Fan fiction reader

Perturabo “Babies are assembled in batches like munitions, civilians simply lack quality control.”

Perturabo stops walking and turns around. “Repeat that.” The Astartes repeats and Perturabo just stares with the face of a man discovering a structural flaw in a bridge he personally designed. “You believe the human species is manufactured like artillery shells?” The Astartes hesitates. “...With less reliability, my lord.” Perturabo closes his eyes and you can hear one of his remaining hopes die. He gives the most brutally efficient reproductive biology lesson in Imperial history complete with diagrams, mechanical analogies and insults. “If I ever hear you explain biology through siege logistics again I will assign you to inventory every bolt in the fleet.” The primarch concludes. The younger Astartes now understands.

Jaghatai “Babies come from speed, when two people ride fast enough beneath the open sky, the wind chooses.”

Jaghatai hears this and laughs immediately. “That is the stupidest thing I have heard this century.” The older Astartes looks embarrassed and the younger one looks confused. “Listen, life is stranger and far less aerodynamic than that.”

He explains it plainly and with surprising gentleness but keeps laughing every time he remembers ‘the wind chooses’. For the next several months the entire brotherhood uses the phrase ‘the wind chooses’ whenever someone announces a birth on a compliant world.

Russ “Babies come from drinking enough mead and winning a wrestling match against fate.”

Russ nods slowly and for one horrifying moment everyone thinks he agrees until he speaks. “That is wrong, but not as wrong as it should be.” He walks over and claps the older warrior's back hard enough to almost crack the armor. “You’ve got the spirit, pup, but you’ve missed several important steps.” “Does wrestling occur?” The younger astartes asks. Russ thinks about it. “Sometimes.” A wolf priest immediately materialize from nowhere. “My lord, please allow me.” Russ is removed from the conversation before he can make it worse. Later he hosts a feast where he tells a long extremely inappropriate Fenrisian version of the facts of life involving wolves, storms, endurance and respecting women because otherwise they will kill you and deserve to. The younger Astartes learns something but nobody is sure of what exactly.

Dorn “Babies are grown when a household reaches sufficient structural stability.”

Dorn hears that and looks at the astartes with the expression of a fortress wall being disappointed. “No.” “No, my lord?” The Astartes straightens. “No.” The younger astartes waits for more and Dorn realizes with visible pain that more is required so he explains reproduction with the exact tone he would use to describe masonry, it’s terrifyingly practical with out unembellished or euphemisms despite the entire squad wishing there had been euphemisms.

“Don't invent civic infrastructure theories about childbirth again.” “Yes, my lord.” “Also households do benefit from stability.” Dorn adds. “But that is unrelated to conception.”

Konrad Curze “Babies come from nightmares, if enough people are afraid in one place a small human appears to continue the suffering.”

Curze hears that and makes a weird sound that may be laughter. “Wrong.” He leans in. “But thematically… interesting.” The younger Astartes is now more confused and significantly more traumatized, Sevatar who has been standing nearby ends up explaining the basics in the driest possible tone while Curze occasionally interrupts from the shadows with comments like “and then they are born screaming.”

Sanguinius “Babies are made when two souls love each other so much that the Emperor sends them a tiny servant.”

Sanguinius hears this and looks physically pained. “My son, that is… very sweet.” He approaches gently and places a hand on his shoulder. “And almost entirely incorrect. Love can be involved, often, one hopes it is but there is also nature at work.”

He explains it kindly and with enough delicacy that nobody feels mocked and with enough accuracy that the sanguinary priests silently nod in approval. The younger Astartes understands, the older one is embarrassed but not crushed. Sanguinius later asks the Chaplains whether perhaps the legion’s education has been a little too focused on swordsmanship and blood rites.

Ferrus “Babies are manufactured through inferior organic replication, the flesh copies itself because it lacks proper modularity.”

Ferrus stops hammering and slowly sets down the tool. “You are technically approaching a concept and somehow still failing. The flesh is weak, yes, but it isn’t a forge template.” He explains reproduction in blunt practical terms using enough biological detail to be correct and enough mechanical comparison to keep them from panicking.

“You won’t teach again until you understand the difference between organic process and manufacturing.” “Yes, father.” “And don't call infants unfinished components, civilians dislike that.” The Iron Hands quietly amend several educational scrolls.

