pandorascripts - Tumblr blog

[pandorascripts]

what’s so funny to me is that I starting BINGING MERLIN and fell in love with Morgana Pendragon all over again. I literally— in the span of two hours— wrote the first chapter to a fic. Like😭😭 all bc I was so inspired by a bunch of hot ass edits of my wife. I love being a lesbian.

[pandorascripts]

As The World Ends - (A Taylor Swift/Reader AU)

It's been eight years since the world went into darkness and chaos. Everyday flesh-eating monsters take more land and lives— the government long discarded and abandoned. Soulmates have been set to the bottom of people's concerns, most more dedicated to living to see the sun again. Taylor's a leader, she keeps her group to herself and refuses to help unknown strangers. That is until ex-militia leader—also her soulmate— Y/N Y/LN enters her life. With Taylor leaving her well-off group in hopes of a cure, she quickly becomes enraptured in hard and difficult messes with Y/N. Somewhere along the way, Taylor starts to doubt her instincts and trust her soul mark's desires.

Or, the last of us soulmate AU no one asked for but will get.

Note: CONTENT WARNINGS will NOT be stated in any chapters, they’re in the STORY’S DESCRIPTION. I'm not sure when this will be updated, and with school starting up soon it will not be as frequent as I want it to be. I will NOT abandon this story though.

CW: GRAPHIC descriptions of VIOLENCE (GUNS, ABUSE, non-cannon-typical FIGHTS), HEAVY GORE (MUTILATION, blood, vomit, CANNIBALISM), descriptions of NUDITY and sexual INTERCOURSE, HEAVY ANGST).

slow burn fic.

!!I INTEND TO MAKE THIS AS DARK AS POSSIBLE, AND SURPASS THE GORE SHOWN IN THE GAMES/TV SHOW!!

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION BASED ON THE LAST OF US UNIVERSE. ALL CREDITS GO TO THE RIGHTFUL OWNERS OF TLOU.

——————

PROOF READ ONCE! (Will be revising when story is complete). Posted on my ao3 (laceyromanoff) and my wattpad (bethHARMONSwife).

1550 words.

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It was quiet today— something that should never be said in the city of New York, but Taylor decided that, that's the only thing to describe it. The only noises she could her was her pencil scratching along the paper, and the light strum of her guitar a moment later. 

She had been working on a new album, hoping to have it out within the next year or so. Taylor was excited, as she always was when she began to write— but she couldn't help that odd feeling that something was amiss. 

To put her mind at ease, Taylor got up, softly setting her guitar strap on her shoulder, and walked to the window. She opened the blinds with her fingers, curious as to why the city that never sleeps, was sleeping. Taylor frowned, a bald man was running down the street, jumping straight onto a woman. 

He didn't apologize— or even get up for that matter. Taylor opened her blinds a little more, trying to see what was happening. 

"GET AWAY FROM THE WINDOWS!" 

Taylor jumped back, her moms voice booming across the room. "W-What?!"

"C'mon we gotta go, Andrea," Scott said, impatiently tapping his foot behind the aforementioned. 

Taylor frowned, she'd invited her immediate family up to her penthouse in New York, wanting them to her what she had for her album so far. It had only been a day since they'd been up here, surely they couldn't have to go already. Not to mention, her brother had his own car and her parents were divorced— if Scott had to leave, there's no reason Andrea couldn't stay. Her parents seemed off, impatiently shifting every few seconds, hushed voices snapping back and forth at each other. 

"Taylor, I need you to pack a small bag— only the essentials. And be quick."

With that, her father left the room, a confused Taylor blankly looking at her mother. 

"Mom? What's going on?"

Andrea frowned— her daughter was twenty-five, no reason to lie to an adult, even if the adult was her kid. As much as Andrea wanted to sugarcoat it from Taylor— protect her from what was going on— she knew the only way to truly protect her, was to let Taylor ready herself. "There's a rapid-spreading disease going on, it's... it's turning people into cannibals."

Taylor chuckled. surely some prank her parents were playing. "What?"

"Taylor! Pack your damn bags!" Andrea snapped, pointing to her closet. 

Taylor stuttered upwards, awkwardly shuffling along her floor and grabbing a bag, mindlessly tossing in some clothes. In a few short minutes Taylor managed to grab some basics from her room, slinging it over one shoulder, the other shoulder carrying her guitar in it's separate bag. 

"No guitar— too much noise," Scott directed, shaking his head stiffly. 

"I don't go anywhere without my guitar—"

"Today you do," Andrea cut in, a stone-cold gaze Taylor was unfamiliar with, resting on her usually-soft face. 

Taylor frowned, hesitating. "Weapon. I'll cut the strings now."

"Hurry." Scott shifted on his feet again, directed the family into the living room of Taylor's house. He walked to the blinds every few seconds, checking the window.

Taylor shrugged the guitar out of its case, grabbing some plyers nearby and snipping them. With every snap came a loud, sharp twang. Scott's eyes widened, his hand rushing out to Taylor before she could snap a third string. 

"Wait," he whispered, lightly stepping in the direction of the door. 

Taylor and Andrea waited with bated breaths, hoping it was nothing. Before Scott could check the peephole, a loud snarl erupted from the other side of the door, a harsh thud shaking it after. 

Taylor's jaw dropped, the severity of the situation crashing down on her. 

"Quick!" Scott whisper-shouted, hastily pointing to the couch. 

Taylor and Andrea nodded, all three of them starting to lift the couch and silently set it against the door. With how the walls were only a couple feet away from each other, Scott managed to set the couch diagonally against the walls, acting as a barricade. 

"What if they crawl?" Taylor asked, another harsh screech and bang, rattling the door. The couch stayed upright.

Scott ignored her question, silently leading the trio through Taylor's apartment, and into her at-home sound booth. 

"Snip the cords. Now."

Taylor nodded, making fast work of the cords. In thirty seconds the remaining three cords were off and curled against her guitar. 

"There's a fire escape we can take. It'll lead us to the parking lot where my car is."

Scott nodded, allowing Taylor to lead them temporarily. Wordlessly, and quietly, the group's steps got closer to the parking lot. Up until then they hadn't ran into any of the infected beings, and Taylor was still in slight disbelief.

Taylor pointed to her car, handing the keys to Scott. They nervously looked around— Taylor's guitar resting in her hand, Andrea's baseball in hers, and Scott's sharpened flute in his other grip. Scott gave a nod, unlocking the car. It chirped loudly, the group awkwardly standing around for a moment. 

Taylor gulped, starting to head to the car. 

"SHIT!" Scott yelled. "GET IN THE CAR! NOW!"

Taylor didn't have to see the infected to hear them. Loud snarls and roars filled the parking lot, Taylor sliding into the passenger as Scott got into the drivers. Even with the doors muffling her surroundings, she could hear the hard footsteps and groans. Andrea managed to get into the backseat, slamming her door shut right before a zombie smacked into the window. Taylor looked at the small crack in horror, anxiously patting her father's shoulder. 

"GO!" she yelled. 

Scott turned the key in the engine, hearing it roar to life before he peeled out of there, infected slamming into the hood of the car one after another like dominoes. Taylor saw theirfaces in slo-mo, recognizing some of them as people she once knew. Her doorman scratched at the glass, bones shattering a moment later as he sunk to the ground. Next was her neighbor, the one who always partied until three am no matter how many noise complaints people filed. Taylor choked back a sob as her brothers face smashed into the windshield, her mom crying out with her. 

"Austin! It's Austin, Scott! We have to go back."

Scott shook his head, slamming on the petal as he drove the car down the ramp. "It's not him... n-not anymore."

