#If i'm being honest-- this is a very long read sksksks so just a heads up!

[nevalizona]

The Donovan Family

Michael Donovan: He is a stern and mean man. He can be loving at times. He worked hard to give himself a better life. He takes his career very seriously. He is a businessman that spends plenty of time at work, he comes home and drinks. He loves his wife Marjorie but doesn’t show it. They can have plenty of days where they are a loving, happy couple but that is usually followed up by him being cruel and cold. He comes from a big family and was expected to have a big family as well. When Marjorie got pregnant with their first child, he was happy. He was proud. He knew this is what he wanted, what she wanted, and what their families wanted. He was older when he had John. Which was fine by him, he had more money, and more stability, than his siblings and cousins, did. Waiting made sense. Marjorie’s pregnancy with John was rough. She was often bedridden and sick. Michael didn’t like seeing his wife be so ill, it frightened him. After John was born they decided that one kid would have to be enough. Michael knew that meant that John was going to have to be everything he ever wanted in a son and more. But quickly, it became obvious that John was a sensitive boy. He clung to his mom and didn’t like to be away from her. He didn’t like playing rough and would rather play alone. Michael did not want his son to turn into some weird loner, so, he made sure John was never alone. John grew up around his cousins, aunts, and uncles. He has more than enough. He learned to get along with others and how to play their games. Michael though especially loved when John showed interest in the water. The Donovans are a very water-loving family. Before John was born, Michael and Marjorie often went to any body of water they could where they would swim for hours. John was no different. As soon as he learned how to swim, he never wanted to get out of the water.

     Michael has always felt distant from John. There was just something about him that stood out to Michael. It wasn’t until John was entering his teen years that it became obvious what that ��thing’ was. There had been whispers amongst the churchgoers that John was... different. Not like the other boys. His soft son was embarrassing the family. An already mean man got meaner. They had never been close, but this was a turning point for John and Michael’s relationship. Michael was constantly trying to toughen his son up. Make a man out of him. But John fought back, he argued. He became rebellious. He’d steal Michael’s booze and drink until he blacked out. Marjorie was horrified, but Michael saw this as John acknowledging his faults. They do not stay close and John goes for extremely long periods where he doesn’t talk to Michael at all. Michael doesn’t regret how he treated his son. If anything, he wishes he could go back and make sure that Marjorie didn’t baby him, maybe he would have turned out differently.

Marjorie Donovan: She is a quiet, God-fearing woman. She grew up in a big family and didn’t mind sinking into the background. She was fine with being forgotten. She tried to not cause any conflict and be a good girl. She spent a lot of time at church and being involved in the community. When she met Michael she was completely enamored by him. He was charming and handsome. He wasn’t the most emotional man in the world, but he treated her alright. They had a fun and casual relationship until he finally asked her to marry him. Quickly she learned that his cold nature was worse than she had thought. He could be so uncaring sometimes. She wanted to start a family not long after they got married, but Michael refused. He said he wanted to make some money so they could comfortably take care of their kids. She understood why he felt that way, but she envied their families for being able to have their own kids and creating units of their own. She daydreamed of the day she would be able to have her own kids. When they finally agreed to start a family, she was ecstatic. Sadly, her pregnancy was much harder than she thought it would have been. She was weak and ill. She could hardly stand to be out of bed. Michael was there by her side often, looking out for her. When he couldn’t be, he made sure that someone from their family was near her. She was glad to have such a loving family, there was no way she could have done this on her own. She also admired her husband’s compassion that came out during this. She was worried that he wouldn’t understand, but it seemed that he was terrified too, he loved her and wanted nothing bad to happen to her. By the time she finally had John, she knew that she didn’t want any more kids. This was a devastating realization. She cried about it for days thinking that this made her a terrible mom. But everyone around her told her, she knows what was best for her. At least she has a son. She decided that she was going to be the best mom she possibly could.

