#pamela isley fic

[applejusue]

Codependence ──  Pamela Isley

tldr; her experiments with sproutling variants didn't go to plan

c/w: light cursing, maternal care, sentient plants

w/c: 1.1k

crds for dividers: @strangergraphics, @sweetmelodygraphics

── Pamela was in her small apartment, vials scattered across the tables she had shoved together. She wasn't allowed into the laboratory anymore, but it wouldn't stop her research from continuing. Her chain dangled from her neck as she leaned over the beaker, watching the minuscule organisms within sprouting and wriggling. It was mesmerising to her, growing the little infants. She grinned softly at the sight, their short tendrils curling and unfurling as the baby hybrids adapted. Pamela knew they needed to be transported out of the beaker and into a proper terrarium since they would quickly outgrow the glass container.

As she brushed past the desk to retrieve a suitable home, her hip bumped against the wood, knocking the beaker crossways off of the edge. Her eyes widened, her vines thrusting past her arms to capture the jug before it could hit the ground. She sighed deeply in relief as her vines coiled around the jar protectively, setting it back onto the table. The little sprouts, while disorientated from the tumble seemed unharmed. Pamela exited the room, carefully this time to retrieve the container.

As she returned with the terrarium, Pamela set it down on the cluttered desk, moving some books to make space. She adjusted the humidity within the box, ensuring the soil was properly damp for the seedlings. After fiddling with the heat lamp she seemed satisfied that the cycle granted enough sunshine to the babies. Pamela then grasped the beaker, gently tilting the jug and allowing the sproutlings to slide down onto her open palm. She often did this bare-handed now that she had no more coworkers to complain about it. She always believed that the little sporelings needed a warm touch as they hit proper oxygen, feeling that it would help with the unease more than a plastic glove would. Pamela smiled gently down at them as she placed them into the terrarium, the plants seeping into the soil curiously.

That night, Pamela was spread across her mattress, faint breaths escaped her lips as she slept, her vines wrapped around her waist. However, she is woken shortly by the soft sounds of mewling, an unusual noise that she barely registers. She rolled over, burying her face against the pillow in an attempt to keep sleeping, but the noise seemed to bother her vines who began to drag her out of bed. Pamela lets out a low groan of annoyance, begrudgingly allowing them to tug her upward. She padded into the living room wearing nothing but a tank top and fleece trousers, her pierced navel glinting in the low light.

Pamela rubbed her eyes tiredly as she manoeuvers through the jungle of foliage, flowers and plants that enveloped the walls of her apartment, searching for the source of the sounds. As she approached the warmly lit tank she noticed that it was the baby plantlings, that were mewling softly akin to some sort of cry. Pamela tilted her head in weary confusion, her tired eyes scanning the little babies.  She could only assume that they were facing some sort of separation issues from their organism and that this was the cause of distress.

Pamela doesn't want to interfere too much, not wanting to risk them becoming dependent on her. She had to ensure that the sproutlings were an efficient organism that could survive without her care. However, she couldn't help but want to tend to them as their little struggles tugged at her heart. Pamela scooped some of them up for inspection, they had gotten a bit bigger in the few hours that she had slept. Her eyes studied the little green tendrils and fluffy leaves that began to curl around her arms and fingers. The babies were quivering against her, as though they were cold. She brushed a hand under the heat lamp, which seemed to still be in working order and was producing a warm beam. Pamela sighed softly, trying not to cave to the little plants. "Now, now.. little ones, that's enough crying.." she mutters, tentatively rubbing down their spines with two fingers.

The contact seemed to calm the babies, some of them burrowing closer to her skin and into the divots of her top. It seemed they craved the heat and affection she was providing. She swallowed deeply at the sight, realising they had a higher sentience than she initially believed, and that they were responding to her as though she was some sort of mother host.  Some of her vines seemed protective of them too, as though they also felt a connection to the little organisms. As a scientist though, Pamela had grown curious. To test their capability and responses, she pries one of the little saplings off of her chest.

She sets the baby plant down on the cool wooden table, wanting to study its response to the change in temperature and verify if it could produce a steady heat alone. However, the little one seems to take this action quite personally, letting out a soft cry and writhing on the table. Pamela's heart dropped at the sound, cursing to herself quietly. She could tell she had upset the small plantling by placing it down. Yet, its response seemed triggered by the abandonment rather than any real harm from the environment.

"Damn it..", She carefully picks the little one back up, holding it to her chest and petting its leafy head with her fingers to soothe the sproutling. "It's alright petal, it's alright.." She murmurs tenderly. The baby plantling cuddles back into her with a soft contented cooe, its small tendrils curling around the straps of her top. It was clear that the sporelings required a maternal host, and that they wouldn't be content with a simple heat lamp. They were becoming dependent on her body warmth, dependent on her.

── "You're all very.. interesting," she muttered under her breath, padding back toward her bedroom as she cradled the little plantlings against her chest. As she sank back into the covers with a deep sigh, she noticed that many of the babies had already begun to drift off, their fluffy leaves gently brushing against her skin. Pamela can't help but gaze down at them with a hint of timid fondness, despite knowing that she shouldn't be providing the small organisms with contact or comfort. However, she couldn't bring herself to let them cry either. One of the little sproutlings gently nuzzles against the side of her cheek, its tendrils curling around a strand of her hair as it cooed softly. She felt a faint smile grace her lips, petting it gently. "Don't worry little one, mamma's here.."

[flwrkid14]

Bruce shares custody of Tim with Harley Quinn

Yeah, you read that right. Gotham’s broodiest billionaire vigilante and the queen of chaotic energy are co-parenting Tim Drake. And, somehow, that’s not even the weirdest thing that's happened to the bats this year.

Why? Two words: Joker Junior.

The details are locked down tighter than the Batcave, but here’s what everyone knows (or guesses): Joker broke Tim in ways none of them can fathom. He didn’t just try to kill him—he tried to make Tim like him. And while Tim clawed his way back from the brink, he didn’t do it alone. Harley was there.

She was part of the nightmare. And then, unexpectedly, she was part of the healing. She stepped in, helped Tim survive when Joker was doing his worst. When it was all over, when Joker was (temporarily) gone, she didn’t vanish into Gotham’s chaos. She stayed.

And somehow, somewhere along the way, Tim started calling her “Mom.”

And Bruce didn’t stop him.

Cue the Batfamily losing their collective minds.

Dick is pacing the Batcave, gesturing wildly. “Bruce, this is Harley Quinn we’re talking about! You don’t just co-parent with a rogue! There are laws against this! Or, like, there should be!”

Jason is sitting on the Batmobile, arms crossed, voice dripping with disbelief. “She’s literally a former rogue. She tried to kill you! Like, more than once. This is insane, even for you.”

Steph is perched on the edge of a desk, trying (and failing) not to laugh. “Okay, but, like, can you blame Tim? Harley does make amazing pancakes. Better than Alfred’s, honestly—”

A scandalized gasp echoes from the other side of the room.

Cass just watches quietly, her head tilted, but there’s a small, knowing smile on her face. She gets it. She’s seen the way Tim softens around Harley, how he relaxes in a way he doesn’t around anyone else.

Damian glares at Bruce like he’s lost his last shred of common sense. “Father, you have truly surpassed yourself. Allowing that woman into the sanctity of our home—”

Duke raises a hand cautiously. “Okay, but can we at least talk about how Tim basically has diplomatic immunity now? No rogue in Gotham is gonna mess with him. He’s Harley’s kid!”

And it’s true. Between Harley’s reputation and Poison Ivy stepping in as Tim’s unofficial stepmom (because of course she and Harley got back together), the rogues have adopted a weird kind of reverence for him. Tim’s no longer just a bat to them—he’s Harley’s kid.

Picture this: Tim’s out on patrol, and Riddler has the gall to interrupt with a riddle—only to end it with, “You’re sharper than I thought, kid. Guess Harley taught you well, huh?” before disappearing into the night.

