#took me a while to research about birds on my phone

[suratan-zir]

WHOOPS, I didn't see that thanks for the link! Where did your fascination witjbrats come from?

It's hard to answer this question because there is no interesting story or specific reason. I've had pet rats almost my whole life, so for a while, getting new ones was like a habit to me. I grew up surrounded by animals. My first rodent was a hamster that bit my finger the first time I tried to touch him. He bit right through it. I must've been about 5 years old at the time. So, my parents gave it back and got me a rat instead. I don't remember that first rat because I was so young, but it's for the best, honestly. I later learned from my mother that the first rat died a horrible death because of my parents' stupidity (they thought that rats do not need water??? Two grown-ups in their twenties. wtf).

But since then, I had rats pretty much always. They lived in horrible conditions and alone, but no one knew any better at the time. I loved them, though. I remember especially fondly two of them. One was a black boy whose name I shall not tell because it was so stupid, the first letters were Ts. He basically grew up with one of our cats (which is horrible and you should never let your rats and cats interact in any way!). I was about ten. I still have this artifact, the whole three pixels of it, recorded on my Motorola phone, lol. Nevermind, tumblr won't let me attach the video. Ts. lived for three years and was almost always with me.

Before Ts., there was Buffy, a blue girl. Sadly, I have only memories of her. I didn't have a phone or camera at the time. She had a lot of adventures in her life. I made her a DIY harness and let her roam outside (which you also shouldn't do). She loved to dig trenches in the sand and climb trees. Somehow, she didn't get eaten by birds of prey or simply get lost, I guess I was lucky.

Even when I left my hometown after graduating high school, I took my rat with me. Clementine, a black-hooded girl, also lived a very long life.

Then I finally started researching proper pet care in general and rat care in particular. I should've done it earlier, I know, but I grew up in a family where it wasn't really a thing, like it didn't even occur to me. It breaks my heart to think about all the rats that lived their miserable lives with us when I was little.

Anyway, I got a bigger cage (still very small!) and two girls. But with university and many changes in my personal life, I didn't spend any time with them at all. They fought with each other all the time. When one of them died, I got another one, and they fought again. I was 17-18 at the time but still dumb af. I tried to quit getting new rats after the oldest girl died. I thought I didn't want them anymore. But then the old habit kicked in, and I got Fiona.

Fiona was the one. The rat that changed my perception of rats in general. The rat who turned me into a crazy rat lady. But it wasn't because she was so special. It was just because the year was 2014, I was in Donetsk, the world was seemingly falling apart (if you know, you know). And there was Fiona, way too young to be weaned and sold, tiny and depending on me. I was in love. She gave me comfort and helped me get through the worst (or so I thought) times. I didn't want to have another rat who would bully Fiona, but eventually, I decided to do the right thing and get Fiona a friend. Tori was rehomed from horrible conditions.

She was covered in wounds from mites, not used to handling, and walked weirdly because they never let her out. She made a swift and full recovery, though. And they got along with Fiona instantly and were inseparable till the end.

I let them free roam the room because in that apartment there was nothing worth of saving. And they wrecked havoc, they got rid of all the ugly wallpaper and made a nest behind the couch. Sometimes I would have to move the couch to get them back into their cage.

I really want to have a "rat room" again, but in this flat it's not possible, they would chew their way to the downstairs neighbor.

Then I got the third rat, Shlyopa, she cost me exactly one "kinder surprise" chocolate egg in exchange.

We later made a large DIY cage because we were too poor to afford a pre-manufactured one. Shlyopa was the best rat I ever had, hands down. She was something else. So obsessed with me that it was almost annoying at times. If I was in the room, she would not calm down until I let her out to be with me. I miss her to this day.

She had to sleep hugging my hand, so I couldn't move it until her sleep was deep enough.

I'm getting carried away, I know. Rats are just my spirit animals. I understand them, their thought process, and I relate to them (I'm also afraid of everything, lol). I feel grateful for the love they show me, I find comfort in them. And I hope I find strength to not get any new rats after the three I have now. It hurts too much.

[swords-of-a-soilder]

The Healing Process

Chapter 7

Flight or fight

Forever observed Cellbit pace back and forth as he remained seated at Cellbit's desk; Richarlyson also sat nearby, sketching in his notepad Cellbit's description of the elusive Ender king.

Amongst the group were remnant of Cellbit's late night research; mountains of papers, some neatly organized, others scatters about.

Stood close by was a corkboard, covered completely in images and documents all connected by red strings.

"Okay," Cellbit started suddenly. "So we know the entitie's name, we know Phil travel's to his domain though dreams.."

"we know the entity has been controlling Philza during the night time, and that it's obsessed with rest." Forever added.

"And we know the entity claims Philza is the one keeping him captive, also that Phil is some how related to him." Cellbit stated

"The word bloodline could mean anything, he could be his son or his twice removed cousin for all we know."Forever noted

Cellbit released a sigh as he stared at the corkboard, his eyes darted back and forth. "Forever, can't you enter people's minds?" Cellbit recalled

"You have to be more specific," Forever informed, he rest his chin in the palm of his hand. "if you mean deep state, then it's a little more complicated than that."

"How complicated?"

"we'd need a sensory deprivation chamber and Philza would have to consent." He stretch his arms behind his back, "besides that, a spell like that takes a lot of power."

Richarlyson finally finished his sketch then showed it to Cellbit, whom seem overjoyed at the work.

He gasp the book then show it to Forever, who observed the figure carefully. "Spooky." He commented.

"It's even worst in person," he joked. Suddenly his phone let out a alarming sound, Cellbit pulled it from his pocket then observed the message. "Philza's awake, wanna come check it out?"

The group approached the Nest, stationed at the bottom entrance as they awaited Missa's approval to enter. Soon enough Missa would show up, slopping down the stair case in exhaustion.

"Well he's still a bird." Missa began, "for two weeks my husbands been a bird, I'm a man with a bird for a husband."

"I see.. how's his injuries?" Cellbit began.

Missa eyes feel half lid as his shoulders slouched, "you know what, you guys tell me." He suggested as he pointed to the stair case.

Cellbit briskly ascending the stairs, while Forever waited behind. "You know if you're having a hard time, I would happily take your place." Forever joked

"Ha, you don't understand how difficult it is to watch over Philza like this!" Missa rebutted as he then also acessend the satirs.

Forever followed behind Missa, catching up with him in the main hallway. "Well it's the sacrifice you make when you marry an adventurous man like Philza." Forever teased

"Can you believe this man?" Missa poked at Cellbit.

"Well they're both crazy, if anyone knows how to manage him, it's likely Forever." Cellbit joked

"Exactly.. Hey wait a minute!" Cellbit Chuckled as he acessend the leader, the group soon followed behind him.

"Good morning Philza." Cellbit greeted, Philza glanced over at him, then stood up to stretch. Forever step around cellbit as he approached Phil with cautious.

"Philza, may I see your wings." He asked. Phil though hesitate spread his wing for inspection, which Forever observed intently.

"how does it look?" Cellbit asked

"Like brand new, seems he's fully healed."Forever informed, "So why is he still a bird?"

Cellbit let out an Irritated sigh, then sat on the hay that built the nest. he rest his head in his hand while he quietly complained.

Meanwhile Richarlyson finally stumbled up the leader with Tallulah and Chayanne behind him. He then immediately rushed to Phil, where they collapsed on his form.

Phil simply crackled at this, then sat down covering Richardyslon with his wings. Chayanne took the opportunity to climb under Phil's wings, Tallulah however simply sat next to him.

"He's always more patience with the eggs." Missa complained.

"hm parental insistence ." Forever stugessed

"what?" Missa asked

"Philza was always the fatherly type before this right?" Forever debated, "wait is insistence the right word?"

"I don't get it." Cellbit interupped, "It's just makes no sense!" He pointed towards Phil, "I mean he's a bird, like he's straight up just a bird now?!"

"yes, I'm also struggling with this event." Missa commented.

"For what it's worth, I don't think even Philza understands what's happening." Forever debated, Phil shook his head in respond.

"the difference here is I'm supposed to be the one who does, People know me as the guy who knows things, what good am I otherwise?" Cellbit ended

Philza suddenly sprung upright, taking Cellbit up by his collar, he threw him on his back then flap his wings in perparation.

The children seeing this, grasp onto Phil tightly; followed by forever whom quicky climb on before Phil took off. Missa then quickly grabbed Phil's leg complaining loudly as they took off.

The minute they were air born Cellbit cried in terror, not even the grapple tool could prepared him to explore the earth at that rate.

Meanwhile Forever pulled the others closer, allowing for safer travel, "everyone hold on tight." He warn.

"Philza put me down, Philza!" Phil would ingore Cellbit's pleaded and instead flow through the trees prompting the others to cheer.

He would go from looping through clouds to rushing perpendicular through the tress, Cellbit found his fearful screams became joyous laughter.

The wind in his face, the rush of Adrenaline, once he got over the terror it was actually really fun.

Eventually Phil glide to a stop in a shallow pound, bringing a gentle fade to everyone assumment.

"I think this is our stop." Forever chuckled out as he slide off, then help the others.

Cellbit fell into a giggle fit as he made his way through the shallow water, settling happily on the shore.

"Richarlyson, he's not gonna let you stay." Forever informed as he held his hands out for his son.

Richarlyson blew a raspberry in his father's direction as an act of rebellion, however as Phil flipped over Richarlyson was completely semerged underwater.

"I Tried to warn you." Forever chuckled, Richarlyson climbed from under Phil weight then went to brother the remaining eggs.

Forever took the opportunity to return to shore, he then sat next to Cellbit as he observed the children, splashing each other as they roamed around in the water. "Feeling better?" Forever asked.

"Yes, oddly." Cellbit admitted.

"you have to stop talking down to yourself." Forever requested, "you don't need to have all the right answers, no one expects that from you."

"Missa expected me to tell him why his husband was still a bird." Cellbit debated.

"you're allowed to say you don't know, no one's going to crucify you for it." Forever insisted, "you're not doing this alone, don't put so much pressure on yourself."

Philza observed the group from afar, soon closing his eyes as slipped into a peaceful sleep.

[shutit-haha]

Icarus pt.2

"Excuse me sir," you knocked on his doorframe per usual. "Disculpame," you smiled at him bashfully. You did this odd thing with your knees in which they bent a little. Bakugou glanced up at you from where he sat reading an article on a slim tablet. His large hand seemed out of place from where it balanced the skinny thing. He grunted at you, quirking a single blonde brow.

"I'm sorry," you entered into his space. "I just wanted you to double check my calculations on this presentation before I started on the visuals." You had made it half way across his office space wings sparkling in the sunlight like always. Unfortunately for him today you opted for more casual wear, pants with a lovely top. You wore it well however he preferred the skirts and dresses.

You scuttled over leaning over the corner of his desk just a little so you could pass him your laptop. He sighed, placing his tablet down on his desk. Your head tilted slightly so you could read the upside down characters. It was a split screen, one tab containing a file on the temperatures his quirk could reach while the other was on the feathers of birds. He seemed to be trying to find a specific one as there were multiple types drawn out in front of him.

"You did all the math yourself?" Again with that brow of his eyeing you suspiciously. Your choice of shoes today were an interesting choice, some familiar brand he knew of but could not name. It gave him an odd feeling of displacement. His eyes scanned over your jewelry and again there was that feeling of displacement. This time, however it was your shirt.

"Yes sir." You gave him a nod, "took out some scratch paper and worked out the formulas."

"None of the extras out there can double check this for you?"

"No names come immediately to mind." You shook your head, eyes moving around his spacious office. It was large, with windows that lined the left wall and fell to the floor. The whole space was minimalist and very...neutral. It felt empty and in no way homey.

"Whole fuckin' office is filled with dumbasses." He muttered to himself, sighing and punching the bridge of his nose. Upon hearing himself his eyes widened, "you didn't hear that." His voice was low and husky as if exhausted, he handed you back your laptop. "HR 'll kill me if they hear about this."

"It's no stress sir really." You smile at him, pulling the laptop close to you. "Am I good to go on visuals?"

"Yea." He had already picked back up his tablet to continue his research. "Bring me the resumes of all the employees here. I want the up to date ones too." He glanced up at you before returning his attention back to his reading. "Gonna start hiring people with some more fuckin' brains."

You nodded, understanding that this meant some people were going to have to be fired. With a quick turn on your heels you were moving back across his office. "You know," you stopped halfway. "If you're to be reading like that you should probably invest in blue light glasses."

He grunted, giving you a curt nod despite not bothering to make eye contact. You pursed your lips, taking in a deep breath before finally exiting.

Your desk was stationed right outside his office. Where the door was always closed but never locked. Sometimes red riot would stop by, always waving with a bright smile. Deku would pass, mumbling words of affirmation to himself as a way to work up confidence. whenever Chargebolt joins Red Riot he always leaves some kind of treat at your desk. The first time it was lollipops, the next some pastel pens he stole from some other heroes office. He was however banned when the last time he visited he left a bottle of Hennessey on your desk. You liked your job, it was pleasant.

The phone rang to your right. You took a sip of your sugar water before answering. "Hello?" Some sort of dog-man was on the line, a police chief who just made a bust. "Yes of course," you weren't entirely sure how this related to Dynamite. "I'll let him know right now." The line drops and you're up on your feet again.

"I'm really sorry Sir."

He huffs when you knock on his doorframe for the second time today. Ruby eyes glare up at you, it's only been about a half hour since you've left. Again you were bending at the knees a smiling nervously.

"A police station called something about drugs-"

"Shit!" He jumped up to his feet nearly dropping his tablet before catching it. "How long ago was the call?" He pulled on his mask grabbing some war paint on his desk and smearing it on his eyelids.

"About a minute ago sir," you watched him stumble around. He was bulky, and looked like a bit of an idiot with the way he rushed. But for every fumble he followed it through with a smooth catch, he'd trip over his own feet only to twirl around and be stable. It was like watching a well trained dancer, all these purposeful falls, these near misses meant to keep you interested.

Bakugou nodded, yanking on his gauntlets and then storming out of his door. He was halfway down the hall when he stopped to glare at you over his muscular shoulder. "The hell are you doing, hah? Get back to work!"

You sneered quickly catching your face and fixing its expression. You pursed your lips, shut his door behind you and scurried off to your desk. There really wasn't anything for you to do. Just add a bunch of colors to a presentation, Bakugou was supposed to have done. With a sigh, you took another sip of your drink and opened the database on your monitor. Page by page, checking all resumes were up to date before printing them. Should Dynamite ever comeback the papers would be waiting for him on his desk. Along with a pair of blue light glasses you were currently picking out.

[prolix-yuy]

Congrats on 500 LJ! Can I please request "Heroism – real and perceived" with Javier? I think that could make an interesting and angsty character study, but whatever you want to do I know will be amazing, so the choice is all yours (same for pairing, I'm happy to read something with Reader but I'm not gonna complain if it's only him, whatever works), thank you ❤️

Wonderful Bee! Thank you for being such a bright light in the Pedro community and for being so supportive and kind to everyone around you! I'll be honest, this prompt made me nervous since I haven't done Javi P yet, but I did my "research" (that was the fun part) and puzzled over this request.

