#parrot appetite loss

[tiktokparrot]

Parrot Diarrhea: Causes, Symptoms, and Treatment

Learn all about parrot diarrhea—its causes, symptoms, and treatment options. Discover how to help your parrot recover quickly and stay healthy. Read more now!

[ai-sen]

Changes in Parrot's Appetite: Loss of Appetite as a Potential Sign of Illness

Introduction Monitoring a parrot’s appetite is crucial for early detection of health issues. Changes in eating habits, particularly decreased appetite, often serve as an early warning sign of underlying health problems. Understanding these changes can help parrot owners provide timely intervention and appropriate care. Normal Eating Patterns 1. Typical Feeding Behavior Daily Food…

[felixferitas]

he's so lost in the passion and adrenaline of it all that felix can't pretend he knows what the end goal is, what conclusion they'll be left with as soon as they've both come. he feels as lost as oliver is, an intelligent man being unravelled by his baser urges and immense appetite. felix has never been particularly good at dealing with his emotions to begin with, much less about circumstances far less complicated than this, resorting to tossing back shots and doing lines when he felt a modicum of discomfort because it seemed more practical than talking to his family about his troubles. true to his word, felix was most definitely not telling them about this. he moans into the seam of oliver's lips, breath hitching when the smaller man reciprocates the kiss, sweat beading at his hairline as his hips stutter. oliver feels intoxicating around him, easily tighter than any girl he's ever been with and this was a dangerous line of thought to entertain, considering there was probably something clinically wrong with oliver and fucking him into the bathroom counter was likely sending him a mixed signal. all of their fucking signals have been mixed, as far as he's concerned. oliver clenches tight around his cock and hot ropes of come spill over felix's knuckles down to his navel, felix's lips parting with a sharp and surprised gasp as his lids flutter. he follows not long after, punching pitiful noises out of oliver as he continues to thrust inside of him with frenetic energy, unconcerned of oliver's sensitivity as he spills inside the condom with a shudder and tensing thighs. his chest is heaving, still trying to catch his breath as he licks his lips and pulls out, tying off the condom before clearing his throat. "i just gave you what you wanted." parroting words intended to maim. his stomach flips, feeling despondent as he rakes his gaze over oliver's well-fucked form. he sniffs, huffs a laugh. "yeah, well. you ever hear the phrase 'a man is only as good as his word', ollie? undoubtedly you have," felix tells him, offering a hand to help oliver climb down from the cabinet before turning his back to him to redress himself, unable to look him in the eyes anymore. that took some of the edge off, but now felix just wants to lick his wounds in private, grieve the loss of their friendship. "i don't understand," he confesses, voice small.

bitters slosh the pit of his stomach, and each ramming motion goes to press him further into the knobby backing, curling spine meeting uncomfortably bruising mahogany detail. it hurts like a fucking swing, like a knuckle kneading into the divots of his shoulder blade. but felix is kissing him — mouth sloppy and wet — as if matching the heat down below. and when his cheeks hollow, when his teeth hold punishing over oliver's bottom lip, he winces, almost blooming with delight. purples and reds and blues and greens will mottle their skin days from now, beautiful signatures neither of them can scratch away. (and he will marvel at them, press them again and again if only to keep them present, keep them colourful and vibrant.) he kisses felix once more, chases his mouth with one hand wringing through wavy dark hair. then in between callous strokes, oliver gasps, air seizing at the base of his throat when he comes. it is abrupt, a thunderous strike that has his calves tensing over gliding thighs, the mess of his arousal shooting off in lewd ropes. knee jerk habit prompts oliver's free arm to grasp at felix's offending fist, foreheads steady as he gawks, flushed like a furnace. "felix." his voice is a croaking, scratchy thing, the corners of his lustful gaze red-rimmed with restless sleep. "you don't get it? — i said i love you felix. i fucking love you but you don't believe me." he knows why this is the case. but oliver's head is stuffed with cotton, softening prick pooling into the clench of his abdomen, senses blown.

[nervous-tic]

half promise, half warning | part two the evening

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst, fluff, smut (18+) content warning: cm typical violence, unhealthy relationship & breakup (w/ omc), allusion to abuse, cussing, vomit mention, smoking (lmk if i’ve missed anything!) word count: 4.0k a/n: happy return of the tagging system, folks :’)

<< the morning | masterlist | the long night >>

. . .

There’s an obvious exit strategy for this whole mess. A tiny lifeboat clinging to the edge of a larger, sinking ship. The only issue being, there’s only room for one.

“Sooo,” I nervously drawl, mindlessly twirling my chopsticks in my chow mein. Emily, Jennifer, and I are sitting on the kitchen counter, each indulging in our first real meal of the day. At sundown.

“Is anyone ever going to tell me about Mel and Pattie?” I kick my legs with what I hope to be whimsy and not anxiety-driven restlessness.

I know for a fact the two women share a look.

“Were you close with them?” Emily inquires.

I shrug. “Not really. Some of the girlfriends are super tight, but besides who we date, I don’t really have anything in common with them.”

With her mouth full of fried rice, I think I hear Emily mumble, “Fair enough.”

Realizing her colleague isn’t about to play messenger, Jennifer sighs and explains haltingly, “Since the men were taken to a different location, no one even knew anything had happened until Melanie and Patricia’s bodies were found.”

I swallow thickly. “But didn’t they both have protection in their homes after receiving the, um, the feet?”

“Well...,” Jennifer cautiously starts. From the corner of my eye, I see her nudge Emily, but to no avail. She sighs and continues, “...after Melanie and Carter received the coach’s foot, they had two cruisers watching from outside. Then Patricia and Freddy got Carter’s foot but refused help from the local police and chose to hire private security instead.”

“And now Lachlan and I have Freddy’s foot, and the FBI are here to protect us,” I lamely conclude. “But what happened to Mel and Pattie?”

“They...were both stabbed multiple times. The ME said they probably passed out from the pain or blood loss. The official cause of death is exsanguination.”

“Oh,” I say into my box of takeout. The noodles pinched at the end of my chopsticks jiggle and splatter sauce along the interior of the box. I tilt the container and watch the dark liquid pool together. The sauce is just thick enough to resemble something else. My appetite, already a shrunken and pathetic thing that’s taken all day to muster, vanishes for good. I put my food down.

Trying to appear casual, Emily also sets down her food and grips the counter, peering around Jennifer and me. We both follow her eyes and see what — or who she’s on the lookout for.

“Is it because of what Reid said to you this afternoon?” Emily whispers, angling herself toward me. Unfortunately for Jennifer, sitting in the middle means her space is our space now. I parrot Emily’s movement.

“Kinda.”

Jennifer’s annoyance about the breaching of physical boundaries disappears as she flashes me a dubious look.

“Okay,” I admit, “it has everything to do with that. But in my defense, it’s fucking scary to be told that you’re a dead man walking because you don’t matter.” The last part wasn’t meant to come out as a hiss.

When Emily sympathetically hums in agreement, we return Jennifer’s right to eat, easing out of her space. The fried rice finds its way back into Emily’s hands. Before shoveling a cold spoonful into her mouth, she consoles, “And you have every right to be scared. That was a horrifying thing to say.”

Jennifer, discreetly wiping the corner of her lips with her thumb, adds, “There’s also nothing about the unsub’s behaviour that says he’s targeting any significant others. He’s taking the men alive. Athletic men. It’s risky and requires a lot of energy. He knows that including another person into his fantasy increases the chance of something going wrong.”

I urgently press, “But, including Coach Lee’s new girlfriend, every significant other has been killed, right?”

Emily warily confirms this. “But we believe the reason for that is simply, they were at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

I try not to immediately spill over the idea that’s been lodged in my brain all afternoon. It’s difficult when Emily says exactly what I want to hear.

“What if I wasn’t here then?”

The two of them blink at me, puzzled. That’s all it takes for me to surrender to my own impulses because fuck it, it’s pointless to pussyfoot around.

“What if I stayed somewhere else? Because... b-because IwannabreakupwithLachlan.”

There’s so much more to say, of course, but I anticipate their reactions. They’re both trying to gauge which part of my suggestion should be addressed first: the part where I’m ready to bolt with my tail tucked between my legs, or the part where I want to breakup with my long-term partner in the midst of an investigation.

But when their reactions reach the point of being vocalized, it’s simultaneous.

“What do you mean—”

“You’ll need to say that—”

“She said she wants to breakup with Lachlan.”

Fuck. Fuck. I curse whatever higher power there is. How could three paranoid women — two, who are equipped with guns — miss the casual approach of another person?

Emily deadpans, “Thanks, Reid. We heard.” He misses the occasional social cue, and I hope he piped in because he genuinely thought neither women had heard me. I hope hard because the alternative is that he’s fucking with me.

I hang my head, refusing to look at him.

Quietly, I whine, “Emily, I thought you were on lookout.”

She’s sputtering. “I am! O-or I was, at least. For a second, I did look out! I didn’t know— I didn’t think boy genius here would leave his little cavern of files!”

Might as well get it over with, dignity be damned. I look up.

I’ve never been so aware of all the muscles in my face before. Putting on a neutral expression is an impossible task. Reid’s doing the same, but clearly with less effort because there’s just something mocking about the way he scrunches his lips for a second.

Okay, so he’s definitely fucking with me.

Reid glances past me and smiles. “Hey, JJ.”

“Hey, Spence.”

At least Jennifer has the decency to sound sheepish.

“You three enjoying dinner? Because I ordered the ginger beef, and it was bland to say the least, but did you know—”

I couldn’t care less, and he knows this. I hop off the counter. My palms are pressed together as I interrupt him, begging, “Please don’t say anything to him.”

When Reid furrows his brow with a superficial innocence, his eyes widen behind his glasses and there’s a slight pout. Behind me, I hear Emily and Jennifer snickering. Under her breath, Emily mutters, “Isn’t that his poker face?”

(In response, Jennifer presses close to Emily and explains, “It’s the look he used to get when he lost a game of chess to Gideon. Gideon was immune of course, so Reid’s just learned to weaponize it against us.” She’s just loud enough for me to hear.

“That bastard.”)

Reid tilts his head, teasing, “And why would I ever tell him?”

Half-heartedly, I bite back, “Because you’re a bully who gets off on making me upset.” I don’t mean too much by it, but it’s still satisfying to watch the hitch in his demeanor. With a noncommittal noise, I shrug and say, “God knows I’m used to being collateral damage to someone’s ego.”

The farce drops immediately. He crosses his arms.

I’ve noticed over the course of the team’s stay that everyone’s immaculately dressed in the morning, but as the heat seeps into the afternoon, the team also has a tendency to loosen or strew their clothing around their workspace, making peace with appearing dishevelled — the exception being Agent Hotchner, of course. But Reid, with a blazer folded over a couch and a sweater vest haphazardly stuffed into his bag, is the worst of all; the knot of his tie isn’t even at the base of his throat anymore, but rather, hanging somewhere above his collarbones, which I can almost see because he’s undone the top two buttons of his dress shirt. I momentarily forget about my comment when the slight gape of his shirt reveals a warmth – something so pink lazily colouring his neck.

Reid shifts uncomfortably under my gaze, dropping his arms with what I suspect to be a desire to not appear defensive.

“That’s not fair. JJ said—”

“Nope, Spence, nuh-uh. Do not drag me into this.”

Reid looks like he’s lost a lifeline for a second, but he skirts around it with: “Are you still upset about that?”

I hear the noises of disapproval from behind me. There’s even a flash of regret on his face, but I’m livid at the idea of him immediately surrendering an apology. A genius with such meticulous memory should be more mindful about how sticky thoughts can get. How inviting they are to obsess over.

Brick by brick, a wall gives. Everything that Jennifer soothed and comforted away this afternoon suddenly comes pouring forth.

“Of course I am!” I seethe. “Not just upset either. I’m mostly scared, Reid. Like god-fearing, pissing-my-pants scared. Because of something you said.”

Emily and Jennifer are debating if they should intervene.

“You think I’m doing this because it’s the opportune time, hm? Imagine walking away from a decade long relationship — what it would take, what you would have to feel — and then ask yourself why I’m more inclined to run after your threat rather than a fucking foot in a box.”

At the edges of my anger lingers a dreadful smugness, the kind that many work hard for but few ever appreciate once its theirs. But I’ve been down this path with Lachlan many times before. The feeling is never less awful than how I remember it, which is why I’m thankful (somewhere deep, deep down) for how quickly Reid squashes it.

It’s calculated and low when he tells me, “It’s spineless to pretend like I have anything to do with your failed relationship. You know, I know, JJ and Emily know – everyone under your roof knows exactly what’s about to happen. Don’t blame me if you’re too much of a coward to do it and Lachlan’s too stupid to figure it out.”

I flinch.

I nearly lunge for him.

The counter is vacated, Emily and Jennifer scrambling to do damage control. Reid’s stare is eerily focused while Jennifer rests a hand on his chest, coaxing. If it wasn’t for the persistent flush that darkens his ears, I wouldn’t have the slightest clue that he was bothered.

Jennifer’s scolding, “Spencer, walk away.”

Emily, bless her heart, is tasked with comforting the stranger of the two who are locked at the horns. I assume it’s why she doesn’t touch me, opting instead to make demands. Demands like, “We need to go outside now,” and, “You’ve said your piece, now let’s go.”

I lean over the arm she’s using to cordon me off. “I don’t know what your fucking complex is, Reid, but the answers must seem so simple to you when you think we’re all fucking stupid.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Morgan rapidly approaching, muttering, “what the fuck?” to no one in particular. Reid and I know that once he’s made his way over here, the altercation will be over. I’ll go out kicking and screaming while slung over Morgan’s shoulders. I don’t care.

The collectedness of Reid’s voice is practised. It’s a disadvantage for me to not make a living from hunting and interrogating some of the world’s most dangerous people.

“I don’t think you’re all stupid,” he calmly retaliates. “But it’ll be a lot easier for you when you can admit your boyfriend’s an idiot. And a pig.”

That final statement irks me in a way I can’t place. I know it’s not true, but there’s a twinge in my stomach.

I grit out, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve seen the way he holds you,” he snaps. Something finally gives in his voice. Judging by the way he clenches his jaw, he knows it too. “We’ve seen the way he treats you.”