Taylor held back her cries, choosing to keep her eyes shut. Her hand idly rubbed her soul mark, the wrist tattoo comforting her as tears slipped out from under her eyelids. Every time a body smashed against the car, a loud growl flew by her ear, or a hard cry from her mom lingered in the car, her eyes would squeeze shut again, and her body would flinch backwards. 

When Taylor opened her eyes again, her dad was driving off the highway, the car bumping and slowing cruising against the grassy, outer-part of New York City. 

"We're gonna be out of gas by nightfall..."

Andrea saddened at Scott's words, Taylor feeling a numbness like never before. 

"So... what then?" Andrea softly spoke up.

"Then we find a place to hide, barricade ourselves in and hope for the best."

Taylor thought for a moment. She never enjoyed horror movies— much less, zombie ones, so now that she's quite literally trapped in that type of film, she finds her limited knowledge very frustrating.

"We need food— and, and we'll have to ration it out," she stated, ignoring her shaky hands. 

"My bags full of canned goods, we should be okay for a month."

"What about your clothes?" Taylor asked her dad, remembering the amount of stressed he had laid on her about clothing. 

"I've got them mixed with mine."

Taylor looked back at her mom's tear-stained face, silently nodding. The group sat in the car, each too lost in their own thoughts to actually voice them. Scott, staring off into the countryside's roads, Taylor, wondering how many people she once knew were now infected, and Andrea— the zombified version of her son playing in her head like a loop. They all shuddered. 

It had been eight years since that night, Scott and Andrea passing within the first three years of the apocalypse. But, during those three years, they managed to start a small colony. They got chickens, cutting out their voice boxes and shoving cardboard against the walls to muffle the remaining noise. The same was done with cows. And pigs. And people if they hit too loud.

Now, Taylor's in charge of the rather-large group as she has been for five years. After the loss of her parents, she become colder— refusing refugees with a scowl and a shotgun. The group knew not to go against Taylor, after all— they remembered what happened when her ex-boyfriend challenged her leadership. They doubt the pigs ever had a better meal.

[pandorascripts]

it’s time to go

summary: You know when it’s time to go. 

cw: angst.

BASED ON ITS TIME TO GO (all rights to ms taylor).

WAKE UP BITCHES I POSTED.

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You can feel it, that deep pit in your stomach as Taylor interlocks her hands with her boyfriend. The feelings enough to make you order a stronger drink, down it, and walk out the door. As much as you wanted to be at your friends wedding, you really couldn’t watching Taylor show off her new boyfriend. 

When the door swings shut behind you, you take a deep breath. Taylor had led you on for years now. You two were close friends, but behind closed curtains she was handsy, always touching you, kissing you. You frowned at the thought, she’d practically act like a couple with you, then the moment the spotlight was on her you’d be shoved away.

But of course Taylor had the right to get jealous, she always was. You’d try to go on a date, to get over her, and she’d act like you were the villain, as if you hadn’t asked her to go on a date multiple times before. You’re done, you know it now, it’s time to go. 

Your shaky hands open her contact, blocking her number and deleting it. You pocket your phone, deciding to walk the five blocks home.

The cold November air doesn’t stay when you enter the venue, trying to find the bride and wish her the best. It doesn’t take long, she’s lounging on the side, smiling as she talks to someone. You walk up behind her, watching as the conversation ends. 

“Hey!” She smiles, giving you a hug, her arms resting on your biceps. 

You lean down to her ear so she can hear what you say over the loud music. “I gotta get going, but I just wanted to say congrats again.”

She frowns playfully, nodding along. “It was good to see you again! Get home safe.”

“Will do.” You smile, walking back out the doors. 

You’re not allowed one moment of silence it seems, as heavy footsteps trail behind you. You let out yelp as your shoulders get tugged backwards, Taylor’s angry face right in front of yours. 

“What gives?” you say, trying to free your shoulder of her grip. 

Taylor doesn’t relent, still holding on to it as she speaks. “So you’re just flirting with the bride now?”

“Wh— The hell? I was saying goodbye.”

“And you just had to lean in her ear to do so?”

You scoff, Taylor’s jealousy absolutely astounding to you. “Yeah, I did, Taylor! It’s loud in there.”

Taylor shakes her head, letting your shoulder drop as she lets out a hot breath. You wipe your nose, turning back around to leave, but Taylor speaks again. 

“You’re a total bitch.”

“Excuse me?” you ask, eyes wide at her insult. 

She goes to say something else, but you cut her off. “You’ve been leading me on for years, Taylor. You don’t get to call me the fucking bitch when you showed up with a boyfriend after ghosting me. You’re the bitch!”

Taylor looks taken aback at your words, not that she should be. “Leading you on? When did I ever do that?”

You scoff, running your hands through your hair. “Maybe when you would kiss me and act like we were dating, only for you to call us friends in public. Not to mention all the times we made out when you were off fucking around with whatever dude you were dating.”

Taylor stays silent, a small sniffle the only thing you hear. You figure it’s the cold weather, but then you hear another as she clears her throat. 

“You’re right,” she admits softly. “You don’t deserve that… I’m sorry.”

You nod your head, turning around again to walk home. The pit in your stomachs more prominent than ever, as is the sinking feeling in your heart. As much as it kills you to admit it, you know it’s time to go. So you go. 

[pandorascripts]

The Hills

Summary: Taylor stumbles over to your house after a rough fight and a break-up with her-- now ex-boyfriend, Joe. The only problem is that Taylor is drunk and high, claiming she wants you. She does, but she also knows she's not ready to tell the world she's gay. S0, after being denied and sent to your guestroom, Taylor wakes up in the morning knowing exactly what she wants-- you.

note: I wanted to make this so much angstier, but I didn't. Maybe I will in the future, but for now enjoy :) / also posted on my ao3 (and will be on my wattpad when I get around to it).

pairing: taylor swift/reader

cw: drugs, alcohol, making out.

Taylor shrugs on her plaid coat, sighing as Joe continues to argue. They're currently at a friend's, friend's party, and Joe keeps trying to pick a fight with her. To say Taylor's not in the mood is a straight-up lie, she's beyond stressed from re-recording, touring, and making music videos in between. Joe keeps arguing and pressing a matter that Taylor has debunked on multiple occasions.

"All I'm saying Taylor, is that it's weird-- and awkward!" He stomps his foot, moving some of his hair out of his face.

"I don't like her like that, Joe! I've told you this before- so, so, so many times!"

Joe's hands are flailing around, his face red as he tries to get Taylor to see his point. "I know you don't, but she does! It's so weird when she comes over because I know she's staring at you, and-- and-- just being weird!"

Taylor runs her hands through her own bangs, trying to free them from the light sheen of sweat holding them down. It's a goddamn hotbox in this house, and Taylor can barely see three feet ahead of her. "Look, Joe, I'm not going to stop being friends with her. It's a crush, it'll go away. Plus, she's never been disrespectful to you, or me."

Joe stands in front of the door, blocking Taylor from exiting. "You stop being friends with her, or you break up with me."

Taylor scoffs, obviously not believing Joe. She tries to sidestep him, wedging her hand through him and the door as she tries to slide it open. She looks up at him, eyebrows raised. "You're not being serious."

If the way his lips are pressed into a thin line, eyebrows pinched together, and the impatient tap of his foot are to go by, she'd say he was.

"Leave. I'll find my own way home."

Joe's eyes widen drastically, not even remotely expecting Taylor to choose you over him.

