#tech priest of mars
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sleepyfan-blog · 1 year ago
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Interviews
Author’s Note: This is the next part of the Big E raises the primarchs AU! First. Previous. Next. A big thanks to @plagueparchments, @undeaddream, @kit-williams and @bleedingichorhearts for allowing me to borrow their OCs for this fic! Please rb and support their artistic endeavors!
word count: 5,041 this fic got away from meeeeee
Warnings: none? Please tell me if I need to tag something
Tagged: : @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @sharenadraculea @whorety-k @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan 
Summary: Valdor interviews some candidates to become primary caretakers for the infant primarchs.
Valdor sent out a coded message, asking all  those above a certain clearance level who were not currently assigned to high priority missions to arrive at his office at their earliest convenience in order to discuss a top-secret medium term mission that required discretion, finesse and care. He has already spoken to over a dozen of his fellow custodes, high ranking mortal military officers, admech and civilian mortal staff… Along with the occasional Terran noble. None of them had the qualities that he was looking for as of yet. 
There was a light knock on the door and Valdor called out neutrally “Come in.” A flash of surprise shot through him as Pariah Almach walked into his office. 
“As you say, captain-general. The mission details on the call you sent out were light on details, but I’m… Curious and willing to serve.” The tanned man stated, tucking a stray lock of dark brown hair behind one of his ears and lightly rubbing one of the facial scars on his lower cheek, golden eyes flicking up to Valdor’s face before looking away respectfully.
“There is a reason for that. I have a series of questions to ask you, which I stress you must answer as truthfully and honestly as you can. There are no incorrect answers, but they will determine  your fitness for the mission. If I deem you a potential candidate, I will inform you of the mission details. Due to the nature of the mission it is strictly voluntary, however if you decline the mission, the lord sigilite will remove your memories of the specifics of the mission for the safety of the mission. Do you understand?” Valdor asks, making sure to be upfront. This was the first hurdle that had more than half of the potential candidates who had arrived so far to decline the mission and leave. 
“I understand, Captain-general. I am ready to answer your questions and pass whatever tests are necessary.” The powerful blank answered with a serious and determined nod. 
“Excellent. How much experience do you have working with young children? Specifically infants and toddlers?” Valdor asked, watching him carefully.
Almach blinked rapidly a couple of times, visibly confused before answering “As a child and a teenager, I had many younger siblings I was raised alongside. As one of the eldest, part of my duties were to care for and protect the little ones as best as I could. I haven’t any formal childcare training, but I’ve got a good few years of experience with children of all ages, including infants, sir.”
Valdor noted that down on his dataslate and continued “How do you feel about potentially interacting closely with psykers who will start out wholly untrained due to their nature, as well as those who are closely attuned to the Warp because of their nature?”
Almach shifted a little in his seat “As a Blank of some strength and training, I have dealt with out of control psykers by exerting my own abilities to nullify their own, sir. As long as the psykers don’t attack me for existing, I think I would be able to get along with them well enough… Though I’d need to be away from them for the psykers to learn how to use their powers, if that’s something in the cards for those psykers.” He’s aware that not all psykers who are found by the Emperor’s forces are allowed to continue to live and are brought under his banner. Those tainted are killed to prevent further contamination. Even if the psyker themself is unaware of the darkness they’ve brushed.
Valdor nods, asking several more childcare related questions before saying “I believe that, despite your status as a Blank, you would be a good fit for this mission. As you are aware, The Emperor has many projects going in order to further unify and strengthen humanity. One of these is the Primarch Project. Twenty-one genetically and psychically hand-crafted human infants by The Emperor and each with a multidisciplinary team of the brightest scientific minds who could be found on Terra, created to lead the Legiones Astartes. Most of those scientific minds have been reassigned to the Astartes project, with a couple of the medical staff on hand at any time of the day or night in case the genetically altered infants require medical attention.’
The captain general paused for several seconds before continuing to explain “They were originally to stay in their incubation chambers until their physical maturity was that of a toddler, but strong visions prompted The Emperor to pull them from their tubes early and bring them to a secure wing of the palace. One of these infant generals is a Blank, though how powerful he will be has yet to be seen. Should you accept this mission, you will be assigned the primary caretaker for primarch eleven, the Pariah Primarch. He does not have a name other than Primarch Eleven yet. Your duties would involve the total physical and emotional care of primarch eleven while he grows from an infant to a toddler, which should take up to two years. One of the fail safes that the Emperor put in place in each of the primarchs was to ensure that they would physically mature faster when exposed to danger. You may also be assigned to care for primarchs Five and/or Seven, depending on how many qualified people I find for this mission. What say you?”
Almach swallowed dryly. Could he raise one to three children for war and bloodshed? Admittedly, that’s what they were made for, and his own hands were dripping in the blood of others. He was also keenly aware of what it was like to be a Blank surrounded by non-blanks. How lonely and aching that could get. He would do his duty, despite the guilt that bit at his heart “I will, captain-general. When do I start?”
“Do you have any loose ends to wrap up? Otherwise you will start immediately, and you will be living in the same section of the Imperial Palace as  your ward or wards.” Valdor revealed. 
Almach shook his head “I have no loose ends, sir. Am I allowed to pack a couple of mementos before being transferred to the palace, sir?”
“You are. One of the Golden Host will accompany you to your apartment and aid you in packing, take the rest of the day to get ready.” Valdor ordered. “Oh, and you will be given a week of childcare training before being introduced to your charge or charges.”
“Yes sir.” Almach responded, nodding. He’s not surprised he’s going to be watched while having such information in his head. He got up and headed off, mind running in many different directions at once.
~
There was a light, efficient knock on Valdor’s door, soon after Almach left and he called out “Come in, please.”
“Yes sir.” Apollo responded, quietly walking in, closing the door behind him and sitting down when Valdor silently gestured for him to do so. “I received your call for a highly secretive, multi-year mission? I am here to present myself for it. What do I need to do, sir?”
“Before I tell you about the mission, I have several questions to ask of  you. There are no correct answers, merely the truthful answers you have. If I decide that you are unfit for the mission it is not due to a fault you possess, merely a mismatch in abilities and needs of the mission. Understood?” Valdor clarified, knowing that some of his fellow Custodians would take a rejection of any mission as a failing on their part.
“I understand sir, and I am ready to answer any question  you have.” The Dread Spear responds, lifting his chin a little and squaring his shoulders.
“Excellent. Now, I will ask you a series of hypothetical questions and I want you to answer them to the best of your abilities.” The captain general instructed, before he cleared his throat and stated “You are guarding a very young and willful charge that has shown signs of willfulness and a prickly disposition. They are being difficult and refusing to do what you have told them to in order to keep them safe. What do you do?”
“I remove them from whatever the source of danger is, or I eliminate the danger, depending on whatever is the swiftest option. Is this a bodyguarding mission, sir? I… Do not have experience with such things. I thought the Aquiilan Shields took those missions solely.” Apollo murmured, shifting ever so slightly in his seat.