     She took John with her everywhere. Never wanting him to be out of her sight. Her favorite activity was bringing a blanket out to the backyard and reading a book in the sun while he played with toys. It was clear that Michael didn’t like that she was so close to John. He said that it would make him weak. He tried to do everything he could to toughen John up. She hated seeing him be mean to their son. She always tried to step in and stop it, even if that meant Michael’s anger would be turned to her. When she couldn’t step in, she did everything she could to tell John that none of this was his fault. His father’s meanness is his problem and his alone. When rumors started going around the church that John was different than the other boys, she wouldn’t hear it. There was nothing wrong with her son. He wasn’t soft. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t anything other than whatever he wanted to be. She tried her best to be there for him but was absolutely not equipped to handle something like this. She turned to religion but it only confused and angered her more. By the time John had moved out, they weren’t nearly as close as they used to be. No matter how many times she had to rescue him from the bottle, or convince him to come back home when he ran away to their lake house she couldn’t give him the love and acceptance he so desperately needed. They talk to each other on occasion, on the phone mostly. She wishes he had been a better mother. She wishes she would have taken John and ran off to her sisters’. But there’s nothing she can do about it now. She just hopes that one day he can forgive her.    

[marvelsswansong]

summary: you're completely oblivious to how men stare and flirt with you. Steve isn't. But he doesn't care so long as you continue to be his sweet girl.

tags: Steve x bimbo-ish!fem!reader, basically she's a hot feminine girl with no social cues/zero awareness of men's attempts to flirt, so much fucking fluff, implied smut/one sexy-ish scene, Steve being a protective bf

☆ word count: 1.6K+ ☆

-> a/n: does this count as a himbo x bimbo relationship sksksks. I'm just a sucker for bimbo!r fics where the bf is v protective.

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

It's easy for Steve to spot you in the crowd.

The bakery is swarming with people, it being a sunny Friday afternoon, but he's still easily able to pick you apart from the masses: the shiny lip gloss, the short skirt, the click of your black heels on the cobbled floor. The dip of your v-neck shirt and your perfectly manicured nails, your delicate lashes fluttering softly as you nod along cluelessly to another guy attempting to get your attention.

Steve decides to amuse himself for a bit, leaning against the wall out of sight from you to examine the rotation of men trying to flirt. He doesn't blame them - you're walking sin in heels. What with the way your mini skirt flies behind you when you run, exposing your lace panties underneath, or how you giggle and fumble with the silver butterfly necklace on your neck when you're embarassed.

Worst of all, you're not even trying. You're just that sweet, that kind hearted, that... oblivious to how men gawk at you and thirst after you like you're an oasis in the middle of a long-stretching desert.

And right now, the guy at the front is laying it thick with the flirting, but you're not picking up on any of his innuendos.

"So, you work here a lot?" the jet-blacked hair jock questions, leaning against the counter. You smile politely, nodding.

'Weak pick-up line.' Steve thinks.

"Yeah! I've been working here for about a month." is your response, your smile bright and genuine, your voice preppy and dripping with sunshine and honey.

God, you're so damn sweet and cute, Steve thinks.

The guy hums in fake interest.

"So, uh, (Y/n)-" he says, reading the name tag stuck to your work-mandated apron (which honestly does nothing much to cover the skimpy outfit underneath). "How well buttered are your muffins?"

The comment makes Steve cringe internally but you simply frown, cocking your head to the side.

"...None of our muffins are buttered. They contain butter, sure, but we don't put any butter on top." you reply matter-of-factedly, making the cocky smile on the guy's face fall. The raven haired man crumbles like chalk in front of you, before he coughs awkwardly and attempts to regain his confidence.

"No, baby, I meant..." he leans forward, placing his left hand on top of yours this time. "Do you need any help getting your muffins buttered? Because I am very good with my hands."

Your eyes light up at his comment, but not for the reason the guy hopes for.

"OHHHH.... are you here for the job opening? For the baker's assistant position, right?" you say cheerily, turning around to take the 'help wanted' poster off of the wall. The guy starts to refuse, shaking his head sideways but you're not even looking at him, your eyes fixated on the poster. "It seems that you're in luck, the deadline doesn't close for another week."

You thrust the piece of paper into the man's hands, before resuming your place behind the register.

"Will that be all?" you ask sweetly. It could read to others as sassy and savage, but the funny truth is that you mean no malice: you're being wholly genuine and honest. But the line has only gotten longer and the mother holding a small child coughs sternly behind the man, forcing him to bow his head in shame and walk away. The sight makes Steve let out a quiet laugh, the defeated look on the creep's face a sweet victory for him.

Steve decides to make himself visible then, waving at you from the back, your smile widening instantly as you spot him.

