, suddenly he was showering me with attention... It did seem like he was coming on to me.”

Ahriman bit his lip. He had to admit that, despite being supremely annoying, Maat had acted honourably when it mattered. He had been kind enough to step aside (after only a brief moment of conflict), letting Ahriman have Forrix for himself, and now Ahriman felt obligated to honour him in return.

“He had been given the task to take care of you,” Ahriman said, “by our Primarch.”

“Is that so?... Does Magnus usually interfere with your love lives?”

“Only sometimes.”

They were still embracing and Ahriman could not see Forrix's face, but he could feel the breath pause in Forrix's chest.

“I can't believe it, but you just made me appreciate my own Primarch more,” Forrix said, baffled. “At least he doesn't play games like that.”

Ahriman was uncomfortable, as even a subtle critique against Magnus put him in a position where he felt forced to defend his genesire.

“He only meant for someone to keep you company, and he tried to give the task to me first... but I refused.”

“Really?... Did you not want it?” Now Forrix sounded insecure.

“Yes, but not like that!” Ahriman quickly answered. “I was stupid, too stubborn. I regretted it as soon as I saw Hathor with you... Did... did you want him?” Ahriman felt self-conscious, guilty for how he had wavered for far too long and then rudely inserted himself between the two of them.

“He would have been nothing more than a consolation prize for me,” Forrix said. “You are the one I truly hoped for... but I thought you didn't want me.”

“What? I thought you were the one who didn't want me!”

“I have wanted you since...” Forrix's voice drifted away as he caressed Ahrimans hair. ”... Always,” he whispered. Suddenly, Forrix's large shoulders were subtly shaking.

“What's wrong?” Ahriman asked, and he withdrew so he could see his face.

Forrix quickly rubbed his eyes before he met Ahriman's.

“Nothing is wrong,” he said and smiled softly, “not any more.”

Ahriman almost gasped at the intensity of seeing Forrix this close.

Forrix had the same ice-blue eyes and pale skin as his genesire, and his handsome face could certainly look stern when he needed it to, but yet in this moment his visage was warm and kind – at least that was the way he appeared to Ahriman. Forrix touched Ahriman's cheek and gazed at him as if he was looking at the most beautiful thing in the world.

“Your eyes are magical,” he said, “both deep and impossibly bright, like the sky on a sunny day... and there are stars in them.”

There was a deep pain in Forrix's aura that Ahriman did not understand, but he wanted nothing more than to soothe that pain.

“Your eyes are like ice crystals... like sapphires,” Ahriman said, trying to return the compliment, but the words felt small and inadequate. Instead he tried to echo the earlier sentiment. “I have also always wanted you,” he said and let his fingertips caress Forrix's face, “for as long as I can remember.” Then he leaned in, bringing their lips closer together, and they finally met in a kiss.

It was slow and tender. One of Forrix's hands lovingly dug into the dark curls of Ahriman's hair as the other arm tightened around his body, still only showing a fraction of the true power those beautiful muscles held. Forrix was being so very careful with him, as if he was afraid to hurt him.

“I won't break,” Ahriman whispered as soon as their lips parted.

Then his sight suddenly darkened, his knees buckled and he collapsed in Forrix's arms as a vision took him. Ahriman saw Forrix, sometime far in the future, and a flash of terrible light.

He came too after only a short moment as Forrix was effortlessly carrying him into the adjacent bedroom.

“What's wrong? Should I call an apothecary for you?” Forrix said as he carefully placed Ahriman on the bed, clearly worried.

“No, it was only a vision... It happens sometimes. I will be fine, just give me a moment.”

Forrix sat down on the bed next to him and held his hand, still seeming concerned. “What did you see?”

Ahriman would rather not speak of it. It had not been a happy vision, but he found himself unable to keep quiet, as tears – of sadness, this time – gathered in his eyes.

“I saw you die,” he said. “If I allow myself to love you, one day I will have to live through losing you.”

