moved!

capturing the villain rule #14: never, ever trust the villain.Indie Harley Quinn. Pre-52/DCAU-based. Written by Piri. Read rules first.

[psyclownsis-a-blog]

If Arkham taught me anything, it was this: everyone has a stranger in ‘em. Everyone has something locked up so deep that they have no idea it’s even there. Me. You. Everyone. Except the Joker. He’s unique. One of a kind. But as a boyfriend, he has some commitment issues. And I mean more than just not wanting to hold hands in public. At least, that’s what I told myself… the first seventeen times. But you know what I found out about myself? I totally dug shock therapy. Besides, revenge and anger are awfully good motivators. But that was a long time ago. I was a different person. Now I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes leaving a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.

[psyclownsis-a-blog]

If Arkham taught me anything, it was this: everyone has a stranger in ‘em. Everyone has something locked up so deep that they have no idea it’s even there. Me. You. Everyone. Except the Joker. He’s unique. One of a kind. But as a boyfriend, he has some commitment issues. And I mean more than just not wanting to hold hands in public. At least, that’s what I told myself… the first seventeen times. But you know what I found out about myself? I totally dug shock therapy. Besides, revenge and anger are awfully good motivators. But that was a long time ago. I was a different person. Now I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes leaving a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.

[psyclownsis-a-blog]

If Arkham taught me anything, it was this: everyone has a stranger in ‘em. Everyone has something locked up so deep that they have no idea it’s even there. Me. You. Everyone. Except the Joker. He’s unique. One of a kind. But as a boyfriend, he has some commitment issues. And I mean more than just not wanting to hold hands in public. At least, that’s what I told myself… the first seventeen times. But you know what I found out about myself? I totally dug shock therapy. Besides, revenge and anger are awfully good motivators. But that was a long time ago. I was a different person. Now I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes leaving a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.

[psyclownsis-a-blog]

If Arkham taught me anything, it was this: everyone has a stranger in ‘em. Everyone has something locked up so deep that they have no idea it’s even there. Me. You. Everyone. Except the Joker. He’s unique. One of a kind. But as a boyfriend, he has some commitment issues. And I mean more than just not wanting to hold hands in public. At least, that’s what I told myself… the first seventeen times. But you know what I found out about myself? I totally dug shock therapy. Besides, revenge and anger are awfully good motivators. But that was a long time ago. I was a different person. Now I’m just a well-adjusted gal who likes leaving a serious amount of mayhem in her wake.

[aintyourpuddin-old]

this blog is now an archive!

i have the new one all set up, same url, new pages and tagging system. i’ll reblog the new promo on here for a bit and start getting active on the new blog today. hope you all had a fun christmas!

[aintyourpuddin-old]

five times kissed

yall sent these in forever ago and i havent finished a single one because im awful at mushy gooey physical romance scenes so sORRY but im gonna publish what i have anyway so i can clear out my drafts before moving blogs

1. They’re still learning. Pamela still pushes her arms away more often than not, Harley still apologizes too much. But they’re getting better. Practice makes perfect, after all. And Harley doesn’t mind being the one to move first every time.

Really, she doesn’t.

She knows that if she gives Ivy enough affection, eventually, she’ll get used to it. So that’s precisely what she does. She gives praise, she gives pet names, she gives hugs, she gives kisses, she gives little touches to the small of Ivy’s back or her thigh or the back of her hand.

Today, Ivy’s reading on the couch, and today, Harley leans right over the back of it and kisses her on the cheek. Her lips barely even brush green skin. Easy, simple, slow.

She doesn’t get three steps back on her way before Ivy’s hand is around her wrist and she gets pulled back down.

2. “I’m done.”

Harley’s crying, all dribbling make-up and trembling lips and wet, shivering voice choked out over a lump in her throat. She cries like a little kid. It’s embarrassing and painful to watch.

“I’m done,” she says again. “I’m done. You don’t-- you don’t love me, you don’t care, I’m DONE, I don’t need this from you--”

Ivy can’t move. Harley is turning, Harley is stepping, Harley is putting on her jacket and gathering what little possessions she has. Ivy is terrified.

I DO LOVE YOU. It’s buzzing in her head like static. I DO CARE. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. IT HURTS. I HATE IT. I LOVE YOU.

“Don’t,” is all that comes out.