Angron “Babies come from blood, enough blood spills and eventually life crawls out of it.”

Angron hears and everything stops, the older Astartes suddenly realizes he has chosen the worst possible primarch to say this near.

“No.” Angron turns, jaw tight. “That is what monsters tell themselves when they only know how to make corpses. People are born from bodies, women and from pain, yes, but not that kind, it isn’t a slaughter. Don’t make life sound like one of our battlefields.” Then he walks away before anyone can see too much on his face.

Guilliman “Babies are issued by local family governance after a successful marriage petition and population sustainability review.”

Guilliman hears this, his face is calm but his soul nearly left his body. “...Issued?” “Yes, my lord, by civic authority.” Guilliman blinks very slowly. “I have failed you.” “No, my lord!” The Astartes immediately panics. “Yes, clearly. Somewhere in your education a catastrophic omission occurred and now you believe municipal paperwork is reproductive.” “It is not?” The younger astartes whispers and Guilliman visibly ages.

He organizes an emergency curriculum reform within six hours. The original Astartes isn’t punished but he is cited anonymously in the introduction as ‘a demonstrated educational failure.’

Mortarion “Babies grow from spores in damp places, that’s why civilians keep their houses warm.”

Mortarion hears that and for one long moment he stays in silence. “No.” The Astartes waits. “And never say that again.” Mortarion continues. “But my lord, don’t they grow?” Mortarion looks like he has been stabbed by stupidity. “Not like fungus.” “But there is an incubation-” “Stop helping.” He gives a short and factual explanation stripped of romance, mystery and any possible joy, he makes normal biology sound like a diagnosis. “Life is already unpleasant, don’t make it idiotic.” The Death Guard accept this as inspirational wisdom.

Magnus the Red “Babies are formed when two psychic signatures resonate and attract a soul fragment from the immaterium into a prepared vessel.”

Magnus slowly lowers his book, the statement is wrong but in a way that has wandered too close to several metaphysical arguments Magnus would absolutely like to have. “No, not precisely.” Magnus gives a lecture about reproductive biology, genetics, psychic resonance and the philosophical question of when consciousness enters matter. The younger Astartes looks increasingly haunted, the older one tries to take notes and gives up after the phrase ‘ontological threshold’.

After two hours, Magnus concludes. “So, in summary, you were wrong.” “Where do babies come from then?” Magnus smiles. “Let us begin again.”

Horus “Babies happen when a great leader inspires a population hard enough.”

Horus hears this and nearly chokes on his drink. “What?” “Because morale increases birth rates, my lord.” The Astartes smiles proudly. This is the kind of wrong that has a tiny piece of political truth inside it, making it vastly more annoying.

Horus laughs first until he sees that the younger astartes genuinely believes it. “Oh. You’re serious.” He puts an arm around both of them like a beloved warlord about to deliver the most uncomfortable fireside chat of their lives. “Right. We are fixing this before you embarrass me in front of a remembrancer.” Horus explains it plainly, with charisma, humor and exactly enough vulgarity that they will remember it forever, by the end the squad is informed and slightly traumatized.

Lorgar “Babies are granted when faith pleases the divine and a household becomes worthy of receiving a soul.”

Lorgar hears this and his eyes shine, that answer is wrong but it’s spiritually marketable. He interrupts only because he remembered he is supposed to be responsible. “My son… there is beauty in what you said but we mustn’t confuse metaphor with mechanism.” He then gives a lecture that is half biology and half sermon, the younger Astartes leaves understanding the basic reproductive process and also believing childbirth is a sacred ritual written in flesh. The older one is gently praised for seeking meaning but corrected for being factually disastrous.

Vulkan “Babies are made when a family loves each other so much that they build one together, like a small forge project.”

Vulkan hears that and his face does the thing where he is trying very hard not to laugh because the answer is wrong but also extremely adorable. “That isn’t how it works, my son, but I understand why you said it.” He explains with warmth, patience and absolutely no shame. The younger Astartes asks many questions and Vulkan answers all of them. “So they aren’t built?” The older Astartes asks. Vulkan pats his shoulder. “No but they are raised, that’s the building part.”

Corvus Corax “Babies emerge from silence when loneliness becomes too heavy.”

