#bones saw his fierce af eye look and thought

[roguestarsailor]

impressions of six of crows

***spoiler ishh, not plot spoilers but just character interactions throughout the book***

note: I have not read shadow and bone and this is the first book i’m reading in this series so i have no prior knowledge of who these people are or what happened prior to this!!

I adore all these characters in the book! I love how seamlessly everything flowed and its glorious to read. The names were all confusing to me so I had to constantly refer back to the map and the Ice court layout to fully understand everything. I think there were points where I didn’t fully understand the impact because I didn’t read the other books. Talk of the Second army was confusing for me, but I just pushed through. I just love the dynamic of this group and I really really hope they are ok. Please don’t die. Will this author do this to my sensitive heart?? idkk?? 

the heist was so fun and honestly, i dont think the ice court was that well protected haha. it felt like they had so much time to do so many things but it just might be how the story is told. i love stories of trickery and heist and this one did a really good job. I love the backstories getting interwoven together and the plot twists were lovely. I was stressed for kaz though and i was nervous he will “run out of tricks” but it ended up fine. its strange because he is sooo young and hes battling these seasoned professionals and hes gotta navigate this fucked up world. they all have to navigate this fucked up world and i can’t imagine the stress of always looking behind you but also looking at the next 10 steps and then plotting additional scenarios to live. wow. anyways this i was great 10/10!!

Notable scenes include:

“Jesper!”

I’m going to kill that little idiot. “What do you want?” he shouted down.

“Close your eyes!”

“You can’t kiss me from down there, Wylan.”

I LOVE THEM ALREADY! JESPER AND WYLAN IS SO CUTE

“Pull your shirt up over your mouth,” [Jesper] told Wylan.

“What?”

“Stop being dense. You’re cuter when you’re smart.”

Wylan’s cheeks went pink. He scowled and pulled his collar up.

“Discipline. Routine. Does it mean nothing to you? Djel, I can’t wait to have a bed to myself again.”

“Right,” said Nina. “I can feel just how much you hate sleeping next to me. I feel it every morning.”

Matthais flushed bright scarlet. “Why do you have to say things like that?”

“Because I like it when you turn red.”

“It’s disgusting. You don’t need to make everything lewd.”

...

“Despite her fatigue, she trotted ahead of him. “That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t want to like a Grisha. You’re scared that if you laugh at my jokes or answer my questions, you might start thinking I’m human. Would that be so terrible?”

“I do like you.”

“What was that?”

“I do like you,” he said angrily.

She’d beamed, feeling a well of pleasure erupt through her, “Now, really, was that so bad?”

“Yes!” he roared.

“Why?”

“Because you’re horrible. You’re loud and lewd and...treacherous.  Brum warned us that Grisha could be charming.”

“Oh, I see. I’m the wicked Grisha seductress. I have beguiled you with my Grisha wiles!”

She poked him in the chest.

YOU KNOW DAMN WELL I FUCKEN LOVE THESE BICKERING IDIOTS. but also nina means so much to me. its so fucken refreshing to see a character who is overweight and can carry herself with so much sass and confidence (because thats what 17 year old me would have wished to be able to channel)!! i love that shes so flirty and especially to someone as stoic as matthais is cute af!! even the author wrote about how much she loves nina: “I probably identify most with Nina. She’s spent her whole life being told she’s too big, too loud, too much--and that’s basically me. I just wish I had Nina’ confidence at seventeen.” she has the kind of sass and big dick energy that comes w having to prove yourself and being shamed and i think thats why she has a special place in my heart!! maybe i’ll go in on my love for nina in another post but ugh i love her

“When we get back to Ketterdam, I’m taking my share, and I’m leaving the Dregs.”

He looked away. “You should. You were always too good for the Barrel.”

It was time to go. “Saints’ speed, Kaz.”

Kaz snagged her wrist. “Inej.” His gloved thumb moved over her pulse, tracing the top of the feather tattoo. “If we don’t make it out, I want you to know...”

She waited.

...

She reached up and touched his cheek...this was the first time she had touched him skin to skin, without the barrier of gloves or coat or shirtsleeves. She let her hand cup his cheek. His skin was cool and damp from the rain. He stayed still but she saw a tremor pass through him as if he were waging a war with himself.

“If we don’t survive this night, I will die unafraid, Kaz. Can you say the same?”

His eyes were nearly black, the pupils dilated. She could see it took every last bit of his terrible will for him to remain still beneath her touch. And yet, he did not pull away. She knew it was the best he could offer. It was not enough.”

NO I LOVE THEM TOO! KAZ1!!! DO SOMETHING!!! BUT ALSO FUCKEN GOOD FOR YOU INEJ YOU FUCKEN KNOW WHAT YOU DESERVE AND IF HE AINT GIVING 100 U DONT WANT IT I LOVE HER TOO

Inej turned to go. Kaz seized her hand, keeping it on the railing. He didn’t look at her. “Stay,” he said, his voice rough stone. “Stay in Ketterdam. Stay with me.”

She looked down at his gloved hand clutching hers. Everything in her wanted to say yes, but she would not settle for so little, not after all she’d been through. “What would be the point?”

He took a breath. “I want you to stay. I want you to...I want you.”

“You want me.” She turned the words over. Gently, she squeezed his hand. “And how will you have me, Kaz?”

He looked at her then, eyes fierce, mouth set. It was the face he wore when he was fighting.

“How will you have me?” she repeated. “Fully clothed, gloves on, your head turned away so our lips can never touch?”

He released her hand, his shoulders bunching, his gaze angry and ashamed as he turned his face to the sea.

Maybe it was because his back was to her that she could finally speak the words. “I will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all.”

Speak, she begged silently. Give me a reason to stay. For all his selfishness and cruelty, Kaz was still the boy who had saved her. She wanted to believe he was worth saving, too.