I was planning to make all of these requests standalone stories, but the amazing Peña goddess @iamskyereads also sent in a Javi request, and as I read them side by side a two part story came to light. I hope you enjoy both this request, and the follow up to come!

The Road Behind

Pairing: None, eventual Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: Home is behind, the world ahead.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: M, angst, descriptions of violence, smoking, lots of Javi introspection. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: This one is a little shorter, but I'm making up for it with a part 2 that's continuing the scene.

Hero.

The words elicit a visceral sensation from Javier, a bullet through his throat, another in the center of his chest. He wants a stronger drink. He wants a real cigarette, not this minty square of nicotine tucked by his gums. He wants to run, like he always does when he’s back in Laredo. 

They didn’t say it out loud, the word too grand for a moment this small. But Javier saw it in their eyes when Luis shook his hand, his wife looking on, Paco watching him like he’s in the presence of a famous ball player. 

“We care about what you did in Colombia.”

You’re a hero, Javi.

“We sure are proud of you.”

Proud of the hero who took down Pablo Escobar.

The words drip with spite when Javier imagines them. There is no heroism in what he did. Men might envy it - the man who saved a nation. Women might desire it - let me touch the hands that pulled the trigger.

Joke’s on them. Sent away at the final hour, Judy Moncada’s treacherous mouth splashing across Messina’s desk. The sticky heat inside the phone booth, whiskey burning in his belly as he waited for Steve to say the words.

“We got him Javi.”

The grounding press of the phone against his forehead, payphone sharp under his palm, centered him when the weight lifted. It was a smaller relief than he’d hoped, still saddled with the burden of what he’d done to stand in that booth at that hour listening to success through a crackling sat phone.

Hero.

The words were tossed around in the days following Escobar’s fall, and maybe they brought some people comfort. But not Javier.

It didn’t feel heroic threatening that “senator” in Gacha’s home, a bullet in his leg and spittle spraying his face as Javier promised another in his head if he didn’t talk.

It didn’t feel heroic letting Carillo slaughter a boy to teach the children of Bogota, and Escobar, a lesson. His dead eyes took days of drinking to fade into the background.

It especially didn’t feel heroic carrying Helena out of the hell Javier put her in, gaze faraway and blood oozing from wounds that would never heal enough to forget. Her face tucked into his neck, body drawn so tight his arm goes numb under her legs. The words he whispers as he carries her to the ambulance are nonsensical - you’ll be okay, I have you, you’re safe. None of it can be true for her again.

No, Medellín had its hero for years. He built schools in the slums, homes for the people, let money fly from his fingertips like those white birds he trained to roost in the trees at his hacienda. Keeping the people thankful. Obedient. Trained.

Pablo Escobar was a hero, for a time. 

Never to Javier, or the Colombian government or the DEA. But for a short while, Escobar was the closest thing to a hero Medellín ever had. Never mind where the money he spent came from. Never mind what blood was hidden in jungles and behind locked doors. Pablo Escobar cared for his community, wanted to save it with his guiding hand. In return he expected what most do: loyalty, respect, adoration. 

But when a man believes himself to be a hero, that’s when the façade begins to crumble.

Javier’s skin itches, catching eyes with his father as he fusses at the Nicorette in his cheek. He’s too used to working in shadows for events like this, discomforted by eyes sliding over him, the leaned-in conversations. His only brief comfort, speaking with Lorraine, now softens into memory. She looks good, happy, and fulfilled in a way Javi covets. It pulled unbidden smiles to his normal grimace, hands nervous, emotions more on the sleeve of his flannel than he intended. 

But he knows he couldn’t have been the husband she needed, the steadfast presence of Randy, family man. 

Can you imagine if we were actually married?

Could he, before all the blood and the cocaine, the plata o plomo that ruled his life for so many years? Could he have been father to those two children, a little boy who looked up to him, a girl that wrapped his heart around her finger?

He’d never know now.

He needs the bite of air without the film of sweat and wedding cake dancing on his tongue. As quietly as he can leave - which still involves some hand-shaking and hair-ruffling - he slips into the twilight outside the wedding venue. 

God, he could use a smoke, the familiar warmth of the cherry cupped in his palm, the curl of smoke as gentle a kiss as any lover’s. He misses the way it perfumed his collars, how the first pull released tension before the nicotine even hit, and the ritual of the carton, the tap, the flame hot and dangerous, the warmth on his lips as it burned down almost to the filter. Gum just doesn’t cut it, and the mint gives him a headache.

Like the tiniest beacon on the horizon, he catches the crackle of flame, the metallic zip of a lighter wheel. Then a faint exhale and thin white smoke curling around the corner of the building. 

Javi doesn’t want to talk, to perform for another audience of one or many, but the temptation of the secondhand smoke tugs him around the corner, thumbs tucked into his jeans pockets and head downturned. He pretends he didn’t see her, like it was only happenstance he stumbled upon her and not because he’s a moth to the flame of her lighter. 

She doesn’t notice at first, leaning on the railing as she pulls the cinder to a glowing red between her lips. It’s a rare moment, to watch someone as they are without an audience, and Javi debates on leaving her be. But her head turns, his silhouette catching her eye.

“Looking for someone?” she asks, her smile easy. Even with all the time in the world to prepare, her question catches him off guard.

Maybe he is.

NEXT

[kammartinez]

I’ve always been curious about what it feels like for an author to see their work translated into another medium. The question seems particularly interesting with a film like Oppenheimer, the biopic directed by Christopher Nolan that opened in theaters this week. It tells the life story of J. Robert Oppenheimer, the man known as the “father of the atomic bomb,” and is based on a mammoth, Pulitzer Prize–winning 2005 biography that took 25 years to research and write. American Prometheus, by Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin, is more than 700 pages long; at first glance, it’s difficult to imagine how a book this granular about a subject this complex became a movie. Sadly, Sherwin passed away two years ago, but Bird was able to have the uncanny experience of “meeting” Oppenheimer while visiting the set of Nolan’s film. I talked with him about this encounter and about his book’s path to Hollywood.

First, here are four new stories from The Atlantic’s Books section:

Bird and I spoke over the phone a day before the film’s release. This interview has been condensed and edited for clarity.

Gal Beckerman: How are you feeling?

Kai Bird: Well, my head is spinning a little bit. It’s very weird. This book came out 18 years ago. Where was everyone then?

Beckerman: Well, you did win the Pulitzer Prize. So you can’t say that it was ignored.

Bird: That’s true. I can’t complain. But, you know, it got on the paperback-best-seller list last week. It never made it on the best-seller list back then.

Beckerman: It took a long time for it to be picked up and adapted.

Bird: Well, the book was optioned. But, you know, years went by, and nothing happened. So we were very lucky when I suddenly got a phone call in September of 2021, and I was told that Christopher Nolan wants to speak to me. I didn’t realize it then, but looking back at all his other work, he’s really the perfect director for this book. He’s always been interested in time and space and memory, science and science fiction. So it makes perfect sense that he could be attracted to a book about a guy who was a quantum physicist.

Beckerman: So the shift to film felt pretty seamless to you?

Bird: The way Marty [Sherwin] and I both thought about the book—and this would be true of any potential film as well—was that it might be an interesting story to follow the making of the atomic bomb, but that if that’s all there was, we wouldn’t be spending all these years—25 years—on it. What gives the story its arc is both the triumph of [Oppenheimer’s] achievement in Los Alamos but then the tragedy of what happens to him nine years later, when he’s brought down from being America’s most famous scientist to becoming a nonentity, humiliated on the front pages of The New York Times. His loyalty to the country is questioned. That’s what makes the story really interesting. And so, when I first had a meeting with Nolan, he was not sharing the script with me at that point. He said he works confidentially, although he’d done a whole draft already. He works very fast. I told him I thought it was important to focus on the trial. And I think he was relieved to hear me say that, because when he showed me the screenplay a few months later, it really is a lot about the trial.

Beckerman: Were there aspects of the book that you thought would be particularly difficult to communicate in film without the benefit of hundreds and hundreds of pages?

Bird: The quantum physics. This was also a struggle in the book, because it’s so complex. But actually, Nolan really attempts to explain quantum or give you a sense of the music of it. He develops a good analogy in the film. He has Oppenheimer walking through an art gallery in the 1920s, when he’s studying quantum, and he’s looking at Cubist pictures done by Picasso. And he’s staring at them, and he’s seeing the quantum in Picasso’s images. That’s not specifically in the book, but, you know, Oppenheimer’s mother was a painter and an art collector. She bought early van Goghs and several Picassos, so it’s entirely appropriate.

Beckerman: Did you learn anything about filmmaking through this process?

Bird: I saw the film for the fourth time last night. And each time I see it, I see layers that I didn’t see on the first occasion. I hear some of the dialogue that I missed on previous occasions, because it is very fast-paced. Nolan is really quite interesting as a filmmaker, I think, precisely because he’s not trying to bring you along. He’s not trying to make sure you understand everything. He’s leaving little clues throughout the visual experience that he doesn’t explain. So, for example, if you know who the physicist Richard Feynman is, he is portrayed in the film, but he’s never identified. But on several occasions, you see this young man banging furiously on a bongo, and that’s Feynman.

Beckerman: And if you know, you know!

Bird: Exactly. He wants people to leave the theater with questions: Oh, who was that? And questions about, you know, McCarthyism, living with the bomb, and why did that happen to Oppenheimer? Was it just or unjust? He’s not giving you the answers. And he does that with the whole very weighty issue of the decision to actually use the bomb, which is still controversial history.

Beckerman: I know that you went to visit the set while they were filming. I’m curious if you could tell me a little bit more about what that experience was like, just the uncanniness of it. And, you know, meeting Cillian Murphy, who played Oppenheimer.

Bird: It was very bizarre. When I met Cillian, he was being introduced to me after shooting a scene, and I shouted out, “Dr. Oppenheimer, Dr. Oppenheimer. It’s such a pleasure to meet you. I’ve been waiting all these years.” And then we had a five-minute conversation. And I told him I thought it was interesting how well he had captured Oppie’s voice. Oppenheimer’s voice was always very soft-spoken. It’s the kind of voice that makes you want to lean forward to make sure you’ve caught every word. And each word is pronounced very meticulously. And he speaks in whole paragraphs. Cillian’s response was Oh, well, I’m glad you think so—but, you know, we try not to imitate the voice; we try to simply capture the spirit of it.

Beckerman: Well, that seems a pretty apt description of adaptation when it works well, as it sounds like it did in this case.

Bird: I just think I’m a lucky, lucky author.

[monnziedarling]

HI MAYHAPS U HAVE OCS IF AM CORRECT COULD ME SEE AND HEAR ABOUT THEM

finally.., ,. ..,an excuse to yap..,.

(sorry this took so long I'm not good at yapping actually)

Rahhh I'm gonna start with one of my self inserts cuz why not

(cambera </3)

This is Rouge !! They're my oc specifically for the rottmnt universe and to ship w/ Donnie !!

It's wearing a white puffer jacket (is that what theyre called), a tight, sleeveless hot pink dress, and peculiar platforms (I never learnt how to draw shoes). Their hair is supposed to be blonde, think and fluffy (in an overly teased slightly-tamed-birds-nest way) and they're wearing a beret with leopard print on it. Also it's supposed to be holding a flip phone in the picture (white with keychains, didn't have a specific phone model in mind) but the quality is poor + I never drew a flip phone before this so from first glance it kinda looks like a gun

Their personality is every lil Mariko and monaleo song combined. That's it

,,,ok this isn't really an oc it's just a version of April O'Neil I have from a while ago, but I like the way this drawing turned out (and this is one of the better images lol) soo yeah :3

I have another oc who's supposed to be in the 2012 tmnt universe named Cloe Dashkovinch !! I don't have a drawing of her but she's 17 yo, tan, blonde and usually wears a cream cardigan with a blue minidress and those basic uggs idk what they're actually called. She legally owns a gun. Idk if 17 year olds can legally own guns irl but she can. She goes to April and Casey's school (I frogor the name haven't seen 2012 in forever Donnie gives me too much second hand embarazzment) and I ship her with April lol

Also she is Ukrainian (I'm not actually sure if the last name is accurate for Ukrainians??? For some reason I looked it up and found a Russian guy with a really similar name so uh. Idk I'll probably do more research and change it if I find out it's not that accurate)

That's mostly it rn 😭 most of my thoughts are consumed with this random tmnt x total drama au I made up 2 years ago so I haven't really made / elaborated on any ocs recently,,, oof

[draconicsparkle]

Zoo trip! Zoo trip! A great suggestion by imsleepinrn!

I think the last time I went to a zoo was in 2016. Wow. I didn’t realize how fast time has passed. Crazy crazy.

This smol should be far less chaotic and conflicting as the last one. A nice dose of fluff!

I say that like I don’t sprinkle fluff into everything I do. Eh, it’s a-ok. We like the fluff.

Also, let me know if you spot the movie reference. I’m positive you will know it when you see it.

Nagito knew he held a lot of power over Hajime. The power to convince him to do pretty much anything he asked. All he had to do was employ the pleading eyes and ask in a soft, innocent voice.

And it worked 95% of the time. Now was no exception.

“Hajime? Can we go to the zoo? I want to see all the animals they have there!”

The human looked over from his laptop where he had been doing schoolwork. And the small naga could see his magic working, as the threads of concentration he once had were weathering away. “Uh… I guess? Maybe we could go tomorrow. But are you sure? Will you be comfortable being around other humans again?”

Nagito gave him a reassuring smile, slithering over and hugging the large wrist. “As long as I’m with you, I feel safe. So long as we don’t separate, I think we shall be fine.”

Hajime sighed, ruffling the fluffy white hair. “Alright. Let’s do some research on the zoo in this area.”

Afterwards, they looked into the zoo on Hajime’s laptop, figuring out the attractions, animals, and prices. And then a plan was set.

So that is why they found themselves at the zoo entrance. Again, Hajime wore a scarf to help cover the naga and keep him both warm and out of sight. Internally, Nagito wondered if this worked to their advantage as the human paid for a single ticket. If Nagito had been out, would they have been charged for another ticket? But he put that thought aside as they entered the zoo.

Already, it was very colorful and eye-catching. Huge signs with animal drawings advertising the enclosures that were there. And a large map placed near the front to help guide visitors on where to go. Hajime went over to the sign, taking a picture of it on his phone before looking at it more intensely. “So, any preferences as to where we should go first?” he asked, pulling the scarf down a bit to allow Nagito to see more.

The tiny naga popped his head out, running a hand through his hair to try and tame it before glancing at the map. But truthfully, he didn’t care about the order. “I’ll let you choose since you bought the ticket and helped me get here. So pick whichever you want!” he said with cheer, squeezing his coils a bit in excitement.

“Fair enough. Well, since the zoo is basically a circuit, we can just pick a direction and go along that. I’ll choose… left.”

And so off they went, starting down the line of enclosures. They started off at a more aquatic section, with seals, fish and turtles happily swimming around in the water. Nagito especially liked the playful otters, one of which had noticed him and placed a paw on the glass while looking at the naga. Being chosen by the animal was incredibly uplifting, Nagito feeling like he had been blessed.

The next enclosures, however, did not inspire such feelings.

The ones after the aquatic animals were ones of the avian variety. Hajime stopped in front of a hawk’s area to look at the bird of prey. “What do you think of this one, Nagito?” the human inquired.