Corax hears this from the shadows and remains silent for so long that both Astartes assume they are safe until a voice comes from behind them. “That was poetry pretending to be information, don’t do that.” Corax steps forward and the older Astartes almost jumps out of his armor. “But it sounded meaningful, my lord.” The younger Astartes says.

Corax sighs and explains the truth quietly and directly, though with a melancholy edge that makes the whole thing sound like a tragic folk story. “Loneliness may lead people to seek love and love may lead to children but babies don’t condense out of sorrow… Usually.” The Raven Guard are left unsure whether that final part was a joke.

Alpharius Omegon “Babies are created when two adults exchange classified genetic intelligence through a covert biological operation.”

Alpharius is nearby or Omegon or both. “That isn’t entirely inaccurate.” He says “It is also a terrible explanation.” The other twin speaks as he appears from absolutely nowhere. “Was I wrong?” The older Astartes looks between them. “Yes.” “No.” “Operationally.” “Pedagogically.” The younger Astartes is now more confused than before. The twins proceed to explain reproduction using intelligence terminology, espionage metaphors, at least three false examples, one true example disguised as a lie and a diagram that self-destructs after viewing.

Perturabo Perturabo’s child wants to build a pillow fort, he hears ‘siege architecture practical exam’ and begins by asking them about load bearing points. “I want the blue blanket.” They reply and he nods solemnly. The pillow fort starts small then Perturabo brings in measuring tools and a diagram, after an hour the living room contains a reinforced multilevel pillow citadel with crawl tunnels, curtain walls, snack storage and a moat made of plush animals.

“This is my castle.” The child says as they crawl inside with a juice box. “Yes.” Perturabo, standing outside with a clipboard. “You can come in too.” He crawls in very carefully, knees sticking out, shoulders destroying one side wall. “You’re too big.” The child pats his face. Perturabo stares at the collapsed section devastated until the child hands him a stuffed bunny. “You can guard.” Perturabo spends the next four hours guarding the pillow fortress with murderous seriousness.

Jaghatai Khan Jaghatai’s child wants to play ponies and he agrees immediately. Within five minutes, the ponies have names like Wind Breaker and Thunder Hoof and are racing across the furniture. He makes tiny saddles out of napkins and begins narrating a great migration across the living room carpet. The kid is delighted. “Again! Again!”

The next thing anyone knows they are both riding actual horses through the palace garden. Malcador sees them pass by a window, the kid is shrieking with joy and Jaghatai is laughing, there is a toy pony tied to his saddle like a sacred war banner. “THIS ONE IS FASTEST” the child screams. “THEN SHE SHALL LEAD THE HOST” Jaghatai answers. Later the Emperor receives three complaints, two property damage reports and one drawing of a horse with lightning legs titled Daddy’s Friend.

Russ Russ' child wants to play wolves, they crawl around the floor growling at each other. “I’m the biggest wolf” the kid says. Leman immediately drops onto his back. “Aye, you are the alpha.” They climb onto his chest and howl, Russ howls back so loudly that three nearby windows crack, the kid laughs until they hiccup.

Then they decide he isn’t a wolf anymore but a mountain so they climbs him. Russ lies still on the floor while this tiny child scales him by grabbing his beard, armor straps, hair, nose and dignity. Every time they reach his shoulder he gently rolls over and says “Avalanche!”. The kid squeals and falls into a pile of furs. This repeats forty six times and at the end they fall asleep on top of him. “No one move.” Russ whispers, he remains on the floor for six hours. Several Space Wolves enter, see him pinned by a sleeping toddler and treat it as a sacred vigil.

Dorn The child wants to play blocks and Dorn sits down. He is prepared, he has blocks, patience and a plan. They stack three blocks, knock them down and giggle. Dorn nods. “Demolition testing.” They stack them again, sideways this time. “Interesting.” Dorn’s eye twitches. They put a triangle block at the bottom and a square on top. Dorn visibly suffers but he says nothing because they are happy. “You build, daddy.” They hand him a block. Dorn builds a perfect miniature fortress in six minutes. It has towers, gates, symmetrical walls and no unnecessary ornamentation. The child looks at it and places a tiny duck on the battlements. Dorn stares at the duck. “The duck isn’t defensible.” “He lives there.” He nods after a long pause. “The duck is now the governor.” From that day forward every fortress he builds for them includes a duck tower.

