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You’re so real for that perturabo art when you can may I request perturabo holding said baby (he’s secretly overjoyed about bebe)
This one was a bit quickly cuz i tried to make something cute with perty and his baby in a small comic. Hope u like it s2
(All of them were just eavesdropping somewhere close)
Primarchs' annoying little traits and habits
Tws: some of them are fucking GROSS and DISGUSTING pls, you've been warned
I don't want to bother with the right order, sorry
Horus just can't shut up on public. He can yap about anything for literal hours, especially if there are many people to listen, so good luck being with him on feasts and celebrations
Magnus has a disgusting habit of reading your thoughts. Don't be mad - he does this subconsciously and if you realise that, just call him out, he will stop and apologise. But it's still nit very nice of him. He has a problem with "accidental magic" in general.
You had to hire a special serf to quickly and discreetly remove feathers from your clothes in public whenever you're around Sanguinius. When he starts molting, it becomes a real problem.
Leman Russ likes casual nudity - he doesn't really think that clothes are necessary when you two are alone, and in general fenrisian culture doesn't see nudity as something inherently bad and sinful. So yeah, you will see his bare fluffy ass quite often. The thing is - he awaits the same from you and do I need to say that his sons are not great with boundaries as well and just can open the door without warning?
Whenever he’s deep in thought or emotionally invested in a story, objects around him start to levitate or change color. You often find your tea mug floating near the ceiling, and Magnus doesn’t even realize he did it.
Guilliman's biggest problems come from him working too much.
His day is strictly scheduled by the hour, and he wakes up at the exact same time every morning, down to the very minute. Trouble begins whenever the plan changes and he needs to be woken up at a different time. That’s when you find out that Roboute is such an incredibly heavy sleeper that it would probably be easier to rouse a Necron from its slumber than to wake him.
And then, there’s the reality of what happens underneath all that armor during those long hours. One day, you carelessly decided to cheer up hard-working husband. You quietly slipped under his desk, asked him to spread his legs, unlatched the protective plate covering his under-suit, undid the rest, and...let’s just say it felt like you'd kissed Nurgle himself. As it turns out, sweat and other things tend to stagnate in those suits if the wearer sits motionless for hours on end.
Roboute is still ashamed of that incident to this day.
Vulkan SNORES. Like he's really loud, it can be really difficult to sleep next to him.
Ferrus likes to gossip in public, but physically can't whisper - his voice is too strong and deep. The worst part is he doesn't even realise that.
Fulgrim is prone to allergies, and in the spring when the abandoned fields and mines of Chemos start to bloom he begins to sneeze like every 30 seconds, his voice taking on a pathetic, nasal twang from his blocked nose. Big E really fucked up working on his immune system.
Mortarion smells like shit. Barbarus is a planet of swamps and miasma, so sometimes he doesn't realise that he's stinky. Just tell him about it and he'll manage the issue immediately.
Curze can smell like shit as well, and he isn't used to hygiene at all. He could go for weeks without washing, and he has yellow teeth and matted, greasy hair. You had to do a lot of work to get him used to it. For example, you flatly refused to hug or kiss him if he hadn't brushed his teeth or showered in at least a couple of days. To your surprise, it worked perfectly, and he started taking care of himself.
Also, he’s a casual nudist, just like Russ. He doesn't care about social norms at all. If someone sees him naked, that’s their problem, they shouldn't have been unlucky enough to have eyes today.
Lorgar constantly asks you dumb shit like "would you love me if I were a worm?"
Lion tosses and turns constantly in his sleep. He also has a habit of hugging you so tightly that he nearly chokes you, or he might roll over and pin you with his entire weight - to the point where you’re already imagining how everyone in the Imperium will talk about the incredibly stupid death of the Lady of Caliban.
Perturabo has a habit of sneezing very fucking loudly and without warning. No, really he can sneeze right in the middle of a sentence with such force that you have short tinnitus after that, and then just keep on talking as if nothing happened.
Angron is a total pig at the table. He eats with the same grace as a pack of Tyranids devouring a corpse, as if he hadn’t been fed for a month. You have your work cut out for you trying to teach him how to behave properly.
Rogal Dorn sometimes interrupts you. He doesn't do it because he isn't interested in what you have to say; on the contrary, he loves his wife and adores chatting with her. It’s just that he struggles to sense the rhythm of a conversation and doesn't quite know when it's his turn to speak, so he constantly cuts in because he’s eager to add his own thoughts.
Jaghatai can’t sit still. He’s always fidgeting with something in his hands or checking his gear. Sometimes, while talking to you, he’ll start examining the patterns on your clothes, and it looks like he’s not hearing a word you’re saying, but that’s not true. He hears every single thing you say.
Alpharius and Omegon constantly forget that they haven’t told you something.
"You told her we had a meeting two hours earlier today, right?"
"I thought YOU were the one who reminded her!"
This happens all the time.
Corvus is constantly scaring the hell out of you. You’ll get used to it eventually, but the way he just appears out of nowhere is unnerving and still makes you jump every single time.
Oh, and you’re constantly surrounded by a flock of birds, so sometimes having bird shit on your clothes is just part of the aesthetic, you might as well get used to it.
BONUS!!
Malcador is constantly complaining and grumbling about EVERYTHING: the weather, the servants, the Emperor, his aching knees, and even you. Sex with him is a nightmare, any sudden movement can ruin his mood. One time, you accidentally dislocated his collarbone.
"Stop...squeezing me, I want to last a bit more"
"Fym you want me to become more loose? Call Neoth, he'll help us, you old fucker?"
Emperor also couldn't care less about social norms he’ll pinch your ass, smack it, or french kiss you in public, all while throwing in some crude, filthy joke. Sometimes you think he'd fuck you right there after one bottle of amasec.
My taglist!! Wanna see ur name here? Let me know!! I would absolutely love that.
@honestlychoppedglitter
@stpdeletacc
@1-marshmallow1-1rollerblader-1
@daisydanger-drag-art
@valarosa @warhorny-on-main
@thatnightlamp @pippinsquishums
@beckyninja @anwyss @catabibaz0n
We all know that the Primarchs aren't the best at communicating sometimes. So please imagine a situation where the Primarchs think they are all but married, while their partner is under the impression that this is simply a friends with benefits relationship used to destress.
I think during the writing it shifted from Primarchs not being very good at communication to both them and their partner being bad at it. That being said I had lots of fun writing it and I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed creating it.
Tagged, anyone can be tagged, ask me:
@the-mysterious-detective @mehiwilldoitlater @theonceunknown @gravedwe11er @lesboficfanatic @bunny-fair @drowning-in-sorrowing-tales @bookandyarndragonwritesdark @fandomcatchall @thebetterblacklight @incrediblethirst @beckyninja @ilovewolvezz @celestia0473 @nereidof40k @hopefully-grimderp @acgames @mortarion-thinks-youre-toxic @catabibaz0n @subtlepoisonknowledge @aggresivemenace @veryspecificreason @rogalist-of-dorns @green-square-anon @hellafluff @psykerofbones @randomlyappearingartist @nyrocwolfen @stpdeletacc @solareias @omg1wanttidd1es-sb @2manyburiedtales @obsidian-kirin @nightlordlover
Lion El'Jonson
- Gave you his cloak after the first night together
- On caliban that's basically a marriage proposal
- You thought he was just being chivalrous
- He introduced you to his inner circle with "This is my beloved"
- You thought that was just a sweet nickname
- Holds your hand in public, very possessive
- You think he's just not into pda with kissing
- Three months in, someone calls you "Lady/Lord El'Jonson"
- "Excuse me what"
- Lion: "You accepted my cloak. We've been married for months."
- "I thought you were just cold!"
- He's mortified
- You're shocked
- Emergency meeting in his quarters
- "The cloak, the oaths, the introduction to my chapter..."
- "I thought you were being nice!"
- He's so flustered he can barely speak
- By the end of the conversation you're like, okay fine, we're married
- He's relieved but will never live this down
- Luther definitely knows and thinks it's hilarious
Fulgrim
- Had an entire ceremony
- It was beautiful, artistic, perfect
- "Darling, I want you to be part of my performance piece"
- There were seven veils, oil exchanges, witnessed vows
- You thought it was literally performance art
- It was legally binding
- You find out six months later
- Someone addresses you as "Lady/Lord Fulgrim"
- "I'm sorry, what?"
- Fulgrim is shocked you didn't know
- "My love, the ceremony! The witnesses! The legal documents you signed!"
- "I thought I was signing a waiver for the performance!"
- He thinks this is hilarious
- Also very romantic in a chaotic way
- "We've been married for half a year and you didn't notice!"
- "You didn't think to mention it?!"
- He's delighted by the absurdity
- Throws a second wedding so you can actually know about it this time
- The Emperor's Children think this is the funniest thing ever
Perturabo
- Built you a house
- Your name is on the deed
- Next to his name
- Joint ownership
- That's marriage, obviously
- You thought he was giving you a place to stay
- Very practical, very Perturabo
- You've been living there for two years
- Someone mentions "Your husband's fortress"
- "My what now"
- Perturabo is furious
- Not at you, at the misunderstanding
- "I built you a home. Integrated you into my life. Gave you legal rights to everything!"
- "I thought we were dating!"
- "For two years?!"
- He's genuinely hurt
- You feel terrible
- Turns out you're married in every legal sense
- All the paperwork exists
- You just didn't know
- Long conversation about communication
- You decide to actually formally marry since you're already legally bound
- He builds you a ring (it's perfect)
- Iron Warriors are all "Finally, they figured it out"
Jaghatai Khan
- Gave you a jade bracelet
- On Chogoris that's a marriage token
- You thought it was a friendship bracelet
- He took you to meet his entire legion
- Introduced you as his "Wind and Stars"
- That's Chogorian for spouse
- You thought it was poetry
- Everyone's been treating you like the khan's consort
- You thought they were just being respectful
- Four months in, someone asks about "Your marriage to the Khan"
- Record scratch moment
- "Our what?"
- Jaghatai is confused by your confusion
- "The bracelet. The introduction. The oath under the stars."
- "What oath? I thought we were stargazing!"
- "I asked you to ride the winds with me forever!"
- "I thought you were being romantic!"
