#second primarch

[bleedingichorhearts]

“𝐈 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮.”

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Just a small thing I briefly made up.

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: The loss was great. (That’s all I’m spoiling.)

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

“Forth of July(Slowed)” by Krush

TW // Angst, Mention of Death, No Comfort.

|°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| |°ɪᴄʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴀᴏ3°| |°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| • {𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐫𝐝}

“I will die here.” You suddenly spoke out loud. The wind whistling through the pipes and tall grass as you stand tall; gazing at the setting sun of this world. Your hair flowing gracefully behind your back.

The marine standing behind you shifts in his armor, looking down at you. His eyes behind his helmet searching the back of your smaller frame for any lie in your words. His gauntlet tightly gripping the hilt of his sword in its sheath before releasing as his hearts suddenly constrict at your words.

He doesn’t like how… admitted you say those words. How controlled you say them. He doesn’t like how the words echos through his ears and through his mind the longer he looks at you.

“I will die here.” Your voice repeats, making his fingers twitch. Inching to just pull you closer to him, but he doesn’t. He wants you to continue. He wants to know what makes you think these silent thoughts. He wants to know why you think he wouldn’t protect you before any harm could befall you.

Yet, you don’t continue. You leave it at that. You leave yourself and him behind the more you stare across the rippling plains of the horizon. Something that you have been doing more and more often the more you have time to look at the shivering waves of tall grass decorating this planet hills.

He quietly sighs beneath his helmet. He knows he should have done something more. To be more attentive, but he doesn’t quite know what he should do. He was a son, a man; a warrior of war. He was never taught how to court a human being. How to… love them rather than conquering their homes, to split their bodies into two or even aknowledging them.

All he knows is they are irrelevant; insignificant to what their true duty is. They do not hold anything of worth, but to be serfs and bait underneath the higher command. They make nothing but a meal for nutritious paste.

Though, you? You were no serf. You were no daemon nor Tyranid. You were no bait to be held up above a pit of ravenous daemons. You were something more, something he can’t describe to himself yet.

“How do you know?” He suddenly asks you, his charge this time. His voice rumbling through his chest to push his words out of his mouth. Curious on how you seemingly know where your death may be at as you were no Psyker with the ability to look into the future.

“I can feel it.” You simply respond, leaning slightly when the breeze pushed at you a bit harder. Your hair picking up with the wind when it does. Your hands slightly, almost unnoticeably twitch in front of you. “I can feel how I’m losing myself. Thread by thread.”

Were you… were you being tempted by daemons mentality? Throne, he can’t have that. He doesn’t like that. He doesn’t want to have to murder you with his own hands. To have your limp corpse in his hands; bleeding down his armor. He doesn’t like the thought of it, he loathes it. Another hatred to have against the chaos gods for.

He sighs again, he’s just… he’s just scared of losing you. Something he would never admit to you or anyone for that matter, but he recognizes the feeling. He recognizes what the people call “fear” was. He understands it as he doesn’t want to lose you, but why? Why does he fear losing you? He doesn’t really know himself, and perhaps he’ll never know, but what he does know is that he’ll not let you fall just because of these…feelings.

“You shall not fall under my eyes.” He speaks what he has said the first time he had met you. His body shifting forward as his armor makes a soft hum. “I will not allow it.”

“You cannot prevent death, son of the Emperor.” You immediately state to him, prepared for his words. Your fingers tightening around your own hands.

“And you nor death cannot prevent me from doing my duty.” He counters you, standing right next to the side of you. His body towering over you as he looks down at you.

“And what exactly is your duty?” You growl, finally looking up with him with a glare. “It’s certainly isn’t about protecting me or the people.”

Oh, he knows what you are doing. You want him to admit that he is to serve the Emperors will, that he will fight and die for his will and let death be his duty. Yet he doesn’t care for it right now. He wants to care for something, someone else. He wants to care for you.

Releasing his hand from the hilt of his sword. The Space Marine suddenly announces you by your full name, the finger of his gauntlet gently lifting up your chin to him as he tilts his head down at you.

“Death is my duty.” He admits, watching how you scoff up at him. “But so are you. If I haven’t been summoned here I wouldn’t have found you.”

Now, it’s was your turn to scramble your brain for any sense of his words. Your eyebrows pinching together in confusion as you try and search for his eyes beneath his helmet. A clear scent of confusion washing over you.

“I wouldn’t have protected you. I wouldn’t have grown to love a simple human like you.” He continues, lightly thumbing your jawline as you still look up at him in confusion before it clicks. Your eyes going wide at his admission.

“You don’t.” You try and deny him, shaking your head, but you still lean into his gauntlet. Your hands wrapping around it. Looking up at him with the hope he has returned to you.

“Truly, I do.” He answers honestly, and if he’ll have to say it again? He will without hesitation. He’ll say it again and again until you’ll have to do something to shut him up.

You don’t say anything back to him as you nuzzle into his gauntlet some more, inhaling his comforting scent from underneath. Trusting him not to just push you away like you would expect him to, like what you expect yourself to do, but you don’t. You relish in the fact that he didn’t put you down just because you were inferior to him and his brethren.

“I love you, my love.” He says those precious words to you and you can’t help but start to cry at them. His gauntlet starting to fade on you along with the rest of his body. Little “No, no, no” leaving your lips the more he starts to fade into the background. Your own warm tears staining your cheeks.

“My love, no, wait, please.” You cry and beg out to your once lover. Trying to keep him from fading from you once more. To hear and embrace him once more, but atlas. He eventually walks with the breeze. The wind stilling blowing through the tall grass and pipes as he leaves you with just his empty helmet once again.

“I will always love you.”

[squishyowl]

My 5'3 ass and Konrad Curze or Sevatar I don't know if they have heights

as far as I can find they do not have confirmed heights (and if they do they're probably WILDLY inconsistent) so I put Konrad at 9'10 (299 cm) (probably around 9' when he slouches) and Sevatar at 8'2" (248 cm)

[fuukonomiko]

Azkhal “Verdugo “ Tru’gall

Primarch of Commoragh

Kinda.

Lmao.

@hereticalxenos

By MachineRaven from Artfight’s Draw the Person Above You

[sheppi-isometrics]

⚔️ Primarch Elucidator tokens on Patreon

- 🌟 Get access to more than 200 creatures, maps and assets by supporting us on Patreon! Complement your campaigns with hi-res monster tokens and start building the adventure of your dreams with our isometric assets 🏰!

