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enochianribs · 3 years

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Chapter 2 of the Cabin AU is up now!

Read on Ao3 here, or under the cut.

(Reblogs appreciated!)

The roof had a leak. Dean woke up to a growing wet spot on the pillow next to his. He laid still, eyes crossing as he stared at the ceiling, watching the bead of water run across one of the unfinished boards, suspending itself for an entire minute until it plopped right next to his head. Slowly, his mind pulled itself out of his dream, though the haze lingered. The roof had a leak. Dean woke up to a growing wet spot on the pillow next to his. He laid still, eyes crossing as he stared at the ceiling, watching the bead of water run across one of the unfinished boards, suspending itself for an entire minute until it plopped right next to his head. Slowly, his mind pulled itself out of his dream, though the haze lingered.

“Mmm...great.” Another item on his to-do list.

Dean was willing to bet there were more leaks in the living room.

For a moment he debated allowing himself to be lulled back to sleep. It was all too easy to slip back to that dream again: blurry hands, soft mouths, quiet murmurs, everything he missed and everything he’d never had. Not really.

Rain gently pattered against the outside of the cabin, the storm grinding in from the East and then settling its haunches right over the hills to stay for the night. The sun was rising, and the pink sky cast shadows from the drops on the window pane, little spots phantom dripping down his sheets.

It was the first morning since he’d gotten to the cabin that he’d slept in past sunrise. Sluggishly, he sat up, diggin the heel of his hand into his eyes as a yawn fought its way out of his chest. He turned his head, and reached out with a hand to wake his companion, before reality caught up with him and his hand fell to the mattress, going through the ghost.

That’s right , he thought. His mouth tasted like ash.

If he laid there any longer his chest would become heavy, and his breaths ragged, so he tossed the covers off, and trudged over to the shower. The cold water bit through the fog better than anything else could, and he leaned his temple against the glass door waiting for it to heat up and fill the room with steam.

Normally, he’d air dry, but it was chilly and an urgency hung around him. He grabbed the bleach-spotted towel hanging sadly by the door towelled off quickly.

He wandered idly, picking his daily morning tasks up and dropping them before he’d complete them. Something pulled him around the house. He was forgetting something.

Dean was midway through folding the quilt and draping it on the sofa arm when they caught his eye.

Two large feathers sat in the middle of the massive dining table (he still wondered who had built and what they’d been thinking— the thing could seat the knights of the round table if necessary). Tugging the fridge door with one hand he reached blindly for the pot of coffee he kept iced, and nudged it closed with his knee, never taking his eyes off them.

They were captivating. He continued to stare as he poured himself a cup, spilling some of the coffee onto the counter. He’d forget to clean it up, and it would stain, but that was okay. If they asked, he was experimenting with wood staining.

Dean could examine them once he made himself some kind of breakfast. Those were the rules: remember to feed yourself, and then you can do whatever you want to with your day. Breakfast ended up being toast and jam, and he plopped it down at the end seat of the table, and reached for the feathers before he took a bite.

The color on the first one was so dark it looked heavy, but it was as light in his hand as any feather should be. He held it up and squinted, twisting his wrist back and forth. It caught the light and reflected a shimmering oil slick back at him. The colors shifted, hues iridescent.

At first glance it could be a raven’s, but it was at least four times bigger than that.

The second one was more muted, the black towards the base of it dappled into a brown and white, and it was downy soft where the other was sharp and precise. Yesterday he’d thought it was grey but better light proved that it was a grey-brown.

He’d assumed that it was from the same bird— creature , but now he wasn’t so sure. Dean didn’t know the first thing about birds. However, he knew several people who did.

▵▿▵

“Hey, Bobby. Can I talk to Rufus?”

“He’s kinda in the middle of some’in’, Dean.” The roll of his eyes was audible, as someone yelped in the muffled background. “Can I call you back?”

“Please?” Dean asked, grinning cheekily even though he wasn’t there to warm Bobby over in person.

Bobby made a disgruntled noise and paused, before sighing. “You’re doing the face aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Fine. You never want to talk to me .”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Hm.” Bobby replied. Out of spite, he kept the phone next to his face as he shouted for his attention. “Rufus! It’s Dean.”

Ouch , Dean mouthed wincing at the volume, as he listened to the sound of two old men grumbling at each other before fabric shifted, and Rufus picked up the phone.

“He lives.”

A smile burst its way through Dean’s concentration. “Hey Ruf, gotta question for you.”

“Coulda called us sooner. We were beginning to wonder if you’d sold the cabin and moved somewhere warmer with pink flamingos.”

The image made Dean snort. Him at the beach? Unlikely.

“Nope.” Dean quipped. “Still here and freezing my ass off. You guys ever think about installing a damn heater?”

“And pay that bill? Hell no. We added a fireplace, what more do you want from us.”

Good ol’ crabby Rufus. “What do you know about birds?”

“A lot.” As per usual, he was being obtuse.

“Know of any big enough to leave behind two foot feathers?”

Rufus whistled. “Not in North America, unless you’ve got ostriches running around.”

“That’d be a negatory. So there’s nothing you can think of?”

“Nope. Did you find something, kid?”

“Holding one right now.”

“No shit.” He could hear the bewildered tone of his voice over the shitty connection. “Well, I guess keep an eye out. It’d be real hard for something that big to hide, and even harder for it to sit comfortable in those pine trees with the branches so dense. I’d say you’re about to make the biggest zoological discovery in North America in the past century. Keep us posted?”

“Will do.” Dean said, and he heard Rufus handing the phone back over to Bobby.

“Hope everything’s okay up there, Dean.”

“Everything’s peachy, honestly. Anyways—” He checked the clock on the stove. 8:30. The hardware store would be open in a half hour. “I’ve got some errands to run, so I’ll leave you to whatever it is a couple of old farts do in retirement.”

“Hey—”

Dean grinned to himself. “See ya, Bobby.”

“Take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

The line went silent, and Dean shoved his phone back into his pocket, bobbing his head to the side in thought. Though he didn’t get a definitive answer, at least the call had eliminated the options of native fauna.

▵▿▵

At nine in the morning, Dean was usually one of a small line of people waiting outside Lafitte’s Goods to needle Benny’s brain for fixes and tools of the trade. Pamela was waiting against the brick wall, hand shielding the summer morning sun from her eyes, reading a 99 cent paper back with interest.

“Hey, Pamela.”

“Dean-o. Call me Pammy.”

“Really?”

“No, of course not. But Pam works. I’m not your mother.”

“You call your mom by her first name?”

“Fair point. What’re you here for?” She nodded her head and bounced off the wall, as Benny unlocked the doors. A couple of grizzled old men shuffled in ahead of them, beelining it for the plywood.

Porch season.

“Roof’s got a leak.”

“Leak season.”

“Apparently. This is the third one since I got here.”

She squinted at him, like he was omitting something important, and popped the bubble of gum in her mouth. Dean started to itch under her scrutiny. He hated being studied like a lab rat.

What was the woman? A witch? Why was she peeling back layers of his get-up without warning.

Dean coughed, and used Benny’s presence as an excuse to wiggle out from under her gaze. “Gotta— yeah, see you.” Turning on his heel he fled towards the adhesives, face contorting with embarrassment.

Holy fuck, somehow he’d gotten even more awkward.

Dear god, help me.

Benny never pried unless Dean seemed interested in offering up information, and for that Dean was actually incredibly grateful. Most days he didn’t want to talk about anything, certainly not his past, but Benny and his bushy beard and warm eyes had managed to wiggle through his walls, just a little.

“Benny.”

Benny stared at him from behind the register, inquisitive expression considerably easier to cope with than Barnes' hungry expression. A friendly smile danced across his face as he assessed Dean’s no-doubt rosey cheeks.

“She’s got her claws in you, huh.”

Dean ducked his head, glancing sideways at the brunette woman still looking at the different kinds of rope. A tramp stamp peeked out from under the bottom edge of her tank top. Dean tapped his fingers on the pock-marked wood counter and turned his attention back to his friend. “Is she always like that?”

“Sure is,” Benny drawled, ringing up everything Dean had haphazardly shoved onto the counter in his escape. “You just happen to be the newest, prettiest , plaything in Pringle.” The burly man winked.

Pink crawled up Dean’s neck from his collarbones and spread into his cheeks once again. Christ, there was no escape from these people. Still stammering, Dean practically ran back to the Impala.

▵▿▵

The phone vibrated in his back pocket. By the third ring, Dean had parked Baby in her usual spot, and he struggled to tug it out of his pocket, checking the Caller ID.

California.

He pumped the window down, the air getting warm inside the car, and he flipped the phone open, inhaling sharply. He should have called before now. Shouldn’t have let so much time pass. In the fall, he’d be too busy to take any of Dean’s calls anyways.

“Hello?”

“Dean?”

“Sammy.”

Several seconds of too-long silence passed between them.

“Where have you been?”

Dean swallowed, thick, guilt permeating the small space.

“Sorry, I just—” He didn’t have an excuse. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“You still could’ve picked up the phone. I tried to call you about six times. You don’t always need to have something to say, y’know… It just would’ve been nice to know you’re still breathing.” His brother’s voice was basically a whisper at the end.

“I know.” Dean closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing shakily. “I know.”

“I had to hear it from Bobby. Dean—” Sam’s voice pitched up to that octave it always did when he was upset. “Dad’s gone again.”

Fuck.

“And that’s fine. It’s not like I’m ten and incapable of caring for myself but I thought— I thought he’d be back by now. It’s been a couple of weeks.”

“Shit, Sammy.”

“I think he’s fine. He sent a vague text a couple of days ago, it’s just with school starting in two months I get worried. Not even for him, just for us. I can’t pay for school myself, and I can’t afford to miss anything because of Dad. If my grades drop, I’m out.”

“I know.” God, Dean knew.

Sam was a late bloomer for college. The kid was brilliant, but he’d been dealt a bad hand, and it was a miracle Rufus and Bobby had invested in a saving fund for the two of them decades ago. At twenty-two, Dean knew that he’d already had trouble securing the scholarships. Stanford wanted the best and brightest, not the kid with seven schools on his high school transcript and an overabundance of unexcused absences.

The guilt piled up and perched itself on his shoulders until he sagged into his seat under the heaviness. It was his job to keep John out of trouble, not Sammy’s. And instead he’d run away from that responsibility.

The repair materials sat in the backseat, and his heart twisted in his chest. The meadow sat peacefully in the late afternoon sun, just across the short distance of woods, and it still kept its secret. He didn’t want to go back. Not yet. Not until he’d had his fill of independence.

“Look,” He could kick himself for how his voice cracked. “If John doesn’t turn up by the end of the week, I’ll come back. I’ll help. Promise.”

For what it was worth, a facet of his brother’s relieved sigh sounded apologetic.“Thank you, Dean. I don’t know how to do this without you.”

“Okay then.”

“Bye.”

“Talk to you soon, Sammy.” Dean’s jaw clenched involuntarily, as he flipped the phone closed and tossed it against the passenger door. His frustrated shout echoed between him and the trees, but he didn’t feel better.

Always this .

Historically, John would do something stupid and irresponsible and Dean would drop everythign to clean up the mess and no one would thank him. Not really. That was fine.

Family was supposed to break your heart.

▵▿▵

The leak proved to be an easy fix.

Dean fought the attic door that led to the roof, following the small staircase up until he was on the balls of his feet, head sticking out as he pulled himself onto it. The shingles were rough, cracked and damaged from the winters, and he scrapped the length of his arm against it.

The source of the leak took only a minute to find. Five or so shingles were missing, leaving nothing but the wood underneath, which did nothing but absorb any and all precipitation. The rubber sealant smelled terrible, and he gagged dramatically, almost dropping the metal can in the process. Done applying, he plopped his ass down, determined to see it dry properly before he went back inside.

Half assing things had always resulted in a stern talking to in the least, and it had been something he’d struggled with growing up, his mind yanking him a thousand directions until his head was spinning and John was disappointed.

Dean grit his teeth, purposefully dragging the raw scrape against the rough roofing, the burn biting through the thought, bringing him back down from that far off place he so frequently wandered to. He didn’t even know how he got there, but he found himself lost, shrunk down, smaller than the hand-me-down leather jacket he tried to fill.

From the roof he could see almost everything. It turned out that Rufus and Bobby’s cabin foundation was built onto a gentle slope.

The rain clouds had dissipated, migrating to the flat plains further south, and it left a crisp atmosphere behind. The sun poked through the remaining gargantuan cumulonimbus clouds, sunbeams gently caressing the grass. Grey mist rose from where the creek beds greedily absorbed the heat. It reminded him of the paintings of cowboys, sitting on a stallion, bathed in golden light, their backs to the audience, all the edges illuminated and throwing everything else into stark purple shadows.

The burn of the scrape subsided as a sense of peace settled Dean, his body melting into the shingles. An hour passed before his stomach growled, and he climbed back down for lunch.

▵▿▵

Tapping.

Tapping at the window pane only inches from his face.

Groggy and only slightly encrusted (gross) Dean opened his eyes and was met by dark blue ones, a tawny human hand pressed up against the glass.

Dean’s soul evaporated out of his body, back pressed to the headboard as he scrabbled for the small knife he kept under his pillow. Before he could look again, it was gone.He launched himself out of bed, so very entirely grateful that he’d had enough sense to go to sleep in his boxers and his worn-out threadbare Kansas shirt.

Holy hell.

Fingers trembling, he opened the window, leaning almost all the way out, hovering a few feet above the ground.A single feather slowly came to rest soundlessly on the pine-needle carpet. The view from the window remained unyieldingly motionless.

Black-eyed susans had begun to sprout in the shade, despite themselves, and now they quivered where they grew between the pine-roots even though the morning wind had not pierced through the woods yet.

Craning his neck, he glanced up, half expecting the last thing he’d ever see to be a terrifying bird man staring down at him like he was lunch. Nothing.

Dean practically fell out of his room, chanting under his breath in a poor attempt to calm himself down as he stumbled down the short hall to the living room.

It’s human.

“No,” Dean spoke to the picture frames on the walls. He had no idea what he was denying, but the situation begged to be denied. He paced back and forth in the living room, no doubt wearing the floor down despite the fact that he was wearing socks— the ones with the holes in the heel. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Oh my God, it was so very not okay.

Suddenly, the couch seemed like the perfect place to suffocate himself to unconsciousness. Someone else could deal with this.

No , he thought. You wanted this to happen, you dirty liar. Stop panicking and deal with it.

Wings was human- or at least partially human. He looked like a man. Dean’s thin eyelids fluttered closed, and the image was painted on the backside of them with crystal clarity. Square jawline, arrow-straight nose, curiously arched eyebrows… and the eyes . They were so blue. And they had been looking right at him. Watching him.

It was entirely ridiculous that his eyes overshadowed the massive lurking darkness behind him, of what had to have been his wings.

A human with wings.

This was crazy. Everything was crazy.

The way he saw it, there were two directions this could go: he could pretend he hadn’t seen anything, and this would be tucked away into the delusion box that he kept under lock and key at the back of his mind and he could grow old being none the wiser of whatever breach of reality this was, or he could go find it.

The first option was sounding real nice. Normal. Well adjusted.

He was well adjusted.

Besides, Dean wasn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t a dream. this entire thing was a fever dream and he was in some hospital bed back in Lawrence, stuck in a coma. Dean pinched himself, viciously and stared at the white marks left on his forearm, helpless.

Nope.

“Okay.” He barked out a laugh.

He should call Jo.

After a few more minutes of pacing and hyperventilating, he decided against it. He would tell her— of course he would! —but when it came up.

The Harvelle’s were good people and they’d shown him nothing but kindness.

The situation had to be broached with care, or the small home he’d built in the life he wanted to live would topple in on itself, and the rubble and dust would drown him.

Trust issues were a problem of his, and he’d been aware of them since high school, when he’d had too many secrets to keep and any semblance of a support system was states away.

God, he knew the way he clammed up was obvious, but sometimes he surprised even himself. If he was being honest, there was a lot more to it than a strong need for privacy. Didn’t matter though. In the end, after all the nit-picking and self beratement, it boiled down to fear.

Jo could keep her mouth closed, but there was always a chance she’d accidentally tell someone, and there was a high chance it would be the wrong person. If he let it slip that this thing existed, who knew what would come packing. And he knew sooner or later, someone would bring the heat. Words got around easily in a small town like Pringle and he knew everyone would be at his door, wanting a chance to see the freak of the week.

Which… was a thing that existed. A human with wings, that called the small clearing his home.

His heart skipped a beat at the thought. He felt protective over the man, almost ferociously so.

The day’s hunting trip wasn’t happening— now Dean was paranoid.

What if he accidently shot him? Or scared him off permanently?

