#primarch vulkan

Lion El'Jonson Baselines die in childbirth all the time, especially among nobles who just secure an heir and move on to the next partner. He’s seen it. But with you, he can’t keep the same cold composure you’ve learned to expect. If a gestation tube isn’t an option, he goes solemn and methodical, digging through every scrap of Old World technology that might keep you and the child alive. If nothing works, he’ll seclude you, himself, and a hand‑picked medical team in the deepest halls of Caliban, simply to be with you while cruel nature takes its course.

Fulgrim In the early months, he studies your body like a scientist possessed. By the midpoint, his understanding of your physiology could rival Fabius’s, so the two of them collaborate to keep you and his precious child safe. It’s terrifying how quickly he dives into obscure medicae procedures and executes them with surgical precision. Yes, your pregnancy confines you to the med‑bay, but he’s there, overseeing every second until delivery. And he fully intends for your body to bear no trace of the ordeal afterward.

Perturabo Listen, this man doesn’t want a child, he wants a family—and you’re it. Keeping you alive is non‑negotiable, so whatever he has to do to achieve that, all bets are off. Removing the child early so it can finish gestation in a tube is the optimal solution to him. You don’t get a say in the matter. And yes, be mad at him for as long as you like. At least you’re alive and well enough to be angry.

Jaghatai Khan He gathers everyone who can help you on Chogoris so your pregnancy council has no shortage of old wisdom or new science. Nothing is delayed; there’s no waiting list. As for Khan, he only slightly slows his pace, matching your careful walk—the only exercise you’re allowed. It will all be worth it when your child’s first cry splits the sky and his sons cheer with him.

Leman Russ Fenris is unforgiving; even his child’s journey to their first breath is perilous. Where Leman’s knowledge fails him, the people of Fenris step in. Keeping you alive and healthy is no small task, but anything you need - supplies, healers, herbs - is brought faster than the winter winds. And if all else fails and you don’t survive the birth, your funeral will be that of a great warrior. This was your battlefield, and you fell with honor.

Rogal Dorn He spends hours with your medicae, asking how the delivery can be made safer: what the room should be like, what conditions and equipment the team will need to guarantee your survival. Once he has the info, he starts designing. Your birthing suit becomes a marvel of engineering, built to handle every delivery scenario possible. All you have to do is hold on for three more weeks, until it’s safe.

Konrad Curze No. All he can see is death, and in his mind it starts with this thing taking root in you. It has to be removed for his vision to change - from your body or even existence. If you plan to keep it, you had better not deteriorate the way he foresees, and you’ll need a miracle to convince him still. Even then, it may not be enough. The moment you’re deemed too weak to go on, Konrad will take the choice away from you just to keep you alive.

Sanguinius He wants this child. He’s seen them in his dreams. He never questioned why you weren’t in those visions - until now. When he realizes it might be because you died to bring that future about, the shock hits harder than any blade. If he can’t see a path where you both survive, Sanguinius is not above gently playing on your emotions to coax you toward the choice that keeps you alive. But the future shifts with every heartbeat, and part of him still hopes that, where there’s a will, there’s a way.

Ferrus Manus This thing is not staying in your body - you’re being delusional. He’ll cut you open the moment he realizes you’re failing to keep yourself and the child alive. It’s not cruelty; it’s pragmatism. Ferrus will even consult Fulgrim while he designs the incubation chamber for your shared offspring, just to ensure it’s as close to infallible as anything in the galaxy can be. And while it does its work, he’ll sit through your recovery, talking you through it and insisting that, in the end, all will be well.

Angron You give him a headache he can’t punch away. He feels your physical pain, and he feels your love for the child. It’s overwhelming, confusing, and he’s not stable enough to be around you for long. He only knows one thing: you cannot die because of this child. If it takes you from him - and especially if it survives—he will never forgive it. A gestation tube is your best bet. It’s the only outcome where no one ends up too horribly maimed.