"Connor, can I take my break now?" you yell into the kitchen as another co-worker takes your spot at the register. As soon as your boss yells out a "yes", you're throwing the apron down and running up to Steve. You hug him fiercely, your arms wrapping around his neck as Steve lets out a quiet "oomph" at the force and speed with which you hug him.

"I thought you had work until 6 today." you mumble into his neck, not letting go of your boyfriend's body. Steve chuckles, running a hand down your back as he breathes in your familiar scent. Floral and citrus sweetness - a blend of vanilla, cinnamon and peaches.

"I got off early and wanted to surprise you, sweet girl." he responds, pulling away to peck you lightly on the lips. You whine at that, never satisfied with a light kiss as you tug him back down by the collar of his shirt, modesty be damned. The kiss is intoxicating and hungry, your hands traveling down his chest as you mould your lips against his, practically backing him against the wall.

Steve has to be the one to lightly tap your shoulders and push you off of him, a light red blush coating his cheeks as you frown and pout your lower lip forward.

"Why'd we stop?" you whine, completely unaware of the fact that half of the store is staring at you and Steve.

"We gotta save the... heavy kissing for places that aren't crawling with kids and families. Alright, angel?" he suggests lightly, smiling as he pats your cheek with his left hand.

You sigh dramatically, before you let out an excited gasp.

"Can we go get dessert then? I saw that there's a new ice cream store in town and Robin's been too busy with Vickie." you complain, crossing your arms across your chest. The motion causes your shirt to ride up, exposing more of your waist, which Steve quickly covers with an arm around your torso.

"Of course. Whatever you want."

You give him a dazzling smile, one that never fails to make his stomach churn and his mind buzz, before he laces his fingers with yours and guides you into the front seat of his BMW.

When you two arrive at the ice cream store, the cashier refuses to let you pay after taking one quick look at you. You accept the free dessert with a bright smile and before the guy can even attempt to ask you for your number, you're pulling Steve's hand and asking the poor guy in front of you if your boyfriend can also get the ice cream for free.

Steve has to suppress his laugh: it's happened so many times at this point that it's amusing to see you accept discounts and free food/drinks from thirsty men, never even questioning why they'd offer you that in the first place, before dragging Steve along into it.

Afterwards, you insist on sitting on the roof of Steve's BMW to watch the sun set whilst eating ice cream. But it's hard for Steve to focus on what you're saying - or for him to eat his own damn ice cream - when you're sitting with your legs thrown over his lap, your tongue dragging across the sweet dessert slowly in between sentences.

A firey desire lights up in his stomach as you slowly lick the top and drag your tongue down the side, letting out a satisfied moan at the taste. The knowledge that you're doing it naturally - that you're not even trying to tease him or anyone else - makes the sight even more erotic and Steve's not the only one to have noticed.

Feeling the prickly stares of a group of junior boys parked across the street, Steve makes it a point to twist his back and shoot a deathly glare at them. The boys are quick to avert their gaze after that and Steve feels satisfication seep in.

"And I told Dustin that I think- hello. Stevieeeeee." you sing song, waving your hand over his face. "Are you even listening to me?" you pout.

"I'm sorry, yes, I promise I'm listening."

You let out a disatisfied 'hmph' at that, a sour expression appearing on your face, which he's quick to dismiss by kissing you tenderly.

"I'm sorry I got a little bit distracted." he mumbles against your lips as you sigh. Taking another slow lick from your cone, you raise your eyebrows.

"What were you distracted by?"

It's such an innocent question, one which makes him chuckle, fingers brushing against the pads of your knees.

"You, of course."

The comment makes you smile shyly, your gaze dropping to the floor - six months into dating and you're still not good at receiving your boyfriend's compliments.

"Oh.... I guess then, uh, that's okay to be distracted. If it's me."

Steve's fingers lazily play with the edges of your skirt, his gaze flickering in between admiring the fabric and your gorgeous face.

"You have no idea, do you?" Steve finally questions, referring to your effect on men and all the attention you've been getting the whole day. You shrug your shoulders at the question, biting your lower lip.

"No idea about what?" you genuinely ask, confused.

"Never mind." he responds, biting into his ice cream. Steve's quick to then sit you on his lap as the sun finally sets on Hawkins, his arms wrapping around your shoulders as you complain about it starting to get cold.