I’m relieved when Morgan zeroes in on his colleague. However, I don’t escape reprimand; Derek shoots me an exhausted look, but it’s not without bewilderment.

“Don’t!” Reid warns, brushing aside Jennifer and Derek. “I’m going to bed. Wake me up when it’s my shift.”

The four of us watch him stalk toward the stairs, jerking his tie loose and over his head. It swings in his fist as he retreats up the stairs.

And for a moment, I feel out of sync without Reid. Without the rhythm of our back-and-forth. It’s like reeling a racket back, anticipating the communion of plastic strings and bouncing rubber before watching the ball get plucked midair. Nobody wins.

When a door slams upstairs, I understand the appeal of retreating to a bed. I understand because the tension slinks out of my body and I nearly follow it to the ground. Slowly, I rub my hands over my face. It’s a short-lived way to avoid the three pairs of feet that pivot back around with accompanying eyes.

Emily cracks first.

“What is wrong with you two?” Her tone catches me off guard. Even while my eyes readjust to the kitchen lights, I see her figure, blurred around the edges, throw her hands up in exasperation. “How could you two possibly hate each other that much after a few days?”

Jennifer approaches, no longer cautious. She presses a hand above my breastbone. It’s not unlike the way she touched Reid.

“Go get some rest. Please,” she insists. Once again, her love and care for her team are extended to me as she assures, “Don’t worry about the food. It’ll take two seconds to clean.” It’s somehow more devastating than Emily’s outburst. There’s disappointment in the way Jennifer pats my chest to send me off; the motion is too rigid.

I don’t know what I’m apologizing for when I murmur, “I’m sorry,” seeking validation from Jennifer first, then Emily. Derek is less forgiving, but that’s more than acceptable. I’ve been lighting the fuse on their colleague – their friend, all day. It’s not just biting at the hand that feeds me; it’s chomping, gnawing through skin and bone.

I ask the three of them with darting eyes, “Where— um. Where’s Lachlan?” No one answers right away. Their hesitance is justifiably founded in the fear that I’m about to do something utterly foolish and selfish.

Getting the answer from Derek is unexpected. “He was finishing up in the gym. Probably in the shower or in bed by now.” My heart breaks when he offers, “Do you want one of us to go with you?”

I grimace. Lachlan and I have never been physical towards each other. Cruel, possessive, and manipulative, yes. What had Reid said? I’ve seen the way he holds you. We’ve seen the way he treats you. If a mere seventy-two hours is all it takes for a group of people to come to the same conclusion, perhaps our charade as a happy couple is much less convincing than we think.

I sadly scoff, rebuffing Derek’s offer as kindly as possible. “It’s– I’ll be fine. Nothing’s going to happen.” And when they continue to examine...whatever it is that profilers examine, my shoulders drop in defeat, asserting, “Nothing has ever happened, you guys.”

Finally. They finally find a little confidence in me.

“Good,” Jennifer nods. “Do whatever you need to do, but remember, you can sort the details out after this is all over, okay? I’ll get someone to escort you wherever you need to go tomorrow afternoon.”

Emily reminds me, “If you need anything, there’ll always be two of us down here, no matter the hour.”

“Here,” Derek holds his elbow out for me, “I’m about to switch shifts with Hotch. I’ll walk you up.”

My mouth opens, but it’s without words. Instead, I return a tight smile, embarrassed. Linking my arms with Derek, I wonder what it’s like to be so kind all the time. He pats my arm as we head for the stairs, Jennifer and Emily wishing us goodnight.

“Goodnight, ladies,” Derek croons. He catches the sharp exhale through my nose, a noise of amusement. I think this is the first time he’s regarded me without concern or annoyance. He smiles, questioning, “Something funny?”

“Nothing,” I shake my head. “I like seeing how you all interact. Especially when it’s not about death and dismemberment.”

We ascend the stairs, still joined at the crook of our elbows. I’m always a step ahead to compensate for our difference in height.

“Ah,” I hear from behind me. “Well, we’re family.”

“Obviously. Half the time, Agent Hotchner looks like a father trying to survive a road trip with his five kids.”

“Kids?” he laughs. Our voices lower as we reach the top.

There are a dozen doors leading to guest and leisure rooms along the hall, the master bedroom centered at the very end. I can’t remember how many of the rooms are occupied by resting law enforcement.

“Hotch is good to us though,” Derek muses, “and I’d like to think we’re good to him too.”

We make it down most of the hall before he continues, “But he’s juggling a lot. Our team’s a man down, and now he’s gotta figure everything out with...with Reid.”

Derek waits for a reply, but I really have nothing to say.

“Without getting into it,” Derek picks back up, “the kid’s having a hard time, and it doesn’t excuse his behaviour, but,” he falters. It’s odd to see a man who exudes so much confidence mull over his words. “But like I said, we’re family, and all we can do for each other is extend our support and patience.”

I hum in understanding, but only because there’s a lump, heavy in my throat. After hearing all that, I try to hold the guilt down, mostly because I know Derek had no intention of bestowing it to me. And in retrospect, it makes sense. This was a tightknit group of fiercely generous people with no room for an outlier.

It was easy to imagine Reid differently; a softer man who saw the potential of kindness through his intellect, who knew the personal cost of his career and still threw his whole livelihood into it. Just like everyone else on his team.

We reach the master bedroom. I take a shuddering breath before unlinking our arms.

My voice is weak, but I manage to confide, “I hope you all know how grateful I am for you all to, um, share that support and patience with me.”

It’s nice to see him smile.

He points to one of many doors, saying, “I’ll be in that room. Come get me if anything happens.” Wringing my hands, I thank him again. He doesn’t depart by bidding me goodnight, but instead, “Good luck.”

I shake when I begin to realize the mess I’m about to make behind these doors. Derek’s walking just loud enough for me to know he’s still there in the hallway, watching over me. I swiftly push through the doors and hope he’ll take it as a cue that whatever’s about to happen is beyond his responsibility.

I hear the torrent of water from the bathroom. Doing my best to calm myself, I attempt my nighttime routine. The ritual does little to ease the adrenaline – the rushing in my head and the ringing in my ears.

When Lachlan steps into the room, he sees me perched on the edge of the bed, hair knotted up and changed into a slip. The sheer ignorance of his seductive, “hey,” is baffling. My leg is bouncing and I’ve picked my lips near bloody, but all he can say is hey.

He thinks he’s so slick when he trots to the dresser and drops his towel. Rifling through a drawer, he drawls, “Crazy day, huh? But man, these feds are gettin’ on my nerves.”

“They’re protecting us,” I mumble.

“Like that did Carter or Freddy any good.”

I huff, pinching my thigh to kickstart something. Lachlan doesn’t notice the nuclear meltdown happening on the other side of the room. When I open my mouth, I know it’s a 50/50 chance of either words or vomit. I’m lucky it’s the former.

“Put a shirt on. We need to talk.”

. . .

What’s the saying? The death is quick, but the dying is slow? I can’t remember.

All I know is that the conversation lasts all of thirty minutes, more or less. It’s easy when you both know there’s nothing salvageable. That doesn’t mean Lachlan wasn’t angry though. He was just angry about the wrong things.

I look out the balcony doors and see Lachlan smoking one of my secret cigarettes. The remaining carton goes into my duffle bag. It’s petty, considering I have no intention of touching them. I’ll sacrifice a sweater if it means making space for my spite.

Objectively, I know I’m making the right choice, yet my body is an oversensitive traitor, wracking my entirety with quiet, ugly sobs. It’s the type of crying where cheeks bloat immediately and ears become itchy with heat. I don’t know exactly what I’m packing for the week, but at this point, it doesn’t matter. I zip the bag.

There’s a sudden prick of familiarity, a strange sensation. I look up to see Lachlan twisting his head to stare back at me in the same moment. I’m almost touched to see his swollen eyes. When I give him a single nod, as if to say goodbye, he rolls his eyes and turns his back on me for the last time. From his hand, a flick of orange arcs into the air. I know the cigarette will land in the pool and it will cease to be my problem.

. . .

When I’m back in the hallway, the strap of my duffle cutting into my arm, I quietly hiss, “fuck,” at myself. It’s the middle of the night and I’m barefoot in nightwear. I curse myself once more when I hear Lachlan re-enter from the balcony, slamming the door shut. There’s no turning back.

My pride stops me from doing the easy thing, which is to head down the stairs and ask for the support of those who are more than willing to give. Oh, and maybe a pair of shoes. But no, instead, my pride steers me through the door on my immediate left.

It’s pitch black. The curtains are always drawn because sunlight’s a bitch and will eat away at the pigments and papers that are carefully framed across the walls. I drop my duffle bag with a thud and easily — desperately navigate my way toward the promise of sleep.

What I often don’t tell others is that most of my time in the study is spent lazing about in the daybed that I tucked window-side years ago. Like a cat kneading its claws into cushions, I shaped the space into my idea of perfect comfort by sheer force of will. It seems fitting for me to spend my final night in this mansion sleeping in a corner that I carved out for myself.

Weaving around the armchairs and cherry wood side tables is easy. A path that I’ve committed to memory. When I feel the seam where the coarse antique rug ends and the cloudlike fur rug begins, I know I’m within arms reach. I fall forward, hands eager to sink in with a trust that only people can have with inanimate objects — things without a will of their own.

Or so I thought. It’s another betrayal for the books when something that’s notably not a twin mattress meets my palms.

I let out a throaty yelp. The thing beneath me wheezes, wrapping itself around multiple parts of my body to seize my limbs. Luckily, my one hand breaks free and I throw it toward the window, yanking the curtain open. The moonlight pours through, revealing this terrible, terrible vignette.

“What the fu—!”

“Reid?!”

. . .

series taglist <3 @thatsonezesty13 @loki-is-loved @youracidqueenmina​

[raptorsandpoultry]

Golden pheasant care sheet

Chrysolophus pictus, also appropriately known as the rainbow pheasant (Happy Pride month!) - the ones I’m feeding are yellow mutations, here is what the “wild” type males look like (the females are the brown ones with dark barring):

(Photo from eBird)

Diet:

Like nearly all pheasant species, goldens are omnivorous, feeding on seeds and vegetation, as well as insects and other invertebrates in the wild. Pet golden pheasants do well on game bird feed, supplemented with plenty of bird-safe fruits and vegetables, in addition to protein boosts like mealworms and boiled eggs. As with any backyard poultry, feed needs to be stored in pest-proof containers, and any uneaten food should be removed and properly disposed of every day (or even more frequently, e.g. fruit given on a hot summer day will get mushy and stinky from being stepped on and attract All The Flies). Depending on the environment, grit may not need to be supplemented, but better safe than sorry if you notice undigested food material in their feces. And finally, as always, fresh water is a must!

Housing:

In my experience, golden pheasants are flightier and much more delicate than standard chickens, so they should be kept within a spacious but secure aviary-style enclosure with no (or VERY closely monitored) opportunity to free-range in order to avoid predation incidents. Outdoor enclosures with access to grass and other plants that are safe to forage on, as well as wild insects and worms, are ideal. Golden pheasants can physiologically adapt to living outside in different temperatures/climates, and some can actually do well even in Canadian winters! That said, a sheltered area with a roof and appropriate insulation is a must in colder weather. Hens require nest boxes as well. They are excellent fliers and the males love to sprint around when performing their courtship displays, so a minimum enclosure space of around 10 x 10 feet with lots of perches of varying materials and heights is best for a male with 1 or 2 hens.

(Photo from ThylacineAlive on zoochat.com)

Enrichment:

As ground-dwelling birds, pheasants will spend much of their waking hours foraging on the forest floor in the wild, so be sure to regularly provide plenty of novel and fun foraging opportunities! Hide treats inside toys they can peck at! Scatter feed into “unusual” substrates (shredded paper, straw, peat moss) for them to scratch and kick around in! Boredom can lead to problems with aggression between birds, such as abnormal feather-pecking behaviour. If there are no patches of dry, bare dirt in the enclosure, you will also need to add in a small square of peat moss or sand to dust-bathe in. And last but not least, here is my shameless plug for positive-reinforcement training! Even if you have “skittish” pheasants that were not raised by humans since hatching, with time and patience they can eventually be trained to step onto your arm and fly to you on cue. Rumour has it that sunflower seeds are a hot-ticket reinforcer (but should only be reserved for training sessions due to their high fat content)!

General health:

Healthy pheasants are very active and constantly run or walk around in search of food, occasionally flying up to a perch for a brief nap or preening session. Both sexes, but the males in particular with their long tail feathers, will molt heavily during late summer - otherwise, plumage should look smooth and bright.  Eyes, nares, and cloaca should be free of discharge, and birds kept outside are usually able to keep their beak and nails straight and worn down to a proper length on their own. Pheasants need and deserve proper veterinary care just as much as any parrot or other pet bird, so please make every effort to take them to a licensed avian veterinarian if you notice any of the following signs: lumps and bumps or abnormal swelling anywhere on the head or body, plucked or consistently dirty feathers or unnaturally “ruffled” looking appearance, lethargy, difficulty breathing, abnormal feces/urate, lameness, discharge, and loss of appetite, among others. Depending on where you live, you may be able to find avian or poultry veterinarians who will be able to vaccinate (against Marek’s disease, coccidiosis, etc.) and/or give preventive medications (e.g. de-wormers) specifically for backyard poultry.

This care sheet was requested by @attackash! As always, I’ve likely missed a hundred other important points, so feel free to reblog with suggestions or give me a shout in my ask (which is also open for other requests and questions)!

[fermataheart]

dead art | silas & metzli

TIMING: Current. LOCATION: Metzli’s gallery. PARTIES: @fermataheart​ & @deathisanartmetzli​ SUMMARY: A little misunderstanding leads to a surprisingly positive outcome. CONTENT WARNINGS: Sibling death (mentions). 

It took hours to get the smell of death off of them last night. Three showers later and some perfume, and Metzli felt like they finally got it off. All they had wanted to do last night was unwind, but a stranger just had to bump into them. He just had to pull out the threatening growls from a spot reserved for their need to feel a little pain and distract themselves from their thoughts. Why they couldn’t find a better outlet, Metzli never bothered to try to find out. They were willing to just walk past, to ignore that deeply ingrained need to attack. But the stranger would not allow for that.