ITERATE AGAIN, INEJ DONT WANT 90 PERCENT OR 99 PERCENT SHE WANTS 100 OR NOTHING WOW. i mean my shipping heart says NOOO buT shes right. kaz gotta figure out his shit and then share that vulnerability w her and maybe they can be truly together. UGH BUT THIS SCENE my god

Van Eck taunting Wylan and shitting on him for not being able to read was disgusting and i will fight him. I WILL PROTECT WYLAN WITH MY HEART! HES TRYING HIS BEST AND WORKING WITH WHAT HES GOT AND HE SAVED THEM ALL SO MANY TIMES. GET THIS PEDO OUT OF HERE FUCK THIS GUY

“That’s why you disappeared during the journey,” said Jesper. “You weren’t helping Matthais care for Nina. You were hiding.”

“I didn’t hide.”

“You...how many times was it you standing beside me on the deck at night when I thought it was Kuwei?”

“Every time.”

pekka rolllins. wow. what a man. i expect great things to happen between kaz and him. i truly did think kaz killed him back in the ice court lol but im glad he saw the grand plan and waited it out. hes a man of patience. i can respect that.

[sigritandtheelves]

(III) Three Iterations of a Birth (and Death)

Part Three: Fantasy

PG-13 | 2.2k wds | s8 AU (diverges after “Alone”)

Summary: This time he gets it right.

A/N: It’s finally done! Part One, Tragedy, is here but you don’t need to read it if you hate pain (character death warning) and Part Two is here, which is angsty but ends well. This one is happy, but I hope not tooth-achingly sweet. Just a better version of things, and fulfilling this (very old) prompt:

I hope you like it, anon!

_+_

“Mulder, you should know something.”

She sat on his couch with hands on her round belly, wore a tank dress and complained of the heat. Her feet, white-sneakered, rested on his coffee table. He handed her a glass of water and sat beside her.

“What’s that?” He turned to her, elbow propped on the back of the couch and watched her sip. She’d been smiling for much of today, tucked beside him and flirting gently at Layla Harrison’s bedside, demanding they stop for Mexican food on their ride back from the hospital. He sensed, though, a seriousness in her tone now. A small fold appeared between her brows.

“Not long before we found you, I had a procedure done by doctors that I thought I couldn’t trust.” She glanced at him briefly. “An amniocentesis.” Her fingers twitched against the side of her sweating glass, and she leaned forward to set it on the table. When she struggled to reach, Mulder took it from her and placed it on a coaster. “Thank you,” she said.

He nodded, but his heart was pounding, his face stilled and pinched in that look of panic. “An amniocentesis?”

“Yeah,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “I wanted to run a PCR on the baby.”

So it was time, then. He’d waited for this conversation, felt it hovering like a thundercloud around them for weeks while they tiptoed around every mention of her pregnancy. Mulder swallowed hard. “And did you?”

She hesitated, eyes fixed on her knees. “I didn’t run it myself.” He watched her fingers fidget at the apex of her belly.

“But someone did.”

“Yeah.”

Mulder felt like yelling, like plugging his ears or running into another room. He didn’t think he wanted to know this, but he was also desperate for the information. “And?”

Scully took a deep breath. “Entirely human,” she said, then lower so he almost couldn’t hear, “and yours.”

Mulder chewed at his bottom lip and stared at her hands, still grazing the taut fabric over her belly. His child. He thought of her holding that baby in Oregon, of tiny Matthew’s fuzz-covered head in San Diego. His mind touched on the thought of an infant in his own arms, then shied away. He’d already watched one child of hers sicken and die; neither of them could bear that again.

But she’d also said entirely human.

“The results were clear?”

“99.9%,” she said. “But like I said, I didn’t run it myself, and I was so scared.” Her eyes lifted to meet his now, and they were round, wet. “I wanted to believe it, but how could I be sure? How could I trust anyone, Mulder?”

He saw her small and afraid, facing months of uncertainty. He saw these same wide and tearful eyes wanting to believe the results of a PCR test. He saw how much she needed him to believe with her: that this was only a normal child and theirs alone. He reached out a hand to take hers and she squeezed it hard.

“Why would they lie about that?” He whispered. He ran a thumb over her tense knuckles while a tear slipped away from the corner of her eye to trail down the side of her face.

She shook her head. “What if they want me complacent? What if they’re in the hospital when it’s time… when he’s born?”

He again. Their son.

Scully was staring at the ceiling now, willing her tears back into her eyes, trying to steel herself against these possibilities, as she must have done for months. Mulder sensed there was more she wasn’t telling him, so he lifted her fingers to kiss them. “What changed? You said you thought you couldn’t trust it, but you believe the test now?”

She held her breath for a moment’s hesitation before she whispered, “Yes.”

“Why?”

She looked at him. “I did another one. I mean I… I worked with my doctor and I ran the tests myself.”

“Scully.” Not quite chastising, but there was worry in his voice: a risky procedure, now run twice in an already complicated pregnancy. When had she done this?

“The results were the same.” There was something desperate in her eyes now. “He’s yours, Mulder.” Quickly she amended, “If you want him to be.”

—

It wasn’t because of what she’d told him, he thought, but because they’d finally talked about it at all. He kissed her on his couch and she clung to him, fierce and needy, arms tight around his back and face buried in his chest.

He pressed a palm to her belly between them and said, “Stay.”

She nodded, hot breath on his collarbone.

The earth and flower smell of her scalp under his nose made him think of their last night in Bellefleur: regret and sadness, but also the depth of love he’d felt while wrapped around her then. This, right now, was the so much more. Her body on his mattress, her cheek on his shoulder, marked the first time he thought to himself that maybe he was healing, that they both were.