Roboute Guilliman This is where the might of Ultramar shines. He has people, knowledge, and resources. Plans are drawn up early on; every scenario is recorded and reviewed in detail. He’ll devise the safest, most viable option - your job is simply to agree. Please don’t argue; if the safest path involves a tube, so be it. He’s checked the alternatives, and they weren’t viable. He refuses to risk you when it can be helped.

Mortarion Are you sure you want to keep the child? He isn’t. Not at first signs of it being a danger to you. He knows it’s his fault your pregnancy is this violent, and that just feeds his usual self‑disgust until there’s extra self‑loathing where it’s not needed. He wants to keep you alive, and he’s not above putting you into stasis while he searches for a way out. Maybe if he gets the child out first to be gestated in a tube, he can heal you before it’s ready to breathe on its own. Only once it ceases to be a direct threat to you will he see it as anything other than a parasite.

Magnus the Red He assumes it’ll be a non‑issue. He bends reality; why should this be any different? Then the child starts displaying power in utero, and between them and Magnus, your body simply isn’t built to channel that much Warp. He has to become precise and restrained with his sorcery, focusing on alleviating the worst of your pain and preventing your organs from failing. While he’s doing it, he’s all but chained to your bedside; if he slips, your body could turn into a melted, formless mass with two souls trapped inside.

Horus If you insist on staying in the public eye, you have to bear it with the grace expected of the Warmaster’s consort. But he’d rather you withdrew behind closed doors until his heir is born. He remembers being small and frail as a child and wonders: will his child suffer the same? Was it the tube? Will it be different if this one is born from a living mother? So he urges you to continue the pregnancy, even if they have to hook you up to every machine in the med‑bay. He believes you’ll make it through it. He wouldn’t have chosen a partner who couldn’t.

Lorgar This one is tricky, and worst of all he has Erebus and Kor Phaeron in his ear, murmuring about the supposed divinity of the child and your impending martyrdom. Lorgar is constantly torn between his faith and the reality of your rapid decline. In this situation, if you want to live, you have to become the decision‑maker and seek outside help. If you don’t… congratulations on being the holiest martyr in the sector.

Vulkan If there’s something he can build to ease your pain, he builds it. If there isn’t, he’ll invent it - for you alone. Most importantly, he learns that when he’s near and talking to your bump, the child settles. So he stays. He cradles you and tells stories of hunting drakes and forging wonders - for you, for them, for everyone he ever met. Just a little longer, little one. Soon you’ll see it all with your own eyes.

Corvus Corax He watches you for the first sign of a serious decline. Then one day you collapse - the kick was too strong - and that’s it for him. Either the child finishes gestation outside your body, or you’re kept under constant supervision, with at least three pairs of eyes on you at all times. This is one time in his life where you cannot disappear into the shadows; missing a single heartbeat could be fatal.

Alpharius, Omegon The child won’t be allowed to endanger you for long. They have the full resources of the Imperial Palace to draw from - and Malcador if necessary. Their Legion is resourceful, and if they require outside talent, they’ll borrow it from across the Imperium, all to make sure you’re strong enough to carry and then deliver their children. Of course you’re having twins.

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Hey! I now have more here!

“Vulkan? You called for me?” You spoke up as you entered his workshop, the words had taken a moment to form as you had to consciously keep from adding ‘Lord’ before his name. Like breaking an old habit. You tried, though, because he had asked and always seemed a little sad whenever you addressed him title first.

You didn’t expect the large man with glowing fiery eyes to be capable of the ‘sad puppy’ look, but you also didn’t expect to be chosen as one of his personal remembrancers, let alone to become his friend.

‘At least,’ you think as you wander deeper inside, nodding at a few of Vulkans sons as they mingled in the workshop as well, ‘I’m fairly certain we’re friends. Probably.’ It would certainly be presumptuous, but more than anything it would be embarrassing if you turned out to be wrong. It didn’t help that he was kind and polite to everyone, but you liked to think you got special attention sometimes.

