Hi, I'm thatnightlamp, this post is to help you to avoid scrolling down too much.
This blog of mine is to satisfy my delulu, and I will post some pretty cringe things too.
English is not my first language.
I have A LOT of fandoms, I will have tags so you could avoid fic that you don't like.
Please don't leave comments saying I don't like this couple or that couple, I will block you immediately. All warnings are written on the title and have tags.
If you have any questions, or want to share your ideas with me, please message me directly, I rarely reply to comments or reblogs.
My main focus now is Warhammer.
I do NSFW. I don't do dirty requests aka SC*T, and requests that are too much for me.
Requests will be answered super slow or super fast, depending on what ideas and how many motivation I have for that fic, thank you for understanding.
The veterinary clinic sat at the edge of town like a fortress of small miseries.
Magnus saw it first through the truck window as you pulled into the gravel lot. A low, flat-roofed building painted a shade of beige that had given up on ambition decades ago. The sign out front read ST. CELESTINE ANIMAL HOSPITAL in faded blue letters, with a cartoon dog and cat beneath it, both smiling in a way that suggested they had never actually visited the place. The windows were barred with security grates. The front door was solid metal with a hydraulic hinge. It looked, Magnus thought, like a building that had seen things.
More importantly, it felt like one.
The moment the truck crossed the property line, something pressed against the edge of Magnus's psychic awareness. Not a presence. Not a consciousness. An atmosphere. Pain, confusion, resignation clung to the walls and the parking lot and the scrubby bushes by the entrance like old smoke. Not malignant. Not hostile. Just... heavy. The accumulated distress of thousands of animals who had passed through those doors and not understood why.
Magnus ruffled his feathers and tried to draw his mind back. The sensation clung anyway. In his old body he would have dismissed it as background noise. In this one, every instinct screamed at him to fly away.
«Something is wrong with this place» he said.
Leman, already on his feet in the back of the truck, gave him a puzzled look. «It is vet. They fix things.»
«There is a miasma. A weight. Can you not feel it?»
Leman sniffed the air through the open window. His tail wagged once, experimentally. «Smells like disinfectant and cat urine. Nothing new. You are being dramatic.»
«I am not—»
You killed the engine. The sudden silence cut Magnus off. In the front seat, Fulgrim lay motionless on the blanket, and Corvus had gone limp enough that only the faint rise and fall of his chest proved he still lived. You were already out of the truck before Magnus could form another protest.
Leman shouldered the rear door open with practiced ease and jumped down onto the gravel. His paws crunched on the stones. He turned back, tongue lolling, and looked up at Magnus still perched on the torn bench.
«Come. I will show you where treats are.»
«I do not require treats,» Magnus said.
«You will. Nurse has good ones. Liver flavor.»
Magnus stared at him.
Leman stared back, entirely sincere.
Then you yanked the passenger door open and gathered Fulgrim into your arms with a care that made Magnus's complaint die in his throat. The snake was utterly limp. Blood had dried in dark patches along his purple scales. You cradled him against your chest, then reached for Corvus. The raven stirred weakly at the motion, beak opening, but no sound came out. You tucked him into the crook of your other arm and kicked the truck door shut behind you.
"Leman, with me. Now."
Leman fell into step beside you at once. Magnus had no choice but to launch himself from the truck and flap after you, landing awkwardly on the pavement just outside the clinic door.
The hydraulic hinge hissed as you shoved through.
Inside, the clinic was aggressively clean. White tile floors. Fluorescent lights that buzzed at a frequency Magnus could feel in his beak. A reception desk with a computer and a stack of clipboards. Chairs along one wall, the kind with molded plastic seats and metal legs. A woman behind the desk looked up as you burst in, and her expression shifted from routine boredom to alert concern in half a second.
"I need Dr. Chen," you said. "Now. Snake and a raven. Both attacked. The snake's been bleeding for at least twenty minutes. The raven has a wing injury and possible shock."
The receptionist was already on her feet, pressing a button on the desk. "He's in Exam Two. Go straight back. I'll tell him you're coming."
You didn't wait. You pushed through the swinging door into the hallway beyond, Leman at your heels, Magnus flapping behind in a controlled panic.
The hallway smelled worse than the waiting room. Sharper. More chemical. Under the disinfectant, Magnus caught the ghost-scent of blood and urine and the cold metallic tang of surgical steel. The psychic weight pressed harder here. Not evil. Just... heavy. The walls had absorbed too much animal terror over too many years. It seeped out now like groundwater.
Magnus hated it.
A man in a white coat stepped out of a doorway ahead. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with graying hair and a face that had settled into calm competence decades ago. His hands were already gloved. His eyes went straight to the animals in your arms.
"Exam Two," he said. "On the table. Tell me what happened."
You followed him into a small room lined with cabinets and dominated by a stainless steel examination table. You laid Fulgrim out first, then Corvus beside him. The raven's good eye flickered open and fixed on the vet with a venom Magnus could feel across the room.
"Fight," you said, breathless. "I don't know the details. I found them in the trees behind my property. The snake had talon marks all over him. The raven's wing is broken or dislocated. They've both lost a lot of blood."
Dr. Chen was already examining Fulgrim, fingers moving with a gentleness that surprised Magnus. "Colubrid. Purple glossy snake. These punctures are consistent with bird talons. Corvid, by the spacing." He glanced at Corvus. "Your raven did this?"
"I think so. I don't know. They were just... on the ground together."
The vet made a noncommittal sound and continued his examination. Fulgrim did not move. His tongue did not flick. For one awful moment, Magnus thought he had died in the truck without anyone noticing.
Then Fulgrim's tail twitched.
Magnus released a breath he had not realized he was holding.
"We're going to need to sedate both of them," Dr. Chen said. He was already reaching for a drawer. "The snake's wounds need cleaning and suturing. The raven's wing needs imaging before I can set it. Are they wild or yours?"
"Mine," you said, then hesitated. "Sort of. Rescues. Recent."
The vet nodded as though this explained everything.
Behind him, a young woman in scrubs appeared in the doorway. "Dr. Chen, we've got the surgery suite prepped."
"Good. Get Kim and start on the snake. I'll take the raven." He glanced at you. "You'll need to wait in the front. We'll update you as soon as we know more."
You looked down at Fulgrim and Corvus, and Magnus saw the war on your face. The urge to stay. The knowledge that staying would only be in the way.