“This particular mission is set to last for at minimum two years and will be taking place within the Imperial Palace itself, Apollo. There are a number of other… Considerations that caused me to widen the pool of potential candidates. How well can you adapt to humans with enhanced and altered instincts?” Valdor asked.
Apollo thought about the question for a couple of moments before asking “Are you talking about the approved abhuman strains? I have worked alongside different kinds of abhumans before, sir. While they may be a perversion of true humanity, so long as they are willing to serve the emperor, I have no qualms with them.. And as long as their instincts do not get in the way of the mission, they don’t particularly bother me either, sir.”
Valdor hummed, writing down what the younger Custodian said, tapping the stylus thoughtfully against the dataslate before saying “Before I explain this mission it must be said that this information must be kept in the absolute strictest of confidence. Do not breathe a word of this outside of the imperial palace, even among our fellow custodes, even if you know that they are also aware of this duty. If you feel you cannot keep such silence, speak now and you will be removed from the duty roster.”
“I can keep this silent, captain-general.” Apollo answered, shifting a little in his seat again, leaning forward slightly, intensely curious. He’d recently arrived back from a kill mission and had noticed that some of the golden host were abuzz about something, yet they could not or would not say whenever he approached to speak with them. 
Valdor quickly explained about the changes in the Primarch project, and that the infant primarchs had been removed from their incubation chambers and moved to a different heavily guarded and warded section of the Imperial Palace for their own safety, and finishing with “This particular posting would have you taking care of the needs of one or more of the infant primarchs directly. Tending to their physical needs and ensuring that they are adequately emotionally and mentally stimulated as well. You cannot become emotionally attached to your charge or charge. If you feel that you are, come to me and you will be reassigned.”
“I… Infant care is not something I have been trained on, sir and is outside of my realm of expertise. But I feel that I can maintain proper emotional distance from the Primarchs, and should be able to care for whichever one or more of them I am assigned to tend to.” Apollo answered honestly.
“You will be given childcare training for the next week, and then introduced to your charge. I’m sure that you will do well, Apollo.” Valdor murmured, nodding.  
~
Valdor called out, "Come in," As he heard a quiet knock on his door, ignoring the desire to pinch the bridge of his nose. He'd dealt with a half dozen nosy and unfit nobles who had only wanted to know what the mission was. As they had no intention of actually completing the mission he did not tell them. Not that their whining and fussing... and the fact that His Imperial Majesty had shown up to court lat. Again. And with a small dirty towel over one of his shoulders... Rumors abound in regards to why, and he knew that he would need to head those rumors off sooner, rather than later. It was a job for future him, but he's noted down to get done after the initial interviews were done. 
"What is the mission you are seeking to staff, sir?" Zedkiel asked, standing attentively near the door. The Terrab born Raven Guard watching with dark and inquisitive eyes. 
"Before I tell you, I have questions for you to answer first, and the warning that if you are selected for this mission, you cannot tell any of your brothers the mission... And that you'll have limited to time to even contact them over the vox, due to the nature of the mission. If you wish to withdraw now, you may," Valdor explains evenly, watching the other trans-human carefully. 
"I am used to being out of contact with my Brothers for long periods of time during missions, The Raven Guard are primarily trained in stealth, assassinations, and misdirection after all. I will answer your questions to the best of my abilities." Zedkiel murmured, resolute. 
"Good. Now. How do you handle interpersonal conflict? How do you handle discipline of others under your sway? How do you adapt under high pressure situations where you cannot resort to violence?" The Captain General asked. 
Zedkiel was now very intensely curious as to what this mission could possible be about, but restrained the hundreds of inquiries that The Captain General's questions spawned in his mind. He took his time to ponder each question before answering. "I try and find ground with whoever I am in conflict with, to come to a compromise that all involved can live with, if not happy about. As for discipline, I find that corporal punishment leads to long-term issues and prefer to correct problems using more constructive methods. I find redirection and positive reinforcement of the correct behaviors to be a more effective, sir." 
Zedkiel was aware that a number of Commanders and Officers preferred to use the rod and sticks liberally, but he had found that Carrots and gentle correction had much better long-term results, even if it took longer to get unruly Scouts into line, than beatings and terror tactics. "As for high stress non-violent situations, I deal with them by first assessing the situation ato determine the source, and how I might be able to solve or stop the stress. How I would do that depends on the kind of stressor or stressors present, Sir."
Valdor wrote down what Zedkiel said, a considering expression appearing on his face. He was quite certain if he offered a spot for the Astartes on the mission, that Zedkiel would accept without pause. To b able to meet his tiny Primarch. But would he be a good caretaker? From what Valdor knew of the younger trans-human's mission history and personality... The other may be a tad indulgent, but given that he knew that Apollo would be Strict... A gentler hand and limited Astartes exposure should be fine for the infant warlords. "If you refuse this mission after I give you the details, they will be wiped from your mind, for safety and security reasons. Do you understand?" 
"Yes sir. I am ready," The raven guard responded, posture straightening minutely. "The Primarchs were pulled from their incubation chambers as infants for security reasons. They have been moved to a secure wing of the palace and require full time caretakers. Will you be one of them?" Valdor explains deliberately keeping his face neutral. 
Zedkiel's eyes widened a little in shock before the Astartes spoke, voice cracking a little in eagerness, "I would be honored to help care for any of the Primarchs why they are so young." Valdor inclined his head, the corners of his lips quirking up a fraction of a centimeter before flattening again, He's unsurprised by the other's eagerness, "Of those I've interviewed today, you are one of three candidates I've found acceptable for their care team so far. Tie up any loose ends that you have today, then report to Imperial Office 156 on Beta level for training. You and the other caretakers will receive one week of child care training." 
"Yes sir," Zedkiel murmured, saluting Valdor and leaving once dismissed. 
~
"Come on in," Valdor called out as another person knocked on his office door. He had taken just long enough of a break to eat and stretch his legs a little before returning to the desk that His Emperor had given him. 
"Yes sir," Another of the Golden Host murmured, stepping into the room and sitting down. She removed her helmet and massaged her horns, looking him over, a small smirk appearing on her face, "Long day, cap? Just what is this mission? Half the palace is talking about what it might be, or so it feels like." She shook hout her dark hair as she spoke. 
"The mission is highly classified, " Valdor responded before he gave her the same warnings he had given about the secrecy and security level that this mission was and an offer for her to back out before continuing, as well as the pre-screening questions. 
Baphomet flashed him a challenging grin, eyes alight with interest as she leaned over his desk a little, "Oooh, now you've got my attention sir! It's gotta be something special with this kind of security involved. Ask your questions Boss, I'm ready!" 
Valdor cleared his throat a little before answering with several questions in a rapid response, "Do you have any experience dealing with untrained psykers in a non-violent way? How experienced are you with dealing with those who see glimpses of possible futures? How well do you interact with Blanks?"