The two walked away after being evenly matched, or rather, because Metzli used their evasive tactics to just wear him out. Needless to say, they were a little sore as they made their rounds around the gallery. Things were finally back to normal, and patrons had long forgotten the recent show Eilidh and them gave everyone. The gallery’s success was of great importance to Metzli, and it made them feel good to see people enjoying their time surrounded by art they hand picked.

With a delighted sigh, Metzli walked towards the front as a familiar smell began to permeate through the door. Their smile turned into a frown immediately. A distasteful, and nauseating smell of death. An over-decayed smell of death. Similar to Macleod’s but much stronger. “What are you doing here?” They asked, gritting their teeth and marching towards Silas.

---

Memory issues, that was it. That had to be it. Maybe he wasn’t eating enough, going too long between meals, relying on squirrels and raccoons to sustain him… maybe it fucked with his memory. There was no other reason he should be losing time, but he was. Hours of his days and nights, just… gone. It was either memory issues, or the worst dissociation he’d ever experienced. And it had happened again last night—one minute he was laying in bed, waiting to fall asleep, and the next? Stumbling back into his apartment, confused. His clothes seemed damaged, like he’d gotten into a fight, but of course there wasn’t a mark on his body to prove it.

Ignoring it, Silas tried to squeak in a few hours of rest before the next evening rolled around and it was time for him to try out this painting thing. His stomach protested its emptiness, forcing him to go out and forage for some roadkill to sate his appetite, if only for a few hours. Gods, there had to be a better way to go about this.

Getting cleaned up as best he could in a nearby stream and making sure none of his dark clothing was stained with the carcass’ fluids, Silas hoofed it back into town and over to the gallery.

The less-than-welcome reception surprised him, and his thick brows furrowed in response. “Excuse me?” he grumbled, taken aback. “You’re Metzli, right? Came for the painting class you promised… for the writer’s block.” Confusion was evident on his face as he gave them a once-over, dark eyes narrowing. “Sorry do I—do I know you from somewhere?”

---

Metzli’s eye twitched at Silas’ apparent confusion. He was definitely the guy who incited the fight they had. For now though, they were going to give him the benefit of the doubt. “You started a fight with me. Last night. On Amity.” A layer of annoyance and disdain laced their tone and they stepped closer. “Do you not remember any of that? It was definitely you. I would remember those eyebrows anywhere.” A small dig, but a dig nonetheless.

Silence fell between the two and a hand gripped onto Silas’ hand to drag him into their office. Metzli wanted privacy, especially if there was something supernatural going on. Silas could have general memory loss, or be possessed, or maybe he was feral, or maybe he had a twin. Though, there was no way the scents would match exactly. Regardless, they wanted to get to the bottom of this.

“Okay,” Metzli began, sitting on their desk and crossing their arms, “Let’s go through this. It was you, but you don’t remember. That much is obvious given your genuine confusion. I think you’d remember hitting me with your own fucking arm and laughing hysterically.” Red eyes met with Silas’ and then they quickly faded back to black. Even with their composure intact, they were ready to pounce at any given moment.

---

“A fight?” Silas parroted them, eyes widening. “I don’t—what are you talking about?” The gentle tease drew a scoff from him, but anger was hardly his reaction. He was too damn confused to be angry, in all truthfulness.

Aforementioned brows rose at the intrusion of his personal space, but he didn’t put up much of a fight as they dragged him out of the entryway. “What the fuck,” he breathed to himself, crossing his arms over his chest once they were alone and Metzli had relinquished their grip on him, mirroring their defensive stance.

“My—my arm?” the zombie bleated in disbelief, immediately looking down at his limbs as if they would have suddenly sprouted little legs and taken off on their own. They were still both present, of course, and functioning as well as they ever had. He glanced back up just in time to catch the red glint in their eyes, and felt his stomach drop. Fuck.

“Look, uh… I don’t know, I think you got the wrong guy,” he backpedaled, rubbing his hands up and down his own arms. It was weird hearing someone tell you you’d done something you couldn’t remember—even worse when they told you you’d been dismembered doing it. “All arms are present n’ accounted for, so… sorry somebody jumped you, but I don’t see how it coulda been me…”

---

Eyes narrowed, annoyed and displeased. “Obviously you’re a zombie. I’m not an idiot. Your limbs heal fast.” Sucking their teeth, Metzli stood erect and paced around their desk to reach a drawer with a few bottles of wine. Today felt like a generous one. As they took two glasses out and poured, they raised their brows and spoke. “Listen, I believe you when you say you don’t know what I’m talking about. This place is fucking weird, and I wouldn’t be surprised if someone hijacked your body or if you were sleep walking. But it was you. I can smell you.” A glass was pushed forward to Silas, a gesture of good will.

The wine was dry, and a special blend that they had purchased from a special bar, but given Silas’ condition, they didn’t think it’d be an issue. Dulled taste was something that the two of them shared, but the blood would add something to it. “Hope you don’t mind some blood in it. It just actually tastes like something if there’s a little in it.” The first sip settled most of the nerves from seeing someone Metzli suspected to be an enemy, and the next few did well to quell the rest. “Do you run into this issue often at all? Or is this a first?”

---

Obviously you’re a zombie. Silas’ spine stiffened, his posture becoming rigid as he suddenly felt overly-exposed. It wasn’t a fact he went around telling just everyone, and frankly, it was something he himself was still coming to terms with. The idea that this perfect stranger could—no, he supposed they weren’t a perfect stranger, not anymore. Not since he’d apparently attacked them in the middle of the night.

The thought of it made the knot in his stomach grow tighter, and he stared blankly at the glass as it was pushed toward him. “You can… smell me?” Fucking hell, did he stink? He hadn’t noticed, and no one else he’d been in close proximity with that day had made any indication… what the—

“Never mind, don't answer that. I’m… eugh,” Silas groaned, reaching for the glass with a thankful nod. Looking down at it, his ears pricked at the mention of blood. “Who’s blood?” he asked, though the question wasn’t delivered in a way that seemed accusatory, just curious.

“Often? No, I don’t think so.” There was a beat of silence. “Well, maybe. M’not sure. Lately, I guess… lately I’ve been losin’ time. Didn’t think much of it.” Lifting the glass to his lips, the zombie took a long sip, relishing the way it actually managed to tickle his taste buds. “Figured… it was a diet thing.” Giving a half-hearted shrug, he let his gaze flick back to meet Metzli’s. “Sorry about—I, ah… didn’t know I had it in me.”

---

Metzli smiled and then laughed heartily, “I have a very keen sense of smell. Comes with the bite.” A single brow quirked upwards and their smile didn’t waver. “Don’t know whose blood it is, but the barkeep let me know that it was all donated willingly. That was enough for me.” Their shoulders rose and fell in a shrug, a little dismissive of the question. Knowing that much about how the blood was sourced was good enough for them. It had to be. Being ethical about where their source of sustenance came from was becoming a real burden. But they supposed if they were going to be good, it was worth a shot.

“Losing time? Sounds like a run of the mill possession. Piss off any ghosts lately, Sylvain?” Metzli inquired, more out of curiosity than concern. Silas was a stranger, but Metzli knew Sylvain from last night. “Someone could be taking your body for a joyride and you don’t even know it. If you can figure that out, you can generally ward the ghost off and be done with it.”

---

Possession? Syl— “What?” The reaction was unguarded, unfiltered, and absolutely wracked with shock. Silas couldn’t even immediately respond, gawking at Metzli, dumbfounded, as they went on to explain what could be done about it.

“Did you just… call me Sylvain?” His voice was barely above a whisper, the wine glass clutched tightly in his hands, pale knuckles somehow turning an even brighter shade of white. His eyes darted to the side, staring at something that was just behind his host. Breaths came quick and shallow while a ringing started up in his ears—he’d never felt this kind of fear when seeing the ghost of his sibling before, but now… The spectre was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and Silas was unsure if he’d only imagined it.

“Fuck.” While trying to steady his panic, the zombie downed a large portion of the wine Metzli had so kindly offered, glancing around the room like he was expecting a boogeyman to jump out at any second. “My brother. My twin, I—we, uh… it’s a long story.” Another gulp of wine. “He’s been dead for a long time. Since we were kids.” Why would he…?

---

Brows furrowed in confusion, not understanding why the name would throw him off so much. “Yeah, Sylvain. That’s the name you gave me last night.” Metzli answered, still not quite catching on until he began to explain. It was their turn to be shocked, mouth agape and unable to say anything for a few moments while they let their thoughts settle. “Looks like your brother has been having a little fun at your expense. I’d probably start sleeping with a salt ring around ya.” Voice was clearly joking, not registering the sensitivity the topic held.

“What’s your actual name then?” Metzli asked as they poured more wine into Silas’ glass and theirs too. Legs crossed and they adjusted their suit as inner turmoil painted itself on their companion. “He probably just wants to live a little.”

---

“He can’t do that, he can’t just…” Heaving a sigh, Silas pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, eyes squeezed shut. “I’m Silas. And whatever happened last night was definitely not…” His hand fell from his face, eyelids fluttering open as he stared off into the middle distance. His voice was low and soft, laced with disbelief. “Not like Sylvain.”

A few more beats, and he glanced down at the glass in his hand, recently refilled. His gaze was hard and purposeful, as if he’d find all his answers in the deep red liquid. “He’s been around since it happened. I could always feel him. Didn’t actually see him til’ I got turned, ah’course. N’ he ain’t like any other ghost I’ve ever interacted with, he’s… quiet. Real quiet. Just stares at me, watches me, all hours of the day and night. Catch ‘im sometimes in the reflections of windows n’ puddles in the road, lookin’ at me… don’t know what he wants.”

You do now, his thoughts interjected. “Might be mad about what happened…” Of course he’s mad. It was your fault.

Forcing himself to look at Metzli again, Silas let out a soft, embarrassed chuckle. “Shit, sorry. This is a… lot. Mm, yeah—a lot. Thanks, uh, for the drink.” Lifting the glass in their direction, the zombie couldn’t hide the distant look of worry in his eyes, though he appeared to be trying to force his way past it. “Anyway, um… how badly did you kick my ass last night? M’curious.”

---

Metzli was familiar with that distant look, seeing it many times on themselves and others. The severity of the situation finally reached them, and made them suck their teeth in discomfort. “Uh, sorry about that...man.” Words were slow and awkward, unsure of how to go about it. Though they didn’t particularly feel bad, they knew how to logically see the circumstances for what they were: fucking depressing.

“You don’t have to go into any details. That’s your business,” Metzli said quickly, hoping he wouldn’t continue. That would just make everything feel even more cumbersome. “Didn’t do much ass kicking if I’m being honest.” A smile curled onto their lips and a chuckle tickled their throat. “I pretty much just tried to wear you out enough to just walk away. I was pretty drunk too.”

There was a knock at the door, followed by Janet, their employee, opening it and telling them that the final patron left. With a nod, they thanked her and waved her away. “Well Silas, the painting class should start soon. Think the class could help get your mind off things? Maybe even get you out of that writer’s block.”

---

Grateful that they didn’t press for more information, Silas allowed a small, amused smile to play at his lips. “Explains why I was so fucking exhausted when I.. came to back at home.” Fuck all of that. There had to be a way to get Sylvain to just leave him alone, once and for all. The presence of his twin had lost all its comfort years ago.

Looking between the two, Silas took another large gulp of the wine, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, yeah,” he said once he was able, “worth a shot, anyway.” Hell, it sounded like he might have plenty to write about after all… like the experience of being fucking possessed, for one. If only he could remember it.

---

“Follow me. You can bring your glass too.” Metzli beckoned him with a wave and walked out of their office. The painting room was only a few paces away and already seemed to have a few of the frequent customers Metzli saw on a weekly basis. Their scents were registered in their mind and they smiled. “Hopefully the class does you some good. And sorry you didn’t get a chance to view the rest of the gallery. That was my bad.” Words were spoken away from Silas, arms crossed behind them. Upon reaching the room, a finger pointed towards a rack of smocks. “Grab a smock from there and put it over your clothes. Class will start soon.”

Friendly faces smiled and waved as the two creatures walked in, greeted in return with a smile full of charm. “Hey Tim, hey Lorraine.” They waved and gestured toward Silas. “This is Silas. He’s trying it out today. Make sure to give him a few pointers.” A playful wink floated its way to Silas when they turned and they chuckled. Demeanor completely changed to cater towards the teaching position they were now in.

Removing their suit jacket, they went to the front of the room and put on a red smock to cover the rest of their suit. Canvases were all up, including theirs and the clock ticked its hand on the 7, indicating class should begin. “All right painters, let’s get started. Today is a novice class, so we will be painting something relatively simple, but fun.” The painting to their right was of a landscape during the night, full of trees and stars, even a few shooting in the sky.

---

“Oh, no, don’t worry ‘bout it—just means I can come back again soon to give it a proper look.” Wandering after Metzli, Silas was impressed by the shift in their demeanor. They sure were professional, if nothing else. Sipping awkwardly at the wine still in his hand, he used the other to throw a small wave back at the strangers, recognizing one of them from a coffee shop they’d both been in a few weeks back. When the introduction was made and attention shifted fully to him, he bit his lower lip and forced a smile, glancing down at his boots. He wasn’t normally this shy, but something was seriously throwing him off tonight. “Oh yeah, I’m real garbage at it—y’all are gonna have to carry me,” he warned playfully, managing to steal a glance at the strangers before letting his attention fall back on the gallery owner.

Something told Silas that he wouldn’t mind coming back here at all. Metzli seemed like a good sort.

Setting down his glass by a blank, unclaimed canvas, the zombie went to fetch a smock and loop it over his neck, watching how the others prepared for the evening’s activity and mimicking them. And, very much as expected, his skill was lacking. His peers would occasionally lean over to give him a pointer when they heard him mutter under his breath about how the paint wasn’t cooperating, still encouraging him despite the preschooler level of talent that was displayed on the canvas in front of him, but… he was enjoying it. If nothing else, it had removed the thought of his brother from his mind entirely, and the escape from anxiety was welcome. At some point, he pulled his long hair back into a messy bun, succeeding in ensuring he’d need a shower when he got home as the blue paint on his fingers tinted his dark hair.