The thought made your cheeks warm, but the heat of the forge covered that up nicely. Thankfully. You breathed in the heated air, tasting the ash and the tinge of metal, the smell of molten alloys and sweat that seemed to fill the room more than air. You sensed it before you even caught sight of who you were looking for, towering over his sons like a great burning mountain. But instead of the terrifying aura of power and sense of impending, inescapable death, it was comforting. Like nothing could touch you as long as you stayed close, not danger, not cold, not even the cruel words of others.

“Ah! There you are.” His already glowing eyes seemed to burn all the brighter when they caught sight of you. “I didn’t pull you from anything, did I?” He asked, seemingly genuinely concerned. You smiled up at him, his concern for you warming you more than the forge ever could.

“I was just finishing up when you called,” You said, giving a customary bow. He looked disapproving, but you gave him a cheeky grin. He may be happy to waive social etiquette, but you refused to forgo at least the basics. Especially because he is, technically, your boss and most definitely your superior in all other things.

“I’m glad, I would hate to be scolded for interrupting your work again. You are a terrifying force when agitated.” he spoke, a rumbling laugh blooming from his chest. You gaped at him, straightening up and crossing your arms, formality forgotten.

“You scared me! I was handling molten glass! You of all people should know how dangerous that is.” You huffed, more flustered than irritated. You remembered when he had entered your own workshop, back on your home planet, and had managed to sneak up on you while you had melted the sand and minerals to attempt to create something new. You had been so absorbed in your work you hadn’t noticed the giant stranger standing far to close just behind you. You fell deeper into the memory, sinking into it like a soothing bath.

So, when you had turned, you had been rightfully startled, and nearly caused a small fire and did cause you to lose what you had been working on. He hadn’t even had a chance to apologise before you had all but verbally ripped his throat out for being so careless, risking not only the safety and well-being of both of them, but ruining your project and causing damages. As you had to wait until the glass cooled enough for you to clean up and had to go through your safety checks, that had essentially ended your work day, which had cut through your good mood quicker than any weapon ever could. You had been in the zone, too!

It took far too long until you paused long enough to realise the person you were eviscerating was not only a monolith of a man, but also the hero of your home system and an incredibly powerful and important person within not only your own system, now, but also the entire Imperium they had recently joined. You had expected to be reprimanded, or killed, or suffer some terrible punishment for daring to speak out against him.

But Vulkan, as he had introduced himself some time later, only apologised. His head bowed not only because he had to, to better look at you, but also from the proper abash of a well-earned scolding. He looked truly ashamed of himself, and implored that he must do something to make up for it. Figuring he wasn’t going to kill you, but unsure what to do, you said the first thing that came to mind.

‘Help me clean up this mess’ You had told him, and to your surprise he hadn’t said a word against it, only nodding eagerly and together you set to work. As you instructed him on the proper procedures of cleaning up glass, he had begun to ask questions about your craft, which you had happily answered. It hadn’t taken long before the mess was cleaned and you had worked through the paperwork. To your mounting surprise, he had stayed, and invited you to a meal as an apology. When you had tried to argue, he had already helped clean up the mess, he had simply shaken his head and spoken with all the seriousness that one would speak for battle.

“That was simply righting my mistake for the damages, I owe you a proper apology for scaring you.” You hadn’t really understood, but had agreed. A few weeks later, he had asked you to join his people as a remembrancer -an artist and recorder of deeds, as you understood it- and shortly after you had your own room and workshop aboard his ship.

You rose from the memory as his laugh echoed through the room, his head tilted back, showing his throat as a bead of sweat trailed down the cords of muscle and tendons, following the collarbone before disappearing from view underneath his tunic.

Quickly, you forced your gaze up to his face as he returned his own to you, and you pouted. 

“For someone you consider so scary, you seem to take great pleasure in teasing me.” You said, grabbing a hairclip and moving to put your hair up. You had let it down on the walk here, but now you realise you should have left it up.

“While I would dare not try to displease you, I can admit I admire your strength of spirit, and the fire in your eyes that does not dim in my presence.” He spoke the words gently, and you let the smile bloom on your lips even as you lower your eyes, choosing to focus on securing your hair rather than the flutter of your heart. You knew, had seen time and time again, how baseline humans and even his own sons had recoiled and withered when standing before him. You seem to be one of the few who had little to no issue treating him like… well, a person. A powerful person who is technically your superior, yes, but a person nonetheless.