The bird turned its head and saw them both. In response, Nagito hissed. “Back off. I will bite.”

Hajime thankfully read his tone and took a step away. “Not a fan of birds?”

The naga grumbled while continuing to maintain his death stare at the hawk. “Too many close calls in the past. They are not my favorite species.”

“Ah, I see. No worries, we can breeze through this section,” the human told him as he rubbed the white hair gently. “They can’t get you. Not only are they behind glass but I’m here to protect you.”

The combination of the words and touches were definitely helping him calm down. He leaned into the scritches, humming with delight. “Yes, I do have my savior watching over me. Something I’m eternally thankful for.”

He could feel the skin under his scales warm up, a sure sign Hajime was blushing. He coughed before walking fast out of the avian section. “A-anyways, let’s see what’s over here.”

Nagito giggled as they moved into the larger enclosures. There, he was able to see enormous animals that he didn’t know were possible. Golden lions sunbathing on warm rocks, striped tigers padding their way through tall grass, and bears eating fish in the pond.

“Oh my,” he whispered wistfully. He knew that these animals could be dangerous, but he still was thrilled at seeing them in person. It was wonderful. He especially liked the tigers, as their colors and stripes were so unique and gorgeous. He gushed about them to Hajime, requesting to watch them a little longer than the other animals. But they did eventually have to move on, as others wanted a turn.

And then, they found themselves at the final section. The reptile section.

He felt Hajime tense up, though he wasn’t sure why. Luckily, the answer came pretty quickly. “Ummm… are you okay with going through this section, Nagito?” Hajime asked with a bit of concern.

But Nagito looked up to him with none. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine to go through. Why do you ask?”

That seemed to stump the human for a brief amount of time. “Uhh… because of what you are? I thought it might make you uncomfortable seeing other snakes.”

Nagito crossed his arms and smiled. “Hajime, are you uncomfortable seeing other people when you go to see a concert or watch humans perform? It’s about the same feeling as this. I know that the reptiles here are cared for. And that they are more simple minded than my species, therefore they likely don’t care all too much about the complexities of life. And while I do appreciate your worries for me and my comfort, I assure you that I am fine. We can continue with no problems.”

Through his snake body, he could feel the tension leave the human. Seems like he had been holding in a bit of stress over this. But he was more than happy to dispel those worries. Not that he had said anything untruthful. He really didn’t mind or care greatly about seeing other snakes or reptiles. If anything, he found the idea fascinating. He could see what potential kinds of nagas there might be out there in the world!

And as it happened, one of the zookeepers was around and handling a green snake. She was showing it to a group of visitors, who all looked fascinated. “And this is a rough green snake, non venomous and are good climbers. They mostly feed on insects and can be found in a variety of habitats. Like wetlands and forests! Isn’t she gorgeous?”

The crowd oohed and aahed, entranced by the long green snake. But they all packed in close, preventing Nagito from being able to see anything. “Hajime, I can’t see. Can we move around?”

The brunette looked around, frowning at what he saw. “I don’t think so. Other people got that idea before us. We might have to wait or go somewhere else.”

Nagito groaned. “This is not ideal. What is your suggestion on what we should do?”

Hajime looked over his shoulder, a bit of the scarf dislodging and uncovering a bit of his tail. But he didn’t make a fuss, as it could be fixed soon. “Hmmm… I guess we could…”

“Excuse me, sir. But are those… snake scales under your scarf?”

Both human and naga glanced back over to the zookeeper, who had asked the question. Hajime then noticed two things. First, Nagito's emerald scales were indeed on display. And second, that the whole group was now looking at them.

Nagito knew that Hajime got flustered when sudden attention was on him, so he himself decided to take charge of the situation for a second. He emerged again from the scarf, fixing his hair as he replied. “They are my scales. It’s cold out so being under his scarf is far nicer. Apologies for interrupting. It was unintentional.”

The zookeeper kept her composure and professionalism. “No problem! I hope you have been enjoying your visit.”

The naga smiled, fangs visible. “We have! The reptiles here look comfy. I’m a bit envious of some of the heat lamps. They look cozy.”

“That’s pretty high praise, coming from a naga. Oh! Are you interested in meeting Jacklyn? She’s quite friendly.” The green snake in her hands was lifted slightly in demonstration.

Nagito got excited. “Oh yes! I would love to!” He patted the chin above him. “Can I go on your wrist for this?”

“Huh? Oh, sure,” his favorite human replied, raising his hand for Nagito to climb on. He loosened his coils around the neck and wrapped around the offered appendage, squeezing to keep himself there. Then the human took a few steps forward, the excited crowd letting him pass as they also wished to see this.

The wrist lowered enough for him to be face to face with the other snake. Both of their tongues flicked, taking in the other’s scent. Jacklyn then began moving towards him, extending herself over the gap to rest on Hajime’s hand. In response, Nagito stroked her scales. “You look well taken care of. I’m sure your life here is carefree. Keep up the good work of helping others learn about snakes. And to dispel that silly myth that we are slimy. How rude of people to assume that. Our scales are smooth. My human can attest to that.” He looked back and up, smirking at Hajime. “Isn’t that right?”

“Geez, when did you get so vain? But yes, you are smooth,” Hajime answered with an eye roll. Several around them laughed, entertained by the playful banter.

Then a small child came up and tugged on the brunette’s other sleeve. “Excuse me! Can I feel?”

Hajime smiled down at him. “Ask Nagito nicely. And don’t be loud, his ears are sensitive.”

The child nodded very enthusiastically and stepped closer. “Mr. Naga? Can I touch your scales?”

“Well, since you were so polite about it, then sure. Just be careful, alright?” Nagito tried his best to relax as he felt an unfamiliar touch on his scales. He also saw the child stroking the other snake, getting to feel them both. He wouldn’t deny that it felt nice. But internally he knew that none would top Hajime.

Somehow, by the time the kid was satisfied and backed off, a line of both children and adults had formed to pet the snakes. Nagito didn’t see a reason to prevent this from happening, so he gave consent so long as everyone was careful and gentle. And so began a very interesting twenty minutes of his life. Before, he could count on a single hand how many humans had touched him. But now? He wasn’t sure. But he didn’t really care. He was just thankful that everyone kept their words and touched him like he was made of fragile glass.

But by the end, he would admit that he was getting sleepy. Being out in the cold for this long was wearing out his conscious levels.

He again thanked every star in the sky that Hajime noticed this. As soon as the final person finished, he raised his hand back up to the scarf. “Here, go ahead and warm up. I’ll get us home.”

Too tired to reply, he settled for a squeeze. Though he did manage a sleepy wave as everyone thanked him for the opportunity. He would readily admit that he didn’t pay much attention after the human began walking. He just focused on warming up and relaxing.

But, he did vaguely tune back in when Hajime began conversing with someone. Carefully and slowly, he peeked through the folds in the scarf to see a cashier putting a stuffed tiger toy in a bag and handing it to Hajime. It made him feel warm inside, as he knew he was the intended recipient of this. He smiled as he settled back down, looking forward to introducing his plesiosaur to his new tiger friend.

Masterpost

[kamreadsandrecs]

I’ve always been curious about what it feels like for an author to see their work translated into another medium. The question seems particularly interesting with a film like Oppenheimer, the biopic directed by Christopher Nolan that opened in theaters this week. It tells the life story of J. Robert Oppenheimer, the man known as the “father of the atomic bomb,” and is based on a mammoth, Pulitzer Prize–winning 2005 biography that took 25 years to research and write. American Prometheus, by Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin, is more than 700 pages long; at first glance, it’s difficult to imagine how a book this granular about a subject this complex became a movie. Sadly, Sherwin passed away two years ago, but Bird was able to have the uncanny experience of “meeting” Oppenheimer while visiting the set of Nolan’s film. I talked with him about this encounter and about his book’s path to Hollywood.

First, here are four new stories from The Atlantic’s Books section:

Bird and I spoke over the phone a day before the film’s release. This interview has been condensed and edited for clarity.

Gal Beckerman: How are you feeling?

Kai Bird: Well, my head is spinning a little bit. It’s very weird. This book came out 18 years ago. Where was everyone then?

Beckerman: Well, you did win the Pulitzer Prize. So you can’t say that it was ignored.

Bird: That’s true. I can’t complain. But, you know, it got on the paperback-best-seller list last week. It never made it on the best-seller list back then.

Beckerman: It took a long time for it to be picked up and adapted.

Bird: Well, the book was optioned. But, you know, years went by, and nothing happened. So we were very lucky when I suddenly got a phone call in September of 2021, and I was told that Christopher Nolan wants to speak to me. I didn’t realize it then, but looking back at all his other work, he’s really the perfect director for this book. He’s always been interested in time and space and memory, science and science fiction. So it makes perfect sense that he could be attracted to a book about a guy who was a quantum physicist.

Beckerman: So the shift to film felt pretty seamless to you?

Bird: The way Marty [Sherwin] and I both thought about the book—and this would be true of any potential film as well—was that it might be an interesting story to follow the making of the atomic bomb, but that if that’s all there was, we wouldn’t be spending all these years—25 years—on it. What gives the story its arc is both the triumph of [Oppenheimer’s] achievement in Los Alamos but then the tragedy of what happens to him nine years later, when he’s brought down from being America’s most famous scientist to becoming a nonentity, humiliated on the front pages of The New York Times. His loyalty to the country is questioned. That’s what makes the story really interesting. And so, when I first had a meeting with Nolan, he was not sharing the script with me at that point. He said he works confidentially, although he’d done a whole draft already. He works very fast. I told him I thought it was important to focus on the trial. And I think he was relieved to hear me say that, because when he showed me the screenplay a few months later, it really is a lot about the trial.

Beckerman: Were there aspects of the book that you thought would be particularly difficult to communicate in film without the benefit of hundreds and hundreds of pages?

Bird: The quantum physics. This was also a struggle in the book, because it’s so complex. But actually, Nolan really attempts to explain quantum or give you a sense of the music of it. He develops a good analogy in the film. He has Oppenheimer walking through an art gallery in the 1920s, when he’s studying quantum, and he’s looking at Cubist pictures done by Picasso. And he’s staring at them, and he’s seeing the quantum in Picasso’s images. That’s not specifically in the book, but, you know, Oppenheimer’s mother was a painter and an art collector. She bought early van Goghs and several Picassos, so it’s entirely appropriate.

Beckerman: Did you learn anything about filmmaking through this process?

Bird: I saw the film for the fourth time last night. And each time I see it, I see layers that I didn’t see on the first occasion. I hear some of the dialogue that I missed on previous occasions, because it is very fast-paced. Nolan is really quite interesting as a filmmaker, I think, precisely because he’s not trying to bring you along. He’s not trying to make sure you understand everything. He’s leaving little clues throughout the visual experience that he doesn’t explain. So, for example, if you know who the physicist Richard Feynman is, he is portrayed in the film, but he’s never identified. But on several occasions, you see this young man banging furiously on a bongo, and that’s Feynman.

Beckerman: And if you know, you know!

Bird: Exactly. He wants people to leave the theater with questions: Oh, who was that? And questions about, you know, McCarthyism, living with the bomb, and why did that happen to Oppenheimer? Was it just or unjust? He’s not giving you the answers. And he does that with the whole very weighty issue of the decision to actually use the bomb, which is still controversial history.

Beckerman: I know that you went to visit the set while they were filming. I’m curious if you could tell me a little bit more about what that experience was like, just the uncanniness of it. And, you know, meeting Cillian Murphy, who played Oppenheimer.

Bird: It was very bizarre. When I met Cillian, he was being introduced to me after shooting a scene, and I shouted out, “Dr. Oppenheimer, Dr. Oppenheimer. It’s such a pleasure to meet you. I’ve been waiting all these years.” And then we had a five-minute conversation. And I told him I thought it was interesting how well he had captured Oppie’s voice. Oppenheimer’s voice was always very soft-spoken. It’s the kind of voice that makes you want to lean forward to make sure you’ve caught every word. And each word is pronounced very meticulously. And he speaks in whole paragraphs. Cillian’s response was Oh, well, I’m glad you think so—but, you know, we try not to imitate the voice; we try to simply capture the spirit of it.

Beckerman: Well, that seems a pretty apt description of adaptation when it works well, as it sounds like it did in this case.

Bird: I just think I’m a lucky, lucky author.

[howandreviews]

Taking the Digital Leap: Unraveling the Mystery of Online Surveys — Is It Really Worth Your Click?

Online surveys, the digital frontier that tempts us with the allure of rewards, or just an inbox clutterer? The truth is, navigating the world of online surveys is like wandering in a jungle; you never know what you might find! From lucrative opportunities to dead ends, it’s a mixed bag. Ready to dive in? Here’s a 10-step guide to help you conquer the survey wilderness. Fasten your seatbelts, or maybe just your mouse-clicking finger; it’s going to be an adventurous ride!

1. Know Your Platform:

Pick your survey platforms thoughtfully. Some sites are like hidden treasures, while others are mere fool’s gold. Doing proper research isn’t just smart; it’s your map to success! Research is key! I have completed surveys that were a complete waste of time. I would spend hours for just pennies…not anymore! I have narrowed it down to only do the top companies that will pay a decent amount for my time. There are companies that will actually pay $5, $8 or more per survey.

2. Privacy Matters:

Don’t let your personal information become the town gossip. Check the site’s privacy policy to ensure your data stays in safe hands.

3. Time vs Reward:

4. Be Honest:

Your genuine opinion is the golden ticket, not the fabricated one you think the surveyors want. Why play pretend? Trying to bluff your way into a survey about something you know zilch about can lead to a big, messy survey fiasco. Stick with honesty; it really does pay — literally! I’ve been working with some companies for years, and the quick bucks started rolling in because they took the time to gauge my true traits. They’re after real, candid responses. Think about it: if you were seeking answers, would you want a fibber on the other side?

5. Avoid Scams:

If a survey site’s asking for your credit card info, skedaddle quicker than a cat fleeing from a bubble bath. Trust me, common sense is your co-pilot here. Pay to play in the survey game? Nope, that’s as wrong as pineapple on pizza (or right, if that’s your thing). This whole gig should be as free as a bird in the sky. But hey, don’t just rely on my chatter. Swing by Survey Police, the Sherlock Holmes of the survey world. They’ll spill the beans on every survey company, leaving no stone unturned. How’s that for a safety net?

6. Keep Track:

Trying to keep up with multiple survey sites? It’s like being a circus juggler, only the balls are your survey projects! Without keeping track, you might end up lost in the survey wilderness without a clue. Me? I’m a bit of an old-school survey ranger — I keep folders for my projects, recording my earnings like a prospector noting down where the gold’s at. Regular surveys? Oh, I’ve got a list for those, meticulously tracking when I cash in to gauge if it’s worth my time. Think of it as a treasure map, only the ‘X’ marks where your extra cash is hiding. Now, where did I put my explorer’s hat?