"I know another way we can get warm." Steve suggests into your ear, biting your shoulder. You frown at that before your back straightens and you turn around excitedly.

"Oh, I know this from last time! You want to have sex." you practically announce for the whole parking lot. A few passerbys even shoot the two of you a dirty glare.

"Yeah, baby, but you don't need to shout it out loud." he chuckles into your skin as you smile sheepishly.

"Oops. Sorry."

"No worries." he says, sliding you off his lap before winking at you. "You can save the screaming for later, my sweet girl."

[ajokeformur-ray]

So... how about a empathetic reader who works in the same hospital that Arthur is at the end of the movie? Like, she is the lastest one who takes care of him, or something like that. Pretty please? And, can it have like kisses and fluff stuff? I'M WEAR FOR ARTHUR FLECK.

Swearing, complete inaccuracies with the legal system (creative license is my excuse and I’m sticking to it but if the lack of policies in this Arkham piece will bother you (like undoing his handcuffs because they’re hurting him, bringing food in for him, kissing him etc, I’d advise skipping it sksksks), Arthur smokes, SPOILERS and I think that’s it. I’m not sure if this is relevant but just in case - the reader has a flexible morality and some parts of the narrative are questionable. This is intentional. Also - the staff and hospital is described as being a total shit show because it’s what works for this piece sksksks I took a lot of liberties with this one lmao.

Also, as always, I teared up at this GIF. He’s so beautiful and so hurt and most of the film could have been avoided if someone had just hugged him ohhh :(((

Word count: 2, 638.

“Oh, here, Arthur,” You leaned across the cold metal table with your lighter, cupping a hand in the air underneath the tobacco end of the cigarette, which was already dangling from Arthur’s thin lips, “Let me get that for you.” You lit it easily, your hands steadier than you had thought that they would be. Immediately did Arthur’s lips purse as he took a long deep drag of the cigarette; his hypnotic green eyes closing in relief at that first hit of nicotine. 

It was close to three in the afternoon and you were the only staff member in the whole of Arkham State Hospital who was nice to Arthur. Everyone else treated him the way that he was used to - like he was a freak, a disease, someone to be watched and not extended a single modicum of kindness. But you… you had been warned away from ‘that one’. All you had seen upon first meeting Arthur was a man broken down by the world, a man who had said fuck the world and given into his impulses, his truest self, when he could no longer stand how the world had treated him and if you were being honest with yourself, you couldn’t deny that his motives behind the murder of public figure Murray Franklin made sense to you. He had been publicly humiliated and scorned and in a fit of rage had he finally expressed all that had been against him from the very start. You had read his case file extensively after being told to avoid him by almost everyone - staff members and patients alike (the more coherent ones, at least) - and you had come to one decision after a few weeks of fighting against yourself:

You were going to be kind to Arthur Fleck.

You hadn’t told anyone about your decision. It wasn’t because you were afraid of what people would think of you, but it was because you didn’t care about their opinions. None of them had bothered to try to understand him, whereas you were going to be kind to Arthur because he intrigued you; you were a naturally empathetic person and you had a soft spot for the slightly damaged and the broken. You couldn’t watch a film if animals were harmed in it; even obviously animated animals getting hurt made you cry in horror and disgust. You couldn’t handle the sight of pain in others and to see so much of it in one case file and to then be presented with the man himself walking hunched into his own body; his shoulders curved inwards, his head down, his feet shuffling instead of his taking proper steps was just too much for you to take. You had cried over a good eighty percent of his case file, your heart breaking for this one man. Never had you felt such a strong undeniable urge to protect someone before. You lamented the fact that you hadn’t met him before this day; surely if you had, this whole thing could have been avoided. It was like Arthur was apologising for his own existence in the way that he tried to occupy as little physical space as possible. To see the evidence of Arthur’s life in one manilla file and to then meet the man himself had been all the information you had needed to decide that people were wrong about him. He had done bad things, this was true, and you took great care to remind yourself of the fact that this man had brutally murdered people, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to ostracise him for it. What he had done wasn’t excusable and you couldn’t condone his actions even to yourself, but his descent was explainable.