Not until he had finished speaking did he realize that he had said love, and he was immediately embarrassed. They had not known each other long enough for that. Well, it had been decades, but the actual time they had spent together had been only a few days here and there, spread out many years apart. He felt so silly for using that word... but there was nothing else that felt more right.

Forrix now held both of his hands. “That is the risk we all have to take,” he answered solemnly. “All the more reason to allow ourselves to live fully while we still can.”

Ahriman saw the truth in that, and as he sat up and wiped his tears away he decided to let no more time be wasted. He threw himself at Forrix in all his desperation and hunger, showering him with kisses and letting his hands find their way beneath his robes. Forrix returned his affections with the same passion, and he allowed Ahriman to climb on top of him.

Ahriman became acutely aware of how thin the layers of silk between their bodies were. He could feel Forrix's heavy breaths as well as hear them, and the way Forrix's muscles flexed as he moved to touch him. Ahriman also felt an unmistakeable rising bulge beneath him, and he blushed as he realized that he, too, was getting visibly aroused. But he did not withdraw – instead he tentatively grinded his hips against Forrix, and he was thrilled as the normally so stoic Iron Warrior shuddered and moaned. Ahriman was usually never this bold, but it was obvious that their desire was mutual and he did not want to hold back any longer.

Forrix soon figured out how to make Ahriman's robes fall off his shoulders, and started undoing his own robes as well. As more of their bodies became exposed Ahriman felt increasingly inadequate. He was slightly slimmer than the average Astartes, and his body was almost completely hairless – a very common trait among the Thousand Sons, despite their diverse origins (likely a quirk inherited through their geneseed). He felt so small compared to Forrix's tanky build, and almost intimidated by his plentiful chest hair. As if he had noticed Ahriman's nervousness, Forrix reached up and lovingly touched his pecs.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, and Ahriman no longer felt any shame or uncertainty.

It was not long before all of their clothes were discarded on the floor. Ahriman feasted his eyes on Forrix's magnificent, muscular body, and as he looked further down, he could confirm that the Iron Warrior had an impressive girth that truly matched his broad chest and shoulders.

Ahriman was under the assumption that Forrix, as well as the rest of the fourth legion, had very little experience in lovemaking, possibly none at all. Ahriman himself had way more experience than he ought to have, and he did not mind taking the lead – he was only happy for a chance to give Forrix pleasure and maybe even teach him something.

He made Forrix lie down on his back while he once again kissed him on the lips, playfully running his fingers through the dark hair on his chest, and then he moved his kisses further down. It was all too easy to make Forrix gasp and moan by licking and teasing his nipples. As Ahriman continued further down to kiss his sternum and his stomach, he could both see and feel how every single kiss, even the smallest touch set Forrix's aura ablaze with glittering shock waves of stimulation. How strangely powerful Ahriman felt as he made this mighty warrior turn to putty in his hands – the feeling was unfamiliar, but maybe he could get used to it. He continued traversing downwards until he reached his destination.

Forrix's cock was already fully hard, and Ahriman eagerly took it into his mouth. He pressed his lips and his tongue against the thick shaft and gently cradled his lover's balls as he started moving his head with a determined rhythm. He was pleased to hear Forrix starting to completely unravel, giving him the loudest moans yet. It was not long at all before he could feel the salty taste of pre-come, and he was taken aback by the intensity of the emotions it carried – a strong protective urge, and such a fierce, desperate longing.

Ahriman did not want Forrix to finish quite yet – he wanted to feel him inside himself first, and he realized that he might have to hurry up with the logistics needed to get to that part. He continued the blowjob but slowed down his pace while he used telekinesis to open a drawer in his bedside table, making a bottle of lube levitate to his side. He applied the lube to the fingers of his right hand and reached down to start preparing himself, but Forrix interrupted him.

“What are you doing?”

Ahriman, unable to speak with his mouth full of cock, was forced to stop and lift his head to answer. “I want you inside me,” he said in a hoarse voice, “down there, I mean”.

“Are you sure?” Forrix sounded hesitant.