7. Be Patient:

Building Rome might’ve been quicker than watching your survey earnings grow. It’s a slow burn, but patience is your best friend here — think of it as tending to a money tree, drop by slow drop. But hey, not all surveys are snail-paced! Some companies pay a nifty $1–2 per survey, which, believe me, beats the ones tossing mere pennies your way. More surveys? More cash! It’s as simple as grandma’s pie recipe. And hold onto your hats; these companies might just invite you to focus groups. Picture this: a web interview paying $200 for an hour’s chat or an online group that pays $350. Not too shabby, right? Meanwhile, those regular surveys keep piling up the dough, like a slow-cooking pot of financial stew. Dig in! Do you just want to dive in to focus groups only, then here is my list.

8. Mobile Friendly:

If the survey site’s as mobile-friendly as a bear with a sore paw, you’ll be swimming in frustration instead of basking in earnings. So, check if it plays nice with your phone before diving headfirst into that digital pool. Most of the companies I’ve partnered with for surveys roll out the red carpet for both mobile users and computer champs. Curious about the surveys I’ve conquered and what to expect? Swing by my site, listed under survey symphony. It’s like the guidebook to the survey wilderness, minus the mosquito bites!

9. Use Reliable Emails:

10. Have Fun:

Surveys are your chance to shout your opinions from the virtual rooftops. Enjoy it! It’s like casting a vote for your favorite dessert, but instead of a sugar rush, you get tangible rewards. In my own joyful jaunt through surveyland, I’ve stumbled upon a treasure trove of knowledge about new products and snagged some really nifty items. It’s like a never-ending game show where learning is half the fun, and the prizes? Well, they’re just the cherry on top!

Conclusion:

And so, intrepid survey adventurer, the path is laid before you. Whether you’re hunting for some extra pocket change or simply reveling in the thrill of sharing your two cents, know this: the online survey landscape is as vast and varied as a buffet table at a food lover’s dream party. Steer with wisdom, and may your mouse-clicking quests be filled with triumphs. In my own explorations, I’ve not only gathered money but also scored some stellar swag, like coffee pods/machine, a DVD player, gift cards to my favorite dining spots, free groceries (yes, free!), diet plans (for balance, of course), a massager, and a smorgasbord of snacks. So grab your digital hat and embark on your journey. Happy surveying, fellow explorer!

[hokubeantales]

Tales of Clover - Ch 1

The sounds of varieties of birds and animals called as the sun woke them. Trees, vines and other vegetation sprawled in an area that seemed to be untouched by human or fur alike for years. The vegetation thinned around a peculiar structure that stood despite nature's attempts on it. Vines closed around doors, choked the lights and decorated every surface. Flowers and roots attempted to enter the windows, and most times had succeeded. Aside from the few broken windows, however, the doors had all remained shut tight. The forest couldn't destroy the structure, but allowed it to stay where it was. As the sun rose higher, the birds and other feral creatures began their quiet habits.

Another sharp cry from a particularly loud bird woke it up again. A two legged creature was passing through the forest with a machete and equipment stashed on its back. The adventurer in question stepped into the small clearing with awe in her bright green eyes. Her alert fox ears standing up and her orange tail swishing around in thought. She smiled in disbelief of what she had uncovered and began to grab at her camera. She stood out like a sore thumb with her bright yellow fur and orange markings, but seemed unconcerned with blending in.

"I can't believe it's where they said it would be... they seemed so unsure!" The fox said as she circled the area to take pictures. She couldn't seem to stop smiling, and once she was satisfied with her outside pictures she knew what came next. This seemed to broaden her smile even more. "Guess it's time to look inside!"

She walked to a door she assumed to be the front and set her backpack down. Right as she opened the bag her phone started to ring loudly, startling everything within a 10 mile radius.

"Oh dammit, dammit--Hello!?" She answered, a little irritated for the delay. The phone's screen turned on to show a little grey mouse who was adjusting the screen with worry.

"Hoku? Jeez, we've been trying to reach you forever! I know you're remote, but you got the radius upgrade, right?" Asked the mouse, who sounded frantic.

"I'm fine, Mesa," She said, rolling her eyes. "I'm here, though. I found it. It's got to be the missing research facility."

"Oh good, wow. The locals were super accurate then..." Mesa said while looking at something on a tablet in front of them. They didn't acknowledge the eye roll and instead looked up with a grin, "So when you go inside, make sure you're protect. Remember we're not sure what those scientists were really working on..."

"Right, right. I was just about to when you stopped me." She started digging around in her bag with her free hand, sighing out her frustrations.

"Well it's a good thing I did! You would've gone in unprepared!" Mesa giggled and rolled back in their chair, then leaned in a little, "Just be careful, okay?"

"Of course!" Hoku said with a big grin, hanging up the phone. She stuffed it in her pocket and began to don her gear. It wasn't much, but she was thankful for the gloves at least. She fixed a mask on her muzzle and adjusted the side filters. They had warned her a thousand times before she left that there could be chemicals or other dangerous things lurking around. She was tired of hearing the report in her head at this point. "Okay," she said to stop the flood of worries, "I've got my gloves, shoes, and mask. All good. I don't think anything in there is going to be as bad as--"

She stopped in shock as she noticed the lights along the door had flickered on. Her breathing quickened as the surrounding lights on the structure flickered to life as well. She shouldered her backpack and took a step back. Should she run? She had come so far...

The door before her tried to swoosh open gracefully but seemed to be having trouble. Hoku almost felt sorry for it and helped it open, to which it shuffled itself open happily. Her ears twitched in every direction, straining to listen for signs of danger or gas leaks. The sounds of distant birds and slight electric hum were the only things she picked up. A deep filtered breath and she was stepping inside the structure before she knew it.

Passing through the door, she noticed how it looked more like a big container for something rather than a building. A pre built container lab, something she and her colleges had used in remote locations before. She didn't recognize anything in the container aside from basic instruments. She looked for posters, notes or files only to find dust. Lights buzzed and lit her way as she walked through, almost on queue. She figured it was something the previous scientists put into place, as she had encoutered something like it before. Usually scientists with a big budget. Lucky, she thought. Our containers were never this nice...

The container was bigger than once believed, but she reached a shut door. The others had been opened or broken, so this was odd. She could see the vines and leaves stop just short of the door, as if someone had been cleaning it. A small window gave her no insight as it was a security window, but she still tried to look into it. She put her paws on the door to try and push it open as she had the front door and found that this one swooshed aside as gracefully as they all should have. What it revealed was something Hoku wasn't prepared for.

The lab before her must have been the main one because it was very large. Tables along the walls, no windows, and a big island in the middle with tools. Sleeping pods or something like it were aligned on the wall to the right. The strangest thing about it was that everything was pristine. No dust, no dirt, no leaves... all clean.

"H...Hello?" She spoke in a whisper, afraid to startle anyone who might be in the lab, but also very skeptical that anyone could still be living here, "Is anyone here?"

The little fox stepped inside and the door shut tight behind her. She gasped and tried to open it with no luck. Another buzz of electricity and then a light beeping. She looked to see the middle pod on the wall beginning to open. Hoku panicked and ripped her backpack off and slammed it on the table, grabbing her machete once more and holding it in defense. "D-Don't hurt me!"

Mist thinned out to reveal a beautifully made and preserved wolf anthro. She was confused at first until it opened its eyes and immediately knew. A robot... Its cyan eyes glowed slightly and stood out brilliantly among its gray fur. Gray and light gray fur covered it with light green markings around it that shone just like its eyes. It also had long white hair that reached to it's waist.

"Calm yourself, please." Said the machine as it stepped from its pod. It spoke with a masculine voice, and a calming one at that. He seemed to have facial expressions as well because he looked as worried as she did. Maybe not as worried...

"You're ... you're alive? You're not mortal though, you're..." Hoku found herself stumbling over her words now. She was completely shocked and had no idea what she was staring at. Her mask began to feel as if it were going to choke her.

"Can you not breathe oxygen? What manner of beast are you?" He said with a cute head tilt, "I am Clover. I am a robot. My needs can come later, you need medical attention..."

"Medical- I'm fine, i'm not hurt, i-"

"Mental health is medical health. You're scared. Breathe deep, this air is safe for most mortal beings. Please let me know if you--" Clover said, but was cut off by Hoku falling. He moved with inhuman speed to catch her and kick away the weapon for safety.

Clover's eyes scanned her and he sighed. "Passed out. I told you that you needed medical attention..." He sounded sad as he began to clear off the table to aid his new friend. He smiled slightly at that thought.

----

Thanks for reading ; A; I want to do more little stories like this just to make my writing muse come back~ And I love my characters and wanted their stories to be written so why not start with my main, right? :3

~Hoku

[flameleadsarc]

“I’ll use it more often then. It’s a good name. Likewise, I may not answer to Roy that well. Not many people call me that anymore. The one person who called me that on a consistent basis besides the Madame and the girls… well…” Goddammit. He didn’t mean to bring the mood down again once they reached some semblance of stability, but here he was making it impossible for either of them to stand. Kain didn’t need assistance in that department with his injuries. Naturally, his Colonel had to worsen the situation and aim for his heart. Did he not remember that Hughes was his friend too? 

“I’m sorry I keep bringing him up. I’ll stop. I just… I miss him.” Like the night sky missed the northern star. Other stars existed, yes, but the northern star brightened the sky when he lost his way. He looked up every evening, praying for some direction not from a god, but from the man who always stood a few inches taller than him. Yet, months passed since he last heard a tenor voice babble through a phone speaker or stand at his side to talk his ear off. No advice. No words of caution. No stories about Elicia or Gracia. Just silence he was meant to fill himself. 

Hence one reason why he wandered to Kain. He couldn’t take silence. Quiet almost always meant something was wrong. 

Chicken, according to Kain, was an infant, and he could become as tall as Black Wind. Roy’s eyes drew from Chicken’s current height to what he estimated Black Wind’s height to be, and he paused. How long did it take for birds like this to grow? Hopefully slowly, or Kain would need bigger lodgings soon. The bird likely needed a bigger area to roam too, which meant open fields or something. Brigadier General Leota knew more about animals than he did considering her research with chimeras, which made her better suited for questions about what a bird that size could possibly need. If she didn’t know, she probably would soon. 

… Ed and Al would want one, wouldn’t they? Or, more than one. Considering Ed already wanted chickens for eggs, a chocobo wouldn’t be far off. 

He was in danger. 

Admittedly, his face fell at the mention of his two sons. His smile, there for a few seconds, ran for the hills and didn’t dare look back. Trading grief for worry hardly counted as a fair bargain in his mind. Worry grew like weeds in Spring compared to how grief took its time to cling to his heart like ivy. By the time he had concrete answers about whether or not his sons lived, his entire mind would be covered in fields of dandelions. More threatened to sprout now. Could he not just focus on the present and what Kain just told him? How he loved this bird more than anything or anyone? How he found an animal to pour his love into? How happy this chocobo made him? 

Kain and Chicken were a package deal. Like Ed and Al. 

Roy hadn’t seen Ed and Al in weeks. For all he knew, Chaos took one look at them, saw them for the priceless gems they were, and swiped them from the land of the living while no one could see. Or, worse: Chaos tormented them like they did White Cloud. Their father could create fire with his fingertips, but they could clap their hands and perform alchemy like no one else could. Who wouldn’t want that sort of power? Even if Chaos didn’t, it had to know—it had to—that they were key to luring the Flame Alchemist out of hiding and rendering him powerless. 

He didn’t count the dandelions. Too many of them sprouted in the seconds he let himself get lost in thought. But, as always, he feigned a small smile, and he pushed through. No, no more sadness. Had he not cried enough this evening?

“So that’s what I have to look forward to in the future,” he joked, “Tell me, do you know how fast they grow? Am I gonna wake up tomorrow to Chicken bein’ taller than me and screwing up my hair? Because I’m not vain about much, but I am vain about that.”

There are pauses that seem unnatural coming from the man next to him. Uncertainty isn't something one typically encounters with Roy, but all it tells Kain is that he's done what he set out to do tonight.

He's cracked the man open to get to the person on the inside, because the outer shell needs no comfort. The outer shell is not real, the outer shell only serves to protect the grieving and lonely person deep down.

But Kain won't hurt him. No, he did it to soothe over the pain with something a little less artificial. The world they both come from is cruel and unkind, seeking to take and destroy everything good, requiring from most people a tough exterior that cannot be penetrated.

Kain's never been that way. He's never conformed. Amestris and all its harshness couldn't take his heart from him and couldn't force him to hide his kindness no matter how much it wanted to. Maybe that's why he fits just a little bit better in this place, why it feels more natural to be here even though this place is so foreign in every sense of the word while Amestris always seemed more like a guessing game to him, why he wants desperately to stay here.

He can't promise Roy to always be in his life anymore, but he can be here right now and he can always be there in heart.

"As much as I don't really like the people who gave it to me, I like my name. I like Kain. I might not answer as well to it, though - I've barely ever heard it," he admits. He can play into the equivalent exchange stuff, be open and vulnerable right back.

Chicken perks up a little at his name, letting out a soft 'wark' to acknowledge he hears them both. Kain lightly scratches the top of his head.

"This guy here is an infant, actually... According to Kumo, he could get to be as tall as Black Wind. It's not gonna stop me, though. I love him more than I've ever loved anyone or anything else, so I'm glad you're accepting him. We're a package deal now. Kinda like Ed and Al. You don't get one without the other someplace close by."

[purpleemeraldot]

Guillermo’s sketches

Alright.We all know that our Guillermo is an artist. He draws and hangs it all the time in both his closet-room and when he went to Celeste. I don't know what half of his sketches are about but it's mostly vampire related EXCEPT for that little bird. 

So everytime I see Guillermo’s room the bird is there and it's mostly in an eye catching spot in the camera. WWDITS is such a relaxing and funny series so why am I so fixated on this lil bird?

BECAUSE I NEED ANSWERS DAMN IT!

My guess is that the bird is a sparrow. So I looked on its symbolism and meanings:

SPARROW means 

STRENGTH AND POWER despite the small stature. it symbolizes HARDWORK, by  achieving things with your hard work, you can bring some sense of worth and self-esteem... (Reminds you of somebody? somebody like that cute and small familiar where most people think is not a threat? like somebody spending a decade of his life as familiar to be the vampire he wants to be? ------- SEASON 1)

In Europe's middle ages, sparrows were believed to represent peasants and the LOWER CLASS (FAMILIAR)

In old Celtic tradition, sparrows were thought to be KEEPERS OF ANCESTRAL KNOWLEDGE (HAHAHAHA the last ep of season 1 Ancestry) 

but in a BIBLICAL meaning, sparrows are symbol of FREEDOM,  especially as pertains to the freedom of the soul to CHOOSE BETWEEN GOOD AND EVIL...like him leaving Nandor’s side because he wasn't confident about being and living with his vampire family (evil) and his bloodline as a vampire slayer (good)---- SEASON 2

BUT WAIT A MINUTE GUYS

In ancient Greek mythology, sparrows were considered a SYMBOL OF LOVE. The sparrow was the sacred bird of Aphrodite, the goddess of love, and symbolised true love and spiritual connection—not just lust (contrary to this, sparrows are often regarded as one of the MOST LUSTFUL AND SEXUALLY ACTIVE in the wild)------ AM I GOING TO SEE THIS IN SEASON 3?!!! NANDERMO?

[fridayfirefly]

All For The Investigation

Read All For The Investigation on AO3

Masterlist

By Tim’s calculations, there was an 87% certain that Marinette Dupain-Cheng was the Parisian former hero Ladybug. However, 87% was not 100%, so Bruce required further investigation. Damian was stuck with the job.