His stomach churned, acid and bile climbing their way up his throat. The burn was familiar. Half his childhood had been spent subsiding panic attacks and anxiety, calming down Dad or Sam or both at the same time.

▵▿▵

The tin echo of a gunshot managed to penetrate through the thick log walls of the cabin.In a heartbeat, he was scrambling for the ancient shotgun. The front door swung open, the little voice in his head told him to close it behind him, but his feet carried him quicker than his mind and so he left it swinging on its hinges at his back.

An anguished scream gargled its way from somewhere deeper into the woods, due south of the cabin. Rocks dashed the soles of Dean’s feat and he swore out loud, having forgotten his boots at the door.

Shit shit shit.

Someone was nearby, and they were ballsy enough to fire a weapon despite the illegality of hunting on private property. His mind raced at the same speed he ran towards it, a limp skewing his gate every few steps. Stray branches caught the sleeves of his shirt, tearing through the fabric as he refused to slow down.

It’s just a deer.

He knew better.

They’re just after a deer, or a bison that wandered away from the heard or an elk or something—

Another blood curdling scream erupted from amongst the pine, this one loud enough to rattle the crows out of their nests. They cawed, the sound of dozens of pairs of wings taking flight muting the pained groans.

He knew better.

Please— please. Not Wings.

He faltered over a boulder, panic overtaking muscle memory and skidded to a halt at the crest of a ledge. The scene below knocked the breath out of his chest, leaving a vacuum in its wake.

Campbell, one of the more elderly hunters of the area was standing over another tawny body. Giant black wings sprawled out, twisting and twitching in the dirt and mud, feathers slightly splayed underneath his back.

Campbell’s face distorted in pain, a tense moment passing before his wild eyes landed on Dean, the whites of his too visible, even from ten yards away. Blood pumped out from a wound on his neck, and he had a hand clamped down onto it, slick with red, he held a shotgun limply in his left hand, the butt of it dropped heavily to the ground.

Semi-satisfied that Campbell didn’t seem interested in shooting again, Dean fixated every ounce of attention on Wings and his breath hitched. Smeared across his mouth and chin was a copious amount of blood. He’d bitten Campbell. Dean’s heart swelled with pride.

Good .

His short encounter with Campbell prior had proved that the man was a bag of dicks, cocky and far too keen on the killing aspect of hunting. It skeeved Dean out then, and it certainly did now. Campbell was still looking at Wings like he was prey. Though no component of the scene begged to differ: the man was naked, teeth bared, but he was incapable of escaping, the gunshot wound in his abdomen bleeding him dry.

Dean leveled the end of his shotgun at Campbell’s head. “Get the fuck away from him.”

Campbell backed away from Wings, the muscles in his right arm tensed, like he wanted to put it up defensively, but it was necessary he kept pressure on the wound. It looked like Wings had gone for the jugular. “It attacked me, Winchester.”

“And?”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

Dean would put money on the fact that he looked the part, he could feel his chest heaving, something akin to dull rage pumping through his veins. He prayed the tremor in his hand didn’t betray his hesitation. “I said move .”

Obeying his orders, Campbell stepped back, never taking his eyes off of the strange man. Agony flashed across his face where he laid in the dirt.In his hands, he held a silver blade. Wings looked from Campbell to Dean, expression visibly softening.

“Give me your coat.” Dean didn’t have much time, glancing at Wings, he saw that a red gleam of blood was starting to trickle from the corner of his mouth and his eyes moved frantically. He slid down the slope and went to take off his jacket and remembered his was only in his boxers. “ NOW .”

Campbell shirked it off and threw it at Dean, staying exactly where he was. Moving quickly, Dean pressed the thick fabric to the wound, moving his other hand to the back side to see where the bullet went. There was no opening there, and he was thankful that Wings was naked. He could skip the sometimes detrimental process of removing his clothes to assess the wound better.

He tied the jacket around him and slid one arm under his legs and the other across his shoulder blades, lifting him up carefully. Dean had to get him back to his house immediately, before Wings lost too much blood.

One last time, he regarded Campbell. He felt the sneer tug his lip up, his voice like acid trying to eat through the other man’s bones until he was nothing. “Get the fuck off my property. And don’t tell anyone about this. He’ll be fine, not that you care. But you won’t be if I see you here again, or if I hear about this from anyone. Do I make myself clear?”

Samuel’s eyes darkened clearly at war with Dean’s threat, but his skin was taking on a pallor akin to lethal blood loss. He nodded curtly, acknowledging the agreement, at least for the moment.

Reasonably satisfied that Campbell wouldn’t shoot them in the back, Dean turned and left, the body draped over his shoulder too warm.Dean’s hand wrapped around, hand feathering over his taut side, avoiding the wound. He could feel his fingers wet with blood.

Wings was whispering something feverishly, though Dean couldn’t catch a word of it, his eyes glazed over with pain, searching the sky for something with a fervor of a religious man with hell hounds on his heels.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Dean murmured, straining to carry the both of them the distance to the cabin. “I’ve got you.”

Wing’s head lolled to the side, and his body went slack. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but Dean couldn’t afford to cry now. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to get them inside safely. He swallowed the terror. He ducked and wove through the undergrowth, fearing that the drooping wings would catch on a branch or boulder.

The time it took until he could lay Wings down on his dining room table felt like hell had manifested on Earth, keenly able to feel life slipping away in his arms.

Once Dean managed to put Wings on the table without his head smacking the wood, he tore the kitchen apart for salt and a bowl of water and some clean washcloths, and sprinted to the bathroom, yanking the drawers out and emptying their contents onto the counter and sink until his eyes landed on the tweezers and isopropyl alcohol.

It wasn’t a perfect med kit, but there was no other choice. It had to do.

Dean approached the table cautiously, worried that too much movement would set him off. The dark wingspan spread out almost three feet on either side of the table and Dean swallowed a stone.

He had no idea what to do next, not really. The closest experience he’d had to being a doctor had been treating John’s stab wound when he was thirteen and John had come home more beaten than usual.

He stared helplessly down at Wings.

“He...help.” Wings voice was like a ghost’s, he barely heard it, and he was standing right next to him. He looked up at the cobwebbed chandelier lighting like it was something holy and mesmerizing and Dean realized he was losing him.

“Shhh… it’s okay.” His forehead was sticky with sweat and drying blood, and Dean pushed some of the unruly black wisps from his eyes, humming low. “I’m gonna help you.”

Wings hand shook, following the edge of the table, feverishly searching for something to hold onto. Tentatively, Dean slid his fingers between his, feeling his calloused palm against his own. “Wings. Wings, you gotta listen to me. Wings, please . You have to lay still.”

He had no idea if the man understood a single word he was saying, but it seemed to do the trick. Over the span of a terrible minute, his breathing slowed down, and his grip on Dean’s hand went from frail to almost bone crushingly alive.

Wings’ blue eyes were on him, flickering a little in the low light. Dean waited, untrained, unable and unwilling to play operation on him while he was still conscious, eyes desperate to look at anything but the daunting task before him.

Eventually, he passed out, his painful grimace replaced by a soft one, and Dean began to remove the shrapnel bullet, praying to anyone who was listening that it had not shredded his insides beyond repair.

▵▿▵

At some point in the night, Dean had gotten up to draw the curtains and lock the door, willing to sacrifice only a moment to seal them away from the rest of the world.

Now, sunlight pierced through the cracks, illuminating them both in thin lines of white light. He watched Wings toss and turn, his face gnarling into pain each time he moved.

What if Dean had fucked it up? What if the next breath he drew was his last? His mind raced, punishing him for every moment’s hesitation that could very well lead to his death.

Dean caught himself following Wings jawline, examining the stark contours of his face like he would never see them again. Please, just please make it out alive.

“Don’t die on me, Wings.” The words slipped out subconsciously. “Please, God, don’t die on me.”

Dean had the decency to cover him up with the quilt. The two’s hands were still tightly entwined long after the heartbeat in Wing’s wrist lulled Dean into sleep, tumbling heart over head.

#honestly i think i'm gonna reverse the title #I HATE TITLES what kinda corny ass things i come up with lmao #but for now.#that's what its called #cabin au #*#mine

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costumeloverz71 · 3 years

Photo

The actor on her role in the BBC’s new Nancy Mitford adaptation, the joy of female friendship, and preparing to play Baywatch star Pamela Anderson

Lily James was born Lily Thomson in Esher, Surrey, in 1989. She studied at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama and made her TV debut as Ethel Brown in the BBC’s Just William (2010) before appearing in Downton Abbey and War & Peace. Her film credits include Baby Driver, Darkest Hour, The Dig, Rebecca, Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again and the lead in Disney’s live-action Cinderella. In 2019 she starred in Ivo van Hove’s All About Eve in the West End. James plays the heroine, Linda Radlett, in the new BBC adaptation of Nancy Mitford’s 1945 novel The Pursuit of Love.

How was it working with Andrew Scott, who plays Lord Merlin? Oh, he’s extraordinary. He brings so much. That’s another beautiful relationship, Lord Merlin and Linda … they’re true soulmates. Andrew and I talked about how you don’t have to define some friendships. All sorts of people can become great loves of your life.

Did you succumb to hot priest mania when he was in Fleabag? Of course I did. What a show. He was catapulted into everyone’s heart with that part.

You found yourself at the center of a media storm last autumn [due to rumors of an affair with Pursuit of Love castmate Dominic West]. What was that like? Ach, I’m not really willing to talk about that. There is a lot to say, but not now, I’m afraid.

I was expecting you to be blond. Aren’t you about to start shooting Pam & Tommy, the bio-drama series about Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee? I’ve been experimenting with wigs of late. Mixing it up. There really is something different about being blond. I remember that from back in my Cinderella days.

Were you a fan of Pammy during the Baywatch era, or more of a Hasselhoff girl? [Laughs] No, I was Pam through and through. I’ve never felt more nervous about a project, but I’m excited too. I want to keep pushing and stretching myself.

You’ve played lots of period roles. Do you feel in danger of being typecast? There probably was a point where I felt that. But now I feel immensely grateful. It’s easy to worry that you’re not doing the right thing, or wish you were doing something different. I fall prey to that a lot, like all humans do.

How was it meeting the mighty Cher on Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again? Just phenomenal. She was everything you’d hope she would be. I brought my mum along to the set on the day Cher did her big song. She watched from the monitors and it was like being at our own personal Cher gig. I’ll never forget it.

Acting is in your blood, isn’t it? My father lived on Sunset Boulevard in the 70s and was an actor for a period. Then he was in a car accident and got these huge scars on his face, which totally changed it for him. He was suddenly doing all these gangster roles. My grandmother [Helen Horton] acted her entire life. She was the voice of Mother, the ship’s computer in Alien. She died just before I started drama school, sadly. I wish I could talk to her about the business now. She was so glamorous and witty.

You’ve sung in a few roles. Are you secretly a frustrated pop star? I’ve actually just recorded with DJ Yoda. He used to be a neighbor of mine. That was really cool and unexpected. I’d love to do musicals. I re-watched La La Land the other night, crying into my pillow. Music adds so much. In The Pursuit of Love, our music supervisor is George Vjestica from the Bad Seeds. The soundtrack is modern and alive. It transforms the piece and makes it feel so sexy.

What role would you most like to play? I’d love to do Cabaret. My Fair Lady too, although I’d have to work so hard on the singing. I just watched that Audrey Hepburn biopic and her voice is very high.

What got you through lockdown? I did jigsaw puzzles and watched Schitt’s Creek. I drank too much wine and woke up at midday. I also read a script by Jemima Khan called What’s Love Got to Do With It. We ended up shooting that with Working Title at the turn of the year. I got to act opposite Shazad Latif, who’s one of my closest friends. After being starved of human connection, it was great to be surrounded by people I love.

Read full article here...

#lily james

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fivelakesinwriting · 3 years

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I thought of you earlier when I saw a girl on TikTok talking about seeing/talking to your Canadian queen Pam at the store they worked at in Vancouver! I had no idea she lives in Canada now. Anyway, she said that she was so genuine and kind to everyone there, took pics and signed stuff for many people, etc. Always love hearing positive stories about celeb encounters like this. You Canadians seem to do it right girl and we love Pammy for it! She's a beauty inside and out. ❤️

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!

I would love to meet her. I'm so happy for that person that got to meet Queen Pammie. I didn't know she was back home, either! I thought she was in California, but I know that Vancouver is becoming somewhat of a hub for people. Closer to California quote-unquote, and it's super nice. It's on my list to go and see!!

I just love her, and I wanna hug her. And ask if she'll let me borrow those sparkly thigh highs from SNL way back when...

Thank you for sharing this!!! 💕

#ask #anon #answered #for the love of pammie

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gifted-burnout-archive · 4 years

Text

Jim’s Best Friend

Part Seven - Booooze Cruuuuise

Word Count: 3107

Author’s Note: Ack! So, loving updating this. Should point out that from now on, the storyline drifts from the actual show’s plot. Characters will be a little different, since it’s more my interpretation of events and how they would react, but I’ll try my best to keep it all as consistent as possible.

WARNING: discussion of same-sex relationship in a sort of dated way, kinda? Like, the chapter takes place in 2006. Doesn’t reflect my feelings at all, just so you know.

January, 2006.

After you had spent you holiday season alone, mostly watching reruns of Frasier or making out with strangers at Poor Richard's on New Year's Eve, with Pam and Jim both disappearing off to see family back home, you were glad to be back in the office. You were glad to be back at your desk, with your friends, even if everything was different now.

Even if Jim was in love with Pam, and you were actively helping him achieve his goal of telling her how he feels.

Not to break Roy and Pam up, you reminded yourself as you walked into the office on Wednesday, wearing the same clothes as the day before. You sat down at your desk, and Dwight took a moment to, very loudly, sniff the air between you both.

"You've been smoking again... And you had sex with someone." He stated rather loudly, and you held your head in your hands.

"On a work night Y/N? Tut, tut." Jim teased, and you rolled your eyes, logging onto your computer. "I thought you stopped smoking the year I got here?"

"Who was the lucky guy?" Pam asked over Jim's afterthought, and you looked over at her.

"Like I would kiss and tell..."

"Oh no, Y/N don't tell me he works in the building." Pam looked dead serious, and you let out a laugh.

"They do not... and it was a one time... Three time, thing Pam. No chance I'm getting back into a relationship any time soon." You assured her, and your hand ran absentmindedly over your side, the bruises Brian had caused finally healed.

"What, because some unemployed twerp ended things with you?" Dwight scoffed, and Jim's head snapped to face his other desk mate.

"Shut it, Dwight." He warned, and Dwight looked between the three of you.

"I don't think you should be allowed to keep secrets in the workplace." He folded his arms, and you glanced over your computer.

"The people who need to know, know, Dwight. You are not someone who needs details on my love or sex life." You said with a shrug, dialling your first number of the day as an email popped up on your screen.

Dunder Mifflin Retreat Announcement Today!!! 11 am. - M. Dawg.

Michael has been hinting at the retreat for a week or so, asking people to pack the most bizarre array of items that it made Jim, Pam and you all laugh out loud when you all read it together at lunch last week.

"Hi there, this is Y/N from Dunder Mifflin. I was wondering if I could talk to you today about you existing order with us? Perfect!" You spoke on the phone, and began your day of sales. Your day had been so productive that by eleven, you had eight closed sales, and you walked into the conference room with a grin on your face and and skip in your step.

"Doesn't someone look happy all of a sudden? What happened to hangover fighting, walk of shame looking Y/N from this morning?" Jim teased you as you entered the conference room, sitting yourself down beside him. Pam sat up the back with Roy and the warehouse guys.

"I, Mr Halpert, have made eight sales this morning alone. I honestly think today might be the day to beat your record." You said, the twinkle in your eyes causing Jim to sit up straight.

"I'd like to see you try." He said, cocky in tone. Jim was the best sales person on the floor, and his record for sales in a day was 17, with the average sale being around $500 each. So, beating the goal meant not only did you need to get 17 plus sales, but make at least $8500 to beat the record. It wasn’t likely, but you liked to tease Jim when you could.

"Morning, my wonderful employees." Michael strolled into the room, taking a seat at the head of the table. A thin blonde woman followed him in, taking a seat at the table, and as she glanced around the room the pair of you locked eyes. Yours widened, you looked down quickly, and she flushed bright pink. Jim watched the whole thing as Michael tried to build up suspense, and after a few flicking glances between you and the woman that sat in front of him, he very slowly pieced it together.

"... Did you?" He mouthed, and you gave him a confused look. You glanced back over at her, and Jim nudged you again. In defeat, you nodded, and Jim's eyes widened.

"... Brenda here is from corporate, ready to hear me talk leadership but uh, first... The retreat this year is..." Michael drummed on the table. "A harbour cruise across Lake Wallenpaupack!" Michael announced, adding after a few beats. "A booze cruise."