As Metzli made their rounds, Silas gave them a sheepish grin as they approached to see his progress. “Painting only a mother could love,” he joked at his own expense, giving them a shrug. “Still, though… I think it’s doin’ the trick. Thanks again, for the suggestion, and—” He looked down at the now-emptied glass of wine, brows raised, “you’re gonna have to tell me where you got that, so I can get some of my own.”

---

With every brush stroke, the rest of the painters followed and listened to instruction carefully. Teaching wasn’t something that Metzli saw themselves doing, but there was a feeling of accomplishment when there was at least one student that did well. Tonight was not one of those nights though, and all the students were very amateur or…Silas. But given the evening he was having, they thought it best to be gentle. “Nonsense, Silas. We all start…” Metzli gestured to the painting, “…somewhere.”

A chuckle rang out and Metzli patted Silas on the shoulder. “I’ll give you the other bottle I have in my office. A little gift on me and an incentive to come back. I like you, so maybe we can be friends.”

Making one last round around the room, they walked to the front once more and finished the class with the final brush strokes on the canvas. Everyone presented their paintings, and complimented one another before packing up and shuffling out of the room, leaving the undead alone. “So what did you think? You gonna come every week?”

---

Releasing a breathy chuckle, Silas supposed that was a fair enough deal—a new friend in exchange for a bottle of wine. Graciously accepting the encouraging words of his peers before they all emptied out of the gallery, the zombie gave Metzli a sidelong glance before breaking out into his own laugh. “Well shit, I think I have to, now. I get the feeling Lorraine would hunt me down and give me an earful for giving up after the first night.” His eyes squinted in a grin as his chin tilted down toward the floor, hands bracing against his hips in a thoughtful pose.

“But yeah, I don’t see why I shouldn’t—it was fun, even though I’m shit at it.” He was compelled to thank them again, but it would have been too many times in one evening, so he bit his tongue instead. “Plus… you’re not so bad,” he teased, nose wrinkling. “Oh! But, uh… if you ever wanna see me doin’ somethin’ a little more in my wheelhouse, I play at Del’s most Friday nights ‘round ten. Sometimes we got the whole band, sometimes it’s just me, but.. yeah. Dunno how ya feel ‘bout gothic folk, but if you’ve never given it a listen, y’should stop in some time after class.”

---

“Gothic folk? Sounds like fun. I’ll visit some time and check it out. I gather there’ll be fiddle and everything?” Metzli loved fiddle as much as they loved classical violin. Stringed instruments held a special place. “Maybe we could even play a tune or two together. I actually play guitar. Mostly Mexican acoustic. I like to stay close to my heritage.” They smiled and patted Silas’ shoulder to lead him out of the room and back towards their office.

Grabbing the bottle, they turned and spoke with a more serious tone, “On a less lighter note, I would seriously consider sleeping with a salt circle around your room or even just your bed. At least until you figure out what the hell to do.” Metzli shrugged and handed the bottle over to Silas. “At least you made a fantastic friend and even got a free painting class though. Next one though, you’re totally paying. Paint ain’t cheap.” The tone shifted, just as they had planned. Things had been serious too often lately for them, and it would be nice to not have to deal with much more of it.

“Did we cure your writer’s block at all?”

---

Brightening like a kid who’d just been asked what his favorite kind of dinosaur was, Silas nodded energetically. “Hell yeah there’ll be fiddle, that’s my specialty.” Hearing that Metzli was a fellow acoustic enthusiast, his delight only grew. “Really? That’d be dope! M’always keen for a jam session. Get that though—stickin’ to your roots. My whole family is from down in the Louisiana bayous. Spent many a summer there with ‘em… definitely a significant influence on the kind of sound I make. Dixieland, that’s what I grew up hearin’.”

Following after them as the pair re-entered the office, Silas held out a hand to accept the bottle, his own boyish grin fading as the topic shifted. “Yeah…” the young man sighed, “yeah… you’re probably right. I’ll pick up some Morton’s on the way home.” The grin returned in a flash, softer and lopsided, but still a far cry from the fear he’d felt previously. A laugh was quick to follow, thumbs brushing over the label of the wine bottle as he offered Metzli a shrug. “You know what? I think we did.” Giving them a resolute nod, he pressed his lips into a thin line. “Body-snatching ghost twin… that’s got some fuckin’ songs buried in it, at the least. Sheesh.” A comfortable silence passed between them for a beat before Silas puffed out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Well… shouldn’t keep you any longer. Thanks, uh… yeah.” Too much. Grinning apologetically, the zombie held out a hand to shake. “Gotta get home and take a three hour shower, since apparently I stink,” came an afterthought of a quip, married with a chuckle. “Good meeting you, Metzli. See you around, yeah?”

---

Metzli was really enjoying the energy that Silas emanated. “Looking forward to hearing your sound and maybe even playing something together.” They smiled, matching the same spark of their counterpart. Even with the overwhelming news of his long dead brother possessing him, Silas was undeterred. At least, that’s what he presented externally. Metzli knew all too well what it was like to sew together the pieces of a torn facade. A performance, a dance they understood after decades of being on that stage.

“Glad to be of assistance. Hasta luego, carnal.” Metzli gave a friendly wave, watching their zombie friend walk away with a renewed spirit. Today, they made a choice to make a new friend. Every day it seemed like they added someone new, further rooting themselves to White Crest. Rooting themselves to the first place they could ever call home.

[5hfanfiction]

Be Exemplary ( Chapter One )

AU: What happens when someone you looked up to turns out to be someone completely different after a few years?    

 (very slight trigger warning of sexual harassment and fighting/bullying)

              6 year-old Camila Cabello had her eyebrows furrowed as the grip on her red colour pencil tightened when she attempted to colour in the lines of a parrot. Dressed in yellow overalls over a pink shirt, her hair tied up into pigtails; she coloured her parrot to perfection (well, it was perfect in her eyes). She stuck her tongue in between her teeth as a small smile stretched across her face when she held her piece of art in front of her face for further inspection. It was a perfect way to spend her recess time. So what if she had to deceive a few teachers to sneak back into the classroom to colour a parrot? She had eaten her PB&J in a matter of minutes anyway.

               However, the sudden flurry of commotion and voices booming from outside the classroom caught her attention. She walked over to the window to look outside; only to find a small boy on the ground with a green-eyed girl standing over him with her arms crossed over her chest. The girl’s blue jeans had a bit of dirt on it and she was sporting an alarmingly scary look for a seven year old. Camila recognized her; she would’ve recognized those green eyes anywhere.

              She remembered her first day in school, and she remembered seeing her in the canteen. Another girl had rudely cut in front of Camila in the line to get food; her blonde hair whipping in Camila’s face as she sported a smug look in her all pink-ensemble. The green-eyed girl (who was apparently) behind Camila huffed angrily as she stepped out of line and pulled on the blonde hair in front of her. Her eyes caught Camila’s for a split second and the brown-eyed girl was rooted to the spot. Surely enough, there were a lot of hair-pulling and tantrums thrown and teachers had to break up the fight between both girls. Camila simply watched with wide eyes at the scene in front of her; wondering if this was how school supposed to be like.

             The boy on the ground quickly got up and ran away from the green-eyed girl as she simply stared him down.

              “Lauren!” shouted a doe-eyed plump teacher nearby who couldn’t get to the scene fast enough. “Are you trying to get in trouble again?” the plump teacher scolded her as she gripped her elbow and pulled her into school; undoubtedly to call her parents.

            Lauren, so that’s her name, thought Camila. The 6 year-old was rather intrigued with the fiery character of Lauren. The girl seemed to be standing up for other kids; and that made Camila somehow ashamed of how shy and passive she truly was. She didn’t know if she admired her, or was scared of her.

             A few days later, Lauren slapped the same boy she had thrown to the ground. “You can’t call people that, Tom, I thought I told you that already” she had quipped with her squeaky but definitive voice, eyes full of rage.

            “So what, Jauregui! My parents said that girls should love boys and those who don’t are dykes,” yelled back Tom as his face turned red from all the attention he was getting from a number of other kids that stood in the school hallway. Lauren’s face hardened and her nose flared. She was about to shove him, but was abruptly stopped by Mrs. Degeneres who grabbed her arm.

         “Okay, the both of you are coming with me to the Principal’s office right now,”

           “But she was the one who started it-” countered Tom but quickly shut his mouth when Mrs. Degeneres gave him a withering stare. She herself had killer green eyes, and Camila faintly heard her whisper to Lauren; catching a sentence that sounded like “you don’t need to defend me, Lauren,” as she hastily dragged both of the 7 year-old away from the hallway and curious eyes.

           After an hour, it was recess time and Camila sat alone outside the school near the playground. She watched on as kids her age played as she was in very deep thought about the whole Lauren situation.

         Jagooey? What was her last name again? Camila silently pondered as she tired to recall the words Tom had spat at the green eyed girl. Having a lack of friends usually made Camila analytical and perspective to those around her. It was only because she was shy; however, she did make some eye-contact with a few of her classmates, so there was nothing to worry about. She’ll make friends…eventually.

  And dyke….. What does that word even mean? What has girls loving each other have to do it?

  Camila concluded that Lauren must be really smart or a genius or something to know what that word meant and crucially, the appropriate use of the said word.

          Suddenly, a car door slam snapped her out of her thoughts. She saw a black car that looked posh parked in front of the school and walking a few feet in front of it was a man that looked incredibly familiar; like Camila had seen him on TV or something. He had a black suit on, and he was a little bit big-sized. His beard was covering half his face, and made him look quite like a bear ( in Camila’s eyes).

             A few minutes later, the same man walked out with Lauren by his side. He didn’t look angry, just a little bit frustrated. Lauren had her head hung low as the man kissed her forehead and got into the car and drove away. Camila was too far away to hear anything; but she was still staring at the duo. Ultimately, concluding that that man was her father. Suddenly overcome with compassion, Camila trudged over to the green-eyed girl; tapping her on the shoulder to get her attention.

            The green-eyed girl turned around then; tearing her eyes away from the road her dad’s car just took off on.

             “Hi. You’re Lauren right? Are you okay?” asked Camila; knowing that there was a high possibility that Lauren was scolded. Also, because her nose was red and her eyes were watery.

           Lauren wiped her nose and gave Camila a small smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. My father just gave me his usual lecture,” she sniffled then.

             Camila nodded, her heels rocking back and forth. “Have you eaten yet? There’s only a few minutes left of recess,” enquired the doe-eyed girl; wanting to know more about the mysterious character in front of her. Maybe, she could finally make a friend.

              Lauren simply shook her head then, giving her a small smile. “Nah, i’m not hungry. Tom ruined my appetite,”. Camila really wanted to ask her what dyke meant but she held her tongue; she didn’t want to stick her nose into other people’s business.

               “Well, okay then. Would you like to come swing with me?” Camila shyly asked her. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth. It was a leap for friendship since she started school a couple weeks ago. Lauren simply smiled at her and nodded; both of them giggling away to the swings for the last few minutes of recess.

  —

              Once the school bus dropped Camila off at her house, she was ready to tell her mother all about the friend she finally made in school today; excitement filling her veins. However, she was greeted with both her parents seated at the dining table; which was unusual because her dad worked until 8 p.m.

               Her small curious eyes widened with surprise when her parents announced with booming voices that they would be moving to New York for her dad’s work. He had gotten a promotion at a new branch in the company that he was working for, and they were leaving tomorrow. Her mom had happy tears running down her face as she engulfed Camila in a hug; soon followed by her dad.

            Camila knew that her family wasn’t poor, but they also weren’t so well off. A pit of bitterness settled in her stomach as she thought about a whole new city, a whole new group of friends and a lack of a green-eyed one.

               However, the happiness on their faces was contagious. Camila hid her disdain under a smile because she couldn’t shake the feeling of loss as she thought about a certain girl with emerald eyes. She would have to start at a new school all over again, but if her parents were happy, she would be too.

            “We don’t know how long we would be there honey, but this is a great opportunity for us as a family” her mother cajoled Camila as she rocked the toddler back and forth in her arms; knowing that change was always scary for her daughter.

  —

  (11 years later)

             “Girl, be happy you got out of this hellhole”

     Camila chuckled into her phone that was held in between her ears and shoulder as she hastily pulled on her jeans over her long legs. She walked across her new room and dived into a box that was labelled “C’s clothes”.

        “Ari, how could i be happy when you’re not here?” cooed Camila to her best friend, Ariana Grande, on the other line. She quickly pulls on a light blue crop top when she hears the distinct voice of her mom yelling from downstairs that she’s going to be late for her briefing on her first day at her new high-school.

      “Okay, before you can answer that i’m gonna be seriously late for my briefing if i keep entertaining your lame-ass excuses,” she quips to Ariana; already imagining the eye-roll in her head.

         “Okay sweet ass, i’ll talk to you later, and tell me if you find anyone cute alright? Don’t keep all the hot ones to yourself okay? It’s selfish and i’m your friend, and sharing is caring-”

         “Lord, Ari, i hear you okay,” Camila chuckled into her phone. Her friend was something else. “Also, in what world am i hogging the hot ones? You’re talking to the girl who has been a lip-virgin for 17 years,”

      “Girl, just because you’re weird and incapable of noticing the hot ones doesn’t mean that they don’t notice you,” Ariana argues back. Camila could only shake her head to herself and end the call with “I love you bitch, don’t miss me too much”.

         Once she fixes her long brown hair to the best of it capabilities, she rushes downstairs to find both her parents at the dining table; unbearable tension building between the both of them. It’s been like this for weeks and Camila hates it. Her father with a newspaper in his hand; barely acknowledging her existence as she gives her mom a kiss on the cheek and grabs an apple on the way out of the house; yelling “see you later, mom,”.

           Her heart burns when she leaves the house thinking of her dad and his nonchalance. It was because of him they had to leave New York and come back to Miami; back to her father’s old company’s branch which was barely alive. How could he be so calm? How could he pretend like he didn’t just stick a wedge in a life that she was happy in? She was doing perfectly fine in New York. She had made a considerable amount of friends and her grades were at the top of the class. Her previous high school had an amazing priority for art and encouraged students to test out their talents; and, this is how Camila realised that she loved music. She sang her heart out and managed to snag a spot in the Choir Club. It was her life; she was finally building a life that was suited for her.