Before she fell asleep she ran a finger down the center scar of his chest and whispered, “You said stay,” then kissed the thickened skin of it. “But Mulder you need to stay.” Her eyes were two small pricks of light in the darkened room that spoke to him of a deep uncertainty, of real fear.

He gathered her whole self to him in both arms, knee hooked over her hip, and said, “I know.” He held his lips to the crown of her head and whispered, “Scully I’m not going anywhere.”

—

“You’re really sure?” She asked him, face in that half-crumpled furrow of disbelief. She wore maternity jeans and what must have been one of his own pilfered button-downs.

“Yes!” He said. “Now watch out!”

She stepped aside as he carried a cardboard box—seven books and roughly fifteen t-shirts (he wasn’t good at packing)—through her doorway.

It made sense. She had that second bedroom already.

—

A different night and very late, after two, he sensed her tension: a strained quickness to her breathing beside him. She was facing away, trying to hide it. Mulder curled his palm over her hip and asked low, “What is it?”

She stiffened. “I’m okay,” she said, but he knew her. He tapped two knuckles on her hip bone.

“Scully.”

A long sigh: a concession, an opening up because they were doing this right, now. “I’m worried.”

He nodded, careful. “About me?”

She shook her head and was quiet for a moment. Then, “I spent my whole life thinking medicine was good, that its whole purpose was to make lives better, safer, longer…” She shifted so her back pressed against his chest and he slipped his left arm fully around her. “But after everything we’ve seen, everything that’s happened to me… I just don’t know that I can trust doctors anymore.”

Mulder tucked his nose in that place between her neck and shoulder. They had taken her faith even in this, shucked her convictions in the good of medicine. The meddling hands of whatever forces they were up against reached down and out into every institution she’d once trusted. “Even your new doctor?”

She shrugged.

He let his hand slip down, covering as much of her round abdomen as he could. He loved touching her this way now, feeling the little knees and feet press outward, the subtle hiccups that came in the evenings. “What can we do?”

She covered his hand with her own and guided it to a place where some small limb pushed toward the outside world. He drew a small circle around it with his index finger and kissed her ear.

“What if we went away? Maybe…” She swallowed. “Maybe some little town in West Virginia or Ohio with a birth center? We could use different names and maybe my mom could come with us and we could just… disappear for a little bit? Until he’s born.”

“You’ve been thinking about this.”

“Since the first amnio. Since I realized Parenti was bad.” Her voice wavered—there were tears in it now. “I thought I’d have to do it alone.”

Mulder shook his head, heart breaking for her—that this was her secret, her worst fear. “You won’t be alone, Scully, I promise. We can do that. We can go. Let’s do that.”

—

In the mountains of West Virginia, a place called Willowdale that sounded beautiful and safe, they were Kate and Richard Mulvey for two and a half weeks. They made quiet preparations in a rented vacation cottage, paid for in cash to a widow named Ruth. Maggie took no pseudonym, put her name on nothing, and stayed with them in the second small bedroom. She was a steadying maternal presence bearing folded blankets and cloth diapers, years of accumulated knowledge, and endless gratitude for being asked to come.

Scully had been having little contractions off and on for days until, on a Sunday afternoon in late May, they gripped her hard, forcing her to bend over the kitchen table and bite her lips together. “Mulder,” she whimpered, voice high, and he was beside her in a second.

“Okay,” he said. “We’re ready. We’re ready,” he told them both, willing it to be true.

The birth center was small and quiet, more like a house, and it kept its medical secrets hidden: beeping machines inside cabinets, monitors and needles and IV bags tucked away in drawers and closets, just in case.

Their baby was born in what looked like a farmhouse bedroom: soft light and calm music, yellow flowers on the curtains. Maggie took photos and offered her daughter sips of water, encouraging smiles. Mulder, who had killed with his own hands, who had chased monsters through dark streets with a gun, felt a different kind of wild adrenaline now, watching his partner rock her hips to some rhythm he couldn’t know. It was the anxiety of powerlessness: her body did this. It was she who had to make it happen. He could only wait and hold her hand.

There was a tub. Of course Scully wanted a tub. She sank into the warm water and groaned a sound older than time. When the intensity passed she said, “It feels good. The water feels good,” and then after that she couldn’t speak.

Blood in the water worried him, but the midwife assured him it was fine. “Your baby’s coming,” she said. In a mirror angled between Scully’s knees, he saw the baby’s head emerge.

Scully held him first, lifted him herself from her own body through the water and into her arms, sobbing with relief while he turned from purple to pink and the midwife helped her cover him in a blanket. When the umbilical cord went soft and white, Mulder, still dazed, still not quite believing, separated mother and child at last.

“That’s good,” the midwife said. “Now you can hold him.”

The infant, wrapped and red, was pressed into his arms so Dana could stand, pass the placenta, dry off. Mulder looked down at the impossible face of his son and realized that something, for once, had gone terribly right. They had done this. In spite of everything, he found himself part of a family.

“Let me see.” He heard Maggie’s voice and she was smiling. She took their picture, he with the baby—a nervous father’s first moments—and came to touch her grandchild. “He’s perfect.”

“Yeah,” Mulder croaked.

Scully appeared beside him in the terrycloth robe she’d brought from home, eyes wild with euphoric relief, smiling like he hadn’t seen in far too long. She put one hand on the baby’s head, the other on his shoulder. “You’re both here,” she sniffled.

Mulder, catching her euphoria, bent and kissed her hard and open-mouthed, right in front of her mother.

—

Back in their apartment (theirs now), the Gunmen brought gifts and marveled at the boy child who was ordinary, yet no less miraculous. Mulder showed him off, chest puffed out in fatherly pride. William, they called him, who weighed nearly ten pounds already and had no hair to speak of.