[luwupercal]

btw while i'm sharing random stuff on a queue, here's this bonkers excerpt from promethean sun. there's no analysis i can do of this entire bit that isn't glaringly obvious with knowledge of the Twist of this book, which i've posted extensively about before on this blog, so i'm just leaving it up for public viewership

do wanna highlight the line "linguists within the invasion force were struggling to discern meaning but made assumptions that [...] the people were pleased to have been freed from the yoke of the aliens" for being an incredible microcosm of the entire crusade

also "touched by the primarch's aura, she calmed enough to be taken away" is great as further confirmation that all primarchs are subconscious psykers and their unilateral aura of greatness is artificial and warpcraft-induced because vulkan here is like actively (subconsciously) using it to sedate a person. jesus

[empressofmankind]

I know I have been away a while, and perhaps under a rock. But I have a burning question

...why does the Lion look like Charles Dance?

[ask-thedawnseekers]

You burn your dead instead of eating them! That's what's wrong with you!!!!

"Oh.. hello Freyja." Solana wrote back, rolling her eyes.

They didn't just cremate them. They also pressed them into ever lasting diamonds. Not that it seemed to matter to Freyja and her strange warband chapter nonsense.

Solana shook her head, and Fionna looked up at her.

"What's up, mom?"

"Got an inquiry from Freyja. You know, most people would consider a lack of cannibalism a good thing."

Fionna sighed and nodded. "Can't say I understand their customs. But they sure are particular about them."

[scooter-sys]

I made a lil thing! Fulgrim introduces you to some of the Primarchs! I spent a few days on this not even realizing each drawing would only be about a second long 🥹🤙 But I still had fun making this, even made myself laugh a a couple of times! I hope y'all enjoy!

Here's, also, some extra drawings I didn't get to use

[circeius-invidioso]

Today. 👏🏻

We I give an answer to a question you never asked.

And no I don't mean the minis. I mean the actual armor. If it was real, how much would it approximately cost to paint?

So first things first. Lets explain our variables.

(The board bas been censored to avoid spoilers)

We have on the first column the name of each primarch.

The second we have how much 1kg of pigment costs. Note that each Primarch has a different pigment thus different cost.

Third is the 1.5 kg. With the power of math I concluded that each primarch would need 1.5kg of pigment to have their armor painted. (We will assume that all primarchs armors will have the same sqft of surface that needs to be coated).

Forth is the fixed cost. That is the general cost for supplies, coat, varnish etc. Again we will assume that this cost is the same for everyone because I like being sane.

And finally we have the total cost. We add the add the 1.5 kg cost with the fixed cost.

Corvus / 3048,075 €

Russ / 3066,945 €

Fulgrim / 3202,605 €

Perturabo / 3211,875 €

Magnus / 3251.85 €

Perturabo's armor paintjob costs a lot more than Fulgrim's. So that's that.

Vulkan / 3309,04 €

Omegon / 3310,71 €

Konrad / 3334,8 €

Lorgar / 3398,34 €

It's not a huge bump in cost. Still very much rational. It's just the paintjob right? They have to redo it all the time.

Right?

Alpharius / 3405,21 €

Ferrus / 3410,715 €

Mortarion / 3410,715 €

Horus / 3461,535 €

Lion / 3674,73 €

Angron / 3741,75 €

Sanguinius / 3957,39 €

So far the numbers are pretty tame. Except angel boy who was so close to breaking the 4k mark.

But...

We are missing two people here...

On the number 2 of the most expensive armor paintjob we have...

A round of applause please.

Roboute / 45091,5 €

No. You saw correctly. The lord of Ultramar needs to spend 45k to paint his armor.

Where did that number come from?

Fun fact.

The original ultramarine was lapis lazuli. The precious gemstone. And let me tell you something about lapiz pigment...

It's expensive. 💸💸💸

But let's not wait any further.

On number one we have...

Dorn / 95346 €

Yes.

95k just to paint his armor.

My man...

My myth...

My legend...

Every time he goes to a crusade one planet's taxes need to be spent just for his armor to stay nice and painted.

The lesson of this long ass post?

There is none, besides

Dorn and Guilliman are two high maintenance fatherlovers.

[moodymisty]

Based off this post sorry I fucking HAD to

Warnings: Vaguely NSFW, Sicarius walking in on you and Guilliman

Why must all his men break protocol? Sicarius wonders if the Codex is merely kindling to them, if they are so willing to break the sacred rules so easily.

Titus, Uriel, and now new men of second company have decided to be a pain. He only hopes reporting this to Guilliman himself will prove to be enough of a threat to his men and whip them all back into shape; Both current and future troublemakers.

In his frustrations, so wrapped up in his own mind on how to deal with this consistent issue, he fails to do a proper knock at Guilliman’s door. Instead he simply walks in, slamming the controls with more force than needed.

Within moments he freezes, as a musky, heavy smell hits his nose and the full noises of the room echo in his ears without the soundproofing in the way.

“Roboute!”

You squeal, hands wrapped tight in the short crop of Guilliman’s thin blonde hair. Most of his head and face are obscured by your skirt- and thighs, which wrap around his head like a vice. The holotable is on but unused, symbols placed randomly from your accidental touches as you sit on the edge.

Sicarius stands frozen, unable to will his body to move as his ears are suddenly filled with the sounds of you and his primarch’s moans- accompanied by then odd, wet sounds of whatever his mouth was doing. What is only two seconds is plenty to him, given how fast his mind moves in comparison to a baseline.

He… was aware of all the basics of sex and reproduction, but the intricacies of pleasure beyond that were spotty at best. He had no need to delve into such useless things, unlike some other, less proper Astartes.

He was also unaware you could do such things with your mouth.

How beneath a primarch’s holy stature; Guilliman’s words have guided armies but now he’s on his knees in penance and using his tongue like its just a-

A loud scream rips through your throat as you spot him and sit up, and Sicarius’ two seconds of internal thought is interrupted as you see him frozen in the doorway with a hand still on the door’s controls.

Guilliman of course is instantly on the defensive hearing your scream, rising to his feet- and removing his hand from his trousers - before reaching for his blade.

Until he realizes it’s Sicarius.

Guilliman relaxes with an angry look on his face; Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before using the same hand spread flat outward to try and shield some of you from Sicarius, and reserve some of your modesty, while you adjust your clothes.

