Stop playing with my heart brother
Perturabo’s Crayon Chaos: Fulgrim’s Wholesome Tears
Fulgrim Meets Wholesome Crayon Chaos
In this wonderfully silly Warhammer meme, we find the ever-brooding Perturabo—yes, the siege master of destruction himself—deciding to try his hand at something other than breaking fortresses: art. Standing across from him is Fulgrim, the flamboyant and perfection-obsessed primarch of the Emperor’s Children, expecting perhaps a fine painting, a marble statue, or at the very least, a Renaissance-tier sketch. But no. Perturabo hands him what can only be described as an adorable scribble straight out of a kindergarten art contest titled “BEST BUDZ.” It includes two stick-figure bros with exaggerated six-packs, silly labels like “very cool” and “pretty hair,” and a heart-melting sense of earnest effort. Fulgrim’s expectations have clearly been obliterated like one of his brother’s bunkers.
A Masterpiece of Sibling Energy
As Fulgrim stares at the crayon-level masterpiece, we zoom into the drawing. It’s got it all: an 8-pack labeled proudly, a doodle version of Fulgrim giving a peace sign, and what can only be described as the Warhammer version of a bro-hug. One can almost hear Perturabo muttering “nailed it” in the background. The little notes like “you pretty” and “cool sword” scream pure childhood energy, and it’s hard not to imagine the Lord of Iron making it with his tongue sticking out in concentration. It’s the most unintentionally wholesome moment this side of the Eye of Terror. It’s the kind of drawing you’d tape to your fridge—if your fridge wasn’t a Titan war machine.
Tears of Fabulous Joy
In the final panel, Perturabo asks, “That bad, huh?” with a bashful smirk, expecting to be mocked, roasted, or maybe even judged on brushstroke technique. But Fulgrim… Fulgrim is crying. Not in horror or rage, but sparkly-eyed, heart-throbbing tears of joy as if he just received a love letter made of friendship and macaroni. His dramatic, fabulous soul is overwhelmed by the sheer sincerity of the drawing. He clutches it to his chest like it’s a sacred relic of the Heresy. Who knew that the path to a Phoenician’s heart wasn’t perfection, but a crayon doodle of shirtless bros labeled “BEST BUDZ”?