Baphomet hummed a little, scratching at the base of one of her horns, leaning back in her chair, kicking her feet before answering, "I've corralled untrained psykers before. Especially given how most baseline psykers tend to be squishy. I can usually scruff them if I need to without much issue. Blanks freak me out a little, but the Sisters do important work. As long as the Blank or Blanks in question aren't shitty to me. I'm fine with 'em. But you know how some baselines get with my mutations. I won't tolerate any whining. Oh! I dunno much about seers, though." 
... Considering that Nine had an obvious mutation he couldn't be able to easily hide. Baphomry might be an excellent fit for him as a primary caretaker, despite her disciplinary history. Valdor gives her one more chance to back out of the mission- to which Baphomet flashes him a grin and laughs. He explains about the infant Primarchs, concluding with, "one of them has bird-like wings and future sight. Almost half of them exhibit warp-touched abilities regularly. And all but three of them have shown at least one warp-touched abilities once after being removed from incubation. Are you willing to be a caretaker for the infant Primarchs?" 
Baphomet's eyes widen in surprise and delight as she shot up to her feet, "That sounds line an absolute riot! Fuck yes, I'm up for the challenging mission! I haven't had ... any experience with itty bitties, but I know you. I'm getting kiddie care training before being unleashed on them. I'm absolutely up for it!" The younger Custodes was bouncing a little on the balls of her feet, radiating excitement. 
Valdor nods, a small smile, which he allows to, appearing on his face amused by her exuberance as he instructed her, "Deal with anything you need to. Caring for the infant Primarchs will last for two years at minimum. Possibly longer, depending on how much of a handful they are as toddlers. Report to room 156 on Beta level tomorrow to begin the week long child care course."
"Aye aye sir!" Baphomet chirped before prancing out of the room, grinning widely and helmet in hand. 
There was a quick, rapid knock on Valdor's office door.
"Enter," The Captain General instructed, mildly curious as to who would next present themself for consideration. The fact, as it stood, the caretaking team was half Custodes, did not show any bias on his part, but rather due to the fact that Custodians were likely the best suited to handle infant warp creations meant to Lead Sector-claiming armies when they were fragile and at their weakest. 
There was a rapid clicking sound as a Martian Tech Priest crawled along one wall of Valdor's office. through the door that they were closing with their tail. The Mechanicum's cultist waved a heavily modified hand in Valdor's direction. 
"Uhm. Greetings. Why are you here?" Valdor asked bluntly, pulling out the language translation app on his data slate, ignoring the rising frustration clawing at his mind. 
The Tech Priest clicked rapidly at him for several seconds. The translation software wrote out for him [Here for Assignment. High Priority and Security Level. Serve Omnissiah.]
 ...Great. Sure. Uh-huh. Not. “I see. Do you have other methods of conversation, or is this auditory clicking your only method of communication?” On one hand, it might be good for the infant primarchs to interact with a member of the Mechanicus, and to know that there was a varied methods of communications.. Would it be prudent to allow a member of their tentative allies so close to such a vulnerable resource? Even if several of his fellow Custodes would be present when this priest was as well?
[Singular method of communication.] The priest clicked rapidly, head tilting a little to one side. [Translation simple with helmet and vox-communication systems.]
“While that is true, if you are picked for this mission, not everyone you will need to communicate with has access to a helmet or vox to translate the sounds you are making. Regardless, I have other questions to ask of you, before you receive the details of this mission, if I deem you a fit match. This mission is highly secret and you would not be able to inform anyone else of receiving this mission any of the details. I was handed the task of stocking the best people by the Emperor Himself. Very few people are aware of this mission as it is. If you refuse to take the mission if you learn of the details, your memories of such will be erased permanently. Do you understand?” Valdor responds, leaning over his desk and looming at the tech priest, gaze narrow and focused.
[Understood. Will answer queries. Serve Omnisiah.] The tech priest beeped response. [Will serve faithfully and keep silence.]
Valdor nodded, looking over the list of questions he had and began with “This mission will take a minimum of two years, and will involve a great deal of physical, mental and emotional discretion and effort on the parts of the team members. Do you have any experiences with caring for and disciplining delicate sentient resources? If so, please give examples. Additionally, if you are chosen for this position while you will not want for any resource you may need to successfully complete this mission, are you able to discern between a need that is not being properly fulfilled and a want or desire in your charge that they are trying to emotionally or mentally attempting to manipulate from you?”
[I have worked with tech-priests in training, after they are released from their vat tubes. They can be unruly as their weak flesh can overwhelm them with sensation and stimuli. Routines, training and careful praise/punishment system is effective in keeping them in line. Before they have been fully brought into the fold, some of the young priests in training can get… Stubborn and unruly. I have dealt with youthful manipulations in the past with a firm hand, when interacting with them. Logic and not yielding to yelling or other emotional appeals is important while training and interacting with such resources.] The tech priest - whose name escaped Valdor at the moment - clicked at a steady tempo.
Valdor hummed as he wrote down the other’s response. The lack of regular communication was a bit of a hindrance, but his responses were illuminating and could prove to be most useful in dealing with the infant primarchs. That and they would need to get used to the strangeness of the Mechanicum quickly, so early exposure wasn’t a bad  idea. “Very well. This is your last chance to back out before I explain to you the mission parameters. If you do decide to back out, it will not be held against you in any way.”
[I am ready to serve.] the tech priest clicked.
The captain-general nodded, before explaining the success of the primarch project, and the fact that the infant generals had been pulled out of their maturation tubes as infants due to security concerns, and the fact that the tech priest - amongst others - would be tending to their physical and emotional needs during such a vulnerable point in time, as well as the week long child care training the priest would be taking before being introduced to his charges, finishing with “Currently all of the primarchs are being cared for in a single room together, though that is subject to change, particularly as they grow older and their requirements change. Do you accept this duty?”
[I would be honored, Captain-general.] The tech priest beeped back, his tail flicking a little. 
“Good. Finish up any tasks you have today.” Valdor ordered him, informing the tech priest as to where to report to for training tomorrow.
~
“Sir, are you still looking for candidates for that high priority, top-secret mission?” Adonis asks as he peers into Valdor’s room, where the captain-general of the Adeptus Custodes is sitting, staring at his dataslate as if he hopes it has the questions to all the questions in his mind.
Valdor looked up at Adonis as he spoke and beckoned him inside with a curl of one finger “That I am. I have found some who qualify, but ideally I’d have one or two more on the team to fill it out competently.” He was still somewhat hesitant in including the tech priest in the group… But from what he had read over of Tiny’s service history, the priest should be a good fit, if a mildly mischievous caretaker. 
“I see. What qualifications are you looking for, sir?” The Aquilan Shield asked, tilting his head a little in curiosity as he obeyed the silent order to come into the other’s office and sit down. 
While Valdor had been tempted to simply assig the infant Primarchs a team of Aquilan Shields - particularly those who had been previously assigned young charges in the past, he was also aware of the… Mixed feelings that the Primarchs provoked in many of his fellow Custodes. Mixed feelings that Valdor knew he himself was not exempt from. “I have several questions to ask of  you, as well as a warning to give to you.” He informed the other of the length of the mission, if he refused it that the memories would be taken from his mind, and that Adonis was free to decline the mission with no repercussions.