“Don’t WHAT? Don’t stand up for myself? Don’t let you walk all over me? Don’t exist in a way that isn’t beneficial to you getting your rocks off?” Harley snatches a mug off the counter-top and hurls it at Pamela. “I HATE YOU!” She looks around for something else to throw, and a second later there’s a butter knife sailing by Ivy’s head. “YOU’RE SO GODDAMN SELFISH! I DON’T NEED THIS! I DON’T NEED YOU!!”

Harley scans around her frantically for other weapons, and when she doesn’t find any, her eyes snap to Ivy. She runs. She sprints. Her arms are out and she’s winding up to punch and she is so sick of everyone trying to control her--

“WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ON YOUR OWN, HUH?” Ivy shouts, ducking and trying to move out of reach. “WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO? GO BACK TO ARKHAM? GO BACK TO THE CLOWN?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Harley’s fist leaves a dent in the vine-covered wall, strings of green clinging to it when she pulls away. “I DON’T CARE!”

“LOOK ME IN THE EYE AND SAY THAT.”

Harley can’t punch anymore; she’s got branches and creeper vines piling onto her arms and holding her in place. She tries to kick Pamela, and her legs start to get overgrown, too. She tries to bite through them and one lashes her across the face. It leaves a bleeding line on her cheek.

“LOOK AT ME,” Ivy snarls. “LOOK AT ME, RIGHT HERE, AND TELL ME YOU DON’T CARE.”

Harley looks. She opens her mouth. She can’t say anything. Her lips move, like they’re trying to form words, but nothing comes out. She tries. She fails. She tries again. She fails. She shuts her mouth and fresh tears start to well up in her eyes.

Ivy moves closer, and the vines loosen and recede.

“I do love you,” she tells Harley. It almost sounds nervous. “I do.”

Harley, now curled up in a little ball and crying silently on the floor, nods in defeat. Ivy kneels and smooths blonde hair away from her face, before pressing a gentle kiss to Harley’s forehead.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

[aintyourpuddin-old]

five times kissed

yall sent these in forever ago and i havent finished a single one because im awful at mushy gooey kissing scenes so sORRY but im gonna publish what i have anyway so i can clear out my drafts before moving blogs

1. She’s scared. She’s low on cash, her clothes don’t hide her well enough hours after escaping from Arkham, she’s been kicked out of no less than four separate houses and hideouts. It’s dark and cold and all she wants is for someone to look at her like she isn’t something consumable.

She doesn’t know if he’s still where he used to be, or if there’s someone new in the apartment now. She doesn’t know if she’ll even get past the front desk. But what other options does she have?

She moves through the building in a haze, tired and shivering, her hair tucked into the hood of her sweatshirt. Stairs, fluorescent lighting, thin carpet over cement, the smell of cleaner in a place that hasn’t been aired out– she’s been in worse. Compared to Arkham, it’s practically the Taj Mahal.

Her knock is hesitant on the door. Scared. She doesn’t think she’ll be able to handle one more person turning her out. It seems like an eternity before the door opens, and he looks surprised to see her, like he thought she’d be too good for this. (It’s almost funny, because she used to think the same thing about him.)

“I–” don’t have any friends, don’t have anywhere to go, am sorry, just need a couch for the night, promise.

He just pulls her tight against his chest.

“I got you,” he says gently, and she can feel him press a kiss to the top of her head before closing the door. “You’re okay. I got you.”

2. “I got a job interview today,” she calls excitedly from inside the bathroom. The door is open, he can see her– she’s already fully dressed and doing her makeup. He just woke up. He almost feels insulted after all the times she came into his class late.

“There’s those new office buildings they jus’ put up on Cicero, there’s a whole buncha private practices goin’ in–”

Her accent’s slipping: not proper, but not cartoonish, either. It’s not at either end of her professional spectrum. He knows this is how she sounds when she’s home.

“This’s gonna be great, I’m gonna have money in time f’r Christmas shopping–”

She puts on her little round glasses, and she looks nothing and everything like Harleen Quinzel. She rushes over to him and hugs him tight before he can protest, kisses his cheek happily– “Wish me luck!!”– and then she’s gone, waving and grinning and calling goodbye as she rushes out the door with her coat over her arm.

He doesn’t realize there’s a bright pink lipstick print on his face until three hours later.