         She was finally finding herself, finding a common ground where both her feet could land; so, of course the universe had to rain on her parade and shift her world on its axis once again.

        Apparently, her father had a few sexual harassment complaints filed against him. She still remembered how much her outlook on her dad changed that day. It was like she didn’t know him anymore. Her admiration and love for him quickly turned into disgust and hate. The light in her mom’s eyes dimmed as if her soul was trying to numb the pain she felt. However, because he had been working for the company for over 15 years and was one of the best workers they had ever had, the company took pity on him and moved him back to the previous branch he was in.

        Her dad did disgusting things, and he didn’t even seem sorry about it. Not once did she hear an apology come out from his mouth; only his solemn face as Camila’s mom badgered him with questions on “how could he do this to the family?”. The ride back to Miami was suffocating and the whole transition was incredibly fast for Camila to endure. However, because of her friends, Ariana especially, she had managed to siphon all her anger towards him and not the situation she was in. She had asked her mom to do something about her horrible situation, but her mom could only mumble about ‘honor’ and ‘marriage’ and ‘family’.

        She cried herself to sleep many times; majorly confused about the whole situation and the turn her life had taken.

  She couldn’t wait to graduate and get out of the house.

  And maybe bring her mom along.

—

         “-and this is your timetable, are you clear with everything i have told you so far, Ms. Cabello?” asked the clerk in the Principal’s office.

         Camila nodded quickly; grabbing the sheets of paper that was being handed to her by the clerk. The briefing ended pretty fast; lasting not longer than 10 minutes. “Well, then i guess you could be escorted to your class now i’m sure that your teach- hey, Normani!” Camila jumped out of her skin because of the sudden yell and turned around to see a gorgeous ebony-skinned girl enter the office with a pearly white smile. She eyed her for a second before bringing her attention back to the clerk.

           “This is Normani,” she gestured towards the girl on her left, “She’s the head of publicity on the Student Council and she sometimes helps newbies like you to get around. Since you’re a junior and you kind of know how high school works, she’ll just help you get to class. Miami High isn’t that big so you can’t get lost in it, if anything, just ask around, i’m sure the students here will be happy to help you,” the clerk informed Camila in a sweet tone.  

           Trying to process all the information, Camila simply nodded at the clerk with a smile before she turned her attention to Normani. “Cmon, newbie, let’s get you to class,” the dark-skinned girl flashed her a smile before walking out of the office with Camila by her side.

  So far, so good, Camila thought to herself.

  —

           Normani was beautiful, like the type of beautiful that made you take a second look; and, Camila was having a hard time looking away from the older girl as she went on and on about the Student Council. Camila always had a hard time not staring at attractive people, though she never acted on any of it.

            For Camila, her sexuality was not definitive. She didn’t want to put a label on herself because she found herself being attracted to both genders as she grew up and she couldn’t do anything about it. She had asked her mom about it when she reached puberty and her mom could only smile and tell her to love who she loved. She realised later on how lucky she was for getting a reaction like that from her mom when she had heard horror stories from her friends back in New York about how kids were thrown out from their homes or bullied to death just because of their sexuality.

           She really didn’t think it was a big deal. A person’s sexuality is for themselves, and only for themselves to own.

          “-once a year. We have all sorts of events planned so don’t be shy and participate! We have sports clubs, drama clubs, glee clubs-”

            “Wait, did you say glee clubs,…and drama clubs?” Camila’s attention suddenly peaked at the mention of her passions.    

              Normani turned to smile at her then; tucking a strand of hair behind her ears. “Yes, we do. Every year, they collaborate to make a play. Like, last year was “West Side Story” and i hear that this year it’s going to be “Grease”. Auditions are coming up pretty soon so keep an eye out for posters or fliers or any of the kind,” she informed Camila with her hands gesturing to the walls. The hallways were filling with people. Curious eyes followed Camila, amd she felt herself flush.

  So, this is what it feels like to be the new-girl again, Camila thought to herself.

              “Okay, before i talk your ear off, your first class is AP Literature and its in classroom R126. Because you are here early, you still have 20 minutes more till class so maybe i can show you around a bit more?” asked Normani; her eyebrows lifting up. Camila looked at her watch and saw that it was 7.45, and she decided that she still had time.

              “Yeah sure,” she answers with a megawatt smile which Normani returns. She patted her elbow and lead her along a hallway that leads to the cafeteria. Then, they went to the library where Normani declared the end of their mini tour and decided to head Camila in her class’s direction so she wouldn’t be late. The first person she met today wasn’t a complete douche and was actually friendly! Maybe it could be easy to make friends around here.  

               “So, now that my mandatory duties are over, tell me about yourself,” nudged Normani with a lopsided smile. Camila looked over to her and pulls at the hem of her crop top in nervousness. “Oh well, um, i just moved her from New York, but um, i grew up here, i was in Miami till i was 6,” explained Camila while scratching the back of her neck. She continued with the basics of her life while her eyes train ahead of her in the hallway; slowly taking in the people and classrooms around her.

                     After a few moments, her sentence stopped mid-air as she eyed a group of jocks by the lockers. They were all wearing varsity jackets with big yellow “MH” sewed on top of it while they simply talked to each other. They were all lean and tall and just plain handsome, especially that one boy near the water-

                  “Wow, so i guess you found the jocks,” chuckled Normani as she slows down beside Camila, who followed the other girl’s pace as well. Camila’s face flushes as she looks back at Normani; her cheeks tinting red.

                    “I was just, um, y’know, they’re just- i was just-”

                    “Okay Camila, stop. They’re hot. I get it. It’s completely normal,” Normani replied with mirth in her tone as she drags Camila’s elbow with her. “Also, the name of the one you were ten seconds away from drooling on is Shawn Mendes, he’s the quarterback and also a very sweet guy,” Camila locked eyes with him from across the hallway and almost snapped her neck from how fast she was trying to look away. Amused at Camila’s reaction, Normani put her out of her misery by continuing, “But, he has a boyfriend, so he’s not available,”.

                Camila’s jaw dropped as those words exited Normani’s mouth. She slapped her arm lightly but couldn’t help but laugh along with the dark-skinned beauty as they walked down the hallway. “Holy hell,” Camila told Normani as she wiped a single tear of joy from her eyes, “Thank God you told me that before i started getting an unmanageable crush on hi-”

                   Her sentence was interrupted by a loud bang; causing both her and Normani to jerk towards the source of the sound. It was a few feet ahead of them and instead of people gathering around the incident like they usually do, most of them just fled; leaving a very clear view of what was happening. There was a boy on the ground whose shoulder was clutched as three girls stood above him. One girl had her back to Camila, so the newbie couldn’t make out her face but could only see that she had long wavy dark-blonde hair and she was very tall. The other girl opposite the very tall one was inversely short, but had the same dirty blonde hair. However, Camila could make out her face from this angle and immediately recognized the Latina look in her. She was awfully pretty, and her short legs were shown off in denim shorts; which made them look like they were 10-miles long. She couldn’t see the middle-girl’s face because her blackish brown hair was curtaining her face but then a pale hand came up to swish her hair to the other side; allowing Camila to see her side-profile. The dark-haired girl then smirked and took a step towards the fallen boy; eliciting a shiver in Camila’s spine.

  There was something about this girl.

                    “Ugh, not again,” Normani moaned as she saw the events in front of her unfold. Camila teared her eyes away from the scene and questioned her.

                      “Mani, what the hell is happening? Who are they? What do you mean again?” she rambled, curious to what was going on. Her heart ached for the boy on the floor. She hated bullies.

                      “That’s the Clique,” Normani equipped as she pulled out her phone and dialled the Principal’s Office number. “Those three girls have been causing trouble ever since the dawn of time, picking on people and picking fights when someone as much looks at them the wrong way. Not to mention, they have basically slept with the whole damn school. They’re attitude is horrendous, well at least, one of theirs is,” said Normani as she waits for the office to pick up. Camila frowns at the information, never once hearing about an all-female group of assholes.

                       “There’s Ally, Dinah and Lauren,”

                       Camila’s ears perked up at that; the name feeling disastrously familiar and rang a bell in her distant mind. “Wait, Lauren?”

                       “Yeah, and she’s the worst one,” continued Normani; catching a hint of confusion on Camila’s face. “She’s kind of the leader of the clique and she terrorizes everyone. If she’s not picking a fight with you, she’s flirting with you, and if she’s not flirting with you, she’s fucking you or even all the above. They are all positively repulsive. So, my advice is to steer clear of all three of them, you don’t want to be on their hit li- Yes, Mrs. Adams, Normani here. I would like to report a fight in the school hallway opposite Room R126,” Normani supplies the clerk.

  Of course. Of course, it has to be right opposite my bloody classroom, thought Camila to herself.

                “Yes.Yes, it’s the Clique again. Okay, no problem,” and then Normani hung up her phone with a sigh. Seeing the apprehension on Camila’s face, she questioned her.

                   “What’s wrong, you know any of them?”

                  Camila’s head was spinning a little, but mostly her stomach felt like she was going to be sick. Lauren. Could it be the same Lauren? But it couldn’t be right? The memory of the Lauren she knew, though it was a very hazy one, put her up to be one of the heroes, not the villains. How could someone as righteous as that become one of the most horrible people she could think of? But still, it could still be a different Lauren. It couldn’t be the same. What was her last name again? Jagooey? Jaguar?

                  “Wait, Normani,” Camila had to let go of her suspicions. “Do you know what’s Lauren’s last name?” the brown-eyed girl asked; hoping that it really wasn’t the same girl she knew 11 years ago. The girl that picked fights for good, and not for her own selfish gain.

                  “Do I? Girl…,” Normani chuckled at that. “She’s the former mayor, but current Senate’s daughter, Lauren Jauregui, of course i know her name, Mila. It’s also one of the reasons she gets away with everything,” replied Normani; staring disapprovingly at the event that was still taking place in front of them. At this point, Lauren had her foot on the boys chest and still had that awful smirk on her face.

               “Jauregui,huh?” Camila echoed; a weird mixture of dread, disgust and hope swirling in the pit of her stomach. Yep, that was the same girl all right. It would explain why Lauren’s dad was all fancy looking all those years ago. Camila eyes shot up to look at her again; watching her taunt the vulnerable boy beneath her. She was wearing dark skinny jeans and a dark green bomber jacket over a white tank top; her lips were painted red and her hair framed the side of her face beautifully.

  Ugh, why is it always the beautiful ones who are the assholes?, Camila thought to herself as she sees a few teachers rush past her to stop the fight.

          They pull Lauren off the boy and drag Dinah and Ally along. However, it seems like they are headed towards them and Camila finally manages to see Dinah and Lauren’s full faces. They both have strong defining jawlines and cheekbones; and as they got closer, it was very easy to tell that their bodies were curvy in all the right places. Camila’s eyes strained not to stare.

            They were getting closer to the pair, and Dinah smiled. Not at Camila, but at Normani, who simply huffed and rolled her eyes. Camila made a note in her brain to ask Normani about that later. What bothered Camila was that the three of them didn’t look affected at all. They didn’t seem like they just pushed a boy to ground and taunted him. Their egos were huge and Camila’s blood boiled. What type of horrible person do you have to be cause another person so much misery?

            With a strange surge of anger, Camila disapprovingly stared at the three, but her eyes locked with Lauren’s for a second; familiar eyes finding each other in the midst of grass and soil.

  Oh, it’s definitely her, Camila thought to herself as she felt a rush. She could recognize those green eyes anywhere.

                Infuriatingly, the emerald-eyed girl held Camila’s gaze. Almost as if there were wheels turning in her thick skull. However, when a flash of recognition flashed in her eyes, she winked at the brown-eyed girl; steadily looking up and down her body with a half-smirk as she passed her.

                Camila felt her anger only intensify though her cheeks were being bombarded by a heavy blush. They felt hot and heavy on her face and she loathed that it did. How utterly disgusting! The nerve of her! And to think that she could’ve maybe given her a chance to not be a complete asshole. The girl that Camila knew was far gone. Also, how much did she know about the other girl anyway? They only ever talked once.

  Camila couldn’t believe she actually missed that hooligan for the first few years she was at New York.

                Normani, from the sidelines, watched the interaction with raised eyebrows. What the hell is up with those two? It’s just her first day and she’s gotten Lauren’s attention already?

               “Okay,they’re gone, let me get you to class,” diverted Normani; dragging a very peeved but still blushing Camila into her AP Literature class. She could maybe ask her another day.

              “Did you see how she acted?,” Camila rambled, “Who does she think she is? Fucking Ryan Gosling or something? Megan Fox?, C’mon she doesn’t even come close and she acts like she’s this fucking big shot player or something, give me a break,and………”

  —

A/N: hey :) let me know what you guys think!  

[petculiars]

How Do You Know If Your Pet Bird Is Depressed?

New Post has been published on https://www.petculiars.com/how-do-you-know-if-your-pet-bird-is-depressed/

How Do You Know If Your Pet Bird Is Depressed?

Depression in pets is more common than you might think. You should constantly check for signs that your bird might show if it is in its usual state of cheerfulness. Many symptoms of depression can also indicate a disease, so it’s a good idea to visit your vet for a check-up. Learn the little changes that can bring back those happy chirps.

Causes of depression in bird

A bird can become depressed and this situation happens much more often than you might think. Depression in pet birds has a number of causes, both mental and physical. Any disease or recovery from a disease results in the bird being less cheerful. Mental and psychological stresses that can cause your bird to be sad include changing the position of the cage, boredom, the death of a partner, or the loss of a favorite toy. It is very important to notice the changes that occur with depression and to identify the source of this state to bring back the joy of the winged friend.

Symptoms of depression in birds

You should know the usual level of activity and sociability of your bird. Any change can be a sign that the bird is stressed or becomes depressed.

Symptoms of a depressed bird may include:

Fluttering feathers

Loss of appetite

Change of excrement

Irritability

Plucking the feathers

Aggression

Changing vocalizations

The constant rocking of the head

Take into account any signs that your bird might show as it could be physically ill and not just sad. In addition to the above, which can also be seen in the case of many diseases, watch out for red, inflamed, or flowing eyes, open mouth breathing, and tail swing.

