#traitor primarchs

[thedevilandthedeep]

I feel like calling it a kink might be overstating the canon 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺, but I don't want to be pilloried by everyone I love on here so here's me climbing back into my box like a delicious little chocolate.

if i have to read “horus’ canonical breeding kink” one more time in my whole entire life with my whole entire adult eyeballs

[notringl-v02]

Perturabo, The Hammer of Olympia

[fromcommorragh]

Female Horus by @cnmbwjx3 on twitter

[nevesmose]

✨️ TRAITOR PRIMARCHS x SCOTTISHPEOPLETWITTER ✨️

Loyalists + Bonus

[medievalgremlincore]

Sanguinius, Bloody Prince by Hauzen’S

[gotham-at-nightfall]

TRAITORS

By Christopher Regalario

[ladymirdan]

“Uhm the traitors failing at the siege of Terra is dumb. These are supposed to be the smartest guys in the galaxy and they have superpowers. But everyone got distracted/vindicted/had a dumb moment”

It's such a weird take for me. Have these guys never had to do a group project with really smart people? Especially really smart but slightly(very) narcissistic people?

Siege of Terra went very much as expected. Easirly the most belivable moment in 40k.

[supercomputer-lizard]

which traitor primarch is the most fuckable

I don’t know if anyone else has done this, but let’s see if people will actually vote, shall we?

[staticymaticyyourlifeisatravesty]

This is very rough, but as far as I'm concerned this is pretty much the Emperor leading up to the Heresy. Man really thought genocide was the answer to everything-

[thatguywhodoesstuff]

Horus Sets The Record Straight

(Original art by Johannes Helgeson)

[sehhokorthebroken]

Obligatory "Fuck Erebus"

[notringl-v02]

Konrad Curze, The Night Haunter

[fromcommorragh]

Female Perturabo by @cnmbwjx on twitter

[sculptorofcrimson]

Tyrant’s Lullaby

Once upon a time, there was a glorious, terrible man. He built horrors. He built wonders. He brought monsters up from the deep. He took a child from the arms of a horrified, weeping family, and raised him not as a boy but as a general. He took a child and ruined his future, He took a child and made him a king, a pet, a dog. He marched armies over the face of the ravaged earth, and trampled all that did not kneel before the weight of the storm. He burned tundras to ash and shook the mountains until they crumbled, He boiled the seas to mist and the skies to charcoal. And when the scouring was done, and the earth was entombed in ashes, He turned His dreaming, endless glare upon His own. 

He strangled the thunder that had bore Him a throne, He sent the golden, the children stolen from their cradles, to plunge down long knives into turned backs raised so fervently before His regard. With their blood they had built Him a kingdom, and with their bones He crowned Himself a throne. And when Terra knelt, cowed, battered, in awe and in fear, He turned His gaze skywards.

And the stars felt His benevolent wrath. 

He bore twenty sons, two of them sacrificed, and He unleashed them upon the earth, the skies, the stars. They hunted for Him, they loved Him, they adored Him, yet some had strayed too far from His light, some had gazed upon the man that would be a god with sullen, hungry eyes, doing His bidding, and knowing His wrath. They are those who were there when affection curdled to treachery.

There was no peace among the stars, no mercy, no rest, simply a slow, heartless drowning as the gold claimed them limb by limb, inch by inch, and swallowed them into the endless light. 

And then war. Treachery, when the stars themselves were swallowed. When brother turned against brother, and father against son. When the Phoenix cleaved the Gorgon’s head from his shoulders, and the Immortal bashed in the Haunter with a hammer, when the Angel fell to the Traitor and He stained the Palace’s stones red with His son’s blood. When Horus burned, when the Angel shed his wings and the golden were shattered upon the anvil of betrayal, the Father fell to His son. 

He was buried upon a rotting throne, screaming hollowly into the fading dark, the stars basking in His rage, His pity and His wrath. He was buried alive in a tomb made from gold, ashen bones ruling a decaying kingdom from the grave, dreaming forever of brighter days. Dreaming of His sons, and how He betrayed them first, how they betrayed Him, how they abandoned His bones. And finally could the golden rest, bathed in the heart of their greatest shame, enshrining the decaying dust of a master they had failed, in an empire He had forsaken. 

That man was the Emperor. That corpse is the Emperor, golden, glorious, and decaying just like the slaves.

Do not think your bones different from a slave's. When you rot, your corpse will be indistinguishable from those of your servants.

[medievalgremlincore]

Daemon-Primarch Perturabo by Wolvenhouur