Illogi

Has everyone already rejoiced at the appearance of the demon Perturabo, after such a long amount of time? I made headcanons for him!

Demon Perturabo as a partner ~

1. "Thank you?"

Perturabo, even as a daemon, never got rid of his main trigger. If you accidentally praise him, he'll freeze, and then his hands will barely tremble with joy. But if you forget to thank him for something, expect a three-hour lecture about how in his native Olympia, hard work was valued, and how ingratitude is the root of all the galaxy's problems.

2. "Don't touch me"

His armor has grown into his flesh; he looks more like a missile launcher than a primarch. If you try to take his hand (which is the size of you), he'll simply move away. You'll have to discuss what parts of him are safe to touch and what aren't, so you don't get fried.

3. "Shy"

Imagine a situation where you're sitting in a fast-food cafe, and they bring him the wrong order. He won't say a word against it; he'll just silently accept it. Only you can notice it and say something like, "That's not what my boyfriend ordered." He'd be very embarrassed, but deeply grateful that you're so attentive.

4. "Jealousy"

This will be an eternal theme. You're watching a movie where, for example, an architect builds a bridge — Perturabo darkens. You walk past a construction site — he starts grumbling that they're stupid and building it wrong. And it always comes down to phrases like: "Dorn would approve. Of course, he would. Because Dorn loves it when everything is crooked. If only he were here, I'd like to see him..." You'll just have to accept it.

5. "Personal"

Perturabo hates organic life. He considers flesh a weakness. But if he has chosen you, you automatically become the only approved bug in the system. He will genuinely wonder why you need to sleep, eat, wash, —ahem— breathe (why, when you could just connect to a life support system?), but he will tolerate your weaknesses with an air of detachment. However, if anyone dares to point out your human inefficiency, that someone will cease to exist on the material plane.

BONUS! 🌸

6. "Apologies"

He doesn't know how to apologize at all. No one ever apologized to him, so why would he need to do it? But when he sees that you're genuinely upset and hurt by him, it makes him nervous and makes him think about what to do. Usually, he'll lock himself in his workshop for a couple of days and tinker with something, thinking the hurt will pass. But if that doesn't work, he'll definitely bring you something you mentioned a very long time ago. Maybe a book, or perhaps your favorite tea. And when you ask, "Are you trying to apologize?" (yes, you have to be direct with him), he'll answer, "Yes. I was wrong. I regret it."

« He went back to the door upstairs, and began to descend the stairs, and so he descended, as if he was not in a hurry; the steps under him even groan... Well, he came to our door, waited, waited - the door suddenly opened all of a sudden.»

I. S. Turgenev, "Bezhin Meadow" (Бежин луг)

⚠️ Disclaimer: Everything written below is purely my speculation based on the animated series episodes. ⚠️

⚕️ MEDICAE CODEX: The Globular Reservoir and Legion Survival Rules ⚕️

Core Principle: The Legion above the individual, and functionality above humanity.

Principle of Hereditary Material Inviolability

1. The testicles of a fallen warrior are sacred. They are the vessel of his essence.

2. The medic's duty is to return them to the Vault at any cost, or immediately implant them into a suitable young vessel-candidate.

3. Loss or damage of Hereditary Material = eternal loss of the warrior's soul. Punishment is the ultimate measure.

Principle of Functionality Over Comfort

4. Psycho-warriors do not feel pain like humans. A complaint = either simulation or critical damage.

5. Upon loss of a limb — implantation of an iron prosthetic.

6. Anesthetics are not provided. The medic amputates the interfering part or lets the warrior die if the repair would take longer than the mission.

Principle of Legion Priority

7. The medic is obligated to preserve the life of any Legion member, regardless of personal feelings.

7.1. Even if the warrior just tried to kill you — save him if there's a chance.

8. Evacuation of the deceased's eggs takes priority over evacuating the wounded. The wounded can wait; the eggs are cooling down.