"Babe--"

"Don't you "babe" me. You told me to choose I did. Go." Taylor looks him dead in the eyes, even moving aside so he can cross the room and leave. He lets out a rough scoff, shaking his head as he does so. With Joe's body gone, Taylor opens the sliding glass door and steps out. The air is freezing against her hot skin, and each gust of wind sends shivers down her spine. Taylor groans loudly, rubbing her hands against her sweaty face. She doesn't even want t go back into the house-- they're only there because Joe hadn't seen his American friends in a while and they invited him. What they didn't tell Joe, or Taylor for that matter, is the fact that they were all celebrating the legalization of marijuana. Taylor hadn't been very pleased when she stepped into a literal crack house, not literally, but it definitely felt like it. Off to her right sits a plastic table, a couple of lighters and joints are accompanied by a box of some name-brand alcohol.

Taylor sighs, she shouldn't, she knows, but she really wants to forget about the shitty day she's had. It's been one fight after another with Joe, not to mention the fact that she knows she doesn't just feel nothing for you, and so does Joe. Taylor knows where he's coming from, of course she does, she'd be just as worried if Joe had a friend who liked him. But still, that doesn't give him a right to present her with an ultimatum like that. Taylor doesn't think she'll reach out to Joe.

With those complicated thoughts, Taylor strides over to the table and grabs a joint. She holds one end to her mouth, raising a lighter up to it. Whatever knowledge about smoking she knows, came straight from a movie. So, when Taylor pulls away the lighter and takes a big breath in, she immediately yanks it out of her mouth and starts coughing. It's a rough, gnarly cough that eats up at her throat, but when it's over she brings the joint back up to her lips.

It's been a couple of minutes now, her eyes fluttering shut as the overwhelming calm sets over her body. Taylor completely forgets about Joe, about the fight, and her happiness only increases as she takes a sip of the cheap, warm beer.

Another couple of minutes go by before Taylor starts thinking again. This time, she thinks about you. About your smile, the way her stomach flutters every time you're close to her, about your lips that Taylor bets are as soft as they look. And as Taylor takes another hit, her entire body is practically begging to know what your touch would be like. Taylor opens Uber, typing in your address as she leaves the room. Bodies are pushed against her as she half-trips down the stairs, squeezes past people making out, and dodges a girl vomiting on the sidewalk. Her Uber shows up a couple of minutes later, and she's standing in your front, porch light only ten minutes after.

The knock on your door wakes you up from your slumber. Your dog jumps off your lap, yapping and running around at the noise.

You groggily stand up, rubbing your eyes and you check the peephole of the door. You open the door. "Taylor?" you groan out. "It's like-- four in the morning, what are you doing?"

Still under the weed and alcohol, Taylor can't help the way your morning voice has her desperate. "I broke up with Joe."

Sleep runs away at that, your eyes wide as you take in the news. "Oh, Tay, I'm so sorry." You open the door wider, a silent gesture for her to enter your house. "Do you need a hug?"

Taylor shakes her head, slipping off her shoes. With the information out there, Taylor takes a couple of steps around you and takes even more forward. You're trapped against the wall, confusion pumping through your veins.

"Taylor?" you ask, although it comes out more of a sigh when you meet her gaze.

She doesn't answer you, instead leaning down by your lips. Her hot breath fans against them, her only thoughts being how much she wants you.

"I broke up with him for you."

Your eyes widen furthermore, the new information not at all expected. Your heart is violently slamming against your ribs, your mouth suddenly dry. You lick your lips and watch as Taylor glances downwards.

"I don't understand."

Taylor's hands are wandering, you're not quite sure when they were even touching you, but that thought is disregarded as she starts bringing them under your shirt. "I don't want him, I want you."

With that Taylor closes the gap between you, your hands wedging themselves into her hair. It is absolute bliss as she continues to kiss you, her right leg coming in between your own. Her lips leave yours reluctantly, reattaching moments later at your jaw, then your neck, and your neck again, and oh. You let out a slight whimper, her teeth softly biting into your neck, the pains only there for a moment though, as her tongue comes out to slide right over it. It isn't until then you smell the weed on her clothes and the alcohol on her breath that you start to panic.

You shove her away, taking a few steps away from her as well. "Are you drunk right now? And-- is that weed?" you practically yell.

Taylor groans, sliding off her jacket. It's tossed on the floor recklessly as she steps forward again. "I came from a party, but I'm fine. I'm sober enough."

You shake your head, all of that stuff five minutes ago shattered. How do you even know if she was being honest? How do you even really know she just didn't want a one-night stand? You don't. But you're sure as hell not going to let your best friend walk out onto the street drunk and high.

Wordlessly, you guide Taylor up to the guest bedroom and set her down. "Extra set of pajamas in the closet, and there should be a spare toothbrush in the bathroom."

Taylor sighs, wanting to go back to kissing you. She came here for sex, not to be treated like a child. But even loopy she knows you won't let her touch you in this state, so walks to the closet and grabs the clothes. Taylor looks over to you, a frown on her face as she watches you let out a small sniffle. You're disappointed no doubt, the moment with Taylor you longed for was absolutely ruined by the fact that-- in your eyes-- it wasn't real. Not only that, you're beating yourself up over the fact that you made out with her when she wasn't sober.

Taylor hears a soft whimper fall from your mouth as you turn around to leave. Even drunk Taylor doesn't like that noise, she wants to give you a big hug-- tell you that it's fine. But she's the reason you're saddened, she's the reason that you're crying, and that scares her. So, she locks the door behind you and slides into your clothes.

The bed is freezing, and Taylor has a strong urge to eat something, but she doesn't want to run the risk of running into you-- so she slides under the covers and wipes her own tears away.

Taylor wakes up the next morning with a bad headache and an even worse heartache. She hadn't consumed nearly enough weed or alcohol to make her forget about last night, so everything that happened was still playing in her brain. Taylor sits up, groaning as she rubs her forehead. She fucked up, she knows she did. Taylor doesn't know what to do though, because as much as she wants to run back to Joe and apologize, she can't exactly forget about what happened last night-- or how much she doesn't regret it. Kind of doesn't. She regrets leading Joe on as much as she did, and she certainly regrets being drunk and high. Taylor doesn't regret kissing you though, even smiling as she remembers the moment.

She gets up, adjusting her pajama shorts, and opens the bedroom door. Taylor walks down the stairs and into the kitchen, finding you seated on a chair looking at your phone. She clears her throat awkwardly, at a loss for words.

"There's food in the fridge, I have to get to work soon so I won't be eating with you."

Taylor frowns a little at that, but she shakes it off and looks up at you. "About last nig--"

"Don't. You were drunk and high, and I'm guessing you don't remember most of anything."

There's her way out. She can agree, apologize for crashing on you and go back to Joe. She doesn't. Instead, she shakes her head and rebuttals. "I do. I remember everything-- from breaking up with Joe and showing up here, and-- uh, and kissing you."

You don't seem fazed, by this, instead nodding your head along with her. "Taylor, I know it was a mistake. You weren't sober at all and I don't blame you."

Taylor's eyes widen, her heart feeling like it could burst. Had she gotten it wrong? Did you not like her like she liked you? No, you had to, there was no way you didn't like her when you looked at her like she held your entire world. Taylor saw it in the way you blushed whenever she leaned over you to grab something, or when she leaned against you to cuddle and your breathing halted, or in the--

"I think I love you," she blurted, a light gasp leaving her own mouth.

You look at Taylor for a moment, phone off and on the kitchen table. "T--Taylor, you don't know what you're talking about. You're hungover and freshly out of a breakup."

Taylor shakes her head, more confident in her statement now. "No, no, I know I do."

She walks over to you, grabbing your hand as she does so. "I know the way I came here was completely inexcusable, m-- my behavior was poor, and I shouldn't have done that when I wasn't sober. But you reciprocated-- you kissed me too, Y/N, and that has to mean something."

Taylor stares at you, swallowing harshly as she waits for your response.

"I can't, Taylor. I won't be the rebound girl, I just won't do that to myself."

