open post;

[mahem]

---

open post for pic prompts, starters, and texts. f/f + f/m for shipping.
please link nsfw images.
compliant through the suicide squad.

Comments

text—

[drollery]

harley darling, do me a favor, won't you?

[mahem]

whatcha need puddin pie?

[drollery]

i need you to run a small errand for me
be a dear and go pick up a package for me at the warehouse down on main

[ is it a trap? ]

my hands are a bit t i e d right now or else i would do it myself

[ it might be a trap. ]

don't keep me waiting for long
you know how much i h a t e delays

[ okay, it's definitely a trap.

but!! if it's any consolation, the trap isn't meant for her. it's meant for him — which is exactly why he needs her to play proxy for him. ]

[mahem]

oooooooookkkkkkkkkk

[ can you hear the sighing from here? guess who has no idea what she’s about to walk into, though. ]

can we go out for ice cream after?
pretty please
i gotta craving for some chocolate fudge brownie
with whipped cream and sprinkles on top

[ leave it to her to try and finagle a sweet treat out of the deal. ]

[sorely]

Didn't you say you were just going to make a sandwich before you left?

Why does my kitchen look like you blew it up?

[mahem]

i did make a sandwich!
i have a very unique building process
also you keep things in very strange places



i made one for you too by the way
you're welcome 😘😘😘

[sorely]

There's dirty pots and pans everywhere.
Why would you even have used all of this?

I don't even know where the sandwich is.

[mahem]

cause halfway through i thought about making somethin else and then didn't

finally found the bread

it's in the fridge, duh!
there's no emoji for that though
i checked

[equity]

Hey, HQ. You want that hair tie back?

[mahem]

nah, you keep it!

think of it as something to remember me by

or, you know
a handy accessory for the next time you need to kick some ass

[equity]

I'd need a hell of a lot more than a flimsy hair tie to remember you by, pain in the ass.

[ maybe give her something cool like a bat??? but she says it with love, okay. ]

I was actually wondering if you had a matching one. I was thinking of kicking some ass and might need a friend.

[mahem]

flimsy???
ex-squeeze me, i only ever stock up on the best hair ties

[ they kept those lush canary locks out of your face, didn't they? ]

oh yeah?
who're we roughin up?

[plantlife]

(They drove the stolen car for miles. Eventually, Ivy convinced Harley to take Cass to a safer place. They holed up in one of Ivy's warehouses and fucking researched foster organizations.

And then Cass was gone.

And Harley was left with Ivy, Ivy with stars in her eyes for Harley. Ivy, who wanted to take care of Harley. She was going through something, obviously. She finally left the Joker behind still very recently. It was still a wound. (Ivy wanted to be the one to heal it). Harley was the psych but Ivy could see the changes and emotions Harley was having.

Imagine Frank in the background, with Bruce peeing on him. In front of you, Ivy and Harley will be curled up on the couch. Knees touching, bowls of cereal in hand. Did it matter that it was late at night? No. Ivy was with her best friend.)

You... you ever hear that song by Prince, "If I Was Your Girlfriend?" (in a tone that suggested a weird follow-up)

[mahem]

[ maybe she's a little more glum than she wants to let on now that cass is gone, but she's trying to keep her spirits up for ivy's sake, especially since deep down she knows that the kid is better off where she is rather than continuing to tag along with them. this isn't the kind of life she wants to subject anyone that young to, and she knows better than to selfishly hold onto cass just because she wants to keep an eye out for her.

of course, the fact that ivy had not-so-vaguely threatened the new foster parents probably helped a little.

but now, she's sitting on the couch shoveling spoonfuls of sugary cereal into her mouth, feeling a lot more at ease than she has in a while even if she's still experiencing those cass sads. ]

Uh, yeah. [ said with a mouthful of lucky charms. ] Who hasn't? Wait, did you finally get a stereo for this place or somethin'? [ because as it stands, plants and greenery aside, this warehouse is still pretty sparse. ]

[plantlife]

No, I just. I feel like the song is from the point of view of a woman. But yet, not. It's... don't get me started. I just thought about us. And how we do things together.

(Oh shit, was she about to get deep over cereal? Ivy sips a little milk out of her bowl and sets it aside. She's in pajamas that say TREE HUGGER on the shirt.

Ivy sits sideways.)

What do they call it? Gal pals? When it's actually... when something is actually there?