“You are one lucky sonofabitch,” Frohike told him, wiggling his fingers in front of the child’s eyes.

Luck was part of it, Mulder knew. Things could have been so different, both better and worse. There was a universe of infinite variations in path, in outcome, in seemingly fated misstep. What if there was only one choice? Scully had asked him once, and he’d contemplated all the possible errors that might have held them apart. He wanted to believe it were fate or luck, but he knew there was also choice. He would need to choose this path, not just now, but every day. It seemed so clear, so easy.

Mulder kissed the invisible fuzz on William’s head and nodded. “More than lucky,” he said.

When the boys left, he bounced his son into the kitchen where Scully was pouring iced tea into two tall glasses. She smiled at them, bright as sunshine.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said to her. “You give this guy some lunch, and I’ll make some for you, hmm?”

Her smile widened and she reached her arms out for the baby, who fussed when he sensed an approaching meal. “Sounds good,” she told him, tugging already at the neckline of her shirt. “Get in there and make me a sandwich.”

Mulder laughed. He felt suddenly whole and warm, taken by a need to touch her. Before they were out of reach, he threw one arm around Scully’s shoulders and bent to kiss her neck: a noisy smack just below her ear. “Yes ma’am,” he murmured. He let her go and watched them settle on the couch.

— end —

[ajokeformur-ray]

Joker with an s/o who's overtired and can't sleep

A/N: I wrote this for me because recently I've been denying myself sleep. I've only been letting myself get 4-6 hours a night because I haven't been feeling like I deserve to sleep (and also, what’s the point? I’ll only be tired later anyway). Last night I was exhausted and I just couldn't get comfortable and I couldn't sleep because I was so tired and thinking of Joker was the only thing which did, eventually, make me sleep. I realise that this is a problem, and I’m working on it. I did better last night than I have for a while, and I’m gonna keep trying. What more can I do?

Anyway, I’m sharing this because a) Joker content on this blog is painfully low (I don’t have many requests for him) and b) I hope that it’ll help and comfort someone else. You’re not alone.💜

Word count: 1, 653.

Whatever you thought you were doing - or not doing - with yourself, Joker wasn't having any of it for much longer. In fact, if you were anyone else, Joker would have been almost personally insulted by the way you consistently, night after night, denied yourself sleep.

He couldn't sleep on a consistent routine because he suffered from insomnia, but you were perfectly capable of going to sleep. You were just choosing not to, and Joker was tired of it in more ways than one.

You had no reason to treat yourself so horrifically, and Joker couldn’t figure out why you weren't sleeping when your body so obviously craved it. Night after night passed in the same way and Joker couldn’t stand it.

For right now, it was way past sleeping time. It wasn't even night time anymore. The sun had already started to rise, its golden rays kissing the horizon of the grimy and corrupted city of Gotham, and you weren't even thinking of sleeping.

This had been going on for weeks already, with you only sleeping a handful of hours every night, and Joker hadn't intervened. Not yet.

It wasn't because he didn't care or because he didn't want to, but it was because he didn't know how to intervene.

You were fiercely independent; you were your own person and even though you needed help, you so rarely asked for it. You didn't want to be any more of a burden than you already were, though logically did you know that that couldn't be further than the truth.

Joker wanted to be there for you, and he was, as much as he could be. But he needed you to recognise your own role in this; you weren’t helping yourself, and you both knew it.

And still did it continue. 

Sick was he of your self-destructive habits and not knowing what else to do had Joker started to stay awake with you. He slept when you slept. He was awake when you were awake.

He was trying so hard to show you what you were doing to yourself, and it didn’t take long for you to pick up on what he was doing.

“Why are you staying up so late, darling? It’s not good for you, you need to get some sleep.”

Joker stared at you for several long, tense seconds, and then he burst out into a raspy giggle, his hand hitting upon the arm of the sofa several times to dispel the tension which was within him.

“Yeah, yeah,” his romantic green waves bounced with every nod of his head, and his grin faded out as his eyes pierced through you, “And so do you.”

You shrugged, not affected by how quickly the look on his face changed. “I don’t feel tired. I’ll just sleep later.”

You almost made it. Almost.

A yawn so violent that it took up your entire face forced you to clamp one hand over your mouth and the other over your eyes; insecure were you over the way you looked when you did certain things, and Joker laughed once more.

It was a sound seeped in unhappiness, in tension and, in part, even anger.

“What are you doing to yourself, Y/N? I’m not just gonna sit here and take it. Life’s hard enough without you making it harder on yourself. Bed, now.”

“I don’t feel like I des - ” You cut yourself off. Joker didn’t need to know your real thoughts. You saw that he understood, though, and it was what made him glad that he had put his foot down. You tried to change the subject. “Joker, no, I can just - “

Joker wasn’t having it, not any more. He had only been following your lack of a sleep schedule for three days but he was exhausted even with the fact that he was used to getting little sleep.

He could only imagine how you were feeling, and it was with tender frustration and a great deal of worry that Joker took one of your hands and almost tugged you to the bathroom. 

“Enough, Y/N. You need to sleep.” And so do I was the thought which quickly followed, though Joker didn’t voice it to you.

His fingers were laced with yours, like a puzzle piece did the two of you fit together, though of course were you whole persons on your own, and you got yourselves ready for bed.

Joker cast secret glances your way, desperate to not let on just how worried for you he was. You would feel guilty, and then you would apologise, and then you would apologise for apologising, and that would only lead you into a downward spiral which neither of you were conscious enough to handle properly.

It was best to simply get you into bed, get you sleeping, and to deal with everything else in the time which remained of the day when you awoke. Joker knew well which battles to pick and which to leave for a later time.

Joker kept a hand on you while he helped you into bed, his fingers stroking along the back of your hand as he let you get comfortable. He tucked you in, hands teasingly pressing downwards along the edge of the duvet so that no chilled air could get to you and disturb your rest.