"But you're not!" Taylor sighs, stepping even closer to you as she holds your face. With her hand guiding your jaw to her, you have no choice but to look into her eyes. And now that you're looking into her beautiful, blue eyes, you can't lie.

"I'm scared, Taylor. The world doesn't know you're gay-- hell, I didn't know you were gay until I was pinned to my own wall! And you just got out of a relationship with Joe, and it's not like we can be public-- at least not for months after this. I jus--" You cut yourself off, tears pricking your eyes as even more worries fill your brain.

Taylor sighs, leaning her head against yours. As much as your brain tells you to push her away, your body doesn't listen. "So we keep it under wraps for a bit. Just us for a couple of months until I can tell everyone about you."

You close your eyes, trying to focus on your thoughts. That proves to be impossible though, as you feel Taylor's thumb delicately swipe across your cheek, wiping stray tears from your face. Taylor lets out a shaky sigh, pressing a light kiss against your forehead. "I promise you won't be a secret for long, just until everything settled and it's okay for me to tell everyone."

When you don't give her an answer, she lays your head against her chest and starts talking again. "Baby, I just want to love you right. I don't want to hurt you, but I know I won't be able to go back to being friends-- I don't want to."

Your stomach flutters at the term of endearment. Truth be told you wouldn't be able to be just friends after last night. Not after you got to know what it was like to have her lips on yours, her hands against your skin, and her breath mixing with yours. She was, no joke intended, intoxicating to you.

You look up to Taylor and wrap your arms around her back, nodding your head against her chest as you do so. "I love you too, Taylor. For way too long, now."

Taylor lets out a soft chuckle, burying her face into the top of your head. You can feel her smile against you, which causes you to let out a small laugh and smile too.

You and Taylor sit there for a bit longer, holding each other and giggling randomly. Of course, you know that the next couple of months will be rough-- not only for you but also for Taylor herself-- but you're willing to do it if it means you get to love her.

[pandorascripts]

do you still have the list of characters you'll write? i can't find it sorry

yes I do! I unpinned it temporarily. Here’s a link! https://www.tumblr.com/pandorascripts/721624714766909440/masterlist-updated?source=share

thanks 4 asking🫶🏻🫶🏻

[pandorascripts]

hi! i was wondering if i could make a request for a katniss x fem reader imagine to safe and sound by taylor swift

safe and sound

pairing: katniss everdeen/reader.

cw: death, angst, description of body mutilation, bombs, major character death, gale. LOL.

note: I wanted to make this a cute little fix where Katniss sings the reader to sleep and then heads off to fight Snow, but I was like fuck it let’s kill r. ALSO! MY FIRST KATNISS REQUEST! THANK U!!!

based on Safe & Sound (Taylor’s Version). some lyrics used.

—-;—-;—-;—-;—-;—-;—-;—-;—-;—-;—-

As Katniss watches the explosions take lives and hope, her eyes catch something for a moment— a bright gleam in the dissipating dust. 

Her feet drag her along the road, tears pricking her eyes. Dead bodies lay scattered across the ground, some missing arms or legs. Katniss stumbles upon a woman, her arms wrapped around a little girl in a yellow jacket— the girl she had seen just moments before, breathing and alive. She chokes back her sob, refusing to let herself be any more somber than she already is. Katniss has to be strong for the cameras and her so-called army. She has to show Snow he doesn’t have an affect on her. 

As she walks around more; dodging bodies of all shapes and sizes— mainly smaller figures, she trips on something hard. A rough cough comes from where she had kicked and Katniss looks down. The idea of a probable survivor makes her fill with hope, but it’s quickly snatched away from her when she sees who it is. 

“Hey, Kat,” you mumble out, exhaustion getting the better of you. 

For a moment Katniss can only stand there, shakily breathing in horror at your fucked up state. There’s a large amount of blood coming from your torso, half of your head covered in it too. Dust sticks to your cracked lips, large, watery eyes looking up at her. 

Katniss sits down, adjusting you off the floor and into her lap so she can hold you and apply pressure. She knows it won’t help, there’s too much damage, but the obvious knowledge doesn’t deter her. 

“You were supposed to be farther back. Why?” she asks, taking a break every few seconds to control her shaky tone. 

Your hand lifts from the ground, a hand that’s no doubt fractured or broken, and holds onto Katniss’ forearm. You give her a light squeeze, a rough cough breaking the silence. 

“I wanted to—“ you hack up again, a little blood staining your lips red, “wanted to help.”

Katniss can’t say anything in the fear she’ll break down. She wants to be strong. Not for the cameras, not for Snow, not for her unwanted army— she wants to be strong for you. You’re dying, and Katniss can’t do anything about it. 

“You did. You did help.”

You nod weakly in her arms, your eyes watching the sunset in front of you. You don’t wanna go, you don’t know what happens when you die. Is heaven really real? If so, did you make the requirements? What if you didn’t? Surely your sacrifice would make up for it? Maybe you’d go to Valhalla, or maybe there was just nothing. Maybe after death you were only greeted by nothingness. With that horrific thought you tighten your grip on Katniss and take a deep breath. It comes out a harsh wheeze and your lungs sting from the effort. 

“Will you sing?” you ask her, a tight cough coming out after. 

Katniss’ other hand has gone to stroking your hair, moving the dried-up pieces away from your sticky forehead. “Yeah.”

You eyes look back to the sunset, Katniss’ soft voice singing in the background. 

“I remember tears streaming down your face when I said I’ll never let you go.”

Her soft voice starts to put you at ease, no doubt with the help of her featherlight touch. The sunset looks beautiful from where you’re laying. If you took out the immense amount of pain you’re in and the conditions of which this is happening, you could almost pretend that it was a date. Like one of those dates way back when you were just two lowly girls in district twelve— fighting and hunting for meals. You didn’t have a family, both of your parents died in the mines, but Katniss took you in. She taught you how to trap, and kill, and skin— Katniss saved you. 

“Thank you, Kat—Katniss,” you spitter out, coughs becoming more violent and frequent the longer you speak. 

Her singing stops and you feel a light, hesitant kiss on your head. 

Katniss goes back to singing, each word getting more cracked and breathy. “Just close your eyes,” she sings, “the sun is going down.”

You eyes flicker close, Katniss’ soothing voice fading in and out. 

“Come morning light, you and I will be safe and sound.”

The pain has stopped now, replaced by a peace as your body begins to shut down. 

“No one can hu—“

Katniss stops abruptly, you chest no longer moving up and down. Everything that she’s been withholding shatters, than dam of tears bursting through and clogging her vision. She presses her head against yours, gasping. “Please,” she whispers, barely coherent through her chocked sobs. “No, no, no.”

Now that you’re gone, Katniss tightens her hold on you, the watery squelch buried beneath her broken sobs. Her face is puffy and red by the time the rests of the troops make it to her, each and every one of them takes off their hat. Katniss doesn’t look up to see it, her eyes shut tight as they all stoop to one knee.

Katniss continues crying for God knows how long, despair and grief filling her body more than the blood that fuels it. 

Katniss doesn’t start screaming until a rebel tries to pick her up, her kicks and shouts not deterring him. Even as she bangs against his chest, is heaved onto his shoulder, she doesn’t relent. Your lifeless body starts getting farther, and father, and farther, and farther until it’s no longer in Katniss’ sight. 

Her voice is raw and husky from screaming, lungs crying out to get a proper breath. Katniss is only filled with rage when she’s set down, Gale’s face blurring into view. 

“You fucker!” she hollers, smacking his cheek. 

He turns slightly, wiping his face from where Katniss had angrily spat, still indifferent to her behavior. 

“Go get some sleep, Katniss.” He walks off, leaving her in all of her thoughts. 

Katniss won’t be able to sleep tonight. In fact, she doesn’t think she would call it exaggeration if she believed she’d never sleep another night. 