“Did your time in the warp remove your ability to announce yourself before entering, Captain Sicarius?”

Sicarius is angry at his primarch now, and has zero care for you behind him hot faced and attempting to cover yourself to some level of decency.

“I, I did not think it was needed, my primarch. I have an urgent issue that needs addressing.”

Guilliman angrily breaths through his nose, and Sicarius can see the veins in his neck.

“Go. Leave. Whatever you came here for I am sure it can wait until we both forget this encounter ever happened.”

They are both painfully aware that each other have eidetic memories, but they can only hope this moment somehow slips from their minds.

“Yes, my primarch.”

Sicarius finally manages to get his armor to move, and Guilliman sighs. Sicarius swiftly takes two steps backwards and closes the door, facing it at it closes.

He stands there for a moment, the image of his primarch on his knees between the legs of a simple baseline, and a hand doing something in his trousers is seared into his mind. Why is his primarch doing such things when there is work to be done?

“Are you alright Captain Sicarius?”

A marine says as he walks by, looking at his dead expression as Sicarius turns to face him. He points the door.

“Is Primarch Guilliman busy-“ Sicarius quickly speaks, cutting him off.

“Yes he is busy, do not disturb him.”

Sicarius has a far off stare that makes the random Astartes look at him oddly.

“I need to leave. Do not go in.”

Sicarius walks off, rubbing his hair with his gauntlet and grumbling to himself.

[lumi-klovstad-games]

"No Love Lost" aka "Ailani Meets The Emperor Again"

A short scene in which Ailani, the recently returned Second Primarch, meets what's left of the Emperor for the first time in 10,000 years to declare her intentions. And finally get a lot of crap off her chest.

Gonna be honest, this is basically Daddy Issues: The Fanfic.

Ailani had made it before the Emperor at long last. She barely remembered what he’d looked like, if she’d ever known even a fraction of the truth of his appearance at all, for all his psychic posturing. But what sat on the Golden Throne was barely the man who was barely her father. A massive, decrepit corpse, more skeleton than man, more deceased than deity. Yet the pressure in her brain told her that something connected to that body was still VERY much alive… and it was at least somewhat aware of her.

The Emperor’s Daughter failed to bow or kneel, and this did not go unnoticed by the attendant Custodes. She stood there, sizing up this undead monument to a single man’s arrogance, ego, and mistakes. Her green-stained eyes looked him over. Her ears heard the whirring and clicking of the ancient machinery of the Golden Throne.

There was much silence for a long while. It had been ten thousand years, and their last exchange had almost come to blows much as their first had. Her last act in his Imperium was to fire on his soldiers and betray his trust by favoring her people above his orders. What was there she could possibly say? Would it even do her any good at all? Was whatever was left of the Emperor even cognizant enough to answer in any way? There was only one way to find out.

“I've returned.” Ailani said, breaking the silence.

Her head filled with unfiltered thoughts that were not hers.

TRAITOR

DISGUSTING

DISAPPOINTMENT

ABERRANCE

The Second Primarch laughed darkly. 

“Yeah. It’s nice to see you too, Dad. I suppose we both are just going to have to accept that we’ll always be a disappointment to each other. I for not being who or what you wanted me to be, and you for being an irredeemably arrogant bastard. I mean, I admire your ability to consistently remain true to your character, even if that character has always been less than stellar. I'm not sure what was more impressive: your ability to remain consistently unpleasant around me or your knack for making enemies you didn’t have to have.”

ABOMINATION

MISCREANT

APOSTATE

REPUGNANT

“You know, I never liked you much either. But the ideals you sold me? Those were maybe the only good you ever put in my life. I never really believed in your Imperium or your Crusade. I certainly never believed in you – how could I when the first thing you ever did around me was express your revulsion for my identity and then try to kill my parents?”

FALSE

KIDNAPPERS

CORRUPTORS

HYPOCRITE 

“Still refusing to admit you’re wrong. 10,000 years and how many wars to end all wars and you still haven’t changed. Well, you may not have believed a damn word you said when you poured honey in my ears to get me to come to Terra the first time, but they were words worth believing in. And as far as I’m concerned, you already got what you deserved.”

The Custodes reached for their weapons, but did not draw. Not yet.

SANCTIMONIOUS

UNGRATEFUL

UNNATURAL

BROKEN

Ailani let out a judging laugh.

“Ungrateful? Ungrateful?! My legion and I did good work. We did what we were told to do. What we were MADE to do. Made, BY YOU, to do. And we did it well. Our lives were dedicated to your mandates, your purpose. But because I wasn’t the child you WANTED, you never trusted us. You took my family, my community, my whole WORLD hostage to ensure my loyalty. But I did the work. ‘Maybe,’ I told myself, ‘maybe if I work hard enough, if I prove my usefulness, he might ease off. He might see that I’m just as worthy as my brothers. He might realize that he doesn’t need to hold a sword over my family’s necks to make me keep my promise.’ But you never did. Nothing I did was EVER enough for you! I will ALWAYS be a deviant in your eyes. A freak. A mistake. But I’ve finally realized, that’s not MY problem. It’s yours. And I’m done letting the people of this Imperium suffer for this grudge. I’m back, and you’re not. You can just sit there and simmer. I’m done with you, and I don’t expect I’ll speak with you again. I’m a healer. I learned triage a long time ago. I know better than to waste energy and resources on a lost cause when there’s ways to use them to do more good elsewhere. So that’s what I’ll do. The Imperium is wounded. It’s sick. It’s in pain. Untold teeming billions upon billions are crying out. They need help.  So I’m going to help them however I can. They didn’t ask for any of this. Yes, they’ve done SO MUCH WRONG. They are so afraid and hateful, but that isn’t their fault. They’ve never known another way. It’s just another way they’ve been injured. And for all your faults, I know neither one of us ever wanted this for them. We both believe in a better tomorrow, and a better mankind to live in it, after all. On the oath I swore ten thousand years ago, I swear I will keep trying to make the Imperial Ideal the Imperial Reality. You can trust me, just like you always could and should have.”

The Custodes relaxed as Ailani turned to leave. She stopped at the door to the Throne Room. She had a feeling she needed to.

REMISS

THANK

YOU

̲D̲A̲U̲G̲H̲T̲E̲R̲

Ailani smiled. 

“Maybe I will see you again, actually.”

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐫𝐝

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Trying to encourage myself. So here, a song fic that I have never done before. This is a continuation of ““𝐈 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮.””