Principle of Vessel Purity

9. Candidate boys are containers. Tools.

10. Empathy for the vessel is forbidden. The task is to check survivability. Candidate's death = rejection.

11. The boy's personality is unimportant. After implantation, only the warrior's personality remains.

Principle of Non-Interference in Hierarchy

12. The medic is outside the chain of command during battle but does not dispute orders.

13. If the Captain orders an artifact to be given away — the medic obeys.

13.1. Hereditary Material must NOT be given away (exception to Rule 13).

Doctrine of "Return"

14. Death does not exist. There is only a state of "deactivated" or "awaiting reboot."

15. As long as the eggs are intact and there is a boy, the legionnaire is immortal.

16. The medic's task is to ensure this rebirth cycle.

17. The medic has the right to kill and crush the eggs of heretics.

🔹 GLOBULAR RESERVOIR (GLOBULI-SANCTUM)

Regarding the Sacred Vessel:

Principle of Inseparability

18. The Reservoir is an extension of the medic's body and the Legion's soul. It must be worn on the chest at all times, except during material evacuation. Loss = loss of a part of the Legion's soul (punishable by demotion).

Principle of Purity

19. The inside must be kept in perfect sterility. Contamination (blood, acid, non-testicles) defiles the material. The medic is obligated to cleanse the vessel personally, even with their tongue.

Principle of Capacity

20. Volume — up to 10 pairs of testicles. If overfilled, evacuate the most valuable first.

20.1. In case of loss/damage/overfilling of the vessel, use the mouth as a temporary reservoir.

20.2. Maximum of 2 pairs per cheek.

20.3. Swallowing is FORBIDDEN.

20.4. Talking with a full mouth is not recommended. If necessary, speak clearly, do not damage the material with teeth.

20.5. In battle, do not open the visor or cover your mouth with your hand. Avoid combat during transfer.

21. Upon suction, it sounds: "Praise the Space King." Legionnaires must hear that the ritual is complete.

21.1. In field conditions, the sound is automatically disabled.

Better late than Better late than never, yes?

«If someone gave men flowers — they could do anything in the world.»

Valentine's Day 💕

Konrad hated Valentine’s Day.

Not because he was against love. But because this day reminded him of how awkwardly he expressed his feelings. Every year, he agonized over finding the perfect flowers, every year he worried whether they were beautiful enough, every year he gave them to Luma with an expression as if he were making a sacrificial offering.

And every year she accepted them with that same gentle smile, and he forgot all his fears.

But this time, everything was different.

The morning of the fourteenth began as usual.

Konrad woke up, reached toward the edge of the bed where Luma usually lay, and found emptiness.

"Luma?" he called.

Silence. He sat up. Looked around. She wasn’t in the cabin. Her uniform hung on the chair. Her data-slate lay on the table.

"Strange..." he muttered.

He pulled on his pants, stretched like a cat, and stepped into the corridor, then made his way to the mess hall where Tennar usually had breakfast.

Tennar sat at the table. In front of him was a plate of toast, tea, and an empty vase.

"Good morning, Dad."

"Yeah, hi." He stepped closer.

"There's a note," Tennar added.

Konrad picked up the small envelope attached to the vase and opened it with his black claw.

"To the one who taught me that flowers can speak. Thank you for twenty years of your roses. Now it's my turn.

Yours, Luma.

P.S. I'm in the botanical garden. Waiting for you."

"She..." Konrad swallowed. "She went to the botanical garden?"

"She's been there since five in the morning," said Tennar. "Preparing a surprise."

"Since five in the morning?!" Konrad looked at the clock. It was now eight. "Three hours?"

"Three hours," Tennar confirmed. "She worked really hard."

"Do I look okay?"

"As always. Stunning."

"Suck-up." Konrad smirked, then approached his son and ruffled his hair before heading to the garden.

The botanical garden of the Night Haunter was the only place on the ship that didn’t smell of death.