So sure of your decision had you chucked yourself down the rabbit hole head first without even considering the implications on your continued employment at Arkham State Hospital if anyone came to learn of your affections for Arthur. You took on sole responsibility of his case, you bought him quality cigarettes with your own money, you bought him in food that you had made yourself… You told no one of these things, of the little ways in which you tried your best to take care of him despite all he had done to wind up here. Once that white door had closed upon you and Arthur for his daily therapy sessions were you granted privacy with each other. You recorded your conversations but the two of you had learned to read each other relatively quickly and as such, those moments where the verbal conversation lulled to a temporary halt were moments in which you had a discussion with your eyes, your hand reaching across the table to touch the back of his. You were careful to unlock Arthur’s handcuffs much of the time so that the chains didn’t clink against the cold metal table; though the metal bracelets were still secured around his wrists, you separated him from the chain so he had some freedom of movement in these sessions. Having spent much of his childhood being chained to radiators and the like, you were sure that his trauma would be triggered by being restrained to a table. You helped Arthur in any way you could and before you knew it, months had gone by and you were well and truly caught in the spider’s web.

Arthur pulled the cigarette away from his mouth and tilted his head up towards the ceiling to exhale; the wispy tendrils of smoke curling gently before they dissipated in the cool air of the impersonal, stark room. “Thank you.” The words were quietly spoken and your trained ears picked up on a soft note of gratitude as he allowed some emotions to creep into his voice. You smiled by way of saying ‘you’re welcome’ and distracted yourself while you willed yourself not to blush by opening the daily used case file which was thicker now with therapy sessions shoved in the back. The notes were all loose leaf and you despaired at the lack of care being shown towards Arthur. What was the point of keeping him here if no one was going to take their government appointed responsibility seriously? The head of Arkham may as well have let Arthur out for all the good the establishment was doing for him. 

“Have you eaten lunch?”

“No,” A sigh. His lack of elaboration in answer to your raised eyebrow had told you everything that you needed to know - he had either not been hungry at the time or he had been denied a meal. You cared little for what the reason was so long as he could eat now. Arthur took another drag on his cigarette, a quicker one this time, and he turned his head upwards once more to exhale; he was considerate of your distaste for his smoking and showed his gratitude in your supplying him with cigarettes despite your personal views on the habit by showing you great courtesy when he did smoke in front of you. You couldn’t have denied him this one vice if you had tried - goodness knew how mad you would go if you couldn’t have your own fix every day. 

You reached under the table with one hand, keeping your eyes on Arthur’s as you fumbled in your bag and pulled out a Tupperware box. The box was see through and you saw a light come into Arthur’s eyes which had nothing to do with the harsh overheads which could have used a gentler light bulb; for all the patients here which struggled with over stimulation and light sensitivity, staff showed little concern. Gotham was a total shit show and you hated everything about the suffocating place. It seemed that, even though Arkham State Hospital was on the outskirts of Gotham, it was still susceptible to the same toxins which circulated throughout the city. You set the box down, pushing it towards Arthur, and moved to separate his handcuffs from the chain. Your gaze, which was still holding his, very clearly said, you know the rules and he nodded once slowly, a smirk on his face, to show his understanding. 

You were the only staff member Arthur would ‘behave’ for and often were you called in at odd hours off the clock to ‘sort the fucking clown out’. You didn’t mind, not really. You had gained some strange reputation in Arkham and even the meaner patients, the ones who were especially volatile and unpredictable, left you alone. It hadn’t taken you long to figure out that Arthur had given you some kind of honourary protection in your taking on his case, though you suspected that it was more the way you treated him which had granted you this unofficial protection, and less to do with the fact that you had his case file.

Arthur peered into the box and looked sharply back up at you. “How did you know that this was my favourite food?”

You smiled and shrugged. “I pay attention. Eat. You must be starving.” You pushed plastic cutlery his way - you couldn’t get proper utensils past security no matter what you said to them - and leaned back in your chair, glancing over the therapy notes from yesterday with curiosity. You used the notes to hide the way your eyes were fixed on Arthur’s face. You were far too invested in him for your own good and though you knew it couldn’t end well, you were determined to see it through to the very end, come what may.

At the first hesitant bite did Arthur’s eyes flutter closed as he chewed and you smiled. “Good?”

“So good,” He took a second, bigger bite and your smile widened as affection bloomed in your chest.