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: You suffer the effects of your lost Astartes. Yet, your life isn’t up yet.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

TW // Angst, Violence, Blood, War, Wounds.

“Meet You By The Graveyard” by Cleffy

|°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| |°ɪᴄʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴀᴏ3°| |°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| • {“𝐈 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮.”} • {𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬}

“I will meet you at the graveyard” A cold wind blows as you sit near your lost, lovers grave. Your eyes looking over the setting horizon with an emotionless expression. Your body still and heavy, simply watching as the tall grass moves with the hills of the planet. The smell of the grass reaching your nose, evading you. Yet, you do not move from your place. Too loyal to leave your lovers side. Too adamant.

“Where you lay down” Your eyes briefly look over to your lovers grave. Slowly tracing your eyes up from the big, mounded dirt and up to the helmet. The helmet on top of the wooden cross unmoving, too heavy for the wind to move as you stare into the unpowered, black visor. “Where you stay now”

“Faced up, cold heart, no longer by my side now” Your heart aches just looking at it, squeezing inside of your chest. Warm tears starting to build up in your eyes as you try and swallow them down. Reminded of the times you had together. Reminded that it won’t happen again. “Wish we were together now”

“I don't know when I will see you” You wish you can just see your beloved physically one more time. That you were able to comfort him in his last moments with your loving embrace rather than the horrors of war. Your throat straining at the thought, trying not to cry.

“I, I will meet you at the graveyard” Your eyes quickly gaze back out to the horizon. The colors of the grey, golden sky turning more of that familiar, comforting, dark blue you have seen again and again. Standing idly by his rotting grave. Unable to look at his grave anymore than a few moments without completely breaking down.

“Where you lay down” You swallow your tears down again, straining your throat at the effort. Overthinking if your lover had been abandoned by his brethren or by his god; left to die where he stood before retrieving him. Your eyebrows furrowing up angry and worried at that thought. “Where you stay now”

“Faced up, cold heart, no longer by my side now” Glancing back at his grave. You wonder if this was the proper burial for him and his kind. Wondering if you should have just set him on fire or let the apothecary’s take him, but you remember them saying they didn’t need to. They planted him on your planet, knowing that you would grieve over their fallen brother.

“Wish we were together now” You blink, your cheek suddenly feeling wet. Your hand quickly coming up to stop the rouge tear from falling any further, wiping it with your fingers. A sniffle coming for you as you tried your hardest not to cry in front of his grave once more. Only wanting to see him physically at least one last time. “I don't know when I will see you”

“You were undecided” You remember his battle however, how his brothers had told you. Being nice enough for their status to inform you of such tragedy and despicable truth. Your eyebrows furrowing up in slight, petty anger now. “Between life and past tense”

“You lost your battle, life was hell” Their words echo through your mind while you wipe another rouge tear from the other side of your cheek. Their whispering voices telling you of his fall. Sacrificing himself for his brothers to continue their mission, and clearly not wanting to come back to you.

“But I was always here, how can't you tell?” ‘Why couldn’t he just come back to you?’ You think bitterly, illogically, driving by your emotions as you know that you were lying to yourself. That you were thinking sickly of the situation, being selfish.

“Oh, I thought we'd be together 'til life was over” You sigh angrily, looking back up to his helmet. Your fingers unable to stop any more of your warm, rouge tears that turned cold on the skin of your cheeks; dropping off of your jawline and on the terra. Your selfish thoughts consuming you, purging you while your fingers gave a twitch. “But you left too soon, now I'm no longer sober”

“My rock, my friend, we always said, we'd live this life, until we made it to the end” You scowl, suddenly stepping forward towards the helmet on the cross, glaring at it, huffing at it. Wanting to just rip the helmet right off the cross like it was at fault with you; to throw it across the plains. Yet, you can’t seem to do such… dishonor. Your hands simply just coming to hold the sides of the helmet, threating to tightly grip at it before you lean in. Touching the helmet with your forehead.

“So why aren't you right here, right next to me? You took your life, like fuck, you left me bleeding” You quietly cry and curse at the helmet, finally letting your tears loose. Your body hiccuping while your nose runs. Angry, frustrated, sad; grieving. Your mind indecisive on what it wants to do. Wether to throw the helmet or to cradle it in your arms. The logical, illogical parts, and even the love for him battling inside of you, making you feel confused; conflicted of what to do. You feel as if you had lost your way; your guidance, yourself to this simple helmet that sticks on top of the engraved cross. Never to be worn again. Never to look at you with life again.

“I will meet you at the graveyard” Your heart hammers in your chest as you see the littering, unmoving dead painting the hills red and a glow of orange below you. Your eyes watching as the enemies ransack your home planet, tearing into your comrades. Your hand twisting your sword once. Waiting for the enemies to cross over into your line of order. A certain dread washing over you. Yet… you can’t help but feel excited for it.

“Where you lay down” Dragging your gaze across the war filled landscape, waiting for the enemies. You ready yourself; preparing to slice and shoot at your enemies. To protect your home planet; to protect his grave. A flash of remembrance going through you. “Where you stay now”

“Faced up, cold heart, no longer by my side now” You remember how they lowered his body into the ground. His wounds patched up by the apothecary’s care. Some limbs missing, unretrievable and unneeded to find and plant with his body. “Wish we were together now”

“I don't know when I will see you” Oh, but you didn’t think so. You wanted all of him to be together. You wanted him to be by your side again, to be alive with you again. Not to be simply put in the ground, but you knew better than to ask for such things from the brethren. It’s would be senseless.

“I, I will meet you at the graveyard” You shake your head, trying to forget about your lover for just a moment, to focus on the battle that ever slowly rises to your position. Bullets whizzing past you and thumping in the ground as the screams of the wounded and enraged call out to the smoke filled sky. You question if that’s how your lover died… listening to the calls of pain and suffering…

“Where you lay down” You didn’t want to think that he had heard such things. Wanting to be more… kind with his death, but you knew such things wasn’t possible. This was a galaxy filled with unimaginable horrors. It was rare to encounter humanity itself, and that was a cold hard reality to realize for some. “Where you stay now”

“Faced up, cold heart, no longer by my side now” You brace as the first wave washes over your line. The sounds of war ringing in yours ears, breath getting heavy as your chest tightens along with your muscles. Your sword thrusting forward as one enemy had gotten stupid close enough to test your skill that your lover has tought you. Their warm blood spewing at you, coating your face as you scowl. Your mind scrabbling to try and focus on one thing. ‘Was this how he felt? When he had fallen?’