[pandorascripts]

i’m losing it i need a part two to coney island it’s my favorite song and i love the angst but I AM NOT BUILT FOR IT!!!!

LMAO HERE U GO POOKIE. It’s rlly short I’m so sorry. Also, I love angst. I almost replied to this with the most gut wrenching angst but I decided to be nice😋

—-

pairing: wednesday/reader

cw: light angst, ambiguous ending.

note: go read p1 first. REQUEST MORE FICS BASED ON TS PLS!!🫡🫡

—-;—-;—-;—-;—-;—-;—-;—-

Wednesday’s foot tapped nervously against the wooden floor. Her eyes watched your expression rapidly, one emotion washing over the next, until hurt was the only thing remaining. 

“You’re joking right?”

“You didn’t want a divorce. It’s an ultimatum.”

“You’re going to take off work for this? You’re going to actually try?” She watches your expression change, the hurt and fear washing away. You were doubtful, so was she. But if you both wanted this, then it’s the next step. 

“As long as you do too.”

Wednesday steps closure to you, taking your hand in hers. Divorce was a drastic measure, and once she had told you about what she wanted you had immediately bawled. She spent hours yesterday consoling you, apologizing, saying that she’ll figure something out. 

So, today she sat you down and showed you a flyer for couples therapy. Wednesday thought it might be worth a try— that you were worth the try, even though she hates therapy. 

“Okay. Yeah, I think this will be good for us.”

“Me too.” Wednesday finally sits down next you, squeezing you hand a couple of times. 

For the first time in months it doesn’t seem that cold. 

[pandorascripts]

a couple of what?!

summary: When out on the streets of NYC with your girlfriend, the paparazzi thinks you guys are friends. A rough make out session on the street tells the world otherwise.

pairing: taylor swift/reader

cw: kissing, light swearing, fluff.

note: so apparently I write for Taylor now LMAO. I literally was listening to dress and was like “fuck it” and boom twenty minutes later, here we are. So requests are open for her too! Also posted on ao3.

—-;—-;—-;—-;—-;—-;—-;—-

It’s been two months since Taylor asked you to be her girlfriend, and honestly, it’s been the best two months of your life. Taylor’s sweet, romantic, and comforting. Everything about her is a giant green flag, down from her cat obsession to her devotion to her fans. You truly can’t imagine how you got this lucky. 

So, sitting across from her in a fancy restaurant, you tell her so. 

“Hey, Taylor?”

She sets her glass down, smiling at you lightly. “Yeah?”

“I just wanted to say that, uh, you just make me really happy.” You look down to the table, realizing how absolutely, cringey that sounded out loud. 

Taylor only smiled widely, taking your hand in hers. “You make me happy too. Really happy.”

Your cheeks flush a light red, eyes locking into her shockingly blue ones. Another thing about Taylor— she’s astronomically beautiful. With lungs who can’t do their job, you go back to eating your food. Although you have to do it with your left hand because Taylor still has your hand in hers. Not like you care for how much slower it makes you— your appetite left the moment she had complimented your shirt. 

As your dinner wraps up— Taylor arguing that she wanted to pay, to which you just swapped your credit cards at the last moment— she leads you outside, pinkies locked. Since you were in Net York City for the weekend, Taylor had called herself your personal guide, showing you anything and everything. You smile, Taylor pointing out a random alley that she swore was significant. 

It didn’t take long for paparazzi to find the two of you, but you didn’t mind. You and Taylor weren’t exactly “out” with your relationship, but you had both agreed to just be yourselves out in public. So if the paps got a photo of you two kissing, then it was whatever. Taylor thought it would be funny to see her fans reaction to your guys’ “friendship.” 

It wasn’t until the paparazzi started asking you questions, did Taylor tense. 

“Y/N! Over here! Are you single?” 

“Are you with Taylor?”

You ignored them, lightly squeezing Taylor’s hand three times. She looked down to you, smiling slightly. It didn’t last long because son enough, her expression flipped like a dime. Taylor turned on her heel, staring one of the men down. 

“What did you just say?”

The man in question shrinks away from her gaze, shrugging and mumbling incoherent things. 

“Hey, Tay, let’s just g—“

In one fluid movement, Taylor has her hand on your hip, the one that was holding your hand is now imbedded in your hair. She leans down quickly, lips pressing against yours roughly, your hair being tugged lightly. There’s shouts all around, cameras shuttering as you fling your arms over Taylor’s shoulders. You don’t care in the slightest because Taylor’s hands are currently wandering, running up and down your back and hooking your thigh against her waist. 

Taylor pulls away slightly, just enough time for you to mumble a quick “Oh” before she leans back in. 

The paparazzi still hasn’t lost interest, so Taylor takes one of her hands away from you and sticks it up in the air— the ring on her middle finger gleaming in the sunlight like a beacon. 

As she’s doing this, you pull away to face the crowd. They each swarm you, getting photos of your face and her’s. It doesn’t take a genius to know Taylor’s lipstick is smudged and remnants are littered over your mouth. 

Taylor looks at the man from before, a smug grin on her face. “A couple of best friends my ass.”

You let out a snort, Taylor pushing past paparazzi and messaging her driver. 

“Babe, he called us friends? And you did that?”

Taylor looks down to you, a little bit of worry on her face. “Was that not okay? Oh my god, I should’ve as—“

You bring her head down to you, kissing her lips softly as more cameras flash. “It was perfect.”

Before Taylor can say anything, her driver’s skirting around the bend and you guys are stepping in her car. 

With a bit of morbid curiosity, you decide to look at the internet in fifteen minutes. You’re not so much worried for this news, everyone who matters to you knows about your relationship with Taylor, but you are worried about society’s. Of course it’s 2023, being homophobic is the new weird, so you’re only basing your fears off of stupidity. And Taylor’s fans? They’ll see this as an absolute win. 

[pandorascripts]

MASTERLIST (updated)

send is requests! also, im doing a special thing where I write fics based on T.S songs so make sure to request one based on her music if u can :) bye bye!

DC

Kara Danvers

Lena Luthor

Alex Danvers

Harley Quinn

scars (🥀,💕)

maddening love (🥀,💕, 🖤)

Pamela Isley

absent (🥀,💕)

MARVEL

Natasha Romanoff

Wanda Maximoff

Agatha Harkness

Carol Danvers

Maria Hill

Yelena Belova

WEDNESDAY

Wednesday Addams

Sweaty Kisses (💕)

unknowingly yours (🥀,🖤)

Murderous Love (🥀,🖤) ON HOLD

My Heart Is Yours (💕,🖤)

fugly slut (💕)

carrie moment (💕)

ruins (🖤)

hot rage and cold tears (🥀,💕)

241 (🥀) 241 II is (🥀,💕) and III is (💕)

coney island (🥀)

I Bet You Think About Me (🥀)

Secret Love Notes (💕)

I've Missed You (🥀,💕)

LEGACIES

Hope Mikaelson

Lizzie Saltzman

MISCELLANEOUS

Katniss Everdeen (The Hunger Games)

Morgana Pendragon (BBC’s Merlin)

Tahani Al Jamir (The Good Place)

Cruella De Vil (Cruella)

Hermione Granger (Harry Potter)

Emily Prentiss (Criminal Minds)

Beth Harmon (the Queen's Gambit)

[pandorascripts]

coney island

pairing: wednesday x reader

song: coney island (feat. The National) by Taylor Swift.

cw: angst

summary: Relationships can burn and break-- they can dwindle and even ruin the people involved in them. For some reason, you never thought you and Wednesday would have that. In a way, you were right. But unfortunately, being right doesn't always mean you win.

Or, you and Wednesday are just too much selfish for each other.

note: I love coney island sm.