“Yes, and stop acting like you are afraid to hurt me. I want it.”

“Then at least let me do that for you. You should not have to prepare yourself – you have done enough already.”

Forrix sat up and gently lifted Ahriman off of him. Then he took the bottle of lube and poured a generous amount on his hands and on his hard, leaking member.

“Now you lie down,” he said, and Ahriman obeyed, lying down on his back. Forrix looked at him with a hungry smile.

“Your lips are very red... you are pretty like that. The only thing that would make you look even better would be my seed all over you.” Forrix's expression then became more hesitant as he backtracked and asked for permission. “Would you be fine with me coming on your chest?”

“Next time,” Ahriman answered, “this time I want you inside. Now stop dallying.”

Forrix nodded in affirmative and then reached down between Ahriman's legs. He turned out to be surprisingly skilled with his hands. As he slipped a slick finger inside Ahriman, he immediately found the right spot to rub, and he applied the perfect amount of pressure around the entrance. He must have quite a bit of experience after all, or he simply possessed an enviable natural talent. Once several fingers of his right hand were safely inside, his left hand started taking care of Ahriman's already half-hard cock. He was making it feel way too good, too quickly.

“Oh, Kydomor,” Ahriman moaned, “how did you learn to do that?”

“Practice, I suppose,” Forrix said, as casually as if he was talking about weapon maintenance, while both his hands moved back and forth in a well-calculated rhythm.

Ahriman's hips buckled involuntarily as he felt pressure building steadily inside of him.

“At this rate you're going to make me come before you even... just get inside me now! I need to feel you.”

Ahriman's voice was commanding and Forrix did as he was told, but not before adding even more lube onto his member for good measure. Then he repositioned himself and gently held Ahriman's hips to align their bodies together.

Ahriman's breath hitched as he felt himself being penetrated. Forrix was huge, but he was also very careful. He thrusted slowly and deeply at first, carefully exploring and observing his lover's reactions for any sign of discomfort. Only once he was confident in how far inside he could get did he pick up the pace. He slightly adjusted their positions until he found the perfect angle.

“Yes, good, like that!...” Ahriman panted, his eyes closed in delight.

He relished in the feeling of being filled, the intimacy of it and the delirious intensity of the sensation. He let his hands roam on Forrix's back, scratching gently near his armour ports, wanting to give back at least a little bit of the pleasure that he was feeling. But Forrix already seemed to be lost in overwhelming bliss, his Iron self-control finally breaking, his breath ragged and his movements getting more and more desperate the closer he came to his climax.

Ahriman held him harder, pushing back against the thrusts, and he could hear how Forrix's breathing got faster and faster. His control of biomancy was limited, but he was able to make his muscles constrict around the cock inside him, as if he was sucking on it, trying to pull Forrix even further in. Forrix's large body shook as he was brought over the edge, and he made a deep grunting noise that sounded feral and almost painful. Ahriman felt a great warmth spreading inside him, and it made him even happier than he thought it would to know that he had made Forrix come.

Once Forrix came down from his orgasm he wiped tears from his face, but he looked only joyful as he leaned down and kissed Ahriman again. They remained like that for a short while as Forrix recovered. Ahriman enjoyed feeling the weight of the heavy body on top of him, and he complained when Forrix finally pulled out.

“No, stay...”

“I would be neglectful if I did not let you finish as well,” Forrix answered as he moved.

Once again Forrix brought his right hand to Ahriman's entrance, totally unbothered by the seed that was leaking out, and put his fingers inside, applying a steady pressure to the prostate. His left hand grabbed Ahriman's cock and started stroking it like he had before. It had received quite a bit of stimulation from being caught in between their moving bodies, and now the focused attention was quickly bringing Ahriman close to the edge.

Once again Ahriman was astonished by the skill of Forrix's hands. Were all Iron Warriors so good at this, or was it only him? Was the transhuman body close enough to a machine that they could use their legion's rumoured ability to intuitively find its weak points?