“Wish we were together now” Pulling out your sword. You huff, tasting your enemies blood on your lips, unbothered by it. Your eyes searching for your next opponent to show themselves before landing on a figure that seems to cut down through the lines of your comrades with ease. The figure giving you a battle cry as he notices your blank stare towards it.

“I don't know when I will see you” The both of you dash for each other, eager to get each other’s heads, to be stained in the warmth of blood. Either from your own veins or theirs. Their mouth opening up to give out a frustrated huff at you. Annoyed as you were more skilled than what the figure had thought you would be. Both of your armor and skin ripping with cuts and bruises.

“It doesn't make sense to me” Unexpectedly, you find yourself stumbling, grunting out in pain as you grasp at your side. A stay bullet hitting you as you block the figures attack, stepping back into a defensive position. Your thoughts of your lover building up in your mind. Wondering if this is what your lover had felt. To be wounded and still fighting with all his might.

“You're gone, no, I can't believe” You give out your own huff as your own blood seeps through your fingers. Your eyes glaring at your opponent as they back off for a second, looking for a weakness in you. Their gaze flickering to the bleeding wound on your side. A grin rising on their face, but you can’t focus on their psychotic glee. You’re too heartbroken to. You yearn for your lover.

“They say you live inside me, but to me, you're still gone you see” You feel a rush to continue with the battle, growling out as you slash up at the figure first, surprising it. You blade upper cutting them in the face as they cry out, stumbling back. Their hand coming up to grasp at their hanging eyeball. Their optic nerve hanging from their socket as their cornea bleeds by your slash and through their grasp, hissing angrily at you, and you don’t feel any remorse for it. “This can't be real life, you were only like twenty-three”

“I'm asking questions to my God like, "Will we ever meet again?"” Another stray bullet suddenly hits you. Your form stumbling to right yourself as the burning pain digs into your shoulder this time as the figure takes this change to charge you, swiping up at you this time. Dragging its blade across your torso twice.

“Left me in pain” You hiss and cry out in pain at that, stumbling back yourself. Your hands moving from the wound on your bloody side to grasp at your shoulder. You eyes looking down at yourself, observing of how battered you must off looked before looking back up to the figure with a vengeful glare. “Was all our plans in vain?”

“Our memories to make” Feeling another surge of adrenaline rush through you. You push forward again, feeling like someone was pushing you to encourage you into battle. Their hands resting heavily on your shoulders like they were guiding you as you ensue another dueling session with your opponent. “I can see them slowly fading”

“You basically erased me” You begin to feel more heavy, uninterestedly bloodthirsty the more you strike down the figure. Their blade barely being able to block your attacks as they rub on each other and sparking up; burning at your cheek. The figure surprised at such stoicism and boldness to use such heavy attacks that stuns their own. Not expecting such from a human like you. “So how do you expect me to ever be happy?”

“My rock, my friend, we always said, we'd live this life, until we made it to the end” You glower the more this figure blocks your attacks with just barely enough attack time. Pushing them more and more back. Your tongue roughly licking at your teeth inside of your mouth as you can sense this sort of cold sensation press into your back. Pushing you to continue.

“So why aren't you right here, right next to me? You took your life, like fuck you left me bleeding” Finally having the figure pinned to an edge of a cliff. You glare at him and huff, finalizing your attack on this enemy. Your sword thrusting forward at an opening. Puncturing through the figures stomach as they gurgle. Their mouth opening and closing as they spit blood on you while you twisted your sword. Ensuring this would affect them greatly, making them feel the pain before you jerk the sword upwards, gutting them, and letting them fall off the cliff with a sicking crack and splat that shouldn’t have been audible through the sounds of warfare.

“I will meet you at the graveyard” Your back suddenly arches. Your eyes going wide as you choke out your own blood. Your body trying to turn around on the balls of your boots as another string of fire shoots through your nerves.

“Where you lay down” You blink once, your eyes filling with black dots, and the next thing you know you’re stumbling down to the ground at the edge of the cliff, blearily looking out the fires of the horizon, just like you did with your lover. Your sword disregarded at your side. A thump and rustle of grass flatting at your fallen figure. “Where you stay now”

“Faced up, cold heart, no longer by my side now” You wheeze painfully as you just lay there in the grass. Your eyes slowly blinking while the sounds of war just becomes background noise to you. A brush of heavy hands trail gently up your back. A familiar scent surrounding you.

“Wish we were together now” You close your eyes then. Enjoying the familiar scent as he coos in your ear, whispering praises in your ear. Caressing you were you lay, but he also encourages you. Telling you that you are not quite done yet. That you still have some life to give before joining him, and you can’t help but whine woundly at that. More pressure of hands wrapping gently around you. His voice echoing through your mind, encouraging you once again. “I don't know when I will see you”

[kit-williams]

An interesting idea recently came to my mind… and I just can’t keep quiet about it.

Imagine Horus suddenly realizing he's falling in love with a remembrancer/serf who's… pregnant.

Who the father is unknown. Either he died or abandoned you. And yes, this whole situation really pisses Horus off. He is delighted with the way you look, the way you smell and understands that he wants you to bear his child, give him blood sons.

You are cared for, you are cherished. Even too much. But he hates this child from some mortal. And then… heresy comes. After giving birth you are informed that your child, what a horror, has died. Horus consoles you, as if it was not he who crushed your son.

You will definitely become a mother. Do just let the primarch take care of you, okay?And please stop crying for your child, it's annoying. Oh, do you have any milk left? Well… :)

Yes, this whole plot and details are simply replete with horror, manipulation and perverted breeding kink. But Horus Heretic is supposed to be scary.

I don’t know if you will write a post about this or not. It would be a great pleasure to read. Unfortunately, I am not strong in Luna Wolves and Horus. Anyway, I hope all of you liked my absolutely disturbing idea.

So Momrad normally avoids stuff about hurting babehs... BUT this hit me like an Iron Warrior with a trenching shovel. Probably gonna do serf because obligatory momrad is in love with horrific power imbalances

Also ya'll have a lot more faith in me than I do myself about how I'm writing the primarchs and the legions so thank you!

tw: manipulation, breeding kink, discussion about a pregnant womans body, talks about miscarriage, child death (PLEASE someone let me know if I miss a tag)

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @squishyowl @ms--lobotomy

@nekotaetae @sleepyfan-blog

You had such a glow to your skin when he first saw you. He was told that pregnant women had a glow to them and you certainly glowed. It was more of a passing interest in his serfs he was always a nosy and gregarious one and you had mentioned how you'd have to be transferred to lighter labor soon not realizing the primarch was listening to your conversations.