"Please," you said. "Please save them."
Dr. Chen met your eyes. "We'll do our best."
Two more nurses appeared. One lifted Fulgrim with practiced hands and carried him out. The other, a stocky woman with a no-nonsense expression, scooped up Corvus despite his weak attempt to snap at her.
That was when Corvus started screaming.
It was not a bird's cry. It was something older and rawer, dragged up from a place that had nothing to do with broken wings. It cut through the hallway like a blade. Magnus felt it in his skull. In his chest. In every feather that stood suddenly on end.
You flinched.
The nurse held firm. "Easy, easy. You're okay. We've got you."
"Can I go with him?" you asked.
Dr. Chen shook his head. "It's better if you wait. Animals pick up on our stress. If you're calm out front, it'll help them stay calm in back."
Magnus wanted to point out that Corvus had not been calm a single moment since arriving on this planet, but he held his tongue. Not that he could speak aloud anyway.
You let yourself be guided back to the waiting room. Your shoulders were tight. Your hands were trembling faintly. Leman immediately rested his head on your knee. You scratched behind his ears on autopilot, eyes fixed on the door to the back.
Magnus perched on the chair beside you and stared at that same door.
The screaming continued for a long time.
---
The nurse named Daisy had very gentle hands and absolutely no fear of birds.
Magnus discovered this the hard way when she scooped him off the chair without warning, tucked him under one arm like a feathery football, and carried him into an exam room before he could process what was happening.
"Let's get a look at you too," she said, setting him on a towel-lined table. "Looks like you were in the wars as well."
Magnus opened his beak to protest. What came out was an undignified squawk.
"Shh, shh. I know. It's been a rough day."
He was not being comforted. He was a Primarch. He had commanded fleets and shattered worlds and bent the laws of reality to his will. He did not require shushing.
Daisy ran a gloved finger along the edge of his injured wing, and Magnus's entire body locked up.
"That's a nasty scrape," she said. "Doesn't look deep, but we should clean it and get some antibiotic cream on it. You'll be sore for a few days." She paused, tilting her head. "You're a big boy, aren't you? Biggest macaw I've ever seen."
Magnus puffed his chest feathers on reflex before he could stop himself. Leman, the traitor, was watching from the open doorway with his tail wagging.
«She called you big,» Leman said into his mind. «You are weak to praise.»
«I am not weak to anything,» Magnus snapped.
«Your feathers puffed.»
«That was a physiological response to temperature variation.»
«Sure, sure.»
Daisy cleaned the scrape with something that stung, then applied a cool gel that soothed. Magnus tolerated this with what he considered monumental dignity. She then checked his blind eye, made a soft sympathetic sound, and declared that she could not do much for it but it did not seem to be causing him pain.
Then she said the words that changed everything.
"Okay, big guy. Just two quick injections and you'll be all set."
Magnus went rigid.
He saw the syringe in her hand. It was enormous. It was sharp. It was filled with a liquid that gleamed under the fluorescent lights like liquid malevolence.
«What. Is. That?» he said, and his mental voice was not quite steady.
Leman, still in the doorway, tilted his head. «Medicine.»
«I do not require medicine.»
«You fought Corvus. You might have bird germs.»
«Bird—» Magnus's mind stuttered. «There are no such things as bird germs!»
«Nurse thinks there are.»
Daisy swabbed a spot on his breast with alcohol. The cold made him flinch. "It's okay big guy, just a little pinch," she said.
Magnus prepared himself for the worst pain of his existence.
The needle went in. It was, objectively, a very small pinch.
Magnus squawked anyway. Loudly. With feeling.
"Aww, poor baby," Daisy cooed. "Almost done. One more."
The second injection was worse only because Magnus knew it was coming. He held perfectly still through sheer force of will and stared at the far wall while she doing it. Leman's tail was now wagging hard enough to create a breeze.
«You screamed,» Leman observed.
«I expressed surprise verbally,» Magnus corrected.
«You did a loud bird noise. It was a scream.»
Magnus turned his head very slowly and fixed Leman with his one good eye. «I will remember this.»
A second nurse appeared in the doorway, the same stocky woman who had carried Corvus back. She had a bag of treats in one hand and a roll of bandages in the other. When she saw Leman, her face broke into a grin.
"Leman! There's my favorite troublemaker."
Leman's entire body wiggled. He trotted over to her and sat down with the precise posture of a dog who knew exactly how to work the system. She crouched and rubbed both hands over his ears while he leaned into it, eyes half-lidded.
"How's the mouth, buddy? Let me see."
Leman opened his jaws obediently. The nurse peered at the cut on his gums from the metal latch, made a thoughtful noise, and dabbed it with something from a tube.
"Not bad. Keep it clean. No chewing on metal, okay?"
Leman licked her hand.
«You are shameless,» Magnus said.
«I have treats now,» Leman replied, and it was true. The nurse had produced a biscuit from the bag and was feeding it to him in small pieces. «She is my favorite human who is not the handler. She gives the good biscuits. The ones shaped like bones.»
Magnus, still moping on the exam table with two injection sites throbbing faintly on his breast, hated him a little bit.
The nurses finished their work and left them in a small recovery area off the side of the waiting room. It was a quiet corner with a few cages, a bench, and a low table covered in magazines. Magnus hopped down from the exam table and retreated to the farthest corner, where he hunched his shoulders and glared at nothing.
Leman followed, still chewing his biscuit.
«You are sulking,» Leman said.
«I am recovering. There is a difference.»
«From two little needle-pokes?»
Magnus turned his back.
The recovery area had a window that looked out onto the parking lot. The sun had shifted while they were inside. Late afternoon light slanted across the gravel, catching the dust in golden bars. Magnus stared at it and tried to sort through the tangle of his thoughts.
Fulgrim might die. Corvus might die. The day had started with a bath and ended with a truck full of blood, and somewhere in the middle of it all, he had seen roads that might have been built on ancient Terra. This planet, this absurd little farm world, was either the cradle of humanity or a very convincing echo of it. Either way, it was significant. Either way, he needed more information.
He also needed to stop being poked with needles.
Leman settled onto the bench beside him, front paws dangling over the edge in a pose that was not quite dignified. His golden fur was dirty in places from earlier.
«You have questions,» Leman said. «I can feel them rattling around. Ask.»