Harley’s brand of parenting is chaotic but deeply personal. She knows Tim’s tells, the way his hands shake when he’s overwhelmed or the too-quiet moments when he’s retreating into himself. She’s the one who sits cross-legged on the floor with him, working on puzzles and cracking jokes until the tension lifts.

She carries extra band-aids in her purse because “Ya never know when a fight with some thug is gonna leave ya with a paper cut!” She also leaves sticky notes on his projects with scribbled messages like “You’re a genius, baby boy!” or “Don’t forget snacks!” They’re goofy, sure, but they make Tim smile when he needs it most. She keeps a stash of snacks in the Manor because Tim forgets to eat when he’s working. She shows up with pancakes at 3 a.m., douses everything in syrup, and calls him “baby boy” in that soft tone that makes Tim feel… safe.

Even Harley’s chaos has an odd kind of comfort to it. She’ll burst into the Manor unannounced, dragging Tim into impromptu “self-care parties” with face masks, bad rom-coms, and every flavor of ice cream imaginable. Somehow, it works.

Ivy, on the other hand, balances Harley’s energy with her own structured nurturing. She insists on “proper nutrition” and occasionally sends Tim home with meal prep containers filled with organic, eco-friendly food labeled things like “Stress-Busting Smoothie” or “Brain-Boosting Soup.” If Bruce raises an eyebrow at it, Ivy simply reminds him that “The human body can only fight crime properly with the right fuel, Bats.”

One time, she cornered Bruce in the greenhouse, pointing an accusatory finger. “If you send Tim out on patrol without a proper meal or at least six hours of sleep, I swear, Bruce, your rose garden is compost.”

And while Harley is the queen of hugs and chaos, Ivy is the one who sits with Tim on the porch at night, talking softly about resilience and regrowth, using plant metaphors Tim pretends not to understand but secretly finds comforting. Once, after a particularly bad night, she gifted him a small cactus with a note: “Even when it feels like the world is trying to tear you apart, you’re stronger than you think. Also, low maintenance, like you.”

Bruce knows the family doesn’t fully understand. But as he watches Harley teaching Tim how to make lasagna one night, the two of them laughing as the kitchen turns into a war zone of flour and tomato sauce, he doesn’t regret it.

Sometimes family doesn’t look like you think it will. Sometimes it’s stitched together from the most unexpected pieces.

And sometimes, it’s an ex-rogue, a traumatized teen, and a brooding billionaire all trying to figure out how to keep the lasagna from burning.

Welcome to Gotham.

[gothamite-rambler]

The only one Ivy doesn't hate in the bat-team minus Harley of course

Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn were in a botany sanctuary as Ivy worked on her latest plan to protect her plant family even if it meant death to humans, minus her girlfriend Harley. Ivy was planning to use the plants for something nefarious that she hadn’t disclosed to her girlfriend yet, but Harley didn’t mind helping her one bit.

Harley (curious): So, we just spray this stuff you made on all of them?

Ivy sprayed her favorite flower with an extra spritz of her strange fertilizer, growth serum while nodding.

Ivy: Mm-hm, that’s all I need you for, babe. After that, I’ll just say I worked alone.

Harley (simpering): You’d really do that for me?

Ivy (with no hesitation): You’re my girlfriend. Of course, I’d take the fall for you.

Harley grinned, her heart swelling with delight. That smile, however, quickly turned to tension as she pointed behind Ivy. Ivy sighed, already guessing who had shown up.

Ivy (not turning around): Hey, Batman.

Batman (disappointed): You were expecting me, and yet you’re still doing this? Why?

Ivy: I’m clinically insane and on a mission to protect Mother Gaia! Sorry I care about the planet!

Batman (angry father voice): We’ve been over this!

Ivy (turning around): Do not talk to me like I am a child! Also, hey, Nightwing!

Nightwing, standing behind Batman, smiled brightly, clearly pleased that Ivy noticed him.

Nightwing (waving): Hi, Pam!

Batman (surprised): What? Pam?!

Ivy: That’s my name, but only friends can call me that.

Batman (taken aback): Friends?!

Harley: Aww, that’s sweet.

Nightwing (agreeing with Ivy): Yeah, we're frenemies.

Ivy (smirking): Exactly. We have different ideas of being a hero and protecting the planet, but he deserves kindness. Plus, look at that handsome face! Definitely not the face of a douche canoe who stole my best friend and made her a boring good guy. I still think she’s lying about your relationship. You have minute man energy if anything.

Nightwing (raising an eyebrow): Damn, she really doesn't like you.

Batman growled angrily but he quickly refocused on the mission at hand.

Ivy (crossing her arms): Hey, Nightwing, if you’re fighting with him to defeat me, you’re free to go—but I understand if you have to do his bidding.

Nightwing sheepishly avoided eye contact from his father, who was glaring daggers at him.

Nightwing: He… he probably wants me to stay and fight.

Batman sighed in exasperation, frustrated with how well Ivy and Nightwing got along. Nightwing chuckled nervously.

Nightwing: I’m not helping her commit crimes! I just agree with a few points in her mission statement, and if there's a way to help her legally, I will help to her. She even gave me a pamphlet.

Batman (covering his face): Every day… I feel like I’m living in an endless nightmare with you two!

Ivy (snidely): Batman, flattery will get you nowhere.

Batman (to Ivy): How come he gets to call you Pam?

Ivy (shouting): I like him! He’s a good kid!

Nightwing beamed, clearly flattered.

Nightwing: Aww, thank you.

Batman: Oh Lord, Nightwing, sit this one out. You don’t want to get hurt by your “friend” who is evil!

Nightwing: All right! Call me if you need me to jump in or talk to Pam.

Batman (irritated): Stop calling her Pam!

Nightwing (mockingly): Nope, it bothers you, so I'm gonna keep doing it.

Nightwing walked over to where Harley was standing, who waved hello to him with her usual unintentionally terrifying grin. He sidestepped a few feet away, making Harley pout.

Ivy: Good kid. Batman, don’t be pissy, that I’m on decent terms with him. He gets me. And no, I didn’t hit him with my pollen or anything. He’s smart, and I respect him. He gets my mission like Harley does… He’s neat. He’s a neat man.

Nightwing smiled happily at the compliment.

Batman: All right, that’s what I call him! Don’t use that on him!

Ivy chuckled, clapping sarcastically.

Ivy: Aww, did I hurt the Man of Steel's feelings because his sidekick is nice? Guess you can't keep your temper in check!

Batman: That’s Superman! I just… I need a freakin’ minute!

Batman walked away, shaking his head and muttering questions about Nightwing being so close with a villain. The sanctuary suddenly felt a lot more chaotic than ever before.

Nightwing: Oddly enough, you're not the only crook who I'm frenemies with.

Ivy (shrugging): I believe you. A couple of Arkham inmates say they like you.

Harley stepped closer to Nightwing, nodding with a surprisingly normal smile for her.

Nightwing: That's nice! I'm glad that I don’t have Batman energy all the time.

Batman (calling back): Don't say that like it's an insult!

Ivy: It kind of is. You can be a headache ninety-nine percent of the time.

Harley: That one percent means she doesn't completely hate you. That's reserved for the Joker.

Nightwing covered his mouth, chuckling, while Batman kept his distance, counting to ten silently in his head to let go of the fact that Ivy saw him as less grating than the Joker.

Batman: I'm going to accept that as a compliment and focus on the mission.

Ivy: Okay, douche canoe.

Batman (whispering to himself): Not going to let her get to me.

[acapelladitty]

`♡° kinktober 2024! ---

☆ kink: Forced masturbation

☆ pairing: Poison Ivy/Reader

☆ summary: Drugged by her pheromones, Ivy tells you exactly what she wants you to do.

kinktober '24 ☆ main masterlist ☆ ao3

Glancing around the room with a slow rotation of your head, the fuzziness in your mind makes each of the muted colours look almost muddied together as your back presses against the soft sheets of Ivy’s bed. Senses existing in a place between heightened intensity and muted dullness, each stroke of her fingers along your arm leaves a hot sensation in its wake.