The hesitation upon your dark lips when the other serfs, in their gossip, had asked about the father. The tight line that your lips had become... "I'm having this child by immaculate conception." You said causing the others to laugh but Horus could tell... he could tell that you were on your own not by your own choice. And that thought caused him to roil. All of his sons were someone else's son at some point and then they were made to be his... sometimes there was a choice to be made into an Astartes... and sometimes there was no choice. Perhaps it was his inhumanity or perhaps hyper-humanity that caused him to be confused as to why you continued on... and why it sounded like you had been abandoned.

Perhaps Horus was glad in some sense that you had been abandoned by the uncaring father as you made something itch in the back of his skull and eventually even he could no longer ignore it. You wilted in his presence under his gaze, like all mortals did at first, to be in the presence of a demigod... the hand pressed over your slightly swollen stomach to protect it. But Horus simply played innocent in his intentions asking about the child... what it was like as he had been handmade by the Emperor and so this aspect of being human was lost upon him and his brothers.

The glow to your skin returned with each visit he made, his fingers caressing your stomach and eventually the poisoned thought latched like a newborn to the teat... what if you could bear his sons? You try your best to not be a burden to the Primarch, your request to transfer denied, he simply says its all from curiosity... but that lie dies quickly as your body goes through more changes... once you enter your second trimester.

Your breasts leak, he can smell it... the slow dribbling from your engorged breasts. The grunts from you as you press your hand against your rounding stomach... the fascination from other serfs and even his sons and the sparkle in your eyes as a tiny foot kicks against the hand. You had other side effects and had tried to run from him during one of them... spikes in arousal and sensitivity. You once more wilted under his gaze when you realized the Primarch could smell you... and the lie for why he kept you around died.

You were far too fearful to take his cock, far too sensitive... his fingers were almost too much and yet you rode his hand... riding his digit deep inside of your fluttering cunt with the vigor of a sex starved woman. Horus' mouth latched to your breast suckling on the tasteless discharge and he could feel the way your cunt gripped around his finger with each suckle. He could feel the tiny foreign body inside of you when he pressed against your swollen stomach. And he wanted it gone. He felt kinship in the way that certain males in animals will commit infanticide to try to get the mother fertile again as it was slowly becoming clear that simply hoping you would miscarry wasn't going to happen. But still... he should have warned you to not partake in his food... you didn't know what things he could ingest.

He loved seeing you like this, his hands supporting your weight as his cock slowly pushed in and out of you as tears were rolling down your face as it was too much yet not enough. You cried out his name in weak whimpers trying to close your legs one moment and the next trying to open them wider. He could pretend for a moment that your swollen belly was full of a child that was his. He wanted an actual son of Horus from you. He wanted to create the human chimera that all humans were to be made of... that biological mashup of his DNA mixed with yours... he wanted that. He was reminded once the haze of lust had passed, and as he stole succor from your breasts that the life inside of you wasn't his. It was from a man who abandoned you without a second thought... it confused the Primarch as to why you would raise the offspring of a man who did not care about the life you were bearing? Why reward him for his genetic duty of passing on his genes? Why would he have to wait up to a year before you would be ready to have his son?

It was doubtful that he would be there... be there to snuff out the life that came from you but he told the midwife what he wanted... and who was she to disobey? And he was right as he had been called away to bring the heel of the crusade onto the neck of some fool who thinks they could withstand the might of the Emperor. When he came back you were withdrawn... having to be ordered to come to him as the depression had claimed you. He did his best to sooth you and not revel in satisfaction that seemed that the child upon leaving your womb was far too weak... you did not hear that triumphant cry of life and that was the last you saw of your babe.

Your breasts were swollen with milk for a dead child... you still cried for the life you had grown to love... cooing lovingly to the thing inside of you. Horus soothes his anger with the fact that if this had been your child with him you would have still wept so greatly. You hardly notice your back in his bed as the Primarch pulled open your front and latched onto your breast feeling the liquid dribble out as your hand instinctively went to the back of his head as he nursed. He would say it was to relieve the pain your breasts were in... but he wanted to distract you. He drained one breast dry before moving to the other drinking up the meager amount of milk meant for a tiny stomach.

Sniffling weakly as your fingers move over his scalp as he kisses you soothing you asking you if you still want a baby. The tears that fall from your eyes as you answer your primarch truthfully... you still wanted to hold the tiny body that they wouldn't let you see... you never got to say goodbye... "Yes." You say so sadly as he kisses you with that charming look in his eyes.

"Then I will make it so my dear... recover and when you are better I swear that you shall have a healthy child by next solar year." Horus says kissing you softly... and soon enough he will replace his father and bring actual peace to the Imperium. And you will help bring about such change now that your womb is empty... and once it is ready... he is certain to fill it once again with his brood.

[heabitfruity]

Silly Hobbies: Primarch Edition

Apparently I wrote too much according to tumblr, so I'm sorry if it's choppy :[

Lion El'Johnson - He actually really loves analyzing "literature"; but not normal literature like Shakespeare or Kafka. He likes analyzing things like The U.S Constitution and The Treaty of Versailles. He does this because he thinks it will help him diplomatically (it doesn't, nobody gets why he does it otherwise, not even his sons).

Fulgrim - This man knows how to dance to every K-Pop song known to man. He can throw it back to "Baby Got Back" and has tried to teach Sanguinius and Ferrus Manus how (It didn't go well, Ferrus threw his back out ). This man knows the exact choreography to "Womanizer", "Nude" and so many other songs.

Perturabo - He likes making useless contraptions; like infomercial level sort of inventions. He has invented bread-dogs, a time-machine to go back exactly two seconds for each use, a voice-recording recorder, etc. He uses Dorn to test it out, despite their... feelings for one another. He knows that Dorn will give him a blunt answer; even if he is told that the invention is "stupid".

Jaghatai Khan - He's really good at acrobatics, specifically everything with the asymmetrical bars; this man could easily escape a pack of dogs with a pen in his pocket (If anyone gets this reference I will be so proud). He attempted to teach Angron how to do the basics, but it didn't go that well; the man is just simply not flexible enough yet.