“Ask your questions, sir. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t ready to complete such a mission.” Adonis answered stalwartly, chin lifting up a little, resolute.
“How have you handled medical emergencies that occur to your charges in the past? When one of them fell seriously ill, for example.” Valdor responds. He knew that Adonis had never allowed any of his charges to come to harm during the course of his duties,but illness was an unfortunate thing that happened to baselines. While it was exceedingly unlikely that the infant primarchs could get sick with normal illnesses, and the palace was well-guarded against magical curses and maladies…
They were still gene-crafted infants, and while they were definitely heartier than any natural born infant, there was still the possibility of something unfortunate happening to one or more of them. 
“Fifty years ago, one of my charges fell critically ill. I realized their symptoms and brought them to one of my brother apothercaries who had training in treating the illness that they had fallen prey to. Once they had the medications they required I monitored them closely for signs of relapse or worsening condition, while ensuring that they complied with the medical orders and restrictions they’d been given. I personally ensured that they got all of the nutrients, electrolytes and water they needed in the form of a nutritious but easily consumed soup. Under my care they swiftly and fully recovered from their illness.” Adonis answered promptly “While they were resistant to fully complying, I allowed them to move a little more than recommended in order to get them to consume the soup I created for them without fuss. A little bit of compromise goes a long way to compliance in my experience.”
Valdor nodded as he noted that down, a reflective expression appearing on his face. “I will ask you once more, do you wish to withdraw your name from consideration? If you do not, I will explain the mission parameters.”
“I am ready to serve, sir.” The Aquilan Shield responds, alert and inquisitive.
The captain-general explained to Adonis about how the primarchs had been pulled from their maturation chambers as infants, where they had been placed, adn the fact that his Majesty had been the one primarily taking care of the infants, before realizing that to take care of so many infants at once would effectively prevent him from continuing to reunify the Sol system, amongst His many other duties that had begun to fall to the wayside. Which was why he had assigned Valdor to find appropriate caretakers for the infant primarchs. He finished with “Are you willing to care for the infant primarchs, while they are so weak and vulnerable?”
Adonis nodded “I would be willing to do so, sir. I am well aware of His plans for them in the future and will do my best to guard and guide them, should I be chosen for this mission.”
Valdor nodded, saying “Excellent. I will give you the rest of the day to tie up any loose ends you may have. Report to room 156 on Beta level tomorrow to begin the week long child care course.” 
“Yes sir.” Adonis acknowledged before leaving with a brief salute.
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phoenix-kingz · 4 months ago
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Lil chibi tech priest I got commissioned to draw
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cursedbeasts · 9 days ago
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Secutor Dahan from Forges of Mars mural
Commissions!
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buffmrtumnus · 4 months ago
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Fight for the Omnissiah
Kill for the Saint
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jaal-ama-daravv · 1 year ago
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Omnissiah Forgive Me - Chapter 3 - WIP
An evocation came flooding back to Pasqal in an instant. A fleeting moment on the battlefield just a few moons ago. 'Enemies were closing in, firing upon Pasqal and Kassard as they crouched behind a large concrete barrier. Kassard tried to be the daring commissar she is, and Pasqal was having none of it. As Kassard began to shuffle to take aim at their enemies, Pasqal’s mechadendrite launched towards her and gripped on to her thick leather collared garment and aggressively dragged her back down. She was now engulfed in his stance. His blood pressure rose greatly. The mechadendrite released its grip and Pasqal threw his arm across her chest - only death would release it - and pulled her into him as he peaked the barrier and dispatched the remainder of their enemies. The pair locked eyes and exchanged several moments of long, dragged out breaths as the adrenaline wore off.'  Kassard laid neatly tucked in the space between Pasqal’s forearm and bicep - the heat radiated off his metal chest, the gears whirred - she trembled whilst in his embrace and whispered, “You didn’t have to do that…” “I had no choice, Lord Captain.” His voice shook, and his vox hissed.  It was in that moment that Pasqal wondered if he should be grateful, or should curse the fact that despite his servitude to the Omnissiah, his heart was no longer sheltered inside his metal plated chest - it now took form in the shape of the Lord Captain. [x]
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hamstergod · 1 year ago
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a friend sent me a nikke crown creature art sitting in a chair and he was like someone should draw Galatea like this so I did it for the glory of the Omnissiah
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bittermin · 2 years ago
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why did no one tell me quantum computers looked like that
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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 months ago
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There Were Always Enshittifiers
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I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in DC TONIGHT (Mar 4), and in RICHMOND TOMORROW (Mar 5). More tour dates here. Mail-order signed copies from LA's Diesel Books.
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My latest Locus column is "There Were Always Enshittifiers." It's a history of personal computing and networked communications that traces the earliest days of the battle for computers as tools of liberation and computers as tools for surveillance, control and extraction:
https://locusmag.com/2025/03/commentary-cory-doctorow-there-were-always-enshittifiers/
The occasion for this piece is the publication of my latest Martin Hench novel, a standalone book set in the early 1980s called "Picks and Shovels":
https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865908/picksandshovels
The MacGuffin of Picks and Shovels is a "weird PC" company called Fidelity Computing, owned by a Mormon bishop, a Catholic priest, and an orthodox rabbi. It sounds like the setup for a joke, but the punchline is deadly serious: Fidelity Computing is a pyramid selling cult that preys on the trust and fellowship of faith groups to sell the dreadful Fidelity 3000 PC and its ghastly peripherals.
You see, Fidelity's products are booby-trapped. It's not merely that they ship with programs whose data-files can't be read by apps on any other system – that's just table stakes. Fidelity's got a whole bag of tricks up its sleeve – for example, it deliberately damages a specific sector on every floppy disk it ships. The drivers for its floppy drive initialize any read or write operation by checking to see if that sector can be read. If it can, the computer refuses to recognize the disk. This lets the Reverend Sirs (as Fidelity's owners style themselves) run a racket where they sell these deliberately damaged floppies at a 500% markup, because regular floppies won't work on the systems they lure their parishioners into buying.
Or take the Fidelity printer: it's just a rebadged Oki­data ML-80, the workhorse tractor feed printer that led the market for years. But before Fidelity ships this printer to its customers, they fit it with new tractor feed sprockets whose pins are slightly more widely spaced than the standard 0.5" holes on the paper you can buy in any stationery store. That way, Fidelity can force its customers to buy the custom paper that they exclusively peddle – again, at a massive markup.
Needless to say, printing with these wider sprocket holes causes frequent jams and puts a serious strain on the printer's motors, causing them to burn out at a high rate. That's great news – for Fidelity Computing. It means they get to sell you more overpriced paper so you can reprint the jobs ruined by jams, and they can also sell you their high-priced, exclusive repair services when your printer's motors quit.