Magnus hesitated. He was not accustomed to asking Leman Russ for information. The old dynamic between them had been built on rivalry, suspicion, and the unspoken understanding that their father had pitted them against each other like game pieces. This easy, open offer of help was disorienting.
He pushed the old resentment aside with effort.
«The vet,» Magnus said. «You have been here before.»
«Many times,» Leman agreed. «Dr. Che is good man. Stitched my side when I fought badger. Removed thorn from my paw. Gave me medicine when I ate something I should not have eaten.»
«What did you eat?»
«Many things,» Leman said evasively. «The point is, he fixes things. He fixed me. He will fix Fulgrim and the Raven too.»
Magnus wanted to believe that. He wanted it with a ferocity that surprised him. The alternative was that he had watched Corvus nearly kill Fulgrim, then helped carry them both to this place of cold tile and chemical smells, only to have them die on a metal table while strangers poked at their wounds.
From somewhere deep in the back of the clinic, a fresh scream cut through the walls.
The scream faded into a hoarse croak, then silence. A moment later, Magnus heard your voice through the door, low and soothing, the words indistinct but the cadence unmistakably gentle. You must have been allowed back after all, or perhaps you had simply ignored the vet's advice and gone anyway. Magnus found he was not surprised.
«She is with him,» Leman said. «This is good. Her voice makes things less scary.»
«You sound like a puppy.»
«I sound like someone who has been scared and then not-scared because handler was there,» Leman said without embarrassment. «It works. You will see.»
Magnus did not answer.
Another scream. This one shorter. Then a long silence broken only by the murmur of your voice and the distant clink of surgical instruments.
Magnus looked away from the door and found himself staring at the magazines on the low table. They were the sort of publications that existed only in waiting rooms: issues of farming periodicals and pet care digests and a single copy of a news magazine with a headline about a local pumpkin festival. He hopped onto the table and used his beak to flip one open.
The pages were glossy. The words were in Low Gothic, or something very close to it. Advertisements for livestock feed. An article about rotational grazing. A photograph of a cow that had won a ribbon.
He flipped another page with his claw.
«What are you doing?» Leman asked.
«Gathering intelligence.»
«You are reading about cow.»
«The cow may be relevant.»
Leman made a sound that might have been a laugh. «You are bored.»
Magnus flipped another page more aggressively than necessary. «I am a scholar. I have written treatises on metaphysics and the nature of the Warp. I can find interest in any subject, no matter how mundane.»
«What does the article say?»
Magnus scanned the text. «It is about... the nutritional benefits of alfalfa.»
«Ha.»
He flipped the magazine closed and shoved it away with one foot. Across the room, a young nurse was watching them. She had her phone out and was pointing it in their direction, a small smile on her face.
Magnus went very still.
«Leman,» he said. «What is that object?»
Leman followed his gaze. «Phone.»
«What does it do?»
«Many things.» Leman's tail wagged slowly. «Takes pictures. Sends messages. Shows moving pictures of dogs doing tricks. Handler watches it at night and laughs.»
Magnus stared at the phone with renewed intensity. A communication device. A repository of information. Possibly a gateway to understanding this world and how they had arrived here.
«The nurse is pointing it at us,» he observed.
«She is taking picture,» Leman said. «You are very red. People like taking pictures of red birds.»
Magnus preened a chest feather into place before he could stop himself. «I am not merely red. I am Ara macao. The colouration is striking.»
«You are preening again.»
«I am maintaining my feathers.»
The nurse tapped at her phone, smiled at whatever she had captured, and tucked it back into her pocket. Magnus tracked the motion with sharp focus.
«Could I use one?» he asked.
Leman looked at him. Then, very slowly, looked down at Magnus's feet.
His claws, sharp and curved, designed for gripping perches and branches and the occasional Corvus Corax. Not designed for tapping on small flat rectangles.
Magnus followed his gaze. Understood. Felt a spike of irritation so pure it made his blind eye twitch.
«Do not say it,» he warned.
Leman said nothing. His silence was somehow worse than words.
«I could operate it with my beak,» Magnus said.
«Sure.»
«I am very precise.»
«I believe you.»
«You do not believe me.»
Leman's ears tipped back in what Magnus now recognized as suppressed amusement. «You would peck phone. Phone would break. Nurse would be sad.»
Magnus wanted to argue. He wanted to list every fine motor skill he had possessed in his original body, every delicate manipulation of warp-stuff and material reality that had earned him the title of sorcerer. But his current body was a bird. His beak was good for cracking nuts and biting his brother's wing and not much else. And Leman, the infuriating mutt, was right.
He settled for a low, irritated croak.
From the back of the clinic, the screaming had stopped entirely. Magnus noticed the silence the way one noticed the absence of a toothache. It should have been a relief. Instead, it made him nervous.
«They have finished,» Leman said. «Or sedated him enough that he cannot scream.»
«Those are very different things.»
«Yes.»
They waited.
The minutes stretched. The sunlight outside shifted another few degrees. The nurse who had taken Magnus's picture moved past the recovery area with a stack of folders. She waved at Leman. Leman wagged his tail.
Then the door to the back swung open.
You stepped out, and Magnus knew before you spoke that it was going to be all right. Your face was tired and your shirt was still stained with blood, but your shoulders had dropped from your ears. You walked like someone who had just put down a weight.
Dr. Chen followed you out, pulling off his gloves.
"They're both stable," he said, and Magnus felt something loosen in his chest. "The snake—Fulgrim, you called him?—had seven puncture wounds and some bruising, but nothing hit anything vital. We cleaned them out, stitched where we could, bandaged the rest. He's on fluids and antibiotics. He'll be sore for a while, but snakes are resilient. He should recover fully."
"And the raven?" you asked.
Dr. Chen's expression flickered. "Corvus is... a fighter. The wing wasn't broken, just dislocated and badly strained. We've got it back in place and wrapped. The bigger concern was blood loss and shock. He's resting now. Honestly, I'm surprised he made it this far. That's a tough bird."
You let out a breath that seemed to come from somewhere deep in your gut. "Can I see them?"
"In a few minutes. We're moving them to recovery now. They'll need to stay overnight for observation."
You nodded, and for a moment you just stood there, looking at the vet with an expression Magnus could not quite read. Gratitude. Exhaustion. Something softer underneath.
"Thank you," you said. "Really. I know they're just... animals. But they're my animals. Even the ones who bite me."
Dr. Che smiled. It was a tired smile, the kind worn by people who had spent years caring for creatures that could not thank them. "That's what we're here for. Now, what about the other two?"