Ahriman allowed himself to whimper and moan loudly to show exactly how much of an effect this treatment was having on him. Then he gasped as Forrix suddenly took him in his mouth and proved beyond any doubt that he had experience in that as well.

It was not long before Ahriman came, and Forrix held firm and swallowed repeatedly, seemingly determined to not spill a single drop. Only well after Ahriman had stopped trembling did Forrix swallow one last time and then let him go, as he once again crawled up to lie next to him.

“You didn't have to swallow all of it,” Ahriman said, somewhat impressed.

“It is the closest I can come to reading your mind,” Forrix said, “so I will relish the opportunity to even the playing-field just a bit.”

“Oh... Just to be clear, I can't exactly read your mind. It's not how it works, and it's not my strongest ability anyway.”

“Oh well,” Forrix shrugged, and a sly smile was growing on his lips. “Do you think you can go again? For I also wish to feel you inside of me.”

Ahriman was astonished at Forrix's endurance, but he soon felt that he too had a lust for more after all.

“Yes, just give me a moment to... reload.”

*

They ended up going a few more rounds until they were completely exhausted, then they both went into the shower to clean themselves up before returning to the bed in a less messy state. They slipped under the covers and lay down snuggling close together. Ahriman rested his head on Forrix's chest, listening to his heartbeats and slow breaths.

“Ahzek,” Forrix whispered as he gently ran his fingers through Ahriman's hair. “What would you do if we were free?... If the legions did not exist, if you could choose any life you wanted?”

“Well, I have this idea that once the Crusade is over, I will grow grapes and make wine. I think I could turn it into a business... though I will probably hire someone else to take care of the sales and the actual business side of things, so that I can focus on the growing and production.”

“I think I want to build things,” Forrix mused, ”something that is useful, but not weapons or armour. Like... will you be needing a greenhouse for your grapes?”

“I suppose I will,” Ahriman answered.

“And a watering system, I guess? I could build things like that. And you will probably need a spacious library for everything you have collected over the years.”

“Now it sounds like you are suggesting that the two of us live together after we retire.” Ahriman was only half-joking.

“Why not? There is no one in my own legion that I would rather live with.” Forrix sounded completely sincere.

Ahriman was not against the idea of living together with Forrix one day – in fact, it was feeling more appealing the more he thought about it. There was something heartbreaking about an Astartes not wanting to be with his own brothers, but in the case of the Fourth, Ahriman could understand it.

“But it will be centuries until then,” Ahriman said, ”and we have not known each other for long... How can you be so sure of that already?”

“True, I don't know what the future will bring... I can only know what I feel now, in the moment – but I feel it as strongly as any conviction I have ever held. Can we make each other a promise that when the time comes, we will meet and see if we both still feel the same?”

“Yes,” Ahriman agreed, “that is a good promise.”

Forrix pressed a gentle kiss to Ahriman's hand. “I only hope that you will not forget me before then.”

“Why do you say that?” Ahriman asked in disbelief. ”How could I ever possibly forget you?”

Forrix did not answer the question, he only kissed Ahriman's forehead and held him more tightly as tears ran down his face. When Forrix eventually spoke, his tone was solemn but determined:

“Ahzek, I love you, and I will be yours for all the time that we are given, however long it shall be. Will you allow yourself to love, despite that ominous vision of yours?”

Once again, tears welled up in Ahriman's eyes as he silently raged against the inevitability of fate.

“Yes,” he answered, ”I will love you, and be yours... And I will never, ever forget you.”

[magicalduck21]

Harmonious and friendly Iron Warriors

[ferrumaraneaart]

One of the old sketches

Forrix poses for Perturabo

[thethronezone]

Do you think any of the Primarchs first officers would be good babysitters for their Primarchs little one? If they’re even allowed to play nanny at all

Actually, yes. I would say most of them? Looking at all of them, they might have their own faults but I honestly think that they would (at least pre-Heresy) not harm their Primarch's kid and would look after them fairly well. Yes, even the more 'questionable' first officers.