Perhaps you're thinking, "OK, but I can just buy a normal Okidata printer and use regular, cheap paper, right?" Sorry, the Reverend Sirs are way ahead of you: they've reversed the pinouts on their printers' serial ports, and a normal printer won't be able to talk to your Fidelity 3000.
If all of this sounds familiar, it's because these are the paleolithic ancestors of today's high-tech lock-in scams, from HP's $10,000/gallon ink to Apple and Google's mobile app stores, which cream a 30% commission off of every dollar collected by an app maker. What's more, these ancient, weird misfeatures have their origins in the true history of computing, which was obsessed with making the elusive, copy-proof floppy disk.
This Quixotic enterprise got started in earnest with Bill Gates' notorious 1976 "open letter to hobbyists" in which the young Gates furiously scolds the community of early computer hackers for its scientific ethic of publishing, sharing and improving the code that they all wrote:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/An_Open_Letter_to_Hobbyists
Gates had recently cloned the BASIC programming language for the popular Altair computer. For Gates, his act of copying was part of the legitimate progress of technology, while the copying of his colleagues, who duplicated Gates' Altair BASIC, was a shameless act of piracy, destined to destroy the nascent computing industry:
As the majority of hobbyists must be aware, most of you steal your software. Hardware must be paid for, but software is something to share. Who cares if the people who worked on it get paid?
Needless to say, Gates didn't offer a royalty to John Kemeny and Thomas Kurtz, the programmers who'd invented BASIC at Dartmouth College in 1963. For Gates – and his intellectual progeny – the formula was simple: "When I copy you, that's progress. When you copy me, that's piracy." Every pirate wants to be an admiral.
For would-be ex-pirate admirals, Gates's ideology was seductive. There was just one fly in the ointment: computers operate by copying. The only way a computer can run a program is to copy it into memory – just as the only way your phone can stream a video is to download it to its RAM ("streaming" is a consensus hallucination – every stream is a download, and it has to be, because the internet is a data-transmission network, not a cunning system of tubes and mirrors that can make a picture appear on your screen without transmitting the file that contains that image).
Gripped by this enshittificatory impulse, the computer industry threw itself headfirst into the project of creating copy-proof data, a project about as practical as making water that's not wet. That weird gimmick where Fidelity floppy disks were deliberately damaged at the factory so the OS could distinguish between its expensive disks and the generic ones you bought at the office supply place? It's a lightly fictionalized version of the copy-protection system deployed by Visicalc, a move that was later publicly repudiated by Visicalc co-founder Dan Bricklin, who lamented that it confounded his efforts to preserve his software on modern systems and recover the millions of data-files that Visicalc users created:
http://www.bricklin.com/robfuture.htm
The copy-protection industry ran on equal parts secrecy and overblown sales claims about its products' efficacy. As a result, much of the story of this doomed effort is lost to history. But back in 2017, a redditor called Vadermeer unearthed a key trove of documents from this era, in a Goodwill Outlet store in Seattle:
https://www.reddit.com/r/VintageApple/comments/5vjsow/found_internal_apple_memos_about_copy_protection/
Vaderrmeer find was a Apple Computer binder from 1979, documenting the company's doomed "Software Security from Apple's Friends and Enemies" (SSAFE) project, an effort to make a copy-proof floppy:
https://archive.org/details/AppleSSAFEProject
The SSAFE files are an incredible read. They consist of Apple's best engineers beavering away for days, cooking up a new copy-proof floppy, which they would then hand over to Apple co-founder and legendary hardware wizard Steve Wozniak. Wozniak would then promptly destroy the copy-protection system, usually in a matter of minutes or hours. Wozniak, of course, got the seed capital for Apple by defeating AT&T's security measures, building a "blue box" that let its user make toll-free calls and peddling it around the dorms at Berkeley:
https://512pixels.net/2018/03/woz-blue-box/
Woz has stated that without blue boxes, there would never have been an Apple. Today, Apple leads the charge to restrict how you use your devices, confining you to using its official app store so it can skim a 30% vig off every dollar you spend, and corralling you into using its expensive repair depots, who love to declare your device dead and force you to buy a new one. Every pirate wants to be an admiral!
https://www.vice.com/en/article/tim-cook-to-investors-people-bought-fewer-new-iphones-because-they-repaired-their-old-ones/
Revisiting the early PC years for Picks and Shovels isn't just an excuse to bust out some PC nostalgiacore set-dressing. Picks and Shovels isn't just a face-paced crime thriller: it's a reflection on the enshittificatory impulses that were present at the birth of the modern tech industry.
But there is a nostalgic streak in Picks and Shovels, of course, represented by the other weird PC company in the tale. Computing Freedom is a scrappy PC startup founded by three women who came up as sales managers for Fidelity, before their pangs of conscience caused them to repent of their sins in luring their co-religionists into the Reverend Sirs' trap.
These women – an orthodox lesbian whose family disowned her, a nun who left her order after discovering the liberation theology movement, and a Mormon woman who has quit the church over its opposition to the Equal Rights Amendment – have set about the wozniackian project of reverse-engineering every piece of Fidelity hardware and software, to make compatible products that set Fidelity's caged victims free.
They're making floppies that work with Fidelity drives, and drives that work with Fidelity's floppies. Printers that work with Fidelity computers, and adapters so Fidelity printers will work with other PCs (as well as resprocketing kits to retrofit those printers for standard paper). They're making file converters that allow Fidelity owners to read their data in Visicalc or Lotus 1-2-3, and vice-versa.
In other words, they're engaged in "adversarial interoperability" – hacking their own fire-exits into the burning building that Fidelity has locked its customers inside of:
https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability
This was normal, back then! There were so many cool, interoperable products and services around then, from the Bell and Howell "Black Apple" clones:
https://forum.vcfed.org/index.php?threads%2Fbell-howell-apple-ii.64651%2F
to the amazing copy-protection cracking disks that traveled from hand to hand, so the people who shelled out for expensive software delivered on fragile floppies could make backups against the inevitable day that the disks stopped working:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bit_nibbler
Those were wild times, when engineers pitted their wits against one another in the spirit of Steve Wozniack and SSAFE. That era came to a close – but not because someone finally figured out how to make data that you couldn't copy. Rather, it ended because an unholy coalition of entertainment and tech industry lobbyists convinced Congress to pass the Digital Millennium Copyright Act in 1998, which made it a felony to "bypass an access control":
https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2016/07/section-1201-dmca-cannot-pass-constitutional-scrutiny
That's right: at the first hint of competition, the self-described libertarians who insisted that computers would make governments obsolete went running to the government, demanding a state-backed monopoly that would put their rivals in prison for daring to interfere with their business model. Plus ça change: today, their intellectual descendants are demanding that the US government bail out their "anti-state," "independent" cryptocurrency:
https://www.citationneeded.news/issue-78/
In truth, the politics of tech has always contained a faction of "anti-government" millionaires and billionaires who – more than anything – wanted to wield the power of the state, not abolish it. This was true in the mainframe days, when companies like IBM made billions on cushy defense contracts, and it's true today, when the self-described "Technoking" of Tesla has inserted himself into government in order to steer tens of billions' worth of no-bid contracts to his Beltway Bandit companies:
https://www.reuters.com/world/us/lawmakers-question-musk-influence-over-verizon-faa-contract-2025-02-28/
The American state has always had a cozy relationship with its tech sector, seeing it as a way to project American soft power into every corner of the globe. But Big Tech isn't the only – or the most important – US tech export. Far more important is the invisible web of IP laws that ban reverse-engineering, modding, independent repair, and other activities that defend American tech exports from competitors in its trading partners.