"But it's January..." Stanley pointed out, and Michael slowly descended into his ramblings once more as Jim scribbled on a notepad, folding the note and addressing it Pam. Oscar handed it to Meredith to handed it to Kelly who handed it to Pam, who glanced over at you and Jim. She glanced down, unfolding it and crumbling it up the minute she read it, shocked.

"Y/N and Brenda?" She mouthed, and Jim nodded fast, and she started to laugh.

"What's so funny Pam?" Michael looked up, and Pam coughed.

"My bad Michael, keep going." Pam insisted, sending a wink your way as you put your head in your hands.

—

"So..." Jim sat in the chair, with Pam to one side and you on the other. He spoke with a stupid grin on his face, and he and Pam looked over at you expectantly. "Y/N seems to have made a little oopsie."

"In my defence, I didn't know who she was before I..." you started, groaning. The night before had been interesting to say the least. At least Jim and Pam seemed cool with it, you had never really discussed it before that point.

"What was that Y/N? Three times?" Pam giggled uncontrollably, and you looked straight at the camera.

"Please understand, despite the fact that I may be the only one in this office who got laid last night, I may never live this down... And can I just say, for the record, Brenda is very good looking."

"You slept with someone from corporate, Y/L/N." Jim teased, and Pam reached over prodding at your leg.

"What? Oh, how are we all feeling about the booze cruise?" You repeated the question asked, playfully swatting away the hands of your friends. "It's going to be an absolute disaster, and I ready for something, anything, to become a more pressing issue than my sex life."

—

Marching onto that boat on Friday night with the rest of your office would ultimately lead to one of the worst nights of your life, although you didn't know it yet. You went in with good intentions, and a warm jacket over the nice blouse you had chosen to match your jeans. Low heels, hair down, you looked nice, and it seemed like a few people noticed.

Well, Brenda noticed.

"You look good, Y/N." She said quietly, falling into step with you behind Roy and Pam... And Jim and Katy. Despite Jim's confession about Pam at Christmas, he still brought along his casual girlfriend, though you decided not to question his choices too much.

"Can we... Can we not do this here?" You asked quietly, and her face fell. "No, I mean..." you sighed, and led her quickly away from the rest of the team. "I've enjoyed last few nights, but I... It's not something I talk about at the office, and I mean... It was a hookup." You tried to explain, and Brenda just shook her head.

"No, I get it, I guess. Not exactly the thing you chat about with your colleagues, is it? Does anyone..."

"Jim figured it out, then Pam. They don't spread rumours though..." You assured, and she raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the camera.

"Do they?" She asked, and you looked towards the camera.

"Could you guys cut?" You asked politely, gesturing the sign as you spoke, and the crew disappeared inside to film Michael and the rest of the office, catching a final shot of you and Brenda in what looked like a much more heated discussion.

The inside of the ship was much rowdier, with drinking and party games having begun, with the aid of Captain Jack. Michael looked bummed out by the bar, nursing a glass of something unknown, Meredith was doing the limbo, and Jim sat with Pam, Roy and Katy at a table.

"You guys, it's like we're in high school and we're at the cool table." Katy said with a grin, and Roy laughed. Pam and Jim shared a glance, but said nothing. "Right?" She smiled, and Roy laughed out a soft 'yeah'. "Pam, were you a cheerleader?" Katy asked, and before she could answer, Roy stepped in.

"No, she was total little Miss Artsy Fartsy in high school. She wore the turtleneck and everything." Roy said through chuckles.

"That's hilarious!" Katy smiled, and Jim sat forward.

"It's not hilarious but-" Jim mumbled, making Pam smile a little before Roy took over the conversation.

"Where'd you go to school?" Roy asked Katy.

"Fisher Bohara."

"Piss la who cares-a? We played you." Roy looked over, shocked, and leaned forward a little. "You-you really look familiar... You cheered for them, didn't you?"

"Mm, no." Jim said, glancing over at Katy.

"Yes, I did!" She laughed, and clapped her hands together. "A-W-E. S-O-M-E. Awesome, awesome is what we are, we're the football superstars. A-W-E-" Jim glanced over at Pam, who shook her head along with Katy's chant, and just her smile blocked out the conversation their significant others were having.

Within twenty minutes, Katy and Daryl were cheering on Roy as he took a snorkel shot. Pam walked over from socialising with Phyllis and Stanley, beer in hand, and Roy turned round to her with a drunken smile.

"Come on Pammy! Come on!" He urged, offering her the snorkel, and she shook her head with a smile.

"No, I am not doing that." She said, Daryl quieting her with cheers as the tequila arrived. She leaned down to chat with her fiancé, who sat at the booth, looking flustered, and starting to cheer on Daryl. "Why don't we find a quieter place to hang out?" Pam suggested, and Roy looked over.

"You know what, I've just got to wait for Daryl to do his shot. Just a minute. Come on Daryl! Daryl!" Roy promised, but Pam sighed, and she scanned the room, making eye contact with Jim and he nodded, the pair grabbing their coats and heading upstairs to the top deck.

"It's getting kind of rowdy down there." Pam said as they got up onto the roof, pulling her jacket sleeves over her hands, the sharp January air sending a shiver down her spine.

"Yeah... Daryl, Daryl, Daryl." Jim chanted, the pair sharing a quiet laugh.

"Sometimes I just don't get Roy." Pam admitted, her back against the railing, arms folded over her chest. Jim gave her a look that just said 'well', and she shrugged. "I mean, I don't know..." They shared a smile, both understanding what was being said without needing it explained aloud. Pam bit her lip. "So, what's it like dating a cheerleader?" She asked, a playful tease.

"Oh, um." Jim said, and he stopped, not quite knowing what to follow that up with. His smile faded, and so did Pam's.

"I'm cold." Pam said after a few moments of silence, and Jim stayed still, exhaling through his nose and closing his eyes. He had blown it, he could have said something and he just... Didn't. Pam walked back inside, and Jim decided to wait a while more.

"I don't know what is so hard to understand here B! We had fun, but it was just fun." The voice caught Jim's attention, and he looked over the railing to see Y/N and Brenda below. He knew not to listen in, but as the camera crew came over and began filming, Jim continued to eavesdrop.

"You said you wanted more last night!" Brenda snapped back, pacing. Y/N let out a visible sigh.

"And I didn't mean it. Look Brenda, I just got out of a long term thing, I told you at the bar it didn't end great. I'm not ready for a new relationship." Y/N tried to defend herself. Brenda stumbled a little, and lifted a drink to her lips. It seemed the rather quiet corporate employee was a loud drunk.

"So you're not going to date me because some asshole slapped you once?" Brenda spat, and Y/N shook her head.

"I'm going to get you some water. You're clearly drunk and emotional and I am not going to talk about my abusive ex with someone too intoxicated to stand." Y/N said slowly, walking out of frame. The camera panned back to Jim, who took a moment.

"We should go find her..." Jim said quickly, rushing down the stairs to find you ordering a glass of water and three shots from the bar. "You alright? Water and vodka don't usually mix." Jim said with a nervous laugh, and you glanced over.

"Tonight has not been good Jim. No fun at all. I missed party games and time with you guys because of..." You took a shot. "I slept with them... three nights in a row. Now they think we're a couple and..." you sighed, making sure to not reveal Brenda's 'agenda' while surrounded by drunk men at the bar.

"I would tell you anything more than a one-night stand is a bad idea but you seem to know that already." Jim took one of the shots, tipping his head back and scrunching his face as he swallowed. "It all just sucks..."

"Yeah it does..." you responded, and the pair of you couldn't help but laugh a little.

"... boat is an analogy for the workplace. Like, if it was all sinking down, who would you save?" Michael a voice rose over others at the bar, where he stood with Roy and Captain Jack, the latter shaking his head as he turned to look at you and Jim.

"Ok, suppose your office building's on fire. Jim! Who would you save?" He asked, and you watch Jim's eyes immediately look over at Pam, still sat at his booth with Katy.

"Uh- the customer... Customer is King." Jim said with a smile, taking the third shot and downing it.

"Not what I was looking for, but a good thought." Michael said, drink in hand.

"He's just sucking up." Captain Jack responded, shaking his head. Roy threw an arm over his shoulder, slurring his words as he spoke.

"When you were in the Navy, did you ever almost die?" Roy asked, hiccuping afterwards, and the Captain nodded.

"Oh yeah, yeah." Jack said, and Jim gave you a nod before walking away. "And I wasn't thinking of no customer, I was thinking of my first wife, yeah. The day I got back on shore I married her." Roy nodded, and pushed off Jack, stumbling the way Jim went. You followed, pushing past Roy and stopping as you saw Jim turn to the camera.

"You know what? I would save the receptionist... I just, wanted to clear that up." He said, and with a nod to you, he headed over to talk to Pam.

"Hey everyobdy, um, could I have your attention for just a second? Would you listen to me for a second?" Roy was stood on stage, holding onto the microphone he spoke into for balance. "Um, we were up at the front, and we were talking about what's really important and, um... Pam, uh... I think enough is enough." He gulped, and your eyes went straight to Jim. "I think we should set a date for our wedding. How's June 10th?" Roy announced it, and Pam's face lit up at the exact moment Jim's fell.

Jim walked up onto the brig, finding Michael cuffed to the railing by zipties. In an attempt to give a motivational speech to the team, he had panicked the rest of the passengers, claiming the 'ship was sinking', and now, he stood in the cold. Jim sauntered over, resting on the railing and looking out, slipping on his gloves.

"What happened to you?" He asked, fixing his scarf next.

"Captain Jack has a problem with authority." Michael scoffed.

"Oh right, 'cause you announced that his ship was sinking?"

"Yeah! He just totally lost it. If you ask me, he caused the panic." Michael defended himself, and the pair just sighed, looking out over the black water.

"What a night." Jim said eventually.

"Well it was nice for you, your friend got engaged."

"She was always engaged."

"Roy said the first one didn't count." Michael said quickly, and Jim nodded his head.

"That's... Great." he said softly, his vision focused on a point in the dakrness. "To tell you the truth, I... Used to have a big thing for Pam." Jim admitted. Whether it was the drink, or the fact that when Michael wasn't acting like an asshole, he was actually cool, Jim didn't know. "So.."

"Really, you're kidding me." Michael looked mildly surprised. "Y-you and Pam? Wow... I would have never put you two together, you really hid it well. God!"

"What do you mean?" Jim asked, and Michael shook his head.

"Always thought you were more interested in Y/N... I usually have a radar for stuff like that." Michael shook his head, processing the information. "You know I made out with Jan-"

"Yeah, I know. I know..."

"Yep... Well, Pam is cute." Michael stated, and Jim felt a sad smile take hold of his expression.

"Yeah... She's really funny and- and she's warm and she's just... Anyway." Jim shook it off.

"Well, if you like her so much, uh, don't give up." Jim looked over at Michael in surprise.

"She's engaged." Jim reminded.

"Pfft... BFD! Engaged ain't married." Michael said with a raise of the eyebrows, and Jim exhaled with a smirk.

"Huh."

"Never, ever, ever give up." Michael's words stuck with Jim, and put a smile on his face. The camera panned, and watching from the shadows was Y/N.

You held a drink in your hands, regarding the interaction with a little smile. It wasn't often you saw Michael so himself, but you missed it. His bravado gone and his heart in the right place, Michael was a good person.

And as the ship docked that night, you got into a taxi and headed home, with no intention of hooking up with Brenda, and a little more hope in your soul.

Tags: @imsuperawkward

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cetaceans-pls · 4 years

Link

Relationships: Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel Additional Tags: Resurrected Jason Is Found By Poison Ivy AU, Dom/sub Undertones, Vines, Bondage, Breathplay, Basically what it’s like falling in love after you’d already fallen into love, feat. soft JayBru

There’s something to be said about punching your way out of your own coffin, scared out of your mind and not remembering a single damn thing. It's a living hell in every sense of the word, and all in all having Poison Ivy knock him out after she found him wandering around was probably as good an outcome he could have hoped for.

Or, what happens when Jason's return is less a traumatic ordeal in the Pit and more a gentle blossoming under Pamela's careful care, and he finds himself looking at Bruce and thinking, yes.

Take care of yourselves, and please hang in there as best you can.

Fic on tumblr under the cut.

There’s something to be said about punching your way out of your own coffin, scared out of your mind and not remembering a single damn thing aside from a vague sense of there being a place you needed to return to. It’s hell on your hands, for one; he kept finding splinters in his palms for days afterwards. It’s hell on the head, what with the pounding, the complete lack of any memories, the then-dead-now-alive situation, and all in all having Poison Ivy knock him out with some sleeping pollen after she found him rampaging through the botanical gardens in the dead of night was probably as good an end to the day as he could have hoped for.

Pamela’s a lot of frightening, fantastic things. One of those things is that she has a tendency to be unflinchingly kind to scrappy little weedy things trying desperately to survive, and he certainly was a weedy thing that night, freshly pushed out through the earth. He doesn’t remember much from the first 48 hours; just remembers fear and terror and rage, a burst of something sweet-smelling spreading across his face, and then being cared for by careful steady hands that kept him cool and watered and fed.

He recovers in body but not in memory, and decides to just keep helping Pam out, fuzzy on everything except that Gotham is where he needs to be. He doesn’t have any powers aside from being pretty strong and athletic, and while he’d like to think he’s a damn good kisser he can’t literally brainwash people with his skills; trying to keep up with a bit of a mystical botanist almost-villain is really hard when their skill levels are so mismatched.

Pam never seems to mind though, just laughs his concerns off and tells him some vague bullshit about how plants don’t need to do anything more than just be to be good and important and necessary, and that’s all he needs to worry about.

Life at the overridden jungle-esque townhouse that is Casa Isley is pretty simple and extremely pleasant, even in the early days when he was mostly mute and spent most of his time sitting by the window in the living room, face to the sun, eyes closed. She leaves him to recuperate and find his centre and find the sun in the daytime, and at night they bomb massive multinational corporations that profit from the destruction of the rainforests, and it’s a good hearty living. Something doesn’t feel entirely right about a purely vegetarian diet, but the things Pam can do with lentils and roasted squash, Jesus. On the work front, she calls him ‘Sting’ when they’re out, even though he has issues with sharing a name with an elderly pop star, but it’s better than getting called ‘Netty’ instead of nettles, so he goes along with it.

Almost a year in and he thinks he’s gotten the hang of the concept of just being, that he’s found where he can live and grow, that it’s fine that in an absence of a name they both seem to have settled on “Dan” because it’s short for ‘dandelion’, before the Mrs. shows up all of a sudden in a flurry of colour and chaos, takes one look at him, and starts screaming “Robin!!!”

It comes down to this;

“You know I don’t like to look at men’s faces,” Pam tells Harley with mild irritation, even as flowers keep popping up all throughout the house at the absolute pleasure the doctor is feeling at having her wife home for the first time in most of a year.

If they FaceTime each other, he’s never gotten to see it, and if they don’t, he has no idea how they survive that sharp bite of absence. It rings awful loud in his stupid head, and he doesn’t even know what it is he’s missing.

“I know, pumpkin, it’s one of your defining features.” Harley hasn’t stopped laughing once in the past hour, through the fracas of him reacting badly to being screeched at and Pam getting everyone wrapped up neatly in vines while she went to put the kettle on. Harley’s still got vines running all over her, and the whole mass of them seem delighted. “Been wonderin’ who they were talkin’ ‘bout, when they said you picked up a new sidekick who’s some guy that prob’ly wouldn’t know his poppies from his pansies, and now I see you got yourself a zombie baby bird!”

He tries not to snap the handle of the dainty teacup he’s holding. 'Robin' feels closer, closer than ‘Sting’ and ‘Dan’, but still not quite right. “Do you know if I got a family waiting for me somewhere?”

Harley grins. “A whole freakin’ flock of ‘em, buddy. Any terror of the night you see out here in Gotham, they’re gonna take one good look at you and they’re gonna know! Look for a strong jawline or crazy good hair, it’s a giveaway for all of yous. Seriously, Pammy, I can’t believe your little sidekick and you haven’t run into B yet.”

“He’s still new, I wasn’t going to take him out on anything high-level, Harley,” Pamela tells her archly. “But Dandy, it’s up to you. What do you say we hit up a bank or a dozen and see if anybody who swings by recognises you?”

It's not hard to say yes to potentially unraveling his past.

That night they go out in threes, Harley and Poison Ivy looking dashing as all hell while he skulks in the background, trying to stay clear of all the shameless makeouts. He feels deeply uncool in his sweats and his safety goggles with leaves stuck on, but he couldn't really knock up anything that looks half as good as their costumes, so it is what it is, urgh. The plan is easy enough; target the City Bank and just hang around until a Bat or a Bird swings by, and ask if they know who he is. At Harley’s insistence, he’s left the bandanna he usually wears to cover his face at home, because she swears that they’re going to need a peep at his jawline, like a chin’s just as good as a fingerprint.