You turned. Magnus and Leman were both watching from the recovery area. Magnus tried to look like he had not been eavesdropping. Leman did not try at all.
"Daisy took care of them," Dr. Chen said, checking a chart on the wall. "The macaw had a scrape on his wing and some bruising. Cleaned and bandaged. He also got his vaccinations updated, but he will need to go another day for follow-up appointments and vaccinations."
Magnus's head snapped up. «Again?»
"Good," you said. "He probably needed them."
"Also a beak trim might be in order, but we didn't want to stress him more today."
Magnus clacked his beak shut. «Beak trim?»
Leman made a sound that was suspiciously like a snicker.
"And Leman's mouth is fine," Dr. Chen added. "Superficial cut. He'll heal."
"He always does," you said, and the affection in your voice was so casual and so genuine that Magnus felt like an intruder hearing it.
You walked over to them. Leman stood up on the bench and pressed his head into your hand. You scratched him behind the ears, then looked at Magnus.
"You okay, big guy? They poke you?"
Magnus wanted to say that he had been stabbed twice, mocked by a dog, and threatened with cosmetic beak modification. What came out was a soft, involuntary chirp.
You smiled. "Yeah. You're fine."
Magnus wanted to be offended. He found he could not quite manage it.
---
They left the clinic an hour later, after you had visited the recovery room and stood with your hand pressed against Fulgrim's terrarium glass, after you had spoken softly to Corvus until the raven's good eye closed in something like sleep. The sun was low and orange. The air had cooled.
Magnus rode on your shoulder this time, claws gripping the fabric of your shirt. Leman walked beside you, tired but content, his tail sweeping slow arcs through the air.
They were almost to the truck when Magnus saw the boy.
He was small, perhaps six or seven years old, sitting on the clinic steps with a plastic carrier cage beside him. A woman who must have been his mother was inside talking to the receptionist. The boy was alone, kicking his feet against the concrete, and on his lap was the cage.
Inside the cage was a hedgehog.
Magnus froze.
The hedgehog was small. Smaller than a hedgehog should be. Its spines were patchy and dull, sticking out at odd angles. Its body was curled into a tight, defensive ball, but even from ten feet away, Magnus could feel the exhaustion radiating from it. The weakness. The pain. Old injuries healed badly. New ones still raw.
And beneath all of that, buried so deep it was almost lost, was a mind he knew.
«Perturabo?.»
The name tore out of him before he could stop it. A psychic shout so loud that Leman flinched.
«Magnus? What—»
Magnus launched from your shoulder.
You yelled in surprise. Your hand swiped for him and missed. Magnus beat his wings once, twice, and shot toward the boy and the cage like a crimson missile. The boy looked up with wide eyes. The cage rattled as Magnus collided with the wire door, claws scrabbling at the latch.
«Perturabo! Perturabo, it's me! Magnus! Can you hear me?»
Inside the cage, the hedgehog twitched.
Slowly, painfully, it uncurled just enough to lift its head. Its eyes were small and dark and rimmed with crust. They focused on Magnus with an effort that looked like it hurt.
The mind that touched his was faint. Threadbare. Dragged up from some deep well of exhaustion.
«...Magnus?»
«Yes. Yes, it's me. I'm here. We're here. Leman is here. What happened to you? How long have you been—»
«I don't...» Perturabo's thought frayed at the edges. «I don't remember. I woke up... cold. Small. Everything hurts...» A long pause, filled with static. «I am so tired.»
«Stay awake,» Magnus said. «Stay awake. I'll get you out of that cage. I'll—»
He yanked at the wire door with his beak. It did not budge.
«Magnus, what are you doing?» Leman was at his side now, looking from the cage to the boy to the hedgehog inside. «Is that—»
«It's Perturabo.»
Leman's ears went flat. «Storms take us. He looks worse than Fulgrim.»
«Help me open this.»
«How? I have paws.»
«Then find the handler! Get her to—»
"Hey! Hey, bird!"
The boy was on his feet, trying to shield the cage with his body. He looked scared. Magnus realized, distantly, that he was probably terrifying: a massive macaw with one blind eye and bandaged wing, attacking a child's pet carrier.
Your hands closed around him from behind.
"Magnus! What the hell!"
He fought you. He had never fought you before, not really, but he fought you now. His wings beat against your arms. His beak snapped at the air. He was screaming, a horrible raw sound, and he did not care.
«Perturabo!»
Inside the cage, the hedgehog curled up again. Slowly. Like a door closing.
«It's all right,» Perturabo's voice came, very faint. «It's all right. Go. I'll be... I'll be here.»
«No. No, I'm not leaving you. I'm not—»
You pulled Magnus against your chest and held him there, one hand gentle over his wings. "Shh. Shh. It's okay. Whatever it is, it's okay."
The boy's mother came running out of the clinic. There were voices. Explanations. Someone apologizing. Someone laughing nervously. The cage was picked up and carried away.
Magnus watched it go. He watched until the boy and his mother climbed into a car. He watched until the car pulled out of the parking lot and vanished down the road.
Then he went limp in your arms.
You were quiet on the drive home. Leman lay across the back seat with his head on his paws, staring at nothing. Magnus sat on your shoulder again, pressed against the warmth of your neck, and did not speak.
The farm appeared through the windshield as the last light left the sky.
«We will find him,» Leman said into the quiet of their shared mind.
Magnus did not answer.
«We found each other. We will find him too. I promise.»
Magnus closed his eyes. The memory of Perturabo's threadbare voice echoed in his skull. The image of those patchy spines, that exhausted curl, stayed printed on the inside of his eyelids.
He was a scholar. He had written treatises on metaphysics and the nature of reality. He had believed, once, that knowledge could solve anything.
Now he was a bird in a truck on a backwater world, and one of his brothers was trapped in a cage and being carried away by strangers and there was nothing he could do about it except sit on a warm shoulder and wait for tomorrow.
«Rest,» Leman said. «We hunt tomorrow.»
Magnus let out a breath that was almost, but not quite, a laugh.
«Since when do you plan strategy?»
«Since I became dog,» Leman said. «Dogs are very good at finding things. It is what we do.»
Took me a hot minute to write this post cus i forgot how to advertise on main...