“Ivy, love.”

The words are slurred, dripping free of slackened lips as you writhe in position – enjoying the way that the warm air brushes against your exposed sex as you spread and close your knees with a slow rhythm.

“I’m here, petal,” Ivy replies and you glance to the side to see her laying alongside your body, her attention sharp and intense as she monitors your reactions to her pheromones. “Are you going to do everything I ask you to? Just like we agreed.”

“Yes. Yes. Yes, yes.”

Muttering the words like a prayer as your head moves of its own accord to nod in agreement, you reach out with your right hand and gasp as she slips her fingers within your own. Ivy brings your fingers to her lips and places a gentle kiss to the back of your hand before placing it back on your own body.

“Touch yourself, for me,” Ivy’s voice is like a lullaby, wrapping around your thoughts and sinking any doubts deep into your subconscious as your hands move without thought, “Make yourself feel as good as you can.”

Grinning dopily at her insistence, your hands slips down your body and you sigh as you grope at your own breasts with a firm grip. You pinch your nipples roughly, your preference for a little bit of discomfort to make your pleasure all the sweeter forcing your fingers to pull at the sensitive nubs until they’re peaked and reddened while your breath comes in faster pants.

To your side, Ivy watches you with heat in her emerald gaze. Her own hand is not visible to your eyes but you can see the slight movements in her arm that tells you her fingers and moving slowly against her own sex – pleasuring herself to the show that you are putting on for her.

You drop your hands lower and inhale sharply as you press your fingers between the folds of your cunt. Her pheromones are hard at work and even you are surprised by how wet you are as every slight touch against your heated, swollen skin feels amplified by the drugs which are pulsing through your system like a venom.

Like poison.

A giggle slips free of your lips as you tease at your own hole with two fingers, coating the digits in your own arousal before thrusting them in roughly. Its hot, and clammy and oh so fucking good as you pump your fingers in and out of your hole with a sloppy rhythm that only pauses to allow you adjust your legs for easier access.

“C’mon, petal. I know you can do better than that,” Ivy encourages and her voice ensnares your mind like a vice; your hand moving even quicker in a desperate attempt to meet her wishes. At your side, she smiles and her reddened lips are intoxicating against your shoulder as she kisses the sweat-slicked skin there and mutters, “Good girl.”

Pulse beating in your veins like a drumbeat, every inch of your cunt feels aflame and your fingers only stoke the heat as your forefinger slips higher to rub at your clit. Every brush of sensation against the engorged nub forces a hitch in your breathing as it sparks an intense burst of pleasure which arches your back in position.

Flushing as a low cry snaps free of your throat, you come hard against your hand and your twitching legs are pinned into place by Ivy’s as she hooks her leg within your own and drinks in your pleasure like it were her own. Eyes almost rolling back into your head as the pheromones make every millimetre of your skin feel like it’s being caressed by the pleasure which rolls across it, you keep pawing at your cunt through it all due to Ivy’s insistence.

“Ivy, please.”

“Don’t stop until I tell you.”

Overstimulation making every light touch feel like heaven and hell, your fingers move without thought as they continue to stroke along the walls of your cunt – only pausing to rub messily at your clit as your arousal and release makes every motion slippery and uncontrolled.

“Just like that, baby,” Ivy groaned, her fingers circling her own clit as she enjoyed your delirious suffering. “I’m almost finished.”

You can tell when she’s coming because her grip of your arm grows tight to the point of pain and her heavy pants into your ear get more jumbled and desperate as she rides out her release on her own fingers. Her pleasure is your own and your cunt spasms around your fingers as your second orgasm hits like a truck, tearing guttural noises from your throat until a soft hand latching around your own pulls your fingers free of your twitching sex.

“Relax now, baby.” Ivy purrs, her come stained fingers trailing across your cheek as the scent of her arousal clouds your senses. “We still have all night to have our fun so let’s keep our strength for the moment.”

[poisonousquinzel]

if y'all ever want a bit of modern harlivy angst that ends happy and doesn't feel laced with ooc toxicity in the like "oh the writer's apparent reference for ivy's characteristics in their relationship is plant ivy and that's it wow..." I'd recommend their little story from DC's Harley Quinn Romances cause <33333 it's very special to me

they make me unreasonably emotional

Ivy after reading Harley's au fic where she gets to punch Joker with her at prom:

[shoutoutout]

I've started up another Harlivy fic and was digging through my docs and found this old version of the noses & kneecaps section of she breaks (out, down, through). I cut it way down and changed up the setting for the published version but this Harley quote had me giggling so I thought I'd post here for folks!

Harley turns to the chef.  “If you fucking spit in this food I will literally gut you right now, you hear me?  I’m not letting my bestie eat any of your loogies so tell me if you did because she’ll fucking know, alright?  This bitch will taste them and then you’ll be dead and the misses and junior over there are gonna have a sad as shit Christmas this year.”

You can read the rest under the cut

Surprising no one, Ivy’s not that great at the whole “friendship” thing.

For starters, she has no frame of reference by which to judge.  Like her namesake, she was a wallflower as a child and when high school rolled around she bloomed into a sarcastic loner with Indigo Girls blasting through her headphones.  It left little room for normal girl shit like… well… she would name something if she knew.

But even still, with all her lack of experience, she’s pretty sure that this—Harley’s idea of friendship—is not quite normal.

“I could use some new threads.” Harley calls Ivy out of the blue on a Wednesday evening.  “Cops confiscated all the stuff back at my old place… not like I’d wear any of it anymore.  God, I was such a tightass wasn’t I, Ives?  So how about it?  A girl’s day out?”

Ivy doesn’t know what to say, knuckles pale green where they grip the phone.  She regrets giving Harley her number.  (And by “giving” she means Harley snatching the phone from her pocket and calling herself before Ivy had the chance to stop her.)  The thought of strolling through a department store with Harley causes her anxiety to ratchet the way it did when the pretty girls would laugh at her in English class.  What would they even talk about for fuck’s sake?

Not much to start, it turns out.  Harley’s version of shopping is a lot less mundane and a lot more criminal.  They end up taking twelve hostages in Bergsduff’s and leaving with two hundred thousand in designer goods.  Muzak plays idly in the background as Harley holds the salesclerk at gunpoint, parading him around the floor while Ivy snatches up some cute summer looks.  His nose drips blood from where she pistol-whipped him upon entrance.

“Hey, try those on,” Harley suggests, waving the gun wildly towards a pair of gold-rimmed sunglasses.  The hostages in her line of fire duck and scramble when it points in their direction.  “Those’ll look real hot on you!  Perfect for your face shape.”

Even the sales clerks—with the barrel of Harley’s gun poking between his shoulder blades—can’t help but agree.

Ivy slips them into her pocket.

They go to dinner.

“And it better be fucking vegan, alright?!” Harley screeches through the kitchen door.  When she turns back to Ivy, she’s all grins and bubbles.  “He said it should be right out!” she relays, skipping back towards the table.

Ivy glances towards the chef’s wife and son where they lay bound and gagged, piled in the living room corner.  Harley had arranged a “private meal” by Gotham’s hottest new chef after Ivy had told her the reservations for his restaurant were usually booked a month in advance.

“Are you sure we don’t have to worry about them?” Ivy asks with a skeptical slant towards their hostages?

“Nah,” Harley dismisses.  “They’re chill.”

Their captive hosts nod in agreement, wide-eyed and terrified.

They talk about boys.

“So like I was saying,” Harley picks up where she left off, twirling a fork between two fingers.  “Joker has some real ripe areas for improvement with the overall rollout of his new brand vision before the Legion of Doom induction, ya know?  Just some things I’m helpin’ him out with… order of operations and stuff like that.”

Ivy’s thankful Harley’s doing all the talking.  She fills the space with an endless stream of stray observations and chatter.