He doesn’t actually think it’s going to work, as he jumps from giant plant to giant plant to stick some explosives to the vault doors. He’s probably just some man who died in some excruciatingly normal way, and the strangest thing about him is just that he came back, somehow.

He’s probably nobody special.

So it comes as a bit of a surprise when they’re met by an entire battalion of masked vigilantes, held off by Ivy and every inch of chlorophyll in a mile-wide radius, but the fighting is interrupted by Harley whistling to catch everybody’s attention, and then very loudly going “Ta-dah!!” as she presents him, like he’s something grand and important.

He feels extremely put on the spot. He feels like an unasked-for baby picture flashed to acquaintances; inexplicably precious to Harley and astonishingly anti-climactic for literally everyone else. “No one’s gonna know who I am,” he hissed at her, frustration bleeding into his voice.

Of course, everybody does.

The custody battle between Batman and his many, many associates versus Poison Ivy and her wife was vicious and surprisingly bloodless. He can’t remember the number of times he gets abducted and re-abducted. In the course of two months he: gets taken out to an all-night cafe by a man in black-and-blue who seems anxious and keen to pretend he isn’t; has a costumed girl with wild blonde hair ask if he might consider giving her driving lessons, because B is shit; gets accosted by a boy with floppy hair who got real annoyed that Jason’s phone is an ancient thing with a keypad and everything, unhackable in every sense of the word.

In his defense, when Pam can send him a shopping list via leaves and he just needs to shout at the closest potted plant to remind her she’s supposed to get take-out on the way home tonight, a phone’s not really super necessary.

Pam and Harley become increasingly retaliatory after all the kidnapping attempts; he’s been followed by oak trees dragging themselves along the pavement like underpaid Ents, and Harley’s singular ability to show up when everybody least expects her means many a (family?) reunion gets broken up by a glitter bomb and Harley dragging him back, “‘cos Pammy’s gonna be real mad if I lost you. You accidentally buy real bacon instead a’ imitation one time, and your wife gets to hold that over you for f’ever, and you gotta take it kid, just ‘cos you love her, god.”

It’s a hectic couple of months.

He knows the Bat and Bird people know who he is, and that they worry about telling him the truth while he’s still living with Pam, who’s a designated villain, but right now it’s a lot easier to pick the side of the woman who found him when he was at his worst and helped him find his feet and screw his head back on straight than it is to believe a pack of vigilantes who stalk him and refuse to tell him his name.

Batman’s the worst of the lot; massive and hulking and lineless when he wants to intimidate a deeply-unmoved Poison Ivy in a fight, but furtive and silent and impossible to see when he’s on the fire escape right outside his room.

At first, he’d thought that the Batman was just straight-up creeping on him in his sleep, and he’d started cultivating a window box of cacti that he was slowly coaching into listening to him and taking instructions. Prolonged contact with Ivy and all the pheromones and secret magic that seeps out of her gives everyone in her vicinity a bit of plant magic, and where Pam’s mailman has gone from killing three succulents within the space of a week many years ago to becoming an award-winning pumpkin cultivator this last fall, Jason’s begun to be able to nudge and ask plants for help.

The cacti let him know that if Batman’s stalking him, it’s really fucking weird stalking. The Bat doesn’t peer through the window, never tries to climb in and get into close contact, makes no move to survey the lay of the land and liberate him. It’s really fucking weird, the cacti say. On random nights, at least twice a week, the Bat climbs up the creaky, ancient wrought-iron ladder in complete silence, and apparently he just sits there, back to the room, face to the world.

Some nights where everything feels a little off, Jason just lies in bed and stares at the black mass and wonders what he’s done to make him so important to Batman, and if the feeling’s returned.

He figures out somewhere along the way that the Bat’s standing guard over him. He figures it out because Pam tells him, with an exasperated tone of voice that informs him that this is why she finds men so damn intolerable. “He’s worried about you, and he hasn’t tried to do anything more than just creep around, so I thought I’d leave him to you.”

That’s where it (re)starts.

A week after that little conversation with Pam, he swaps out half the cacti for clumps of herbs in the window box instead. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t need to ward against the Bat anymore, and there’s something really freakin’ nice about his room smelling like rosemary when Gotham’s hit with her usual summer heatwave, dramatically transforming from a grubby city into a grubbier swamp. A week after that he starts leaving out lemonade for the man, because Pamela did a damn fine job instilling within him the urge to make sure to regularly water those things that need regular watering. A week after that, he starts unilaterally talking about what it’s like to be an apprentice horticulturalist climbing the corporate ladder, and how his trainer is extremely impressed with how even their most dire cases return to life under his green thumbs. There’s a course on technical botanical watercolours coming up, for staff only, and he’s fucking hyped. The Bat responds in quiet hums and grunts, and even the occasional word, but Jason and his plants collectively agree that the man is listening, intently even.

A week after that, Batman tells him that he’s Jason Todd, the name clicks like a neck breaking, and he’s on the ground screaming-screaming-screaming as everything comes pouring back, soothed and tinted green by Poison Ivy’s fundamentally restorative magic hanging heavy in the air.

When he comes to, Harley’s trying to knock Bruce’s stupid head off with her ridiculous mallet, and Jason sees at least 4 Venus flytraps manifesting, big enough to eat any man as Pamela checks his pulse. Bruce is dodging and ducking and weaving, but he doesn’t raise a hand to fight back. He just keeps staring and staring and staring at Jason, and that’s the culmination of the world’s most chaotic resurrection arc.

There’s a second round of flying batarangs and pollen bombs when Jason’s brought up to speed on the status of things (i.e. the Joker and his damn fucking state of being alive) and he tells his family (both sets of them) that he’s going to keep on being an apprentice horticulturalist and an apprentice Sting(ing Nettle), with Bruce accusing Poison Ivy of brainwashing him and Pam scoffing and telling Bruce that Jason doesn’t even like women, which, come on, why’s a man gotta get outed like this?

He loves everyone involved in this whole screaming mess, but for people who don’t actually have a claim to any part of him, it is wild how entitled both Batman and Poison Ivy feel to him. That’s the thing with growth, right? You might need to give a sapling a lot of support to help it get its bearings, but when it’s off, it’s off.

Jason’s grown up enough to know who he is and where he stands, and it might have taken well over a year post-resurrection to get to this point, but he’s tall and strong enough to stand up and get the sun himself, thanks.

This is how the custody battle ends;

Jason tells both Pam and Bruce that neither of them are actually his parents, and moves out to a shitty little flat close to Crime Alley. His house is chock-a-block full of plants; there’s always cereal in the cupboards for when Dick or Harley visit; the window is left unadorned for quick access by night-time crimefighters; he upgrades to a legitimate smartphone and joins several iterations of family group chats; and

he’s careful to pick a flat that has a fire escape right outside his bedroom. It’s a weird thing to have as ‘required’ when apartment-hunting, but the thought of Bruce trying to be a barrier between Jason and this whole awful world where he couldn’t before makes him feel some sort of way, and some sort of way is enough of a motivation. Bruce reminds him of himself fresh out of the ground; struggling to find his footing but trying desperately to carry on nonetheless. An extra 75 bucks a month is worth setting up space with plenty of sun for that, surely.

He puts a pitcher of lemonade instead of a bird feeder out a couple of months after moving in, when he’s nice and settled. When he pokes his head out and finds an empty jug the next morning, his aloe plant checks in with him to make sure that he’s cool with having a black wraith standing guard outside in the night.

Jason is.

A week after that he starts chatting at Bruce while he folds 2 weeks’ worth of laundry, and a week after that he starts joining Bruce on the fire escape.

Sometimes they don’t talk much at all because contact is what they actually, desperately need, and that’s the start of a different sort of resurrection.

The thing is, Bruce probably thinks he’s being super sneaky and discreet, but he really, really isn’t. Even if Jason didn’t have every plant in the tri-state area snitching on Bruce to him, it’s pretty clear that ‘Sting’s’ outfit has been getting upgraded. The goggles with the leaves haphazardly glued onto them suddenly have night-vision, and don’t even crack when Jason gets slammed into the side of a building face-first one night. His sweats look exactly the same, except they’re now three pounds heavier and are shockingly bulletproof. He even finds a long-sleeved shirt with a stylised ‘S’ shaped like a thorn in a gorgeous hunter green, and it makes him laugh like a complete idiot to imagine Bruce at the Manor, Windows Paint open as he brainstorms a new not-flying-vertebrate-related symbol.

He’s happier to wear a ratty shirt and a leather jacket out for nightwork, though. Jason’s working with Ivy, but that’s mostly because he just likes Pam; for every dirty corporate pig they almost kill, they spend as much time squatting in the woods somewhere eating vege tacos. He’s not anxious to become a new vigilante, especially not one under somebody else’s purview. Call him a coward, but as far as dead-end careers go, being Robin was, uh. Rough.

So he dresses in athleisure-meets-leather and mostly wears his special Sting shirt when the weather’s awful and Bruce still refuses to come inside for some reheated pizza. The shirt’s a little oversized, the lining is obscenely soft and warm, and it’s also waterproof, so in many ways it’s exactly perfect.

It’s on a shitty Gotham fall day, where it’s gone dark way too early and the rain comes down hard and somehow colder than fucking snow, when the milkweeds that Mrs. Faure three floors down grows in her window box yell up to say the Bat’s coming but he doesn’t seem well.

Delicacy and nuance are difficult things to pass along in the language of flowers, and ‘unwell’ could mean anything from a bit of a cough to literally on the verge of death, so Jason prepares accordingly. He shrugs into his armoured shirt and sweats, gets the gun out (because no matter what Pam says, it’s mighty helpful for a fledgling plant sorcerer to have something as fast as a speeding bullet, thanks) and finds his fully-stocked medkit. By the time Bruce is pounding on his window, Jason’s ready to handle everything up to and including a raging elephant.

Instead, it’s just Bruce with a massive gash in his side, mania in his eyes. Bruce looks Jason up and down and up and down, like he can’t quite believe his eyes, and struggles through the windowsill, almost crushing Jason’s carefully-cultivated wildgrass windowbox. “Jason,” he shouts, which is a clearer sign than anything else that he’s out of it, clearer even than a hole where the rest of an abdomen should be. “Jason, are you okay?” He lands on the floor, slips in a pile of dirty clothes and his own blood, and keeps struggling to head towards Jason.

Jason’s stunned one second, and shoving wads of gauze into the gaping wound the next. “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here,” he says for lack of brainpower to think of anything better, communing with All Plants Ever and being informed by a god (or possibly Pam) that cacti have blood-clotting properties. Powers heightened in an emergency, his succulents step up to the plate and grow to enormous proportions, allowing Jason to rip off a stem, crush it to mush, and plug Bruce up. “What the hell happened?”

Bruce doesn’t seem to hear him, more concerned with checking Jason over, trying to take his pulse through the gauntlets. Whatever he sees seems to be enough for him, and he abruptly staggers back, back towards the window. “You’re alive, you’re fine, it’s fine,” Bruce says to himself like he’s trying to believe it, as he tries to take his leave.

That’s not going to happen, of course. An obliging spider plant hanging by the window grows big enough to wrap its leaves around Bruce and draw him to a standstill, and Jason’s already hauling Bruce to the bed. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going, B? You’re lying the hell down while I call Alfred. Jesus, you’re a mess.”

“The wound is minor, I can lose another 15% of my blood volume without affecting my performance,” says the man currently outfoxed by some grass. “I just needed to make sure you were unharmed. There’s a fight I need to get back to.”

“Yeah, ‘course there is,” said Jason, completely unmoved. The cactus pulp seems to be doing its job, and the blood’s gone spectacularly gross and clumpy, but if that’s a Killer Croc bite infection’s going to be a bigger bitch than blood volume loss. He fires off a text to Alfred, then pauses. “Hang on, who’re you fighting, and where? Where’s your backup, anyways?”

Bruce is now sat on Jason’s bed, looking longingly at the fire escape. “It’s some sort of coordinated effort to set the city on fire.” He pauses, because they’re both looking out the window at the heavy rain and thinking, really? “We’re keeping on top of it, but that’s not going to last if I don’t stop Killer Croc and the Penguin from ganging up.”

“Uh huh, cool. Where were they, again?”

“Flooding out the hospital on 8th and Faber. Jason, I have to go -”

“Nope,” Jason tells him flatly, having sent a message along to Pam for a favour (at 8th and Faber). “You’re gonna wait till Alfie comes by to pick you up, and then I’m gonna go out and help mop up the mess.” He grabs the closest clean-looking shirt, and flicks a carbon fiber ear. “Open, I need to clean up your face and check for a concussion. What’re you doing here anyways?”

Bruce unlocks the cowl and pushes it off, and he looks about as rundown as usual, which is good. Jason wets his shirt with the plant spritzer that’s eternally on his bedside table, and rubs the dirt and debris off of Bruce’s face as he waits for a response that’s slow in coming.

“Penguin said that the Joker was rampaging across Crime Alley. It was just a distraction, but it worked,” Bruce says, sounding a little offended. “I was already heading this way by the time Dick radioed to say he’s got Joker contained with help from the Titans. I just. Wanted to check in with you.”

“Christ,” Jason swears, feeling that standard mix of irritation and mind-boggling fondness flood his brain in response to Bruce's blunt Bruce-ness. “You’re such an idiot. I shouldn’t be your first priority, B!”

Bruce just stares at him, shockingly calm for a man missing a lot of blood and bone. “Then what number priority are you supposed to be, Jay?”

There’s not much Jason can reply to that. For all the existential angst and the occasional roar of rage he feels towards Bruce, if he heard that something had gone terribly wrong with Bruce, anything short of god-level power would struggle to keep him away.

Sometimes when he thinks back to his resurrection, he wonders if he’d woken up in part because there’s an internal mechanism that kept worrying at him after his death, going What the fuck’s going to happen to the big guy with you gone, fuck, get up, get up, get UP!

Aw, hell. Pam was kind of a dick but also absolutely right when she said he’s got no interest in women, and to be fair his interest in men is pretty extremely limited too.

Bruce seems to take his silence as permission to go off and do something dumbfuck again, staggering up and surging towards the window, and in a moment of reactionary panic Jason grabs him by the cowl, tugs him back, and kisses him.

(“10 out of 10 times you’ll get your man,” Poison Ivy had told him as she rubbed at her lips with a wet wipe, CEO to an oil fracking company in a dead faint at her feet. “I can’t tell you how to know when your pheromones are strong enough for it to work work, but you’ll know when the time comes. Just keep disinfectant handy, because I have never met a man whose mouth was not a cesspit. No offense.”

Some offense taken, thanks, because he knows she’s kissed Batman before, and only a deeply ungenerous soul would describe the feeling of Bruce falling under your thrall as a ‘cesspit’.)

Bruce passes out in under 2 seconds flat, fall cushioned by a monstera coming in clutch. Jason looks down at him, thinks about what it means that the man with the most indomitable will in the whole stupid fucking world got taken out by a poison kiss, and screams “Fuuuuuuuuuuck!” until Alfred breaks in with a gun in each hand, asking if Masters Jason and Bruce are quite all right.

Jason is an absolute mess when he goes for Ladies’ Night with Pam and Harley, as repayment for services rendered on that shitty, bloody night a couple of weeks ago now. Pam picks a beer garden because this late in the year it’s cold enough that they have the outdoors to themselves, and none of them really feel give a shit in the weather (Jason's got The Shirt on, after all).

First round of apple ciders and a giant bowl of piping hot cheesy nachos delivered, Harley tucks in with her customary gusto in the face of hot snack foods, while Pam just stares at Jason like she knows something.

Of course she does, Jason thinks bitterly. Pam’s a Higher Power, and he’d be damn surprised if his houseplants haven’t already ratted him out to her. “What?” he snarls, trying to fend off an uncomfortable conversation by being a bit of a dick.

It doesn’t work; if anything both women just look more amused. “What’s eatin’ you, Jay?” Harley says around a mouthful of nachos. “You and Pammy are makin’ eyes and not lettin’ me join in, which, by the way, dick move. Just spit it out already.”

Pam’s barely holding in her laughter at this point. “She’s right, Jason. Just lay it on us.”

Oh, lord, Dr. Pamela Isley really just did wink at him, oh my god.

“It wasn’t anything, okay! It was just a knock-out kiss, you kiss like a hundred people a month, it doesn’t mean anything.” He can control the blush, just barely, but that’s thanks to Bruce’s training, and thinking about training Bruce is Extremely Counterproductive, fuck.