Perturabo questions it once and Dorn replies dead serious. “The duck is load-bearing.”

Konrad Curze Konrad’s child wants to play tea party. He is sitting cross legged on the floor in a room full of dolls, tiny cups and one very suspicious teddy bear. The child pours imaginary tea and he accepts the tiny cup with both clawed hands. “Thank you” he whispers. The doll beside him has been sentenced to death for treason. “No, daddy, Mr. Buttons said sorry” the child says. Konrad slowly turns toward the doll.“Did he.” The child nods and Konrad leans very close to the doll. “I am watching you.”

The tea party continues and the child offers him a fake wooden biscuit. He pretends to eat it and the child beams, this does something terrible and unfamiliar inside his chest. “You’re the princess.” the child says. “...No.” “You’re the princess.” Konrad looks at the tiny plastic crown then at their hopeful face. Ten minutes later Sanguinius walks past the room and sees him wearing a glitter crown, sitting among plush animals, speaking in a rasping whisper. “The princess has seen the future, the kingdom falls by dawn.” “No, daddy, the kingdom has cookies.” the child says. Konrad pauses. “The kingdom may yet be spared.”

Sanguinius Sanguinius’s child wants to play flying, he picks them up gently and lifts them into the air, wings spreading like sunrise. “Higher!” They scream with joy. “Not too high, little heart.” “Higher!” He gives in immediately and glides through the garden, slow and safe, their tiny hands buried in his hair.

The kid demands they rescue the stuffed rabbit from the “tower” (a table), Sanguinius approaches it with full mythic seriousness. “Fear not, noble rabbit, salvation comes.” He carries both the child and rabbit in a heroic arc through the room, everyone nearby stops to watch because it is objectively beautiful.

Horus watches from the doorway. “That child could ask him for Terra and he would give it.” “She asked nicely.” Sanguinius replies.

Ferrus The child wants to play dolls. Ferrus looks at the dolls and sees that they are poorly jointed and weak. “These arms will break.” “Her name is Princess Sparkle.” the child says. Ferrus takes Princess Sparkle with grave respect and within an hour it has reinforced limbs, articulated fingers, a tiny metal spine and a faceplate that can withstand a hammer strike. The child loves it, Ferrus tries to look indifferent but fails. 

They ask him to make a bed for the doll and Ferrus makes a bed, a chair, a tiny forge and a full working miniature workshop. The doll now has better equipment than some Legions. “Daddy, she needs a friend.” Ferrus looks at the remaining dolls and they are weak too. “Bring them all.” By evening the playroom contains an army of upgraded dolls with chrome limbs and terrifying durability. The child hugs his arm and Ferrus quietly makes Princess Sparkle a crown… It’s made of iron.

Angron Angron’s child wants to play tag. “You run and I will chase slowly.” He kneels down and says with enormous seriousness. They run and Angron follows at the speed of a depressed refrigerator. “Raaah” he says carefully and the child shrieks with laughter. He reaches for them, misses on purpose and ends up smashing his hand through a table. “Daddy, you broke it.” Angron looks at the table then down at his own hand. “I did.” They toddle back and pats his arm. “It’s okay, we can play gently.” He sits on the floor and the child shows him patty-cake.

Angron, who has killed armies, now sits cross legged learning how to clap hands softly. He gets it wrong the first time and claps too hard, blowing a cushion across the room. The child laughs anyway, by the end he is whispering the rhyme with deadly concentration.

Guilliman The child wants to play office because they have seen Guilliman doing paperwork and have mistaken it for entertainment. Guilliman is devastated but supportive. “What is your decree, my regent?” They scribble on paper. “More cookies.” “A popular measure but logistically complex.” The child stamps the paper with a wooden block. “Approved.” He reads it (it’s mostly spirals) and treats it as legally binding. Soon the entire household has been reorganized according to toddler law.

Guilliman starts drafting an implementation framework and the child puts a sticker on his forehead. “You work for me.” He smiles softly. “I always have.” Later, someone asks why there is a formal memo titled Household Edict Regarding Mandatory teddy bear Attendance. “It passed through the proper channels.” Guilliman replies.