What to do in case your pet bird is depressed

You might also like my articles about:

Why is my cat depressed after spay

Whether birds suffer from down syndrome

Whether cats can suffer from autism

If you notice that your bird has any of these symptoms, the first thing you should do is schedule a visit to your veterinarian for a full check-up. If your veterinarian finds no medical reason for your bird’s symptoms, depression may be the cause.

You can try these steps to help your bird get out of the mood:

Changing the food in the diet of pet birds with proper and complex nutrition.

Changing the environment, and rearranging the cage and the birdhouse are indicated to be done at least 2 times a year. Keep the cage clean with a new litter daily and clean bowls with food and water. Inadequate mental stimulation is the main cause of depression in pet birds.

Check the position of the cage to make sure it is not in an area that could stress out the bird, such as in a cold space. If possible, move the bird cage to an area of the house where it can see the family, because pet birds are social and like stimulation. If you do not have the expected results, try replacing the cage with a new one and if possible, one that is more spacious.

Make sure you have plenty of safe and fun toys for your bird. It is advisable to make a regular rotation of toys to which the bird has access. Thus, the winged friend will always have something new and interesting to play with and will be kept away from boredom. Give your bird new toys frequently to keep it stimulated.

Make sure your bird also has a lot of “one-on-one” time with you and other family members and that it has adequate time to play outside the cage every day. That walk on your shoulder could make a big difference in the mood of your bird. If you spend time in front of the TV or computer, your bird can watch it with you.

Two companion parrots on a branch

If your bird has suffered the loss of a partner, be a little patient. The bird might be sad and it takes a while to get over a death. If things do not improve in a few weeks, consult your veterinarian.

Consider getting a companion bird if you have only one bird.

Final words!

It is very important that all family members spend time alone with the bird. The winged friend must also enjoy moments spent outside the cage, every day. The moments spent with the pet bird will help strengthen the relationship between the owner and the winged companion, helping it avoid depression.

Depression in companion birds occurs only in individuals who are single or have suffered the loss of a companion, and rarely, in isolated cases in some species following the death of the offspring or the inability to breed.

[ko-fanatic]

Pretty: Night Worries and Coffee Stains (part four)

Rating: Teen and up

Fandom: Ouran High School Host Club

Relationships: Mentioned KyoKao

Trigger Warnings: Anorexia, Emaciation, Illness

Summary: It wasn't Hikaru's place. Well, it was, but it wasn't like he could even say anything. After all, he's a dumbass who can't get his words straight. He doesn't want to hurt them.

Other works in this series: Part one / Part two / Part three

Hikaru was confused.

Kaoru might make some jab as to how that wasn't an unusual state of affairs, but in all seriousness... All he really knew about this situation was that it was bad. Kaoru looked tired, and more than a little fed up, as he rubbed a hand over his face, finally breaking eye-contact with the computer screen. There was a tense tightness to his face, something pinched and pained, and Hikaru desperately wanted to just snatch his brother up into a hug at the sight of it.

"You'll get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that," He stated, manner-of-factly, trying to push some sort of reaction out of Kaoru. He didn't care if it was just a dismissive snort, he just needed to ease the odd, out of place tension in the room.

"Please, I'll still be getting ID'd when I'm forty," Kaoru waved away, and Hikaru was pleased to see an ever so slight loosening of his shoulders, "I've just... got to do this, okay? I need some peace and then -"

"Just tell me what's going on, man," Hikaru sighed, throwing himself onto the coach next to his brother, head on his shoulders and nosily trying to look at what Kaoru had been staring so intently at. However, when he saw what it was, something in his chest dropped down to the bottom of his stomach with an almost painful twang. It was one of those online symptom checkers, "Kaoru... Are you sick?"

He started flitting around his brother, hands pressed against his forehead, his cheek, trying to feel for any sign of fever - as if that'd be a definitive answer. Kaoru was trying to swat him away, nose wrinkled and mouth in a tense line, but stopped when the laptop almost crashed to the floor with how the two of them had been squirming around.

"Get off," Kaoru groused, pushing him away with one final, hard shove, "It's not for me, okay? Just leave it alone. Go bother the maids if you’re bored, they'd probably get away with murdering you."

"Bullshit!" He squawked, sounding a little too much like an offended parrot for his tastes, and he quickly cleared his throat. He tried to catch a glimpse of the screen once more, morbidly curious, "They'd get caught before breakfast, let's be honest here. Mum and dad love to make absolute sure we're both safe, after all."

A sly smirk emerged on Kaoru's face, eyes pinched and expression somewhat rat-like, especially for someone with their looks. Hikaru took that half-moment to catch another glimpse of the laptop screen, a few more puzzle pieces fitting into place when he saw "weight loss" and "fatigue" typed into the search bar.

"You think they don't look like two girls with experience?" Kaoru teased, angling the laptop screen so that it was almost closed, hidden from Hikaru's view, "They've definitely killed a man before, just look in their eyes."

The room went quiet, nothing more really coming to Hikaru's mind. Weight loss and fatigue could only really mean one thing, and he just needed to turn it over in his head for a moment.

He wasn't an idiot. He wasn't so self-absorbed that he didn’t see what was going on with Kyoya. You’d have to be blind not to, really. He’d always been skinnier than a rail, acting more like a clothes hanger for his uniform than actually wearing it, but lately it’d just gotten absurd. His mother’s industry was fashion, he’d hung around models, yet their senpai was thin even by their standards. He was an agency’s wet dream, really; fine features, tiny frame.

All the girls in the club seemed to both be jealous and in awe, such is the way beauty standards are. They don’t see bowed legs and concave stomachs, they see goals. They don’t notice the aching legs, the fainting, the smell of the bathrooms before a photoshoot, because they aren’t meant to. Stick thin is pretty, the methods of achieving it aren’t.

Kyoya's teeth were coffee stained, yet still holding a somewhat grey tone to the enamel that really didn't look healthy. His pallor was whiter than a sheet of paper, and his skin was blotchy and uneven. He was getting spots, patches of skin discoloured with green and yellow hues. He wasn't like a pretty, porcelain doll; he was closer to that image before, honestly, and Hikaru had no clue as to why that had been abandoned. Even if Kaoru was in denial, and Tamaki was fumbling with his words, Hikaru could see the expressions he knew too well.

The lies spilled over Kyoya's lips, caustic and sour as puke, not that anything would come up. An excuse always lay on the tip of his tongue, like those stupid sugar free mints, and he'd spin his truths and lies together almost seamlessly. Nausea, forgetfulness, lack of time, lack of appetite.

But it wasn't like Hikaru thought he was superior for noticing, of course not. They'd all noticed, fully accepting this as what it was or otherwise. He was seeing things clearly, he was sure, but... He didn't say a word. It wasn't his place, wasn't his concern; even if that was a lie because Kaoru was steadily growing more and more stressed from all this. Part of him hated Kyoya for that, but something more rational corrected him; it wasn't Kyoya's fault.

Kyoya was sick, and no one chose that. He was just angry at the situation they'd all been put in.

"Kaoru..." He began, intending to at least break the delusion - the misplaced trust and hope - that pulled the veil over his brother's eyes, but the words wouldn't come. It was like his jaw had been wired shut, stiff and unmoving, words stuck behind his molars like a cyanide pill in a spy flick.

His brother hummed in response, eyes locked on the laptop screen once more, keys clacking as if it were Kyoya typing, not Kaoru. He didn’t look up, too intent on trying to find a more palatable alternative to what was happening.

He didn’t have the heart to say anything, to either of them. He always says the wrong thing, anyway…

[exoticparrotf]

The Symptoms And Treatments Of Common Parrot Diseases Are Outlined In This Article.

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Symptoms This condition is similar to the flu or pneumonia. Symptoms appear 10 days after exposure, but can appear as early as four days or as late as 19 days.

Parrot fever has many symptoms with the flu, including:

heat & cold nauseous muscular and joint ache diarrhea \sweakness fatigue sne (typically dry) Other non-flu-like symptoms include chest discomfort, shortness of breath, and light sensitivity.

Rarely, the condition might inflame internal organs. The brain, liver, and heart are examples. It can potentially cause pneumonia.

Symptoms of parrot fever include:

brucellosis, a bacterial ailment that affects cattle but can affect people Tularemia is an uncommon illness that may be spread to people by a tick bite, an infected fly, or direct contact with an infected small animal. endocarditis tuberculosis pneumonia Q fever is a bacterial illness.

Common parrot diseases are discussed in detail in this page, including their symptoms and treatment options. Many kinds of birds are prey animals in the wild, and many of these species are birds of prey. They must maintain vigilance in order to avoid predators and be safe.

Prey animals have a common tendency of concealing any illness they may be suffering from in order to avoid being perceived as a weak and inviting target. Their whole existence is dependent on their ability to preserve the impression of excellent health.

With this behavior, it is difficult to determine whether or not your beloved bird is suffering from a health problem. Because you need to be aware of the signs that your bird may be suffering from an illness, you can treat the situation before it becomes too late.

This necessitates close observation of your pet bird in order to detect any signs of illness as soon as possible when it occurs.

Table of Contents

Five Diseases to Be Aware Of in Birds

Their Treatment

Can parrots give humans diseases? Is it contagious among humans?

1. Bird Polyomavirus

2. Polyomavirus Symptoms in Birds

3. Birds with Pacheco’s Disease

4. Birds with Giardia

5. Birds are suffering from malnutrition.

Five Diseases to Be Aware Of in Birds

Psittacosis in Birds is a disease that affects birds (Parrot fever)

What’s this thing? Psittacosis, chlamydiophila psittaci, and ornithosis are other names for parrot illness. Most bird species are susceptible to contracting this viral disease. Contact with bird feces and dust can spread the disease.

In birds, there are many symptoms of the disease Psittacosis a lack of desire to eat Breathing problems Depression Weedy, leaf-colored excrement The eyes and nose produce a lot of fluid.

If you don’t identify these symptoms early enough, your pet bird may die suddenly. If your bird displays any of these signs, get it to a veterinarian as soon as possible.

Their Treatment

Treatment Antibiotic treatment under the supervision of your avian veterinarian can result in your bird’s successful recovery.

Can parrots give humans diseases? Is it contagious among humans?

This disease can be transmitted to people and manifests as a flu-like illness.

1. Bird Polyomavirus

What exactly is it? Avian Another infectious disease that can be found in mammals and birds is polyomavirus. This is a highly lethal virus that primarily affects young birds.

Adult birds may develop immunity, according to some studies. The disease spreads through the dander of birds, droppings, and bird-to-bird contact. Budgies are one of the most common carriers, so take extra precautions if they are your bird of choice.

2. Polyomavirus Symptoms in Birds

It may take some time before the bird exhibits symptoms of illness.

Abdominal enlargement Appetite loss Diarrhea or vomiting Loss of weight Dehydration Treatment Anti-polyomavirus vaccination is advised and should be administered while the birds are still in the breeder’s nursery. There is currently no therapy available for an infected bird. Strict sanitation and avoiding contact with potentially sick birds are the most effective prophylactic measures against this disease.

Is it transmissible to humans? Certain strains of this disease are transmissible to humans.

3. Birds with Pacheco’s Disease

What exactly is it? A kind of the herpes virus causes this devastating viral disease. Infected feces and nasal discharge propagate the disease. When you’re moving, reproducing, or grieving over the loss of a mate, the virus that had been dormant in your parrot can come to life.

Tremors are one of the symptoms of Pacheco’s disease in birds. Lethargy Sinusitis \sAnorexia Green excrement Treatment for Sudden Death Acyclovir, an antiviral medicine, can be successful if begun early, although it can harm the kidneys. It’s a fatal and highly contagious disease. The best preventative method is quarantine.

Is it contagious among humans? Humans do not appear to be infected by it.

4. Birds with Giardia

What exactly is it? This parasitic disease is spread by cysts that are discharged into the excrement of affected birds. A common source of this issue is tainted water supplies. Check out our page here for additional information about parasites in birds.

Giardia Symptoms in Birds Diarrhea Skin that itches and is dry Weight loss Stool that is excessively bulky Depression

Treatment Antibiotics can be used to treat Giardia, but it usually takes several rounds because it recurs. Keeping the aviary clean and dry, as well as minimizing overcrowding, are the greatest ways to prevent disease. Instead of using open water sources, it is recommended that you utilize water bottles.

Is it contagious among humans? Giardia can be contracted by people if they drink from the same water supply as birds, which should be quite easy to avoid.

5. Birds are suffering from malnutrition.

What exactly is it? Malnutrition can manifest itself in a variety of ways, including the symptoms detailed in this area of the website. This should not be an issue if you are feeding your bird a nutritious diet consisting of nutritionally balanced pellets and fresh meals. However, it is possible that they are deficient in some vitamins, in which case you should consult our bird supplements guide to learn how to correct these deficiencies.

Malnutrition in Birds: Signs and Symptoms Feather stress bands and darker feathers might be signs of nutritional deficits. You should also make certain that the bird receives adequate full spectrum sunshine, particularly if it is kept indoors for the most of the day. If this is the case, they may require artificial bird lighting, which may be found in our information on artificial bird lighting here.

9 Signs and Symptoms of a Sick Parrot

The first indicator that a parrot owner may notice is a change in one or more of their bird’s characteristics. There are a lot of particular changes to look out for in your pet bird that may suggest that it is suffering from an illness.

Disturbing physical appearance or posture Huddled The bird is losing its equilibrium. Excessive plucking of feathers With its beak, it is clinging to the side of the cage. Trembling It’s like going around in circles. There is no preening.

Personality traits and attitudes Changes in the way people speak Wings that are drooping Inactivity Personality shifts occur.

3. Bird droppings are number three.

The color and consistency of the liquid alter. Dropping rates have decreased. There was blood in the droppings.

The look of the head Squinting and half-closed eyes are common in this situation. Beak that is flaky or overgrown twitching of the cranium Swelling is indicated by a loss of symmetry.