First off, Im sorry for the inactivity in terms of posting, and the slow updates in terms of current commissions. Life had gotten rather messy. Nothing too dire of course, but its been tricky trying to stay on my feet. I tried to hold off on reopening until I settled down a bit, but unfortunately I need to help make rent so, Emergency Comms it is!
At my current capacity, I will only be taking in 3 or 4 at most.
To sweeten the pot, I will be hosting a little ⭐️art raffle⭐️, of sorts! Of the people that reblog this post in the upcoming 24 hours, 3 randomly chosen can win a sketch of their choice! (One character, halfbody or bust, preferably warhammer). Note that its one entry per person, so no spam reblogs please.
Here's a link to my Ko-fi again to see prices, for inquiry/discussion surrounding the commission, please contact me at Mildlydampbog on discord.
Lastly, I just wanna thank all of you for your continued support and understanding, I know it's kinda cheesy to say but I realy wouldnt be here without your support!
Which primarch is the most suriised at their animal transformation?
I don't really understand what suriised mean and I assume it ‘surprised’?
I think it's Perturabo. It took him a long time to get used to this body before he can escape (He's a child's pet hedgehog lol), and he had to survived alone on the streets for quite some time before someone found him.
He prefers somewhere warm, dry, and definitely out of sight of others. If without reader by his side during the process, he is likely to become depressed after a while.
Before the process, he was often irritable and easily angered, and more competitive than usual.
Fulgrim complained from the moment he put the keys in the ignition.
“This was not my task,” he said for the fourth time, one hand on the wheel and the other lifting in offense. “This was Sanguinius’s task. He asked me with no warning. No warning. He said, ‘Fulgrim, dear, could you please take Konrad to his follow-up, I’ve been pulled into a meeting.’ As if I have no life. As if I sit around waiting to ferry tragic little boys to neurology.”
Konrad sat in the passenger seat with his knees drawn up enough to keep his shoes from touching the floor mat. He was seven years old and small for it. His dark coat made him look smaller. He held Sevatar, his stuffed mouse, by one worn ear and rubbed the velvet body with his thumb until the fur lay flat.
He did not answer.
Fulgrim glanced at him. “Do you have anything to say in defense of your favorite brother?”
Konrad looked out the window. “You are not my favorite.”
“I know,” Fulgrim said. “That was the joke.”
Konrad pressed the mouse to his chest. “There will be red lights ahead.”
Fulgrim sighed. “There are always red lights ahead. This is the city. It is built entirely out of bad timing and poor civic planning.”
Konrad said nothing after that. He only watched the road with the distant, tired look that always made strangers stare too long. Fulgrim had learned not to snap at them for it in front of Konrad. He saved it for afterward.
The first red light appeared three blocks later. Then a second. Then a construction crew with little blinking barriers and a police car stopped sideways across one lane while an ambulance waited to turn.
Fulgrim clicked his tongue. “Fine. Very impressive. A triumph. You have once again bested traffic.”
Konrad tucked Sevatar under his chin. “It was louder in the vision.”
Fulgrim’s mouth thinned. “Do not call it that in public.”
Konrad turned to look at him at last. His face was pale and serious. “But it was.”
Fulgrim looked back at the road. “I know what it was.”
That was the thing. They all knew.
Not all at once. Not all from the beginning. At first it had been bad dreams, or odd guesses, or Konrad saying not to use a certain staircase because someone would fall. Then Ferrus had slipped on those exact stairs an hour later and caught himself only because he had already been holding the rail. Then there had been the lost dog two streets over, and Konrad saying it was in the drainage ditch behind the pharmacy, and it had been. Then the kitchen fire. Then the seizure in the supermarket before it happened. Then too many things to dismiss and too many nights with Konrad awake and shaking and describing things in a flat, frightened voice.
They all knew now.
They had rules.
No making him perform.
No asking him about the future for fun.
No treating him like a broken machine.
No pretending it was nothing.
Sanguinius had made the rules and written them on the whiteboard in the kitchen. Vulkan added a fifth in bigger letters: He is seven.
Fulgrim had rolled his eyes at the time, but he obeyed all five.
At the hospital drop-off lane, he swung the car into a legal space with annoyance. “Come along,” he said. “Let us be medically confirmed as functional and then leave.”
Konrad unbuckled himself carefully. He always did things carefully, even before the appointment had started. Fulgrim got out and came around the car before Konrad had touched the handle. That was habit too. So was the hand at the back of Konrad’s neck as they crossed the lane to the entrance.
The children’s hospital smelled like sanitizer, crayons and old coffee. It was bright in the lobby in a way Konrad hated. Too much white. Too much polished floor. Too many cartoon animals smiling from wall decals.
Fulgrim checked them in with the front desk while Konrad stood so close to his side that the hem of Fulgrim’s coat brushed his face. The receptionist smiled too brightly at Konrad and asked, “And how are we today?”
Konrad looked at her name tag.
“Ms. Belle,” he said, “you're going to scratch your car and cry in the parking lot after work.”
The smile vanished.
Fulgrim closed his eyes. “He means,” he said smoothly, “that we are all holding up under modern conditions.”
Ms. Belle blinked. “I... yes. Of course.”
Konrad leaned against Fulgrim’s arm.
Fulgrim took the clipboard, signed what needed signing and guided Konrad away before the woman could ask another question. “You cannot simply say those things to people.”
“She asked.”
“That is not what she meant.”
“She should ask only true questions.”
Fulgrim looked down at him. “You make it very hard to win arguments with you.”
Konrad hugged Sevatar tighter. “I do not try. It happens on its own.”
They sat in the waiting area under a mural of a forest full of wide-eyed rabbits. Konrad stared at the rabbits with open dislike. Fulgrim crossed one elegant leg over the other and checked his phone. Messages from Sanguinius continued to arrive in a stream of apology.
Is he all right?
Did he eat?
Tell him I left the notebook by his bed.
I owe you.
I really do owe you.
Fulgrim typed back: You owe me several lives and possibly a vehicle.
“What did Sanguinius say?” Konrad asked.
“That he is eternally grateful and insufferably busy.”
Konrad nodded, as if this confirmed something already settled.
A nurse called his name. “Konrad Curze?”
Konrad stood at once. Sevatar went under his arm. Fulgrim rose after him and followed them through the double doors.
The examination itself was ordinary by the standards of their household. Height, weight, blood pressure, questions about medication, sleep, appetite, headaches, seizures. The neurologist was kind and efficient. She had met Konrad several times before and had learned not to fill silence just because a child was quiet.