You clutched your favourite pillow tight as Joker got settled on the other side of the bed, the one closest to the door. He was immediately wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his body. A leg snuck between yours, and Joker anchored your bodies together. He was so relieved that you were going to sleep.

Joker was warm, like a radiator was he, and you sunk gladly into the safe cage of his embrace. You could move if you wanted to, but otherwise were his arms tight around you.

Lips pressed almost bruisingly against your forehead. “Sleep, Y/N. This isn’t funny anymore.”

But you were wide awake. Overtired.

Seconds crept past and turned into minutes, and still were you awake.

You busied yourself with wrapping your arms around Joker’s shoulders, his bones prominent through his skin, and pressing kisses anywhere and everywhere you could reach.

Each kiss conveyed a message:

Thank you for being here for me.

Thank you for protecting me, even against myself.

Thank you for staying with me.

Thank you for loving me.

Joker heard and felt all of these and more and he hummed to himself as you continued to press slow, reverent kisses along the column of his neck, across his sharp collarbones and the lower half of his face.

You knew that Joker was angry with your complete lack of self-care; if the roles were reversed, you would be angry, too. But even so did you try to apologise with your actions, knowing as you did that words meant little to Joker.

People said lots of things, but it didn’t mean that they meant them. Actions were much more reliable. 

In soothing Joker’s anger with your love, in lying there in the dark with him (a small light plugged into the wall just behind Joker so that you could see him and the room which surrounded him), did your body finally begin to succumb to its most basic need.

He kept you close, held you tightly against him and rained kisses down upon the top of your head even as you loved on him. He did everything he could to help you relax, knowing that you were just overtired; you were so tired that you couldn’t sleep, and he knew that that was like.

Joker’s anger evaporated as quickly as it came, so powerful was his love for you that it didn’t matter anymore that you had done it to yourself. It only mattered now that you slept.

Joker felt your body get heavier against his own, saw the way your eyes slid shut and stayed shut for longer periods of time, and he began to sing softly to you, his voice raspy and off-key but so undeniably his that it accompanied you into sleep and kept you safe, sane... honest.

Used was your body to small snatches of sleep so you would be awake in a handful of hours, but Joker would soothe you back to sleep. You needed at least eight hours, and if you slept beyond it would he protect every extra minute.

He was a light sleeper so he would be waking up periodically, too, and you were his greatest priority, his largest concern. When at last were you asleep did Joker allow himself to shed tears of worry, of relief and of love. He felt like he hadn’t been loving you hard enough; you felt like you didn’t deserve sleep and even though he could relate to your feeling, it was so heavy and he wished that he could take your pain for his own, though of course he wouldn’t change a single thing about you.

He muffled his sobs within your own body; for once you were asleep did you tend to sleep and rise like the dead, and today did that work to his advantage.

It was morning already, but later in the day would a tense conversation be had. Why you felt like you didn’t deserve sleep, why you were torturing yourself, and everything else which needed to be spoken about and acknowledged. But for now... oh, for now, you would rest, and you would dream and you would, if Joker was lucky, feel even a little better in the morning.

And if not? It was okay - Joker would be there with you every step of the way. You were the love of his life, and he would spend the rest of his life showing you the very depths of his bottomless heart. It was yours, anyway, just as yours was his.

AF/J @impulsiveclown @notyourlittledoll @astheworlddturns @fluffedstar @jokersqueenofchaos @germansarechill @tsukiakarinobara @d-dreemurr @lynnesm @sagyunaro  @docsportello @ezziesworld @flowerglitterwoman @ben-solos-writing-avenger @jokers-doll @jokershyena @arthurjokersgirl @antonija89 @lilliryth @hotpacino @obsessedandthirsty  @call-me-harley-quinn

[natashabarnes]

To preface:  Avengers: Endgame shook me to my core and I needed to find a constructive, healthy way to talk about what I am feeling and this seemed as good a way as any. This is an endeavor seeking emotional intelligence. So I’m here to talk about how media can affect us, honest-to-goodness grief, and yeah sure, my opinions and most importantly, Natasha Romanoff. There will be spoilers, obviously. You’ve been warned.

It’s late afternoon on Friday, May 7th, 2010.  I’m a super-soon-to-be-college-graduate, and I’ve just missed my bus home.  There are few places grimmer than where I currently found myself: the Inter-City Bus Terminal in Reading, Pennsylvania. The good news was that buses from Reading to New York ran roughly every two or three hours most of the day, I was going to be fine. I was going to be late, but I was going to be fine.  At the risk of sounding dramatic, I didn’t know it but I had a date with destiny that evening. Since I couldn’t imagine sitting around and waiting in a bleak af bus terminal, I sought refuge a mere block-and-a-half away at the R/C Reading Movies 11 & IMAX. Lucky for me, I was able to schlep my suitcase and (always) large purse over right in time for a showing of Iron Man 2. I remembered Iron Man (2008) to be a whole lot of fun so I sprung for a movie ticket to be able to watch most of Iron Man 2 before I had to catch my bus.  I knew nothing about this film going in and I was having a good time up until the moment Scarlett Johansson came on screen as Natalie Rushman (who even me, a noob S.H.I.E.L.D./espionage sector of Marvel, knew was actually Natasha Romanoff, aka the Black Widow).  Once she made her entrance into Tony Stark’s personal fitness center, I wasn’t having a good time, I was having a great time…and also a weird time.  I was in complete awe of her; I hung on her every word, her every move.  Everything about her radiated a sense of intelligence, purpose, intention, and most alluring to me, confidence.  Looking back I realize I was seeing the kind of woman I wanted to be; not only did she have every trait I wanted as a person, she seemed to be this unattainable personified perfection.  At the time, I wrote off my fascination with her pretty quickly as the voice in my head said “but you’ll never be like that, you know that, right? You’ll never have those things.” I had to leave to catch my bus just as Rhodey showed up to Justin Hammer’s Stark Expo presentation and at the time that was pretty much that.

