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kingwithpaintedfingers · 1 day

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Feeding Time

Author’s Note: This is the next in the Baby Primarchs being raised by Big E series. First. Previous.

Warnings: dehumanization of primarchs, dehumanization of infants, neglectful parent, baby barf, please ask me to tag additional things

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel

Summary: The Emperor feeds some of his infant generals.

Neoth held One in the crook of one arm, making sure that his head was well supported as he held the bottle of skin-temperature warm (not hot, not cold, not cool, as he had learned through trial and error) and ensured that his first primarch could latch on firmly to the nipple of the bottle in order to feed. The little one drank swiftly, making tiny suckling noises that Neoth refused to acknowledge as anything other than One successfully feeding. He was making sure to be very quiet, as the rest of his twenty-one infant generals were peacefully sleeping. He hadn't known, when he had ordered for each of them to be decanted - that each of the little ones would have a different sleeping and feeding schedule.

But they did. One preferred to be fed at least once every couple of hours - and if he was not fed precisely on time he would use all three of his lungs and wail at the top of his lungs, while waving tiny fists in the air and kicking at the sides of his cradle. And when One started to cry, he set off all of the others, no matter how deeply sleeping or content they had been before One had begun to cry. One also occasionally hissed and growled when startled... Although that was likely due to the feline DNA that he had inserted into One's DNA structure.

One was currently purring as he suckled the bottle, his eyes squinted closed in contentment. Neoth made sure that the bottle had exactly the amount of formula that One fed on without causing him to spit up, after having drunk more than his small stomach could handle, as One would suckle until his bottle was dry, no matter how full his stomach got, which Six, Nine and Eighteen were also prone on doing. Twelve cried whenever one of its' siblings cried for any reason, which was frustrating in its' own way.

One released the bottle's nipple with a tiny sigh and yawn, stretching a little and resting his head on Neoth's chest. Something treacherously soft and warm was beating beneath his breast. Neoth ruthlessly squashed the feeling as he set One down in hi-it's bassinet. He lightly brushed the light blonde hair out of One's face, as he murmured a quiet "Good boy."

One curled into his touch as the infant primarch shoved its' thumb into its' mouth and starting to suck, dark eyes once again closing for a nap.

Which was good, as it was time to feed Twenty-A and Twenty-O, who refused to be separated from one another, even to feed or be bathed (and... Bathing was on the list of things that needed to be done, but feeding the primarchs so that they would grow out of such a helpless and needy stage was paramount). This clinginess was understandable, as the two of them had been incubated in the same pod, though they would be weaned from one another's presence. His generals needed to be independent enough to work solo, or alongside just the forces he sent alongside them.

Neoth floated the two of them out of their bassinet and into his arms with a flicker of warp-craft. He stilled when Fifteen shifted from in its' sleep. Fifteen was by far the most deeply connected to the warp of all of Neoth's Primarchs - which had been by design, but Fifteen was also very closely attuned to Neoth's own use of the Warp - and often awoke, sable eyes staring up at him at any moderate or higher working of the warp he did in the infant primarch's presence. Fifteen once again settled in its' crib, snuggling into the heating pad with a contented sigh.

Twenty-A began to gum Neoth's shirt, seeking a nipple, Twenty-O just stared up at him, teal eyes barely blinking.

The Emperor of Mankind silently sighed, carefully floating two bottles of formula in front of each of the twins' faces. Twenty-A took a moment to unlatch from Neoth's shirt to begin drinking its' bottle, periodically stopping to gurgle at Twenty-O, who gurgled back, or waved a hand at Twenty-A at each vocalization. The twins were slower eaters than most of their siblings - which could be frustrating when more of the primarchs were awake and wailing for their own meals. Three, Twelve and Nineteen also ate slowly, though they'd already eaten in the previous hour to this, before One had eaten.

... But trying to rush the twins through their meal only caused them to burp and throw up everything they'd eaten all over his shirt, pants, shoes, or the room in a sticky mess before caterwauling until they were fed in the way that they liked best.

An hour later, and the twins finally finished the last of their feedings, and tried to snuggle into his chest to sleep. Neoth, having a great many things to do, not the least of which currently included feeding the rest of their siblings, swiftly set the pair down (as if he let Twenty-A and Twenty-O fall asleep in his arms, they would not stop crying when they were put down, no matter what Neoth tried, short of picking up the fussing infants again).