Mortarion Mortarion’s child wants to play garden and he takes it extremely seriously. They go outside to a patch of stubborn soil and strange herbs, he shows them which plants are poisonous, which are medicinal and which ones bite back if you insult them. He lets them wear tiny gloves and dig holes, the child names every worm and Mortarion remembers every worm name. “This is Sir Wiggle.” “Sir Wiggle is strong.” Mortarion says gravely.

They make him wear a flower crown and he stares into the distance like a man enduring public execution but doesn’t remove it. A Death Guard marine sees him and immediately looks away with survival instincts. “You’re pretty” the child says. “Unlikely” he mutters. They add more flowers. He sits there, enormous and grim, covered in daisies, holding a watering can the size of a teacup. “The garden smells nice.” the child says. Mortarion, who has never once been associated with a pleasant smell in his life, quietly decides this is the finest garden in the galaxy.

Magnus the Red Magnus’s child wants a bedtime story and he is delighted. “Once, before the first turning of the empyrean spheres-” He begins. “Princess.” They interrupt. Magnus adjusts. “Once, before the first turning of the empyrean spheres, there was a princess-” “Dragon.” “-and a dragon, who represented the eternal hunger of hidden knowledge-” “No, daddy, silly dragon.”

Magnus pauses, this is advanced literary critique. He changes course, the dragon now wears a hat, the child approves. He conjures glowing images in the air of castles, stars, moons and tiny dancing frogs. The child keeps demanding more frogs, the story becomes less about destiny and more about frog politics. Magnus is deeply invested.

“And thus the princess declared that all frogs should have equal access to cake.” The child nods already sleepy. “Good.” Magnus lowers his voice. “The kingdom rejoiced.” He keeps whispering the story for another hour because he wants to know what happens next.

Horus Horus’s kid wants to play king, dangerously charismatic dad mode activated. The child puts a blanket around his shoulders. “You’re the king.” He bows his head. “And you?” “I’m the boss.” Horus laughs so hard he nearly falls over. “Of course you are.”

The child immediately begins issuing commands and Horus obeys all of them, the warmaster of the great crusade crawls across the floor pretending to be a horse. The Mournival walks in and Horus is wearing a blanket cape, carrying a stuffed animal court and negotiating peace between two dolls. Abaddon opens his mouth and Horus points at him. “Careful, the boss is in a decisive mood.” The child points the spoon at Abaddon. “Dance.” He dances. Horus has never been prouder.

Lorgar Lorgar’s child wants to play school so they line up the stuffed animals in rows and give Lorgar a tiny chair. The chair is made for a child so he sits on the floor instead, knees folded, enormous and reverent. The child points at him with a crayon. “You are the student.” Lorgar clasps his hands. “I am ready to receive wisdom.” They draw a circle on paper. “This is the sun.” “A symbol of illumination, revelation, and divine constancy.” Lorgar nods solemnly.

He is given homework, he needs to draw a cat. Lorgar draws an anatomically perfect feline surrounded by radiant script, golden halos and seventeen lines of devotional commentary. “No, daddy, the cat is supposed to be silly.” Lorgar takes this correction with the seriousness of a condemned prophet and draws a second cat. It has crossed eyes, four whiskers on one side and legs like noodles. “Good job!” The child beams. Lorgar’s soul nearly leaves his body. No sermon, no conquest, no cathedral, no burning truth whispered by gods has ever struck him so deeply as his kid saying good job. He carefully tapes the silly cat drawing to the wall.

“My lord, is this significant?” Erebus sees it later and asks. Lorgar turns slowly. “It’s my finest work.”

Vulkan The child wants to play kitchen and Vulkan immediately puts on a tiny apron. It doesn’t fit and looks like a napkin tied to a mountain. “We make soup.” The child gave him a wooden spoon and a plastic bowl. “What kind?” “Rock soup.” A single pebble is placed in the bowl and he looks at it with deep respect. “A hearty meal.”

They add leaves, buttons and one toy lizard. Vulkan stirs carefully with his huge hands, moving like he is handling sacred glass. Vulkan pretends to taste and the child's eyes widen. “By the fires of Nocturne, it’s incredible.”

The child declares it perfect, climbs into his lap and feeds him imaginary soup for twenty minutes. Vulkan eats every spoonful and says thank you each time.