- He starts laughing
- Thinks this is amazing actually
- "You've been my spouse for months and didn't know"
- He's not mad, he's amused
- "Want to actually have a ceremony you'll remember?"
- "Yes please"
- The White Scars think you're both idiots (in an affectionate way)
Leman Russ
- There was a feast
- You drank from his cup
- He gave you furs
- You shared his bed
- On Fenris that's marriage
- You thought it was a really good party and hookup
- He's been calling you his "Heart" in Fenrisian
- You thought it was cute
- His entire legion treats you like their Jarl's spouse
- You thought they were being friendly
- Two months later someone mentions "The Jarl's marriage"
- "Wait what marriage"
- Russ: "Our marriage! The feast! The furs! The cup!"
- "That was a marriage?!"
- He's baffled
- "How did you not know?!"
- "You didn't use the word marriage!"
- "It's tradition!"
- Space Wolves are all dying laughing
- Russ thinks it's hilarious once he gets over the shock
- "You've been my wife/husband and didn't even know it!"
- Throws another feast to make it official
- You're definitely married now
- He won't let you forget this ever
Rogal Dorn
- Gave you a room in his quarters
- Your names are both on the door
- That's marriage in his mind
- Clear, practical, obvious
- You thought you were just staying over a lot
- He introduced you as his "Partner"
- You thought he meant relationship partner
- He meant life partner
- His Imperial Fists treat you with spouse level respect
- You thought they were being formal
- Three months in official documents list you as married
- "Rogal, why does this say we're married?"
- "Because we are."
- "Since when?!"
- "Since I gave you quarters and updated the records."
- "That's not how marriage works!"
- He's genuinely confused
- "The cohabitation, the shared resources, the legal documentation..."
- "Those are roommate things!"
- Long pause
- "I see. There has been a miscommunication."
- He's embarrassed but won't show it
- "Do you... Want to be married?"
- "I mean, yeah, but I'd like to know about it!"
- Formal proposal immediately
- Legally you've been married the whole time though
Konrad Curze
- Oh this one's complicated
- He carved your name into his flesh
- You thought he was being dramatic (he is)
- He killed someone who disrespected you
- You thought he was being protective (also true)
- He considers you bound to him
- Forever
- By blood and darkness
- You thought you were casually seeing each other
- One day he refers to "Our bond of matrimony"
- "Our what?"
- "We are married. In blood. In darkness. Forever."
- "Konrad, we never had a wedding!"
- "I carved your name into my skin!"
- "That's not a marriage!"
- He's having a crisis
- "You don't... You don't consider yourself mine?"
- "I mean I care about you but..."
- He's spiraling
- You have to calm him down
- "Okay, let's talk about this"
- Turns out in his mind, the moment he decided you were his you were married
- That's not how it works
- Long conversation about consent and communication
- You agree to an actual relationship with defined terms
- He still considers that first moment "The real marriage"
- You let him have that
Sanguinius
- There was a beautiful ceremony under the stars
- He gave you a feather from his wings
- You exchanged vows
- You thought it was a romantic gesture
- It was a wedding
- The entire Blood Angels legion was there
- You thought it was just a party
- Everyone's been calling you the Angel's Consort
- You thought it was a title
- Six months later legal documents list you as married
- "Sanguinius, beloved, why do these papers say we're married?"
- His beautiful face: pure confusion
- "Because we are? The ceremony? The vows? My feather?"
- "I thought that was just romantic!"
- He's shocked
- "My love, that was a wedding"
- "A what?!"
- He's heartbroken you didn't realize
- You feel terrible
- "I thought you knew!"
- "I thought we were just dating!"
- The Blood Angels are all stunned
- How did you not know
- Sanguinius wants to do it again properly
- "So you know this time"
- The second wedding is even more beautiful
- You're definitely paying attention now
Ferrus Manus
- Made you a ring
- With his own hands
- Put it on your finger
- "You're mine now."
- You thought he was being possessive (hot)
- That was a wedding ring
- He integrated you into his legion completely
- You have full access to everything
- You thought he just trusted you
- His Iron Hands call you "My lady/Lord"
- You thought it was respect
- Four months in someone mentions "The gorgon's spouse"
- "The what?"
- Ferrus: "My spouse. You. Obviously."
- "We're not married!"
- "I made you a ring. You accepted it. We're married."
- "That's not... That's not how..."
- He's confused and offended
- "I forged that ring myself"
- "I know! It's beautiful! But that doesn't make us married!"
- "It absolutely does."
- Turns out in medusan culture it does
- You're legally married
- Have been for months
- He's hurt you didn't realize the significance
- You feel bad
- "I love the ring, I just didn't know what it meant"
- He softens
- "Do you want to be married?"
- "Yes, but I want to actually know about it"
- He accepts this
- You're still wearing the ring though
Angron
- This one's tragic, I am sorry in advance
- In a moment of clarity he gave you something precious
- A token from before the nails
- "You're mine. I'm yours."
- You cherished it but thought it was symbolic
- In the few moments he's lucid he calls you his wife/husband
- You think it's the nails making him confused
- It's not
- In his broken mind you're married
- You're the only good thing
- One day someone mentions it
- "Angron's spouse"
- You correct them: "We're not married"
- Angron overhears
- The look on his face
- betrayal, confusion, pain
- "You... Don't consider yourself...?"
- "Angron, we never... We didn't have a wedding..."
- "I gave you my heart. What's left of it."
- He's breaking
- You realize he's been considering you married this whole time
- "I... I didn't know that's what you meant"
- "Of course you didn't. Why would anyone want to be bound to this."
- He leaves before he hurts you
- You're crying
- Later you find him
- "I do want to be yours. I just didn't understand."
- "The nails won't let me... I can't even..."
- "I know. But I'm still here."
- You can't have a traditional marriage
- But you are his and he's yours
- In whatever way the nails allow
- It's heartbreaking but it's real
Roboute Guilliman
- There was paperwork
- So much paperwork
- "Standard cohabitation agreements"
- You signed without reading (mistake)
- One of them was a marriage contract
- Legally binding in 42 systems
- You find out three months later
- Official documents list you as his spouse
- "Roboute, why does this say I'm your wife/husband?"
- "Because you are. You signed the documentation."
- "What documentation?!"
- He pulls out a file
- "Form 2847-B, section 3, subsection 12, paragraph 4"
- "I thought that was a lease agreement!"
- "It was a comprehensive civil union with full legal benefits."
- "Roboute!"
- He's genuinely confused
- "It was clearly labeled"
- "It was 58 pages!"
- "I assumed you read it before signing."
- "Who reads all that?!"
- "Everyone should!"
- You're married via fine print
- The Ultramarines think this is peak Guilliman
- He's flustered that you didn't realize
- "Do you... Not want to be married?"
- "I want to be married! I just wanted to know about it!"
- He makes you sign a new form
- You read this one
- It's a renewal of vows basically
- You're definitely married now
- He adds "Verbal confirmation of understanding" to all future documents
Mortarion
- He doesn't do traditional anything
- But he gave you his respirator
- Let you breathe his air
- On barbarus that's everything
- You thought he was showing trust
- He was binding himself to you
- He carved protection runes for you
- You thought it was sweet
- Those were marriage runes
- You've been living in his quarters for months
- You thought you were just staying over
- One day Typhon mentions "Your union"
- "What union?"
- Mortarion: "Our union. Obviously."
- "We're not... Are we married?!"
- "I gave you my breath. What more do you need?"
- "An actual wedding?!"
- He's confused and hurt
- "You accepted my air. You wear my runes."
- "I didn't know that meant marriage!"
- Long, painful conversation
- He thought you understood
- You had no idea
- "Do you... Want this?"
- "I want you. I just didn't realize it was official."
- He's relieved
- You're married in every way that matters to him
- You agree to make it official-official
- Death Guard are unsurprised
- This is very on-brand for their primarch
Magnus the Red
- Psychic bond
- He linked your minds
- Permanently
- "So we can always find each other"
- You thought it was romantic
- It was a marriage bond
- On Prospero that's the ultimate marriage
- More binding than any ceremony
- You've been psychically married for months
- You find out when another psyker senses it
- "Oh, you're bonded! Congratulations on the marriage!"
- "The what?!"
- Magnus: "Our bond? The joining of minds and souls?"
- "You said it was so we could communicate!"
- "It is. It's also a marriage bond."
- "Magnus!"
- He's shocked you didn't realize
- "I thought you understood the implications!"
- "I'm not a psyker, how would I know?!"
- The Thousand Sons all knew
- They thought you knew too
- You're psychically married
- It's permanent
- Can't be undone
- "So... We're stuck married?"
- "I... Yes? Do you not want...?"
- "I want to be married! I just wanted a choice!"
- "You did choose. When you accepted the bond."
- "I didn't know what I was accepting!"
- Long discussion about consent and communication
- He feels terrible
- You forgive him
- Actual ceremony so it's official in non-psychic ways too
- You're very married now
- At least you can literally never lose each other
Horus Lupercal
- Threw a massive celebration
- Introduced you to everyone
- "This is my beloved, my heart, my everything"
- You thought he was being dramatic
- He was announcing your marriage
- The entire Luna Wolves/Sons of Horus witnessed it
- You thought it was a party
- There was a ceremony
- You thought it was ceremonial (it was but also legal)
- Two months later you're listed as Warmaster's Consort
- Official title
- "Horus, why do I have a title?"
- "Because you're my spouse?"
- "Your what?!"
- He's shocked
- "The celebration! The vows! The witnesses!"
- "I thought it was a party!"
- He starts laughing
- Can't stop
- The mournival is dying
- "You've been the Warmaster's spouse for months"
- "And nobody told me?!"
- "We thought you knew!"
- Horus is delighted by this
- Thinks it's the funniest thing ever
- Also very romantic somehow
- "We've been married and you didn't even know"
- "How is that romantic?!"
- "It just is!"
- Throws another ceremony
- This time you know
- You're definitely married
- He won't let you forget this story
Lorgar Aurelian
- oh boy
- There was a ritual
- Very intense
- Very spiritual
- "Binding our souls for eternity"
- You thought it was religious, not legal
- It was both
- He's been calling you his "Eternal companion"
- You thought it was poetic
- It's a spousal term
- The Word Bearers all treat you like lorgar's spouse
- You thought they were being reverent
- Three months in official documents say you're married
- "Lorgar, beloved, what is this?"