Silence fell once more as Arthur ate, punctuating his bites with drags on his cigarette, which was almost down to the filter now. He coughed lightly at one point and though he hadn’t said anything, you hadn’t needed him to as you reached into your bag, unscrewed the cap top and put the plastic bottle of water in front of Arthur. 

Half of his food was left in the tub as he looked at the water. There was something in his eyes which you were having trouble reading.

“What is it, lo - Arthur?” You had almost slipped up, called him love and the way Arthur smirked up at you briefly before he looked back to the water told you that he had noticed your near mistake. There was no denying it if he ever decided to call you out on what you had just almost said. You knew even without really thinking about it that you wouldn’t deny anything he accused you of in this vein; all of it was true. All of it.

“You’re always so kind to me,” He frowned down at the table, nimble fingers plucking at the chain you had released him from so that he could eat without having to sit uncomfortably. 

“Well, yeah, it’s my job. I took an oath to care for - “

Staring off into space, his cigarette burnt out now, the end smouldering but still lightly held between his nicotine stained fingers, did Arthur shake his head. “No,” He interrupted you, “This is more than an oath of care.” He turned his head to meet your eyes full on and with a cocky smirk tugging at the edges of his mouth did he say, “You better be careful.”

Anger rose quickly and you almost said something but then you caught another hint of some emotion flash through his eyes, like a trick of the light did he school his facial expressions so fast. You saw a desperate pleading, you saw… you saw need. Arthur wasn’t warning or threatening you, he was asking you to be careful. If you both got caught, if you got found out on supplying a patient with food made outside the premises or buying and lighting him cigarettes - which were allowed within the hospital but only a specific brand not available to the public domain - if you got caught letting him out of the chains just so he could move a little freer, if you got caught having personal conversations with him, it’d all be over. You’d be taken off the case, more than likely dismissed or fired or transferred elsewhere, and you would never see Arthur again. He would lose the only good in his life - a secret though it was, it was his good. 

In short, Arthur watched as you saw through his mask, through his cryptic statements, You saw him and he felt an unfamiliar heat blooming in his chest. So closely was he staring at you that he saw the precise moment of understanding dawn on your face and he smirked with pride. He could always count on you to understand.

In the end, you didn’t answer him verbally. You held a cigarette out to him, the filter facing him, and you held his green oceans as he parted his lips and allowed you to place the filter between them. You lit the cigarette with a slight shake to your hand and Arthur moved somewhat awkwardly to rest his hand over yours, the lighter firm in your grip.

“Thank you.” He wasn’t just thanking you for the cigarettes and you both knew it.

“You’re welcome.” You smiled and Arthur felt an urge to kiss you. He followed it and used his grip on you to pull you down to his eye level. You gasped, shocked by the sudden movement; your heart began to pound but you weren’t afraid. “Arthur, what - “

“Shshsh, I’m not going to hurt you.” He smirked, the expression at complete odds with how softly he had reassured you in that same moment, and took the cigarette from his mouth, tilting his head and upper body backwards using the back of the metal chair to exhale, keeping the toxins as far from you as he could given how closely you were now. You were leaning over the table, your belt buckle pressed against your stomach, your face close to Arthur’s. “I’m going to kiss you. Is that okay?”

The look in his eyes told you that he was serious about kissing you but if you didn’t want to, he wouldn’t make you. He would just never ask you for anything like this again. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity for him; never again would anybody see him and care for him the way that you did.

“Okay.” A breathy exhale and Arthur smiled. It was a real, genuine smile and you felt your own lips quirking upwards in reply. You met in the middle, neither of you consciously moving, and your lips barely grazed each other’s. He kissed you so slowly, so slowly, that it made your heart bleed for him. He had a big heart, this you had come to know, and as you pulled away from him with the desperate need for oxygen did you meet his eyes again. His eyes roamed about your face as if he was desperately trying to memorise your face in this moment and that look in your eyes. “How about we get you out of here, hm?”

A look of confusion, a startled laugh, and Arthur nodded his head in agreement. Yes. It was high time that the Crown Prince of Gotham got back to work. The city needed him, after all, and he needed you. It would take weeks of careful planning, an elaborate distraction and a getaway car with a willing driver to get him out of Arkham, but he was a Joker and you were the ace up his sleeve.