Harley’s just openly applauding at this point, clearly deeply entertained. “Awwww, you laid a wet one on Big B, huh? Can’t blame you, jeezus, the thighs on that man.” She sighs, eyes going distant. “Plus! He was plenty nice to me after the break with Mr. J, and he sent us some real sweet weddin’ gifts, didn’t he, Pammy?”

Pam nods, still radiating amusement. “A waffle iron and sandwich press for Harley, and several endangered species of begonias that haven’t been successfully propagated in captivity for me. The man has beautiful penmanship.”

He does, Jason almost says, which really clearly highlights just how damn moony he is at this point in time. “We’re not… like that. He wouldn’t want that with me, okay, so can we just drop it?” He miserably drains his mug of cider, and wishes it was something with a lot more kick instead.

They kind of fall into a maudlin little lull, before Harley breaks the pause. “Hang on, hang on. Why wouldn’t he want you, kid, you’re plenty good-lookin’. Did you even try to seduce the guy? Get him some top-notch chocolates and roses for valentine? If Pam could stick her neck out and one-hit K.O. Mr. J to win me over, how’re you just sittin’ there all sad-like and giving up before you even made one grand gesture?”

Times like these Jason is sharply reminded that while Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy are usually rated Quirky Second-Class Villains by virtue of misogyny, they’ve both haunted and infected and protected Gotham for years and years and years, have PhDs, are weirdly unflappable and immoveable, and are in a loving, committed relationship. Times like these they catch him coming and going.

He knows that him being under Bruce’s care before he died makes for an awkward power dynamic that’s likely to stick in Bruce’s craw, even if it doesn’t really affect Jason’s intentions towards the man. He knows that it might break their slowly recovering relationship, might drive Bruce away, might shove a wedge in between him and the Bat family.

He knows all this, but fair play to Harley, he doesn’t know that Bruce is definitely, definitely going to shoot him down. He also doesn’t know what would happen if he sincerely makes an effort to make clear that he wants to be the steadying hand at Bruce’s back, the cacti pulp healing a festering wound, the window he clambers through when he’s in a blind panic.

“Ah, fuck,” he sighs, reaching over to steal Harley’s full glass, taking a deep swig of the sweet, fizzy cider. “I really fuckin’ hate it when you’re the one talking the most sense, Harl. If and when he breaks my heart, you two are responsible for wining and dining me for the rest of my depressing, shitty life, okay?”

“I’ll drink to that!” Harley toasts him, grabbing Pam’s glass to clink against Jason’s. “Go for it, kid. If anyone’s gonna make love grow in the barren ass desert of Big B’s moody edgy heart, it’s gonna be Pam or a Pam-adjacent. Grab that man by the balls, zombie bird!”

The rest of the night is filled by increasingly drunken plans to woo a man who can’t be wooed, and the brainstorming felt like it was going well to a bunch of tipsy dumbasses. How it ends, is that Jason wakes up the next morning in a hedge, head pounding and pocket filled with 5 napkins covered in incomprehensible scribbles and 3 separate iterations of a hairy cock-and-balls in lipstick.

Pretty tame, for Ladies' Night.

Life continues as normal after that. He gets needled by Pam and Harley for dragging his feet, but every time he opens his mouth to say something he imagines losing quiet time on his balcony with B, spiked lemonade resting between them. The kiss doesn’t get brought up, but there’s an almost literal itch on his lips whenever Jason looks at Bruce and the desire to take him and keep him rises up to his throat, and that’s just life now, apparently.

It’s a holding pattern that breaks unexpectedly one day, over the phone. Bruce almost never calls him, but they’ve taken to getting takeout whenever there’s enough of a lull in the night patrol to warrant a meal break for Batman, and sometimes there’s a call to check in on the general consensus re: Greek or Turkish food for supper.

His phone rings when he’s almost out of his flat, and Jason swears. He somehow hadn’t thought about Bruce tonight, not when Bruce hadn’t been around for the last anniversary. He answers, and tries not to sound like anything unusual is going on. “Hey, B, what’s up?”

“Jason. I am parked in front of that Chinese takeout by the greengrocer’s that sells lemongrass by the pound. Do you want the same dumplings you got last time?”

Be still my stupid fucking heart, it’s deeply uncool to mildly lose your mind when the man you’re deeply into remembers your takeaway order. “Sounds great, B, but listen. I have some stuff going on tonight, so I won’t be around to meet you. Sorry.”

Jason hopes and hopes and hopes that Bruce will just leave it, just take it as it is, but-

“There’s no significant criminal activity tonight, and none of Harley or Ivy’s usual targets are in the city. What’s going on?”

“Just a meetup with the two of ‘em, no big deal, B, nothing to worry about, it’s nothing,” Jason says, desperately trying to be cool.

Of course, it makes it worse.

“Jason, if you are in an emergency situation and a hostile is in the same room with you, say ‘I might go for the soup dumplings tonight’. I’m on my way.”

It’s rapidly spinning out of control, and Jason figures that if the gun’s about to go off he might as well pull the trigger. “You can’t, B, because I’m going out with Pam to get black-out drunk tonight ‘cos it’s the anniversary of me coming out of the ground, and if Ivy’s not near me I keep thinking I’m gonna get buried again. Do you understand why I have to cancel dinner now?”

He sounds harsh, he knows he sounds harsh, but something about the anniversary throws him back 6 feet underground, and Pam’s the only one who makes him feel safe when he’s got soil on the mind.

Bruce takes an eternity to respond to that, and when he does it’s just a quiet, helpless “Jaybird,” and Jason’s trying not to burst into tears right now, aaaah.

“It’s not the same as it was before. I’m not the same as I was before, B, and this is one of those things. You wanna hear another buck-wild thing, something new post-death and equally horrifying?” He hears his mouth, but doesn’t remember authorising any of these words.

“You can tell me anything, Jason. You can ask me for anything,” Bruce promises him, voice heavy and serious and trembling 'round the edges, clearly not reading the damned room.

Ah, he can’t stop the slightly hysterical laughter as he forces himself up and out of the flat, keen to get to Pam’s place before it’s fully dark. “The brand new thing, B, is that I’m pretty sure dying and coming back to life and living on my own kinda made me fall in love with you, and I kissed you and I liked it, and I just really, really want you to feel it back.” He sighs, and blinks his eyes dry. “But that’s a me problem, okay, and I’ve got a handle on it. I just….” Just want you to want me back, he doesn’t say, because it’s not ‘foist your problems onto Bruce who is quite often less equipped to handle problems than anyone gives him credit for’ day, contrary to how Gotham lives her fucking life. “I just need to cancel dinner,” he says instead, tired and dull.

“Jason,” he hears Bruce’s shock clear in his voice, and he just can’t take it. “Jason, I-”

He hangs up, because there’s a time and a place to deal with everything, and the time and the place to deal with Bruce’s rejection is not right here and right now.

Christ, no wonder some people become supervillains because of love; shit drives a man madder even than his resurrection.

Harley leaves on a big Birds of Prey mission to absolutely murder a gang of child traffickers the day after Jason’s anniversary, and she comes back a whole 4 months later with little more than a couple of chipped teeth, a line of stitches up her back, and a pet dingo.

Jason’s at Pam’s for lunch when she bursts through the door yelling “Honey, I’m home!” with zero irony, and he doesn’t even get to say hi, hello, before she takes one look at him and his myriad of hickeys and the mussed hair of a man getting lovingly laid on the regular, and screams “Robin, you sly freakin’ dog!”

Jason tries to vault to freedom and away from this mortifying encounter, jumping for an open window, but massive vines catch him by the waist, and he resigns himself to his terrible, terrible fate. “Hey, Harley,” he tells her, and prepares for the most excruciating lunchtime of his life.

“Jason, stop!” Bruce calls out, even though he’s suspended upside down, limbs spread apart by coiling vines thicker than his wrist. “I know you don’t want to do this! Let me down; whatever’s happened to you, I can help.”

Jason moves out from behind the long, sweeping fronds of a palm, green-tinted and mostly nude. “That’s where you’re wrong, B,” he says, stepping closer to caress Bruce’s jaw, scratching at barely-there stubble with nails sharper than thorns. “This is the truest me you’re ever gonna get.” He licks his lips, partly for effect, partly to check his pheromone levels. God, he almost doses himself up, and it’s a delight to imagine what will happen to Bruce when he gets a taste.

“Stop, no, I don’t want this-!”

Too late. Jason holds Bruce steady as he kisses him, messy and with teeth. He bites on Bruce’s lips till he bleeds, brushes tongue against tongue, scratches welts into the fine skin of his cheeks, and doesn’t stop until he can feel Bruce panting and writhing under his hands, breathing coming in quicker and quicker. “Now you do, B,” Jason tells him, gently tugging the cowl off.

The fingerprint scanner on the master lock still recognises his prints, oh, god.

Bruce looks dazed, more out of it even than when he’s concussed. Pupils blown wide, he clearly struggles to focus on Jason, and he doesn’t do much more than growl when he’s unmasked.

He’s a sight, and it makes Jason giddy all at once. “God, B,” Jason says, “I know what you want, I know better’n you.” He presses another kiss to Bruce’s mouth, lets it linger and lets it soak. “I’m going to take care of you. Gonna take care of you right here in the greenhouse, right where Alfie might just come by if he figures he needs some herbs.” He moves a hand to Bruce’s chest, feels it heaving underneath the armour. “Anyone could walk in and see you like this, and you’d thank me for that, thank me for showing you off, wouldn’t you?”

Bruce tries to mount a protest, tries to struggle as Jason pulls his gauntlets off one at a time, leaving sharp bites all over Bruce’s hands, lingering on his pulse, on his scars. Bruce tries to stop the full-body shivers, but the most urgent feeling assaulting him is a sharp thrill at being seen like this, vulnerable and completely under Jason’s thrall. He grasps on to a vine with his left hand, and holds on.

By the time Jason has Bruce maneuvered onto his back, still suspended by the vines but bare-chested now, Bruce is sunk. There’s a haze over everything, and he’s drowning under the strength of Jason’s powers, the muggy heat of the greenhouse, the forced capitulation in bondage. It’s been years and years and years since he had last been this pliant and helpless, and it burns him up inside that he has no choice in this, that when Jason puts his mouth to him, sets his teeth against Bruce’s collarbone and bites, all he feels is dumb pleasure.

“That’s it,” Jason whispers against skin, “go down, take what I’m giving you.” A thought sends vines curling around Bruce’s pants, tugging them down, baring him to the open quiet of the greenhouse. “You’re a good boy; you scowl and struggle, act like a big Bat man, but this ,” emphasised by a squeeze of Bruce’s cock, “this is what you need .” A kiss to a navel, a bite at a hip, a hickey on an inner thigh. “Trussed up and spread out, just for me.”

The words rock the dreamy state a little; Bruce doesn’t and has never equated anything about his pleasure to a need. There are far too many important things to legitimately need for him to ever prioritise his desires, and it takes him out of it. Bruce doesn’t need this , it’s just a ploy to let Jason’s poison sink in deeper! He starts to struggle, realising that he’s completely undressed now, Jason’s idle hands drawing little welts up and down his thighs. “That’s not true,” he snarls, trying to free his hands. “Let me go!”

A thin vine wraps around Bruce’s throat in a threat, and Jason digs his claws into a bare belly. “And what part of it’s untrue, B?” With his other hand, he leisurely strokes Bruce’s hard cock, slick with sap. “This?” He squeezes, a shade too hard. “You even notice that you’ve been trembling this whole time? Poor Bruce, I don’t think you even mean half the shit that comes out your mouth.” A slight gesture, and the vine around Bruce’s neck twines once, twice, and snakes into his mouth, filling it completely. “There, I’ve taken care of your lying for you. Shouldn’t you thank me?”

In a fit of desperation, Bruce squeezes once around the vine that’s trapped his right hand, putting all his strength into it, hoping it’ll work, hoping…

Jason just laughs. “Good enough, I guess.” The claws pull away, and he starts jerking Bruce off faster, delighting in the little twitches in the hips and thighs that not even the great Bat can contain. “Let’s fill you up a little more, yeah?”

Bruce groans around the vine that starts fucking his throat, tries to pretend that it’s from revulsion, that the lack of control doesn’t just make him harder and dizzier.

Nothing could stop him from groaning when he feels a curious prod at his hole, slick with sap and too cool to be human. The vine works its way in, slow and ceaseless, and by the time Jason finally gets it to stop Bruce struggles to do anything more than just gasp and bite down, teeth glancing uselessly off the vine in his mouth.

“You’re fine,” Jason soothes him, rubbing absently at Bruce’s stuffed throat. “You love this, I can tell. How’s about we get you off, B, and we can experiment more with your limits?” At that, Jason moves his hand down to curiously press on where skin is stretched taut around a wrist-thick vine, and the sensation, the threat of more has Bruce convulsing, squeezing down hard on the vines around his hands.

Jason pauses his hands for a moment at that, head cocked like he’s trying to hear something through the plants, but soon enough he’s rubbing his thumb against Bruce’s hole, thorny nails retracted and gone, just a point of warmth where Bruce cannot take any more.

“C’mon, B,” Jason coaxes him, grip tight around his cock, wicked sharp thumbnail teasing the cockhead with every pass. “Give me what I want, so I can give you what you want, yeah?”

The capacity to think about what he wants has long since escaped Bruce; all he knows is that Jason is asking him for something, and this deep under all he wants to do is give Jason what he wants. His body seizes tight, his breathing is far too fast, and the only real thing in the world is Jason holding him, round the neck and the limbs and his cock, and it’s overwhelming to the point of madness.

Without warning and without preamble, Jason pushes his thumb in and up, and Bruce is screaming as he comes all over himself, all over Jason’s hand.

“Oh, baby,” he hears Jason murmuring all soft and awed. Bruce doesn’t have the ability to think about how Jason sounds, because Jason doesn’t stop.

Bruce loses all he has left of himself and passes out some time around the third finger that Jason pushes in, choked and completely, utterly full-up, echoes of praise following him on his way out.

Romance is dead, and Bruce Wayne killed it.

Afterglow happens to other people, and Jason hates and envies all of them. He just gets a debrief, and it took weeks just to negotiate it into a proper conversation instead of a deeply alarming Powerpoint presentation. It took a couple more weeks on top of that to get Bruce to relent to a spot of naked cuddling during what counts as aftercare for Batman, though for that fight Jason had been willing to go all-in and wait Bruce the hell out because sometimes (often! times!) Bruce really doesn’t know best.

So no using the board room in the Cave, no projectors, yes bare skin. It’s fertilizer for the soul, bitch.

They're huddled together in a bed of moss, which is soft and springy but also unfortunately, worryingly damp. To keep dry and warm, Bruce is wrapped up in his cape and cradled in Jason’s lap, clear of the ground. At least, he’s as cradled as a man can be when a man is over 6 feet of battle-hardened muscle.

God help him, Jason thinks it’s fucking cute to see Bruce bare but for his cape, face serious, datapad in hand to do a play-by-play of their most recent scene. Nothing about his life now seems like a reasonable progression from him clawing his way out of a coffin, it’s a pretty giant leap even from the first night he found Bruce out on his stoop and started to think about more, but as Pam would (cryptically) say, plant-willing, all things are possible.

Jason gives Bruce the few minutes he needs to find his centre and record what he wants to keep, and occupies his time with an extra thousand or so sharp-toothed hickeys dug into taut shoulders. “Lemme know when you’re ready for a breakdown, B,” he says, mouth full of skin. A grapevine verdant with fruit manifests nearby, and he starts feeding Bruce some grapes to fend off Bruce’s almost instinctive desire to knock back coffee after exertion. The day he can figure out how to make hydrangeas fetch him a sandwich, he'll finally ascend to his rightful place as Best Dom in the World.

To be fair, he might already be, since he has a lap full of fucked-pliant Bruce.

“Overall, this was a very satisfying scene,” Bruce says matter-of-factly, as though he’s not still buck-naked and loose-limbed, head doing its level best to burrow under Jason’s chin despite the extreme lack of free real estate. “I believe in a few weeks’ time, we’ll be able to meet your target of dual-penetration in the same orifice.”

God. Sexiness has just now been murdered, also struck down by Bruce Wayne.

“B, we have definitely talked about using the word ‘orifice’, c’mon, stop fucking with me.” He tries to jog his knee and it goes absolutely nowhere, because Bruce is heavy enough that Jason hasn’t actually felt his feet in a while. “But I definitely noticed that you were all gorgeous and relaxed and loose. I’m gonna get to fuck you alongside a vine in no time.” Jason noses at the side of Bruce’s head, nudges him into a kiss. “You did so fuckin’ well, Bruce.”