[mahem]

You mean like how we do all the things now? [ which, as far as harley’s concerned, is pretty great; she can categorize her life into two very definitive areas now, the time before she met ivy and the time after, and everything that’s come after has been pretty fucking awesome.

but now, ivy’s got that wildly contemplative look on her face the way she does when she’s trying to figure out how to talk through things, and harley scooches forward on the couch, cereal completely forgotten as she sets her bowl down and then drops that same hand to the top of ivy’s knee, giving her a concerned squeeze. ]

You mean... where there’s no real space between the words “girl” and “friend?” [ don’t blame her for being confused, ives, she’s trying to follow the logic here, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t going to pull away, gently sweeping her thumb against ivy’s kneecap. ] Hey, talk to me. You know you always can, right?

throws a thing at you

[redrighthanded]

[ Usually, they trade off favors. He'll help her out intimidating some jumped-up mob guys who need to be shut down, then a few months later he might swing by needing some explosive power to take out a vampire nest. Little things, mostly an excuse to get into each other's orbit for a while. It's not as often as either of them might like, they've both got shit to do, lives to live, but somehow they make it work. And when it works, it really works.

This time, she's running the show. As always, Hellboy's happy to turn up where she needs him and punch who he asks her to punch, he's learned not to ask too many questions and chalks it up to assuming whoever else she might have asked might have done a messier job. And he wants to watch her back. Literally and figuratively.

He's doing that now, or really watching something a little lower down than her back, legs spread wide and a beer in one hand, taking up a decent part of a shadowy corner booth in the sort of bar that dive bars don't want to be. Something electric and thudding with bass is playing through hidden speakers overhead; the floor is sticky and everything smells like spilled beer and cheap, sugary vodka mixers. For some reason there's a hockey game playing silently on the TV above the bar. It's exactly the kind of joint Hellboy ends up in the most, where he usually feels at home, give or take a round of tequila shots -- he'd be the first to admit he's not a man of taste and refinement. And when it comes to Harley, he can't help but think he's hitting above his weight.

She doesn't make him feel it though; if anything she makes him feel more wanted, more accepted than he's felt in a long time, since before the Professor's death. And damn if he doesn't feel like the luckiest guy in the room every time she looks at him, every time he gets a glimpse of her ass, her tits spilling out of her top, the smile she flashes him -- everything.

He takes a swig of his beer and watches her with hooded, glowing eyes, not bothering to hide the grin that keeps creeping back around the edges of his mouth. ]

gasps!

[mahem]

[ there's always a little downtime for them with jobs like this; she doesn't plan it that way, rarely even has a plan to speak of, but that's usually how it works out, and as far as she's concerned, it makes the in-between moments even more fun because she gets to show him a good time then, too.

so this is the kind of bar they're both more at home in, some hole in the wall that most people wouldn't be caught dead in; she likes places like these more than the glitzy hotspots her ex always hauled her to, places that were more about being seen than anything else.

here, no one really even blinks twice when she walks in with this guy at her back — and when she eventually peels herself away from their booth to get another round at the bar, she can feel his eyes following her the whole time. it's not like there's much else to look at in here; most people are curled around their own drinks and happy to stay out of everyone else's business if they know what's good for them, and while she's instinctually sensing that she's being watched, she doesn't turn around, the eyes tattooed on her lower back above the low waistband of her shorts returning a look for her as she idly starts to sway her hips to the beat of the music.

she almost always feels a little giddy under his attention but now, when they don't have to worry about anything for the next few hours, she's vibrating with energy she needs to ditch, and she knows how good he is at helping her use it up.

by the time she returns to the booth, a cold beer in each hand, she sets the bottles down on the table first so her hands are free for one to brace against the back of the booth by his head, keeping most of her propped up as she bends forward at the waist to lean closer into his space. ]

You like what you see? [ she touches her tongue to the edge of her smirk once her gaze drops to the shape of his mouth, noting its curve. ]

[redrighthanded]

[ There's very little he doesn't like about Harley, but the tattoos are a particular point of interest, coinciding with his own idle interest in symbolism and meaning. He has a fondness for tracing them with a fingertip or his tongue when they're lying together in whatever motel bed or broken-down old couch in the back of a warehouse they've ended up in, likes telling her stories about what they might mean in other cultures, the power and protection of those eyes.

And, of course, he likes the fact that they make her look so sexy, though the fact that this particular one is right above the perfect globes of her ass also gives it certain points in its favour.

When she makes her way over he follows her with keen interest, tongue darting out to lick his lips as she sways into his personal space, until he can practically feel his own heartbeat along his slowly hardening dick.

He plays it cool, or at least as cool as a guy can get in cargo shorts and a regulation B.P.R.D. t-shirt, which is to say not especially cool, propping his right arm up along the back of the booth, knees spread wide and tail curling up against the floor. His gaze drifts down to her tits and, with an effort, comes back up again. He wonders if she can tell what he's looking at, given the lack of pupils, or if she's just really good at guessing.