Feathers are number five on the list. Ruffled, fluffed, or uninteresting On the head or vent region, wet or soiled. Excessive plucking Extreme molting of the hair and the appearance of bald areas Stress relievers made of feathers

Legs and feet (number six)

Nail growth that is out of the ordinary

Feet or joints that are swollen

Crusting or discolouration of the skin

Take a deep breath

Tail-bobbing while taking a breath

a lot of panting

Breathing through the open beak

Changes in the sounds of parrots

Exercise intolerance is a condition that occurs when a person engages in strenuous physical activity.

Sneezing

Consumption of food and beverages

Appetite sapping medication

Vomiting

Increase in the amount of cropland

Attempting to defecate or pass eggs while squeezing

Not being able to pick up food

Loss of weight

Loss of weight is a typical indicator that your bird is unwell. You should check on your bird’s health on a weekly basis using avian scales, such as the one seen in the image above. If you detect a significant decrease in the weight of your bird, you should take them to the veterinarian and double-check the bird’s diet and bird food ingredients. It is also beneficial to use these scales to keep your bird from growing overweight.

You will be able to tell whether any of these changes are occurring if you observe your bird on a daily basis, which may include changing a layer of paper from the bottom of the cage. Unfortunately, many of the diseases that your pet bird may suffer from may manifest themselves with the same set of symptoms as the others. It is frequently difficult to tell what the problem is with the parrot as a result of this. Here is a video that demonstrates several things to keep an eye out for:

[wordsonbirds]

[Warning: this ask is kinda depressing and discusses death] Do you know how well parrots understand human death? I know they grieve if they're rehomed or something but what if one person in a "flock" passes? My immediate family and I live with my grandparents and I've been taking care of their parrot, who they had for over 30 years, and my grandpa passed the other day. The family is coping and the other pets know something happened but I'm wondering if our bird can tell and how she'll react.

This one is difficult to answer to be honest, and depending on how often your grandpa spent with the bird it may take her a little while to notice the difference, or she could already know. (Ex: If your grandpa was interacting with her every day until he passed, she’ll know right away that something is up  when she doesn’t get to see him. If your grandpa had been in the hospital for awhile, it may take her awhile more to realize he’s not coming home). 

Birds tend to be sensitive to stress levels of their human companions at the very least and will at least know something is up in you folks.How she’ll react... again depends a lot on her relationship to your grandpa. She could very well go into a mourning period, she may very well call for your grandpa for awhile, she could get stressed and agitated, she could pluck or become a bit lethargic, she may not be as interested in eating....

You just have to be there for her and be gentle. If she is having a hard time getting her appetite up to eat, for a time it would be okay to give her more treats if she is more interested in those, because eating *something* is better than eating nothing at all, but be careful with what you are feeding it should all still be bird safe. Keep an eye on her behaviour and her poops, if her poops get weird, watery or if she stops pooping take her to an avian vet asap.She might get screamy, she may do a lot of contact calls trying to locate your grandpa. It could be tough, especially when your family is already grieving. But she should settle down given time and gentle handling.I’m really sorry for your loss and even without dealing with a mourning bird such a death is hard to handle. I hope that you and your family heal soon and that your bird will be okay. 

[raptorsandpoultry]

Blue-breasted quail (AKA button quail) care sheet

Excalfactoria chinensis, AKA Chinese painted quail, king quail, etc., (not to be confused with hemipode buttonquail, which are actually a group of strange and tiny shorebirds!) These little guys are the smallest species of true quail, which are part of the pheasant family, and can live a little over 4 years under proper human care. Full-sized adults are no larger than a standard day-old chicken:

(Photo: mine)

Diet:

Two thirds of a daily adult blue-breasted quail ration should be fresh game bird pellet (they can learn to eat whole pellets, but ideally these should be ground/broken up into smaller pieces) or chick starter crumble. The remaining third should consist of fresh, bird-safe fruits and vegetables (mine personally prefer Romaine lettuce and grapes), supplemented with extra sources of protein such as live mealworms and boiled egg during periods of heavy molting or egg-laying. Any uneaten food items should be removed well before they get a chance to spoil/rot - quail are messy eaters and will scatter food about and kick bedding/waste material all over it, even if it is given in an elevated food bowl. Grit must be supplemented as well, in addition to calcium for laying hens. Most hens actually do well with a cuttlebone to peck at (it sounds like they’re playing a tiny xylophone and it’s probably one of my favorite things ever). As with any other bird, fresh water should be provided and changed daily. It can be offered in a shallow bowl with marbles/pebbles at the bottom to prevent drowning; alternatively, quail can be trained to drink from hamster-style water bottles.

Housing:

To minimize physiological and psychological stress, a quail enclosure should be placed away from anywhere it could be exposed to extreme or fluctuating temperatures, high-traffic areas, or perceived predators such as dogs and cats. The more space, the better - I would personally recommend at least 3 square meters or 10 cubic feet for a pair or trio. Their behaviour will indicate whether they’ve got enough space AND hiding places. If they spend the majority of their time repetitively walking/running along the edges of the enclosure, something needs to change, and if abnormal feather-pecking behaviour develops (more on that below), then they definitely do not have enough space. Blue-breasted quail will burst into flight when frightened (or do a shorter sort of flutter when they simply want to exercise their wings), and while they can reach impressive heights, they are pretty terrible at controlling which direction they go. They will be able to overshoot the walls of any enclosure you try to put them in, so a lid/cover is a must, and it needs to be soft enough or lined with soft material underneath to prevent head trauma when they inevitably hit their heads on it. Cleaning and disinfection of the entire enclosure with bird-safe agents needs to be done regularly, how frequently depends on many factors such as stocking density and the type of litter/bedding being used. Wood shavings/pellets, shredded paper, chopped straw, newspaper/paper towel (with small areas of substrate they can dig and forage around in) all work well, but the best enclosures will offer a variety of substrates to provide the quail with lots of choice as to where they can perform specific behaviours. Which leads nicely into the next segment...

(Photo: floridabuttonquail.wordpress.com)

Enrichment:

Quail *love* to dust-bathe. Chinchilla dust or sand are ideal for helping them get excess oil off their feathers, but they will bathe in other substrates as well, such as wood shavings, dried moss, etc. Small toys, when introduced carefully and with some treats scattered on or around them, will also stimulate these curious little birds. I give mine tiny whiffle balls stuffed with dried mealworms to encourage foraging behaviour. Furniture for the enclosure can include things like natural or artificial branches/twigs, leaves, and lots of small rock caves and plant pots for hiding places as well. Like any other pet, quail can be trained using positive reinforcement! Here are a couple videos of mine being target-trained. This can easily be extended to teach them to spin on cue, run obstacle courses, and much more! Lack of mental stimulation in quail can lead to abnormal feather-pecking behaviour, in which one or more quail begin to focus their activities on actively chasing their flockmates, then pulling out and eating their feathers. This can easily be prevented by providing plenty of environmental enrichment as described above, as well as appropriate social enrichment - quail absolutely should not be kept alone, and blue-breasted quail in particular do best in male-female pairs or one-male-two-female trios.

General Health:

A healthy blue-breasted quail will spend most of its day foraging and eating, as well as dust-bathing, napping, and gently preening itself and its mate. A quail with healthy plumage who is not molting should basically just be an orb when its feathers are smooth and fluffed out comfortably. Its eyes, nares, and cloaca should be free of discharge, and its beak and toenails kept at a proper length with the help of an appropriate foraging substrate and accessories such as cuttlebones. When they do grow too long, they should be trimmed by a veterinary professional or someone with extensive experience caring for quail (beaks especially should not be trimmed by someone other than an avian veterinarian as there is huge potential for error leading to beak deformities). Despite their small size and often cheap price, quail need and deserve proper veterinary care just as much as any parrot or other pet bird. Please take your quail to a licensed avian veterinarian if you notice any of the following signs: abnormal lumps on face/feet, plucked or consistently soiled feathers, lethargy, difficulty breathing, abnormal feces/urate, lameness, any discharge or swelling, excessive preening or scratching, and loss of appetite, among others.

(Photo: mine)

This care sheet was requested by @eclectus-mom! It just occurred to me that this is the first care sheet I’ve ever written, and I just know I missed a ton of points so please feel free to add them on if you are experienced with quail care! And my ask box if always open for other requests and questions :)

[stunudo]

BAU Prep School AU

A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction

Spring Fever

Welcome to the Frederick Buchanan Institute located in scenic Quantico, Virginia, a senior high academy that shapes the best and brightest minds. Its motto is “Behavior, Analysis, Unity,” the mascot the Submariners, colloquially “the Unsubs”. The small school supports the most accomplished faculty from across the country.

Special shot out to @spencereid for the Elle gif. Kate makes amazing gifs and gifsets and deserves all the credit for her work.

March 20, 2017 7:02am

Ashley Seaver had been doing this job a long time, long enough not to bat an eye when an email from the Board of Regents comes through requesting the staff get a physical copy in their mailboxes as well as an official email. Dr. Reid really did need it in writing as he never set up his FBI email account, which amused the older blonde woman equally as it annoyed her. She didn’t even read the memo until she had printed precisely the amount of copies needed and sorted them into the clearly labeled trays along the wall.

To the Staff and Faculty of Frederick Buchanan Institute:

It has come to our attention that the personal interests of the faculty may have fallen against the clear moral code of ethics expected of the employees of our fine institution. To maintain the exemplar standards and ensure the impact of off grounds decisions are not hindering abilities to provide world class education and insight to our impressionable students, we beseech you to review the personnel manual that has been provided. If further concerns are brought to light, greater repercussions with be doled out accordingly.

Sincerely,

The Board of Regents 2016-2017

Erin Strauss

Mateo Cruz

Maxwell Ryan

‘Huh’, Ms. Seaver thought as she made her way back to her desk. The shuffling of heels and a cheery, “Morning, how’s my Seaver Savior doing?!” signaled Penelope had arrived for the day. The women made small talk as Penelope checked her mailbox, her attention drifting away from tales of the secratary’s puppy problems to the short, but intense memo in her hands.

“Whoa, mama.” Penelope muttered, shocked.

“Penelope? Everything alright?” Ashley asked. “Oh, yeah, Regents are still up in somebody’s business, even after Jason. Can you believe it?”

“Yeah, I mean, no.” Penelope said defiantly. “Well, I, uh, better scoot. Ciao!”

Penelope scampered out into the corridor leading towards her office, her fingers fidgeting with the keypad on her phone.

12:32pm

“There’s my girl!” Derek crooned slinking into Penelope’s office during her lunch.

“What? How? How are you okay right now?!” Penelope gaped at her boyfriend. She nearly ran to the door, ensuring it was open. “Better leave that open, thank you very much.”

“Pen? What’s going on?” Derek held back from snaking his arms around her, playing with her fingers instead. “You said we needed to talk this morning, call me crazy but I thought you wanted to see me.”

Penelope slammed a piece of paper into his chiseled chest, “This is what is going on, Mister Muscles. Muscles that I cannot be touching whilst at work.” She bit her lips, hands raised in surrender.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Derek rubbed his head as he read the memo. “Did everybody get this?”

“Yeah, Ashley got the email just this morning. I may have checked her inbox. But, it doesn’t say in so many words. But, we got caught, Derek.”

“This could be anything, Penelope.” Derek put the sheet down. “Maybe Reid got a speeding ticket, or Emily told off a soccer mom, we can’t be sure until we cover our bases.”

“Exactly. Which means,” Penelope inhaled, flinching. “We have to break up, but not like, really, just for here.”

“You’re fake breaking up with me?” Derek’s eyebrows nearly jumped off his face.

“Baby, we’ve got to. We both love our jobs, in fact, that’s one of the things I love most about you is how much you love your team and the other kids.”

“But, come on. Really?”

“Just for now, until we know we are in the clear.” Penelope placated.

“You’re lucky you’re gorgeous and I love you. I wouldn’t pretend to break up with just anyone, you know.”

“I know, that’s why when we are in the safe and in the clear, Mama is going to make it up to you.” Penelope’s grin curled and flat lined in an instant. “But, uh, not now, or here.”

“Right.” Derek smirked, shaking his head. “Well, alright then. Mssssss Garcia. You have a nice, professional day.”

“You too, Der- Coach.” She nodded in closing.

March 21 11:27am

“JJ?” Dave had ducked his head inside the break room before the soccer coach could head into cafeteria duty. “Can I grab you a minute?”

She glanced back at the now empty table, ensuring her place was cleared. It was, for the most part. “What’s up, Chef?”

“I just needed an extra pair of hands.” He held the door to the kitchen open and she slid inside. The old chef working quickly, letting the athletic blonde pick up on the small sorting and traying of the students’ meals. They worked in comfortable silence and were free from the daunting line of hungry teenagers soon enough.

“Thanks, JJ” Dave smiled as she sneaked a green onion from one of the prep tables. “I see your appetite has come back. That’s good, I was beginning to take this thinning face, personally.”

JJ crunched down on the vegetable earnestly clearing her mouth in order to answer him. “Dave, come now, you know if I could I would have been in here everyday stealing something.”

“So everything is okay, with?” Dave patted his own belly.

JJ sighed and nodded. “Yep, doctor says everything is good. Now that I am in my second trimester, the queasiness has backed off.” Her hand instinctively rested on her barely bump.

“When are you due?”

“September 19. Which means needing a coach and a long time sub come fall semester.”

“Hotch know?”

“I’m guessing somebody told him. Did you know that having an unwed mother on staff is considered a breach of our code of ethics?”

“He didn’t say that?” Dave’s voice shortened in alarm.

“No, but something is pushing the Board’s buttons.”

“Don’t worry about them. You take care of the two of you.” Dave smiled, patting JJ on the back as they headed their separate ways.

Mach 22 3:42pm

“Come in,” Hotch said evenly at the knock on his door. “Ms. Prentiss? Hello, stopping by to get the previous minutes for the next Booster Club meeting?” The confusion on his face was nearly masked, he had no idea why Emily was stopping by after school.

“No, actually, but I will get them from Ashley via email, thanks.” She sat, stiffly in front of her boss, unwilling to mince words, she set her copy of the Board’s memo on his desk. “There are better ways of going about this, don’t you think?”

“I had no idea they were sending this out, Emily. Why are you upset?” Hotch held the sheet without looking at it, eyes wary.

“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps someone decided I am the next victim in Lizzie’s temper tantrum.” Emily stared glassy eyed at Hotch, waiting.