That does the trick, as Jason knew it would. Bruce shudders in his hold, still far gone enough that praise goes straight to his head and out his limbs, and add another tick for that Best Dom in the world award, because Jason doesn’t even tease him about it. “Anything else? Used lianas this time instead of grapevines, how’re your allergies?” Jason’s already checked, of course, and there were no red welts on Bruce’s limbs, but a good horticulturalist knows that not all issues are visible.

Get you a case of root rot, and a plant that looks completely alright today could be completely dead the day after. For a whole host of reasons, Jason’s going to keep a careful hand and eye on Bruce; this is part of his duty of care.

Almost on cue, Bruce holds his hand up right to Jason’s face, showcasing a gorgeous rash-free bruise starting up around his wrist.

Jason kisses it.

“Lianas work. And three squeezes for red, one squeeze for green is a good system, especially with you checking in so often.” Bruce pauses for a moment, an internal struggle in a lifetime of internal struggles. Jason gives him space and time, and is sweetly, sweetly repaid with “I felt safe.”

Damn right you should, Jason thinks and carefully doesn’t say, but the grapevine’s sprouting grapes like its life depends on it, and little wildflowers are pushing up through their mossy blanket. Goddamn, discreet he ain’t. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, voice a little rough. “Don’t go soft on me though, big guy. Anything I did wrong?”

“Just the one,” Bruce says, missing Jason’s little scrape of emotion as he puts aside the datapad and sprawls across Jason’s body. With the debrief out of his system, it’s now time for a restorative nap. In Jason’s apartment with the plants doing their best to look as lush as they would in a greenhouse, he’s safe and he doesn’t need to get up and get dressed and get away as soon as possible. “The dirty talk could do with some work. I might need you, Jay, but I don’t need this.” He pulls the cape up over his head, because if he’s going to sleep he’s going to do in pitch darkness, thanks. “It’s just a want,” he gets out in a tired growl, already halfway asleep. “I just want it, with you.”

And Bruce is out like a light, already softly snoring, and Jason just has to sit there and endure, because he just wants to scream and also maybe take Bruce under again after that bitch of a confession.

Instead, he squirms and gets the vines to help him into a slightly more comfortable recline without jostling Bruce, and plans out just how hideously smug he’s going to be the next night out with Pam and Harley.

(The answer is Very Extremely Smug, thanks!!)

a/n: it’s been a mentally and emotionally grueling fucking year, and i just want to write stories where people love each other and they’re at least a little happy _(:3」∠)_ jesus, what a year (lemon, it’s fucking june)

#jason todd #bruce wayne #jaybru #batman #harleen quinzel #pamela isley #poison ivy #harlivy #whale writing #kinkmeme fill #i think i spent as much time formatting and spellchecking as i did on writing the fill itself god #i sure do like me some slow-build burst of dumb fluorishing love #it's been a shitty ole year #let's just try to hang in there #c'mon now

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qquinntessential · 4 years

Text

ASK THE MUSE! ( reply as muse talking )

► NAME ➭ “Harley Quinn!”

► ARE YOU SINGLE? ➭ “As a goddamn Pringle.”

► ARE YOU HAPPY? ➭ “Of course I am!”

► ARE YOU ANGRY? ➭ “Not currently, but that all depends on where these questions go.”

► ARE YOUR PARENTS STILL MARRIED? ➭ “I dunno...is it technically a divorce if one of them dies ??”

EIGHT FACTS!

► BIRTHPLACE ➭ “Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. Once a New Yorker, always a New Yorker!”

► HAIR COLOR ➭ “Bottle blonde, born a brunette.”

► EYE COLOR ➭ “Light blue.”

► BIRTHDAY ➭ “December 19th, 19...doesn’t matter”

► MOOD ➭ “Right now? Not too bad. Could use some coffee though.”

► GENDER ➭ “Female and proud.”

► SUMMER OR WINTER ➭ “Summertime, obviously. Winter fashion is too heavy and I can’t bust out the skates in the snow.”

► MORNING OR AFTERNOON ➭ “Early morning. I’m talkin’ 3AM early. But as soon as we hit 7, I’m tappin’ out.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE!

► ARE YOU IN LOVE? ➭ “...not anymore.”

► DO YOU BELIEVE IN LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT? ➭ “Unfortunately, every time I try t’convince myself that it isn’t real, I end up gettin’ proven wrong. So yeah, I guess, but not completely willingly.”

► WHO ENDED YOUR LAST RELATIONSHIP? ➭ “That sonofabitch had th’nerve to call it quits.”

► HAVE YOU EVER BROKEN SOMEONE’S HEART? ➭ “Oh, definitely. Maybe not intentionally, but I’m sure I have.”

► ARE YOU AFRAID OF COMMITMENTS? ➭ “Depends on the commitment.”

► HAVE YOU HUGGED SOMEONE WITHIN THE LAST WEEK? ➭ “Definitely! I hug people all the time! Sometimes they call them ‘chokeholds’, but that’s besides th’point.”

► HAVE YOU EVER HAD A SECRET ADMIRER? ➭ “Probably not? I’m not too good with secrets...can’t keep ‘em and don’t like them bein’ kept from me.”

► HAVE YOU EVER BROKEN YOUR OWN HEART? ➭ “Yes. I had to t’get away from him and become myself.”

CHOICES!

► LOVE OR LUST ➭ “Love, with a dash of lust at the right moments. Sometimes just lust. But I’m a big fan of love.”

► LEMONADE OR ICED TEA ➭ “STRAWBERRY LEMONADE!”

► A FEW BEST FRIENDS OR MANY REGULAR FRIENDS ➭ “A few best friends. I don’t need anyone who’s gonna talk shit as soon as I turn my back; I need a few good ride or dies.”

► WILD NIGHT OUT OR ROMANTIC NIGHT IN ➭ “Night out, for the most part. Sleepin’ isn’t exactly my forte, so might as well do somethin’ fun with all that time.”

► DAY OR NIGHT ➭ “Dusk to dawn, baby!!”

HAVE YOU EVERS !

► BEEN CAUGHT SNEAKING OUT ➭ “Yeah, a bunch when I was in high school.”

► FALLEN DOWN/UP THE STAIRS ➭ “I mean, does being pushed count?”

► WANTED SOMETHING/SOMEONE SO BADLY IT HURT? ➭ “...yeah...”

PREFERENCES !

► SMILE OR EYES ➭ “Smile. I love it when someone has a nice smile.”

► SHORTER OR TALLER ➭ “Taller, both for women and men.”

► INTELLIGENCE OR ATTRACTION ➭ “Intelligence. If someone can keep up with me, they might just be a keeper.”

► HOOK-UP OR RELATIONSHIP ➭ “Relationship. I like gettin’ t’know people, even though it sometimes bites me in the ass eventually,”

FAMILY !

► DO YOU AND YOUR FAMILY GET ALONG ➭ “I don’t think so...”

► WOULD YOU SAY YOU HAVE A “MESSED UP LIFE” ➭ “Ha! Y’don’t even know th’half of it.”

► HAVE YOU EVER RAN AWAY FROM HOME ➭ “Yeah, once. Didn’t get very far.”

► HAVE YOU EVER GOTTEN KICKED OUT ➭ “No, I was never that much of a shit that my ma had to get rid of me.”

FRIENDS !

► DO YOU SECRETLY HATE ONE OF YOUR FRIENDS ➭ “What the fuck kind of question is that?”

► DO YOU CONSIDER ALL OF YOUR FRIENDS GOOD FRIENDS ➭ “Yeah, or they wouldn’t be my friends.”

► WHO IS YOUR BEST FRIEND ➭ “Probably Pammy. She’s always been there for me.”

► WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU ➭ “DEFINITELY Pam. She knows more than I should’ve let her know, but I don’t regret tellin’ her anything.”

tagged by: @devilknown

tagging: @theclownprnc, @iverdure, @immortalled, @urorvili, and @ anyone else who wants to give this a shot !!

#[ ❥ ] | ➤ glory and gore go hand in hand. — ‹headcannon.›

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rcsedoux-blog · 5 years

Text

PRIMARY & MIXED CANON. TAG , WIKI PAGE , VERSES .

* STATISTICS !

full name. pamela lillian isley aka. poison ivy, ivy, pam, pammy, red, etc. age range. 30s + gender & pronouns. female, she / her orientation. homosexual & homromantic species. human & plant hybrid

hair. auburn red eyes. bright green height. 5′8″ etc. green skin as a result of plant dna, though she can control the amount of chlorophyll coming through and make her skin look ‘ normal ’ when necessary face claim(s). animated, comic, peyton list, danielle rose russell ( mid-teen & 20s ), clare foley ( younger )

zodiac. virgo sun alignment. lawful neutral hogwarts. hufflepuff

residence. gotham, new jersey occupation. botanist, eco-terrorist conditions. solar urticaria ( sun allergy, cured by plant dna ), seasonal depression ( s.a.d. ), immune to all toxins, poisonous touch

portrayal. mixed canon, including the various comics, animated series, and arkham games

* QUICK FACTS !

+ born with a sun allergy that caused her to skin to break out in hives when exposed to sunlight. even so, she loved to spend time in her mother’s garden, which unfortunately lead to frequent reactions.

+ pamela’s father often abused her mother, but always apologized with plants to add to her garden. he rarely touched pamela, but the psychological trauma was definitely there. especially when her father finally snapped, killing her mother and burying her under the garden.

+ originally lived in washington with her parents, but was sent to live with an aunt in gotham after this. shy in school due to her limited social interaction thus far, though she at least became friendly enough by college to sell her experiments with pheromone-based designer drugs to people in order to test them. pamela got kicked out of college and jailed for this, but thanks to her control over the dean, the charges were dropped, and she continued her schooling without issue.

+ worked as a botanist after college, but the doctor she’d become assistant to tested many of his experiments out on her. eventually, this led to her dna being altered completely, mixed with plant dna. it cured her sun allergy, turned her skin a florescent green, and filled her blood with unique plant toxins.

+ she soon adopted the alias of poison ivy, and became set on saving mother nature from the ruin humans brought upon her.

+ has been in an out of arkham many times for acts of eco-terrorism, but is one of the many regulars who can typically manage an easy escape when they set their mind to it.

+ ivy’s kiss is poisonous, or she can lace her kiss with pheromones that put the receiver under her control. she typically uses this on men, but most anyone is susceptible to this.

+ big gay, but not opposed to flirting with men to ultimately put them in their place.

+ will gladly stop on joker’s throat with her heel.

+ true pin-up flower child aesthetic.

+ though her skin was turned green, ivy eventually learned to control the amount of chlorophyll present in her body. as a result, she can return her skin to its normal ‘human’ colour at will.

+ never really got past her inexperience at social interactions, which has only contributed to her often distancing herself from her ‘human’ side. it’s highly infrequent that ivy is anything but blunt or manipulative to those she encounters, even in the rare instance she considers herself close to them.

+ eventually takes up a lab job again, thanks to a benevolent boss willing to give her a chance. she values it just as much as her solo work.

+ has three children: rose, hazel, and thorn, whom she genetically engineered. however, she proved to be an overbearing parent, and they eventually left to experience the world and hopefully leave it a better place.

+ part of the gotham city sirens with harley & selina. it is not, however, a perfect trio as she and selina are frequently at odds. nevertheless, ivy and harley did live with selina for a time.

+ due to her plant dna, she needs a lot of water and sunlight to survive. this also gives her some nourishment, though it’s still necessary for her to eat as humans do. ivy follows a strict fruitarian diet, so as not to do harm to her fellow plant life.

#❥ / pamela isley. ( nature: red in tooth‚ claw‚ & root. ) *

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5ivebyfive · 5 years

Note

Top 10 head canons for Harlivy!

This one is gonna be more difficult because I’m so intimidated by canon Harlivy. But I’ll try my best! In no particular order:

1. Harley and Ivy first met when Harley was still Harleen, as we know. Ivy had a couple of sessions with her but wouldn’t really talk about herself. Harleen was a little distracted by other things. Ivy tried to seduce her to get what she wanted, but Harleen was just not paying enough attention, and Ivy got frustrated and annoyed. The next time Ivy saw her she was running out the door with J*ker. Ivy rolled her eyes.

2. It was hard for Ivy to become friends with Harley, but also it was quite easy. Harley had a way about her that got Ivy swept up. They spent a lot of time together when they were locked up in Arkham side-by-side, and it was in the middle of the night when they’d really talk. Ivy still wouldn’t let her guard down completely, she couldn’t do that with anyone, but she really got closer with Harley on those nights.

3. Ivy will rant and rave about how much she hates that Harley comes to her beaten and bruised when she’s been kicked out, but every time she’ll still take Harley in and mend her and hold her. She gave Harley the antidote after all, and it’s Harley that’s the snuggler. Not Ivy. She’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.

4. Harley likes to make Ivy breakfast the morning after she’s been tended to. It’s her way of paying Ivy back. She’ll also get to work watering all the plants, and that’s usually how Ivy finds Harley on those mornings. Then she’ll tell Harley she doesn’t have to, and Harley will say she knows. Ivy often ends up wrapping her arms around Harley from behind and kissing the side of her head.

5. The first time they kiss, Harley kisses Ivy. Just grabs her face and says “c’mere Pammy” and plants one on her. (Haha see what I did there?) Ivy is surprised and still wondering if Harley wants to kiss her, as it’s happening, because she’s been thinking about it for a long ass time. But they kiss and Harley beams and tells Ivy she’s beautiful, and Ivy, Pam, melts into a useless lesbian. This time Harley came over without a scratch on her, just because she wanted to see her best friend.

6. Ivy gets frustrated and depressed when Harley leaves her to go back to him. She tries not to care, to be Poison Ivy, but she cares and it hurts her. It makes her feel unwanted and unloved, feelings she carries from childhood, and she hates that Harley makes her feel that way. She’ll try to distance herself, be cold when Harley returns, but she always ends up back in Harley’s embrace because she adores her/won’t admit she loves her. This is something Ivy struggles with on and off until Harley leaves him for good. Ivy doesn’t mind sharing Harley and letting her have her freedom, but not with him. She can’t stand being pushed aside for him.

7. When Harley moves to Coney Island and it’s Ivy who’s visiting Harley, Ivy goes whenever she can. She has her matters to deal with and fight for, but she’s always happy to go home to Harley. Because, of course, wherever Harley is, is home to Ivy. Harley relishes every visit from her green girlfriend, and can’t wait to drag her around town to show her off and do fun things together. Ivy always goes, grumbling but smiling.

8. Harley and Ivy spend a lot of time at Harley’s, cooped up together, talking and laughing and loving each other’s company. Harley will talk Ivy into playing games, and Ivy will tell Harley about her adventures. They always wind up wrapped up together on Harley’s bed, just stroking each other and murmuring to each other until they either fall asleep or the touching progresses into more. It’s usually the latter, because they can’t keep their hands off of each other.

9. Ivy usually dyes Harley’s hair for her. Slowly massaging the color in, rinsing it out, drying it, running a brush through it. Then Ivy can’t stop running her fingers through it because it’s so soft and pretty, and that’s her girl.

10. One day down the line, far down the line, Harley goes to find Ivy and surprises her. She hugs her and kisses her and says she has something to tell her. She tells Ivy that she loves her for always letting her be herself, for trying to find herself, and for giving her all the freedom she wants. But, she says, she doesn’t need that freedom anymore, because she just wants to marry Ivy and be her wifey. Ivy can’t believe what she hears, and is scared for a moment of that commitment, but remembers that this is her girl, and she would do anything for her. So she says yes and they kiss and laugh and hug, and elope a month later. (They we’re arguing too much over who could be invited to the wedding. Harley wanted to invite the rogues and Ivy didn’t, and they both wanted Selina there so they end up dragging her with them when they elope.) They get a place together deep in the woods where Ivy can have all of her plants, and Harley can have all the animals she wants. (Ivy draws the line at a koala bear. They’re not snuggly like Harley insists.)

#otp; harlivy are lifeys #random headcanon tag #idk these suck #headcanon tag

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iamvegorott · 6 years

Text

A Small Glitch Chapter 11

Closet Man

“Ann! Ann get back here!” Anti called as he chased after the little girl, winter coat in his hands.

“Never!” Annalise giggled, glitching away from Anti when he got close.

“Oh, we’re playing that game.” Anti chuckled before glitching as well.

“Glitch!” Annalise said before glitching again.

“Just put your jacket on!” Anti huffed. The two ended up glitching all around the house, landing in the bedrooms, the bathrooms, the kitchen, the dining room, the library. They glitched everywhere but the office and basement since Annalise knew she wasn’t allowed there.

“What are you two doing?” Dark asked when Anti and Annalise ended up in the living room, green and orange pixels falling from the sky like snowflakes. “The bus is going to be here any second now.”

“I’m trying to put Ann’s jacket on, but somebody doesn’t want it.” Anti gave Annalise a playful glare.