He raises his eyebrows, his voice a low, pleased rumble. ]

How'd a good girl like you end up in a place like this?

birds of prey-ish

[bogans]

[ it would be an ass-backwards terrible idea to break into harleen quinzel's apartment, but then again, digger's always been the king of bad ideas. the man always had a slippery sort of charmed luck to him, too, until the day it ran out and the flash caught him.

also, he's drunk as a skunk.

he'd picked the locks on her door, then tripped over an old pizza box at the entrance, which conveniently dropped his head enough that his face wasn't immediately skewered by the booby trap which sent a bolt slamming into the wall right above him. (a crossbow? who fucking uses crossbows?)

he stumbles a little trying to weave his way through the mess, which is right about when the hyena might've chewed his arm off — but it turns out digger is good with dogs or dog-like things, and maybe the animal recognises a kindred spirit to its mistress, yet another half-crazed thief winding up on her doorstep, and so even the hyena lets him settle. hey then, brucey bruce bruce, the man says, as he stoops to scratch the beast under its massive jaw.

he shouldn't be out of prison yet — those pesky multiple life sentences — but then again, he's always been pretty good at slipping out of a noose.

so he's slumped on her threadbare sofa in the eclectic chaos of her flat; the man looking rumpled, disheveled as ever, a fresh bruise blooming under one eye and his clothes smelling of stale beer. there's a bit of whiskey soaking his beard, which bruce is contentedly licking off his cheek. his own GCPD wanted poster is crumpled and stuffed into the pocket of his jacket. and digger tips his head back and decides to wait for harley to get home. maybe he'll just doze a little.

she might shoot him when she gets in, spotting an intruder — but hell, there's worse ways to go, as they both know so well. ]

[mahem]

[ she’d had to completely pick herself up and find new digs after the last place had gotten blown to hell, but now she and brucie are plenty settled in a new apartment where she’s making enough now in her new role dealing with other people’s problems for them that she can keep herself afloat and still have enough leftover to afford puppy kibble. but the apartment is definitely reminiscent of its owner — the bedroom looks like a tornado ripped through it, clothes adorned with various sequins and bright colors thrown all over the bed and the floor a minefield of various pairs of heels, and the coffee table in the kitchen/living room area is covered with open cereal boxes, takeout containers, and at least one frisbee she’s been using as a plate. oh, and then there are the booby traps — which sometimes she forgets about too.

she stumbles in with her shoes dangling from two fingers, giggling softly to herself, and it doesn’t even occur to her that the front door’s unlocked now — or that she hadn’t left it that way when she’d walked out earlier in the night to meet helena and dinah at the club. besides, anyone who breaks in usually has bruce to deal with as a deterrent — usually.

the heels drop from her hand to hit the floor with a heavy thud and then she’s striding across the space, her sequined club dress turning her into a moving disco ball as she spares a brief glance for the figure slouched across her couch on her way to the fridge. ]

Oh, hey, Dig. [ she even makes it a few more steps before screeching to a dead stop, turning on her heel, and then she backs up until she’s standing over him, leaning forward to brace her hands on the back of the sofa and tilting forward so she’s looking at him upside down. ]

You — [ she boops the end of his nose with an index finger. ] — could’ve told me you were comin’ over, and you — [ the next point is reserved for bruce, who perks up with a tilt of his head. ] — are supposed to be keepin’ watch. [ the hyena’s ears droop and he drops down to lounge on the couch, his head falling against digger’s knee. ]

So what do I owe the pleasure of this little visit to, huh? ‘Cause I know you weren’t just feelin’ nostalgic for the good ol’ days. I saw your pic front and center at GCPD last month.

[bogans]

[ digger jolts awake with a yelp when she boops his nose; the sudden movement elicits a low growl from the hyena where he's resting on the man's leg (teeth worryingly close to his junk, one has to admit, but he's already accepted he's at this critter's mercy). but then digger makes himself sit still again. blinks and stares upward, trying to make sense of the view above him: the upside down face, the smear of glitter on her cheek, sweaty from a night of dancing, her hair dangling loose from its messy updo. some of it drifts into his face and he huffs a breath, blowing it away from his mouth. ]

Oh. Y'mean this? [ he fishes the paper out from his pocket, re-examines it. they're both a long way from louisiana, but the old dog is evidently up to his old tricks, if the crimes rattled off on the poster are any indication. ] They didn't capture my good side, I thought. But you're right, I'm in need of, uh, a favour. My last safe house got rumbled. Good henchmen are fucking impossible to find, I swear to god— either Batman puts 'em in the hospital or they betray you for more money, the absolute useless sods—

[ digger abruptly cuts off his tirade, scrubs at his scruffy jowls. ]

So. Nice place you got here. Got an air mattress for a very dear friend? Bestie? [ head still tipped back, he offers her a beaming, shit-eating radiant grin; as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, gold tooth winking at her. ]

skwad christmas;

[mahem]