She gets a dreamy look in her eye, resting her head against her palm.  “I mean, he’s a real genius, ya know?  It’s pure art what he does.”  (Ivy wants to vomit but the food is coming soon.)  “And don’t ever tell him I said otherwise”—she sits up, clasping her hands together—“but in general, there’s a lack of foresight to some of his schemes.  Like escape plans, for example.  Usually he has it all figured out when Batsy arrives—how to get away that is—but not for the whole crew, ya know?”

Ivy narrows, not quite getting at what she’s saying.

Harley shimmies closer in her chair, propping her elbows on the table.  “Okay, okay, so like, there’ll be a getaway car, right?  But it’s one of those clown cars, like a tiny one.  Only this clown car isn’t like a clown car where it can fit all the rest of us; it’ll just fit him.”  She pauses to let Ivy consider.  “Is that… is that funny?  Like ha-ha Joker-level theatrics?”

Ivy’s dumbfounded.  “A clown car that’s just a regular tiny car…that only Joker can escape in… and he leaves you all behind to get caught,” she summarizes, doubt dripping from her tongue.  “So you’re telling me he just like, takes off in a Smart car?”

“Yes!” Harley nods, excitedly.  Her jester’s cap bounces with the motion.  “Exactly!  Just a Smart car for one.  It could use some work, right?”

Ivy doesn’t even know where to begin.  Luckily the chef returns, placing two gorgeous plates of food before them.  Harley squeals beside her and Ivy snaps to attention, grabbing her fork.  It smells fucking heavenly as it comes to her mouth but then Harley’s hand is strong around her wrist, stopping her mid-bite.

Harley turns to the chef.  “If you fucking spit in this food I will literally gut you right now, you hear me?  I’m not letting my bestie eat any of your loogies so tell me if you did because she’ll fucking know, alright?  This bitch will taste them and then you’ll be dead and the misses and junior over there are gonna have a sad as shit Christmas this year.”

He shakes his head and whimpers; Harley seems satisfied.  They dig in.

“Oh my god,” Ivy says, flavor dancing across her taste buds.  “This is like… orgasmic.”

Harley preens.  “Only the best for my friend!”

Friend.  It rolls so easily off of Harley’s tongue and Ivy wonders what it is exactly that makes this shit so hard for her.  Ivy tries to play along but she’s transported back to English class with Melinda Jenkins snickering every time Ivy raised her hand.  “Ha,” she tries.  “I owe ya one… pal.”

God, she’s a fucking dork but Harley couldn’t care less.  She pounces.  “Come to me and J’s Legion of Doom induction then?!” she asks like the question was burning a hole through her tongue.  “It’s this weekend.  We can drink all of Lex’s fancy-ass champagne.  Please?  Please?  Please, Ivy?”

Harley puppy-dog pouts and Ivy’s stomach flips.  Is this normal friend shit?  She has no idea.

“I’m sorry but fuck no.  No way.  Literally anything but that.”  Harley will just have to deal; Ivy is decidedly not a good friend.

[goggles-mcgee]

A Little Birdy Told Me 20

AO3

Beginning Last Chapter

Summary: Damian continues to try and get more information about the akuma class and Marinette while Dick is having an off day and just wants it to get better.

Only one brother gets what they want.

CH 20:

Damian may have jumped the gun on that one. 

He admitted that, willingly, in the privacy of his own mind. 

“To Dupain-Cheng? I mean sure but why would you like to know.” Chloe asked with narrowed sharp eyes.

Bourgeois was sharp, as were all his acquaintances so there was no point in lying, though he was confident he could do so flawlessly, his acquaintances had proved to be somewhat trustful. They all kept secrets if asked unless it was something trivial which confused him to no end. Allegra could ask they don’t tell anyone what she shared with them when it came to her having trouble mentally or her parents fighting but the group would tell almost everyone in the group how Claude had a crush on so-and-so from class-whatever. Richard said that is just how teenagers and friends are but it didn’t make sense to Damian and he tried many times to make it make sense. The only thing that made him feel better is the fact his father also didn’t understand. When he was in med school he told him how his study group kept his fear of bats to themselves but when he admitted to not being a fan of some musician that that information was shared and laughed at, but he stated clearly that the laughing wasn’t at him, just at the information as a study group member had explained. Again. It was strange, but Damian felt like this wasn’t one of those moments that they would share his information with others. 

“It goes without saying that what I tell you does not leave this table,” he began, “I know I said that if I knew something I wouldn’t tell, but given Bourgeois’s forthcoming, I too can be a little forthcoming. Dupain-Cheng is now a ward of my Father for the rest of the exchange.”

Vogel nodded and glared at everyone at the table as if to ward them off even thinking of telling anyone what Damian was saying. It was…nice and appreciated. Vogul reminded him of Cassandra sometimes and it always left him feeling warm yet wrongfooted. The blonde wasn’t his sister but sometimes she felt like it and that also confused him. Nonetheless he gave Vogel a small nod of appreciation. “After the events at Wayne Tower and what followed, it was decided that my father take care of Dupain-Cheng for the remainder of the trip and actual chaperones are being flown in. The original plan of having the class merge with ours has been effectively thrown out the window and negotiations are being made where to place everyone as they will be separated. Dupain-Cheng and her friends will join our class but it hasn’t been decided where Rossi and her sycophants will go.” 

Allaway pursed his lips together and looked deep in thought, it was like he was trying to organize everything that was said and unsaid. He was someone who liked puzzles and mysteries. “You guys are building a case?” It was posed as a question but Damian knew the other boy better. It was a statement. Damian simply leaned back in his chair to give Allaway his attention, it took the boy some time to voice his thoughts so Damian waited before responding. “The question is, who is the case against?” 

“I would think that obvious by now Allaway.” Damian scoffed. 

Allaway stared at Damian intensely until he let out a deep sigh, “Yeah, I know, I was saying it to be dramatic.”

“You’re always dramatic.” Damian countered.

“No. That’s Claude.” Allaway shot right back.

“Guilty!” Hardy sing-songed. Damian conceded. Hardy was always dramatic. Every announcement he made to the group or even the school was so rich in dramatics that Damian wondered if the boy practiced what he said every day to make sure it was the perfect amount of dramatic or if it was something instinctual. Damian felt like it was the latter. Sometimes Hardy’s dramatics confused him but Vogel was good at explaining what the dramatic boy was saying, she was basically the Hardy Translator.

“We are getting off topic.” Bourgeois sighed. “You really want to know everything that witch did to Dupain-Cheng, Wayne? Then you better buckle in and take notes.

Damian nodded and pressed the hidden button on his watch that Lucius Fox and his son Lucas upgraded at Bruce’s request, that would record the rest of the conversation. Though he did take out a notebook and pen, he never wrote in pencil, writing in pencil showed you were not confident in your writing or knowledge. He was trying to break out of the habit though as it was one Ra’s made sure ‘stuck’ with his heir. His grandfather would never settle for anything less than perfect and the one time Damian took a test in front of his grandfather and used a pencil, he was punished. Damian hid a wince at the memories of that particular lesson and instead stared at his watch, it was a replica of his Grandfather's watch , the one he wore when he was murdered. It was a bit morbid but it was the thought behind it that made it one of Damian’s most prized possessions. 

It had been a little after he had been…introduced to his father and a little before his father’s seeming demise at Darkseid’s hand that Bruce had taken Damian aside into his study to talk to him. Damian thought it would be another reprimand of his methods but had been surprised when Bruce handed him a small box with a bow on it. He had been so hesitant, so wary, so suspicious that his father had gently taken the box from him and opened it to show a watch. A rather nice watch though Damian had noted its somewhat dated design. Like someone had purposefully made it look vintage.  “ It’s made to look like my father’s watch, your grandfather, though I have no doubt you were…informed of my parents before you came here -”

“ I know everything about you, Father, and my grandparents .” Damian had interrupted, eager to prove his knowledge, his worth. 