- "Our marriage certificate, my heart."
- "Our what?!"
- "The ritual! The binding of souls! The eternal vows!"
- "I thought that was a religious ceremony!"
- "It was! A religious marriage ceremony!"
- He's confused you didn't realize
- You're shocked it was legal
- "We bound our souls"
- "I thought that was metaphorical!"
- "It was literal and metaphorical!"
- He's heartbroken you didn't understand the significance
- You feel terrible
- The ritual was beautiful
- You just didn't know what it meant
- "I want to be married to you"
- "You are married to me"
- "I mean knowingly"
- Second ceremony
- You understand every word this time
- He explains everything
- You're very married
- Spiritually and legally
Vulkan
- Oh no, vulkan
- He told everyone you're married
- His entire legion knows
- He made you a ring
- Forged it himself
- You thought it was a gift
- It was a wedding ring
- He calls you "My spouse" constantly
- You thought it was a cute nickname
- It's been a year
- A year
- You find out at a legion celebration
- "To the happy couple!"
- "What couple?"
- Everyone goes silent
- Vulkan: "...Us?"
- "We're not... Are we married?!"
- His face falls
- Pure heartbreak
- "The ring... Calling you my spouse... You didn't...?"
- "I thought you were being affectionate!"
- He made that ring with his own hands
- You've been wearing it for a year
- Everyone thought you knew
- Vulkan is devastated
- "You didn't know you were my spouse?"
- You feel horrible
- "I thought we were dating!"
- "For a year?!"
- You immediately clarify
- "I want to be married! I just didn't know I was!"
- He's relieved but still sad
- "I should have been clearer"
- "I should have asked"
- Lots of hugs
- Renewal of vows
- This time you both know what's happening
- The Salamanders are emotional
- You're definitely married
- That ring means everything
Corvus Corax
- Very quiet about it
- Gave you a raven feather
- "You're mine. Forever."
- You thought it was romantic
- It was a vow
- He integrated you into his life completely
- You have access to everything
- You thought he just trusted you
- His Raven Guard treat you like their Primarch's spouse
- You thought they were being respectful
- Six months later someone directly asks about your marriage
- "What marriage?"
- Corvus is there
- "Our marriage. The vow. The feather."
- "That was a marriage?!"
- He goes very still
- "You... Didn't know?"
- "No!"
- He's crushed
- Thinks you don't want him
- "I gave you my feather"
- "I thought it was symbolic!"
- "It is. Symbolically and legally."
- Raven Guard have a whole thing with feathers apparently
- You didn't know
- He's retreating into himself
- "Corvus, wait"
- "You don't want..."
- "I do want to be married! I just didn't realize I was!"
- He stops
- "... truly?"
- "Yes!"
- Relief
- You have an actual ceremony
- With words you both understand
- You're married
- He keeps the feather though
- That was the real wedding to him
Alpharius/Omegon
- Oh this is complicated
- You thought you were casually seeing one of them
- You're married to both
- You don't know when it happened
- There might have been a ceremony
- You might have been there
- You're not sure
- Official documents list you as married
- To both of them
- Somehow
- "How am I married to two people?!"
- "You're not married to two people"
- "The document says..."
- "You're married to one person who happens to be two people"
- "That's not how that works!"
- "It is for us"
- You genuinely can't remember agreeing to this
- They might have tricked you
- Or it might have been genuine and you forgot
- Who knows
- Alpha Legion thinks this is hilarious
- You're definitely married though
- To both
- Or one
- Or... you're not sure
- They're not clarifying
- "Do you want to be married to us?"
- "I... Yes?"
- "Then what's the problem?"
- "I'd like to have known about it!"
- "You did know. You just forgot."
- "Did I?!"
- You're never getting a straight answer
- You're married to them
- Probably
- Maybe
- Definitely
- Who knows
Some possible happy endings with the Primarchs you could have if the universe wasn’t so grim dark and common sense was more common in the Primarchs!
Part 2 with the rest of the Primarchs
Neutral endings: Part 1, Part 2
Bad endings: Part 1
Fulgrim
The sword looked ominously and while he didn’t have the foresight like someone of his brothers but he could feel that nothing good would come of it. When he presented the blade to you, sitting behind a glass coffin, you looked uneasy and he didn’t realize it at first but your terror seeped into him. Was the voice in his head always there? You told him that it was not normal when he told you about it.
This abomination of a sword was communicating with him, talking to them, tempting him to do things in the name of supposed perfection. He could hear its voice whispering to him, telling him that you, is little dove, didn’t understand him. What did you know?
For him though you knew a lot and he trusted your opinions even when they weren’t always right. The backlash of your horror was certainly enough for him to know that something wasn’t right.
He will bring the sword to his father, keep it locked away from any sunlight in his vaults for now and away from himself and you. Let his father deal with it, he already has a sword from Ferrus. That and you were enough for him.
Sanguinius
He couldn’t see his death anymore. He had visited Horus as you requested since you both haven’t seen him in a long while and went togheter on campaign. He had covered his back, protecting the Warmaster from a blow before beheading the offender. After that fateful moment he had no visions anymore. What was Lorgars legionnaire doing there anyway? He was certainly not impressed by this Erebus and finally made Horus see sense that he had a nest of snakes on his ship.
He was not certain what he had managed to avoid but it felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Did you perchance have foresight too or just a good gut feeling? He didn’t know but you had been right to go and meet Horus.
He needed a break, maybe go back to Baal for a while. How about he treats you a bit too? He would wait a bit to make sure that the vision of his death doesn’t return but…if he truly wouldn’t die he could start to make plans on settling down with you? On his home planet, after the crusade is over and live out his days with you by his side.
Konrad Curze
“Sire? Should we initiate the bombardment?” Sevatar asked uncertain as Konrad and the rest of his commanders stood on the bridge and he overlooked Nostramo without saying a word for the past ten minutes.
He had been so sure what he would do once he reached this accursed planet. Destroy it and rid the world of its existence and yet…he hesitated. Something was changing in the warp as if fate was waiting on a crossroad. You had been terrified and begged him not to destroy his home planet, to change his mind and find another way to fix it. He had send you away for it, back into your shared room away from his eyes.
If he destroys the planet, he would seal his fate and go down the path that he had seen for himself but if he would not…the other option was murky, uncertain and for once he could not see exactly what would happen. In the first path he was alone, on the second he could catch glimpses of you.
“Sire?” Sevatar inquired again while Konrads hand lingered on the coms. His uncertainty was rubbing off on the legion who stood around antsy in anticipation like vultures waiting for a corpse.
“Call off the bombardment. I changed my mind.” Konrad said as he left the bridge. You had been terrified because of him and he needed to get you. He could see things changing in his fate twisting into something else. He had averted something terrible. Nostramo would be changed, molded by him but not destroyed today.
Angron
You were dying, was the first thing that came to mind when Angron looked at your old body. It had been a miracle that you lived long enough to see the end of the crusade, especially while being around him.
How he wished he could’ve given you more than his half crazed being, more than the war ridden world, drenched in blood and gore and yet you had not minded it. You endured his moods, his episodes of violence and all the death and destruction he left in his wake. You stayed and now he got the honor of dying beside you. Not on the battlefield in a glorious blaze but beside your bed with the Nails draining his brain and killing his body. He had dismissed the Apothecaries and banned everyone from entering under the threat of killing them all. He didn’t want to be interrupted.
He had not told you that he was dying but you could see it. He was tired and in pain but instead of an outburst he sat beside your bed, holding your hand while his head rested on the mattress. At least you would go togheter.
Two souls entered the warp, his intertwined with yours, not letting you go even after death and he had wished he could start again from the beginning. Without the nails, without the blood on his hands and give you a better life.
Luckily for him an entity, despite the Imperial Truth having been spread across the universe, looked favorably at you two. His wishes would be granted.
Two graves are placed in the Imperial Palace side by side. Somewhere on a distant planet, in the same city away from war and misery two children are born. Destined to meet each other again in their second life.
Roboute Guilliman
Day in and day out he was mowing the grass with his scythe, collecting crops, watering plants. He had gotten his peaceful dream. It felt liberating distancing himself from the court and let his sons take over. His time was over for now and he could concentrate on what truly mattered. Maybe his sons couldn’t understand why he would want to live the life of an agri worker when he could live the life of a second emperor in the realm of Ultramar but he did…when it was necessary.
But now it wasn’t. Now he could live togheter with you in a cottage, enjoy the sun upon his skin everyday and spent the evenings quietly in the porch while bugs sang in the grass and birds flew through the air. At night he could lay beside you, hold you and sleep even when he didn’t need to do it. All that without being interrupted by some urgent matter.
All he needed to do was to finish up putting away the wood for the winter and ho home. Maybe he would get a chance to taste one of your new culinary creations. Maybe his sons would visit soon too. He kinda misses this Aeonid Thiel with his sharp mind and a sense for trouble making. Or maybe he will send out an invitation to his brothers for a dinner. He was certain that Sanguinius or even the Lion would appreciate the nature and a homemade meal.
Perturabo
Blueprints were scattered around his study while he was working on another sketch on how to improve the structure of a city. Finally he could build things, not destroy them. Just a few more improvements on the infrastructure and water supplies and the pretty mansion for you and him in a pretty corner of the galaxy. The whole sector was ruled by him now and the beauty of his constructs could rival that of Lorgars churches.
He had longed to have that and despite his bitterness it actually came to pass. You were currently away, visiting friends and family and when you would come back in a few months, he will have everything done. Maybe he should commission a sculpture of you from Fulgrim, he muses. After all they look so realistic and he could place it on a fountain. Or not. He could do it himself and mold your body from stone. No, he was not jealous of another man carving you from stone. He just could do it himself!
Nothing was too hard or to complicated for him. He would learn and do it. Now he had time to build, time to construct the perfect home for you.
I discussed this in my Discord group — but if you’re short enough, slapping your Primarch’s ass is actually giving it a hi-five.
“GOOD JOB BOOTY BOY” *hi-fives ass*
You ever jump to slap a stop sign or road sign or when people slap bags of dirt? That's how I imagine it.
Leman, Vulkan,and Jaghatai would probably get a laugh out of it, in front of others or by yourselves. They'd then try to return the slap. All the space wolves are doing it for shit and giggles.