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[system-of-a-feather]

Sksksks yeah honestly XD To be honest shes one of my two extreme special needs cockatiels I have and there isn't a day I go where I watch her and her partner interact htat I don't go "wtf that is not a normal behavior".

Like for example, at this very moment I'm typing this. Avery, a bird who don't know how to bathe is APPARENTLY showing all of the bathing behavior.... against... a toy????? Functionably I suppose it does an okay job of helping remove dust and dander, but NOW Lucy is confused by her behavior since its yet another atypical "off" behavior and he has always shown market interest in meeting her where shes at with her weird behavior, and NOW shes yelling and getting mad at him for being too close to her while she was bathing and he's straight up just confused - just as I am. Because I have had her for 6+ years and my memory could be failing me, but I don't think I've ever seen her do the actual bathing motions in response to anything and yet here she is - apparently having it registered intrinsically in her mind, but apparently only... at a toy.... and not... water....??? Interesting and NOTED.

I could very very much go on a long list of the absolutely ODD behavior these two display as a pair because for the most part, she is mostly rehabilitated both socially toward me and enough towards people as a whole and socially integrated back into bird life so she lives a pretty normal "bird life" on a surface level until you look at the weird and strange nuances in behavior that are just bizarre. Like for a cockatiel pair, most cockatiels only preen the neck and head area of their partner - these guys however, they literally go down to what would be essentially the privates and underwings cause.... reasons I guess. Plus Avery is EXTREMELY vocal for a female and will yell at males singing because she actually actively hates and gets irrate at the sound of males courting - that to the point she will hiss and flare at her partner when he so much as does the slightest "I am gonna sing for you" foot step. Of course he's stubborn and does it ANYWAYS and then she yells at him but its a routine the two seem to be cool with XD

But ANYWAYS as I said, I could go on and on and on about some of the observations of these two that I've made over the three years they've been my roommates and siblings.

What I was INTENDING to reply and say was that honestly theres always been this on running meme from back when I was aiming to be an Avian Vet that the the cacatuidae family saved me and raised me in a shitty environment, and as a result I owe the entire family my life and with the privilege of being human-bodied to do what I can to right the MANY wrongs that specific family of birds have experienced as a result of humans.

Also there was always the meme that when I was like 11 or 12 and desperately trying to cure my own Trichotillomania while helping rehabilitate another rescue cockatiel that I connected that human hair pulling and other BFRBs and Avian Feather Plucking (especially common in the cacatuidae family of birds) are almost identical in the function, role, nature, dynamic, and how they respond to treatments as far as research on both that I read went but despite that I - at the time - was only able to find ONE research paper comparing that was a brief literature review saying "hmmmm these two things might be similar" which PISSED 11 or 12 year old me off because OF COURSE THEY ARE IM 11 / 12 AND I CAME TO THAT CONCLUSION THE FUCK WHY IS NO ONE RESEARCHING THIS ME AND MY BROTHERS HAVE A DISORDER THAT HAS NO CLEAR GOOD AND RELIABLE TREATMENT AND WE ARE SUFFERING WHY

and yes i've been reading psych and avian research since i was like 8, my sister was insane to benefit and fault but

And from that day forward (unironically) had researching BFRBs against Avian Feather plucking on my Bucket List and arguably one of my ONLY genuine things on my bucket list because it PISSED ME OFF that hard

But yeah honestly I am in the last few weeks of my Bachelors degree and I was originally planning on taking tow years off to explore what I am interested in researching more and to give me a break from school to heal from some trauma and enjoy life as an adult for a bit, but what with being involved in the chicken research lab currently, I've really realized that I really do think that avian research is probably my ideal research place.

The ISSUE is that would be a bit of an issue to navigate would be that within a lot of avian research facilities, if you own birds, you can't work there / have complications working there for completely valid biosecurity reasons. It's not entirely unnavigatable according to the principle investigator I work with, but it is a really complex catch 22 and when it comes to researching birds VS living with birds, I'd have to take living with birds solely because my mental health is extremely contingent on having my flock.

But ANYWAYS

You just got The Host of The Feathers talking about birds go figure.

-Riku

Goal, dedicate my life and research profession to proving that humans aren't special in really any way socially, behaviorally, and mentally and we really gotta stop acting like we are the Superior Being because we exploit each other and lost sight of the peace and simplicity of life in favor of greed and excess

-Riku