“ I don’t doubt that, Damian, but you were told about them by people who did not know them. That makes all the difference. There is time for stories so you get to know them like I knew them but this is the first one I will tell you. ” Bruce had looked sincere yet a bit uncomfortable, Damian had chalked it up to his father’s weakness of not getting over his parent’s death. Such a weakness was not allowed in the League, but Damian had said nothing of the fact even if he could. Richard had been teaching him just because you could doesn’t mean you should. It was confusing but his father seemed to agree with the sentiment so Damian was doing his best to learn it. 

His father continued. “ When my father was ten, his father bought him his first watch. I never met my grandfather, but when I was young, my father told me grandfather wanted to start a new Wayne tradition. When the heir of the family turned ten, they would be gifted a watch. I’m afraid that the reason is lost in time and forgotten memories but my father wanted to continue this tradition. I got my watch on my birthday and 9 days later my parents died. My father had been wearing his birthday watch that night .”

Damian hadn’t wanted to interrupt but he did want to touch the watch and his father seemed to understand that so he passed back the gift and watched as Damian had caressed the face of the watch with his thumb. 

“ I admit that I have bought your brother's watches as well but I know you are struggling to accept them. I won’t lie and say I understand but I want to feel connected to them, to me, to this family. I wasn’t able to give you a watch on your birthday but I am giving it to you now. I had this made for you in the image of your grandfather’s watch because I want to show you how important you are to this family and me. I could have easily given you a new watch as I had your brother’s but you deserve a connection to your roots. I hope you like it. ”

Damian had only nodded but the small smile his father gave in return had filled him with such warmth he hadn’t known what to do other than let his father put the watch on him. Later, Alfred would explain that Bruce had the watch built with many hidden features to keep Damian safe and to make sure his son wouldn’t be without a way out of a situation. The watch was made to resemble the Rolex Submariner that Damian had seen in a case along with a broken pearl necklace and some loose grimy pearls. He knows they were keepsakes of his grandparents that Bruce kept in a protected case in the Cave. He didn’t really believe it would make him feel any more connected to the Wayne name than him already being Bruce Wayne’s biological son but wearing the watch and seeing the original in its case when he was down in the Cave actually did make him feel connected in a way he couldn’t explain. Thus it became one of his most prized possessions much like his first straight double edged sword his mother gave him for the earliest birthdays he could remember. 

Damian inhaled slowly then exhaled to bring himself out of his memory before he looked up at Bourgeois and gave her a short nod. “Proceed.” 

___________________

Dick was doing all he could to relax and show Marinette the company’s botanical gardens as it was something she had wanted to do. It was good to see her smile and flit from plant to plant like a little honey bee or something, but Dick couldn’t get rid of his tension completely. He was always like that after dealing with Two-Face even if it wasn’t the usual confrontation between the two, i.e mask to two faces but it still left him feeling the same. Angry, restless and most annoyingly, scared. He wasn’t the same little scared Robin but dealing with Two-Face always made him feel like he was. He thought he worked past all that! But seeing Marinette in his arms with a gun pressed to her head brought uncomfortable flashbacks of a different tiny black-haired blue-eyed child. A child who got cocky in his skills as Robin and helper of Batman. He could still feel the long-since healed injuries throb in phantom pain. Dick couldn’t help the flash of another black-haired blue-eyed child, older than the first when he learned that being Robin wasn’t magical or whimsical. Thinking of that never did him any good, if anything it brought about an enormous amount of guilt and anger that Dick didn’t know what to do with. 

“Mari-gold?” A very familiar voice pulled Dick out of his thoughts and he cursed himself for being so distracted. 

“Ivy!” Marinette shouted out in glee as she ran to hug the woman she had seen fairly recently. It made Dick smile though, this kid loved with her whole heart and it was something he admired. 

“Now what are you doing here, Sapling?” 

“I came here with Mister Dick and Mister Tim. Though we lost Tim pretty early on.” Oh yeah, they did. Though Dick was willing to bet Tim just went to the coffee shop nearby, he seemed to have a built in radar for knowing where they were no matter what part of town they were in. It was kind of funny though since Tim wasn’t even a big fan of coffee, he more so just needed the caffeine. The guy preferred tea but he was really particular about which places made the best tea, specifically a good ol’ Dirty Chai. 

“And what brings you to the Gardens today, Ive?” Dick asked, deciding to partake in the conversation. 

“Oh just making sure they are doing okay and to give the workers a restock of my special fertilizer.” That made sense, Ivy was, on-the-down low helping the Wayne Botanical Studies team. While Harley helped them more with their night time business, Ivy was content to help in the more official business. With the occasional helping hand stopping a threat if they “got in over their heads.” Her words. 

“You make your own fertilizer?” Marinette asked. Look, Dick was also curious about that but after finding Ivy and Jason talking one night with these big-ass smiles on their faces, all teeth, he was like 80% sure that fertilizer was some of Jason’s…problems. But there was no way in hell that Dick was going to try and confirm that, and he sure as hell would not be telling Bruce that little theory. 

“Yes! It takes time but it-”

“My Passion Lily! I got your Matcha Lemonade and look! I found a wild Wayne.” They were interrupted by Harley, which was not a surprise, and she was dragging a resigned looking Tim with her. 

Ivy merely huffed out a laugh at her wife before taking the offered drink with a kiss to Harley’s cheek. “Thank you, Peanut, I also found a wild Wayne and a little Sapling.”

“Mari-Doll!” Harley squeaked out before almost knocking the poor girl off her feet in her hurry to smother the girl in a hug. Surprisingly they didn’t fall over. 

“Hi Harley!”

“You guys saw each other the other night?” Tim said, confused. 

“And?” Marinette and Harley asked in unison. It made Dick giggle and helped relieve him of more of his pent up tension. 

“Well since we're all here, why don’t we walk around together?” Dick offered. “Bruce wanted Tim to get some fresh air so try not to let him sneak off again.”

Tim gave an offended squawk which had Marinette laughing once more. “I’m fine!”

“Yeah, okay Timmy-Boy.” Harley said with a scoff as she laced her arms together with Ivy and Marinette. “And I’m the Queen of England.”

“You do need some time outside the Manor Tim. It’s not healthy to stay cooped up.” Ivy said as she happily walked with Harley and Marinette. Though she did grab Tim by the scruff of his shirt and manhandled him toward Dick. He looked very much like a cranky kitten. 

“What is this? Pick on Tim day?” 

“I believe Damian has that scheduled for next month.” Dick wished he was joking.

Marinette obviously noticed he wasn’t if her raised brow was anything to go off. “Oh?”

“He stepped on Titus’s tail three months ago, on accident.” Dick explained. “But Damian is very good at keeping grudges and he’s very good on cashing in on favors.” 

Tim merely whined in response and Dick couldn’t help but pity his brother for a second before he remembered how Tim used him as a human meat shield when Condiment King randomly joined in on a fight against some robbers. Apparently he was also planning on robbing the jewelry store after keeping a low profile from his then-recent prison break. Needless to say it took Dick forever trying to get the mustard smell out of his costume once again and had to beg Alfred for help once again. Even though Alfred refused to help with cleaning anything CK contaminated, it spiked his blood pressure or something like that. Dick thinks it’s because of all the first times he helped clean them up when the rogue had been new on the scene. That had been a long month and Dick had seen how Alfred got more and more annoyed each time they came home covered in mustard, ketchup, you name it. It was awful. Truly. So Dick didn’t feel all that bad. Stephanie was already coming up with a list of things to tease Tim about. She specifically waits for the days Damian declares will be Pick-On Drake Days so she has lists on lists compiled for that very reason. She hoards them and never shares until the scheduled day. Duke surprisingly joined in too and started making his own list. 

“He’s very dedicated.” Marinette giggled out.

“That’s one word for it.” Tim grumbled. 