SEND IN REQUESTS BASED ON TS SONGS PLS! <3

---:---:---:---:---:---:---:---:---

No matter how hard you tried to make it work, the sleepless nights you stayed up waiting for her, the meal prep that took hours just for her to shove it off, leaving her suits ironed and on the table, it didn't change the outcome. And maybe that's because while you did all those things, you still did as much ignoring and dismissing as she did. You and Wednesday were just too... selfish for a relationship.

In the beginning, middle, and end, the only thing that truly mattered to both of you was yourselves.

If you thought making meals that required a full day would get Wednesday to come back from work earlier, you'd make it. If "forgetting" to fill up her tank that very morning would make her regret going to work that day, you'd do it. And it wasn't even because you wanted her attention, you were simply bored. Spending all day doing chores and taking the train to upstate New York for groceries was tiresome.

For Wednesday her selfishness showed in other colors. It wasn't forgetting to do laundry or her other chores, but instead a third, much larger thing. She'd forget about you. Wednesday would get so wrapped up in her cases that she'd celebrate a lead with a partner instead of you. The parties or ceremonies she'd get invited to hadn't included a plus-one option for years. When she was labeled "Detective of the Month" and was giving her speech, your name didn't even leave her lips. In fact, your name never even registered in her brain until she was on her way home. The worst part about all of it is that she didn't even feel guilty for forgetting about her wife.

But now, as the kitchen lights are off, a plate of cold food resting on the dining table, Wednesday does feel guilty. Since when did your relationship become this sad? Most nights the two of you ate alone, a cold plate of food always resting on the counter or in the microwave, and the both of you came home at different times. It's like you two were complete strangers who happened to be married.

But that's not how it always was. Wednesday remembers what you guys were like before you got married-- head over heels in love. She remembers the warm dinners, the warm bed, the painfully wide smiles, and the "I love you"s frequently stated. Wednesday doesn't even remember the last time she held you close.

Her fork scrapes against the glass plate, cold chicken sliding into her beans. A soft "Plink!" makes her look down again. With a shaky sigh, Wednesday wipes her cheek dry and stands up. She doesn't bother taking care of her plate.

Wednesday doesn't want to lose you, but she can't find a way to win back what she's already lost. A recurring thought that the both of you are too much for one another wins over anything else in her head, and she goes to bed with a renewed purpose.

Tomorrow, she goes to the courthouse. Tomorrow, she saves the both of you from this sinking ship of a marriage. Tomorrow, she sends you the divorce papers.

[pandorascripts]

do I post it?

This Harlivy/Reader fic has been in my drafts for A WHILE now. It's not done, I'm working on the second chapter rn. But I could post the first one. I dunno though. I might wait until it's all done and then post it here and ao3. Depends on what u guys think.

here's the description,

Pamela, a woman you’ve known for eight years of your life, and someone who you’ve been hiding feelings for; Harley, a woman who has just been introduced into your life, she’s crazy, eccentric, and brings out a dangerously fun side of you. With feelings for both; who do you choose? And most importantly, whose heart do you shatter? 

and heres the first paragraph :)

"In a city full of criminals and low lives, petty thieves, and masters of destruction, you don't fall into any of those categories. No, not even remotely, you're a simple citizen in a shitty town, just dreaming and waiting to get out. Like most people living in Gotham, the idea of crime and chaos has always been there-- lurking in the back of your mind, like burglars hiding in the dark. Although, you have never given in-- even after being raised in Gotham all your life, you still obey the laws. There has to be some kind of award for that-- Hell, your best friend is a green ecoterrorist, the man you went to Med school with dropped out to fight crime, and a girl you had graduated with fell in love with Gotham's most infamous villain. To live in Gotham for over twenty-five years and never fall into temptation and greed is arguably one of the hardest feats ever reached."

a small note for this story too, becoming a psychiatrist only takes 7 years bc I said so! and pam and harley are in their late twenties.

[pandorascripts]

I Bet You Think About Me

pairing: wednesday x reader

cw: angst, cheating, tyler galpin.

note: you should know that I made morticia and gomez the mean rich type of people to fit this.

summary: catering your ex-girlfriend’s wedding was certainly not what you wanted to do, but it proves to be fruitful as you get to say goodbye— and taunt her.

song: I Bet You Think About Me (feat. Chris Stapleton) (Taylor’s Version) (From The Vault) by Taylor Swift ;).

proof read like once. I’m finding a lot of mistakes because I’m tired LMAO.

SEND IN REQUESTS BASED ON TS SONGS!

:—-:—- —-:—- —-:—- —-:—- —-:—- —-:—- —-:

It had been exactly three months since Wednesday had called off your relationship. She claimed you were too childish and that you were just too different from her— that you couldn’t fit into her world. Looking back on it now you can only laugh, the true reason why Wednesday broke up with you was because she was too scared of the consequences.

Despite what she claims and what others believe, Wednesday does care about what her family thinks. And her family, the richest and most powerful people in all of New York, had high expectations in who she would date. They certainly didn’t think (or even know) that Wednesday wanted to date someone below her status, below her age for that mater. Nine years wasn’t too bad, but her parents wanted Wednesday to be nine years younger than her rich, male lover. Unfortunately you didn’t fit any boxes where it mattered. 

But as you’re catering her wedding, watching Wednesday dance with her new husband, you really can’t help but chuckle. Wednesday’s been staring at you for the entire event, and you know damn well she’s been thinking about you. You see it in the way she eyes your work attire, — a tight, clad semi-formal suit— and in the way she frowns the moment her husband draws her attention away from you. It’s obvious. 

Buts it’s only until the service is almost over that she approaches you. 

“Hi.”

You look down to the glasses you’d been cleaning previously, trying to help out your friend with his own job. “Mrs. Galpin, is it?”

Wednesday scoffs, arms crossing over her chest. “Yeah, it is now.”

You nod, wiping a white cloth against the crystal glass of the cup. It’s almost as thick as the tension between you two. 

“Look, I want to tell you that I’ve moved on, and that I think it’s really immature of you to show up here.”

Your eyes widen drastically as you stare at Wednesday and her audacity. Grabbing her by the wrist, you drag her into the nearest storage closet so you can scream at her. She doesn’t stop you because she wont dare to make a scene with her filthy-rich family here. Her wrist in your hand brings up dead memories, memories long buried under sadness and anger. 

When the door clicks shut, you finally turn around to yell at her. “I’m doing my job, Wednesday. I didn’t have a choice because unlike you I can’t just wait until my trust fund opens. As you’ve made very, very, very, clear, I don’t have one!”

Wednesday rolls her eyes, her fingers adjusting the hem of her dress. “Just don’t cause anything. You and I both know that you were always dramatic.”

“Oh, I’m dramatic? You got engaged a week after we broke up to please your parents.”

“We were never going to work out! I like him! It wasn’t for my parents.”

“I don’t have to be one of your many shrinks to know you’ll never be happy with him. In fact,” you step closer to Wednesday, rage clouding the thoughts telling you to leave it be, “I bet you think about me.

“You’re out here marrying rich, handsome guys and trying to chase a status your parents want you to have, but I bet you’ve never felt so locked up in your life.”

Wednesday shudders, her cold gaze darting around your face.

“Why’s that?” she asks, still trying to act like she’s in power.

“Because you never felt more free than when you were with me.”

Wednesday gulps, her head whipping to the storage closet as she tries to not look at you. She fails, and proves your point beautifully. You shake your head, disbelief and disappointment the only thing you feel.

“Goodbye, Wednesday. Enjoy the wedding and let me do my job peacefully.”

Your hand retreats from the wall behind her, when they got there you can’t remember, and you turn around. Wednesdays hands reach out to grab your face before you have enough time to register what’s happening. 