“Annalise. Jacket. Now.” Dark ordered in a soft tone.

“Okay, papa.” Annalise said, taking the jacket from Anti and slipping it on.

“Now, that’s just rude.” Anti pouted, sitting down on the ground.

“You know that you’re not supposed to be glitching unless it’s an emergency, right?” Dark said to Annalise.

“Yes, papa.” Annalise nodded.

“Why does she listen to you in the morning?” Anti was still pouting.

“We’re just doing good cop, bad cop. Sometimes bad cop wins.” Dark chuckled as he held out his hand, helping Anti to his feet.

“Bus here, bus here!” Annalise cheered as she looked out the screen door.

“We’re coming.” Anti said as he and Dark took Annalise’s hand and lead her out of the house.

“Hello, Mr. and Mr. Powell.” The bus worker greeted the two men after they reached the bus.

“Morning, Pam.” Dark watched as Annalise climbed up the bus steps.

“Hey, Pammy.” Anti noticed that the worker was giving him a strange look. “Something wrong?”

“Your eyes are green.” Pam said.

“I…”

“You left your colored contacts in again. I told you that you need to make sure they’re out when we leave the house, it’s great for advertisements on the TV, but outside of that it looks weird.” Dark chuckled, giving Anti a pat on the back.

“Oh, my bad.” Anti’s laugh was a little forced.

“Bye, daddy! Bye, papa!” Annalise yelled from her seat, waving.

“Bye, Annalise.” Dark said while Anti waved both arms, making the girl giggle.

“We’ll see you later.” Pam said before going to her seat and the bus leaving.

“You left your eyes green?” Dark sighed the moment the bus was gone.

“We were glitching a lot.” Anti protested.

“Annalise’s eyes didn’t go orange.” Dark said as the two of them headed back into the house.

“Did they?” Anti and Dark both stopped at Anti’s question.

“I didn’t check.” Dark said with fear in his voice.

“Shit! How do we explain orange eyes on our child? She doesn’t wear colored contacts, she can’t, she’s three!”

“There has to be a way to check.” Dark started running his hands through his hair. “The camera!”

“The camera?” Anti paused. “The camera!” Dark didn’t get to say more before Anti was gone.

Anti hated the feeling of being inside of older technology, everything just felt wrong. The currents weren’t as strong and it made him feel as if he wasn’t whole. He slowly moved the camera’s angle and saw that Annalise had fallen asleep in her seat. They’ve only been gone for a minute, how was she already out? How could she be out? Anti didn’t have to hear to know that the other children were screaming. Anti wished that the recording wasn’t in black and white, but hopefully, he’d be able to tell the difference between bright orange eyes and dark blue ones. Anti placed his hand on the small lens and sent out a soft spark, waking Annalise up. The little girl perked up and looked at the camera, knowing that her daddy was in there. Anti saw her mouth move and she pointed at the camera, her iris’ looking dark. Anti let out a silent sigh before leaving.

“Everything good?” Dark asked when Anti arrived in the office.

“She’s fine, but I hate those cameras.” Anti said, brushing off gray pixels that had lingered. “Now there’s going to be black spots because someone can’t upgrade a fucking camera.”

“We need to make sure Annalise isn’t glitching so much. She doesn’t know how to conceal her looks like we do.” Dark said.

“Annalise was asleep.” Anti said, ignoring Dark’s comment and sitting on the desk.

“And? What’s wrong with that?” Dark asked, holding a paper up to read it.

“I mean, she was out. It wasn’t just her dozing off. She was completely under like she hasn’t slept in days.” Anti said.

“Maybe she didn’t sleep well last night, it happens. We all have those nights.” Dark shrugged, not looking at his husband.

“Dark, you know what I’m like when I haven’t charged in a while.”

“Yes, you get moody, you can’t control your pixels or glitching, you hallucinate, and you randomly...pass out.” Dark lowered the paper.

“I think she needs to charge.”

“She hasn’t charged in three years, maybe she doesn’t need it.” Dark suggested.

“She’s been taking energy from electronics instead of actually charging, which can work, but sometimes a proper charge can do so much.” Anti chewed at his lip. “Ann needs to charge.

“You just said she can take energy from electronics, she doesn’t have to go into the computer like you do.” Dark insisted.

“Why are you so scared of her going in a computer? I do it all the time.” Anti said.

“You’re a grown man who’s been doing that for years. She’s three.”

“I’ll go in with her. I won’t let her go into the internet, I’ll keep her out of files, we’ll just have you pull up a movie or something and we can just watch that.” Anti suggested.

“I don’t know.” Dark sighed.

“I won’t do it unless either you say I can or it becomes an emergency, but I’d prefer not to wait for an emergency.” Anti stood up and went behind Dark, rubbing his shoulders.

“Let me at least sleep on it and we’ll discuss it tomorrow.” Dark said, smiling a little when Anti pecked his cheek.

“I love it when we compromise.” Anti chuckled.

“Remember when we couldn’t even look at each other without screaming?” Dark turned his chair and caught Anti as he sat in his lap.

“I still remember those two days.” Anti leaned his head against Dark’s chest.

“You just kicked open the door to the meeting room and walked on in.” Dark started rubbing Anti’s back.

“‘We’re in the middle of a meeting, Antisepticeye’.” Anti said in a lower voice.

“‘Oh, I’m so scared of the edge-lord’.” Dark said in a teasing tone as he rubbed his nose into Anti’s neck, earning a light chuckle.

“I still owe Chase for that game controller I fucking destroyed.” Anti laughed.

“I’ll write him a check.” Dark hummed, giving Anti’s neck a kiss.

“Fuck you.” Anti said with a smirk.

“Fuck you.” Dark said back before they kissed.

“If we’re going to reminisce, we could at least do a repeat of our first time. I still have that song.” Anti said.

“I have no problem giving it to you like that again, but can we skip the song?” Dark asked as he stood, both men adjusting so Anti’s legs were wrapped around Dark’s waist and Dark’s hands were on Anti’s thighs.

“But we have to make it authentic.” Anti started singing as Dark carried him. “You come around when you find me faceless.”

“I’ll fuck you like I love you.” Dark said before closing their bedroom door.

x~x~x

Anti was curled up against Dark’s chest, both of them sound asleep in their dark and silent home. Everything was peaceful. Everything was calm.

A scream snapped both of them awake, Anti shouting himself and falling off of the bed.

“Annalise!” Dark and Anti both yelled before teleporting to their daughter’s room. Dark appeared in front of Annalise’s bed while Anti was in the center of the room, knives out and ready. The blinked against the darkness and saw that nothing was there. Anti went and flicked on the light, blinking against the change and seeing Annalise sitting up in her bed and bawling.

“What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?” Dark asked, kneeling next to the bed.

“Closet man! Closet man!” Annalise screamed, pointing at her closet.

“Ann, honey, there’s nothing in your closet.” Anti said as he grabbed the handle to the closet.

“No! Daddy!” Annalise hid under her blanket when Anti opened the door, showing that clothing and toys were the only things in there.

“See? Everything’s fine.” Dark said. “You were just seeing things.”

“But...closet man.” Annalise rubbed her eyes and looked again. “He was there.”

“Everything’s okay, Annalise. Everything’s fine.” Dark took Annalise’s hands, rubbing his thumbs against the top of them. “Are you going to be able to go back to sleep?”

“Sleep with daddy and papa?” Annalise asked.

“Of course.” Dark picked Annalise up.

“Dark, did you lock Ann’s door?” Anti asked when he tried to leave the room.

“I must have accidentally.” Dark shrugged, watching Anti disappear into pixels and opening the door from the other side.

“Closet man.” Annalise said.

“There’s no closet man, it’s just the three of us.” Dark said as he walked out with Anti.

Annalise was the only one to see the blue pixels fall from the top of the closet.

Tag List: @readeatfightlove13 @kenzie-110101

#danti #*more dramatic singing

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dcjelliclequeen33 · 7 years

Text

Here’s that sit-up thing you wanted- Enjoy! It had to be kinda short because I was working on other stuff but here it is! Spacing’s weird but bear with me I wrote this on word @ 6am

Word count: 590

By: Harlivyfordays

“C’mon, Red, this sucks!”

Despite Harley’s very active lifestyle, she hates exercise with a burning passion. Her favorite thing about being a criminal is that she doesn’t have to exercise- she can eat as many burgers, frles, anything really- as she wants, and work it all off in a heist. It’s the best way to live, in her opinion- and now Ivy was making her do sit-ups.

“C’MON, HARL, YOU GOTTA WANT IT!!”

Ivy is a bit of a nut when it comes to staying in shape. A die-hard gym junkie, she finds relaxation in sculpting her close-to-flawless-body. Because she’s so good with plants, she has the ability to make the perfect pre- and post-workout beverages, too. Harley, she had decided, needed some work.

“Red, I can’t go anymore! I’ve been doin’ this for a million years!” Harley whined, red in the face.

“Harley, you’ve only done seven sit ups, and it’s only taken you four minutes. It’s really not that hard.”

“Geez, Red, can’tcha see that I’m DYIN’ HERE?!” Harley stands up and crosses her arms. “I…huff…puff…don’t hafta’ put up with this, ya know.”

Ivy stands up to face the blonde. She’s about to whip her into shape when she sees that Harley, despite the number, is really trying hard. Even though she might have only done a few reps, she looks as if she’s done a million- her face is red and blotchy and her pigtails are falling out. She might not be a gym freak, but she sure as hell looks like one.

Unconsciously, Ivy blushes a little. Harley’s body, even in an old Calvin Klein sports bra and cotton shorts, is, in her opinion, pretty close to perfect. Her hair, though in tangles, still is that beach blonde that Ivy knows and loves. Oh, how she’d like to run her fingers through those tresses, to kiss those cherry lips. Snapping out of it, she giggles a little and traces Harley’s chin with her hand.

“Harley, I want to propose an offer,” Ivy declared.

“What, it better not be any more-WOAH!”

Ivy tackled her and they both fell onto the mat.

“WHAT THE HELL?” Harley growled.

“You need to lighten up. Now here’s what I wanted to say: For every sit-up you do, you get one kiss. No more, no less. Got it?”

“Harley’s anger is replaced with curiosity. A smirk falls upon her face.

“Oh yeah?”

Ivy returns the smirk.

“Yeah, Harl.”

Harley drops her back down onto the mat.

“Well, then, I think somethin’ can be worked out, here.”

She begins to do the sit-ups, and each time, once she gets to the top, she finds the plant queen leaning over her, kissing her at first lightly, and then as the sit-ups increase, more passionately. Harley, becoming tired, lay down on the mat, still flushed from the fiery kisses.

“You know what, Pammie?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I’ve had enough sit-ups.”

Ivy lay down next to her.

“Really? Aw, I was having fun,” Ivy purred.

“Yeah? Well, just because I don’t wanna do any more workouts sure as hell doesn’t mean I don’t wanna kiss ya,” Harley replied.

Ivy rolled so that she was on top of the blonde.

“Is that so?”

“Sure is, Pam-a-Lamb,” Harley replied, a grin creeping onto her face.

Ivy takes her lips and connects them with Harley’s. The kiss quickly becomes intense, making Harley’s heart flutter. She takes the blonde in her arms and carries her to the bedroom, where the two share yet another night of sweet intimacy.

Yay thanks for reading!

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bakapikananoda · 7 years

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Itch

Pamela is determined to keep Harley’s interest, even when it strays to the more exotic sensual pleasures. WARNING:NSFW fic. D/s play. alludes to sexual abuse. depictions of consensual D/s relationships. Consensual pain infliction. This is not like my other Harley/Pamela fics. It is intended for those of legal age only.

Harley would say how much she ‘needed’ her 'Mistah’ J. How sorry she was but that she just simply 'couldn’t’ stay. Naturally, Pamela would become upset. Harley knew how horrible she was to be treated and knew it would happen again and yet she still returned, again and again. It was enough to drive Pamela up the wall.

Harley seemed genuinely saddened to leave, and always used phrases like 'need’ and 'just gotta.’ She had assumed that Harley wanted the Joker more than she had wanted her, or that Harley had grown tired of staying with her, like a child growing tired of a favored toy, tossing it aside only to remember it later when they needed it again. Her attitude didn’t seem laissez-faire or lackadaisical. She seemed to actually regret leaving.

Over time, Pamela began to notice a sort of pattern. Harley would make it a month, sometimes a little more before she would begin to show signs of what Pam referred to as the 'Itch.’ Harley would stare off into space with a small smile on her face, or sleep fitfully. She’d start drawing purple, green, and red doodles and sigh deeply. When Pamela would ask what was weighing on her mind, Harley would just blush and say “Nuth'n Red.”

Perhaps it was that blush pushed Pamela to corner Harley one evening as she practiced back flips on the soft green expanse of grass Pam had grown for her in her greenhouse.

“Honest Red! Nuth'n worth talk'n about,” Harley said from a handstand. “Sometimes a girl just blushes, ya know?”

Pamela lounged atop broad, supportive leaves as one would on a lounge chair, just to the side of Harley’s practice space. “No Harl, I don’t know.”

“Oh yeah,” Harley tumbled out of her hand stand and popped up to her feet, bouncing lightly. “I forgot. You’re Miss tall, green and unflappable,” She teased, winking and sticking out her pink tongue.

Pamela raised an eyebrow. “That’s Doctor tall, green and unflappable.”

Harley laughed, a little surprised that Pamela had made a joke.

“S'okay Red,” she said cartwheeling to Red’s side and flopping down next to the leafy la-z-boy.”I know you’re not the touchy-feely type.”

Pamela smiled sadly and reached out her hand to run her fingers through one of Harley’s pigtails.

“No. I guess I’m not am I? But with you I can be. Sometimes.”

Harley reached up both hands and re-directed Pamela’s palm to her cheek where she nuzzled it like a cat.

“Yeah, sometimes you are huh?” She turned her head and kissed Pamela’s palm. “I love those times.”

Pam smiled and the endearing gesture. “I know you do my Daffodile, but it-” she hesitated as Harley moved her kisses from her palm to her wrist. “It doesn’t come easily for me. I suppose it’s a blessing and a curse.”

Harley nodded, one hand holding Pamela’s hand to her cheek, the other tracing patterns up and down Pam’s arm.

“I’m a very pretty poison, Sunflower. Even if I want others to do more than look, they can’t ever touch without destroying themselves.”

“I can,” Harley whispered, her fingers still moving over Pam’s skin.

“Yes, Honeysuckle, you can.”

“Why not just give someone else the shot like you gave me?”

Pamela waited until Harley’s eyes came up to meet her own before responding, “Because I don’t want anyone else Harley.”

Harley stilled and her eyes became shiny with unshed tears. “Oh Pammy!”

And suddenly Pam found her arms and lap filled with Harley, clambering to get closer. Harley pressed her face to Pam’s neck, kissing and keening, her hands sliding up and down Pam’s arms. She shifted to straddle Pamela’s lap, her knees finding easy support on the plants below them. Pressing closer, she moving her arms to wrap around the redhead’s back, pulling and pressing herself as close as she was able.

“Ooph! H-Harl, dear, that’s a little too tight.” Harley merely sniffled and squeezed tighter. “Uh! Harley! Come on Honey,” Pamela grunted, amused but out of breath. She tried in vain to loosen the jester’s grip but was just constricted even tighter. Rolling her eyes, Pam slid a hand over the blond’s back, up her neck and into her hair, loosening the pigtails, tugging in an attempt to garner freedom.

Harley stilled, but her grip remained unchanged. Trying again, Pamela pulled harder and Harley sat up, her breath catching in her throat.

“Oh Sweetpea! I didn’t mean-” Pamela stopped, loosening her grip and taking in Harley’s expression.

Harley’s pupils had dilated to black pools, ringed sharply with blue. Her breath shuddered as she exhaled. Other than the rise and fall of her chest, she didn’t move.

Pamela didn’t see fear or pain registering on her lovers face. It was almost…

Experimentally, Pam tightened her grip on Harley’s hair, carefully watching her expression. Harley mewed, her eyes becoming half lidded as she shivered and pressed herself down onto Pam’s lap.

Bits of what she’d heard Harley yammer about over the past months came to her mind. The bite marks, and abrasions on her wrists. The deep muscle bruises, welts and cuts. The cigar burns and stories of how Joker would use a gun when he used her.

“Harley, Baby,” Pam started. “I won’t hurt you . Not like he does. I can’t. But is this-,” She tightened her fist in the blond hair as hard as she dared. “something you’d like from me?”

Harley gave up all pretenses of restraint and moaned, eyes closing and hips rolling.

“Jeezus yes! Pamy!”

Across the blonds face spread the most beautiful blush.