From there they had a good time touring the different gardens with Ivy acting as a somewhat tour guide and Dick could see it was really helping Marinette unwind as well. The interview with Jim and Harvey had really gotten her tense which was totally understandable, it would be intimidating for anyone. Tim tried to escape a couple times but after Dick teasingly asked if he should get Tim a child-leash and Ivy offered to make one out of vines he stopped. He even seemed to be relaxing a small bit. It was nice, really and it seemed to be something that Dick needed too without realizing it. Eventually they went out for lunch and after they went their separate ways. The drive back to the Manor had been nice too, normal traffic and a nice playlist helped. Tim and Marinette had even made some good conversation, though Dick got worried at the mention of PowerPoints. He hoped it was nothing serious, but the fact that Tim found someone as obsessed with planning and making PowerPoints was a little frightening. Maybe more than a little, Dick could only take so many Tim PowerPoints. He loved his brother, dearly, with his whole heart, but his PowerPoints were long and…thorough. He even tested people on the more important ones with a freaking Kahoot match. Cass and surprisingly Damian always won those. 

As they made their way into the manor Dick was pretty much planning on taking a good, lengthy nap to catch up on the sleep he hadn't gotten last night. His brain felt fried and scrambled, like it couldn’t decide whether to sink into the depressing thoughts from before or just remember the good time at the gardens they all had, even Tim surprisingly had a good time. As he sunk into the couch in the family living room his mind seemed to settle on both. His eyes closed and he saw Marinette laughing and smiling at their afternoon activities, then it would flash to her being held against Two-Face. He could hear the rogue’s laugh deep in his bones, then it changed to the Joker’s unique cackle. Marinette changed from her to him to Jason at blinding speeds. He could hear Marinette’s voice firm and confident in contrast to the fear in her eyes when she told him there was no time and that she would lead Scarecrow away. He could hear her yelling and telling Alfred she and they weren’t safe. He heard his own cries and shouts mixed with Two-Face’s voice. He could hear what he imagined Jason sounded like when the Joker beat him to death. He could hear the accusations of others about his jealousy of Jason being adopted. 

That unfortunately brought up memories of the talk he had had with Bruce once upon a time about Jason and adoption. It felt like he had had to fight not only tabloids but even Bruce about nonexistent hatred. Dick never hated Jason, but he had been so caught up in his anger with Bruce that he let it affect his and Jason’s relationship. He had just been so angry and it wasn’t an excuse but sometimes it seemed like he was even trying to justify his actions to himself. Though there was some jealousy and hurt there that he didn’t know what to do with, okay he did know what to do but the fact it would have to involve talking to Bruce and Jason was not something that sounded fun nor easy. He liked a good challenge but that idea sounded impossible. Like yes, he was Bruce’s son now but for so long he was just a ward, like Marinette was now, he called Bruce dad, they lived together, they fought crime together, they took care of each other, and yet it took years for Bruce to adopt him. But Jason? Dick knew Jason was Bruce’s son, his first son, his favorite son. Jason got the Bruce Dick had always wanted and it had hurt. Jason’s death had impacted Bruce more than his parents. That was a fact. 

And…And Dick had no idea where this was all coming from. He knew he didn’t know Marinette well as her class’s tour guide but seeing her held against Two-Face, mere centimeters from danger had thrown him. She reminded him too much of himself and too much like Jason before his death. She wasn’t a Robin, she would never be a Robin, but she had been a hero like one. She saved her people as fiercely as a Robin protected Gotham and its people. She took the weight of her world on her shoulders, much like a Robin. She was a child turned soldier due to circumstance just like a Robin. Marinette was a Robin in soul with no Batman to guide her and maybe that was for the best but looking at how lost she looked when she spoke about the ‘akumatizations’ in Paris, Dick wished she had had her version of Batman. A mentor who could aid in the fight, who shared the knowledge and responsibility. Yes, there were other heroes, they were like her version of Teen Titans, but that’s just it she was just barely a teen, a child, when she took up the mantle of hero. And from the pictures Tim showed the family of the other heroes, it wasn’t hard to guess that the other ‘Holders’ were teens themselves. Seeing as Adrien was also a teen and a former hero. 

Dick, in a weird, roundabout way, felt responsible for Marinette. As soon as she looked at him with hope, determination and fear in her eyes he was hit by a wave of protectiveness for her. She looked at him like Damian did when he first complimented and criticized his work as Robin, he and Marinette had also pulled off a plan as smooth and seamless as Dick and Damian had been when they were the Dynamic Duo. Or as Dick liked to call them, The More Dynamic Duo. He knew his family was kind of freaked out by how well Marinette and Damian seemed to get along, but not him, sure he teased a bit but he just had a feeling they would be friends. Damian had been trying to get himself out there and make friends and he did have some! He just called them acquaintances right now but Dick knew it wouldn’t be long till they were bumped up to friend status. Though Jon would always be Damian’s best friend even if they weren’t in the same school anymore. They still video or phone called every day and they played games with each other online. Which games? Dick could never remember but the point was, Damian had grown and was very capable of making friends, it just took him some time. 

Speaking of time , Dick thought as his gaze lazily glanced at the clock on the wall. If he slept now, he knew he would not go to bed after patrol tonight. So with much reluctance he pushed himself up and off the couch. He figured he could see if Marinette wanted some company and maybe the two of them could get some tea and snacks from Alfred and tour more of the manor when they were done. It would help in the long term of Marinette’s stay so it was productive! When he got to her room he saw that the door was slightly open but it was still he knocked, if he could dodge a Pennyworth Lecture he would even knock his own bedroom door. As he did so though, the door opened more and with it came an overwhelming energy that left him feeling suppressed yet energized. He wasn’t around magic a lot anymore, but it always left him with the same feeling so he ditched being a gentleman and waiting for an answer and just barreled into the room to see what looked like a closing portal. 

“Shit!” That would be a dollar in the Swear Jar, but that wasn’t important. What was important however was the fact Marinette was missing, a portal had seemingly opened in her room and closed, and…and there was a note on the bed? 

‘Dear Any Wayne That Finds This,

Actually, are you all Waynes? I never asked, I should have asked. Anyways, please don’t freak out if you come to my room and I’m not here. Ladybug needed my help back in Paris and opened a portal to get me there. I shouldn’t be too long and hey! Maybe I’ll be back before anyone reads this but if I’m not then just don’t worry. Ladybug will return me once the akuma is dealt with.

 -Marinette who is very sorry if someone does end up reading this and is pleading they don’t worry or get angry.’  

“Double shit.” Dick said as he read over the letter. 

That was another dollar for the Swear Jar. 

_________________

Dick “Flying” Grayson @toflyistofall

Oops.

____

Bruce Wayne @therealbrucewayne

RE: Dick “Flying” Grayson @toflyistofall

       Oops.

Richard John Grayson-Wayne. What did you do?

_____

JBIrd @sidesteppeddeath

RE: Bruce Wayne @therealbrucewayne

       Richard John Grayson-Wayne. What did you do?

Ha! You got full government named Dickie! @toflyistofall

_____

Dick “Flying” Grayson @toflyistofall

RE: JBIrd @sidesteppeddeath

       Ha! You got full government named Dickie! @toflyistofall

Oh come on! I didn’t even add tags! How did he respond so fast?

#hahaimindanger

Next Chapter

[fanfics4thefanatics]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/39161592

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Revisiting Some Old (and New) Fic Ideas!

Obstacle Course: Linda and Wally babysit Owen, Bart, and Thad for the weekend to ease their fears about parenthood.

The Grandmother Effect: An older woman finds Damian Wayne unconscious in an alley and nurses him back to health. The problem is, he doesn't remember who he is, and he thinks she's his grandmother.

The Houdini Clause: Scott Free-centric boarding school AU

Radio Silence: College student and radio show host, Thad Thawne moves in with Tim Drake at Bart's request in this 90s AU.

If Ever In My Nature: HS AU where Guy recalls the summer he fell in love with a boy named Taylor from his school's buddy program.

I Bet You're Wondering: College AU where Ted and Booster meet in the emergency room.

orange: Guy Gardner decides to foster a little girl in this no powers AU.