Except, Damian knew that stuck wasn't exactly the right word. Stuck implied that he was displeased with the situation. Damian wasn't displeased. Marinette Dupain-Cheng was the most pleasant person in all of Gotham Academy. If Damian had to choose anyone to be forced to spend time with, he would choose Marinette. Though he grumbled about being forced to spend time with plebeians (for the benefit of his brothers, who would mercilessly tease Damian if they even suspected that he had a crush), Damian was quite pleased by the assignment.

Given that Marinette was in his history class, it was quite easy to arrange a situation in which they were forced to be in each others' proximities. When their teacher announced that there would be an upcoming group project with randomly assigned partnerships, it was simple for Damian to break into her office and switch around some of the names. When the partnerships were announced and Marinette and Damian were paired together, Damian made his move.

"Dupain-Cheng, if you would like to work on the project over the weekend, we can do so at my house."

"Sounds good, Wayne, but you know, you can just call me Marinette," said Marinette with a smile.

Damian felt flustered, which was a very bad sign. He never felt anything less than perfectly composed. "Then you may call me Damian."

Marinette's smile got even bigger. There was a feeling in his chest that, had it been caused by anyone else, Damian would have suspected it to be a complication of the broken ribs from Joker's last attack. "Let me give you my number, and we can plan a meeting this weekend. Would Saturday work for you?"

Damian nodded as he handed Marinette his phone. "My schedule is free on Saturday."

"Great!" chirped Marinette. She plugged in her number, then posed for a picture, explaining that it was, "For the contact photo."

And if in the privacy of his bedroom, Damian stared at that contact photo for twenty-minutes straight, it was just for research purposes. Just to compare Marinette's facial structure to that of Ladybug. Completely normal investigative business.

The next morning, Damian found his way to the bedroom of his most tolerable brother. "Grayson. Can I confide in you without any of the information getting to anyone else?"

Richard glanced up from his laptop. "Sure thing, Baby Bird." He patted a spot on the bed next to him,

"Don't call me that. I despise nicknames," grumbled Damian. He took a seat, staring at the wall in front of him, still weighing the risk versus reward of talking to Richard. If his brother had some technique for extinguishing romantic interest it would solve Damian's problem. However, if either Drake or Todd got word of Damian's crush there was no doubt in Damian's mind that they would never let him hear the end of it.

"So what's on your mind?"

"It pertains to the girl in my who Drake suspects to be Ladybug, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She has become difficult to investigate. I have found myself unable to observe her objectively."

Richard frowned. "I'm not sure I know what you mean. Is it something that she did that's bothering you?"

Damian searched for the right words to explain the situation. He was not usually so tongue-tied, but the proper words seemed to escape him at every turn. "Dupain-Cheng is not what I expected. I assumed that it would be a simple task, to observe her and determine whether she has any connection to the Parisian superhero. However, I have found it difficult to concentrate on my mission when I am around her."

"You find it difficult to concentrate when you're around her. How so?"

Damian gritted his teeth. He didn't want to spell out his crush so obviously, but Richard seemed incapable of looking between the lines. "I have found myself preoccupied with trivial things like getting to know her personality, rather than investigating her background. She makes me feel... flustered."

Damian could see the moment that Richard made the connection. His brother's face lit up as he exclaimed, "You have a crush on her?!"

"Quiet!" snapped Damian. "This does not leave this room. I need to learn how to get rid of it, so I can get back to completing the mission."

Richard was grinning ear to ear. "That's not how crushes work. You can't just snap your fingers and have them disappear. The only thing that can get rid of a crush is time. Or sometimes if they get a haircut that kills the feeling. But mostly it just takes time."

"I cannot afford to wait for these feelings to fade. I'll look into scheduling her a haircut." Damian stood up, resolved to get rid of his crush before Marinette came over later that day to work on their project.

"No wait," Richard grabbed Damian's arm. "I doubt that your attraction to her is so shallow that a haircut would destroy the feelings you have for her. This is something that you'll have to talk to her about."

Damian frowned. "Perhaps I should give the mission to someone else. Jon could transfer to Gotham Academy for the semester. His detective skills are lacking but his judgment would be less clouded than mine. If I ignore her for long enough I'm sure that I can evade talking about my feelings."

"Why don't you just ignore the mission for a few weeks while you get to know her."

Damian fixed Richard with a death glare. "I cannot ignore this mission. Father gave it to me personally."

"How about twenty-four hours? You spend the next twenty-four hours in getting-to-know-her mode rather than background-check mode and at the end of it, we can regroup and decide what to do next. If you actually get to know her, you'll better understand the depths of your feelings. Once you have that understanding, you'll be able to see if waiting out your crush is a viable option or if you need to pass on the responsibilities to someone else."

It wasn't the perfect solution, but it was better than anything Damian had come up with. Anything that could potentially alleviate Damian's inability to focus on the investigation was worth trying. "Fine," Damian replied curtly. "Thank you for your assistance."

"No problem," said Richard. "You know, I would love to get to meet Marinette sometime."

"Don't push your luck," grumbled Damian, ignoring Richard's laughter as he stood up and left the room. There would be no way to hide the fact that Marinette was coming over to the Manor from his family. There was also no way that his family wouldn't intrude upon Damian and Marinette as they worked. However, if he explained everything beforehand and phrased everything in precisely the right way, he might be able to pass off his odd behavior towards Marinette as a part of his investigation. Damian pulled out his phone and composed a text to send to the family groupchat.

Damian: Dupain-Cheng is coming to the Manor at approximately 22:00 to work on a history project. I will be covertly conducting my investigation. From what I have gathered, she would respond better to subtle questioning, rather than a straightforward interrogation.

Tim: wait does subtle interrogation mean that you'll be flirting with her???

Jason: I need to see this

Steph: I'm willing to bet money that his flirting offends Marinette so much she storms out of the Manor before Damian can finish the mission

Dick: No way. I'll bet 20 dollars that his flirting works too well

Steph: done

Damian huffed, half tempted to call off his meeting with Marinette. His siblings were insufferable.

Damian: Please refrain from intervening. Confirming that Dupain-Cheng is Ladybug is a vital first step in determining whether the Justice League needs to interfere in the affairs of the Order of the Miraculous.

Bruce: Damian is correct. No one will bother him while he is working with Marinette.

Damian smirked as he turned his phone off. His plan wasn't foolproof, of course, but a direct order from Bruce to not interfere would force his siblings to be more subtle about spying on him and Marinette. The chance of him being interrupted was significantly decreased.

Damian got everything set up in the den, which was only ever used on family movie night. It was perfectly situated for the task at hand - a room small enough to be classed as cozy but big enough to not feel cramped. It was out of the way, surrounded by other equally unused rooms, so his siblings would have no excuse for lurking in the hallway outside. Damian brought in snacks, chargers, and a few books from the Wayne Manor library on Renaissance Art, the topic of their project.

Marinette arrived promptly at 2 in the afternoon, holding a Tupperware container full of gingerbread cookies, with a smile on her face. "Hi, Damian. I brought cookies."

None of his planning accounted for this moment, for first laying eyes on Marinette. Damian froze up, desperate to put the right words in the right order. "Welcome to Wayne Manor, Marinette. I have everything set up in the den if you'll just follow me."

"Sure." Marinette toed off her black boots and arranged them on the shoe tray next to the door. She was left in sage green cat-print socks that matched the rest of her outfit, a pine green sweater and black jeans. Damian couldn't help but wonder if she knit the sweater herself - Marinette's talent for designing was well-known throughout Gotham Academy, as it was what got her accepted into the prestigious high school in the first place.

Marinette followed Damian through the Manor, complimenting little details that Damian had never noticed before - the pattern of the curtains, the bay window in a sitting room that Damian had never bothered to enter, the family pictures that lined the wall in the hallway. Marinette made it seem so obvious to pay attention to those little details. Damian wished that he could see the Manor for the first time through her eyes and feel the same amazement that she felt as she oohed and awed over the decadence that Damian had considered banal.

Damian was so captivated by Marinette that he almost missed the fact that Drake and Brown were lurking in the study across the hall from the den. A text to his father about the gravity of his mission would be enough to get them sent away on some inconsequential but time-consuming task. Damian would have to find an inconspicuous time to pull out his phone during their work on the project to let his father know about their intrusion.

"Now I know why you call it Wayne Manor. This place is huge." Marinette shrugged off her backpack and set it down on the coffee table next to her container of cookies.

"Its size is entirely unnecessary for ordinary life," agreed Damian. "However, it makes for very challenging games of hide-and-seek."

Marinette giggled. "That sounds like fun. You'll have to invite me next time you play."

"I'll make sure of it." Damian smiled, surprised to find that his happiness wasn't forced. He rarely engaged in childish behavior, and even more rarely did he find any enjoyment in it. Yet the mental image of playing a child's game with Marinette was pleasant to him. The feelings he had for her were deeper than Damian anticipated.

The pair got to work on their project. Damian sent out the text to his father as soon as he opened his laptop, leaving Marinette under the impression that he was researching sources. A series of irritable texts in the family groupchat confirmed the fact that Drake and Brown had been removed from their hiding spot.

"Do you want to try a cookie?" asked Marinette, pushing the Tupperware towards Damian.

"Thank you." Damian took one, just to be polite. Growing up in the League of Assassins, he never really had a taste for sweets. Alfred's baking was the extent of what he would tolerate. He took a bite - small, to back up his claim that he already ate if it turned out to be inedible. Surprisingly, it was nearly as good as Alfred's gingerbread cookies, and those were tailer made to Damian's taste. The cookies were heavy on the ginger and cloves, just as Damian liked. "These are delicious," Damian professed.

Marinette blushed. "Thanks. I know they taste a little different than store-bought gingerbread. My parents make them with a lot of ginger."

"These are much superior to store-bought cookies."

"Thanks. You know, you're a lot nicer outside of school. You always seemed kind of grumpy in class."

"I'm not a fan of the state-mandated curriculum."

Marinette nodded. "I get what you mean. I barely have any room in my schedule for my design classes, with all the mandatory classes that Gotham Academy makes us take. I'm lucky that I have my internship, otherwise, I think I would go crazy, taking so many classes that I don't care about."

"Your internship is with Audrey Bourgeoise, isn't it?"

Marinette nodded. "I was friends with her daughter, back in Paris. Originally it was going to be a four-year internship in New York City, but I renegotiated some of the terms so that I could do the first two years in Paris, then the last two in Gotham, while she established the new branch of her company."

"You renegotiated the terms of a prestigious internship at the age of fourteen? Weren't you afraid of losing it if you pushed too hard?"

Marinette shrugged, nonchalant as if it were normal for an intern to make such a bold move. "I didn't want to leave Paris. My whole life was there. I wasn't ready to just pick up and move to a new country."

"What changed that you were able to come to Gotham?"

"There were a lot of reasons. Hawkmoth was the biggest one. I felt nervous about leaving my family and friends behind when he was terrorizing the city. After he was defeated I felt a lot more comfortable leaving."

That aligned with the theory that Marinette was Ladybug. "What were the other reasons?"

"My age was one. I didn't feel ready to leave home at fourteen and my parents didn't like the idea of me leaving home that young either. Another big one was the fact that I didn't have a good handle on my personal style. I was worried that designing full-time in Audrey Bourgeoise's office would cause me to lose my originality. The worst thing I could imagine was watering down my designs to appeal to the rest of the fashion industry."

"Your conviction is impressive. Most in your position would not worry about selling out to obtain such a highly coveted position."

"Audrey said the same thing, though when she said it, she spoke it with annoyance, not admiration. I've never been highly motivated by wide-spread success. I don't need to be a household name to feel content with life. I just want to design clothes that I'm proud of."

The fluttering feeling in Damian's chest returned with full force, alongside a tendril of anger at the unfairness of the situation. Here was the most perfect person Damian had ever laid his eyes on, and he was forced to pick her apart piece by piece to figure out her deepest darkest secrets. Damian didn't know much about relationships, but this didn't seem like the way they were supposed to go.

"You look upset," Marinette's observation was tinged by the worry in her voice.

"I'm not upset," he assured her. "I was just wondering how I never noticed how interesting you are."

Marinette flushed, her cheeks turning pink. "What does that mean?"

Damian shrugged. While his nonchalant attitude was all a bluff, his admiration of her accomplishments was all real. "Most of our classmates feel accomplished with the most conventional of achievements. Yet you secured an internship at the side of one of the most renowned fashion critics in the world and you still stay humble about it. You weren't blind-sighted by the incredible opportunity. You fought to maintain your values, no matter if it meant losing something priceless."

Marinette's blush deepened. "That's just who I am. It's not special, it's me."

"It is you," agreed Damian. "And it is special."

Marinette gave him a wide-eyed look, shocked by the emotion in his words. "We should get back to work," she said, self-consciously rubbing one cheek with the sleeve of her green wool sweater.

"Of course," Damian amicably agreed. He had pushed far enough for intel and had managed to get to know her a little better in the process. His flirting wasn't as blatant as it could have been, but it got the job done. Richard had said that once he knew the depths of his feelings he would know what to do. Richard was right. Damian's feelings were seemingly endless, a maze of all the things he liked about Marinette, in which every corner he turned was a new quirk that he couldn't un-notice. Yet Damian didn't want to pass on the responsibility of investigating Marinette to anyone else. He wanted a reason to spend time with her.

It wasn't the best situation. Damian wished that he could get to know her organically. However, Damian wasn't the type to dwell on the could-have-been. He had an opportunity to get to know Marinette right in front of him and he wasn't going to let it go.

Hours later, after Marinette went home, Richard stopped him in the hallway. "So what did you learn?"

"My investigation has proven inconclusive. I need to further get to know Marinette Dupain-Cheng if I want to uncover her identity. For research purposes, of course."

Richard laughed. "Of course."

[orgasming-caterpillar]

Chapter 13

Raghav pov

"Me?"

"Yeah, you." Raghav didn't know from where he got the courage to push those words out of his mouth. He wasn't sure he could be scared anymore if he tried. If his stupid bravery came in the way of his ability to form rational thoughts, he was going to be very deeply, passionately fucked in the next few minutes. 

Though he had bigger problems to worry about right now. For example, the look of hurt hiding behind Ranveer's seven layers of stoicness. Slowly, with guilt weighing his movements down, he released Raghav's face.

Raghav released a breath that he very much knew he was holding. In fact, he was making a conscious effort to not breathe this entire time. Lord knows what would have happened if he had allowed himself to breathe in Ranveer's scent, while the guy was holding his face like that. He wasn't in a very stable mindspace to start with. 

To Raghav's annoyance, being away from him was almost worse than being close to him. 

"I shouldn't have told you all that." Ranveer's voice was barely more than a whisper. 

Raghav realised he had said the wrong thing a moment too late. "No-! I, uhh, I mean…"

"What do you mean, Raghav?" Ranveer snapped. 

"I mean, it's not because of what you told me last night. I'm- I'm glad you told me, sacchi. It's just…" He couldn't bring himself to look at Ranveer. So instead, he looked at the floor and took his face in his hands. 