“To my knowledge, this is not about you. Is there something you feel guilty about?” Hotch smirked, amused at the shocked expression on the woman’s face.

“Not guilty, let’s just say I am uneasy with the way the atmosphere can change.”

“You’ve been teaching for seventeen years, Emily. What possibly changed that much, suddenly?”

“I had a relationship with a co-worker. A relationship many people do not approve of.” Emily laid her cards bare.

“Emily this is not about one of the staff being gay, or anyone being LGBTQ.” Hotch explained.

“It’s not?” She nodded. “Good.” The relief at war with her unshakeable demeanor.

“Besides, I don’t know why you think that was a secret until recently. You went to school here, people have always talked.”

“I had no idea my private life was common gossip.”

“Emily, you’re a highly respected educator. Nothing about your character or your desire to fill these kids’ heads full of possibility is in question.”

She smiled, he was good at this. “Before I go, I gotta know. When did you know?” She raised her chin in interest.

Hotch exhaled through pursed lips, “Well, when Ian Doyle asked you to Homecoming your senior year?” Hotch shrugged.

“You remember that?!” Emily chuckled. “Christ, what were you, a freshman?”

“You threw his lunch in the trash and gave him a double middle finger.” The subdued laughter shaking his chest.

“And that proves I’m gay, how?” Emily countered, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You did it to get a rise out of your crush.” Hotch leaned back in his chair.

“Bullshit.”

“It’s okay, Emily. I had a thing for Mrs. Robbins too. I think everyone did. She always wore those-”

They looked at each other and broke into fits. “Miniskirts.” They said in unison.

March 24 3:17pm Raleigh, NC

Alex, Stephen and Kate stood in the wings of the stage watching the 2017 debate team await their scores for the first round of the Southeast Regional Competition. Zachary was off to the side as Sacha and Kimi held hands nervously. Trevor, Amelia, and Jake were trying to get each other to laugh, psyching each other out. The emcee’s voice boomed through the microphone, “The winner of the 2017 group debate with a team of four or more is—- the Junction School for Girls from Ideal, Georgia.”

Alex knew it was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier watching the disappointment fall on each of her kids’ faces. Kate stood beside her, clapping encouragingly. They had an outstanding season up until this point, caravan-ing and squabbling over semantics to get here. Alex was incredibly proud of how far they had come, but it didn’t matter, the loss had to be felt before the silver lining could be recognized as more than a splinter in an open wound.

Stephen gestured to the kids, shaking his hand in the air. Zachary caught his drift and started congratulating their opponents on their victory. Sacha rolled her eyes and stomped in line behind Kimi, muttering her parroted responses. The teams cleared the stage and found their chaperones.

“Unsubs!” Alex waved over her head, despite Stephen’s higher perch. “Alright, how do you guys think you did?”

“Well, we lost, so-” Amelia started.

“We did good. They did better.” Zachary shrugged.

“You really think we did worse than them?” Sacha challenged.

“Zach is right, Sash.” Ms. Blake explained. “And that’s okay. We lost. It sucks. But it is not the end of the world. You, all, have grown in ways I didn’t know you could this season. You are still Virgina’s State Champion Debate Team, don’t forget that.”

March 24 11:14pm

Spencer Reid had been over to Elle’s apartment a handful of times over the year and a half they had worked together. He helped cat sit when she went home for Christmas, he had joined her for some awards show last winter and then there was the soap opera binge of summer 2016 when it had been too hot to leave the house and they watched a month’s worth of a show in a weekend. Needless to say, he had never arrived uninvited, especially not in the middle of the night. But something was off with Elle that day at school and Spencer hadn’t been able to sleep not knowing his friend was alright.

He should have called her before he left, weighing the concept of owning a cell phone in his mind before dismissing the thought. But he hadn’t called, so when he knocked nervously on her door, he was expecting a less than polite reception from her colorful mouth. She opened the door with a quick harrumph after checking the peep hole.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Dr. Reid?” She laughed at herself as she showed him inside. Spencer’s suspicions proven concrete with the jar of booze left out on the kitchen island. He squinted behind his glasses and stood anxiously with his hands in his pockets.

“I noticed something was bothering you, earlier. And, uh, I couldn’t sleep knowing you were upset.” Spencer explained, Elle’s face was rosy with the warmth inside her. Her dark features softened with the loss of tension from the alcohol. It wasn’t that she was more beautiful drunk. Although, those walls she kept up emotionally, had come down; allowing her to be viewed physically and not just navigated socially. She noticed Spencer noticing this phenomenon.

“You were thinking about me?” Elle’s voice was softer, deeper. Spencer gulped. “Would you like a drink? I’ve had my share and it is best to not drink alone.”

“Is it?” Spencer asked, not knowing that expression.

“So they say,” Elle grinned, bringing down another glass from the cabinet. “Take your coat off, Reid.”

Eventually Spencer relaxed enough to sit down with Elle in her living room, each clutching their cocktail glasses. He for a grounding effect, she so as not to spill. A comedy played in the background as small talk took over the conversation. Elle didn’t say it, but she was relieved that he had shown up. Too scared to be alone with her own thoughts.

“Are we going to talk about what sent my Spidey-senses off today?” Spencer teased, having finished one of the potent beverages and starting on his second.

“I thought it was obvious,” Elle shrugged. “The continued witch hunt from the Regents? I mean, it feels like this is just another tick against me for hurting their reputation for having Brayden put away.“

“That whole thing occurred on campus, Elle.” Spencer reassured her. “I thought the memo had to do with Penelope and Coach Morgan?”

“Please, Spence, Rossi and Alex were married, for like, years. They don’t get their panties this twisted over co-mingling.”

“They don’t?” Spencer’s voice cracked, the surprise evident.

“I mean, unless they are getting it on during school hours or in the locker room. Of course.” Elle chuckled.

“Right, of course.” Spencer shrugged, sipping the biting liquid again.

“You really don’t drink much, huh?” Elle pinched his cheek, as he tried to straighten away the disgust on his face. He froze at her touch, she was soft and warm.

“Not really.” Spencer breathed, she was leaning closer as if they were sharing a secret.

“Reid, don’t freak out, but I am going to kiss you now.” Elle said plainly, her eyes calm, yet searching.

“Wha-?” Spencer started as her mouth encased his bottom lip. Her hair smelled of honey and teak. He remembered to close his eyes as her hands found the sides of his face. This was nice.

Elle managed to take Spencer’s cup from his sweaty palm and set it down on the coffee table with barely a break in their kiss. Spencer didn’t know what to do with his hands, keeping them tentatively on her thighs. Suddenly she was straddling his lap and his glasses were gone. Spencer’s body was enjoying this more than the rational parts of his brain as he realized how drunk Elle must be and how this was not why he came over in the first place.

“Hey,” Elle asked, pecking along his jaw. “Everything alright?”

“There is so much going on, that it would be indeterminable for it to be right in its entirety.” Spencer’s fact voice replied.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time, Spence.” Elle explained then began stroking his ear with her tongue.

“You have?” His voice shifted with his unforgiving blush.

“I mean, waiting for you to get over JJ. Then when you told Emily off I got nervous again. But now, I think it’s safe. Don’t you?”

“Why now? What’s changed?” Spencer’s curiosity getting the best of him, his hands holding her small waist affectionately.

“Well, because she went and got herself knocked up. Clearly, JJ is out of the picture.”

Spencer froze, Elle closed her eyes at the faux pas. She rolled off his lap as he processed what she had told him. It was devastating him and the reality of its weight sunk in Elle’s stomach. The shame and the bitterness warred within her.

“Look, I’m sorry I said anything about JJ,” Elle began, standing and clearing their glasses. “But I’m not sorry for kissing you. Now, if you can say the same, we can keep talking.”

Elle couldn’t look him in the eye, because they oozed regret and she didn’t want their moment tarnished more. He had kissed her back, even if he didn’t have all the information, some part of him wanted her too. But he still loved JJ more, that much was abundantly clear. Spencer found his glasses and followed Elle to the kitchen.

“I don’t know what to say,” Spencer admitted. He always had something to say, why were words failing him now when he needed them most?

“You don’t have to say anything, Reid.” Elle’s walls were returning. “Thanks for stopping by. Maybe we can do this again, if Mommy Dearest let’s you out of the house.”

“Don’t be like that.” He cringed. “I came over to make sure you’re okay and I somehow made it worse, haven’t I?” Spencer didn’t wait for an answer, it was better left unsaid. He grabbed his coat and waved his goodbye. Elle locked the door behind him and bent over as the tears washed over her.

April 3 3:35pm

Tara Lewis wasn’t sure what was worse, the quiet or the storm. She knew her presence at the school hadn’t been expected. She also knew that the students had been allowed to slack off under their previous history instructor’s tenure. The audacity of her to expect their darling Sallys and Johns to apply insight to their history essays or handle more than multiple choice exams, honestly.

Dr. Tara Lewis was well-versed in the politics of private school educations of the spawn of the one percenters. She was, unfortunately, not used to the blatant biases of the south. It wasn’t a surprise, she was far too smart to be naive. It was just another layer she had to break her way through that glass ceiling. After the first month of her teaching had passed with little more than a catty remark from a student here or there; she knew she was still in the quiet.

The storm rolled in with a Coach purse, hiding behind a pair of Fendi shades.

“Is there something I can help you with, Ms. Kane-Gordon?” Dr. Lewis asked as the mother wandered into her classroom, barely after the final bell.

“I want to know what the hell you think you’re doing!” The woman left little room for polite conversation.

“Ma’am, if you would like to question my teaching methods or expectations, I insist on Headmaster Hotchner’s presence. He should know about any concerns about my performance.” Dr. Lewis’s voice was saccharine laced venom, gaging that this parent was on the shallower end of observant. ‘He should know what I have to deal with,’ was what she meant.

“He has already been emailed about this. I just don’t see how Sacha’s grade could drop so much, its clear you’re new at this.”

“No. Sacha’s grade dropped because she is not performing to the standards set by this school or myself. If she wants a better grade, she will have to work for it. Now I am ha-”

“I’m not done here.” Lauren Kane-Gordon interjected.

“I’m sure you’re not. But I the bell rang twelve minutes ago, and that means I am free to go. If you need me, the headmaster and I will be happy to set up a meeting. Sacha can ask for help anytime. Goodnight, Ms. Kane-Gordon.”

April 10 1pm

Penelope squealed as Andrew held the door open for his mother and father.

“Mr. and Mrs. Heathridge, come on in, folks!” The guidance counselor led them over to her couch and lounge chairs. “I’m so glad you could make it in to help Andrew transition back into classes.”

Derek had stopped Andrew at the door, a welcoming fist bump turned hug for his varsity lineman. They joined Ms. Garcia and Andrew’s parents at their little pow-wow.

“So how’s it going, man?” Coach Morgan asked, trying to keep the mood positive.

“Good, that rehab was pretty intense stuff, but I’m really glad I went. It wasn’t like an addiction, like what Dr. Reid went through, but the body image issues and the need to be the best were driving every part of my day.” Andrew confided to the group.

“Oh, buddy, we are so proud of you,” Ms. Garcia patted his large knee. “Now, for the not so good news. Classes are off like gangbusters for second semester, you’ll have to check in with each of your teachers weekly to see that you are getting caught up.”

“And Dr. Reid and I are still having after school study sessions on Wednesdays in the Library. If you need me, I’m there.”

“Thanks, Coach.” Andrew nodded, writing down reminders for himself on a small steno pad. “And Ms. Garcia, of course.”

“Now, Andrew is still being recruited by Ohio State and Western Michigan.” Mr. Heathridge explained. “How can we ensure we, Andrew is the right head space to start in the fall?”

“Well, he knows he can come to us, either of us, with anything.” Coach Morgan began.

“And I have his doctor’s numbers from the treatment facility if we notice and fallbacks. This is a village and we don’t disappear even when our kids graduate.” Ms. Garcia added enthusiastically.

“Do you hear that, baby?” Mrs. Hearthridge’s stroked her son’s large arm. “No more, I’m too tough for help, crap.”

“Yes, mama.” Andrew rolled his eyes playfully, but she pinched him back.

“Alrighty, well, we have everything set for tomorrow. Headmaster Hotchner wants you to stop in to see him in the morning, he has a schedule of meeting times with each teacher outside of class time.” Ms. Garcia explained.

“Thanks again, both of you.” Mrs. Heathridge’s graciousness was infectious.

“And Dr. Reid, tell him from us as well?” Mr. Heathridge added.

“See ya, Coach, Ms. Garcia.”

The couple proudly saw the family back out towards the parking lot. They were born to do this; help kids grow into adults. Derek kept his hands at his sides, missing the hug of celebration from his Baby Girl.

Very Special Thanks to Cassie @mentallydatingspencerreid,

Meg @imagicana , and Loki @ay-nako!!!

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@loadingdelete

[tiktokparrot]

Is your baby bird acting sick? Polyomavirus spreads quickly in young birds & can be deadly. Learn signs, prevention & how to keep your feathered family safe!

[decembersylph-a-t-u]

Actually, if a bird is stressed, they will bite, scream, decrease vocalization, pick at their feathers, self mutilate, have a decreased appetite, and manifest their stress as stereotypical behavior for the species of bird, so toe-tapping, pacing, and swinging their heads.

Scared birds will pull their feathers close to their body, though some put their crest and splay their wings close to the ground. Really scared birds? They hiss or snake their heads, attacking people, their toys, nearby animals, etc.

If a bird has their feathers falling out and it’s not because they’re plucking them out, it can be because the bird is going through molt or has a disease causing them to lose their feathers.

So maybe Izuku is sickly, and it’s affecting him to where he loses his feathers? Maybe not PBFD but something else?

I dunno why, I just like the idea of little Izuku with his baby bird wings going to the hospital so the doctors can find out what’s wrong and why he’s sick, especially catching the attention of Hawks who is surprised and maybe begins as a mentor to Izuku because bird bros have to stick together? :)

And Izuku learning so much about birds from the experience that it causes him to maybe start interning at a zoo or animal shelter to help with animals mainly birds?

Izuku as a chicken for a quirk thoughts on it?

Depends in which chicken species he is tbh

Also him being terrified of Hawks would be hilarious lmao