[aintyourpuddin-old]

5x kissed meme pleathe

yall sent these in forever ago and i havent finished a single one because im awful at mushy gooey physical romance scenes so sORRY but im gonna publish what i have anyway so i can clear out my drafts before moving blogs

1. It’s dark in the maintenance corridor. It’s cold, too– dark, cold, dusty. Not exactly a romantic getaway. She can’t stop looking over her shoulder and looking up into corners of the ceiling, thinking someone’s going to find them any second.

“There’s not an electric lock on the door,” she tells him. Her fingers are rubbing anxiously at her security badge. If there were an electric lock on the door, that would make her feel fractionally more confident with this, because then it would be that much less likely that someone attempting to escape would stumble on them. She wonders if maybe that’s what he’s going to do– get her to take him out here and show him how to get out of the building, and then leave her high and dry with a wave and a smile. She probably wouldn’t mind too much if he did.

“Jay, I’m serious, somebody could–”

Dr. Quinzel can’t finish the rest of her sentence. It’s clear that escaping the asylum isn’t what he had in mind, now– before she knows it he’s got her against a derelict security desk, and while she may still have her doubts, he’s not giving her any opportunities to voice them.

“– Think of it this way.” He pulls away and murmurs close to her ear, holding a thumb tight over her lips and tracing the buttons on her blouse with his other hand. “Nobody will know we’re in here if you keep quiet.”

And with the way he smiles at her after that, she knows it won’t be easy.

2. It rains all the time in Gotham. She’s used to this by now. What she isn’t used to is suddenly finding herself the goal of two scrambling hyenas that probably weigh more than her and J put together. Bud and Lou don’t scare easy– they can’t, not with the family they have and the line of work they’re in. Attack dogs can’t tuck tail and run.

It’s the thunder that does it tonight. And she doesn’t blame them– the rain outside is deafening against their roof and walls, the thunder rattles the warehouse frame. She wouldn’t be surprised if she looked out a window and found them caught up in a hurricane a la The Wizard of Oz. So here her babies are, at some ungodly hour of the morning, pawing urgently between her and J on the bed and hunkering down against each other in tight, trembling curls.

“God damn it,” comes Joker’s voice, now muffled behind a furry heap of Bud. “The Hell are you doin’, the one night I get some fuckin’ sleep all week–”

“Puddin’.” She’s whispering, as though their voices could possibly scare the hyenas more than they already are. She reaches over (has to sit up on her knees and place a hand between Bud and Lou for support to reach across them both) and gives his chest a gentle, insistent push with her fingertips. “Honey, they’re scared.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.They’re hyenas. Vicious killin’ machines. They don’t have anything to be scared about.”

On cue, a bolt of thunder resounds throughout the warehouse, and the hyenas whine pitifully and try to burrow further into the bed. Joker groans and drags a hand down his face.

“Stupid mutts, oughta have you skinned an’ made into rugs…”

“He doesn’t mean that,” Harley says, prying Lou’s face up until she can drape an arm around the hyena’s fluffy neck with a quivering muzzle against her chest. She scratches the top of Lou’s head with one hand and starts rubbing Bud’s back with the other. Then she prods at Joker’s shoulder until he looks up at her and gives him a Look that says start cuddling these hyenas or you’ll be the one skinned and made into a rug. He does so, begrudgingly.

“You’re lucky she loves you so much,” he tells Lou, adjusting his position until he’s lying on his side with a hand propped under his head and the other one rubbing behind the hyena’s ears.

The storm passes soon after, and it doesn’t take long for the four of them to fall asleep in a pile. Harley’s the last one to go. She’s watching the other three in the light from the city outside, filtering dirty through their broken blinds. Her boys. Her family. It takes some effort, but she manages to scootch over enough to place a tiny kiss on J’s temple without waking him up again.

He’s right– they are lucky she loves them so much.

[softbelles-deactivated20230705]

[cruelpersuasion-blog]

There’s a fistfight in Time’s Square. four people, each of them at each other’s throats. Clawing, hitting, kicking, biting- it’s a particularly brutal fight. One that suggests they were told to ‘beat each other until there’s only one left breathing’. No cops dare to interfere, they’re just told to ‘run along’ and ‘look the other way’ if they try.

It was fun at first, now there’s a crowd starting to gather and it’s begun to drag on. Two of them are already out, bleeding. Two remain. Shifting on his feet, the orchestrator of this sick event audibly sighs, clearly tired of being there.

“Can you believe it? They’ve been going at it for hours! Honestly I only expected them to last a good thirty minutes or so… Think I should tell one just to stand still and let what happens happen?”