Others? Magnus and Horus would be amused and would return the favor when you're in a more private space.
Alpharius and Omegon? Are you sure you slapped the right butts? Or maybe you slapped your own? Either way they're deeply amused and will get you back.
Lion, Roboute, Ferrus Manus, and Rogal would give you lectures on what should be private and public. (They all enjoyed it though)
Fulgrim would be mock appalled but enjoy it nonetheless. A slap from his beloved?
Sanguinius would get flustered and might accidentally flutter his wings. The blood angels have decided to inspect the walls deeply.
Mortarion and Konrad would be confused? Why did you hit their butts? Was there a bug there?
Please don't slap Angron. He's nervous about the nails reacting. You can gently touch it. He'll deny getting flustered.
Corvus goes right to shadows and will remain flustered.
Perturabo will grumble about how childish you are. It's not your fault. He's quite caked up. Defintely did not enjoy it. Please do it again.
Lorgar is writing scripture about it. Calling it the divine hand or something like that. It's been added to the meditation routines.
The lost primarchs? You slapped too hard and they disappeared. Poof to the void. The emperor warned you about this exact scenario happening.
Bonus?
The emperor has the firmest butt in the galaxy and it hurt your hand. The custodes took it personally. You got lectured.
Malcador? Not too hard please. He's an old man.
Erda? Prepare your butt. Her slaps are strategic and firm.
Colored other sketch with Perturabo. AlphOm are next
How do you think the primaries would react to their s/o breaking out the step ladder, mid argument, and pointing a finger at them, and saying something sassy like,. "Listen here, you little shit, " but like in a joking manner.
I interpreted primaries as either primarch or primaris marines so:
Part 1 : Primarch Edition
Requested Tags for All Works: @beckyninja @runin64 @ilovewolvezz @pippinsquishums @warhorny-on-main
Masterlist
pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3
Primaris Marines Edition: pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4
Imperial Edition
Lion El'Jonson
Lion stands there with his usual impossible composure, arms folded behind his back, arms folded behind his back, looking every inch the imposing Primarch as he calmly dismantled every one of your points with infuriating logic.
"I am merely stating the facts."
"Oh, I know you are."
Silence. He regards you with that unreadable expression that somehow manages to be both patient and unbearably smug.
"Have you conceded?"
"You know what?" you mutters.
Lion watches as you abruptly turn on your heel and disappears into the next room. A minute passes. You return carrying a step ladder. One brow arches at the sight. Without a word, you unfold it directly in front of him. Click. Click. You climb until you were finally eye level with him. Lion says nothing as you do. Planting both hands on your hips, you lean forward, and jab a finger squarely at the center of his breastplate.
"Listen here, you little shit."
Silence. Several Dark Angels nearby freeze. One veteran quietly decides this is an excellent time to patrol somewhere else. Lion simply stares at you.
"...I am fairly certain," he says after an agonizing pause, "that I remain considerably larger than you."
"I know, but now I can properly scold you."
Another pause. The corner of his mouth twitches. Just once.
"So," he says, voice dangerously even, "you fetched a ladder... solely to insult me at eye level."
"I did."
"Premeditated."
"Very."
"And you expected this to help your argument?"
"No."
"Then why?"
"Because it was funny."
The twitch becomes an unmistakable smile. A rare thing. One almost no one outside the Inner Circle has ever witnessed.
"It was," he admits.
Before you can celebrate your victory, enormous, gauntleted hands settle around your waist.
"Lion—"
With insulting ease, he lifts you—ladder and all—off the ground.
"You are abusing engineering for comedic purposes."
"I absolutely am."
"I can’t permit this."
"You absolutely can."
He sighs the long-suffering sigh of a man who commands a Legion of transhuman super-soldiers, yet somehow finds himself outmaneuvered by one stubborn mortal with access to household equipment.
"...Very well."
He sets the ladder aside. Then, without another word, pulls you into a kiss that ends the argument far more effectively than either of you ever could. The Dark Angels collectively agreed to pretend none of this had happened. Except for one unfortunate Battle-Brother.
He quietly adds "secure all step ladders before domestic disputes" to the fortress-monastery maintenance checklist.
The Lion never comments on it. But every time he passed a ladder after that, he checks to make sure you aren't nearby.
Forgotton Primarch
No one knows what had started the argument anymore. At some point, it had shifted from discussing expedition logistics into an increasingly heated debate over whether it was "reckless optimism" or "reasonable confidence."
"It worked," you insist.
"It worked despite your method," the Second replies calmly.
"It still worked."
"You rolled a transport vehicle down a mountain."
"It got there."
"It caught fire."
"It was a controlled fire."
"There is no such thing as a controlled transport fire."
"There is if you arrive before it goes out."
His officers had long since stopped pretending to organize supply manifests. Every one of them is quietly listening. The Primarch sighs, rubbing his temples.
"I feel as though we define the word 'success' differently."
"Oh, we definitely do."
He opens his mouth to continue. Instead, you turn on your heel and walk away.
"...Beloved?"
No answer. One captain frowns.
"...Should we—"
"No," the Primarch says. "They'll come back."
"How can you be sure?"
"They always come back."
Sure enough, two minutes later you return. Carrying a step ladder. The officers exchange confused glances. The Primarch looks at the ladder, then at you. Then back at the ladder.
"...Is there a maintenance task I forgot?"
"No."
"...Do you require assistance reaching something?"
"Nope."
"...Then why—"
Clack. You unfold it directly in front of him. Every conversation throughout the command hall stops. You climb carefully. One step. Two. Three. You are finally close enough to look him directly in the eyes. You plant a finger firmly against the center of his armor.
"Listen here, you little shit."
Silence. Absolute silence. Even the ship's engines seem quieter. The Second stares at you for several long seconds. His expression remains perfectly neutral. Then...
"...You disappeared."
"Yep."
"Found a ladder."
"Mhm."
"Carried it across my flagship."
"Correct."
"You interrupted our argument..."
"So I could do this."
"...Entirely for dramatic effect."
"It felt necessary."
One of the captains quietly leans toward another.
"...Should we leave?"
"No."
"I've waited twenty years to see how this ends."
The Primarch looks down at the finger poking his chest. Then back into your eyes. Slowly... Very slowly... A smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. Then another. Until, against all expectations, he laughs. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a genuine, warm laugh that seems to ripple through the room.
"You know," he manages between chuckles, "history will never remember this."
"No?"
"No."
"Good."
"Why is that good?"
"Because then no one will know I called a Primarch a little shit."
"Oh, I imagine my sons will make certain they remember."
Behind him, several officers are already trying, and failing, not to laugh. One finally lost the battle. A snort escapes him. Another follows. Within moments, the command hall dissolves into helpless laughter. The Second simply shakes his head.
"I spent decades building an image of quiet dignity."
"And?"
"You have just dismantled it with carpentry."
You grins.
"Worth it?"
He looks at the ladder. At you. At the officers still trying to compose themselves.
"...Completely worth it."
From that day onward, the ladder somehow accompanies every campaign. No one questions why. Everyone knew. If the ladder appeared, someone was about to lose an argument. Usually the Primarch.
Fulgrim
Fulgrim is used to being admired. It is practically a law of nature. Kings and generals bow. Artists fight for the privilege of capturing his likeness. Remembrancers fill endless pages describing his perfection, his grace, his brilliance. No one, absolutely no one, has ever looked him in the eye and decided the appropriate response to an argument was to fetch a step ladder.
And yet here you are. The disagreement had started over something trivial. A critique of your latest work. A comment about his impossible standards. A debate that had somehow escalated because Fulgrim, being Fulgrim, could turn even a simple disagreement into a philosophical discussion on beauty and excellence.
"You are avoiding the point," you tell him.
"I assure you, beloved, I am expanding upon the point."
"You are making the point run away."
Fulgrim places a hand dramatically over his chest.
"How cruel."
You narrow your eyes.
"Oh, no. I know that look."
You walk away. Fulgrim watches with curiosity as you return moments later carrying a small step ladder. There is a pause. A very long pause.
"Darling."
You unfold it.
"Do not."
You climb.
"Absolutely do not."
You reach eye level. Fulgrim stares. You point a finger at him.
"Listen here, you little shit."
For once in his very long life, Fulgrim is speechless. Then he laughs. Not a polite chuckle. Not the elegant, practiced laugh of a Primarch at court. A genuine laugh.
"You climbed a ladder," he manages, "to insult me."
"Yes."
"You planned this."
"Yes."
"You had the opportunity to simply insult me from the ground."
"I lacked the dramatic effect."
Fulgrim looks at you. Then at the ladder. Then back at you.
"My love, I have fought wars. I have conquered worlds. I have stood before beings that would make lesser souls flee in terror."
He smiles.
"And yet somehow, this is the most devastating attack I have endured."
You grin.
"Good."
He leans closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
"You realize I could simply pick up the ladder."
"You wouldn't."
"I could."
"You won't."
A pause.
"...No."
His smile softens. Because that is the thing about you. Everyone else sees Fulgrim the Phoenician—the perfect warrior, the flawless artist, the embodiment of elegance. You see the man underneath. The one who can be ridiculous. The one who can laugh at himself. The one who, despite all his grandeur, secretly cherishes the fact that someone loved him enough to tell him when he is being an insufferable little shit. Fulgrim gently takes your hand from where you are still pointing at him and kisses your knuckles.
"Very well," he says. "I concede."
You blink.
"That easily?"
"No."
He smiles.
"I simply find myself unwilling to argue with someone who has prepared a tactical elevation strategy."
And somewhere in the Imperial Palace archives, a Remembrancer quietly recordes the event:
The Primarch Fulgrim was defeated not by blade, weapon, or rival.
He was defeated by a step ladder and a spouse with impeccable timing.
Perturabo
The war room has gone silent. Generals, logisticians, and Iron Warriors stand around the hololithic display, enduring what had become an increasingly familiar exchange between the Lord of Iron and his wife.
"The shipment schedules are inefficient," Perturabo states flatly.
"They're delayed because half your fleet ignored my docking protocols."
"They are my ships."
"They are in my orbit."
"They carry Imperial cargo."
"They also require permission to land before they flatten my cities."
