i like the blonde better

(long post, sorry)

In spite of everything I love Harley Quinn but, damn, writers treat her so badly. I swear, the temptation to make her actually stupid must be terrible because it’s so often implied, or explicitly stated, that she slept her way through school. First of all, it does not work like that.  Second, she’s not a therapist or a psychologist, she’s a psychiatrist, she’s a fricking MD and a damn young one too. Managing pre-med and collegiate gymnastics that she relied on to keep her scholarship? Harley is fucked up, but she’s not the dumb blonde she plays. (also stop making her stacked, she’s a gymnast. she is 4’11” of pure muscle and is not top heavy)

If you want a good Harley backstory it’s simple. She’s ADHD but medicated and slightly robotic because of it. I want to take special care not to demonize meds but, rather, people’s disapproval of neurodivergence and a lack of focus on what is best for a patient rather than what is most convenient for others. So, maybe, around ten years old Harley is a hyperactive space cadet who’s brilliant at tests but sloppy at coursework, who would be a gymnastics prodigy if she could actually focus on technique and put in practice time instead of fooling around. Then the meds come and it’s actually really cool because she can do the things she needs to do instead of just wanting to do them, doing something else entirely, and getting in trouble. People are proud of her, she’s proud of herself. But now there are expectations. Family and teachers and coaches overschedule her, find worth only in her success and don’t care about her mental health at all as long as she’s performing and castigate her when she does fail. Fuck if you don’t internalize that. But she doesn’t look unhealthy and she’s doing amazing. She actually has to choose between the Olympic trials and continuing her grad studies. She probably has some issues with self-harm but it either doesn’t look like self-harm or is well covered up. 

When Arkham accepts her, fresh from her residency, it’s not a mistake. The woman is amazing. All they can see is a mountain of achievements rather than the seething ball of nerves, self-loathing, and imposter syndrome boiling just under the surface. That’s when Joker comes in. He’s got the Hannibal Lecter shtick down. Where everyone else sees an intelligent driven young woman he sees a frightened overwhelmed girl who is working her hardest to convince the world she’s anyone other than herself. Sending her into a nervous breakdown would be too easy so he doesn’t even bother. Instead he’s open with her, almost friendly. The other doctors are amazed, Harley is amazed, she’s not done anything particularly revolutionary but, for the first time in forever, it looks like the clown prince of crime is showing progress. He unravels her and it’s a challenge, she flinches back and gets very serious when he comes too close to the real Harley under the professional. Still, soon she’s questioning everything. She doesn’t even really like her co-workers. She hasn’t had a real friend in years. She’s forgotten how to have fun. Did she ever want this to be her life or did she just do it for other people? It starts so slowly that it looks, at first, like she’s getting better at self-care. Maybe something totally silly one weekend, a trampoline park where she can enjoy the way her toned body moves without stressing out over landings, a face painting booth at a street fair, some garishly colored downright tacky decoration that clashes with her sensible apartment. Suddenly she realizes how much she hates knowing the difference between cream and ecru. The beigeness of her life is repulsive. She hates the person she’s pretending to be even more that she hates herself which is really saying something.

After her weekend of freedom she would have called in sick if it wasn’t so suddenly important to see him. The relief she feels at talking to one of Gotham’s most infamous supercriminals is disturbing but it is relief and she’s been swallowing a slow-motion panic attack for hours. She admits, though she shouldn’t, that she took his advice about doing something fun and he teases her, what would straight-laced Doctor Quinzel do for fun? Did she realphabetize her sock drawer or buy a new clipboard? It’s not important to impress him, it’s really not. He’s dangerous, cruel, and he looks so proud when she admits that she bought a lamp shaped like a lawn flamingo. The only mistake, he says, is that she should have stolen it. She hopes the wicked thrill it gives her doesn’t show on her face. It does. She almost even laughs. He likes it when he can make her laugh and she likes it when he likes things.

It’s wrong and unprofessional, the relationship she develops, and she knows it but her whole life she’s been so high strung. Nothing she’s done has been for her, she’s not sure she knows how to really do selfish things anymore, but he knows the selfish things she needs to do. It feels good when she follows his advice even when it’s small things like the rainbow striped socks she wears concealed under her very bland slacks and sensible shoes. She’s so happy, almost giddy, and he loves her happiness, he loves her, he loves the real her that she’s had to beat down and hide for so long, the her that even she isn’t able to love. She is able to love him, though, and since he loves her she’s able to love herself for him, to protect and nurture something so important to him.