[ it's not like they ever get a choice around when they're dragged out for another mission, shot up with a bomb in their necks and dropped into some hostile territory because the government needs bodies who will do the dirty deed for them — especially the ones who already have a rap sheet so they can be disavowed if they get caught. it's kind of a perfect plan, so diabolical that it almost makes harley respect amanda waller from a boss bitch standpoint. almost.

right now, she's not feeling very generous toward their leader for a lot of reasons, chief among them the fact that it's christmas and she's stuck in some shitty motel in a forgotten corner of the world because apparently criminals don't get to have time off for the holidays. part of her wishes she could be back in gotham now, especially around this time of year; there's the big tree lighting that some random rogue always tries to blow up just to lure the batman out of hiding, but harley mostly likes it because the city itself turns into a winter wonderland, white flakes falling on everything — even arkham — and making it feel like they're in a little snowglobe of their own.

but instead, she's sitting in a motel, no air conditioning, sweating her butt off even though what she's wearing barely amounts to anything that could be considered actual clothes, her trademark pink-and-blue pigtails long-since chopped off now that she's officially split off from j. having dropped onto one of the lumpy queen-sized mattresses, she's listening to the crappy tv play one of those animated holiday specials in some other kind of language, but the sound of weird scraping at the door sends her reaching for her bat and trying to catch whoever it is on the other side by surprise. ]

Yeah, just try to break into my room, you piece of — [ when she throws open the door, bat leveled in her other hand, her head just tilts in visible confusion. ] — tree?

dupverse, twin face hell edition

[kovach]

[ his boots scrape against the floor as he walks into the room. it looks like some shabby motel, except much more outdated than what he's used to, something he'd find on a planet where the tech advancements are backed up. the instructions he'd been given had told him to come here, with an added suggestion to "get comfortable", though he does little of that as he keeps his large jacket on, long as it extends down to his shins, collars propped up to cover his neck, making him appear even larger than he is, as if he ever needed the help.

peering around, it remains empty, meaning whoever he's supposed to be meeting hasn't arrived yet, leaving him to consider that he probably could have waited out longer to let him get here first, maybe planted himself in the shadows across the hall to get a read on them to maintain the advantage.

but it is what it is, and he sighs before he reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a carton of cigarettes so he can guide one of the sticks to his mouth, lighter soon following to brush the flame against the end, a bright concentrated glow in contrast to the low lighting that fills the rest of the room.

from there, he tosses himself onto the bed, a weak frame resulting in a high pitched squeak as he leans his back against the pillows, pulling up his feet to stretch across the mattress, boots and all. it did say to get comfortable, didn't it? ]

from the grave cause i felt festive

[twobullets]

[ He hasn't celebrated a holiday that even resembled a holiday since before he shipped out. They just sort of became days when he was overseas and then once he fell in with the wrong folk after he got home, they were nothing. Just days that blended into one shit storm. After that he got shipped to the Casa de Waller and then holidays didn't exist period. It was just one giant slog until you died, or you felt like dying. Once he got loose though and he found Harley once more those little things like holidays mattered. Birthdays. Special moments locked in dates. Anniversaries. Anniversaries of anniversaries. Floyd's a methodical man, but even he needs a calendar to keep those things straight. Holidays though are easy. The days don't change. He can't get tripped up from a Leap Year or something stupid.

Christmas as far as he can remember is a pretty decent one to celebrate with his girl for the first time. There's no tree yet, but she's done her own version of holiday decorations. They're unique. Special you could even say. The tree though is something he's going to do. Stealing it feels wrong. Buying it makes his skin crawl, but he wants it to be special. Any schmuck can steal a pine tree from some fucking lot and call it a day. No. Floyd pays because his baby deserves that much. He pays a punk kid ten bucks to help him drag it inside and then gives him the boot. He doesn't own a tree stand so he improvises. Just like he does with most of the decorations and the ornaments. They don't match worth a damn, but he figures they're more--them. ]

Whatcha think, Bruce?

[ He surveys the tree from a distance. Bruce isn't paying attention. He's busy sniffing around a spare room that he's shut the door to. It's a gift. A gift for her and a gift for Bruce in a way. A surprise. One that was incredibly fucking expensive on the black market. The only way you can sort of buy a hyena. Except this one's a lady. Little fucker deserves something nice and he knows Harley will like seeing Bruce happy. He's got some more materialistic gifts wrapped in newspaper under is tree, but those are for later. After the whole hyena thing.

Floyd discards his t-shirt onto the arm of the couch. Damn thing was covered in sap and pine needles. This has left him shirtless in a Santa hat and some rough looking jeans, but none of that matters. He checks his watch and lets out a low whistle. ] Fuck. [ She should be back soon which is exactly why he adopts an almost awkward pose by the tree as he waits for her to get home. When the keys jingle in the lock and he sees it open he grins. ] Merry Christmas, baby doll.