Corvus Corax The child wants to play shadow puppets, finally a game made for him. They sit in a dim room with a candle, Corvus makes a bird with his hands and they gasp. He makes a wolf, they clap. He makes a bat, a dragon, a tiny dancing man and something that may be a symbol of imperial oppression but the child thinks it is a bunny so it’s a bunny now. Then they try, their puppet is just a blob. Corvus leans close. “A perfect raven.” The child beams and he is destroyed.

Later they play sneak up. Corvus hears it every time, the child is breathing loudly, giggling and stepping on every creaky board but each time they jump out yelling boo Corvus throws himself backward dramatically like he has been mortally wounded. “You have slain me.” They cackle and poke him. “Again.” Corvus resurrects. This continues until they fall asleep on his cloak.

Alpharius Omegon The child wants to play guessing games. One of them stands in front of her. “Which one am I?” They squints. “Daddy.” “Yes, but which Daddy?” They point. “That one.” “Correct.” The other twin, from behind the sofa: “How?” The kid shrugs. “You smell like sneaky.” Both twins are delighted and offended.

They decide to play with dolls. Every doll has a secret identity, the tea party has three false locations, the teddy bear is a double agent and the stuffed duck has been replaced by an identical stuffed duck. The kid follows none of this and simply feeds everyone pretend cake.

He knows what he must do, though he's not sure he has the heart to do it. Which means he must do it.

"Hey, there you are" Your voice comes from behind him. "What are you doing?"

He turns his gaze from the far horizon, and finds you hovering in the doorway to your home, looking up at him with a softness only you had ever showed him.

"Leaving."

You blink, your head tilting to the side.

"What?" Your voice is still light, filled with confusion. The weight of his answer has not yet settled upon you.

He looks away, knowing that if he did not, he would falter.

"I am leaving. And I do not expect I will return."

Silence. He can imagine how your expression must shift as his words etch into your memory. How it's twisting in further confusion, then realization and heartbreak.

"I don't...understand. Have I- have I done something wrong?"

He cements himself further into his spot, forcing himself with every bit of willpower he has to not turn and face you. To not throw himself at your feet and beg you forget he ever said anything. To not stay.

"No," He will not, however, let you believe that you are the one in the wrong. "No, you have done nothing more than be everything I wanted. Everything I needed. You- your crime is your perfection, nothing more."

You make a soft broken confused noise. He continues speaking.

"It is...my own fault. When I first came to this place, I had not thought myself capable of this kind of attachment. But then you fell into my hands and suddenly I ached for more than what I was given. More than what I deserved."

He takes a breath. It's shaky. Weak.

"This is not the life I was made for. Your peace and comfort are not meant for someone like me. I was created for war. To be bathed in darkness and blood for the sake of the Imperium and all it's people. To consume and conquer planets at the behest of my father The Emperor, and to guard what we have already taken. If I stay here, with you, I..."

Another breath. Another mental reminder to remain firm. That this was the best decision to be made for both of you.

"I would abandon everything. I would bring about the wrath of my father and brothers and I would lose you and everything we have built together in ways I cannot bring myself to imagine."

He swallows, and finally dares to turn- wishing immediately that he hadn't. The sight of your tears makes him ill.

"I am leaving because that is the safest option for you. If I could, I would stay here at your side for the end of time itself. I would help you build your garden and carry your groceries and sleep in peace with your warmth next to me. But I cannot. And I cannot bring you with me."

He looks away again, unable to take another painful second of your sadness.

"This is...this is my final goodbye to you."

He should move now. Should begin walking away, leaving you behind for good. He would not come back to you after this- he would not allow it. Because if he did, he knew that he would never want to part from you in any way again.

But he doesn't. He stands there, frozen, like a fool, and just listens to your sniffles and soft sobs from behind him. He lets you shuffle closer to him, flinching when he feels the weight of you as you try to wrap around him.

"Please," You whimper. "Please don't go."

"I must-" His voice breaks in a way it never truly has, his own tears forming, but not falling. He would not cry in front of you- not if he could help it. He swallows, then clears his throat, and tries again. "I must."

You sob his name, and something inside him breaks irreparably. He will never forget that sound.

"I have a duty- one that if I do not return to soon, will eventually come knocking and I- I cannot bear the thought of what happens then. I love you, more than I will ever be able to say. I will carry the memory of you with me until my final breath, and there will be no other that will ever fill the hole you will leave in my heart."

His face burns with traitorous tears.