Luma had created it many years ago, when Tennar was little, so he would have a place where he could see something other than metal and weapons. Here grew flowers from dozens of worlds—gifts from planets the Legion had "liberated," organic trophies from battlefields, seeds Konrad had brought back from his travels.

Here, too, grew the black roses of Nostramo.

Konrad entered the garden and froze.

She stood in the center, surrounded by flowers. She wore her favorite perfectly pressed white suit. In her hands—a bouquet. Soft violet, almost translucent, with silvery veins. They looked like space.

"I looked for them for three years," said Luma. "The seeds. No one wanted to sell. I had to... persuade them."

"Luma..."

"They're called 'Phialcus Maximus,'" she continued. "But I'd prefer 'Eyes of the Night Haunter.'"

He looked at her, at the flowers, at her smile. His pale cheeks flushed red.

"You..." His voice faltered. "You didn't have to, what are you doing, why would you give me flowers..."

"Yes, I did," she said. "You've given me flowers for twenty years. Every time something new. Every time—with a look like you're afraid I won't accept them."

"I am afraid," he admitted. "I'm always afraid."

"I know." She stepped closer. "So today, I want you to know you're not afraid alone."

She held out the bouquet to him.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Konrad."

He took the flowers.

His hands gently touched the petals.

"I..." He swallowed. "I don't know what to say."

"Say 'thank you.'"

"Thank you," he echoed.

"You're always welcome, my love."

He embraced her.

"I love you, Luma."

"And I love you so much."

The End :D

I'm freaking out, I've been wanting to draw for a long time...

The silence of the meditation chamber, which served as a clean room for the mother of the heir of the eighth Legion. Luma was sitting on a simple couch, covered with a sheet more for comfort than warmth. She was holding a small bundle wrapped in a soft cloth in her arms. The rhythmic buzzing of her internal systems was the only sound disturbing the peace.

The door opened soundlessly, and Conrad Curze appeared in the doorway. He was wearing light armor, a cape, and without a helmet, with a face that was frozen with a mixture of incredible caution and deep, animal fear. He entered, and the door closed behind him. As he got closer, his massive shadow covered them both. For several long seconds, he just stared, his violet eyes, the color of a night thunderstorm, studying the tiny face.

— He's ugly. — Conrad finally said. His voice was low, devoid of the usual steely hoarseness, almost confused. — Wrinkled. Red. And bruises... like a dead man from the lower mines.

Luma looked up at him. Her optical sensors softly focused on the primarch's face. A light, mechanical exhalation came from the woman's chest, simulating fatigue.

— Conrad. — She said in a flat, patient tone. — You literally describe yourself at the moment of landing on Nostramo, as far as I can assume. You're his father.

Konrad bent down slowly, with exaggerated, almost ridiculous caution for such a giant. His huge, battle-hardened hands slid under the bundle. He picked up the baby, gently pressed it against his chest plate of armor, incredibly contrasting the fragile newborn life with the blue ceramite. The little Tennar, disturbed by the movement and the cold of the armor, winced, grunted and opened his eyes. And Curze froze when his bottomless eyes were reflected in the small and clear mirrors of his child's soul. Father and son stared at each other in silent dialogue, and then, as if on cue, they both turned their heads and fixed their identical, purple eyes on Luma.

The same head angle. The same questioning, slightly offended seriousness in his gaze. Luma looked at them: at her monster, holding their small, fragile miracle, and at this very miracle, already unconsciously copying her father's manner. There was no algorithm for this in her processor. Just a wave of pure, unfiltered feelings of tenderness and love. She broke into a smile.

— Yes... She said softly, looking at the two pairs of purple eyes. — You're so pretty...

Conrad chuckled, grinning slightly. He pulled Tennar a little closer, so that the little black-haired head rested against his collarbone.

Who wants to collaborate with me? Draw and tag me, I'll repost 💕

Heitmonger and Jan Žiža:

Lately I've been in the mood to draw... And there is a mood to experiment and try...