Like, Sevatar? Kharn? Those two know that their Primarch's are unstable as fuck and are going to protect that kid with every inch of their being. Anything happens to that child and their Primarch will reduce everyone on the planet to a fine red mist.

Then there are the first officers that actually get along well with their respective Primarchs who probably see the kid as actual family. For example Artellus, Gunnar, the fucking Mournival. Their Primarchs regularly dump their kid on them because they trust them so much.

Poor Kydomor gets saddled as both babysitter and secondary father-figure simply because Perturabo has no interest in spending time bonding with his kid.

Sadly, Kor Phaeron ends up as a babysitter too because Lorgar is like "my childhood was good and not at all damaging". No bbgrl, you were abused, get that man away from your child.

[bbrokenbback]

Percephone Danakt, the little miss of Iron

I realised I can't reblog from communities a little to late, so this is a copy of my post there, because well I'd like to share it.

Recently I asked here am I allowed to share the story of my Calliphone and Perturabo OC daughter, and since I got a positive response, here it is! Almost embarrassingly long rant based on yet incomplete story of Percehone Danakt is under the cut. I apologize in advance that the story might sound rather complicated, especially considering that I had to skip many small yet important details for the sake of keeping this post at least somewhat a reasonable size. The fanfiction itself is my personal reflection of the problem of fathers and children, and the general subject was inspired by Turgenev’s “Fathers and sons”. Considering all of this… yeah. There’s a lot.

Percephone is a consequence child of one and only night Perturabo spent with Calliphone as his final farewell. It is mentioned in canon that they had feelings for each other, but were never brave enough to act on them, so such occurrence seemed pretty possible to me. They slept together, Perturabo left, Dammekos quickly threw his daughter into some political marriage, and that was it.

I’m adding this part when I finished retelling 100 pages fanfic below to save your time. Here are just some fun facts about Percephone.

She’s too smart for her own good, but she has no wisdom, she knows nothing about the real world. For her entire life she has been in the Tyrant’s palace, spending her time in her little workshop, constructing weird things and showing them to guests when Dammekos demanded so. She’s socially awkward in the worst way possible – she’s impolite, she says all of her thoughts out loud, her behaviour is a nightmare, but not because of malice, since she has none, but because what a mess she is.

Percephone inherited too many of Perturabo’s features. Primarch’s genes are strong, so her eyes, her nose, even her dark unmanageable curls are from him. She also has his weird charisma – she doesn’t scare people off, but she is not easy to like either.

Basically, to summarise her personality, one can imagine her being that version of Perturabo that wasn’t disappointed in everything since the beginning. She does in fact learn things, not simply remembers them, lacking the joy of discovery. She has that weird kindness that got Perturabo drawn to humans before he lost his memory.  And she had only heard legends about war. She constructed some models and minis, of course, but the concept of death and especially of killing people is a mystery to her. She doesn’t realise that such things actually exists because she’s nine years old. Percephone may understand the complexity of decomposition process of human body, understand every little change that happens in cells. But she simply cannot yet comprehend that something like this can happen to her or people close to her.

She doesn’t know she’s half-primarch. She was purposefully raised to believe that she’s just an ordinary, even if very gifted, child. Dammekos made sure she doesn’t understand her abilities like Perturabo did, so she won’t cause the troubles he did.

Calliphone gave her a mechanical automaton in a cat body Perturabo made for her as a present. The cat is black, his name is Alexander, he can talk and he’s a dick.

She inherited Perturabo’s technomantic abilities, and this is the reason why Magnus is stated as a character in this story. Someone has to teach her how to control her powers before she stopped the Iron Blood’s engine in the middle of a warp transition due to her tantrum.

She’s awfully sensitive to everything, just like her father. She’s easy to cry, quick to anger and act on it. Since Perturabo is three meters tall, this fact is frightening and it’s dangerous. But Percephone is still small, she has a height of an ordinary nine-year-old. She doesn’t look scary when she’s angry, even if it may be just as disastrous.

Percephone definitely prefers Forrix over Perturabo, and it pisses the latter off.