"It's Madhuri," he lied. They had decided to call her and her partner to Ranveer's house. (Raghav was going to stop by anyway, so it was killing two birds with one stone.) (And it wasn't like he could refuse Ranveer) "It's you and Madhuri. I haven't seen her in eight goddamn years and now I'm meeting her for the first time in so long and I called her to your house but if anything goes wrong which I know it will 'cause she's Madhuri she might not even-"

"Oye," Ranveer interrupted his senseless rambling. "Easy. Take a moment. Kya bolna hai sahi se bol."

Sorry, Madhuri, Raghav thought apologetically. He took in a deep breath before starting, "I haven't seen Madhuri in years. You know that. And raat ko I didn't know what I was saying when I said I should bring her over to your house where we can all hang out. I don't even know if you two will get along. Or what if her partner does something? I don't know how I'll cope with-"

"You do realise you can just… not bring her to my house, right?" Raghav stared at him, open-mouthed. He continued, "Like koi tujhe force nahi kar raha hai. You can meet her on your own terms and come to my house some other time."

Raghav's heart was flooded with a sense of achievement －he'd managed to lie to Ranveer－ quickly followed by a sense of stupidity. Why hadn't I thought of that?

"Yeah, I… I guess I was just too overwhelmed to think straight." As if anyone can think straight around someone like you. 

Ranveer gave him a look that he couldn't dare to decipher.

"Whatever. Ab focus kar," he said. A few quick touches to his phone and the music was back on. 

Focus hi to kar raha hu, Raghav thought as Ranveer turned away. Bas galat cheez pe.

• • •

Manorama Shankar was staying in the college dormitory. It didn't take much research to figure that out. Though Raghav still had no idea where Madhuri was. He was stupid to agree to bring her to Ranveer's house when he didn't even know where she was. 

With only four days left until the competition, it made sense that Madhuri and Manorama come here early to avoid any last minute accidents. But if that was true, where the fuck was she?

A trip to the dorm supervisor's office told him that she wasn't staying in the dorms. The one Manorama was staying in was a single person room, and from what Raghava remembered Madhuri didn't have any relatives in the area that she could be staying with.

Which was why Raghav was currently headed to Manorama's room. He would try to ask her where Madhuri was and hope she doesn't eat him alive. From what he had gathered about her, it was a sound possibility.

In all honesty, he was terrified. Not just of Manorama, but of Madhuri too. 

What if she hadn't forgiven him for… God, for everything. For disappearing with such little notice. For not memorising her number before his parents changed theirs. For that fight the night before he had left. For not saying sorry when it was totally his fault. For-

An even worse possibility crossed his mind. What if she isn't even here?

What if it was some entirely different Madhuri with the same last name and the same passion for dancing and the same birthplace who was coming here to represent the college that his Madhuri had dreamed to attend? 

It was stupid to even think that, he knew that. But he couldn't bear the thought of going home without meeting her today. Of never meeting her again. He had almost made peace with her absence during his time abroad. It hurt like hell when he didn't find her once he was back, but he had tolerated that too.

Now, he wasn't very sure.

He wasn't sure he could handle reopening old wounds only for them to be left unhealed again. 

Raghav was pulled sharply back to reality when he bumped hard into someone right outside a coffee shop. 

"Ud ke jayega kya, chu-" the girl's curse died in her throat. Her lips were formed into a stupidly comical 'o', frozen around the vowel. Raghav might have laughed, if he wasn't so shocked himself.

"Raghu?" 

Har face was narrower, square jaw set in that stubborn way of hers. Her hair was coiled into a tight braid the same as ever. Her eyes were lined with thick kajal. Raghav tried to remember a single time he had seen her without it, but his mind was black and white static.

"Raghav Patil?" the girl asked.

Then Raghav did another thing to add to his list of stupidities. He shook her shoulder, which he had grabbed to steady her fall, and screamed "Madhuri! Hi!"

Like a fucking mental asylum escapee.

Oh, how teenage Madhuri would have laughed at him.

She swatted his arm away, laughing half hysterically. "Raghav, seriously?" The disbelief on his face was answer enough. "Kaha pe tha tu!? I tried to call you so many times."

"I- ek second. Were you going somewhere? We should sit and talk. about everything."

They entered the coffee shop bustling with activity. It wasn't very crowded, but the steady stream of conversations from all directions was a bit overwhelming. Especially when…

"Oh my god, Raghav," she began as soon as they sat down. "Pata hai maine tujhe kitne call kiye? I mean, not right away- tu bina sorry bole chala gaya tha isliye mujhe bhi gussa aa rakha tha. Teen char din baad call kiya to connect hi nahi hua. Ek hafte baad number hi change ho gaye."

The night before he had left, he came to tell her that he would be leaving tomorrow. She had started crying and screamed at him for not telling her before. He had started crying too that it was his parents' choice not his. They had been a very unflattering mess of tears and snot and the determination to not apologise before the other does.

"Waha jate hi mumma papa ne numbers change kar liye the," he explained. "And your number wasn't in the number book so…"

"And you didn't remember my number."

"Yeah," he admitted, trying to seem guilty. He was feeling guilty, very much so, but the joy of getting his best friend back was definitely overriding the regret of past mistakes.

"Kuch idea bhi hai tujhe maine kitne calls kiye the? Mujhe laga tu abhi bhi gussa hai isliye numbers block kar betha hai. I tried to call you from so many different numbers. Har baar pata nahi kon buddha phone utha leta tha."

Raghav hadn't laughed like this in years, not since Madhuri slipped out of his life. There was a familiar lightness in his chest as he watched her grinning while giving the waitress their order. She told her to put extra sugar in her coffee and half his much in Raghav's.

"Ek baar ke liye to main usi buddhe aadmi se tujhe substitute kar leti," she teased, uncaring of the waitress' horrified expression.

Gods, it was good to be back. "So, Bangalore, huh?"

"Hmm."

Out of all her friends, Raghav would have been the only one who could truly understand what it meant for Madhuri to get into that college. Would have. Now they had new people in their lives, new friends and almost a decade of things unsaid. A bitter pang resonated through Raghav's heart at the thought.

They filled each other in on the details, sharing as much of the last decade as they had missed. Madhuri's family moved to Bangalore a bit more than four years ago. (Which was still so weird, by the way. They were the definition of small town people. The hustle and bustle of a metropolitan city was something Raghav found hard to imagine them in.) A few weeks after that, Raghav's family moved back to India. ("Kismat hi kharab hai, bhenc-" "Madhuri.") He finished the rest of his schooling in the same school he and Madhuri had studied at together before The Fuckening (as Madhuri named it).

Once the bigger events were out of the way, that was when the actual gossip came in. Raghav could almost pretend that they were fourteen and she was back from a visit to her nanihal, spelling whatever she hadn't been able to talk about on the phone. That these weren't things that had happened years ago.

They talked about school and college, parents and friends and lovers, hopping around the landmine that was nostalgia. Madhuri didn't bring up their childhood years, so Raghav kept his mouth shut too. Besides, he didn't want her to start crying in the middle of a busy coffee shop. (Madhuri was never ashamed of her tears.) (Raghav was.)

"You're dating Manorama Shankar!?"

She shushed him aggressively. "Chilla mat! And yes, I am."

Raghav looked at her with a smug expression, a grin threatening to break out on his face.

"Kya hai?" 

"Not what I'd go for, but to each their own, I guess." He hadn't even seen the girl, but if he was going to make up for eight years of getting on Madhuri's nerves, he might as well get started right away.

"She could bench press you and your entire family," she snapped.

"Even my dad?"

"Even your dad."

"Sorry."

Madhuri laughed, "I'm definitely telling her about this."

"Waise hai kaha wo abhi?" Raghav asked. 

"Wo to abhi hamare room mein hi-" she shut her mouth immediately, at Raghav's raised brow. "I mean… you know what I mean. Jyada innocent banne ki koshish mat kar." 

"Ishq ladane ke liye hamare college se acchi koi jagah nahi mili?"

"Tujhe kya pata ishq kya hota hai." 

Ranveer's face appeared in his mind ─leaning against the counter of his kitchen, bathed in sunlight like a figure of gold─ and he quickly shoved the thought away. 

"What was that?"

"Hmm?" He had lost track of the conversation.

"Kya soch raha tha?"

Of course Madhuri noticed. Shit.

"Kuch bhi to nahi." He pushed any and all images of Ranveer out of his mind. Just in case the girl could actually read minds, like he had suspected all these years. 

"Chal chhod. Tera dance partner kon hai?"

Raghav nearly choked on air. However happy, he was not ready to tell Madhuri about Ranveer. Not here. "Ranveer Kashyap." Even saying his name felt strange now. 

She wolf whistled loudly, teasingly, and for a horrifying moment Raghav was convinced she really could read minds.

"What?"

"I think I've seen one of his performances. Nice choice." 

"What makes you think I chose him?"

Madhuri mock-repeated his words and said, "Eight years isn't enough to forget a boy like you, Raghav. I know damn well you'll never let someone like that pass."

She probably didn't mean it that way, but the irony was hilarious. 

"Are you saying you didn't choose him?" Madhuri asked.

I wish I could. "I did."

Dancing On Your Heartstrings

Chapter 10 (chapter 1-9 here)

A minor correction about the prev chapters

Raghav pov

An array of emotions flashed through Ranveer's eyes, too quick for Raghav to read. He gulped. The significance of the moment, the unspoken knowledge that this right now will determine both their fates, hung heavy in the air. Still he couldn't help but look at his Adam's apple, its motion and how it sent a subtle ripple of activity throughout his throat muscles. Rein it in, Raghav, he told himself, this is NOT the time. 

Raghav could see he was conflicted. He couldn't blame him. If he was in Ranveer's position, he would also contemplate if he was worthy of divulging his emotional baggage and secrets. 

Whatever they were, it seemed Ranveer had decided he was not worth knowing those. 

Ranveer took a step back, "it's none of your business. Please mere case se utar jaa." He took another step back, "Me ab kabhi dance nahi kar sakta, and there's nothing you can do about it."

He pivoted and started to go back, but Raghav took his hand and stopped him there. He didn't turn back, just letting him hold his hand. Raghav wanted to see his face, but it seemed his back had to do. 

"Mujhe koi idea nahi hai teri life me kya ho raha hai, nor will I pretend that I do, but it seems you're letting it win, whatever it is that has pushed you into this." Raghav saw his back go rigid, his shoulder tense, and he knew he struck a chord. So he continued, "Some dance to release their tension, others dance to relieve their souls and escape their lives. But I've seen you, Ranveer, I see you," Ranveer's hand on his tightened, his grip on him giving him strength to continue, "and I know dancing sustains you. It feeds your soul. It gives you life. You come alive onstage and it's something people cannot tear their gazes off. You are magic to behold, Ranveer Kashyap. It would be a bit selfish of you to deprive the world of that beauty that only you can create, won't it?"

By the end of it, Raghav's voice was hoarse and he was surprised he wasn't on his knees begging him to stay. It certainly felt like it, like he just bared himself open and put himself on platter for Ranveer, his to stitch or ravage further. 

After an eternity of silence, Ranveer faced him. What he saw on his face made his knees buckle in relief, made him release the breath he didn't know he was holding. Ranveer's eyes were wide, lined with silver. There was devastation written plain on his face, as if he was the victim of a Shakespearean tragedy. 

He cleared his throat, cleared twice, "That's a lot of pretty words."

Raghav pulled his lips into a resemblance of smirk, even though on the inside he was damn near weeping, "What else did you expect to come out of this pretty mouth?"

Ranveer's eyes zeroed on the said mouth, and it made Raghav's heart stop. He couldn't move a muscle, couldn't do anything but watch him look at his lips. What is happening here? He wondered faintly. What in God's name is happening here? 

His already dark eyes seemed darker, and the intense look of his eyes focused on his lips made Raghav bite them, feeling the look as if a burning finger stroked him there. 

The movement jarring him out of his thoughts, Ranveer's eyes snapped to his, an odd look of determination and something else in them. Raghav jumped when he felt Ranveer's hand squeeze his. He'd forgotten they were still holding hands. 

Ranveer pov 

Pull yourself together, Ranveer scolded himself. Dear Lord, what was he doing, shamelessly staring at Raghav's lips like that? He felt goosebumps rising on his arm. 

Raghav had gone through all that to get him back to dancing. And Ranveer repaid that by being a creep who didn't know where to put his eyes on. Sure, Raghav's lips were unlike any other he'd ever seen. They were the softest hue of pink, plush as the petals of a carnation. And then he was pulling the bottom lip between his teeth and oh lord. 

Ranveer looked at him, determined to not let his eyes lose their way this time. What was he doing? Feeling ashamed of his own actions, he asked the first thing that came to his mind, "Where's the music?"

Raghav smiled, and the sparkle of joy in his eyes was almost enough to keep Ranveer's gaze from flickering back to his lips. Almost. 

What brought him back to his senses was when the smile was replaced with a scowl. Whatever mysterious potion had been swirling in the air around them, it was gone now. He could sense the tension trickle back in. 

"What do you mean where's the music? First you'll tell me why you ever even thought of quitting dancing."

The question he had dreaded the most was back, but he knew he couldn't avoid it any longer. "Raghav, I…"

"I'm listening," he replied.

"Listen. I know maine tujhe ignore kiya, I'm sorry. Maine bohot stupid decisions bhi liye recently, I'm sorry for that too." Ranveer mentally winced. This was just turning into him apologising for what a spectacular ass he had been, and he hadn't even realised until now. "I'll tell you everything, pakka. Just… abhi nahi."

Raghav weighed the options. Even through his fifteen layers of judgement, Ranveer saw where the favour was falling. "Okay," he said, and relief flooded through Ranveer. "But just know, I'll be haunting you for every waking moment until you tell me."

That was… okay. That was alright. Ranveer had survived worse. "So… Where's the music?"

The smile was back on his face, that unguarded joy back on those damned lips of his. "Right here."

[pretend-writer]

Demolition Lovers (Hargreeves x sibling!reader)

Summary: Klaus and Y/N helps their brother, Luther find a perfect date.

Title Reference: Demolition Lovers x My Chemical Romance

Word Count: 1.6k words

Warning: swearing, mention of sex

✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤

It was a typical day at the Hargeeves mansion. Klaus and I hanging out as we lay across the couch next to each other, scrolling through our social media and sharing celebrity gossips that was trending that day.

Diego would then barge in, bothering us to get up and be productive but then end up eaves dropping and joining our conversation.

Then we'd have Vanya that'll feed us our daily snacks. She was like a mama bird; Hearing the rest of us complaining and bickering then feeds us the goodies to shut our mouth. It honestly worked every time and now I start to wonder if that was her trick all along.

After our snack was nap time, where Klaus and I would lay there for two to five hours, usually get up when the sun was down. Then we would plan our night, typically out for dinner or a night out if it was the weekend.

But our schedule, our precious paradise time was ruined by the one and only. Luther Hargreeves.

It wasn't supposed to be this way; Allison would go out to run errands, Ben worked all day like the responsible man that he was, and Five would just be Five, roaming town and doing God knows what. Luther would be home to research and dig through dad's old stuff.

Today however, wasn't the case.

He instead came in during mine and Klaus' precious nap time, groaning and yappin' about some girl on an app. Didn't know why he had to do this in the family room but there he was.

'Do you not see us sleeping here?' I complained as I lifted my head from the pillow, trying not to move a lot so that Klaus could stay asleep.

'Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to be loud.' He apologized as he stared at his phone, depressed and upset.

Klaus rolled his eyes. 'Well you are and you're still here.'

Luther froze in place, continuing to stare at the screen. Klaus and I looked at each other, nudging one another to see who was going to talk to him first.

The both of us got up, sitting down side to side as we looked at Luther and back at each other. Klaus seemed like he was unbothered, so I sighed and broke the silence. 'What's wrong buddy?'

'Nothing.' Luther frowned.

Squinting my eyes, I grabbed the pillow from the couch and threw it on Luther's head. 'You bitch! You woke us up from our nap and you're going to say "nothing" is bothering you?'

'Ow!' Luther rubbed his head. 'Okay, okay. Damn. It's this girl on tinder, she doesn't want to go on a date with me.'

'Well, what did you tell her? Did you say something stupid?'

Luther got up, 'See. This is why I didn't want to tell you guys becau-'

'Sorry, sorry.' I stood up and pulled Luther back onto the couch. 'Mind if I see the conversation?'

His face immediately turned red, 'Uhm. Do you have to?'

'If you want me to figure out why she's turning you down, yeah.'

Hesitantly, he pulled up the messages he had with the girl and then passed me the phone. Scrolling through the messages, I shook my head. 'Luther, she's DTF.'

'Yeah, I know that's why I don't understand why she turned me down. She brought it up first.'

Klaus blinked, 'What do you think DTF stands for?'

By the look on Luther's face, I knew he was confused. He looked over at the ceiling, thinking for a while before he replied to Klaus. 'Don't tell me I was wrong this whole time.'

'So what do you think it says?'

'Uhm... Date This Friday?'

Klaus awed, shaking his head as he left my side and took a seat next to him. He wrapped his arms around Luther, 'Buddy. No. That's not what it stands for. But that's cute of you.'

'Wait, huh? So this whole time me and her were on the wrong page? What did she mean then?'

'She wanted to fuck you.' I blurted, I felt bad that Luther was so confused. 'It stands for Down To Fuck.'

It was a dead giveaway that he had no clue what his whole conversation really meant, his whole face turned redder than ever. He buried his face into his hands. 'Oh no.'

'I didn't think you were talking to girls, honestly.' Klaus chuckled. 'You clearly got game, your noggin is just a little... outdated.'

'I got what? Game? No, I just deleted Candy Crush, it was too addicting.'

Klaus kept his laugh in, curling his lips as he slowly nodded back at his brother. 'Oh my gosh.'

✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤

It had been about two weeks, helping Luther get a dream girl that he deserved. Despite Luther being the annoying sibling, he had been there for me countless times and I wanted nothing but the best for him.

We've tried talking to the girls on the app, few weren't looking for anything serious, some trolling in the messages. After constant matching and messaging, Luther found someone he potentially saw a relationship with.

'Did you check your message from Claire yet?' Klaus asked.

'No. I'm kind of nervous, actually.' Luther laughed a little under his breath, shaking his legs as he gripped onto his phone.

Resting my hand on his shoulder, I reassured him. 'Don't be nervous, I'm sure she said yes to your date.'

Luther sighed, turning on his phone and scrolling through his messages. As his face lit up, he jumped off his seat. 'She said yes!'

Klaus got up and cheered, hugging Luther tightly. 'I knew it! So what time and where?'

'Ah- Uhm. Why... do you need to know?' Luther paused.

'Cause we're coming to watch.'

'No, no, no. I don't need you two spying on me. I'm already nervous as it is.'

'Yeah, Klaus let's just let him be. He's a big boy now.'

'But-'

'Let's give him the space he needs, Luther definitely needs his alone time with his girl.'

Klaus rolled his eyes, 'Okay. Have fun and tell me everything when you get home.'

A smile hasn't fade away since he saw the text; He was grinning widely than ever, never seen him this happy in my entire life. 'This is going to be so awesome!'

'Good luck buddy.' I smiled as I watch him do his little happy dance going up the stairs to get ready.

Klaus groaned, crossing his arms and pouting like a little child. 'Why can't we go spy on Luther?'

'But we are. I just wanted him to think we weren't.' I wanted nothing but the best for Luther, if it meant that he was going to have a perfect night with his perfect date, I was going to be protective of my brother.

'Perfect! I need to get my spy gear on.'

✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤

With the binocular in my hands, I looked into the restaurant Luther picked for the both of them. 'Oh my gosh, he looks so cute with his little bow tie.'

Luther was blushing, talking nervously with Claire. It seemed like it was going well, no awkward moment or embarrassing moment between them.

I looked over at Klaus, who was being too quiet next to me in the passenger's seat. He had a rather thick file in his hand. 'What are you reading?'

'Claire's life.' Klaus chuckled. 'She's smart as hell, really pretty. I'd say we did a pretty good job helping Luther.'

'How did you get a file on her life?'

Klaus smiled innocently, 'Ah. I followed Diego into his ex's job and got Ben to steal it for me.'

'You what?' I leaned my head back, staring at the car ceiling as I sighed. 'Klaus, Eudora is my friend. If she finds out that you stole someone's files from the police department, she'd hate me.'

'My bad, Y/N. If it makes you feel better, Ben rejected me a bunch of times. I made a deal with him that he could take over my body for three hours for the files.'

'Whatever.' Looking through the binoculars again, I asked him another question. 'So you didn't ask Diego to get it for you?'

Klaus shook his head. 'Nah, if I ever told him I knew he'd want to come with us to stalk Luther. I wanted some Klaus Y/N alone time.'

'Aw.' I said but immediately stopped. 'Are you saying this to make me forgive you?'

'Is it working?'

'Depends how the night goes.' After a sarcastic smile, I snatched the file off of his hand. 'Why did you want to steal this anyway?'

'You ask so many questions.'

'I know.'

It was rare for Klaus to do "the responsible thing", that was more of a me, Allison or Five's criteria. I couldn't think of a possible reason why he'd go out of his way to take a file to investigate on this girl.

'It's Luther, you know. I wanted to make sure he was going out with someone that won't screw him over again.'

'That's the nicest thing you've ever said.'

'Luther better appreciate this because I'm not going to jail for this shit.'

I smiled at my brother. 'Don't worry. I gotchu.'

A loud scream came from the entrance of the restaurant, Luther approaching us quickly as he eyed the both of us.

'Duck!' I yelled at Klaus as we tried to hide ourselves from his sight.

'Don't bother. I saw you guys from the restaurant!' Luther said as he knocked on the window. 'Why are you guys here? You told me you wouldn't come.'

'I know, I know.' I rolled the window down and squealed as I reached for his bow tie. 'I just couldn't resist! You look so adorable, brother.'

He grunted, 'Stop. Guys go home, you're going to ruin this date with the woman that I love.'

'Woah! Love!?' Klaus and I said in sync.

Luther covered his mouth. He mumbled into his hand. 'Pretend I didn't say that!'

'Pretend?' I laughed, 'Luther. I can't pretend, I'm sorry. That was sort of funny. A little little little bit cute but mostly funny as hell.'

Klaus reached over me to grab onto his hand. 'Dude, you're already whipped but that's okay. But Y/N's right. It's a bit funny not going to lie.'

'I'm whipped?' Luther cocked his head. 'I don't do that sort of foreplay during se-'

'Luther, that's not what it means!'

[handwrittenhello]

gave you wings

T, Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer, 4k, modern-with-magic AU. When Geralt is woken one morning by a crow tapping at his window, he finds that it's no ordinary crow--it's a shifter, bound in animal form by a nasty spell.

read here on ao3, or below:

---

Geralt was roused from sleep by something persistent tapping at his window. With a groan, he rolled over—catching sight of his alarm clock flashing 3:48 as he did—and went to investigate.

He hoped it wasn’t one of the local kids again—lately they’d become far too fond of daring each other to throw rocks at his windows. It almost made him long for the times when witchers were feared and hated—nobody would dare risk provoking him so stupidly.

When he opened the window, though, it wasn’t kids throwing rocks—no, a crow sat on his windowsill, a pebble clutched in its beak, which it promptly dropped when it saw Geralt.

“Scram,” Geralt muttered, waving it away, but all it did was hop sideways a bit before letting out a loud caw.

Geralt furrowed his brow. “Get out of here,” he said a bit louder, trying to shoo it away again. It deftly avoided his hands, flapping a little to maintain balance on the narrow sill, before hopping onto his hands and letting out an even louder CAW.

This was no ordinary crow. Why else would it be tapping on his window so early in the morning, and so unafraid of his closeness? “Fuck,” he muttered, and left the window open while he went to brew a pot of coffee.

--

The crow seemed quite at home perched atop his kitchen counter, watching him with its beady eyes as he leaned back against the fridge and downed a cup of heavily sugared coffee. “So,” Geralt finally said, setting down his mug on the counter. “What’s so important that you got me out of bed at four in the morning for?”

The crow drew itself up and ruffled its feathers, as if readying itself for a speech. It was a strangely human gesture—Geralt was reminded that they wouldn’t get very far with the crow not being able to speak.

“Hm. Can you even understand me?” Geralt backtracked, earning himself an indignant look and a low rattling sound. But the crow bobbed its head up and down in a sure nod. “But you can’t speak.” Another nod.

The crow hopped closer, then, until it was almost atop Geralt’s hand lying on the countertop. Geralt caught a flash of something shiny around its leg—was there something wrapped around it? But when he made to reach for it, the crow skittered backwards, making another low rattle and fluffing up its feathers.

“It’s alright, I just want to look,” Geralt soothed, stilling his hand. The rattle stopped, and the bird hopped hesitantly closer. Geralt waited for it to come to him, motionless and patient. Only when it perched on his hand did he bring it closer, peering intently at its leg.

A silver chain, so fine as to be nearly invisible to the eye, wound its way around the crow’s leg. This close, he could see the barely-there, shimmering aura around it—it was surely enchanted. Likely a binding charm—chains rarely served any other purpose in spells.

Geralt whistled lowly. “No ordinary crow, then,” he surmised, though he’d already known. “Human?”

The crow rattled its displeasure at the term—so it wasn’t transfigured, then. But it was still clearly sentient—

“Ah,” Geralt said, an idea dawning. “A shifter.”

Sometimes called weyr, in the old tongue—as survived in words like werewolf—the species was exceedingly rare. Even before monsters and chaos had dwindled down to nearly nothing, one would be hard-pressed to encounter a shifter, let alone recognize one upon seeing it. In human form, they were indistinguishable from anyone else, by the naked eye or by magic. They retained their wits in their animal form, too, so unless one was careless enough to be seen shifting, it was nigh impossible for them to be caught.

Their rarity had made them a target by mages and non-mages alike—they were either hunted in hopes of harnessing their unique connection to chaos, or else were pursued by the ignorant who feared anything strange.

It was nothing short of a miracle, one showing up at Geralt’s door (or window, rather).

“Someone caught you. A mage,” Geralt guessed. Only a powerful magic user would be able to bind a shifter so thoroughly. “But why are you here?”

The crow cawed and launched itself towards Geralt’s throat. Geralt jerked his head back, but he had nothing to fear—the crow was pecking at the witcher medallion that lay in the hollow of his throat.

“My friend, you’d be far better off going to a mage. I have skill with breaking curses, but none so complex as yours,” Geralt confessed.

The crow let out an ear-splitting screech. Geralt slammed his hands over his ears. That would be a resounding no, then. He decided not to broach the matter of payment just then.

He eyed the crow, wary of another reaction. When none was forthcoming, he cautiously lowered his hands, the crow watching him intently all the while—waiting for an answer.

“I’ll help you,” Geralt decided. Well, he had decided the moment he’d let the crow inside, really, but it was easier to pretend he’d made an informed decision. “May I see the charm again?”

The crow obliged, fidgeting in place but mostly managing to hold still while Geralt inspected the chain. Though it was fine, he doubted it would be as simple as snapping it—that didn’t stop him from trying anyway, though the moment he touched it, the crow screeched and beat him back with its wings, before retreating to atop the fridge. There it huddled, fussing fretfully at its leg—and then Geralt saw, almost obscured by feathers but visible when looking for it, the dark skin beneath the chain, the blackened marks that resulted from a bad burn.

“Enchanted and cursed, then. I apologize.” The crow glared at him, not moving from its spot stop the fridge and out of reach. “I won’t touch it again. I promise,” Geralt vowed, sorry that he had caused any pain in the first place.

The crow huffed, but flapped back down to the counter. It watched Geralt, waiting for his next move.

“Come with me,” Geralt said, grabbing his jacket and keys.

--

The crow gripped the handlebars of Geralt’s motorbike tightly, the wind whipping past and threatening to dislodge it. It kept starting to open its wings, only to force them closed again, as if it was reminding itself that it wasn’t actually flying. Geralt kept a close watch anyway, afraid that if he took a turn too sharply or revved the engine too suddenly, the crow would be thrown off and crushed beneath the wheels of another vehicle.

Should’ve taken a taxi, Geralt thought to himself, but it was too late now. They were already on the freeway to Vengerberg, where a certain violet-eyed sorceress kept a summer home. He supposed he could have called ahead, but he still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of cell phones—always forgot it whenever he went anywhere—and besides, Yennefer always appreciated a good surprise.

Geralt chased the sun east, watching as the horizon in front of him slowly went from indigo blue to purple to stunning gold as the sun rose. They crossed the border into Aedirn sometime mid-morning, and Geralt pulled over to a rest stop to refuel and grab something to eat.

The crow perched atop his shoulder as he entered the gas station, preening its feathers into place after being disturbed by the wind. The attendant stared openly, though Geralt was sure she must have seen weirder. He ignored it and grabbed a packet of sunflower seeds for the crow and some beef jerky for himself.

“Five sixty-eight,” the attendant said when he came up to the register, followed by, “Nice pet.”

The crow looked up from its preening and cawed loudly at her.

“He’s not a pet,” Geralt said mildly, then grabbed his food and left. While he stretched his legs out at a picnic table, the crow stretched its wings, flapping in circles above his head. Every so often, it would land briefly on the table and peck at the sunflower seeds Geralt had scattered there, before returning to its circling.

Geralt ate his jerky leisurely, and debated going back in for a soda.

--

After half an hour, Geralt felt they had delayed long enough. The crow was likely anxious to get going, and Geralt would be lying if he said he wasn’t as well. He got to his feet and whistled for the crow, which had steadily flown in greater and greater circles, and had since disappeared briefly from sight. Geralt wasn’t overly worried—until the crow didn’t show up. Geralt wished he knew what to call it—he would’ve felt stupid calling it ‘crow’.

He whistled again, louder and longer this time. Nothing happened for one second, two, and then Geralt heard it, and only thanks to his enhanced senses—frantic cawing and flapping wings among the trees behind the rest stop.

He broke out into a run, pushing aside the thin branches that snapped at his face as he fought his way through the undergrowth. The cawing was near, now, and Geralt heard tense voices accompanying.

“The cage—get the cage—!”

Geralt broke through the trees to a small clearing, stopping stunned at the sight in front of him. A silver woven net lay tangled in a heap on the ground in one corner, and opposite was a steel cage, door hanging open and waiting for an occupant. There were feathers scattered everywhere, and Geralt smelled traces of blood in the air.