“You flatter me.” You say, lowering your hands from your hair and looking up at him again. So busy you were with your hair, you didn’t notice his expression before he managed to school it into something cooler and calmer. “Now, is there a reason you called? Or did you just miss me?” You teased, causing a bright smile to light up his face, and breathe out another soft laugh.

“And missing you is not reason enough?” He returned, before his smile turned bashful and he turned to pick up a simple, flat wooden box from the table he stood near. “But to answer your question, I made a gift for you. A token, to express my admiration for you and gratefulness for your company.” He held out the box, and you couldn’t blame the forge room for the heat in your cheeks. 

Feeling flushed and an unexpected rush of timidness, among something else, you carefully reach out to accept the gift. The box itself was plain, but well made, stained and polished to a shine. You idly trace along the edge, sending a quick, grateful smile up towards him before you opened to see the contents-

And froze.

Sitting, nestled innocently in velvet, was a circlet. A thick gold band, a complete circle that would sit perfectly upon your head, over your hair. A mix of Nocturnean style and your own cultures, a perfect balance. A beautiful blend. While the overall design was simple, it was still ornate, the patterns, jewels and inlays were exquisite and made more opulent than anything any of your people -not even the royal family- could ever dream of possessing. 

It was also a symbol of marriage.

‘Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.’ you chanted as you stared down at the offering. Tilting the box slightly, as though changing the perspective will somehow turn it into anything other than what it clearly was, but all it did was make it catch the light and make it look even more wondrous. ‘Don’t. Panic.’

“Is it not to your liking?” Vulkan’s voice, usually so calm and warm and strong, was now quiet and fragile. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he was afraid.

Your head snapped up, eyes wide as you looked at him, and saw his expression. The way his expression fell... The disappointment was bad enough, but you swore you saw something akin to heartbreak in his face.

‘Panic.’

“No! That’s not-” You rush to comfort, to abolish those thoughts, the words scrambling just as you did, stepping forward to rest a hand on his forearm. “I just- this is…” Stars above, do you tell him? That he had essentially asked for your hand? No, not ‘essentially’. He had. By your own culture. Not his. You know that, but does he? You don’t think so. He didn’t say the words, or court you, or anything like that. Not even by his own culture, or the Imperial Way, as you had checked in idle curiosity (and no other reason) and by all accounts this did just seem like a genuine gift. 

“I’ve never been given… anything like this.” You explain, looking down at the gift. Wondrous and damning. “You’ve caught me quite flustered. I don’t… I don’t have the words for how special this is.” You look up at him again, and you let a genuine smile lift your lips as you shove all the implications into a corner of your mind to be dealt with later. It’s just a gift. Just a brilliant, lovely gift with implications only you know. 

“It’s perfect.” You admit, far too close to being an acceptance of the proposal. If anyone from your home had heard you, they would immediately assume (correctly, in any other circumstance) that you had accepted his offer and were now engaged.

‘Though…’ you look down at the cause of your internal struggle, lifting your hand from Vulkans arm to trail a finger along the velvet near the circlet, not even daring to touch it. ‘This could be considered both an engagement circlet and marriage diadem in the same breath.’

You shove that thought away along with the others, and the quickly piling realisations, implications and possibilities of what is happening right now. You suppose you will just have to let your heart quietly break after this, but for now you can manage.

“It is?” He perks up, and the joyous smile he gave you… you decided then that it was worth it. “I have seen many of the women of your planet adorned in similar headwear, I was worried it was not to your style, as I had never seen you wear one.”

His words confirmed your suspicions. That confirmation was accompanied by the shattering of your hope, and your heart. Foolish and traitorous, both.