She’s also not scared of the Primarch. She talks back to him, she can hit him with her tiny hands and calls him a drama queen. Perturabo’s in shock.

The story at once!

Except it wasn’t that easy. Calliphone gave birth a little less than seven months after that night, which seemed strange to public, since the tyrant’s daughter remained an important figure in Olympian politics. A child of a Primarch in my headcanon is expected to develop quicker than a normal human embryo, but the dates took all the suspicions off Perturabo due to the lack of knowledge on the subject. You can read a complete explanation on the whole half-primarch development/pregnancy here: https://www.tumblr.com/bbrokenbback/758213969513267200/children-of-the-primarchs?source=share (it’s yet another large posts made by me, lol)

So, long story short, basically no one knows that Percephone is in fact Perturabo’s biological child, except for the Dammekos family. It is obvious to both Calliphone, to her soft-hearted husband and to Dammekos himself. They keep this information a highly guarded secret, so Percephone basically grows up isolated, mostly left to herself. “Grows like grass” as they say, with all supervision and control attempts failing miserably, because you can’t restrict a child with an intelligence of a Primarch and a character of, well, a child. Calliphone is too busy dealing with pregnancy complications, Dammekos resents the little one because she is too much like Perturabo (and he thinks he failed in raising him, because he got away), and there’s only one person who actually cares about her, and it’s her gouvernante, Agnes. But Perturabo fires her in a fit of rages.

The story begins when Percephone is already nine years old. She still looks like an ordinary child and, since she was never allowed to train and find out the limits of her physique, she considers herself to be just a gifted kid. She still has the intelligence of a Primarch and a personality of a kid. And to set up a little more about her, lets add her appearance. The first picture is the reference I asked @coolesttatarka25 to use when she made arts for me, and the rest is the commissions I bought from her and some gifts she made for me, since we’re besties (check her out, she’s really cool and broke, she needs you:D).

What a cutie, isn’t she?

Back to the story. Perturabo arrives at Olympia in a hurry, since Calliphone, feeling her own death coming, sent him a message, where she finally uncovered the fact that he has a daughter. As a proof that Percephone is indeed half-primarch, she sends a few pictures, tells a few stories about what she had done during her short life and also gives Perturabo a book she wrote on a subject of theory of functions of a complex variable (it’s from advanced math and is usually studied in college).

Perturabo’s not happy with the whole ordeal. He doesn’t find the idea of being an actual dad to someone of taking Percephone with him to a Crusade, since, well, war is not a school and it would be more reasonable to send the girl to Mars, if she’s so smart. But Calliphone objects it, trying to explain that it’s basically dangerous to keep her in the palace for longer, because, when Calliphone dies, there will be no one to protect her, and Dammekos will make her into another court jester, just as he did to Perturabo.

The Primarch tries his best to think of a better solution than to meet his daughter and, especially, take her with him. He comes to a realization that he doesn’t want war to ruin her as it did him, and it makes him pissed, so he becomes enraged when Calliphone brings him a paternity certificate to finally make him believe her and asks him to think a little more, and lashes out on his late love. Calliphone, with her body being ruined during the pregnancy and childbirth, couldn’t take the Primarhc’s rage as she used to, and gets a heart attack. It was impossible to reanimate her.

After that Perturabo meets Percephone for the first time during Calliphone’s funeral. He makes a decision to take her with him, and doesn’t make any effort to explain the situation.

In general, from the very beginning their relationship is not the best. Percephone is a mouthy, a little spoiled kid, who believes that she’s immortal (which is basically true, considering her nature). She’s smart, very smart, almost in a frightening way, but Perturabo doesn’t buy any of it.

He scolds her for the first time they talk properly, scares her to death, and then just hands her over to Forrix. But before that one interesting thing had happened.