Countries that trade with the US were arm-twisted into enacting laws like the DMCA as a condition of free trade with the USA. These laws were wildly unpopular, and had to be crammed through other countries' legislatures:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/15/radical-extremists/#sex-pest
That's why Europeans who are appalled by Musk's Nazi salute have to confine their protests to being loudly angry at him, selling off their Teslas, and shining lights on Tesla factories:
https://www.malaymail.com/news/money/2025/01/24/heil-tesla-activists-protest-with-light-projection-on-germany-plant-after-musks-nazi-salute-video/164398
Musk is so attention-hungry that all this is as apt to please him as anger him. You know what would really hurt Musk? Jailbreaking every Tesla in Europe so that all its subscription features – which represent the highest-margin line-item on Tesla's balance-sheet – could be unlocked by any local mechanic for €25. That would really kick Musk in the dongle.
The only problem is that in 2001, the US Trade Rep got the EU to pass the EU Copyright Directive, whose Article 6 bans that kind of reverse-engineering. The European Parliament passed that law because doing so guaranteed tariff-free access for EU goods exported to US markets.
Enter Trump, promising a 25% tariff on European exports.
The EU could retaliate here by imposing tit-for-tat tariffs on US exports to the EU, which would make everything Europeans buy from America 25% more expensive. This is a very weird way to punish the USA.
On the other hand, not that Trump has announced that the terms of US free trade deals are optional (for the US, at least), there's no reason not to delete Article 6 of the EUCD, and all the other laws that prevent European companies from jailbreaking iPhones and making their own App Stores (minus Apple's 30% commission), as well as ad-blockers for Facebook and Instagram's apps (which would zero out EU revenue for Meta), and, of course, jailbreaking tools for Xboxes, Teslas, and every make and model of every American car, so European companies could offer service, parts, apps, and add-ons for them.
When Jeff Bezos launched Amazon, his war-cry was "your margin is my opportunity." US tech companies have built up insane margins based on the IP provisions required in the free trade treaties it signed with the rest of the world.
It's time to delete those IP provisions and throw open domestic competition that attacks the margins that created the fortunes of oligarchs who sat behind Trump on the inauguration dais. It's time to bring back the indomitable hacker spirit that the Bill Gateses of the world have been trying to extinguish since the days of the "open letter to hobbyists." The tech sector built a 10 foot high wall around its business, then the US government convinced the rest of the world to ban four-metre ladders. Lift the ban, unleash the ladders, free the world!
In the same way that futuristic sf is really about the present, Picks and Shovels, an sf novel set in the 1980s, is really about this moment.
I'm on tour with the book now – if you're reading this today (Mar 4) and you're in DC, come see me tonight with Matt Stoller at 6:30PM at the Cleveland Park Library:
https://www.loyaltybookstores.com/picksnshovels
And if you're in Richmond, VA, come down to Fountain Bookshop and catch me with Lee Vinsel tomorrow (Mar 5) at 7:30PM:
https://fountainbookstore.com/events/1795820250305
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If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2025/03/04/object-permanence/#picks-and-shovels
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shiyorin · 5 months ago
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#Thanks @roroco316, your ideas is the best (⁠~⁠ ̄⁠³⁠ ̄⁠)⁠~
#When Primarchs send dick pic to you
#Rogal Dorn/Perturabo x F!Reader (Reader is Imperial Agent)
#RIP Reader
#NSFW, non-con, many things
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The Imperial Palace on Terra hummed with activity, its gilded halls filled with the usual bustle of servitors, tech-priests, and various officials going about their duties. But deep within its labyrinthine structure, in a secluded chamber reserved for one of the Emperor's sons, something decidedly unusual was taking place.
Rogal Dorn, Primarch of the Imperial Fists, is very confused. His massive form, usually the picture of stoic control, now radiated an unfamiliar tension. The Primarch's face was flushed, his breathing heavy, and an uncomfortable tightness had taken up residence in his groin.
Dorn growled in frustration, running a hand through his close-cropped white hair. He didn't understand what was happening to him. Was this some new form of xenos attack? An Enemies of the Imperium plot? Whatever it was, it was interfering with his ability to focus on his duties, and that was unacceptable.
As he turned to pace back across the room, Dorn's eyes fell on the data-slate resting on his desk. An idea formed in his mind, one that both excited and confused him. Perhaps if he documented this strange condition, he could better understand and combat it.
With decisive movements, Dorn strode to the desk and picked up the data-slate. He fumbled with the unfamiliar camera function, his large fingers clumsy on the small device. Finally figuring it out, he positioned the slate and began to remove his armor.
As the ceramite plates fell away, Dorn's impressive physique was revealed. Muscles rippled beneath skin marred by countless battle scars, a testament to millennia of warfare. But it was what lay between his legs that truly captured attention.
Dorn's cock stood at full attention, a monument to masculinity that would make even other Primarchs pause. It jutted proudly from a nest of curls, its girth easily as thick as a mortal man's forearm. Veins pulsed along its length, leading to a swollen head that glistened with pre-cum.
The Primarch's face flushed deeper as he aimed the data-slate's camera at his engorged member. He felt ridiculous, like some kind of deviant, but the urge to capture this moment was overwhelming. With a grunt of determination, Dorn snapped the picture.
Staring at the image on the screen, Dorn felt a mix of embarrassment and... pride? Yes, there was definitely a part of him that was pleased with what he saw. But what to do with it now?
Again, an inexplicable urge seized him. Before he could second-guess himself, Dorn's fingers were flying over the data-slate's interface, sending the image to the one person he felt might be able to help him make sense of this situation: you, the Imperial Agent he'd worked with on several classified missions.
As soon as the image was sent, a wave of mortification washed over Dorn. What had he done? This was completely inappropriate behavior for a Primarch! He needed to explain himself, to provide context for this madness.
Dorn began typing out a message to accompany the image:
"Dear Agent,
I find myself experiencing an unusual physiological response. My genitals have become engorged and I feel an overwhelming urge for physical contact. I believe the most efficient course of action would be for us to engage in sexual intercourse. Please prepare yourself, as I will be arriving at your quarters shortly to address this situation.
Regards, Rogal Dorn"
Satisfied that he had explained himself clearly and concisely, Dorn hit send. He then began to reassemble his armor, his movements hurried and clumsy in his eagerness to reach your quarters.