Let’s skip ahead.  It’s the evening of Wednesday, April 24th, 2019.  Thanks to the kindness of my best friend/basically sister, I was able to see Avengers: Endgame a day early.  I’m a mess.  I’m soaking wet from the collar bone up and my eye makeup is every place on my face with the exception of my eyes.  I’ve been sitting for over three hours and somehow I’m out of breath, my sweat is cold. My status of Full Blown Mess was credited to the fact that I had to watch Natasha Romanoff die violently, fiercely, and courageously.  The shock I felt that night was all-consuming.  I kept saying to my friend through hard sobs, “I just thought she’d be safe. I really thought she’d be safe.”  So many people I know at this event found me after the fact to check in with me.  Am I okay? Do I need anything?  The only answer I came up with on the fly was “I will be, it hurts now. But I’m just…so proud of her.”  More on that later, but basically, people were so kind and if I had to be a mess, at least I was among people who also cared and understood where I was coming from. While my friend engaged in a last bit of work for the day, I sat waiting, attempting to calm down by staring at costume designer Jany Temime’s recent Instagram post where she selfied with Scarlett expressing excitement about working on the upcoming Black Widow film. I reminded myself that this night was not goodbye, just a very jarring “see ya later.”  Of course the present is not necessarily made easier to bear just because more (and potentially the best) is yet to come.

What a difference nine years made.  I’d gone from casual move-going fan who’d only read Spider-Man comics when I had time to being a hardcore, ride-or-die fan of Marvel Comics and the Marvel Cinematic Universe. My library had grown exponentially, along with my knowledge of these characters, and let’s not overlook my closet’s growth after falling into the deep pit of cosplay. I can’t exactly put my finger on the “when” of it, but at some point I stopped stifling the portion of my heart that belonged to superheroes and let them take over with complete abandon.  I’d always had a heavy habit of trying to be what other people wanted me to be.  Though I may have lived very independently, in retrospect my choices and interests were so often chosen for the satisfaction of other people (I am not assigning blame to anyone but myself on this one). Superheroes serve as a perfect example of a passion of mine I chose to shut down for so long. Once I leaned into that passion, I felt so much more complete.  It’s no surprise that Natasha Romanoff was the character I ended up being most passionate about.  

Natasha is a strong woman who spent a lot of her life in the service of others across moral and political spectrums.  She followed their orders always and has plenty of regrets about her past.  Maybe I was self-projecting, but throughout my dedicated years as an MCU viewer and Black Widow comic reader, I always saw Natasha’s arc as two parts:

1) a woman coming to terms with what she’s been and what she’s done seeking to move forward in a more universally beneficial direction.

2)  a woman learning who she is, what she wants and choosing to act of her own volition.

Obviously the two are deeply connected. While her past experiences may have made her moral compass more grey than that of her peers, she’s a woman who wants the Right Thing To Do to be the choice she makes of her own agency.  There’s a beautiful deleted scene from Captain America: The Winter Soldier where Nat speaks to Nick Fury for the first time in confidence after discovering he faked his death and did not include in on the secret.  “I needed to keep the circle small.  You would have done the same thing,” he says.  “I know,” she replies, “that’s a problem.”  A scene she has with Steve Rogers discussing trust that made the final cut achieves a similar idea.  In past appearances in the MCU, Natasha had expressed a desire to make amends for her past and seemingly had started to do so through her work with S.H.I.E.L.D. and her participation the Battle of New York.  These moments in Cap2, as the fandom frequently refers to it fondly, are less about her outward actions and more about her inward struggles. What she seems to learn by the end of the film is that letting people in is a key part of her goal of a truer sense of self.  By the time we meet her in Captain America: Civil War, within the first hour of the film she delivers one of my favorite quotes as the family around her begins to split apart, “Staying together is more important than how we stay together.”  Nat’s journey continued to be one of finding self-possession, self worth and using that greater sense of self to give back to others, both the found family around her and the innocent she can protect.  

With all of this in mind, Avengers: Endgame is my favorite MCU film and features my favorite Natasha Romanoff content we’ve seen so far.  From the moment the film begins, she is a woman hell-bent on remedying the greatest tragedy in the history of the world.  Long gone is the woman we met in her first two films who did the bidding of an organization and/or focused mainly on giving back to those she felt she owed. In Endgame, Natasha aims to save the world, to bring back everyone lost, to restore families.  We first see this when she agrees to find Thanos with the team and reverse the snap. When that mission fails, we skip ahead five years and that’s when I personally really lost it. In five years, Natasha has never stopped trying to fix the world. Let’s be clear, every other member of the original six Avengers most definitely has stopped trying to find an antidote to The Thanos Problem.  Sure, Steve is trying to fix things in a different, more practical way, but there’s still an acceptance of the circumstances in his actions.  The sight of her alone broke my heart and filled me with a sense of honor.  This is a woman we have always seen in control and put together and when we find her she is a noble, beautiful wreck. She’s abandoned most self care, wearing only her depression clothes, and surviving off hope and peanut butter sandwiches desperately communicating with allies around the universe. These people make time for her but are clearly losing patience with her and her insistence that not only can this be fixed, but that it is all of their responsibility to do so.  And in case it wasn’t obvious enough how much she’s changed, this scene gives us what I believe will be (for now at least) Nat’s most iconic moment on screen.  “I used to have nothing, and then I got this…this job, this family.  And I was better because of it.  And even though they’re gone…I’m still trying to be better.”  Nat sums up her entire character arc in this one delicate and stunning moment showing just how strong allowing herself to be vulnerable has made her.  Loving has only made her braver, caring has only made her more tenacious, and giving has made her unstoppable.  She is, in this moment, the woman she always wanted to become.