You see, in canon Perturabo’s described as one of the Primarchs who have psychic abilities. But his gift is a little strange from what I could gather and combine in a headcanon: he can only see warp, he’s unable to interact with it anyhow. He can read people’s personalities but is unable to make them like him. He can see the Eye of Terror but cannot do anything about it. Taking his engineering talents into consideration, especially the fact that he made a mechanism that allows people to navigate through warp without the navigators (the Antikythera he shuttered to teach Magnus a lesson), we can say, that he has a gift of technomancy as well, but, due to its weakness, no one including him realises it.

Back to the Peach (this is a nickname I gave Percephone and it’s justified in the fanfic, since it’s in Russian, here’s the transcription to try to explain it: Per-tse-fo-na – Per-sik(Russian for ‘peach’). She, as well as Perturabo, can see the Eye of Terror and read people, although her technomancy is much stronger (although she doesn’t realise it at all). She cannot properly control her powers due to the lack of knowledge, and it has its own complications, one of which is illustrated in the story after Perturabo scolded her and made her cry.

Percephone tries to hide on the ship, and the best place to hide in a child’s opinion is somewhere dark. The strong emotions she feels after meeting a creature that has the same effect on people she does conclude in the Iron Blood (the Iron Warriors’ flagship) to be completely shut down for the time period Percephone needs to cool off. And no one understands why, Percephone herself doesn’t even notice it.

Perturabo is freaked out, but he knows that they cannot delay their department any longer. He’s already behind the schedule because of his trip to the homeworld, he cannot allow it. So the legion departs from the system of Skagan as soon as the ship is back to normal, and the four month trip through warp begins.

Perturabo is tired and annoyed after everything, and he needs some time to process what changes are going to be brought into his life with a half-primarch present in it. Since it’s easier for him to think in solitude, he hands Percephone to his most trusted son – his first captain Kydomor Forrix.

Forrix, being the only responsible adult in the legion, and, as my mutual @ladymirdan said, is the proud bearer of the only braincell of Iron Warriors, including Perturabo, tries his best to have this task done. It’s just a child, he tells himself, just a little girl, he can handle it, right?

Wrong. Percephone is a running nail, as soon as she senses that the captain cannot really object her in anything, she lets herself go. Let us once again make a little repeal to explain it.

It is well-known that the Primarchs have strong effect on mortals. Humans piss themselves, cry, laugh uncontrollably and some cannot even speak properly in their presence. And they have it since the very beginning of their lives. So, it’s only natural for Percephone to have some of that biological charisma.

There lies one interesting detail. Perturabo, being almost 90 years old in the fanfic, has trained himself so his charisma is only used in the frightening way. His sons are scared of him, they respect him out of fear, but they do not love him as a father. In Perturabo’s mind, it would be weird for them to love him – he’s their general, not a babysitter for a bunch of pretty adult yet a little autistic war-machines. He has a conversation about that with Fulgrim in “Angel Exterminatus”.

But Percephone has no need in scaring anyone. The closes thing related to war and fights she had at dinner with her granddad, and the worst punishment she got was being slapped on her face or flogged. Abusive, yes, but well they’re a reference to the ancient Greece, those people didn’t really care about children’s rights or mental state.

So, the effect she has on Forrix and on her other brothers is nothing close to fear. They see her as something almost painfully cute and lovely, feeling the type of affection one has towards a little animal with a primal urge to squeeze something so adorable to the point of the poor thing losing access to air.

It differs a little from one battle brother to another. When Percephone runs away from Kydomor and his boring books about space navigation, she encounters some of her other brothers, and it’s funny. I wanted to make a few filler chapters about her adventures, and, since there was no one to stop me, I did.

Forrix sees her as a talented, yet abnormally charming little girl. But he also feels the whole depth of the sinister valley effect, because it’s awfully obvious how different Percephone is. Her features are a little broken and unbalanced, her body looks strange, even if he blames it on her weird dress, her gaze is too mature.

She’s still a silly little kiddo, I remind you.

So, when Forrix tries to entertain her with some advanced math and space navigation books, she quickly finds an opportunity to run away to explore the enormous ship. First of all, she steals some fruits from the ship’s refectory (it's apple peaches). And then she quickly gets caught by a sergeant responsible for training candidates in the legion. Yeah, it’s stated in canon that due to high loses, Iron Warrioirs train the candidates at their flagship.