Meanwhile, in another part of the palace, you were reviewing reports when your data-slate chimed with an incoming message. Expecting more mission briefings, you casually glanced at the screen - and nearly dropped the device in shock.
There, filling your entire display, was the most impressive cock you'd ever laid eyes on. Your mouth went dry as you took in its massive size, the way it curved slightly upward, the prominent veins that promised to make you feel every inch when it was buried inside you...
You shook your head, trying to clear the sudden fog of lust that had descended. Who in the Emperor's name would send you such a thing? Your question was answered moments later as a text message popped up.
As you read Rogal Dorn's blunt, matter-of-fact explanation, your eyes widened in disbelief. "???" you muttered, re-reading the message to make sure you weren't hallucinating. Rogal Dorn, the Praetorian of Terra, had just sent you a dick pic and was now on his way to fuck you?
Before you could fully process this turn of events, a thunderous knock echoed through your quarters. Your heart leapt into your throat as you realized Dorn hadn't been exaggerating about coming right away.
With trembling hands, you smoothed down your uniform and went to answer the door. It slid open to reveal the towering form of Rogal Dorn, but your eyes were immediately drawn lower, to the massive bulge straining against the Primarch's codpiece.
"Agent," Dorn rumbled, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. "I trust you received my message and are prepared to assist me with this... situation."
You swallowed hard, your gaze alternating between Dorn's intense eyes and the promise of what lay beneath his clothes. "I... yes, my lord. Please, come in."
As Dorn ducked through the doorway, the full impact of his size hit you anew. He was easily twice your height, his broad shoulders nearly brushing both sides of the entrance. The thought of taking his cock - that magnificent beast you'd seen in the picture, made you clench in both fear and anticipation.
'Oh Throne,' you thought, a mix of panic and arousal coursing through you. 'If he puts that thing inside me, I might actually die.'
But as Dorn began to remove his clothes once more, revealing inch after glorious inch of sculpted muscle, you found yourself thinking that there were far worse ways to go.
The Primarch's cock sprang free, even more impressive in person than it had been in the picture. Pre-cum beaded at its tip, and you had to resist the fear when you saw it.
Dorn's eyes raked over your form, dark with a feeling he didn't fully understand. "I find myself... eager to proceed," he said, his usual eloquence deserting him in the face of his overwhelming need. "How shall we begin?"
You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was sure to be the ride of your life. "My lord," you said, your voice suppressed the trembling "why don't you start by showing me exactly what that cock of yours can do?"
A rare smile tugged at the corners of Dorn's mouth as he advanced on you, his massive erection leading the way. "With pleasure, Agent."
As Dorn's large hands wrapped around your waist, lifting you effortlessly, you sent up a silent prayer to the Emperor. May the Emperor protect you.
*****
Perturabo, the Primarch of Iron Warriors, was in a foul mood. His massive form paced the confines of his private chambers, tension radiating from every inch of his superhuman body. But this wasn't his usual anger, no, this was something far more primal and embarrassing.
He was horny. Painfully, achingly horny.
The Primarch growled in frustration, his hand unconsciously drifting to the impressive bulge in his armor. He hated this weakness, this base desire that clouded his thoughts and distracted him from his grand designs. But try as he might, he couldn't shake the burning need that consumed him.
With defeat, Perturabo began to remove his armor, piece by piece. As the last ceramite plate clattered to the floor, he stood naked, his massive cock jutting proudly.
Perturabo's dick was a thing of beauty - if one appreciated monstrous, superhuman genitalia. It stood at an impressive 10 inches when fully erect, thick as a mortal man's wrist, with prominent veins running along its length. The head was a deep, angry purple, already glistening with pre-cum.
Despite his self-loathing, Perturabo couldn't resist wrapping a hand around his throbbing member. He stroked himself slowly, a low groan escaping his lips at the sensation. His other hand reached down to cup his heavy balls.
As he pleasured himself, Perturabo's thoughts drifted to you, the Imperial Agent who had been a thorn in his side. Your fierce intelligence, your unwavering loyalty to the Imperium, your lithe body that he longed to break…
Before he could stop himself, Perturabo grabbed his data-slate. With one hand still working his cock, he snapped a picture of his erect member. The image was intimidating, his massive hand wrap around the shaft, veins bulging, pre-cum dripping from the tip.
Without allowing himself to second-guess, Perturabo sent the image to your personal vox channel.
Instant regret flooded him the moment he hit 'send.' What in the name of the Warp was he thinking? He was a Primarch, a demigod of war, not some pervert sending dick pics!
Frantically, Perturabo tried to recall the message. To his immense relief, the system informed him that the image had been successfully retrieved before you could view it. He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
'You definitely hadn't seen it,' Perturabo thought, a mix of relief and... disappointment? washing over him. How dare you not witness it? The audacity!
Meanwhile, in your quarters aboard an Imperial vessel, you were having a mild panic attack. You had indeed seen the image before it was retrieved, how could you not notice a message from a Primarch? And now you were sweating bullets.
Your hands shook as you typed out a quick response: "Lord Perturabo, I didn't see anything in your last message. Was there something you needed to communicate?"
You hit send and immediately regretted it. What if he took offense? What if he thought you were lying? Oh Emperor, you were so screwed.
Back in his chambers, Perturabo read your message with growing anger. You had seen it. You must have. And now you dared to lie to him? To a Primarch?
With a growl of frustration, Perturabo typed out a scathing reply: "Do not attempt to deceive me, Agent. I know you saw the image. Your dishonesty only compounds your offense."
And then, driven by a mixture of anger, lust, and wounded pride, he reattached the photo of his erect cock to the message and sent it again.
Your eyes widened in shock as your data-slate pinged with a new message. You opened it, praying to every saint you could think of that it wasn't what you feared.
Your prayers went unanswered.
There, filling your screen, was Perturabo's massive member in all its glory. You felt your mouth go dry as you took in the sheer size of it. How was that even possible? It had to be as thick as your forearm!
Despite your fear, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of arousal. You quickly shook your head, trying to dispel such dangerous thoughts. This was Perturabo, for Terra's sake! He'd crush you like a bug if he ever got his hands on you.
With trembling fingers, you typed out another response: "My Lord, I assure you I didn't see anything in your previous message. I would never lie to you."
You hit send and immediately curled into a ball on your bed, praying for a quick and painless death.
Perturabo read your latest message with growing fury. How dare you continue this charade? Did you think him a fool?
"Enough of your lies!" he typed back, his fingers nearly cracking the data-slate's screen. "You will cease this deception immediately, or I will show you the consequences of toying with a Primarch in person."
As he sent the message, a new idea formed in Perturabo's mind. If you insisted on playing dumb, perhaps it was time for a more... hands-on approach to communication.
With a few quick commands, Perturabo accessed the ship's systems. He located your quarters and activated the emergency teleportation protocols. In a flash of blue light, he materialized in your room, still gloriously naked and fully erect.
You screamed in surprise and terror as the massive form of Perturabo appeared before you. You scrambled backwards on your bed, eyes wide as saucers as you took in the Primarch in all his naked glory.