Remembering the aforementioned scene is absolutely necessary when absorbing Natasha’s choice later in the movie to sacrifice her life so that her team can get the soul stone.  Her entire life has lead her to this moment. Yes, killing off the only female from your original team is a bold move with a LOT of weight attached to it, and one that can definitely be seen as shortchanging her, but I just can’t see it that way. Natasha Romanoff made the ultimate heroic choice, one that the rest of the film hinges on.  My brain can’t navigate the concept that fans have been robbed of her unnecessarily without also hearing a diminishing of the selfless choice she made and the course she followed in the time we’ve known her and beyond.  It’s only when I think of the alternate concept of Clint dying for the soul stone that I feel completely, hypothetically swindled (though while we’re talking about him let’s also not forget how excellent it was to see a man and a woman with no blood relation platonically love one another unconditionally).  Please don’t misunderstand, if you are angry, I respect that, we all deal with stuff different ways, this is just my take.  Natasha Romanoff earned that moment.  Is it devastating to watch? One thousand percent yes, but what I felt even more deeply than the devastation was pride.  I am so proud of this character that in no way can I bring myself to see this choice as abuse or mistreatment of her character.  In that moment, she was magnificent.  Natasha Romanoff died valiantly, unafraid, and of her own free will so that everyone else could live.  Natasha is a hero of the highest standard, full stop.

Entertainment Weekly recently featured a half-hour interview with the original six Avengers to promote Endgame. I was more than moved to hear Scarlett speak about Nat’s arc and confirm what I’d been absorbing as an audience member for years.  “She’s come into her own as a woman saying ‘who am I and what do I want and what do I need out of my relationships and also out of my own self’ and she’s someone who is understanding her own self worth.”  Without going into deep detail, watching Scarlett’s performance as Natasha has affected me in a way I can only describe as profound.  Every MCU film she appeared in had at least one moment that hit a nerve inside me in ways equally gentle and harsh, but still every nerve was hit with the reassurance of knowing that if she could change, I could too.  Catalysts for personal growth can come from anywhere and at my most lost somehow I remembered that moment sitting in a theatre watching Iron Man 2.  Something in my brain told me to follow that feeling I had watching her, not in an effort to emulate her completely, but to see an example of someone one who is “my own woman–first, last and always.”  Natasha taught me that self love, self worth and opening yourself to others are traits more powerful than lightning, stronger than a suit of armor and they’d protect me more than a shield.  In the years I’ve watched and read this character, my life has changed for the better in every way.  She’s been a gift to me and the gratitude I feel is overwhelming.  I may have saved myself, but Natasha taught me how.  As fans I think we all love having more media to look forward to, especially when that media features an inspirational figure for us.  Before Endgame I’d frequently have passing thoughts reminding me that someday the time of Scarlett’s particular incarnation of Natasha will be over.  Who would I be without this character? After Endgame, I’m less afraid of that future.  No matter what form of this character I will have in my life, I will always follow her example and I will try to be better.  

[artificialqueens]

Royals (A The Selection AU Fanfic) Chapter Five - TheQuartzMermaid

A/N: If you’re evil and you’re on the rise, you can count on the four Royals fans taking you down. ‘Cause we’re good and evil never beats us, we’ll read the fic and we’ll go out for pizzas! I am TheQuartzMermaid, Adore and Katya are meeting today, and if they don’t get along at first I’m sure they’ll find a way. That’s why the people on this blog believe in: Shadowcat204, whatevertrixya, Tiff, and Vixen! (and all the other people that liked/reblogged previous chapters but their names didn’t fit the parody: ummm3, thedevilstolemyobsession, civonumist, foolishfireworks, avocado-anxiety, marshallisnotinteresting, katyazamothunderfuck, teen8angel, xqueenchristinex, kaceykind3, superredhidinghood315, delano23me, achele-camren-real, shadows21233, roughfriend, snazzyjazzy617, pinkimperfectz, highclassdecadence, awk0beauts, sickening-kokes, Mistress, sdmn-af, zxldabxtch, therealdinkmunson, c-reep-s, and mr/mrs anonymous) THANKS FOR THE SUPPORT, I LOVE U GUYS A/N2: Do you wanna sing with me? Let’s start: I’m walking in like Blondie, a human ball of laundry…

Again, if you’re not familiar with The Selection, I highly recommend you to read the prologue for this fanfic. If you like it enough, you can read the original books by Kiera Cass, they’re amazing.

THE TIME HAS COME, FOR YOU TO READ THIS FIC, FOR… YOUR… LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIFE!

Royals - Chapter Five (or The one in which two worlds collide - there are plenty of musical references in here, huh?)

“How can I say this without hurting your feelings, darling?” The platinum blonde girl who was taking care of Adore’s hair looked disappointed at that mess on her head. “Your hair is terrible.”

“Nevermind. Birds need a nest to hang out, don’t they?” Adore poked the funny bone of the hair stylish. “I believe you can save it, can’t you?”

“Well, it depends on what do you want to do with it. If you wanna be blonde like me or Miss Russia over there, I’d better shave your head and give you a wig.”

“No color change, thanks”, the Sonage Nightingale looked at her reflection in the mirror. Mom was right, Adore was really pretty with those green eyes and deep dark hair. “Actually, don’t change much. I want to keep my hair as dark as the core of my soul and as long as the list of Twos that wish they were me back in Sonage.” She chuckled. “Just make it less 'hi I slept with rats’ and more like 'hi I’m a Five who pretends to be a princess’, please.”