Her lips are still just as soft as they were that night she left you. Her kisses are still sweet and passionate, always expressing what she can’t say through words. You sigh, forgetting about the wedding, about her parents, and about her husband waiting for another dance just beyond that door. 

It doesn’t take long until your fingers thread themselves in her dress and then you remember all of those things and more. You remember why she dumped you— why you have to let her go. You pull away harshly, taking a few quick steps back and sprint out the door. Wednesday doesn’t bother chasing after you. 

You run to your friend James, alerting him of your well-earned break that you decide to take. He nods, waving you off as you dart out of the venue. The early spring snow sets against the slush and you sigh. The cold grounds you, remembering the night three months prior. 

You shift on Wednesdays lap, laying your head on her shoulder. She’s reading in peace, a book her friend recommended, you recall. Her friend had claimed it had changed his view on life, and had told Wednesday it would do wonders for her. She was only reading it to poke fun at it. 

The movie in the background was long forgotten by you, your eyes instead lining her jawline and the soft curve of her nose. 

“Wednesday.”

“Yes?” she asks, flipping the page over. She doesn’t look at you, or even stop reading her book. 

You’ve been noticing this for the past two weeks now, her attention has been dwindling. Wednesday’s become more stressed and angry. Fights have been more frequent, at least two every other day. It’s always over minuscule stuff too, like how you dress, where you work, how Wednesday doesn’t like the way you hold your fork, or the way you laugh like a kid. You told her maybe it’s because you are one. After all, you’re twenty two and she’s thirty-one. Wednesday ignored you for hours that day. 

“Will you put the book down?”

“Why?” Again, no eye contact. 

“Because I want to have a real conversation.”

“We are.”

You scoff, swinging your feet off of her thighs and stand up, the book getting knocked to the floor. You don’t apologize despite her shouts, instead you grab your keys and shrug on your coat. 

“Where are you going?” she demands, hands trying to grab the keys out of your pocket. 

You swat her away and tie your shoelaces. “For a walk.”

“The hell you are! It’s eleven at night and December, it’s too late and too cold.”

You ignore her again, swinging the door open and skipping outside. Wednesday doesn’t follow you, but you don’t need to look back to know that. The door slamming tells you enough. 

That night when you got home, a clear head and a fresh apology with you, Wednesday called you childish. She told you that dating you was a mistake, that meeting you was one. And then her bag of belongings— you remember frowning over the fact that she only had an unpacked bag of stuff— was thrown into her corvette. 

It didn’t matter how much you clung to her, begging that she didn’t do this, she shrugged you off and left without so much as a glance back.

When your five minute break was over, you walked back into the wedding and continued working. Wednesday wasn’t anywhere to be seen for the rest of the night.

Maybe it wasn’t the goodbye you wanted, but it sure was a loud one. All you can hope is that Wednesday is tormented by what you once had, because at least you can certainly bet she thinks about you. 

[pandorascripts]

TAYLOR S. WRITING THING

I could not remember what you call it when a fic is based on a song so ignore that. ANYWAY! HELLO! I'M HERE! NOT DEAD! So I've recently gotten a lot of motivation to write again and it's all thanks to Taylor Swift songs (yup, I'mma swiftie). I wanted to write fics with the theme of her songs. These fics could be for anyone who I write for (take a looksie at my masterlist), so it could be Wednesday, Supergirl and co, or just others I have on there. So send in requests! Or not, I'll still do it anyways LMAO.

Also, the first one I plan on doing is I Bet You Think About Me, with Wednesday. It will not have a happy ending. (OUT NOW!) OKAY BYE-BYE.

[pandorascripts]

anya taylor-joy in the menu (2022)

[pandorascripts]

NO BECAUSE THIS IS AMAZING AND IM SO GLAD IM NOT THE ONLY ONE. IM ACTUALLY SCREAMING LMFAOOOOO

One thing that has amazed me is when I’m reading supercorp fanfic and theirs any sort of alien scene or anything involving explosions I imagine it in a really terrible CGI just like in the show, it makes it more canon to the show

[pandorascripts]

Scars

note: I literally had the strongest urge after seeing a drawing from Harleen (the comic books, go read it), and got a wave of inspiration.

warnings: talk of abuse, talk of Stockholm syndrome, self-consciousness, angst w a happish open ending, Harley being sad :(.

———

Beyond Harley’s pale complexion and her natural beauty, there are scars. Metaphorical and psychical ones. Ones that she covers with makeup everyday, hiding them from herself and the world. It took awhile for Harley to finally stop covering them, years after her break up with the Joker. And even then it was only when she was home. 

It wasn’t until she opened herself up to friends, and most importantly her girlfriend, that she could handle thinking about them. Harley cant count how many scars run across her back, the few on her face are obnoxious and loud, covering what used the be the favorite parts of herself. There’s two crossing on her nose, one running down her cheek, another slotted just next to the corner of her right eye. 

Lord knows the amount of bullet scars she has on her sides or her arms, probably hundreds. The Joker wasn’t much for safety over sexy. It didn’t matter how many times she flatlined due to an injury, he never gave her anything bulletproof. He said it made her more fun; that the risk of breaking his toy made it more valuable. 

Harley can remember how battered and bruised she was when she finally escaped his clutches— not that she even wanted to. He had tossed her out and told her not to come back, his goons shoving her back on the pavement time after time when she tried to enter the warehouse again. After a day she finally dragged her feet across Gotham, not even sure where she was going. 

Thank God Pamela decided to sweep out her old base, because otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to save Harley. Harley probably would crawled back to him and gotten herself shot. Pamela thinks about that day a lot, the day she finally realized just how deep Harley’s Stockholm syndrome went. They even ended up fighting at one point, Harley saying he had cooled down now, that it was safe to go back. 

Pamela cried for hours after that, Harley should’ve always felt safe around him. Harley never did though, she said it was apart of the game, that she was meant to be kept on her toes. It took five years for Pamela to help Harley realize that, that’s not what a relationship is. Of course she can’t take all the credit, after two years of healing and processing Harley found a girlfriend. You.

You were sweet to her, an abrupt change of pace from the Joker. It took Harley awhile to get used to it. You remember that stage of your relationship the most. Harley was jumpy and afraid, she didn’t dare to look at another woman when she was with you, and at one point asked you straight-up if you wanted to her stop talking to Pamela and Selena. You were completely baffled and told her no, that it wasn’t required and that you loved the both of them. 

For the first time in ages, Harley wasn’t walking on egg-shells. She felt safe, and comfortable around a romantic partner. After three years free, Harley was okay when other women hit on her, she could give them a simple no, hold your hand up and smile. It wasn’t like she’d have to practically fuck you in front of someone to prove who she belonged to, or that you’d get jealous. You said that if you saw her sitting next to someone, you’d ask her out too. You told her you couldn’t blame human nature, and you certainly wouldn’t punish her for other people’s actions. 

That one made Harley’s head spin. She didn’t understand how you wouldn’tpunish her, it was weird. Harley felt like she had no consequences, that she could do whatever she wanted. Of course you told her that she can’t, that you would be heartbroken if she did take an offer from another person, but you wouldn’t hurt her for it. You told her that you don’t have any right over her, the only person who gets to dictate and chose what she does is herself. 

Harley still doesn’t like her scars, there are nights where she throws blankets over the mirrors so she doesn’t run the risk of looking at them. There are days where she thinks she’s ready to go outside, scars on full display, only to run back in the house sobbing. It’s been five years and Harley cant get past them, but she knows eventually she can. Especially when you hold her tight and kiss every scar she has, or when you trace them, tell her that her scars are proof of survival. That they only add to her strength and determination. 