"L-Lord Perturabo!" you stammered, trying desperately to look anywhere but at his imposing erection. "I-I don't understand-"
"Silence!" Perturabo roared, his voice shaking the walls. He stalked towards the bed, his cock bobbing with each step. "You claim you saw nothing? Then allow me to give you a proper view."
Before you could react, Perturabo grabbed your ankle and dragged you to the edge of the bed. He loomed over you, his massive frame blocking out the light, his cock mere inches from your face.
"Look at it," he growled, his voice a mixture of anger and lust. "Look at what you've done to me, you infuriating woman."
You couldn't help but obey. Your eyes locked onto Perturabo's member, taking in every vein, every twitch, the bead of pre-cum forming at the tip. You swallowed hard, a confusing mix of fear and arousal coursing through you.
"I... I see it, my Lord," you whispered, your voice barely audible.
Perturabo's hand shot out, gripping your chin and forcing you to meet his gaze. "And what do you think of it, little agent? Does it please you? Does it terrify you?"
Your mind raced, searching for the right answer. What could you possibly say that wouldn't result in your immediate demise?
"It's... impressive, my Lord," you finally managed, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "Truly befitting a Primarch."
A slow smile spread across Perturabo's face. "Good answer," he purred. "Now, since you've finally admitted to seeing it, I think it's time we put it to proper use, don't you?"
As Perturabo's free hand began to tear at your clothes, you realized that your earlier fears had been misplaced. You weren't going to die today….
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alchemist-of-life · 1 year ago
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Welcome to the souvenir store of Mars to pick up some everyday tech-priest and skitarii stickers :3
Feel free to use them in chats/servers! ⬇️ png
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wh40kgallery · 11 months ago
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Tech-Priest of Mars
by Phil Moss
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cursedbeasts · 3 months ago
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Dahan pin up I drew for my 30th birthday, as a treat.
2023
Commissions
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cursed-40k-thoughts · 2 years ago
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If you’ve ever wondered how the ships in the Imperium get named, there’s a single servo skull in each shipyard connected to a master skull on Mars. The master skull is pampered and beloved, it has its own entire suite of rooms and servants, and all it does is generate ship names. It’s like Groundhog Day in America; this thing just hangs out 99% of the time and then sometimes there’s a big ceremony and all these tech priests bring it out and show it a picture of the new vessel and it says “the Erudite Spear” or some shit and everyone goes nuts
The servo skull's name is Blinky and it has more rights and privileges than 85% of the people in the Imperium
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bronzeandchitin · 7 months ago
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🧠Having limited armor stolen from the forges of Mars, the Tech-Priests of the 7th Caelum adapted the standard Mars-Pattern Dunerider into a multi-purpose transport, mobile experimental weapons lab, and coffee machine (it's right next to the steering!). Notable improvements include water-traversing and submarine capabilities, Primaris-Era Repulsor tech, as well as the capability to mount heavy weapons for field testing exotic energies.
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professor-doc-emeritus · 7 months ago
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possible readings of the admech:
1 - admech rituals don't work and aren't necessary. imperium tech largely works based on a combination of dumb luck, ork-esque psychic gestalt fields generated by humanity's collective belief in it, and the efforts of the handful of heretic priests who worked all this out and now do all the imperium's actual IT/maintenance work in secret. The majority of the imperium, and the adeptus mechanics itself, still believe in the rituals wholeheartedly.
2 - admech rituals do work and are (mostly) necessary, but only because they are obfuscations of actual technical work, e.g. the application of sacred oils and incense is just an elaborately ritualized method of getting rusty old machines lubricated regularly, binaric prayers work because they actually contain bundles of voice commands to activate onboard error handling programs in most Dark Age of Technology artifacts, and "machine spirits" are just ancient and ornery onboard AIs that take pity on the occasional tech priest asking for help. This status quo is an unintentional side effect of millenia of collective trial and error; virtually all members of the admech genuinely believe in the cult mechanicus & are unaware there's any material benefit to their rituals.
3 - same as the above, except the admech are (or at least used to be) in on the ruse. The rituals do work, for the above stated reasons, but are deliberately designed to be as mysterious, impenetrable, and terrifying as possible. The people who made them didn't believe in the omnissiah, and sufficiently well-informed members of the admech don't either, often foregoing their rituals entirely when in private or in a pinch. The median admech member understands the basic principles of technology FAR better than they let on, and the cult mechanicus in general exists as part of a massive conspiracy meant to keep humanity at large ignorant, and the control of technology exclusively in admech hands, which they use to their own nefarious ends. This fact used to be common knowledge within the faction itself, however the heresy era split, the subsequent millenia of conflict, and their own overzealous propaganda have all eroded their collective memory. The truth is now only known to its highest ranking and longest-lived members, and is doled out on a need-to-know basis to a select few. This is why most tech priests that feature in the books and video games unironically believe in the omnissiah: they haven't yet been told the truth.
4 - admech rituals do work and are necessary, and the spiritual aspect of it is at least partially true, but this is only because the omnissiah is actually a manifestation of Mag’ladroth the Void Dragon, C'tan god of technology and Aeldari god of oblivion, a shard of which was defeated and imprisoned beneath the surface of mars by the emperor. This shard, either intentionally or unintentionally, influenced and warped the collective psyche of the mechanicum of mars until they became the admech we know today. Their apparent control over technology is the result of some combination of their proximity to the shard giving them aspects of its power, intentional siphoning of the shards power by the mechanicum, the shard itself lending them power as part of a long-term plan to corrupt & use the imperium as a means of revenge against the necrons that shattered it, and the Emperor's defeat of the shard granting him its domain over technology. It's this domain the Emperor won that allowed humanity to expand out and conquer the stars without their tech getting corrupted by the warp, and why technology made by other species and the machines-making-machines-that-make-machines (i.e. the men of iron) fall to the warp faster and more often than human technology
5 - the admech are just batting a thousand and are right about pretty much everything.
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transmechanicus · 25 days ago
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I apologize if you’ve gotten an ask like this before but I wanted to know where the best place to start learning about warhammer40k is? The posts you reblog always look so intriguing but I feel overwhelmed with how much (mis)information is out there and I want to make sure I don’t learn about it from bigots and right-wingers in the community.
When i was first getting into the hobby my reading was mainly focused on the website Lexicanum, as they do a good job of sourcing and are a very thoroughly sourced wiki that as far as i've seen remains free of some of the ego stroking of specific factions present in the Fandom wiki. After a couple months of just random link-diving i took a liking to the tech-priests and skitarii, and bought the 8th edition Adeptus Mechanicus codex, which helped give me a more fleshed out idea of that faction. From there i went looking for Black Library novels about the Admech, in my case being Forges of Mars by Graham McNiel. From there i just started reading more books and buying a couple more codices for factions that interested me, getting my first mini kits and starter tools for painting, and i've been here ever since ^-^ Happy to answer any specific questions you may have and im sure my buddies in the wh40k tumblr circle would be happy to do the same!
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