Leman Russ - This is a secret that he will take to his grave because he suffers from major internal misogyny. He knows how to knit, and he's REALLY good. He grew up on a planet that is 75% of the time below zero, of course the second he got ahold of yarn and wool he got to making warm things for his marine-sons! However, he plays it off as things like: "the citizens of Fenris have donated these for our cause".

Rogal Dorn - He likes making massive forts, societies and various massive structures in Minecraft, with Legos, Lincoln Logs, and those small, ceramic Christmas towns. They're usually quite extensive, but not extravagant. He will pester Perturabo and Magnus to look at them, and this often leads to debates about how these civilizations would function.

Konrad Curze - He teaches cooking classes; however, they are not pleasant. At the end of meal prep, all students are covered in blood due to Konrad butchering whatever protein they had prepared. The food actually tastes amazing, however the process of making it is certainly a battle within itself. Sevatar is his sous chef, which means he frequently has to do most of the work that isn't butchering.

Sanguinius - Honestly, animal rehabilitation. I know this sounds absolutely odd, but due to him having wings, he has to know how to keep a healthy batch of feathers! He's excellent at bird handling, and actually really enjoys it. He's saved at least 54 birds (he doesn't get to find many, his sons typically try to steer him away).

Ferrus Manus - Dude actually makes some really mean jewelry; like the man makes the permanent ankle chains, ring engravements, earrings (with the help of Fulgrim). He's made a lot for his brothers like Leman, Fulgrim, Magnus, and the Khan. They're all very appreciative (though Ferrus has to make Leman a special mixture so he doesn't chew through it by accident).

Angron - He does extreme sports! It helps focus on something that doesn't direct his anger at things that he doesn't need to focus on. It's somewhat funny to think of him riding a BMX, but his absolute favorite is bungee-jumping! He has forced demanded that his sons and brothers try it to "toughen them up". However, nobody except Konrad wanted to. (They both had a great time! One of the few times they've actually bonded over anything.)

Guilliman - He enjoys grading papers... He enjoys signing up to grade the essays of AP classes on Terra and does it every year if he has the time. He takes the pleasure of learning things about literary merit from other people's perspectives, and every time it makes him consider becoming a professor (even though it would be highly impractical).

Mortarion - He enjoys escape rooms, especially with Konrad and Horus. They actually usually have a great time, though sometimes they have to stop Konrad from digging into the walls. He actually commissioned Perturabo to make an elaborate escape room with hatches and secret pathways all around a set of shipping containers. It was so fun that he actually decided to keep it. (He still discovers new routes and puzzles in it every time he goes in.)

Magnus the Red - He plays Dungeons and Dragons with Khan, Guilliman, Perturabo and Alpharius and Omegon. He ALWAYS is the Dungeon Master, no matter what. This is not because he is selfish and possessive (he is a little), but because nobody in the group can seem to maintain a regular gaming schedule. They have simply resorted to Magnus being the godly controller of their games.

Horus Lupercal - This man fishes. I'm sorry, he does the straight, white man fishing and poses. He takes pictures of the fish with the awkward raised arm but genuine smile. He sometimes gives the fish to Konrad, however, less so after finding out from his students what happens during his classes.

Lorgar Aurelian - He writes fanfiction. He likes to show Magnus and Horus his angsty stuff. This stuff is even enough to make Magnus cry a little. Lorgar, however, also writes smut. I believe that this man has never had the intimate touch of any person. Not because he's celibate, but because he's a bitch. The smut's written like in the early days of Wattpad. It's disastrously bad (Think "his meat-cicle entered her mound"). Leman found it one time, he tormented Lorgar for weeks with it.

Vulkan - He bakes! He has learned all the favorite sweets of all of his brothers, making sure to surprise them occasionally whenever they haven't spoken in a while. He loves it whenever there are big events, gives him a chance to see all of his brothers and see them enjoy his work. (There have been some small altercations due to people hoarding food)

Corvus - He likes fashion; but not in a New York fashion week way, more of an Edna from The Incredibles way. He uses the help of Ferrus and Leman to help sew cloaks, shape up boots, and they use Sanguinius and Fulgrim to model it to make sure it looks good and it works.

Alpharius Omegon - They like mimicking their brothers as much as possible; in a "try to look exactly like them" way. It is actually really impressive, even going past the uncanny valley vibe. This led to Mortarion walking in on two versions of himself standing at his bedroom door and it made him piss his pants; and nobody believed him when he told the rest of them.

[ms--lobotomy]

“How many geese do you think I can take on in a fight?”

oh. oh anon. i love this prompt. i owe you my life. happy sanguinala :)

LION EL'JONSON- Stares at you. Is thinking about how many geese he can take on himself.

???- The geese got them.

FULGRIM- This is not a question that Fulgrim is prepared for. He dances around the question and never gives you a direct answer. Asshole.

PERTURABO- Depends on what mood he's in. If he's in a petulant one, he'll just grunt and get back to work. If not, he'll give you a normal-ish answer.

JAGHATAI KHAN- One of the Primarchs with greater faith in your ability to take on geese in a fight. Gives you a logical answer based on your fighting prowess and stamina.

LEMAN RUSS- Leman takes this question very seriously. Out loud, he measures up your combat abilities against smaller opponents. He's blatantly wrong.

ROGAL DORN- "I will not allow you to take on any geese in a fight. Do you have any idea how dangerous they are?"... He lectures you on why fighting geese is a bad idea.

KONRAD CURZE- "Four," he says before you ask the question. He flashes you a shit-eating grin, as he knew how much you wanted to ask the question.

SANGUINIUS- This one hits a little too close to home for him. "Can we... can we pick a different animal, please?"

FERRUS MANUS- "The flesh is strong." Pushes you to fight these geese with your bare hands. Has faith in you.

???- Is a goose. Honks at you.

ANGRON- He will not leave you any geese, even in this hypothetical scenario. He wishes to engage them in glorious melee combat himself.

ROBOUTE GUILLIMAN- Thinks about it for a second and lets out a chuckle. Not as bad of a lecturer as Dorn, but will ask you if you are prepared to fight so many geese.

MORTARION- Has no faith in you. Massive pessimist about the whole deal. Advises you to not even engage one goose.

MAGNUS THE RED- "Depends on the environment," he says before getting back to his studies. You are left to contend with what environment you want to fight geese in.