And as Harley takes off a blanket from the mirror, tracing her scars across her chest and shoulders, she understands. She understands that in time, her scars will fuel her success, that her scars will be fully closed and she will cease to care about them. 

Harley smiles at thought.

[pandorascripts]

Absent

pairing: poison ivy x reader

warnings: mediocre angst, proofread once.

note: wrote this at like twelve last night. I just need to get something out lmao. I’m going to start writing a bit more DC stuff until I get get my spark back. Currently writing another Ivy fic based on the comic, Harleen.

———

The door creaks as you slowly open it, peeking in. Pamela’s mixing green and purple liquids, mumbling to herself as they bubble and ooze. 

“Hey, what are you doing? It’s, like, three am,” you say. 

“I’ll be up soon, just need to do a couple more things.” 

You frown, never knowing Pamela to not look you in the eye when she’s speaking. 

“Alright.” You turn to head out, leaving her to her work. “Love you.”

“Yeah.”

You close the door, swallowing harshly. This is ridiculous, it’s been going on for months now. The neglect, the off-handed responses to meaningful statements, and it hurts. It hurts so much, and you swear to God you can feel your heart shattering. 

You blink a coup times, rubbing at them. 

 Why are you crying? She’s got more important things than you, you know that.

You walk up the wooden steps, but stop short. You’re way too tired to climb up another flight just to get to your room. Curling up on a way-too-short step, you let yourself weep. 

The step above you digs into your shoulder every time you let out a sob, but you don’t adjust. The pain somehow grounds you, keeping you from actually bawling your eyes out. Your hand sits in your mouth, stifling what should have been louder cries. You don’t care about the bite marks that will be there tomorrow. 

Pamela didn’t come up to bed that night, not did she bother to put you in an actual room. 

You’re thinking about leaving, ditching Pamela in the night. You cant go on like this, but you’re way too worried to confront her about her behavior. She’ll just put you off, gaslight you and tell you you’re just being dramatic. 

You want her to notice your bruised hand, you want her to notice your puffy eyes the next morning, you want her notice your pain. 

She doesn’t. 

She ignores you all day again, sitting in her lab and talking to her plants. You know she loves those things more than you, she used to tell you that she loved you more. It’s a lie. It always has been. 

You open the door to her lab again, forgetting to knock. 

The creak of the door must’ve thrown her off, because the next thing you know Pamela’s cursing and yelling. Things are spilling over her desk, papers are soaked and burning. 

“Pam! Oh my God! I’m so—“

“Get out!” she yells, pulling her hair as she finally faces you. “GO!”

You close the door with a slam, mortified. Pamela’s never yelled at you before. She knows you hate it, you hate arguing and screaming, she knows what your past was, and she promised to never yell. It was a mutual agreement, and even when you both made each other upset, it didn’t last long. You’d both apologize and talk about it, get over what was causing bumps and come out stronger. You didn’t know if you’d make it out of this one. 

You can still her Pamela yelling, things smashing against the door your head is lain on. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and after that, the only noise you hear is her yelling and your own tears hitting the floor. 

Your knees give out and you slide against bumpy and splintered wood. Your face is soaking, tears painting an ugly portrait on your face. 

As your sobbing against the door, the only thing you can think of is leaving. And right now, it seems like the smart thing to do. 

You don’t bother Pam for the next week, you leave her to be in the greenhouse, actively skirting around her when she leaves for her lab. You don’t like being like this— awkward strangers. For God’s sake, you’ve been dating for five years, you know her inside and out. But she feels different, unstable. It scares you, mortifies you. You don’t know what she’s capable when she’s like this, and you don’t know if you want to find out. 

The letter you write is long, it takes up two full pages of paper, and your handwriting is neat. The only thing screwing it up are the copious amounts of wet spots, which smear the ink. You place the note on her side of the nightstand, and start grabbing essentials. You take everything you can think of, everything that seems important. 

You don’t realize your crying until your vision is completely blurry, but still, you push onwards. You grab a couple sweaters and a couple pairs of jeans. You don’t fold them, instead slamming them into a suitcase as you zip it up. 

“What are you doing?”

Everything stops. Your hand, the loud zipper, your breathing, even your tears don’t flow anymore. It’s like everyone’s waiting, waiting and waiting for Pamela to understand. You take in a shaky breath, finishing the zipper. “Leaving.” 

You don’t turn to face her, instead you pretend to do more with the suitcase, checking empty pockets and extra compartments. You hear her footsteps getting closer and closer and closer, her hand rests on your shoulder. You still don’t face her, you can’t. The moment you look at her you’re screwed, you’ll melt into her and fall into the same pattern. It cant happen. 

“Stop. Please.”

Another hand rests on your other shoulder, slowly turning you around. Pamela looks so heartbroken, and you let out a sob. It’s useless to fight her, you can’t, you’ve never been good at sticking up for yourself. She tucks your head into her shoulder, apologizing from some stupid thing that doesn’t even matter. Pamela cant even figure out what she was doing wrong, she’s reaching, apologizing for yelling, as if the months of emotional neglect aren’t a problem. 

“I’m so tired, Pam.”

You know she’d be crying if wasn’t stopping herself, the last thing either of you wants is you to be covered in bubbling blisters. 

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t bother trying to correct her, to tell her that you miss her. How could you? She’s always there, she’s never not fifteen feet away from you. You cant miss her. But still, you do. 

“I miss you,” you cry out, repeating it over and over again. 

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m right here, okay? I’m right here.” Her voice is soothing, lulling you into hopeful security. It isn’t until your eyes are drooping shut, you’re breathing heavy and loud, that you realize what she’s doing. 

You don’t know what time it is, how long you’ve slept, or where you are, but it doesn’t matter, because the familiar scent of spring wraps around you like a blanket, and you sigh. Everything feels right, a sense of calm eases you, and you really can’t remember what you were so upset about last night. 

“Morning,” Pamela whispers. 

You feel her hand slide up to your shoulder and her chin softly pressing into your head. This is right, everything is okay. 

You mumble back an obscured “G’morning” and bury yourself deeper into her. 

Her chest shakes as she laughs lightly, and you grumble in protest from the movement. 

“Can we just stay here?” you ask, threading your hand in her hair as you do so. 

“I wish, but we’ve got plans, darling.”

You grumble, clearing annoyed. “Yeah but this is so much better.”

Pamela starts playing with your hair, careful not to tangle it. You feel happy at this, happy that she remembers how bad your bed head is. 

“It is.”

“So we can stay here?”

Pamela starts laughing again, her chin rubbing against your head as she shakes her own. “No.”

“Plans, shlamsh! We don’t need to go anywhere.”

“I suppose we don’t need to, but we should. Selina and Harley are waiting on us, though.”

“They’ll entertain each other just fine without us.”

A moment of silence passes through the two of you, each taking in the thought of those two alone together. 

“Yeah we need to leave.”

“Oh God, why did I tell them to wait for us?” Pamela asks, you don’t need to see her face to know she’s mortified. 

“Selina’s probably at Harley’s throat about now. You told her not to bring those mutts right?”

No response. 

“Right?”

“No…. I figured it would be common sense!”

“Harley doesn’t have common sense! She has Harley sense! She probably brought Bud and Lou!”

“We really need to leave, darling.”

Pamela’s up and out of the bed, dressed in a green blouse and black shorts before you even know it. You get up too, looking to the end of the bed. Frowning, you unzip the suitcase. 

“I-I’m sorry, Pam. I don’t know what I was thinking last night. It was stupid, really.”

Pamela closes the suitcase, handing you a sweater of hers and a pair of leggings. 

“It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have yelled.”

You nod your head, still taking the blame. Pamela smiles, giving you a kiss on the cheek. 

The first kiss you’ve gotten from her in months.