[aintyourpuddin-old]

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she’s squinting at the fighters, tilting her head this way and that to get better angles-- sizing them up. She could take them if they weren’t under Kilgrave’s orders. She’s tempted to try taking them anyway. After a few seconds, she purses her lips and shakes her head.

“Naaaah. That’s more business ‘n casual, in my experience. Y’ wanna make it really ennertainin’, tell ‘em both t’ stop, an’ then whisper contradictin’ instructions in their ears. Like, make one keep fightin’ an’ have th’ other one think he’s madly in love with him, an’ then send ‘em back in. ‘S classic.”

[wexler]

[aintyourpuddin-old]

morebullets:

Floyd lofted a brow with the vague feeling he was telling Harley wayyyy too much already. He kept walking, but figured it didn’t hurt to tell her. “Y’hear of Scandal Savage? Was for her birthday, few years back when I was with the Six.”

Her face lights up. “Really? That’s so sweet, oh my God! Did she like it? She liked it, right? I knew you had a nice side.”

(Note to self: make sure Deadshot knows when her birthday is. Then, guilt trip him into getting her something if he doesn’t think they’re friendly enough to do it on his own. Like, what the Hell, man. How many times has she saved your ass. Probably a lot. You two qualify as at least good work buddies.)

[aintyourpuddin-old]

morebullets:

“Cigarettes and butter brickle ice cream.” Lawton replied, matter-of-fact. He didn’t see the same romantic image of himself that Harley did. It didn’t cross his mind that anything about him was glamorous. And he didn’t want it any other way. 

“Ice cream wasn’t for me.”

“Then who’s it for?”

It occurs to her that maybe she’s prying a little too much, but it doesn’t stop her from asking. If he doesn’t want to talk about something, he can just say so, can’t he? Communication is key to a healthy relationship, after all. The last thing she wants to do is make him feel like she didn’t care.

“-- Y’ don’t gotta answer that, if y’ don’t want to.”

[aintyourpuddin-old]

i cant come up with a good relationship tag for harley/roman on my new blog and its pISSING ME OFF

[aintyourpuddin-old]

🎁 🎁 🎁 last two are for harley, one box has two pairs of boots (black and red); the other is his dick in a box ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

send 🎁 to give and/or get a present from Harley!

She got him a lot of stuff. She always gets him a lot of stuff. It’s just her thing. There’s a big bottle of some Fancy Special Edition of his favorite whiskey, a 3-pair package of socks patterned with puppies eating small woodland critters, a bow tie that matches the socks, and a beanie/scarf/glove set with fun little pictures of bombs cleverly disguised as ice cream on them.

The first gift from him gets a squeal and a string of thank-you-oh-my-god-these-are-perfect-I-love-them-just-what-I-needs, and then of course she has to try them on and see how they feel and model them for him. They’re adorable. Obviously. The second gift? That one’s got her on the floor laughing.

“I hope you got a gift receipt,” is the first thing she says once she regains her composure. And then she promptly breaks down laughing again.

It’s safe to say that both his presents were definitely winners.

[aintyourpuddin-old]

crimealleysnapshots:

“Robin has been known to take advantage of 24-hour drive-thru service,” Tim admits, trotting along behind the taller woman. 

“Batman may get away with being a myth, but I’ve found in my own case, being present is more fear-inducing.” And kicking. Lots of kicking. But Harley knows that part first-hand.

“Nice. You ever think about gettin’ like an official Twitter or Instagram or somethin’? I got both. ‘S real fun. Makes it a lot easier t’ get stuff sent in at Arkham, too.” There’s a beat, and then she adds, “Legal stuff. Like toothpaste ‘n’ movies ‘n’ things.”

They reach the coffee cart. The man working slides open the front window and leans out to take their orders.

“Uhh-- medium s’mores latte,” Harley tells him as she starts to open her wallet, breath fogging and flying away in the night air. “Decaf, please. An’ whatever Mista Boy Scout here wants.”

[aintyourpuddin-old]

“🎁” :3

send 🎁 to give and/or get a present from Harley!

“I have a meeting, and then I’m off for the holidays. I’m afraid I won’t be able to make our therapy session. The guards will be here, though. Boles told me they’ve got something extra special planned for you.”

(Is it too much to ask Santa or God or Whatever Is Up There that her reward for being good all year is to finally let him die?)

“Merry Christmas. Have fun without me.”