Neither of them raises their voices. Somehow, that makes it worse. An Iron Warrior shifts uncomfortably. Another quietly calculates how long it will take to leave the room unnoticed. Perturabo folds his arms.
"You are being unreasonable."
You stare at him. Then, without a word... you walk out. The room remains painfully still. One captain dares to hope the argument has ended. It hasn’t. The doors opens again. You returns carrying a polished step ladder. Every Iron Warrior in the room collectively forgot how to breathe. Perturabo watches as you unfold it. Click. Click.
"...What," he asks with dangerous calm, "are you doing?"
"You'll see."
You climb until you both are nearly eye level. Then you plant a finger squarely against the center of his breastplate.
"Listen here, you little shit."
Silence. Absolute silence. Somewhere, a servo-skull made the unfortunate decision to continue recording. Perturabo looks at the finger. Then at the ladder. Then back at his wife.
"...You interrupted a strategic briefing..."
"Mm-hm."
"...Retrieved a ladder..."
"Correct."
"...So you could call a Primarch..."
"Go on."
"...a little shit."
You smile sweetly.
"I did."
Another long pause. Finally—
"...The ladder was an unnecessary expenditure of effort."
A beat.
"It was already in the hallway."
"...Efficient."
"It was."
Several officers blink. Was... Was that approval? Perturabo sighs through his nose, the sound carrying all the weary resignation of a man who had besieged impossible fortresses only to discover the greatest challenge of his life had been waiting at home.
"You have been waiting years to do this."
"Since we met again."
"I suspected as much."
"You looked so offended the first time I had to crane my neck to argue with you."
"...So you developed a solution."
"Of course."
"You engineered your insults."
"I engineered accessibility."
One corner of his mouth twitches. Barely. Imperceptibly to almost everyone. You catch it immediately.
"There it is."
"There is nothing."
"You smiled."
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
"I acknowledged satisfactory planning."
"Oh, so that's what we're calling it now?"
Perturabo steps forward. With one hand, he lifts her—ladder and all—as though neither weighed anything.
"You are impossible."
You grin.
"And yet you still married me."
"I was betrothed to you decades before the Emperor found me."
"You still had the option to object."
"I considered it."
"Liar."
"...Perhaps."
The room watches, dumbfounded, as the Lord of Iron carefully set both his wife and the ladder back on the floor. Then he looks toward the assembled officers, all of whom instantly found the hololithic map fascinating.
"The meeting," he says, utterly deadpan, "is adjourned."
The officers don’t need to be told twice. Within seconds, the strategium is empty. Only after the doors seal did Perturabo glance at the ladder leaning against the wall.
"...Keep it."
You blink.
"You don't mind?"
"It is evidently a strategic asset."
You laugh. He won't admit it aloud. But of every gift his wife’s world had ever supplied the Imperium—its rare pigments adorning the armor of the Legiones Astartes and the murals of the Imperial Palace— The most effective piece of engineering it had ever produced... was a simple step ladder.
Jaghatai Khan
The Khan has faced many challenges in his life. He has crossed endless steppes beneath alien skies. He has fought warriors who believed themselves untouchable. He has brought entire systems into compliance with the speed and fury of the White Scars. None of those things prepared him for his wife appearing in the middle of an argument carrying a step ladder.
"You can’t simply decide to disappear into the void for three weeks without informing anyone," you say.
"I informed my captains."
"You informed your captains after you left."
"They knew where I was going."
"They knew where your ship was going."
A pause.
"The distinction seems minor."
"It isn’t."
The Khan smiles faintly. There it is. The fire he has always admired.
"You are angry."
"I am."
"You are also correct."
You narrow your eyes. That is the problem with Jaghatai Khan. He can admit when he is wrong. But he always does it in the most infuriatingly calm way possible.
"You know exactly what you're doing."
"I do."
"And you think being charming will save you."
"It has worked before."
"Not today."
You turn and walk away. The Khan watches you go, amused. Then you return. With a ladder. The amusement fades into curiosity.
"...What is this?"
"A solution."
"I see."
He watches you unfold it. Slowly. Deliberately. The Primarch of the White Scars stands there as his wife climbs a ladder until you can properly look him in the eye. Then you point at him.
"Listen here, you little shit."
There is a moment of perfect silence. Then— The Khan laughs. Not politely. Not quietly. A full, delighted laugh that echoes through the halls of the command deck. The nearby White Scars immediately begin pretending they hadn’t heard anything.
"You brought a ladder," he says between laughs.
"Yes."
"To challenge me."
"Yes."
"You planned this."
"Yes."
Jaghatai wipes a tear from the corner of his eye.
"Magnificent."
You cross your arms.
"You're not supposed to encourage me."
"Why not? It is an excellent strategy."
"It is insulting."
"It is creative."
"It is disrespectful."
"It is also accurate, occasionally."
You stare.
"Did you just agree?"
"I did."
"You are impossible."
He steps closer, resting a hand against the ladder.
"When we first met, you stood before me as a royal of a world I was bringing into compliance."
"And?"
"You could have hated me."
You soften slightly.
"But you did not."
"No."
"You argued with me."
"Frequently."
"You challenged me."
"Frequently."
The Khan smiles.
"And I knew then that I would rather ride beside a storm than rule over a calm sea."
For a moment, the humor fades. The warrior, the conqueror, the Primarch vanishes. And there is simply a man looking at the person who had chosen to stay. Then he ruins the tenderness immediately.
"Although I must say, the ladder is a bold addition to your diplomatic arsenal."
You roll your eyes.
"You're lucky I love you."
"I know."
"And you're lucky I married you."
"I know."
"And you're lucky I don't push you off your own command deck."
The Khan's grin widens.
"Ah. There is the royal I remember."
He lifts you easily from the ladder and carries you away before you can protest.
"The meeting is over," he announces to the stunned White Scars.
"My wife has defeated me."
A captain blinks.
"Khan..."
"With a ladder."
A pause.
"...I see."
"No, you do not."
And perhaps that was for the best. Some victories belonged only to those who witnessed them.
Leman Russ
The Space Wolves have learned many important lessons over the years. Never challenge the Wolf King to a drinking contest. Never insult his Legion within earshot. Never assume that a battle won meant the fighting was over. And, most importantly: Never interrupt when the Wolf King and his wife were arguing. Because unlike most beings in the Imperium, she had known Leman Russ before the Emperor.
Before the title. Before the Great Crusade. Before the galaxy knew him as the Lord of Winter and War. She knew him as a stubborn, reckless young warrior who thought charging headfirst into danger counted as a strategy. Which was why, when he stands before her now—towering, armored, and surrounded by the might of the Rout—she is entirely unimpressed.
"You still do it."
Russ blinks.
"Do what?"
"That."
He frowns.
"A useful description."
"You run into danger, assume everyone else will keep up, and then act surprised when everyone worries."
The Wolf King grins.
"Ah. You mean being heroic."
"I mean being an idiot."
Several Fenrisian warriors nearby immediately became very interested in the walls. Russ laughes.
"You wound me."
"I have wounded you."
"Many times."
"And you deserved it."
The grin on his face only grows. There it is. That is what he loves. Not fear. Not worship. Not the careful respect everyone else gave a Primarch. You treat him like the boy who used to come home covered in bruises and insist he had won every fight.
"You are impossible," you say.
"You married me."
"I was young and foolish."
"You fought beside me for years before that."
"I was young, foolish, and had poor judgment."
The wolves around them try very hard not to laugh. Russ opens his mouth to respond. Then stops. Because you had disappeared. A moment later, you return carrying a step ladder. The entire hall goes silent. Russ stares. Then looks at the ladder. Then back at you.
"No."
"Yes."
"Absolutely not."
You unfold it. The wolves immediately back away.
"This isn’t a battle tactic I have seen before."
"It is a height advantage."
"You are cheating."
"You are twelve feet tall."
"An advantage granted by birth."
"An advantage you abuse."
Russ looks deeply offended.
"I have never abused my height."
You climb. Slowly. Purposefully. Until you are finally at eye level. Then you point at him.
"Listen here, you little shit."
There is a pause. A terrible, wonderful pause. Then— The Wolf King howls. Not metaphorically. Actually howls. He laughs so hard that several nearby Astartes had to turn away.
"You did not!"
"I did."
"You brought a ladder!"
"I did."
"Just to say that?"
"Yes."
Russ wipes at his eyes.
"I have fought monsters."
"Uh-huh."
"Demons."
"Yes."
"Armies."
"Yes."
"And yet this is the greatest challenge I have faced."
"Correct."
He leans down slightly.
"You know most people are afraid to speak to me that way."
"Most people met you after you became a Primarch."
That stops him. Only for a moment. But you saw it. Because you were one of the few people alive who remembers Leman before the legend. Before the armor. Before the fangs and the titles. Before everyone decided what he was supposed to be. You remember the man. Russ reaches out and gently taps the top of the ladder.
"You realize I could simply pick this up."
"You won't."
"No?"
"No."
A grin spreads across his face.
"...No."
He lifts her effortlessly from the ladder, earning an indignant protest.
"Put me down."
"Never."
"You are proving my point."
"Which point?"
"That you are an enormous, overgrown puppy."
The entire room freezes.
A Fenrisian warrior quietly whispered, "She called him a puppy."
Another whispered back, "And lived."
Russ just laughs. A great booming laugh that shakes the hall.
"Perhaps." He sets you down carefully, "But I am your enormous, overgrown puppy."
You roll your eyes.
"Unfortunately."
"Fortunately."
"Unfortunately."
"Fortunately."
And just like that, the argument is forgotten. The Wolf King has conquered worlds. He has broken armies. He has carried the Emperor's will across the stars. But none of those victories matter quite as much as the fact that one stubborn warrior from Fenris could still look him in the eye, sometimes with the assistance of a ladder, and remind him who he really was.
Rogal Dorn
The Imperium thought Rogal Dorn had returned. They saw the Praetorian of Terra. They saw the Primarch of the VII Legion. They saw the warrior who had survived the Heresy, the fall of brothers, and the loss of an age. They didn’t see the man who had been found broken on a death world. They didn’t see the blood, the exhaustion, the missing hand. They didn’t see the man who had been forced to survive with nothing but his own will.
You had and you hadn’t been impressed. When you found him, he was still fighting. Of course he was. Even half-dead, missing a hand, and stranded on a world that existed solely to kill anything unfortunate enough to live there, Rogal Dorn was still trying to complete the mission.