Thicker Than Blood: Jade asks for Ivy's help after Roy shows up in her apartment, suffering from a mysterious illness. She suspects it's poison, but it's unlike anything she's ever seen before.

Sky's The Limit: College football player, Michael "Booster Gold" Carter pretends to come from a wealthy family to impress Ted Kord.

Little Winter: Stephanie Brown takes a little girl to the ER and decides to take responsibility for her when she realizes the little girl has nowhere to go.

[joker-and-the-queen]

She hopes he’s watching.

She hopes he’s using that detective’s eye for detail in the perfect moment when Selina’s sharp, manicured nails claw into Ivy’s skin, leaving behind desperate trails of crimson and clover. She wants him to hear the way his girl whimpers when Ivy’s lips are against her, repeating Selina’s name like the earth will die if she doesn’t.

Cat. Her Cat.

He might have her, but Gotham’s Dark Knight deserves to know he’ll never make Selina Kyle beg like this…Not the way she begs for poison.

Loosely inspired by this post ♡

[pandorascripts]

Absent

pairing: poison ivy x reader

warnings: mediocre angst, proofread once.

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

You blink a coup times, rubbing at them. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

She doesn’t. 

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

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

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

“Pam! Oh my God! I’m so—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?”

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

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

“Stop. Please.”

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

“I’m so tired, Pam.”

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

“Morning,” Pamela whispers. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is.”

“So we can stay here?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah we need to leave.”

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

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

No response. 

“Right?”

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

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

“We really need to leave, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[applejusue]

Red Sangria  ──  Pamela Isley

tldr; she had a bit too much to drink

c/w: alcohol, drunk kissing, wholesome

w/c: 1.1k

crds for dividers: @strangergraphics, @sweetmelodygraphics

── The melody blares as she wobbles into the bar, the room already whirling from the shots she'd done in several other places tonight. Pamela ignores the jeers from surrounding gentlemen, coaxing her toward the crammed bar. She just about manages to haul herself up on one of the stools, letting out a deep puff of air into the humid room. Pamela was bathed in an opaque wine mini-dress, paired with stilettos that were a marvel she could still walk in. Her flourishing auburn hair curls down her back, her once-perfected red lipstick now faded and smudged to the side from the rims of each glass. She'd lost her coat along the way, perhaps back at the 4th bar.

Pamela gapes down into the fruity red glass, on the house like most were. She was gorgeous, she knew that. She watches the ice swirl around in the cup, the thump of the bass making the little cubes dance along too. As Pamela glances up the room glittered, each LED sparkling and glistening like she was floating in space. It makes her giggle, like she could touch stars and waft away. But as she drifts through the room, something yanks her down to earth. Pamela wasn't in space anymore, she was on the floor.

It was rigid down there, and she dreads to think what may be beneath her. Pamela tries to push herself up, her cherry acrylics scuffing across the tile. She could see the gleam of men's teeth, they were staring. It all became very incoherent, the music pummeling deep into her skull. Then someone kneels beside her, a warm hand gently grasping onto her shoulder. It takes a bit of effort to get her jaw up, but then Pamela was gazing up at a woman with gorgeous dark eyes, and freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks. The woman's hair was scruffy and dark, her brows furrowed in concern. Pamela would know that frown anywhere.

Her girlfriend says something, but Pamela can't hear, she's too busy staring. Pamela was gently coaxed up and briskly pulled away from all those who had been ogling. The woman gently nudged her into one of the booth seats, the red leather sticking to Pamela's under thighs in a way that made her grimace. Pamela still admires the pretty stars that were twinkling around the bar, but they were getting a bit too bright now so she shut her eyes. Pamela hears the woman faintly beside her, her hands still gently lingering on her arms. The stars hurt too much though and Pamela lets herself sink into a deep sleep.

When Pamela wakes again, it's quiet, her body slouched against something warm and steady. Pamela manages to pry her eyelids open, her pupils dilating as she adjusts to the dark room around her. She's still in the bar from what she can tell from the stench of spirits and the gluey seats beneath her. The music, once over-powering was now a soft hum, most having cleared out. One of the attendees was sweeping, and a few people similarly dozing off at the bar. The steady warmth beside her was scrolling on her phone, her face lit up and eyes scrunched in slight drowsiness. However, as she notices Pamela's sleepy face she glances down at her, setting her phone away.

"Hey, sweetpea, I was getting worried..", her girl murmurs softly, tucking a strand of hair behind Pamela's ear gently. Pamela flutters up at her, her lips parted in a gentle breath of warm air as she gazes at the taller woman. A soft, hazy smile grazes her lips as she realises that the warm figure is her girlfriend, who had managed to find her at the bar after she hadn't come home. The woman gazes down at Pamela, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she brings the redhead closer, wanting to be angry at her for getting so drunk. She couldn't though, not when Pamela was looking up at her with that little smile.

"C'mon, let's go home.." the woman murmurs softly, carefully wrapping an arm around Pamela's waist and hoisting her up from the sticky booth seat. Pamela leans her weight heavily onto her girlfriend, her eyelashes fluttering. Pamela had become quite shy from the alcohol, her cheeks hot as she stared up at the scruffy-haired girl who was guiding her out of the bar. The tall woman's arm remains firmly around her waist as they walk through the bitter street, her heavy brown jacket slung over Pamela's small frame, protecting her bare shoulders and upper thighs.

As they enter the apartment, Pamela was exhausted, her movements sluggish. The woman kneels down to pry off the stilettos, her warm hand grazing against her bare ankle. Pamela was leaning back against the cool wall to maintain balance, staring down at the dark tufts of hair that sprouted out in every direction from her girlfriend's head. She reaches for it, gently scratching and faintly tugging on the soft strands. Pamela's body is like putty as her girlfriend guides her to the bedroom, gently peeling off the dress and replacing it with a warm hoodie. Pamela sways as her girlfriend pulls up the hood, her hands moving to clutch onto her shirt in an effort to maintain balance.

Her girlfriend gazes down as she feels the soft green hands clutching her shirt, studying Pamela's features with soft, fond eyes. The dark-haired woman tucks a loose red curl behind her ear, letting her thumb run down her jaw to her faded lips. Pamela feels them part instinctually, her weary eyes gazing upward at the taller girl. The woman leans down, gently brushing their mouths together as she cups her flushed cheeks. Pamela practically melts into the carpet, her fingers clutching tighter at the fabric as her lips move in a sloppy, uncoordinated manner. Her girlfriend doesn't seem to mind her lax movements, chuckling softly instead and squeezing her waist gently.

Pamela feels her girlfriend pull back, her large hands guiding her by the waist to their bed. She settles the green-skinned lady down into the warm sheets, stroking her curls and pressing a kiss to her head. "Enough now, sweetpea", she murmurs softly, covering her up with the blankets. Pamela watches her taller figure sleepily as she walks away, the muffled sounds of the shower lulling her into a deep sleep.

──  The sizzling sunlight pierces through the red-laced curtains draping down her window. For a moment, Pamela lays there, needing a minute to grasp where she is. Her throat is scratchy, her lashes fluttering and sleepy. She gazes down, noticing the body atop her on the thinly covered mattress. A familiar set of shoulders and freckled back peek out from the white sheets, scruffy dark hair brushing against Pamela's neck. She wraps her arms around her shoulders, inhaling the scent of her deeply. Pamela didn't mind that she was a little heavy, she was warm, after all.

[sokoneedsagun]

Hi everybody! I wrote another fic!!

This one is a hs au mainly focusing just on Bruce and Harvey, however by like chapter 3 Oliver will show up too, and ivy eventually too

Description- Title from Drain You by Nirvana

This was the second high school he had attended. He made more than fine grades, usually at the top of his classes despite his classmates being in higher age groups. At this point he could probably test out of high school all together. But after being expelled from Arkham Preparatory School, (that teacher deserved it. And the fire barely even spread.) Alfred had decided that he needed “more structure.”