And in the middle of the clearing was the source of the commotion—the crow flapped wildly above the heads of two men, talons extended and trying to scratch at their faces, while they flailed about with nets, not unlike the kind used to catch insects, though a bit bigger. A third man, older, wizened, stood apart, his eyes closed in concentration as he muttered something under his breath. Geralt’s breath caught in his throat.

Stregobor.

It had been centuries since Geralt had seen him, though he’d heard plenty about his latest exploits in the news—he was said to be making great strides in magical research, investigating transformative magic and its applications. Geralt had often tuned it out, but now it all made sense—if he wasn’t the one who had bound the crow shifter to a single form for some nefarious purpose, Geralt would eat his bike.

He wasted no time in instantly tackling Stregobor to the ground, disrupting the spell he was casting. The crow seemed to be holding its own against the two men with nets for the time being, though Geralt knew he needed to hurry—the scent of blood was growing stronger, the crow actively bleeding. He had the element of surprise, and didn’t waste it—he grappled with Stregobor, surprised at the strength the old mage still had even after so many centuries.

There was a sudden cry of pain behind him—Geralt thought it was human and not avian, but he couldn’t tell for sure. It distracted him momentarily, and that was all Stregobor needed to shout something in Elder that had Geralt flying backwards.

His back hit the ground hard, stunning him for half a second. Stregobor got to his feet, brushing the debris from his clothes—he still wore robes, even after all this time—and shot a bolt of light towards the crow.

It hit it in the wing, sending it tumbling out of the air in a heap of feathers. One of the men with a net—the only one still standing, the other writhing on the ground and clutching his bleeding face—slammed his net down onto the motionless crow with far too much force.

Geralt caught his breath and rolled to his feet, launching himself at the man that had the crow captive. He knocked him unconscious easily with a swift blow to the head, but that was as far as he got before Stregobor sent another pulse of magic towards him.

He dodged. It missed him by a hair, screaming past his head and exploding against a tree behind him.

“Stay out of this, witcher,” Stregobor warned, readying another spell. “This doesn’t have to concern you.”

“Let the shifter go and you’ll never have to see me again.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Stregobor replied, and threw the spell at Geralt. Geralt dodged again, but too slowly—it clipped his arm. Hot, agonizing pain spread from the area.

If this turned into a fight between magic and witcher skills, there was no question who would win. Geralt made a snap decision, scooping the crow off the ground and darting out of the clearing, heading back towards the rest stop.

Stregobor was hopefully depleted after the many spells he had already cast—Geralt could only hope that he wasted the rest of his energy by chasing him through the brush. If they could just get to Yennefer’s…

Sure enough, as he sprinted towards his bike, Geralt heard Stregobor yelling curses behind him. Once or twice a bolt of magic went flying by, but it missed every time.

As Geralt broke through the tree line, he hoped that he had finally lost Stregobor. He straddled his bike and tucked the crow inside his jacket, hissing in apology when he jarred the crow’s injured wing. With a roar of the engine he peeled out onto the freeway, speeding east to Vengerberg.

--

Though there was nobody pursuing them, Geralt still felt hunted as he pulled his bike into Yennefer’s expansive driveway. He all but ran to her door, pounding urgently on it, regretting not calling ahead so that she knew to expect them.

Luckily, she answered only moments later. “Do you have wards up?” was the first thing Geralt asked.

“Yes. Do you know how alarming it is for that to be the first thing you say after not seeing each other for months?” Yennefer asked, beckoning him in.

“Have to be sure,” Geralt grunted. “Got a problem, and I don’t know if I was followed.”

“Would it kill you to bring flowers or wine instead of a problem every time you come by?” Yennefer sighed. “What is it?”

Geralt unzipped his jacket and carefully extracted the crow. It was no longer unconscious, but drowsy would be an understatement—it looked on the verge of a coma, eyes half-closed and breathing shallow. A few loose feathers drifted to the ground.

“Pest Services might be more apt,” Yennefer started to say, but paused when the silver chain caught her eye. “Ah. Binding spell? Friend of yours?”

“No. I’m for hire,” Geralt said, conveniently leaving out the part where he’d received no such payment. “It’s a shifter. Wanted by Stregobor—probably for research.”

The skin around Yennefer’s eyes tightened ever so slightly—he dared to call it concern for the shifter—and she gritted her teeth—and that he knew was deep-rooted hatred for Stregobor.

“Bring him to my workroom.”

He followed her upstairs, where she kept most of her magical equipment. With a wave of her hand, she cleared the books and various sundries from the worktable against the wall, and indicated for Geralt to lay the crow down on it. He did so carefully, mindful of its injuries, and hesitantly stepped back. Yennefer didn’t appreciate hovering, but he couldn’t fight back his protective instincts that had been roaring ever since the fight.

Yennefer leaned over the crow, inspecting. Her hands went to the chain, and Geralt’s heart skipped a beat. “Don’t,” he warned, stepping forward and reaching out as if to physically stop her.

“I know,” she snapped back. “Believe it or not, I’ve seen a binding spell or two in my time, Geralt.” But she showed demonstrably more care in handling the crow, then, lest he become alarmed again.

She moved on to inspecting the crow’s wing, then, frowning at what she saw. “This was a magical injury, yes?”

“Yes. One of Stregobor’s spells—it was a bolt of light, caught it in the wing.”

“Well, lucky for it, the damage is physical only, from what I can tell. Stregobor likely meant to stun it only. Hence the lifelessness. It’ll wear off within the hour.”

Geralt let out a sigh of relief at hearing the diagnosis. Physical injuries, those he knew what to expect, how to deal with them. Now what worried him most was the binding spell.

“And the chain? Can you remove it without hurting it?”

Yennefer pursed her lips. “No. It’s an extremely strong bond—the sort not taken as a trifle. Forging a connection like this without the shifter’s consent…” She shook her head. “It’s a violation of the worst sort, Geralt.”

Geralt’s heart thudded in his chest. He wet his lips. “So what do we do?” He gazed at the poor crow, looking so small and hopeless where it lay. He couldn’t put words to his horror—being bound body and soul, and to Stregobor, no less.

“There are… theories, things I’ve read, but you have to understand,” Yennefer said, pinning his gaze, “I don’t suggest what I’m about to lightly.”

A pit formed in Geralt’s stomach. “What is it?” It couldn’t be worse than the binding spell, could it?

“If we formed another bond, one even stronger than this, it would give us room to throw off the old one. But the strength required… it would be ironclad, unbreakable. The shifter would spend the rest of its very long life bound to us.”

Even now, some eight hundred years later, Geralt thought back to the djinn in Rinde, to the connection that had once bound their destinies together, and he knew she was remembering it too. “Yen…” he trailed off. How did he put it to words? How did he express his understanding, acknowledge that she was trying to help, while warning her of doing the same thing she’d opposed so strongly then?

But then, looking into her eyes and seeing the haunted look there, he knew that he didn’t have to. She had already had this conversation with herself, and, seeing no other option, had accepted her role as becoming exactly what she hated.

A weak croak caught their attention. Geralt looked over and saw that the crow was looking slightly more lively—it had managed to sit up, at least, though it still looked bedraggled and unsteady. “Are you feeling any better?” he asked, and received a delayed nod. Then a thought struck him. “Yen, can you…?”

“Read his thoughts? I would, but they’re too muddled. I don’t know if it’s the result of the spell or if it’s always like this in animal form. I’ve never met a shifter personally, and gods know there’s hardly any literature on them.”

The crow got shakily to its feet, and before either Geralt or Yennefer could stop it, it flew up to perch on Geralt’s shoulder, nuzzling in close to his neck. He instinctively put a hand up to cradle it in place—the last thing it needed was to fall off.

“Well, then? Clearly it’s gotten attached,” Yennefer said, arching an eyebrow.

“I don’t—I don’t know.” How could he make this decision? It was too big, too important. He held the shifter’s life in his hands, and the knowledge terrified him.

The crow nipped him on the ear. “Ow,” Geralt complained, but was drowned out by the crow cawing in his ear. He suddenly felt very foolish indeed—the crow had heard them discussing it, must have, and they hadn’t even considered asking it its opinion of the matter. “Hm. I’m sorry that we can’t give you a better option.”

The crow cawed again, softer, and nibbled gently at his ear. It’s alright, it seemed to be saying, or perhaps I understand.

“It’s your decision,” Yennefer said. “I can bind you to us—permanently—in order to break the bond with Stregobor. Or, if you’d rather, you can live out your days here, and I give you my word that no harm will you come to you—though the bond would remain.”

The crow rattled in disgust. It nipped gently once more at Geralt’s ear, then flapped-hopped over to Yennefer’s shoulder, where it began preening her hair. Geralt couldn’t believe that she would allow it, but she made no move to dislodge the crow.

“Is that a yes?” he asked nervously, anticipation curdling in his stomach. The crow stopped its preening, looked directly at Geralt, and bobbed its head up and down neatly.

“Alright,” Yennefer said softly.

--

They cleared out all the furniture for the ritual that would replace the bond. The crow watched them, perched atop the table, until they had to move that too, and then it clung to Geralt’s shoulder as he worked. Finally, the room was clear, and Yennefer drew a large chalk circle on the floor.

Geralt took his designated seat warily, nerves making his skin prickle. Yennefer sat opposite him, legs crossed, while the crow was sat in between. Yennefer dimmed the lights and closed her eyes—he copied her, relying on his other senses.

He smelled smoke as Yennefer lit the bundle of herbs she’d gathered, heard the soft susurrus of the crow’s feathers as it shifted. As she began to chant, he felt the characteristic tingle of magical energy settling over him like a second skin—the bonding had started.

Yennefer’s chanting grew steadily louder, and behind his eyelids Geralt saw the light of the candles flare even brighter. The crow’s fidgeting grew wilder, and little croaks began to make their way out of its throat.

Geralt hoped it wasn’t hurting—and if it was, he hoped it would be over soon.

He himself was in no pain at all, besides the discomfort that came with all magic cast on him. He gritted his teeth and bore it, until all at once it stopped—the candles went out, Yennefer gasped once, and the silver chain around the crow’s leg fell to the floor with a soft clink.

Geralt’s eyes flew open, and where the crow had been only moments before, there was now a pair of legs—bare—and when Geralt followed them upwards, there was an entire man—also bare. Geralt blinked a few times, mind blank, before averting his gaze.

“Well,” the shifter said, smacking his lips. “That was unpleasant.” And Geralt watched as his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed, too quickly for Geralt to catch him.

“He’ll be fine,” Yennefer said, getting to her feet. She swayed a little as she stood, and Geralt ached to steady her—something she would never accept. “The bonding took a lot out of all of us—him most of all.”

Geralt hummed, gathering up the shifter in his arms. He weighed more than he looked—or perhaps Geralt was simply used to his weight as a crow. While Yennefer put her things back in order, Geralt carried the shifter to the guest room, tucking him into bed and feeling strangely fond as he did so.

“It’s the bond,” Yennefer explained, leaning in the doorway and watching the whole affair. She ambled over to the bed and sat down next to the shifter, reaching over to brush a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Can you feel it?”

He could, he realized, when he reached deep inside. Just beside the djinn’s magic that tied him to Yennefer, he felt a fledgling something, a fluttering newness that nipped and tugged at his breastbone.

“That’s him?” Geralt asked, though he didn’t need the confirmation—he knew it as surely as he knew himself.

Yennefer nodded, dropping her arm and standing up. “Leave him to his rest. I imagine he’ll need some time to acclimate to the bond—we all will, for that matter.”

Though Geralt wanted nothing more than to stay and study the shifter, watch over him until he woke, he followed Yennefer out of the room, shutting the door softly so as not to disturb him.

--

The shifter woke some hours later, after Geralt and Yennefer had eaten a late lunch and were debating if it would be worth eating dinner. The shifter stumbled down the stairs, interrupting their discussion, and said, quite plainly, “Are we talking dinner? I’m starving.”

“You’re up,” Yennefer replied. “How are you feeling?”

“Hungry,” the shifter—Geralt really needed to ask his name—answered. “Sunflower seeds are nice and all, but really, nothing compares to a good hot meal.”

He was wrapped in the bedsheet, Geralt realized suddenly. Of course—he had no clothes. It didn’t seem to overly bother him, though, as he crossed the room and promptly deposited himself on Geralt’s lap, wiggling a bit to get comfortable. Geralt’s hands came up automatically to wrap around his waist.

“And your wing?” Yennefer asked.

“Oh, good as new!” the shifter replied cheerily, untangling his arm from the bedsheet and wiggling it in demonstration. “Healed right up as soon as that awful binding spell was gone.” He turned to look at Geralt. “Thank you, by the way. You didn’t have to help me—I know it was a lot of trouble.”

“It’s alright,” Geralt answered. “I wouldn’t leave you to Stregobor.”

The shifter shuddered. Geralt held him a bit tighter. “Ugh. He caught me unaware—normally I’m careful, but this very handsome man bought me a drink, and then another, and then before I knew it I was being manhandled into the back of a car. And I thought, well, can’t be manhandled if I’m not a man, but then he had that awful chain…”

“You’re not the first to fall victim to him. Though binding a shifter to him is a new low,” Yennefer said darkly.

Guilt tightened in Geralt’s gut. It was different, what they had done—but was it really? It was still a bond the shifter had been forced into. He moved the shifter off his lap, ignoring the hurt look that he flashed him. “Need to go for a walk,” Geralt grunted, and headed for the door.

“Don’t mind him,” he heard Yennefer say behind him. “Let him clear his head and then he’ll be back. In the meantime—what do you say to pasta?”

The door shut heavily behind Geralt, cutting off their voices, giving him room to think. The bond still pulsed heartily in his chest, but like this, it was muted enough for him to catch his breath.

How was the shifter so blasé about it? Surely he understood the fact that he was now permanently bound to two strangers?

Geralt jammed his hands in his pockets and started to walk, focusing only on his feet hitting the ground and the evening calls of the bird around him.

By the time his thoughts had settled and he’d made his way back to the house, the sun was setting, and a deep tiredness was settling into his bones. The early morning and excitement of the day were catching up with him.

He could hear Yennefer and the shifter inside, chatting, and hesitated on the doorstep. He suddenly felt as if he were intruding—what right did he have to storm off in the middle of a conversation and expect them to welcome him back seamlessly? Clearly they were getting along just fine without him.

The door opened suddenly and a gust of wind at his back urged him inside. Yennefer. He let her guide him to the kitchen, where the shifter stood washing dishes at the sink and she sat on the counter. “Ah, you’re back!” the shifter said, setting down the plate it was washing.

“Jaskier was just telling me about your trip here. It sounded quite exciting,” Yennefer teased.

“I like a bit of adventure, but I could do without the almost-kidnapping,” Jaskier said, leaning in closer to Geralt. “Lucky I had you there, I suppose.”

“Hm.” Geralt hesitantly lifted an arm, and Jaskier wasted no time in burrowing into his side. “Lucky.”

“And lucky you have such wonderful friends as Yennefer,” Jaskier continued, looking meaningfully at Yennefer. She raised an eyebrow, but hopped off the counter and sidled closer. Geralt let her sink into his side too, holding them both tightly, and felt the thrumming bond inside of him settle in contentment at having them close.

Lucky indeed.