“Any episodes since the last visit?” she asked.
“Two,” Fulgrim said.
“One and a half,” Konrad corrected.
The doctor paused. “One and a half?”
“The first one was real. The second was trying to be one but stopped.”
Fulgrim leaned back in the chair. “You see what I manage.”
The doctor smiled slightly. “I do.”
She turned back to Konrad. “Did anything feel different before the real one happened?”
Konrad nodded.
“What did it feel like?”
He picked at a seam on Sevatar’s side. Fulgrim watched his hands and gently moved them away from the thread before he could worry it loose.
“It felt,” Konrad said slowly, “like the room was wrong first. Like something had already happened and the room knew it but I did not.”
The doctor wrote that down. “And after?”
“Very tired. Sore mouth. Fulgrim was upset.”
Fulgrim made a sound. “I was not upset. I was correctly alarmed.”
Konrad looked at him. “Your eyes were wet.”
The doctor lowered her pen and looked politely away. Fulgrim cleared his throat.
“Yes,” he said. “Well. Children should not convulse in kitchens. I hold that as a principle.”
The check-up ended with no dramatic changes. Medication would stay the same. More sleep. Stress should be reduced where possible. They were given a printout Fulgrim did not want and a follow-up date he immediately forwarded to the family calendar so this exact situation would never happen again.
On the way out, Konrad was given a sticker from a bowl at the nurse’s desk. He chose a black star.
“Of course you did,” Fulgrim said.
“It is better than the smiling sun.”
“Most things are.”
They stopped in the pharmacy section to pick up a refill. Konrad stood with his shoulder pressed to Fulgrim’s hip while Fulgrim signed. An old woman nearby smiled at the stuffed mouse and told Konrad, “That’s a sweet little friend.”
Konrad looked down at Sevatar. “He bites.”
The woman laughed, thinking it a joke.
Fulgrim ushered him out before he could clarify.
By the time they got back to the car, the afternoon had gone gray. Fulgrim settled Konrad in, checked the seat belt himself, and started the engine.
The first part of the drive home was quiet.
Konrad watched houses and shop fronts pass in a blur. Fulgrim drove with his shoulders still high from hospital air and hospital forms and the memory of pale little hands jerking in kitchen light two months ago. He disliked those memories. He disliked many things, but those most of all.
Konrad spoke when they were halfway through an intersection.
“There is a banana car.”
Fulgrim did not look away from the road. “A what.”
“A banana car.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“That is not a category.”
“It is yellow.”
“So a yellow car.”
Konrad’s fingers tightened around Sevatar. “No. It is long.”
Fulgrim frowned. “That narrows it down to every taxi, van, and municipal disaster in the district.”
“It is our father.”
Fulgrim’s hands locked on the wheel.
For one second he thought he had heard wrong. He looked sharply at Konrad, who had gone still in the way he did when something was about to happen and he hated it already.
Then Fulgrim looked ahead.
A bright yellow bus turned into view from the opposite lane, polished enough to throw back the weak daylight. Not a school bus, but one of the private shuttle coaches that did routes between the airport and the business district. It was absurdly yellow. Banana yellow, if one insisted on childish terms.
And behind the wheel—
Fulgrim swore and jerked the car hard into the next lane.
The tires shrieked. The car rocked so violently Konrad’s shoulder hit the door. A horn blared somewhere to the left. Fulgrim corrected, overcorrected, then seized the wheel with both hands and dragged them back into line. His heart hit so hard against his ribs that his breath turned thin.
The yellow bus swept past.
For a single sick second Fulgrim saw the driver’s face.
Their father. Older. Leaner. One hand on the wheel. Looking straight ahead as if none of them existed.
Beside him, Konrad had curled around Sevatar so tightly that the mouse’s nose was bent flat.
Fulgrim forced air into his lungs. “Konrad.”
No answer.
“Konrad.”
“I am here.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
Fulgrim checked the mirror, changed lanes properly this time and pulled into the nearest side street. He parked badly and turned the hazards on. Then he put both hands on the steering wheel and lowered his head for two long seconds.
When he raised it again, he looked directly at Konrad.
“Did you know it was him?”
Konrad nodded.
“Why did you not say ‘our father is driving a yellow bus directly into my day’ instead of ‘banana car’?”
Konrad’s face stayed solemn. “I thought you would still see it.”
Fulgrim stared at him. Then, against reason and temperament, he laughed once. It came out frayed.
“That,” he said, “is not the point.”
Konrad blinked at him. His lower lip had gone white where he had been pressing it in.
Fulgrim’s anger dropped at once.
“Oh, no, don’t do that,” he said softly. “Do not think I am angry with you.”
Konrad looked at the dashboard. “You swerved.”
“Yes, because I saw a man I never wish to see again and responded with excellent instincts and some artistry.”
“The car almost tipped.”
“It did not.”
“It thought about it.”
Fulgrim let out a breath that was almost another laugh. He reached over and fixed Sevatar’s squashed nose with two careful fingers. Then he touched the back of Konrad’s head.
“You warned me,” he said. “Twice. I should have listened better.”
Konrad turned his face slightly into the touch before he could stop himself. “It was loud in my head.”
“I know.”
“He looked the same.”
Fulgrim’s expression hardened. “Yes.”
“Does he know where we live?”
“No.”
Konrad did not look convinced.
Fulgrim understood why. Children remembered danger in clear pieces. Doors. Voices. Tires on gravel. A father leaving. A father not returning. A father becoming the sort of absence that still felt present.
Fulgrim unbuckled, leaned over the console, and kissed the side of Konrad’s hair. He would deny doing it if any of the others asked.
“He does not know anything worth having,” Fulgrim said. “And if he ever tries to know it, he will have to get through all of us first. Including Dorn, who is basically a wall with opinions.”
Konrad looked at him at last. “And Sanguinius.”
“Yes,” Fulgrim said dryly. “The wall and the swan. Everyone.”
“And you.”
Fulgrim sat back, one hand still resting on Konrad’s shoulder. “Especially me.”
Konrad was quiet for a few seconds. Then he said, “I do not like when you are frightened.”
The words were plain. They landed all the same.
Fulgrim smoothed the collar of Konrad’s coat where it had twisted. “I do not like when you are frightened either. Yet here we are, endlessly inconvenienced by love.”
Konrad considered that. “That sounds true.”
“It is true.”