When Dorn returned to the Imperium, when the galaxy once again bowed before the great Primarch thought lost, she remained the one person who remembered that beneath the armor was a man who occasionally needed someone to tell him when he was being impossible. Which was why the argument surprised absolutely no one who knew them.
"You cannot reinforce the entire eastern district because you dislike the original design."
"The original design contained flaws."
"It contained windows."
"Windows are vulnerabilities."
"They are also how people see outside."
"Unnecessary."
You stare at him.
Dorn stares back. A room full of Imperial Fists quietly decides they had urgent business elsewhere.
"You know," You say, "for someone who claims to value practicality, you make being reasonable very difficult."
"My reasoning is sound."
"Your reasoning is a fortress with no doors."
"Doors are weaknesses."
You close your eyes. A familiar expression. A dangerous expression. Dorn recognizes it immediately.
"No."
You walks away.
"No."
You return. With a step ladder. The Primarch of the Imperial Fists stare at it.
"...Why do you possess that?"
"Because I know you."
"I do not understand."
"That's the problem."
You unfold it. Dorn watches with the same focus he would give an enemy battlefield maneuver.
"You have planned this."
"Yes."
"You considered the height difference."
"Yes."
"You acquired equipment."
"Yes."
"For the purpose of arguing."
"Yes."
A pause.
"...I respect the preparation."
You climb. When you reach eye level, you point at him.
"Listen here, you little shit."
Silence. The Imperial Fists stop pretending they weren’t listening. Dorn looks down. Then at the ladder. Then back at you.
"I have been called many things."
"Good."
"Traitor."
"Yes."
"Failure."
"Yes."
"Stubborn."
"Frequently."
"But little."
"Especially today."
A long pause. Dorn's expression remains completely unchanged. Then:
"I see."
You narrow your eyes.
"Are you about to analyze the insult?"
"Yes."
"Of course you are."
"The statement is factually inaccurate."
"Oh?"
"I am not little."
You smile.
"That is the part you object to?"
"Naturally."
For a moment, you thought you saw it. A tiny flicker. Not quite amusement. Not quite a smile. But something.
"You almost laughed."
"I did not."
"You did."
"I acknowledged the creativity of your approach."
"You liked it."
"It was efficient."
"You liked it."
A pause.
"...Perhaps."
And there it was. The closest thing to surrender Rogal Dorn ever gave. Not on a battlefield. Not before an enemy. But standing in front of the one person who had met him when he wasn’t a symbol. The one person who had seen him broken. The one person who knew he was more than a fortress. Dorn reaches out with his prosthetic hand and gently lifts you from the ladder.
"You know," he says, "most people would not speak to me in such a manner."
"Most people met the Praetorian of Terra."
"And you?"
You smile.
"I met the man stuck on a death world who needed help getting home."
A silence. Then Dorn looks away. Because even Rogal Dorn has limits to how much emotion he could process at once.
"...Keep the ladder."
You blink.
"What?"
"It has proven useful."
"You like the ladder."
"I respect its tactical application."
"You like the ladder."
"I did not say that."
"You absolutely like the ladder."
Dorn says nothing. Which, from him, was almost an admission. And somewhere in the Imperial Palace, a very confused quartermaster later received a request:
One step ladder. Reason: strategic necessity.
No further explanation was provided.
Konrad Curze
Konrad Curze has always been surrounded by fear. People fear his shadow. They fear his voice. They fear the judgment in his eyes. He has become so accustomed to people trembling before him that he had almost forgotten what it is like for someone to simply... not care. Then he met him.
A soldier of the Astra Militarum. Not a noble. Not a warrior from some legendary bloodline. Not someone who believed a Primarch is something to worship. Just a man who has survived. A man who has fought for every piece of himself. Curze has seen countless people hide behind masks. False courage. False loyalty. False virtue. But this soldier had looked him in the eye and told him exactly who he was.
No apologies. No hesitation. No request for permission. And that had caught Curze's attention. Because the Night Haunter knew something about living in a world that insists on telling you what you are supposed to be. He knew something about becoming yourself despite the universe. Which was why their arguments are... unusual.
"You cannot simply threaten a planetary governor because he annoyed you."
Curze stares.
"He was corrupt."
"That doesn’t mean you get to throw him through a window."
"He survived."
"That isn’t the standard for acceptable behavior."
"He was irritating."
"You are impossible."
Curze tilts his head.
"You knew that before you stayed."
"Unfortunately."
A pause.
"That was almost affectionate."
"Don’t ruin it."
A faint, unsettling smile crosses his face. Then his partner walks away. Curze watches. He knows that walk. The same one he has seen before every stubborn decision. The one that meant something was coming.
Moments later, he returns. With a step ladder. Curze stares. The Night Haunter. The terror of Nostramo. The Primarch whose presence could silence a room. Looks at a small step ladder.
"...Explain."
"No."
"That isn’t an explanation."
"It is a warning."
Curze watches as the ladder unfolded.
"You have brought a climbing device into an argument."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you are ridiculously tall and I need to make a point."
Curze is silent.
Then:
"You prepared for this."
"Yes."
"You planned an intimidation tactic."
"Yes."
"With a ladder."
"Yes."
A pause.
"...I respect the commitment."
His partner climbs. The surrounding guards and soldiers immediately found reasons to look elsewhere. No one wanted to be responsible for witnessing a Commissar's report that read:
Primarch verbally defeated by household equipment.
Once he is eye level, he points a finger at him.
"Listen here, you little shit."
Silence. Curze stares. For once... He has no prophecy. No grim observation. No terrifying remark. Nothing.
Then, slowly:
"You called me little."
"Yes."
"I am a Primarch."
"Yes."
"I am taller than you."
"Yes."
"And yet you chose that word."
"Because you are being annoying."
A long silence. Then Curze laughs. It isn’t the cruel laughter of the Night Haunter. Not the sound that made criminals fear for their lives. It is something rarer Something almost normal.
"You are absurd."
"You love me."
"I do."
The answer came so quickly that it surprised even him. His partner blinks. Curze looks away.
"...Do not make that expression."
"What expression?"
"The one where you realize I said something sincere."
"You said you love me."
"I am aware."
"Out loud."
"I am also aware of that."
A pause. Then his partner smiles. Curze sighs.
"This was a mistake."
"The ladder?"
"No."
He looks at him.
"The honesty."
Because that is the thing his partner has always done. He never treated Curze like a monster that needed to be feared. He treated him like a person who needed to be held accountable. Someone who could be wrong. Someone who could be loved. Someone who could choose. Curze reaches out and taps the ladder.
"You are keeping that."
"The ladder?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"It is useful."
"For arguments?"
"For reminding me that someone in this galaxy is willing to stand above their fear and insult me."
His expression softens.
"That is rare."
His partner climbs down.
"Was that almost a compliment?"
"No."
"It was."
"It was an observation."
"It was a compliment."
Curze looks away.
"...Perhaps."
And for Konrad Curze, that is as close to admitting defeat as anyone was ever going to get.
Sanguinius
There are very few people in the Imperium who addressed Sanguinius without awe. His sons revere him. The people adore him. To billions, he is an angel descended from myth. His partner sighs whenever anyone says that.
"They're doing it again."
Sanguinius smiles.
"They mean well."
"I know."
"They see the wings."
"I don't."
He looks at you. Even after all these years, those words carry a quiet comfort. When they had first met on Baal, there had been no reverence. No gasping at the sight of wings. No fear. Only a calm voice asking,
"Can you sit down, or are you going to bleed on my clinic floor?"
He had laughed. Then promptly collapsed. You had stitched his wounds without ever seeing the face the galaxy would one day worship. You had learned the cadence of his footsteps. The warmth of his hands. The gentleness in his voice.
By the time the Emperor arrived on Baal, you already knew exactly who Sanguinius was. Not because you had seen him but because you had listened. Which was why, decades later, you remain blissfully immune to his impossible charm.
"You promised me you wouldn't fly into anti-air fire."
"I promised I would avoid unnecessary risks."
"You caught a falling Thunderhawk."
"It seemed necessary."
"It was on fire."
"It is no longer on fire."
"Because you caught it!"
Sanguinius offers his most innocent smile. It never works. Not on you.
"You are impossible."
"I have been told."
"By me."
"Frequently."
A pause.
"You know I'm right."
"I do."
"...That is unfair."
"It is truthful."
You fold your arms. He can hear it in the silence. The kind that meant you are thinking. Dangerous. Very dangerous.
"...One moment."
You walk away. Sanguinius blinks.
"What are you doing?"
No answer. Instead, you return carrying a small step ladder. A nearby Blood Angel quietly elbows another.
"...Should we leave?"
"Immediately."
The ladder unfolds with two loud clicks. Sanguinius tilts his head.
"My love..."
"You are too tall."
"I can’t help that."
"I know."
"So the ladder..."
"...helps me scold you properly."
He laughs softly.
"You planned this."
"For weeks."
"I suspected as much."
You carefully climb until you are at the right height. Then reach out, find the center of his breastplate with practiced familiarity, and poke him firmly.
"Listen here, you little shit."
Silence. Then Sanguinius laughs. Bright. Warm. The kind of laugh that makes everyone nearby smile without meaning to.
"You brought a ladder."
"I did."
"So you could call me a little shit."
"I did."
"You've been waiting to do this."
"Since you started pretending you were invincible again."
His smile softens.
"...Ah."
"You keep forgetting."
"Forgetting what?"
"That I knew you before everyone decided you were an angel."
A quiet settles over them.
"I knew the young man who insisted his injuries could wait because someone else needed help first."
Another poke to his armor.
"I knew the patient who apologized every time I changed his bandages."
Another.
"I knew the fool who nearly died because he thought everyone else's life mattered more than his own."
Sanguinius reaches up and gently takes the hand still resting against his chest.
"And now?"
You smile.
"Now I know the exact same fool."
He chuckles, lowering his forehead until it rests gently against yours.
"I suppose I deserved that."
"You absolutely deserved it."
"I was hoping my smile might save me."
"It won't."
"My wings?"
"No."
"My tragic eyes?"
"No."
He sighs dramatically.
"I appear to have exhausted my defenses."
"You never had any."