Pamela didn’t usually succumb to sexual desires, although Harley did appear to have her number on occasion. There was little else, her blushing jester aside, that made her blood run hot like power over others.

And right now her power over Harley was absolute.

“Kiss me Harley. Show me.”

She released her grip on Harley’s hair and Harley surged forward, pressing her lips to Pam’s frantically, both her hands coming up to hold Pamela’s face in place. Pam guessed Harley wanted to get on with things before she changed her mind, impatience showed in her manic-like excitement.

Well, Pam had no intention of having a wham bam thank you Ma'am session with Harley. That simply wouldn’t do.

Ivy moved her hands to Harley’s back, smoothing them up and down the grass stained tee shirt. She gently took control of the kiss and turned it into a slow and heady exchange. Harley’s grip loosened and moved down her body. The Jester’s hands ghosted over Pamela’s breasts and stomach before slipping up under her shirt, Harley’s hands hot against her skin and they pressed upwards to cover her breasts, thumbs playing back and forth.

Pam was glad she had foregone wearing a bra that afternoon. She also thought Harley had the right idea and slid her hands up under Harley’s pink baby tee, only to be thwarted by Harley’s apple green sports bra. She frowned against the blond’s lips in frustration and Harley sat up, pulling away.

“Pammy, ya can either take off the shirt or I’m gonna rip it off ya but it’s gotta go.”

Pamela smiled and lowered her hands, resting her palms on Harley’s hips.

“I’ll take it off.”

She lightly trailed her fingers down Harley’s hips and over her thighs, causing Harley to shiver slightly. Her smile widening, Pam took the hem of her own shirt in her hands, and made show of peeling it from her body, Harley’s eyes followed the unveiling skin, blue eyes locking on green as the garment was tossed aside.

Harley grinned as she discarded her tiny tee shirt and bra in two quick motions. She made to dive back onto Pam but was stopped by two pale green hands. Those same hands ran up her arms, up to her shoulders, down her chest, pausing to caress and tease her breasts, now free from their confines. Harley’s eyes became half lidded as Pam’s hands trailed down over her pale taut stomach.

Pam could feel the muscles tighten and quiver under her touch. She continued making these passes until she sensed Harley getting impatient. Then she replaced her gentle fingertips with her nails. Not hard enough to break her beautifully blushing skin but enough to catch her attention. Harley gasped softly as she ran her nails up her arms, then slowly down her chest, and over her breasts, stopping to circle and tease around Harley’s pink aureoles. Harley tipped her head back, softly whimpering, her fists clenching and unclenching repeatedly as Pam continued her circulating pattern.

When Harley’s skin glowed with soft red welts and she was biting her lip, sighing Pam’s name like a reverie, Pamela pressed her palms to Harley’s lower back and pulled her back down on top, moaning softly as Harley’s overheated skin pressed against her own.

Once again she controlled the kiss, coaxing Harley into another torturously slow, sensual exchange. Harley clearly wanted to rush forward but Pam was enjoying the dance. Her hands smoothing over her back, moving up and down in lazy strokes, warming the scarred skin. When Harley began to relax into her touch, she raked her nails down from pale shoulders to hips, which pressed convulsively to her in reaction.

“Ugh! Red!”

Pamela smiled and repeated the action.

“Mmmmyeah…”

“Yes, my Daffodil?”

Harley nuzzled Pam’s neck, her breathing hitching. “I know I’m messed up but-” As if to prove her point, she shuddered and kissed the mint skin in front of as nails stroked across her skin, stirring sensations lower. “Bu-but it feels so good!”

Pamela smiled and lightly trailed her fingertips up and down Harley’s back, feeling the line of raised skin.

“I don’t think you’re messed up.” Pamela ignored Harley’s scoff of disbelief. “I think you enjoy a more keen sensation than most.”

“Mmm. Peachy keen,” Harley murmured, lips busy tasting the freckles that lay across Pam’s shoulder. “Messed up or not, please don’t stop?”

“Whatever you desire, my Lovely.”

Ivy marked and smoothed Harleys arms, side and shoulders until the other woman growled with frustration.

After a moment of thought, she grew a blush of trichomes on her fingertips, each hair like barb filled with the essence of stinging nettle. Harley’s high immunity to toxins would protect her from the lingering effects of the histamine, but even she would feel the burn on her overheated, irritated skin.

Gently, she trailed her fingers over the raised welts that covered Harley’s shoulders and back.

It only took a moment for it to have an effect. Harley stiffened, sitting bolt straight, her hands tightening painfully on Pamela’s biceps.

“Oh-oh shit! Oh God,” She pulled in a shuddering breath, voice wavering. “P-pammy.”

“Love,” Pam said, a slight tone of concern coloring her voice. “Tell me if this is too much.”

Harley’s grip loosened and she leaned down to kiss Pam. Pamela could feel her body shaking through the kiss.

“More Red,” She begged, pulling back. “P-please Red?”

“How will I know when it’s too much for you?”

“I’ll say ‘Bud.” Harley panted, cradling Pam’s face between her hands, eye wide but clear.

“Bud?”

Harley nodded, squirming atop Pam’s lap.

“Is that what you use when you’re with him?” Pam asked, a pit opening in her stomach.

Harley blinked, shaking her head in the negative. “We-we, uh, don’t… He doesn’t, uh-”

Pamela stopped her with a gentle kiss, tracing her eyebrows with her thumbs. “Bud. I hear you my lovely.” Harley gave a shaky smile. “And you had best not forget,” Pam said, calling forth vines to wrap around Harley’s wrists, pulling them up and out. Another set of vines wrapped around Harley’s legs, both supporting her weight and keeping her legs spread The broad leaves forming Pamela’s chaise lounge receded, and she stood gracefully, eying her now restrained lover.

As Pamela stood, Harley straightened out her legs till she stood on solid grass covered ground, able to support her own weight but still unable to move. Pamela circled behind her, taking in the reddened skin, so highly contrasted against the untouched pale flesh.

“You’re beautiful my Flower,” Ivy whispered, tracing the heated marks on Harley’s back and sides. A gentle soothing touch over fevered skin. “So very beautiful.”

Harley sighed and leaned into the touch, eyes half closed in pleasure.

“Tell me Harl, do you enjoy it when I touch you like this?” Ivy asked, fingers still tracing.

Harley nodded slowly.

“And this?” Ivy asked with a smirk, slowly scraping her nails over the marks, watching as Harley’s breathing picked up. Her lover tested her binds, nodding emphatically.

“Good.”

Ivy moved around to face Harley, trailing her nails around Harley’s ribcage to her chest and captured one nipple in a pinch, causing her lover to jerk and throw her head back with a gasp. “And this then?”

She waited a moment for Harley to respond, and when she didn’t, Pam twisted the flesh between her fingertips, prodding the jester to answer her question. “And this Harl?”

“Ah! Yes!”

Ivy smiled and palmed both Harley’s breasts, rolling the nipples with her thumbs.

“I’m glad you trust me, Love,” she said, stepping closer and leaning in to tease Harley’s lips with her tongue. She pulled away when the Harley attempted to reciprocate the gesture. She grinned in amusement, calling the nettle to her fingertips again and slowly trailed her hands down Harley’s side, spreading more of the stinging essence along her skin as she went.

Harley moaned, her head falling forwards as the sharp heat rolled over her skin. Ivy drew idol patterns over her shaking frame a she waited for Harley to settle.

“Urtica Dioica is an amazing plant isn’t it?” she murmured, half to herself.

“Pamy, it could be olive oil for all I care but don’t stop!”

Ivy reached up and rolled nettled covered thumbs over Harley’s pointed nipples.

“Don’t worry my Daffodile,” She said as Harley gasped at the new sensation. “I’ll give you as much as I’m able to until you’re sated.”

“Oh! Ah! P-pammy,” Harley whimpered, her body shuddering with each intake of breath.

As the sting heightened, Ivy leaned down and took each rosy peak between her lips, gently soothing each with warm licks of her tongue.

Harley moaned and shook, the vines wrapped around her legs and arms being the only thing keeping her vertical.

Ivy revelled in the heady intoxication of having such power over her lover’s pleasure. The heat of her skin, the sighs and gasps falling from her lips; that Harley would succumb to her poisonous touch, so willingly, so trustingly, made her own head spin.

Ivy slid her hands to Harley’s hips, still clad in her grey cut off sweats and bubble gum pink underwear.

“These need to come off, I think,” she said, her vines already gently hoisting Harley further off the ground so she could slide the garments off. The vines wrapped around Harley’s arms and waist, making sure she was supported, releasing her ankles so Ivy could remove the pants first. Harley helped as best she could, kicking and wiggling. Ivy took a moment to enjoy the smooth, and lightly scarred skin covering Harleys legs.

“So strong, My dear,” Ivy murmured in approval. She smiled, kissing and nipping at the skin on Harley’s stomach, now conveniently at her level. “So stunning.” She played with the waistband of Harleys underwear, a knowing and sultry smile tugging at her red lips as she noticed the damp spot of material in the front. “So turned on, my Blossom?”

Harley nodded, hips bucking subtly as Ivy’s thumbs made little circles on her hips.

“Fer, fer you Red,” she panted.

Ivy slowly moved one thumb down and traced around the damp fabric.

“Truly?”

With her other hand, she lightly brushed her fingertips down Harleys leg, spreading stinging nettle essence along her skin.

“O-oh God! Yes! Red!”

As the nettle burned, Ivy ever so lightly, let the pad of her thumb stroke down the, now wet fabric.

Harley cried out, head tipping back and eyes closing as she took in the conflicting sensations. A burning sting over her skin and a teasing cord of ecstasy, so good and not enough.

“Oh Pammy please? Please? please?”

Harley wrapped strong legs around Ivy’s waist, pulling her close, desperate for more contract.

“Please what my daffodile?” Green hands teased up trembling thighs and around to cup Harley’s backside. “I want you to say it. What do you need?”

“I just gotta…” Harley whimpered, hips rolling in frustration against Ivy’s chest as Ivy spread the nettles burn across the flexing muscles of her backside.

“Jeez Pammy,” Harley gasped hoarsely. “So good. So… so….” Ivy raked her nails over heated skin. “I just gotta come, Red! Please!”

Ivy grinned, and slid the underwear off Harley’s sweat slicked legs, then let the vines capture her ankles again, pulling her legs open, leaving her vulnerable to whatever ministrations Ivy chose to inflict upon her.

“I like you like this. So bared to me. So in need of me.”

“Pammy, I need ya. I need ya. I need… please…” Harley struggled weakly, lost in the sensations.

“I know Love,” Ivy murmured, kissing the inside of Harley’s thigh. “I know.”

Ivy ran the tip of her tongue along Harley’s dripping pussy lips, finally tasting the salt and sweat of her lover. Harley was already so worked up, her clit already stood stiffly, peaking out of her hood. Ivy treated the bud to a long slow drag of her tongue.

“P-pammy, y-yes.”

Ivy’s being thrummed with excitement at having such an effect on Harley. To have Harley give herself to her in every way. Trusting her not to harm her, and hoping she’d hurt her just a little. Knowing Harley harbored such complete trust for her was intoxicating.

Ivy, palmed Harley’s bottom, pulling her to her mouth. She drank her in, tongue lapping and caressing Harley’s pink folds. As soon as she would drink up the surge of nectar from Harley’s slick heat, another would take it’s place. She moved, covering Harley’s clit with a kiss and pulling it into her mouth.

Harley bucked and struggled against the waves of sensation that threatened to drown her. Pamela’s touch, burning like a brand against her skin, grounded her so she wasn’t adrift. She felt like a buoy caught in such a fevered storm, yet tethered securely so as not to be lost.

Ivy eased first one, then two fingers into Harley’s heat, feeling her muscles flutter around her immediately. Hooking her fingers, she could already feel the soft and swollen spot she was looking for. She started a steady, maddening rhythm, intent of bringing Harley to the brink.

Harley, beyond words, accentuated each curl of Pamela’s finger with a moan, building in volume and pitch as she neared her climax.

As Harley’s body began to go rigid, Ivy could feel the pulsing in Harley’s clit become heavy and, knowing how close she was, Ivy stopped.

Harley blinked, as if suddenly waking from a dream. “Wah- what? N-no. Don’t stop Pammy Please,” she begged, almost in tears.

Ivy kissed her thigh, two fingers, unmoving still deep inside her lover.

“I’ve touch you all over with my essence of Urtica Dioica,” she mused. “But not here..” She teased Harley’s straining bud with the tip of her tongue, briefly bringing her back to the edge before pulling away again.

Harley had begun to shake, sweat starting to drip down her body. She whimpered and struggled to catch her breath. Weather out of desire or fear, was unclear.

“Remember our agreement Harley,” Ivy reminded her. “Is there anything you want to say to me?”

It took a few tries but Harley managed a weak reply.

“M-more Red. You make me feel so g-good Pammy. P-please?”

Ivy smiled, “Whatever you desire, my lovely.”

Using one finger, she gently ghosted the nettled tip across Harley straining clit, slowly moving her crooked fingers against the swollen spot inside her.

Harley took three rapid breaths and locked up, head thrown back, mouth agape. Ivy felt her inner muscles slam down on her fingers and she continued her ministrations.

“Oh! Shit! Oohh”

As the burn built and Harley’s contractions slowed, Ivy covered Harley’s pulsing bud with her lips and lapped at it with the tip of her tongue, sending Harley over the edge again. Harley’s wetness covered her hand and dripped down her arm as she fought against the fluttering muscles to move her fingers in an ever beckoning motion.

“Fuck! Red! I can’t-” She managed before a third wave took her.

Ivy’s head spun with the knowledge that she could draw this out indefinitely. She literally held Harley in the palm of her hand. She wanted to feel her let go again, to lose control again. She redoubled her efforts, her forearm muscles straining. More. She wanted more.

“Please! Oh Red yes!”

It was almost an continuous peak and ebb. Time meant little. Nothing mattered but coaxing every orgams she could out of Harley. To satisfy her to the fullest. To scratch her itch.

It took a moment blink away the lust at hearing the strangled and weak word that fell from her lover’s lips.

“B-bud. Bud.”

She halted her motions and took a deep breath, lungs filling with Harley’s scent. She smoothed her hands over Harley’s shaking body as the vines lowered and loosed their hold. She cupped Harley’s flushed face in her hands, taking in her expression, trying to see if she’d gone too far.

“Honey, are you ok?”

Harley turned her head to nuzzle and kiss Pamela’s palm. “Y-yeah. Ya wrung me clean out Pammy.”

“Oh Pumpkin, come here,” Pamela cooed, the vines releasing Harley entirely. Harley collapsed into Pamelas embrace and Pamela lowered them both to the grassy floor. Bringing a thin sheen of soothing aloe to her fingertips, Ivy stroked Harley’s shivering, blushing skin, cooling the burn.

“Gosh Pammy, that was amaz'n,” Harley sighed, nuzzling Pamela’s neck. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that much before.”

“Well, there was that one time at the Metropolis motel last year when-”

“Pam,” Harley interrupted, recovering a bit. “Babe. That was because that funky flower ya stole was bloom’n and we couldn’t figure it out. That was chemical.” She paused to reverently kiss Ivy’s ruby lips. “This was all you. Thank you. I didn’t know how to ask. I didn’t think you would do this for me. I need it sometimes.”

Pamela nodded, running her fingers through Harley’s now loose blond hair.

“I’m glad you trusted me with this Buttercup. I do have one question.”

Harley sat up, clearly recovered, her head tilting a little in curiosity. “Wassat?”

“Bud? Like, rose bud?”

Harley chuckled. “Naw naw. Bud as in my pet hyena! He’s my guard doggie. Makes me feel safe.”

Ivy sat up, mouth agape. “You’re safe word is that mutt!”

Harley, still chuckling, slowly wrapping her arms around Pamela’s neck and calming her indignation with a kiss on Ivy’s nose. “Ya mad?”

Ivy pouted a little. “No,” she sighed. “I guess I was just hoping it was about me. That I made you feel safe.”

Harley pulled back smiling softly.

“Ya do make me feel safe ya big Rutabaga. So safe I can give myself to ya without being scared one bit,” she said, leaning close for another kiss.

Pamela’s throat tightened with emotion. She couldn’t put enough thankfulness into the tender kiss she shared with Harley but she tried.

“Pammy?”

“Yes, Harl,”

“Ya still got ya pants on and ya ain’t come yet. I gotta fix that.”

Ivy grinned and she lay back again, stretching her arms out above her head in abdication.

“Alright then, Love. You know what I like.”

Harley, grinned wide, her expression carnal. “Yeah I do.”

Ivy closed her eyes, her breath hitching as Harley went to work. “Yes, you do.”

#harley/ivy #harley quinn #poison ivy #harleen quinzel #pamela isley #d/s #nettle play #batman #my fiction

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