After a moment, Konrad held out Sevatar to him.
Fulgrim looked down. “What is this.”
“You may hold him if you need moral support.”
Fulgrim took the stuffed mouse with solemn care. “I am honored.”
“You should be.”
He held Sevatar through the rest of the drive, balanced one-handed against the gear shift whenever he needed to change. Konrad watched this with silent approval.
When they got home, Ferrus was already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, taking something apart that probably still needed to exist. He looked up at the sound of the door.
“You’re late.”
Fulgrim came in like a storm cloud in expensive boots. “I have had a day.”
Ferrus took one look at his face and set the screwdriver down. “What happened.”
Konrad slipped off his shoes in the entryway and picked Sevatar back up from where Fulgrim handed him over.
Fulgrim threw his keys onto the counter. “We saw him.”
Ferrus went still. “Who.”
Fulgrim stared at him.
Ferrus’s jaw tightened. “Right. Him.”
“In a yellow bus,” Fulgrim said. “Driving like some grim joke made flesh.”
Ferrus looked toward Konrad at once, but Konrad was already moving past the kitchen, small and quick and silent in the way he became when adults started talking in voices that were too controlled.
“Konrad,” Ferrus called.
Konrad paused by the stairs.
“Are you okay?”
Konrad nodded once. “Yes.”
Fulgrim, still shaking with anger, said to Ferrus, “He warned me. He said ‘banana car’ and I, for some reason, did not interpret this as paternal horror.”
Ferrus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You swerved.”
“Yes, thank you, there was swerving.”
“Did he see you?”
“I do not know. I do not care. If he comes near this house, I’ll—”
“Not in front of him,” Ferrus said quietly.
Fulgrim’s mouth snapped shut.
On the stairs, Konrad did not turn around. “I’m going to my room.”
Ferrus’s voice gentled. “All right.”
Konrad went upstairs without another word.
His room was at the back of the house where the light was weakest in the late afternoon. He liked that. The curtains were thick. The lamp by his bed had a low amber bulb. There were boxes of thread stacked beside the dresser, folded squares of fabric on a chair, a pincushion shaped like a tomato, sewing scissors locked in the top drawer because adults were cowards and pieces of half-finished projects spread with exact care across the desk.
He closed the door softly behind him.
The house still carried voices through the vents and floorboards. Fulgrim downstairs, bright with anger. Ferrus lower and steadier. Pots on the stove. Pipes ticking. The world went on.
Konrad took off his coat and dropped it over the chair. He did not put it properly on the hanger. He was not in the mood.
Usually sewing helped. The order of it. Needle in, needle out. Thread pulled through. In and out and in and out. The way cloth behaved if treated correctly. Today he looked at the waiting fabric and felt nothing.
So he got down on his hands and knees and crawled under the bed.
Dust lived there in soft gray drifts despite all efforts. Konrad reached past a flat shoebox, a missing slipper and the plastic coffin-shaped pencil case Corvus had given him as a joke, and pulled out the diary Sanguinius had hidden there with him three weeks earlier.
It was black, with no lock. Sanguinius had said locks made some children more anxious because then the thoughts felt important in the wrong way. “This is only a place to put things,” he had told Konrad, sitting cross-legged on the bedroom rug while helping him choose a notebook. “When your head is too full, the page can hold some of it for you. Then you do not have to hold all of it alone.”
Konrad had asked, “Will the page mind?”
Sanguinius had smiled and kissed his temple. “No. That is the page’s whole purpose.”
Konrad slid back out from under the bed and sat against the side of it with the diary in his lap. Sevatar rested by his left knee. He opened to the last page he had written on. His handwriting was neat when he forced it and jagged when he did not. Today it wanted to be jagged.
He uncapped the pen.
For a while he only listened.
Downstairs, Fulgrim was still speaking.
“I nearly rolled the car.”
“You didn’t.”
“I nearly did.”
“You got them home.”
“I hate that man.”
A pause.
Ferrus said, quieter, “I know.”
Konrad lowered his head over the diary and began to write.
Today Fulgrim took me to the hospital because Sanguinius had work and said sorry many times on the phone. Fulgrim complained in the car for most of the drive. This was normal and not a problem. He also drove acceptably.
He stopped and frowned at the page. Then he added:
He was careful with me when we crossed the road. He likes to pretend he is not soft but this is not true.
The pen scratched on.
The hospital was too bright. The rabbits on the wall looked dishonest. Ms. Belle at the desk cried because of her car, but I was not supposed to say that. The doctor asked sensible questions. I told the truth. Fulgrim almost cried again when she asked about the kitchen seizure. He says he was alarmed. This is technically true.
He paused and listened to the house again.
The voices downstairs had gone lower. Cups clinked. A cabinet shut. Ferrus was probably making tea because that was what he did when emotions became too large for the room.
Konrad wrote:
On the way home I saw the banana car. I warned Fulgrim before and he did not understand because adults need things said in very dull ways. The banana car was a bus and our father was driving it. He looked the same and older at once. I do not know how that works but it is real.
The pen pressed harder.
Fulgrim swerved and the car thought about falling over. I was not hurt. Fulgrim was frightened. I did not like that. He said our father would have to get through all of them first if he tried to come near us. This is also technically true. Ferrus would break his hands. Vulkan would open the door and smile in the very bad way. Sanguinius would say something kind and terrible. Corvus would already be behind him. I do not know what Lion would do because nobody ever does, including Lion.
His mouth twitched. That almost counted as a joke.
He shifted against the bed frame and kept writing.
Fulgrim held Sevatar for moral support. He did it correctly. Sevatar did not mind.
The next line came more slowly.
I was afraid when I saw him. Not because I thought he would follow us home right then. Because I remembered things I do not want. The smell of his coat when it rained. The sound of the front door. The way everyone got quieter after. I do not like remembering with my whole body.
His hand had begun to shake. He put the pen down for a moment, pressed both palms flat against the paper, and breathed the way Sanguinius taught him. In for four. Hold. Out for six. Again.
When he picked the pen back up, the shaking was smaller.
But we came home. This is important. Sometimes my head shows me things and it feels like they are happening forever, but they are not. The hospital ended. The road ended. The bus passed us and kept going. We came home.
He looked toward the window. The room was dimmer now, almost the right kind of dark.
Downstairs, footsteps crossed the hall. Then came the familiar pattern on the stairs. Not heavy like Ferrus. Not soft like Sanguinius. Fulgrim, still in shoes because rules about indoor dirt became flexible during emotional distress.