Another soft laugh escapes him. Then, before you can climb down, he carefully wraps an arm around your waist.
"May I?"
"You were going to pick me up anyway."
"I was."
He lifts you effortlessly from the ladder, holding them close.
"You know," he murmurs, "everyone else looks up at me."
"I know."
"You never have."
You reach up, gently cupping his cheek.
"I've never needed to."
For perhaps the first time that day, the Angel of Baal has no words. Only a smile. The Blood Angels who had witnessed the exchange unanimously agreed on two things:
First, their father had been thoroughly defeated.
Second, no one was ever to touch that step ladder. It was evidently a sacred relic.
Ferrus Manus
Their love language is fixing things. His armor comes back with improvements he never asked for. Your tools mysteriously sharpen themselves because he tuned them. Neither of you are especially good with words. But you're both excellent at saying "I love you" with a wrench.
The Medusan forge had fallen silent. Not because anything is wrong. Quite the opposite. It is because Ferrus Manus and his partner are arguing. Which meant both of them are thinking. Very hard.
"...The alloy ratio is incorrect."
"It isn't."
"It is."
"It has a four percent increase in tensile strength."
"A three-point-eight percent increase."
"Rounded."
"It shouldn’t be."
You sigh. There it is. The impossible standard. The relentless pursuit of perfection.
One of the Iron Hands quietly whispers to another, "How long has this been going?"
"Three hours."
"They've only said six sentences."
"Yes."
Ferrus folds his arms.
"The prototype is unfinished."
"It works."
"It could work better."
"So could you."
Silence. An Iron Father looks up.
"...Bold."
Ferrus simply stares. You pinch the bridge of your nose.
"You've been in this forge for thirty-six hours."
"I have."
"You've forgotten to eat."
"I was occupied."
"You've replaced the cooling system three times."
"It required improvement."
"It was already excellent."
"It is now better."
"You rebuilt a perfectly functional hammer."
"It balances more efficiently."
"You redesigned your redesign."
"It was necessary."
"No."
"It was."
"No."
Ferrus looks genuinely confused.
"It was objectively beneficial."
You stare at him for a long moment. Then quietly set your calipers on the workbench.
"...One moment."
Ferrus watches you leave.
"...Where are you going?"
No answer. You return a minute later carrying a sturdy workshop step ladder. Every Iron Hand in the forge freezes.
One Techmarine whispers, "...They wouldn't."
"They absolutely would."
The ladder unfolds with two metallic clicks. Ferrus frowns.
"...Explain."
"I need proper working height."
"You are already standing."
"For maintenance."
"I do not require maintenance."
You give him a look.
"That's exactly what something requiring maintenance would say."
Several servitors continue working. The Iron Hands don’t. No one wants to miss whatever is happening. You climb until you are level with Ferrus. You reach out and tap the center of his chestplate with one grease-smudged finger.
"Listen here, you little shit."
Silence. Ferrus looks at the finger. Then the ladder. Then back at you.
"...Little."
"Yes."
"I am significantly larger than you."
"I noticed."
"The statement lacks technical accuracy."
"It has emotional accuracy."
A pause.
"I am uncertain that is a measurable property."
"It is today."
Another pause. Ferrus considers this with complete sincerity.
"...Acceptable."
You blink.
"That's all you've got?"
"You transported equipment into the forge."
"Yes."
"You completed accounting for the height differential."
"Yes."
"You selected an appropriately stable platform."
"Yes."
"You completed the operation safely."
"Obviously."
Ferrus nods once.
"...Good planning."
The Iron Hands collectively sighs. Of course. Of course their Primarch has reviewed the joke like an engineering proposal. You laugh.
"That's your response?"
"It was competently executed."
"It was delivered with structural just called you a little shit."
"You did."
"And?"
"It was delivered with structural integrity."
You burst into laughter. Ferrus tilts his head.
"...Was that not the intended outcome?"
"No."
"What was?"
"You were supposed to be offended."
"I fail to see the advantage."
"There isn't one."
"Then laughter is the superior option."
You smile.
"You know..."
"What?"
"When we met, everyone warned me you were impossible to work with."
"They were incorrect."
"They were."
Ferrus frowns.
"...I was?"
"You don't care about perfection."
"I do."
"You care about improvement."
He pauses.
"...Yes."
"And that's why we work."
A quiet settles over the forge, because that is true. You never worshipped his genius. You challenge it. He never dismissed your ideas. He refined them. Every invention became theirs. Every breakthrough began as one saying,
"What if..."
Ferrus reaches up, placing a large hand against the side of the ladder to steady it.
"...Your latest modification to my forge hammer."
You look up.
"Yes?"
"It increased efficiency by twelve-point-three percent."
"I know."
"...Thank you."
It is simple. Direct. Without flourish. Coming from Ferrus Manus, it might as well have been poetry. You smile warmly.
"You're welcome."
You start to climb down. Instead, Ferrus simply lifts you off the ladder and sets you gently on the floor.
"...One recommendation."
"Oh?"
He looks at the ladder thoughtfully.
"The feet would benefit from rubberized pads."
You laughed so hard you nearly drop a wrench.
"I insult you..."
"Yes."
"And your first instinct is to improve the ladder."
"It can be improved."
"You are unbelievable."
"So I've been told."
Later that evening, you’ve returned to the workshop. There, sitting neatly beside the ladder, was a small handwritten note.
Added anti-slip feet. Reinforced hinge pins. Increased load capacity. It should last several centuries.
No signature. None is necessary. Because that is how Ferrus Manus says,
"I love you."
Forgotten Primarch
The Eleventh knew something was wrong the moment you left in the middle of an argument. You never walked away. Not unless you were planning something. He watches the doorway for several moments.
"..."
His equerry shifts awkwardly.
"My lord?"
"They're plotting."
"...Against whom?"
"Me."
"..."
"..."
"...Should we be concerned?"
"Probably."
Sure enough, several minutes later you return. Dragging a folding step ladder behind you. The scraping echoes through the corridor. The Eleventh closes his eyes.
"...No."
You keep walking.
"No."
You smile innocently.
"What?"
"I know that look."
"What look?"
"The one that says you've made a terrible decision and intend to involve me."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You brought furniture."
"It isn't furniture."
"It unfolds."
"It elevates."
"It is absolutely furniture."
Without another word, you stop directly in front of him. Clack. The ladder unfolds. Every warrior nearby immediately finds an excuse to remain exactly where they are. None of them wants to miss whatever this is. The Primarch folds his arms.
"I refuse."
"You don't even know what I'm doing."
"I know enough."
You climb. One step. Two. Three. You are finally close enough to wag a finger under his nose. He sighs the sigh of a man who has foreseen his own defeat.
"Listen here, you little shit."
The corridor becomes perfectly still. His captains look as though they have forgotten how breathing works. The Eleventh stares at you. At the finger. At the ladder. Back at you.
"...You carried this across half the palace."
"Yes."
"So you could call me..."
"A little shit."
"...While standing on a ladder."
"I wanted eye contact."
"..."
"..."
"...You practiced that, didn't you?"
"Twice."
"I thought so."
He looks away for a moment, pressing two fingers against the bridge of his nose.
"You realize you've made it impossible for me to remain annoyed."
"I was counting on it."
A tiny smile escapes despite himself.
"So this entire performance..."
"..."
"...was your apology?"
You blink.
"What?"
"You only become this ridiculous when you think we've argued too long."
"...Maybe."
"And instead of saying 'I'm sorry'—"
"I brought a ladder."
"You brought a ladder."
"It seemed more memorable."
He laughs then. Softly. Warmly. The tension vanishes as though it had never existed. Stepping forward, he places both hands on either side of the ladder to steady it.
"You know," he says, "you could simply ask me to kneel."
"Where's the fun in that?"
"I suppose there isn't any."
He waits until you climb down. Folded the ladder with practiced ease. Then, to everyone's astonishment, slung it over his own shoulder.
"You know where we're going?"
"No."
"Tea."
"...We're still arguing."
"We can continue arguing."
"You don't seem very upset anymore."
"I'm not."
"What changed?"
He glances sideways at you.
"You cared enough to interrupt an argument, leave the room, find a ladder, carry it back, and risk making a complete fool of yourself just to make me laugh."
He smiles.
"I'd be an idiot to stay angry after that."
The ladder remains outside his private chambers for years afterward. Whenever visitors asked why a Primarch kept an ordinary step ladder in such a place, he would simply answer,
"It's a diplomatic instrument."
Only you knew he wasn't entirely joking.
Angron
There are only a handful of people left alive who remember Angron before the Butcher's Nails stole pieces of him. You are one of them. Before he was the Red Angel... Before he was the Lord of the World Eaters... Before entire worlds learned to fear the sound of his name... He had simply been another slave on Nuceria. A gladiator.
You had been kept in the nobles' pleasure halls. Different cages. Same chains. You would sneak him scraps of food when the overseers weren't looking. He would make sure no one laid a hand on you when the slaves were herded together between spectacles. Freedom had seemed impossible. Until he dared to believe it wasn't. Which was why, even now, you never looked at him with fear. Only sadness... And love.
"You are bleeding."
"It is not important."
"You have half a spear in your shoulder."
"I've had worse."
"Angron."
"It will heal."
"It would heal faster if you stopped pretending you were made of stone."
The Primarch grunts.
"I am."
"You are not."
"I am."
"You cried when Oenomaus died."
Silence. His jaw tightens.
"You remember."
"I remember everything."
The anger fades from his face. Just for a heartbeat. Then he looks away.
"...Don't."
"I will."
He sighs, a rough, tired sound that only you ever heard.
"You always do this."
"And you always make me."
You shake your head.
"You know what?"
Angron frowns.
"What?"
"I'll be right back."
He watches you disappear. A World Eater glances at his Primarch.
"...Should I—"
"No."
"But—"
"I know that look."
A moment later, you return. Carrying a step ladder. The entire command chamber falls silent. Angron stares.
"...What."
"You'll see."
"You've brought furniture."
"I've brought a solution."
You unfold it. Click. Click.
One of the World Eaters quietly muttered, "...Emperor preserve us."
You climb until you are nearly eye level. Angron crosses his arms.
"This had better be good."
You point a finger squarely at his chest.
"Listen here, you little shit."