He stepped forward, closing the small space you had managed to gain with your retreat. Carefully, gently, he reached over your shoulder and felt a small tug on your hair as he removed the hair clip you had used to put up your hair. Then, delicately, with something you could almost call reverence, he plucked the circlet from its bed and softly placed it upon your head. You stood frozen, unable to wrangle your emotions into some form of compliance as your mind reeled at his actions and their unspoken meaning. A meaning only you knew, only you understood, and so the meaning was nothing even as your heart cried otherwise.

“I was worried it wouldn’t fit,” He hummed, looking over his work and you in equal measure, before smiling. “It suits you. You look,” you swore he almost paused, “beautiful.”

“It sits well.” You said quietly, your whole existence buzzing and numb all at once, “It’s perfect.” You say again, sealing your fate.

“Perfect.” He agreed, with a soft smile. You returned it, and hoped that you hid both the awkwardness and the pain in the knowledge that his actions and his intent were far disconnected to what you knew and associated with the gestures and words.

“I have nothing to give you!” You say, with a sudden, horrified realisation. It is also a relief, as it is a change in subject and something she can focus on instead. Vulkan, the bastard, only chuckled at your panic and rested a hand on your shoulder, though it practically engulfed it.

“No need. I made this with no intention of anything in return.”

‘What you said could be either incredibly romantic or incredibly rude, you know’ you think, almost delirious with the whiplash of emotions and heel-point-turns of the mood in the last few minutes. You give a slight scowl, which only makes his own smile widen.

“Hm… well, I shall endeavour to make you something in turn, regardless.” You declare, practically daring him to refute you, all the while ignoring the implications of your own words, determined to remain friendly and behave properly. You can break down later, in the privacy of your room. For now, you just need to get through this.

“If that is what you wish, then I shall look forward to whatever you give me.” He said, and stepped back. It gave you breathing room, whether he realised it or not. Either way, you were grateful. 

“On that note, I really should get back to work…” You say the words, but make no move to actually leave. You knew that they were fast approaching another conflict, and despite feeling off kilter with everything, you were loath to leave your Primarchs company so quickly.

“I should as well.” Vulkan agreed, also making no move to actually return to work.

‘What are we, teenagers?’ You thought, biting back a chuff of laughter.

“How busy will you be?” You ask, taking the initiative. He gave his workbench a considering look at your words, a considering hum rolling from him.

“If all goes well, I should be finished in time for a late last-meal.” He declares, looking a little disappointed. You masked your own, and gave a nod. War waits for no one, and you will not be so selfish as to make him choose between preparing for battle and keeping you company, would not let your own petty desires risk not only the success and safety of the Primarch, but his sons and the people they seek to save as well.

“Then how about a drink afterwards? If you are not too tired.” You offer instead.

“For you? Never.” He declares, but you raise a brow at him.

“A bold declaration. You would risk your health right before battle? Sleep deprivation is nothing to shrug at.” You warn, your concern for him warred with the joy that he would be willing to risk it to spend time with you.

“You forget, my dear, that I am a Primarch. I can stay awake for days without any loss to my mental faculties. And you did offer.” He retorted as he leaned against his workbench and crossed his arms.

“At your discretion, I would not have you risk your own well-being just to indulge me.” You counter, a grin breaking your attempt to be stern. He gave another of his sweet, deep chuckles, and straightened as he stepped forward. For one mad moment, you thought he was going to reach out to you. For what, you daren’t imagine and pretend to have no idea as to why.

“Very well. I promise that if I am tired, I shall send you a message to reschedule. Agreed?” He asked, and you rewarded him with a bright smile and nodded your agreement.

“Of course. I shall hopefully see you later, then.” You stepped back to give a bow, careful of the new weight adorning your head. Once you straightened, you gave a quick wave as he offered his own farewells, and you calmly walked to the door.

You walked, calmly, out into the halls, through the corridors, down the passageways, and calmly, calmly, walked into your private quarters. You focused on locking the door. Then, you turned and walked over to your desk. Carefully, calmly, take the diadem off your head. And carefully, calmly, put it back into its velvet bed. You took a few steps to your bed. Calmly, calmly, sat down. 

You grabbed a pillow.

And screamed into it.

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