The sergeant mistakes her for another candidate (because there's basically no way a girl ends up in the fleet since all the mortal serfs are sterilized), and, first of all, he mocks her for her outfit – long curly hair and a dress, and tells her that he’s going to make her train in this to teach her a lesson. He makes her tie her hair with a strip he tears off her dress and also makes her throw away her shoes since they are impossible to run and fight in.

Percephone tries to explain herself first and tells the sergeant she needs to go to the first captain, but he brushes her off. She goes through the whole candidate training session along with other boys and in the end she even grows to like it. Others are tired while she’s still full of energy.

The last part of the training session is sparring. Boys quickly pair up, leaving Percephone to hang alone on the bars. When everyone is done, the sergeant, who manages to hide his impressed state that a child from a younger group managed to keep up with teens, tells Percephone, who still whines that she needs to go see the First Captain, that he will personally escort her if she manages to stand up against him for four minutes.

This is the first real fight Percephone has. At least, this is how she sees it, because it takes long before the sergeant fully understands that he’s definitely not dealing with a yet mortal child here. He doesn’t fight even in quarter of his strength, but still manages to scare the shit out of Percephone. She’s not even close to how strong Perturabo was at her age, but she’s much lighter and quicker, so she manages to snatch the battle knife from sergeant and almost cuts his throat with it.

Mind you, she never fought in her life before. She sincerely believed that the sergeant was going to kill her. She’s terrified at him and then terrified of herself, because she could actually kill a human being if it wasn’t for her hand slipping due to the lack of experience.

She runs away again, trying to hide in ventilation, of all places. And then she meets two other members of Perturabo’s Trident – Harkour and Golg. And also gets kicked by a dreadnought.

Golg is a mindless killer, Perturabo’s bandog. The Primarch didn’t even give him the title of Warsmith, despite his membership in the Trident. He’s looked down at by the other two, and in general considered a little dumb. He’s strength lies on other dimension. And, due to all of that, he’s the most affected by Percephone. And he adores the girl.

Erasmus doesn’t even try to understand how she ended up at the ship. It’s just like with Primarchs – as soon as he looks at her, he knows that he’ll protect her at all cost. And he spoils Percephone rotten in that short time he got with her.

He cuts her hair with a battle knife. He gives her serf’s robe to replace her dress. And promises her that the sergeant who didn’t treat her right will bring her the forgotten shoes in his mouth.

Harkour finds them in a training hall, where Percephone is taught how to use bolter and other weapons by Golg. They were having fun and Harkour ruined it.

You see, Harkour is sycophant and intrigant. He got his title only due to his sharp mind, Perturabo can barely stand his personality. And when he sees Percephone, he basically snatches her out of Golg’s rough yet loving hands to give “their little miss” the right treatment. Unlike Erasmus, he realises who exactly she is as soon as he looks her in the eye.

Just like her father, Percephone doesn’t like Harkour either. He’s too much of a yes-man to her tastes. She scolds him tiredly and retreats to Forrix’ chambers, leaving the poor Triarch shoked. And then she falls asleep, while Forrix is freaking out trying to find her on the ship.

So far, this is the whole story of the little miss Percephone. There’s a lot more to be added in the future, and also the fanfic has much more depth than what I’ve wrote here, including other subplots about Perturabo and Forrix personally with lots of side characters like the sergeant from before.

I hope you enjoyed reading it, and, if you like it, you can check out the whole thing on AO3 here , on Fickbook here and also in Telegram here. For other ways to find it: "Похороните меня под обшивкой". I’m planning to translate it when I finish the fic, but it’s been two years and it is still not even close to the culminating part, so… it’d take long. If there’s anyone who’d like to volunteer, please, contact me! I can write prompts for you or draw something in exchange.  

[cav-core]

"The Breaker" is such an oddly erotic epithet.