Konrad bent over the diary and wrote quickly.
I think Fulgrim was more frightened for me than for himself. That is irritating because I do not want him hurt. It is also nice. I do not know if both can happen at the same time. Probably yes.
A gentle knock came at the door.
Konrad did not answer at once.
The knob turned anyway, slowly enough to allow refusal. Fulgrim opened the door a few inches and peered in. “May I enter this cave of gothic industry.”
Konrad considered, then said, “Yes.”
Fulgrim came in carrying a mug that steamed faintly.
“I brought hot chocolate,” he said. “Ferrus made it, which means it is practical and sincere. I added the small marshmallows, which means it is civilized.”
Konrad closed the diary at once and slid it under his thigh.
Fulgrim noticed. He noticed everything. But he only set the mug carefully on the floor beside Konrad and lowered himself to sit across from him with more grace than anyone had a right to on hardwood.
“Your brother,” he said, “would like to know whether you are hiding because you are upset or because you prefer this location.”
“Both.”
“Yes. Fair.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Fulgrim looked around at the boxes of thread and fabric pieces.
“No sewing?”
“No.”
“Good. I would hate to think a traumatic reunion with a bus-driving father led directly to quilting.”
Konrad touched the edge of the mug. “I wrote instead.”
Fulgrim nodded. “Sanguinius said that might help.”
“It does.”
“I am glad.”
Konrad looked at him. “You are still upset.”
Fulgrim leaned his head back against the bed frame and stared at the ceiling. “I am furious. But the dramatic part has passed. Ferrus made tea and spoke to me as though I were the unreasonable one, which I resent but often need.”
“He is good at that.”
“He is unbearable at that.”
Konrad wrapped both hands around the mug. “I'm sorry you saw him.”
Fulgrim’s gaze dropped at once from the ceiling to Konrad’s face.
“Oh, no,” he said softly. “No. You do not apologize for that. Not ever.”
Konrad looked down at the marshmallows beginning to melt. “I should have said it better.”
“You warned me perfectly well. I am the fool who dismissed ‘banana car’ as nonsense when in fact it was precise prophecy.”
“It was a bus.”
“Still shaped like a banana if one is distressed enough.”
Konrad huffed a small breath through his nose. Another almost-joke.
Fulgrim smiled when he heard it. Then he reached forward and brushed a thumb under one of Konrad’s eyes. Konrad had not realized they were wet until then.
“There you are,” Fulgrim murmured. “I knew you were holding too much.”
Konrad sat very still. “I did not want to make it worse.”
“My darling, your job is not to make adults comfortable.”
Konrad blinked.
Fulgrim held out his arms a little, not quite an order, not quite a question.
Konrad put the mug down and crawled across the short space between them without another word.
Fulgrim gathered him in at once, one hand on the back of his head, the other around his shoulders. Konrad fit there too easily. He was all elbows and cold fingers and hidden tension. Fulgrim could feel each careful breath.
“It was ugly,” Fulgrim said into his hair. “I know. But it is over.”
“For today,” Konrad said.
“For today,” Fulgrim agreed. “And when tomorrow comes, there will still be all of us.”
Konrad pressed his face into Fulgrim’s shirt. “Even Lion?”
“Especially Lion. He would be terrible in a useful way.”
After a moment, Konrad said, muffled, “I wrote that Corvus would already be behind him.”
Fulgrim made a startled sound of laughter. “Excellent. See, this is why the diary is good. It preserves your best insights.”
Konrad pulled back just enough to study his face. “You are not angry that I went away.”
“Of course not. You wanted your room.” Fulgrim smoothed his hair off his forehead. “But I am selfish enough to come after you once I’ve regained my composure.”
“You did not fully regain it.”
“No,” Fulgrim admitted. “But I improved.”
Konrad leaned into him again. Fulgrim held him and said nothing more for a while.
The room darkened another shade. Somewhere downstairs a door opened and shut. A floorboard creaked under Ferrus’s weight. The house settled around them with all its old sounds.
At last Konrad said, “Sanguinius left the notebook by my bed.”
“Yes. He texted me six times about it.”
“I found it.”
“And?”
Konrad hesitated. “I think the page does not mind.”
Fulgrim’s arms tightened a fraction. “No. I imagine the page is honored.”
Konrad nodded against him. Then, after a pause: “Will you stay until I finish my chocolate.”
“I suppose I must.”
“And maybe until Sanguinius comes home.”
Fulgrim made a show of thinking hard. “That is a long sentence of time.”
Konrad waited.
Fulgrim kissed the top of his head. “Yes. Obviously yes.”
Konrad closed his eyes. “Good.”
After a while he climbed back to his place against the bed, and Fulgrim remained seated across from him with his long legs stretched out and his back against the dresser. Konrad drank the chocolate in small careful sips. Fulgrim, finding himself without a task, began sorting a tin of buttons left open near the sewing basket into color families because idle hands offended him.
Konrad opened the diary again, glancing up once as if asking permission.
Fulgrim only lifted a shoulder. “Write whatever slanders you like. I know I am beautiful under scrutiny.”
Konrad bent over the page and added the last lines of the day.
Fulgrim came upstairs with hot chocolate and marshmallows. He said the page is honored, which is not how pages work, but I understand what he meant. He held me when I was too full of remembering. I think this is why Sanguinius said to write things down. Not only the bad parts. Also the true parts after.
He looked at Fulgrim, who was currently arranging pearl buttons by size with intense concentration.
Konrad wrote one more line.
The true part is that I came home, and my brothers were here.
Then he underlined it once, very carefully, and closed the diary.
✊🧱 YOU FIST, I FIST, WE ALL FIST OUR IMPERIAL FISTS INTO THE AIR! FOR DORN! FOR THE EMPEROR, FOR THE GOOD OF MANKIND!
I've been in Love with Old style graphic posters, The texture, The angular style, this One is inspired By soviet propaganda and those big murals The Diamonds from Steven Universe had of themselves, simple but effective design, Perfect for me who HATES drawing Primarch Armour with even Cell of My body.
But I really enjoyed doing This One and applying The paper folds and dots and slight effects, and Dorn IS a Very Angular and Delightful knucklehead with The BIGGEST Golden Heart, famous for being imune to corruption due to his autism— AURA, aura, his Aura. I should draw him more.