Silence. Absolute silence. Then— A deep snort escapes him. He tries to stop it. Failed. Another follows. Then a laugh. A real one. Low and rough from disuse, but unmistakably genuine.
"You..." he manages between breaths, "...you carried a ladder..."
"So I could reach your face."
"...Just to insult me."
"Correct."
He shakes his head, still laughing.
"You are completely mad."
"I survived Nuceria."
"So did I."
You smile sadly.
"No."
Another silence. This one different.
"You survived the arenas."
Your hand, still pointing at his chest, softens into a gentle touch.
"I know the man who wanted every slave to walk free."
You rest your palm over his hearts.
"I know the one who carried injured gladiators back to the caves."
Another pause.
"I know the one who used to give me his blanket because the nights were cold."
Angron closes his eyes. The Nails are always there. Always screaming. But somehow... Your voice reaches him anyway.
"You are still in there," you whisper.
When he opens his eyes again, the anger is quieter. Not gone. Never gone. Just... quieter.
"...You always could silence the noise."
"Only for a little while."
"A little while is enough."
You smile.
"Good."
Then you poke him squarely in the breastplate again.
"Now quit acting like a little shit."
He barks another laugh.
"You ruin every serious moment."
"I improve them."
"You do."
Without another word, he reaches up and effortlessly lifts you off the ladder. You give an indignant squeak.
"Put me down."
"No."
"You've lost the argument."
"I know."
"Then why are you smiling?"
He looks at you for a long moment, because no one else in the galaxy remembers. No one else knew the slave named Angron. Only the Primarch. Only the monster. You are the last living reminder that, once... He had simply been a man who dreamed of freedom.
"...Because," he says quietly, "for a moment..."
His voice catches.
"...I remembered who I used to be."
You wrap your arms around his neck.
"I remember enough for both of us."
The ladder remains where it stands. No one touches it. Not because they feared it. But because every World Eater in the room had witnessed something they thought impossible. For one brief, precious moment... Their father had laughed.
Saw your writing request are open and had to hop in!! Chaos Primarchs still having a sweet, respectful, and loving, relationship with their consort! Basically them being a power couple even post heresy. Pick whichever Primarch strikes your fancy!
Hoooo this is interesting ! I hope you'll like this, enjoy and thank you for the request !
Masterlist
Horus lupercal/Abaddon the Despoiler :
You stood with Horus since the beginning, it's only fitting you did until the end of the Siege when the Emperor struck him down.
You lead his sons during the Heresy, ensuring the loyalties of entire system to the Warmaster as well as handling logistics with his allies, freeing up more time for him to lead his legion.
You were there during the entirety of the Siege with Abaddon, shouting orders and countering the moves of the loyalists trying to capture the Vengeful Spirit.
These days ? You lead the Black Legion alongside Abaddon, you handle supply lines and logistics along with recruiting new soldiers for the cause, you don't complain much, you see much of Horus inside Abaddon.
You long for the day to see Terra burn again.
Fulgrim :
What would he do without his little consort ? His beloved HAD to see just how great and magnificent Slaanesh is !
You did the day of the Maravaglia, the two of you danced under showers of blood as musicians, astartes and baselines mutilated themselves in a blissful, agonizing ritual to their new patron.
You ascended with him, how couldn't you ? you became a siren, your voice luring even the strongest willed warriors to you like toddlers to a toy. Your songs moved the hearts of deamons and mortals alike, creating dreadful symphonies even the mightiest Princes of chaos to the lowest hive ganger shed tears of blood to.
His sons adored you even more now ! Your melodies made loyalists scream in agony while they listened in bliss, how much better could life get ?
Nowadays you enjoy a life of luxury alongside Fulgrim in the realm of Slaanesh, you deserve it ! He gifts you all manners of trinket now, paintings, wines made of blood from loyalists, music covering the screams of entire world as they died at the hands of his sons.
Life is just great isn't it ?
Perturabo :
The Heresy gave him the excuse of augmenting your body, who knows what could happen to a baseline in these difficult times ?
You became a warmachine, a highly adaptable engine of destruction yet so human to him, you truly were his Magnum Opus. He saw you destroy entire garrisons of guardsmen in mere minutes.
You both lead assault upon assault on loyalist fortresses, breaking down the walls of Terra one by one until Horus unjustly banished the Iron Warriors from the Siege.
No matter, the Heresy was over anyway, the Scouring was a great time for the both of you and your sons, the Iron Warriors created the Iron Cage. A trap to get rid of Rogal Dorn and his pesky sons once and for all.
You weren't blind to his ailments but he assured you he had a plan, it came when he ascended to Deamonhood by becoming an engine of war, just like you.
You lead his legion nowadays, the Iron Warriors hates Chaos with a fury and prefers technology, the only exception being the warpsmiths and the Primarch himself.
Your gift to him is recording entire wars for his viewing pleasure, bonus point if it's a fortress or anything regarding killing the Imperial Fists. Such a doting little consort aren't you ?
Mortarion :
You were forced to ascend like him after Typhon (Or Typhus as he's now called) trapped you in the domain of Nurgle, forcing his primarch to damn himself to "save" his legion.
Treacherous tongues also claim he did it only for you but they don't tend to say that often as they are cut down by his mighty scythe.
You became a Plague Maiden, a unique deamon working alongside him to spread the gifts of the Grandfather to the ungrateful Galaxy. it's as close to a happy life as you can both get.
It gets good once the two of you team up against the Imperium though, the Plague Wars ? You raised entire armies from graveyards using foul plagues, enemy battalions died in mere weeks as their resolves rotted and died under your care.
Guilliman almost died to the Godblight, a concoction you lovingly made with your dear husband to bring down the mighty son of the Emperor. You chuckled as you saw the recogniting in the 13th primarch's eyes.
He knew who you were, even after your ascension to Deamonhood, it was delicious to see him weakly reach for you, did he hope for your help ? But of course ! All he had to do was accept Nurgle's generous offer...
You don't speak much about the Emperor burning the Garden of Nurgle but you offered to take the blame, much to your husband's surprise and horror, he didn't deserve such treatment.
What would he do without you ? Don't do that again you hear ?
Lorgar Aurelian :
Of course his little saint saw the truth of the universe ! How couldn't she ? He made you ascend shortly after him, making you a hybrid of deamon and human thus allowing you easier access to the Materium.
You spread the Truth to the uneducated masses of the Imperium, sermons infused with faith and chaotic energies making quick work of their misguided faith as the Word Bearers assigned to you busy themselves creating cults and defiling cathedrals belonging to the Corpse-Emperor.
Both of you lead the legion in different ways, you spread your acolytes on every planet possible, twisting the Imperial Cult in small ways before growing bolder and finally erasing it completely.
The ecclesiarchy isn't too difficult to fool, just like the Sisters of Battle. They make useful fodders.
Lorgar himself trains new dark chaplains and send them to you in order to create new Deamonhosts or preparing crusades. Anything to ruin the day of the Imperium is good enough.
On days where none of you have anything in particular to do ? You write scriptures and ponder Chaos together, the perfect life both of you wanted.
Magnus the Red :
He couldn't ask for a better consort, even after joining Chaos. He gave you the singular task of bringing back knowledge to him, any book you find is now his, any undiscovered ritual ? He wants to study them !
While he's a bit more absent than his brothers that doesn't mean he's completely gone ! On the contrary he loves it when you both study together and create problems for the Imperium.
Just regular couple activities ! What's not to love ?
You didn't exactly ascend to Deamonhood like him, more like your body absorbed Warp matter making you an exceptionally strong psyker. You lead your own warband of rubric marines thanks to your new powers.
He prefers it this way, Arhiman destroyed what remained of the legion and he likes it when you stay away from his last few sons. Being jealous is a perk of his you know ?
Angron :
You're probably the only surviving gladiator from Nuceria, you stood alongside him during the final hours of his revolt until the Emperor acted like a coward and teleported Angron away.
You were only brought along to calm him down, nothing else but your company was worth everything to him. It's only natural you ascended too after Lorgar treacherously forced his ascension to Deamon Primarch of Khorne.
The God of War rewarded you by turning you into a Valkyrie, an angel of war if you will. You rarely leave Angron's side, he still recognizes you somehow, maybe a blessing of Khorne or the final shred of what remains of your husband ? you don't want to know.
You both fight on the harshest battlefield the Imperium can offer, reaping mountains of skull for your new patron god. The only one still truly standing at Angron's side despite everything.
The World Eaters fears and love you in equal measure, unsure if you are still on their side or just their father's but you hardly care, you failed your husband before, the least you can do now is suffer with him in the deepest pit of this Hell.
Konrad Curze :
The only reason he didn't die at the hand of the assassin is thanks to you, his little darling queen who decided to change Fate by shooting down said assassin, refusing to let your husband die.
Your wishes are his wishes now, he doesn't care much for anything so consider yourself the Matriach of the 8th Legion now ! Under your leadership the night lord turned away from Chaos and became almost a legend to both side, unsure if the Night Lord fractured or died off.
Nope, far from it, you carved a little corner of the galaxy to use as a domain for your sons and become a nightmare for the Imperium much to Konrad's delight ! He was willing to become an even bigger monster just for you.
And he did ! Using ancient technology and forbidden means you crafted legions of abomination to unleash on the Universe, why should you care for a galaxy that scorned the both of you ?
Nowadays the Night Lords act as both pirates and executionners, happily following your orders, who would dare disobey the Dark queen of Nostramo after all ?
Alpharius Omegon :
A tough one ! The legion split in half and you worked for both sides as well, unable to truly pick one.
To be honest Chaos repulsed you immensely, seeing it as nothing more than a galactic cancer but on the other hand, the Imperium needed to change.
You followed Alpharius first, much to Omegon's chagrin until the Battle of Pluto where Alpharius was torn apart by Rogal Dorn, Omegon gave you new orders and you disappeared from the Legion's eyes.
Now dead set on preserving humanity you did everything you could to undermine Horus, sabotaging supply lines, turning alliances into genocidal blood feud and feeding them false (but believable) informations.
You never saw the Siege of Terra, you were needed elsewhere and to this day you haven't seen the Throneworld in ages, Omegon keep you far away from it.
Speaking of him you now share his authority over the Legion, leading the Alpha legion into the next phase of the Long War and hopefully a better future for the galaxy.