Apparently more structure meant boarding school. He was now stuck at Gotham Academy 9 1/2 months of the year, he was allowed home to the manor on thanksgiving, Hanukkah-New Years, Easter (even if he didn’t celebrate), break, then spending two months of the summer home

Or- Bruharvey hs fic, with Bruce and Oliver as friends and plenty of internalized homophobia

Also edit bc I forget to mention it, there’s a playlist for this too!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3bU79uRhFMEe0Xd0FJGJZd?si=C-SHjVNERsGAu8ZsAkj9sA&pi=u-FhLPDAlWTg6e

[anarchypumpkincowboy]

We as a fandom should make more fics of Dick and Jason raised by Selina and/or Harley and Ivy

[acapelladitty]

Poison Ivy/Reader - Vine Bondage 🌿🔞 (Kinktober #4)

Summary - Some downtime finds Poison Ivy enjoying an impromptu kinky afternoon where she decides to use you and her vines for some new and exciting fun.

The heat of the early afternoon mixes with the natural humidity of Ivy’s lair as you stretch your arms overhead, enjoying the soft exhale of her breath against the nape of your neck.

“Morning.” She drawls, the words muttered directly into your ear, and she places a small kiss below your left ear before sitting back upright, her naked groin hot against your lower stomach as she straddles you.

Her red hair, voluminous around her face like a molten halo, cascades down her back as it fans out against her skin. Skin which held a vibrant green tinge that was an unnatural as it was beautiful; every inch unmarred and as flawless as the woman who possessed it.

“Hello, gorgeous.” Purring your appreciation at the sight of her, your hands drift lazily along her hips to mark out her figure with soft fingers. “Is someone feeling frisky this morning?”

In lieu of an answer, her hand is quick to dip down once again and catch your lips in her own. The kiss is sweet, laced with a casual tenderness that speaks to the fact that neither of you have anything better to be doing at the moment than enjoying the pleasures of the other, and you moan lightly as she pulls away once more.

“Would you like to see my garden?”

Quirking a brow at her offer, you flick your tongue out to lick at your lips in an unspoken answer as you push yourself up from the sheets, indicating for her to switch places with you. A request which she fulfils immediately, and you find yourself straddling her hips; her chest quickly finding itself warmed by your hands as you massage the skin there softly.

You startle as something slithers across the sensitive skin just below your chest and you glance down to see one of her many vines – their positions littered across the walls – and it secures itself like a harness, raising your back slightly.

“Ivy.” You gasp as more vines come to join the party, weaving along your skin almost like rope as they secure and adjust you into a position where they control your entire movement; your body now hanging only a few inches above Ivy’s own as she watches you with a contented expression, one which sparks a deep flush of green high on her cheeks.

The vines wrapped around your body held you tightly in place but their pressure was more of a comfort than a pain; each vine pulsating in such a way that they almost seemed to massage the skin they encased.

“They like you.” Ivy purred, tracing her fingers along your jawline as she rises up to meet you. “They know how good you’re going to make me feel.”

Wanting nothing more, you allow the vines to move and reposition you delicately between her legs as Ivy falls back to her cotton-soft sheets. Visibly aroused, the glisten of her sex as her fingers spread her lips – the dusting of red pubic hair curling gently against her skin – forced your own cunt to clench in anticipation, your walls pulsing around nothing.

Pushed forward with a slight jolt, the vines press your mouth against her slit and your tongue is immediate in its eagerness to work; swiping across her exposed lips before delving in greedily to the prize below.

A muted gasp escaped the goddess above you, her hips involuntarily canting up to your willing mouth as her fingers massage gently at the swell of her breasts.

“So good to me, my little peach.” Ivy hissed between breaths as your tongue flicked cheekily across her clit. “So beautiful.”

Invigorated by the praise, your tongue swipes across her clit once more, enjoying the way the simple movement makes her thighs visibly tense around you. She tastes sweet against your lips, her natural pheromones making your skin burn with an unmatched heat, and the desire for more draws a shudder down your prone frame as your cunt clenches around nothing.

Perhaps sensing your frustration, Ivy tilts her head to the side coyly.

“I shouldn’t be the only one having fun,” she teases as her fingers leave her chest only to trace gentle circles around your nipples, the movement making you squirm and moan, “so let’s see about trying something new.”

The strangled grunt which escapes your lips as one of her vines rubs itself against your aching cunt quickly dissolves into a moan when it brushes against your most sensitive skin, trailing across your clit with an almost electric energy. You bury what remains of your moan in her cunt, quickly resuming your earlier adoration as the vines which hold your knees aloft spread them further to allow for easy access.

Rocking your hips against the thick vine which is pressed between your thighs, the slick of your sex is warm on the smooth surface as the tip of the vine continues to tease the sensitive skin just above your clit.

“Ready, baby?”

Smiling brightly up at her, your head nods with enthusiasm as your thumbs brush across her wrists, the weightlessness of the vines holding you in place making your heart thrum in your chest with every frantic beat.

Running itself along your slit, the vine coats itself in your juices before pressing itself within you, its movements gentle as it slowly stretched you open; retreating every few moments to allow you the time to adjust before pushing in further. It was so different to anything else, lacking the warmth of a human cock while keeping the sensation of being something alive as it pulsated within you.

You settle into a rhythm quickly, every thrust of the vine pushing your lips harder against Ivy’s sex as you continue to devour her like a woman possessed. The way it moves within you is almost cruel; the discomfort of the stretch quickly being overtaken by the pleasure as it twists and brushes along your most sensitive spots, leaving you a shaking mess as you suck at Ivy’s clit with pursed lips.

Ivy’s moans match your own and her hand drop to your head, her fingers carding through the strands there as she mutters out unintelligible praises, admiring your skills by the way her body writhes against the sheets. She’s beautiful in her pleasure and the sight of it is enough to snap that growing band of tension which stretches across your groin as your orgasm catches you, almost off-guard.

Burying your cries of pleasure by pressing your mouth tightly against her hole, you can tell she appreciates the vibrations of your muffled sounds by how tight her grip of your hair grows and you’re not too surprised when you feel the telltale signs of her own orgasm. Her head thrashing against the sheets, she smears your mouth against her cunt messily as she rides out her pleasure on your face, coating your lips and chin in her release as soft moans escape her throat.

Your fingers claw desperately against nothing as they remain bound in place by your sides and your cunt clenches harshly around the vine as it never ceases its assault on your walls, forcing your orgasm to drag itself out to the point of overstimulation even as you continue to allow Ivy to use your face as she wishes.

Just as your body is getting to the point where pleasure is quickly turning to genuine discomfort, the vine pulls free of your hole and you breathe a sigh of relief. The heavy sound of breathing fills the room as both you and Ivy recover from your orgasmic highs and you startle in place as the vines which bind you in the air shift you forward, following their mistresses’ unspoken demands, until they have placed you gently in the space to her side.

They retreat slowly, pulling free of your sweat-laced skin, but they are quickly replaced by Ivy’s arm as it slings itself across your chest to pull you close. The scent of sex and sweat hangs heavily in the air but it means nothing as Ivy tilts your head to catch your lips in her own.

It’s a sweet kiss, one which allows her to taste herself on your lips, and she hums contentedly for a moment before pulling away.

“Did you enjoy that? I know I did. You’re quite the talented little thing with that tongue.”

Chuckling lightly, you trace a finger along her exposed stomach as you answer.

“I’ve never been fucked with a vine before. Can’t say I didn’t enjoy it.”

Ivy’s laughter joins your own and the cadence of it brings a genuine smile to your lips as you settle in position, having no intention to move from this particular spot anytime soon.

[wr8tur]

AS PROMISED!

Chapter 1 is up y’all! Hope y’all enjoy. I won’t lie, I rushed and barely edited. But there it is! A taste of the Harley and Ivy Wednesday edition! Or is it the Wenclair Harlivy edition? I dunno but I hope this’ll be a fun ride!