Seventeen began to whimper, just as Neoth finished tucking the twins into their shared crib. Suppressing a sigh of irritation, Neoth picked the little primarch up, rocking him back and forth. Seventeen had already been fed recently, and its' diaper did not need to be changed... So why was the little one fussing? As expected, a handful of moments after it was picked up, Seventeen settled down in, dark brown eyes closing, tiny hands grasping onto his shirt. Neoth sighed, clicking his tongue a little as he gently removed the tiny hands from his shirt, setting Seventeen down again "I can't hold you, I have to feed five more of your brothers, Seventeen." Seventeen snuffled a little, dark eyes filling with tears. Neoth sighed and tucked one of the stuffed animal shaped toys that held his scent and had a warm core next to Seventeen, who curled around the toy and fell into a deeper sleep.

He... Really needed to come up with names for them. Preferably before they started to form long-term memories. Their names were something that he'd been pondering on and off since their creation had been relatively certain, but he had yet to settle on a name for any one of them, much less a name for all of them.

Fourteen was awake, and started to sniffle, shifting unhappily in its' crib. Neoth swiftly made his way over to where the white-haired primarch was laying, so it didn't start squalling and wake up more of its' siblings. He pitched his voice low and soothing, one hand rubbing Fourteen's back, the other holding it close to his chest "Easy, easy Fourteen. You're safe... Shhh, shhh... Calm down. Are you hungry?" He murmured, floating another bottle of formula in front of Fourteen's face.

The tiny primarch stared at the bottle before opening its' mouth and latching on, sucking hard. Fourteen was prone to tears and fussing, but it ate quickly - too quickly, if Neoth didn't shift the angle of the formula to make sure that Fourteen didn't suck in air, or drink too quickly and give its' tiny belly cramps. Four, Eight and Sixteen also ate very quickly as well - though Fourteen was the one who ate the fastest, and fussed the most when its' stomach was upset from foo much formular too quickly, or air being swallowed alongside the formula as well.

Neoth put a small towel on his shoulder, before raising Fourteen up to that shoulder, patting it's back after Fourteen finished eating. Despite his best efforts, Fourteen usually did needed to be burped at least a little after being fed, and was one of the messiest eaters of all of his primarchs. At least at this life stage. Neoth shuddered internally at the little gargling sound that Fourteen made before it spat up a mix of air and formula onto the towel, which absorbed the sticky substance without dirtying his shirt.

It took ten minutes, after Fourteen had been fed, for Neoth to be certain that Fourteen wouldn't unexpectedly vomit in his crib, necessitating cleaning of the bedding, lest fourteen lay in the substance until it dried - which stank. Once the burping period was over, he set Fourteen down next to its' warm-cored plush toy before walking over to where Thirteen was curled on its' side.

Thirteen was awake, blue eyes staring up at him as he approached, straw-blond, curly hair sticking out every-which direction on its' head. Thirteen rarely cried, or vocalized much at all, unless interacting directly with one or more of its' fellow primarchs, or with one of the Custodes who fed it and its' siblings when Neoth was attending to other duties. Thirteen ate at a medium pace and rarely needed to be burped. It was one of the lower-maintenance of his primarchs, which was a breath of relief. A pity that of its' siblings, only Five, Seven and Ten were equally agreeable and quiet. It drank its' ration of formula without fuss or complaint, nor did it fuss when he set it down again.

Neoth went over the feeding schedule in his head, frowning as Two began to fuss. Both Two and Eleven were the ones who were adapting most poorly to being outside of the incubation chambers. They weren't putting on weight like the others, and though they would cry given certain stimuli, they weren't as active as the others, either. Something seemed to be wrong with the both of them, and their medical teams were diligently researching possible causes, as well as putting both infant primarchs through a series of medical tests, trying to determine the cause. He sighed as he picked up two, rocking it back and forth until it settled down again.

His vox communicator chimed, and Neoth suppressed a frustrated growl. He was not to be disturbed while feeding the Primarchs unless something urgent came up. "Delaxius, finish feeding the Primarchs. Something has come up." The Emperor of Mankind ordered one of the Custodians guarding the primarchs' room.

"As you command, my lord." Delaxius responded immediately, entering the room.

Neoth swiftly exited the room, swiftly returning to court, unaware of the spit-up towel on one of his shoulders until hours later, when one of the High Lords of Terra tactfully asked him as to why he was wearing such a thing.

Fuck!

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