When the choice comes between her old self, the tedious endless labor of making the world proud, and Him, the spectacular man that brought color into her life, it’s not even a question. She kills Doctor Harleen Quinzel, she throws away the version of her that let herself burn just for medals and hollow accolades. She embraces Harley Quinn and it’s so much a part of her nature she can’t even see that she’s still living her life for someone else’s approval, except this time that person is a murderous clown. She hasn’t let her hair down, she’s just put it in pigtails instead of a bun.

You’re Not Alone, Clarke~*✲゚*✧~*✧ (faded version)

8

M*A*S*H + writing home

2
Hardly working..
10

You look like you need saving.
- Delphine Lasalle (Sofia Boutella)

i just sat bolt upright in the middle of the damn night because I realized jughead is the king and archie is the lionheart will I never fucking rest

Because Reasons

@frankchurchillsaysrelax requested Emmett and Elle from Legally Blonde+enemies to friends to lovers+girl/boy next door+High School/College/Teacher AU… And this was born.


It’s not that Emmett hates his new co-chair of the history department on principle (although the position was supposed to be his and his alone this year). It’s not even that he hates her for constantly parking her car in his unofficial parking spot, or for always playing the most ridiculously upbeat pop music in her office that shares a wall with his, or even that she doesn’t believe in written exams and only uses glittery feather topped pens that write in pink ink.

No, the real problem is that her proposal for a student-run news magazine garners at least five times the student interest as his debate team proposal. And when she gets voted the head of the senior send-off committee–a position he’s held with pride for years as the de facto young staff member. And when all of his students start trying to transfer from his classes in favor of hers, and when that doesn’t work, they start attending her after school study sessions instead of his.

All of this coming together, along with her renting the house next door to his so there’s literally no getting away from her… that’s what makes it impossible to stand Elle Woods.

Keep reading

I just made this thing that I’m going to use as reference every time I want to imagine the foxes, whether it’s while reading the books or fanfiction or whatever

I’m pretty sure we all know at least two of these because we practically officialized Jake Cooper as Neil and Reece King as Matt and stuff

But in case you wondered what their real names are, well:

-The Peroutka twins as Andrew and Aaron
-Laurence Coke as Kevin
-Matthew Clavane as Nicky
-Jake Cooper as Neil
-Reece King as Matt
-Nastya Kusakina as Allison
-Ashley Moore as Dan
-Amanda Arcuri as Renee

Human Coloring Book

Notes: This is a fic in which I combine my love for Dad!Killian with my love for tattooed Killian. I refuse to believe that man only has one tattoo on his person. He’s probably not as tatted as I made him in this, but whatever. As always, I have to thank my good friend @welllpthisishappening (if you’re not following her, there is something wrong with you because she is fantastic and she makes ridiculously long but amazing fics that will make you forget that the outside world exists and when they end, you weep because it was so good and you want more.) for listening and giving me feedback on my work. She’s the best. All mistakes are mine because I don’t have a beta and I am trash. You can also read it here on AO3: [LINK]
Summary: Killian Jones is covered in tattoos, including an impressive outline of a full sleeve on his blunted arm. Emma thinks he should get it colored. Killian gets it colored in a rather unconventional way.
Rating: T
Word Count: 3,500+


Emma nearly gasped the first time she stripped him bare and saw what was underneath all the leather. Nothing had prepared her for the magnificent artwork that lay undiscovered, hidden under numerous layers of black clothing. Killian Jones was covered from head to toe in ink. She had always assumed that he had a few tattoos aside from the heart and dagger that bore another woman’s name, but what she discovered was an entirely different level.

There wasn’t much work on his torso, but there was a tiny, tiny black swan on the far end of his collarbone and it became Emma’s favorite thing to kiss. It was a tribute to her, something that he had gotten while Emma and Henry were in New York. He had taken his vow to remember her everyday seriously and had marred his skin with his promise.

A pair of coordinates with an old fashion looking sextant took up the majority of the space on his left ribcage. It was one of the older looking tattoos on his body, the ink starting to blur a bit with age. Emma knew the moment she saw it that it was another memorial wrought on skin. It was for Liam and Emma sometimes caught him tracing it with a pensive look on his face in the dark quiet moments of the night, particularly on the hard days where one of them almost didn’t make it home.

Keep reading