HORUS LUPERCAL- Throws his head back in laughter, putting a hand on your shoulder. He gives you a throwaway answer.

LORGAR- Asks you what you're thinking. Strongly advises you not to fight ANY geese, but ends up giving you a plausible answer.

VULKAN- Asks you if you're serious about fighting geese. Asks you if you need any armor and/or weapons. Is prepared to back you up in this fight.

CORVUS CORAX- Stops what he's doing to think about the answer. Gives you an honest estimate, if a little pessimistic.

ALPHARIUS- Fighting the Alpha Legion is a lot like fighting a bunch of geese. I refuse to elaborate.

[solspina]

Where is a Line for Justice Drawn?

magnus the red ⋆˙⟡

a short little blurb i threw together while i was trying to lull myself to sleep last night! not heavily edited, so i apologize for any mistakes!

heresy is unforgivable, and magnus knows this better than anyone. psykers are heretics, and leman russ knows this better than anyone. the blood of the crimson lady and a young red skinned girl is the only way to pay the price.

warnings: major character death, child death, mentions of burning/heavy injury, angst and more angst, leman is very cruel

Pride will be the death of you.

Among his brothers, it was a common misconception that the pride of Magnus the Red lay solely in his power and knowledge of the unseen universe. They believed that he took the most pleasure from understanding things even the emperor didn’t, or took great joy in knowing more than the rest of them.

Their judgements were far from the truth, for it lay instead in the things they failed to see. His pride was a perfect two sided coin, one in which the sides belonged to different women respectively, none other than his wife and daughter. His brothers knew not of this, all of them besides Leman Russ.

Leman knew the truth. He knew where the sorcerer buried his deepest weakness, it was within that pathetic psyker of a wife and the vibrant red skin of his half divine daughter. He knew of the heresy that had been committed by Magnus upon prospero. He knew how to bring Magnus to his knees. He knew that Magnus feared him.

Perhaps that was how Magnus had gotten into the position he was in today.

His wife lay motionless on the floor, her pure white robes were bloodstained and dirty, an indication that she had tried to run away. An arrow was nestled carefully between her shoulder blades, penetrating her heart and pulling her away from life incredibly slowly.

Magnus knelt by his wife’s side, weeping ever so slightly as his heart shattered further with every passing second. He avoided the gaze of Leman who stood across the room. The crimson king’s infant daughter was still in the arms of the wolf, but her voice no longer cooed sweet nothings into her father’s ears or babbled at absolutely anything. Her skin, the same color as his, now paled in comparison to its once vibrant beauty. His child was lost, gone before she could ever say her first word or experience premonition.

Aside from the great king’s gentle sobs, the crackling of flames and the screaming of entire families could be heard outside. The noises, along with the suffocating smoke in the air, came from the streets of Prospero as it burned.

“One of them felt no pain, Magnus” Leman’s voice echoed across the room as he looked down upon the crimson skinned child, not a wound on her body. He didn’t want to know how she died. He wanted no knowledge of what the wolf did to his daughter. “The other, though…”

Bruises and small cuts had completely littered every inch of his wife’s perfect skin, a surface that Magnus used to caress with such gentleness and care. It was undeniable that she would put up a fight. Inevitable that she would try to run, only to be shot through her most vital organ of life the moment she made it into Magnus’ arms. Unavoidable that Leman would walk into the room immediately after the shot was fired, their daughter lifeless in his arms.

Even now, she clung to him with the last few moments of life she had within her. Her hands were placed upon the primarch’s shoulders as she shook in terror against him.

“Please” her voice trembled as tears spilled from her eyes. “I don’t want to die… I’m scared, Magnus…” Her expression was full of fear and her voice was barely above a whisper. He could tell from the way she looked at him that she was desperately seeking comfort, but he failed to grant her that wish. He wanted to reassure her, to tell that everything would be okay, but his words caught in his throat.

He was frozen, unable to process the gravity of the situation. He could not bear seeing her afraid like this, nor could he bring himself to lie to her. Helplessness washed over him like crashing waves, pulling him in and out of reality as he cradled her in his arms, one last time. “Magnus,” she spoke once more, her words weakened as she became tired, his own voice still failing him to speak. “I love you…”

In the blink of an eye, she was gone. An incredibly broken “I love you too” finally made it’s way out of his throat, but far too late for her to hear.

Leman laughed maniacally, sickeningly. “A death fit for a psyker.” He spat, venom and contempt dripped from his voice. He walked across the room with a chilling calmness, Magnus’ daughter cradled in his arms. With a grotesque mockery of calmness, Leman placed the lifeless baby gently in her cradle. He had covered the young girl with her blanket, creating a display as if she had merely been asleep. He was teasing the weeping crimson king with every action, the cruelty of the executioner in its most pure form.

“My work for father is done here” claimed the wolf, his teeth beared in a smile as he looked down upon the pathetic excuse for a sorcerer cradling his wife. “Heretics are to be executed, brother” Leman declared, his voice cold and unyielding. He before turned on his heels as he prepared to exit Magnus’ tower, his tattered cloak billowed behind him. “You should know better.” were his final, cutting words to the crimson king as he left him to drown in his grief. His beloved tower, once home to both his family and infinite pillars of knowledge, had come to feel like more of a tomb.

Magnus carefully removed his wife from the ground and placed her down on their bed, one they shared while she was alive, before making his way to the cradle his daughter lay in. He lifted her from her bed and away from the blankets that Leman had tainted with blood, the face of the babe was peaceful and serene despite all that had happened, despite her lack of life. He opted to lay the baby in the arms of his wife, allowing the only two things that mattered more than knowledge to appear together one final time. He looked upon them with sorrow, trying desperately to convince himself that the two of them were simply sleeping. It had just been a long day and they were tired, that’s all this was.

His hands trembled as he caressed the baby’s cheek, her face illuminated by the bright orange flames that raged outside. He lay his own body next to the two women, one arm over the both of them. He spoke to them, sharing with them stories and knowledge that even humanity had not yet touched, they never would. Prospero burned, and the unrelenting flames would not cease.

Perhaps it was not selfish for the primarch to allow himself the liberty of dying next to his wife and daughter. The flames that burned his skin could never match the warmth the girls used to provide when they lived, and he’d take every ounce of the fading heat until he emitted none of his own.

Would it be selfish to become the monster that Leman had suspected? Would it be selfish to wish for change?