Alaska, the hair stylish, giggled. “You’re funny, Miss Adore. I’m already rooting for you.”

As Alaska started studying what she could do to Adore’s hair, the brunette’s gaze fell on the “Miss Russia” the stylish mentioned not long ago. She was sitting there, all smiles – and what a beautiful smile she had –, talking to a reporter. She recognized the blonde quickly, it was Yekaterina with the complicated last name, from Columbia.

The Five analyzed the girl. She was sit like a lady, wearing beautiful dress and shoes, very princess-like. Despite the royal aura she seemed to emanate, Yekaterina did look like a pleasant person to be around. Last thing Adore could see was she shaking the reporter’s hand before heading to another couch and talk to two girls: one had the smallest waist Adore’s ever seen and the other was a latin girl with a beautiful smile.

Alaska did do a miracle to that hair. Adore felt like she was one of those princesses from the stories Charlie used to tell her in her childhood. Her dark locks were now fluffy, shiny and wavy. Alaska even added little clips with pearls to avoid it from falling on Adore’s face.

“Oh my God, Alaska. Can you believe this shit?” The Selected was pleasantly surprised. The bad word didn’t seem to bother the blonde, who also seemed very proud of her work.

“I know, right, Adore Delano”, she replied. “Your hair looks so good… I love it.”

“I look fucking cool”, Adore said before getting up from her chair and hugging Alaska. “You’re a hero. Like, really. I don’t think there is a word to express how thankful I am.”

“Don’t say nothing, just send me flowers”, Alaska giggled. “Go on, Miss Adore. You still have makeup and nails to be done.”

She muttered another thank you before being led to the next station.

Unlike most of her fellow competitors, Adore payed attention to the names of every single person that crossed her way in this crazy journey. From George, the forms guy, to Bianca Del Rio, the woman that received her. From her fierce style manager, Raja, to the sweet girl who was now painting her nails, Kim. There was a man painting her face, but even though he said his name was Fame, that was not what a pin attached to his shirt’s pocket said. Adore respected that choice, though. If he says he’s Fame, then Fame he is.

“I have to say, your makeup didn’t suck for a Five”, Fame commented as he styled Adore’s eyebrows. “I’m trying to keep that style to what I’m doing.”

The girl just hummed. Mom and her couldn’t afford a makeup artist back in Sonage, so she had to learn how to beat a face by herself. Charlie taught her a few tricks too, but the techniques she used were mostly Adore’s.

After they got her ready, Raja reappeared, taking the Selected to a maze of racks and dresses. While the other girls had at least 6 different clothes, Adore only had one dress to her name. Raja seemed disappointed as she approached the girl.

“I’m deeply sorry, Miss Adore, but we weren’t expecting you until this morning” she didn’t sound condescending, if anything, she was frustrated. “We’ve only got your measures like, four hours ago and the maids only had time to sew one day dress. The queen herself went to buy some more so you can keep up to your competitors.”

“Oh, it’s okay. Thank you, Raja.” Adore flashed a sweet smile at Raja, who also offered her some shoes.

“Well, I think any of these will look fine. And don’t feel bad about your wardrobe, your maids are working on it. And about this dress…” her tone was very dreamy right now, “Prince Casey himself chose the fabric.”

Her heart felt a little warm as she got dressed. Just a look at the mirror and wow, do I really look that expensive? As she already expected, the reporters came to her and asked a bunch of questions on her look, her ideas on the other girls and her overall expectations about The Selection.

***

“Oh, there she is. The Replacement.” Violet rolled her eyes as she saw another black-haired girl come from the dressing rooms.

Katya didn’t even fight the urge to look. Damn, bitch was tall. And her dress was lovely: lilac with a white belt, short sleeves and some pearl details on the top part. She almost looked like royalty.

“What do you mean by replacement?” Violet’s new friend, Pearl, asked.

“A blonde smiley girl was picked from Sonage, but she broke the law and was disqualified”, the tiny-waisted model answered, matter-of-factly. “I heard somebody say the bitch lied on her form, and giving false information is indeed a crime.”

“I heard she was made an Eight and then they got 'The Replacement’ instead”, it was time for Ivy to talk about it.

“Lucky girl.” Pearl sighed.

The girl they were calling “The Replacement” was done with her interview now and chose a seat far away from every other girl in the room. As she passed by Katya’s group, the girl from Columbia could read the name on her pin: Adore.

How could a name fit it’s owner so perfectly? Adore didn’t have to open her mouth or do anything, but Katya was sure she was really adorable. And scared. Katya could sense that, she was really good at reading other people’s body language: Adore stared at the floor, only lifting her gaze to look around. She was really tall, but the way she was sit made her look really small. She looked at her nails and played with her hair. Her expression revealed she was kind of unsure about being there. And then Adore started looking around again, when her eyes met Katya’s.

The girl from Sonage tried to look away, but those blue eyes were kind of magnetic. It was Yekaterina, of course, Miss Russia. Why is she looking at me?, Adore thought. Does she think I’m some kind of aberration?

Suddenly, Adore thought the plant by her side looked extremely fascinating. Of course. The other girls were already talking about her, about how she wasn’t supposed to be here. Yekaterina was one of them, clearly. She was a Three, she had a “higher position” compared to Adore… Or so she thought she had. Adore was now a Three too, since she was one of the Selected. George said something about lower caste girls having some difficulties to go back to their previous lives after The Selection, so anyone below Three received Three status after being chosen. Simple as that.

Katya swears she heard something break when Adore looked away. Did I stare too much? Of course this wasn’t the main question in her head. Despite this feeling, she dared looking at Adore again, only to be interrupted by Bianca. Sadly, she didn’t pay attention to anything the older woman said after the “ladies” calling.

The question was still pulsing in her mind.

Did anyone notice?