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jamjar: (pretty Harley)
"I ain’t gonna do it, Red."

"Uh-huh." And if she adds just a trace more –-oh, maybe more than a trace of nitrate, because her babies deserve it-- then she can increase the growth just enough to—

"Are you listening to me?"

"Of course I am, Harley," Ivy says. And then if she lets them grow on that wonderful soil she found in the--"

"That was the last time, ever, because you never respect me after," Harley says.

"Hmm. No, of course no--" Wait, what was that? Ivy looks up at Harley’s back. Her ponytails float above her shoulder and even from behind, Ivy can tell that she has her arms crossed and her lips pouting. "Harley, what’s this about?"

Harley turns around, knocking over several valuable test tubes and sending Ivy scrambling for them. Harley, as ever, is oblivious to the chaos she causes in Ivy’s carefully ordered lab. "I’ll tell you what it’s about! It’s about respect. It’s about you showing me a little appreciation. I don’t go jumping in the Gotham City Aquarium for anyone, ya know," she says, sounding hurt. Her arms are folded under her Arkham Amateur Softball Team T-shirt and she still smells like seaweed, pacing up and down the workbench. "And I don’t get any thanks. No respect." She stops pacing and stands still, looking down at Ivy. There’s a smear of dried mud, probably gained during her scramble through Swamps Of The Worlds. "You don’t repect me at all."

"Because you were caught," Ivy says, trying to keep her voice patient. "You almost brought the wrath of the Bat on us. And of course I-- consider you a good friend."

Harley looks down at her suspiciously. "So does that mean you respect me?"

Anything to get you off my work surface and away from my-- "Yes," Ivy says. She looks Harley in the eye and makes her voice sincere, curling one hand around Harley’s ankle to prevent any more pacing. "Of course I do." She really does smell of seaweed. Ivy tugs her, not quite enough to get her off balance and Harley takes it as a cue, somersaulting down. She holds her hands together, pressed against her chest.

"You really mean that, Red?" Harley says, sounding hopeful. Her hair looks like two shocks of wheat in the sterile lights of the lab. "’Cause you’re my bestest galpal, ya know?" She’s up on her tiptoes, leaning forwards, kinetic energy in waiting. It was a particularly rare strain of kelp she dove for, distinctive in colour and chemical composition, with a fascinating potential phylogeny...

"I know," Ivy says. "And you’re..." She pauses, leans forward to wipe a smear of sugar off the corner of Harley’s mouth.

Harley beams, leans forward and kisses her.
jamjar: (Nightwing and Robin)
"This is what I don't get," Tim says. "They know we've got grapples. They know there are way too many metas that can fly. They know that half the capes in the JLU have got anti-grav or wings or something. And they still never look up." He jumps on the railing of the fire-escape, changes from a crouch to a handstand and then hooks his legs into the bar above. On the street three stories below, the cops are pushing Clayface into one of the modified vans. "You think it's a criminal trait? Start stealing candy from old ladies and babies, surround yourself with two-bit thugs that make Grundy look like Luthor, and you lose the ability to look up once in a while."

Dick leans against the railings. "Not everyone takes the high-road," he says. "Most people go through life on ground level." He looks at Tim and raises an eyebrow. "And right side up."

Tim takes out a powerbar and takes out a bite. Dick can see his throat move, working against gravity. He finishes it off and, because Alfred's training is more powerful than even Bruce's, he scrunches the wrapper up and tucks it into a pocket in his belt. "Yeah? Poor bastards."

"I don't think they mind," Dick says.

Tim pulls himself up and on the way, kisses Dick. The angle is doubly strange, upside down and to one side, but Dick is nothing if not flexible. Tim unhooks his legs and jumps back on to the fire-escape, his face still red from the blood rushing to it. "That's just because they don't know what they're missing."
jamjar: (Nightwing and Robin)
Title: Play
Disclaimer: Not mine, belongs to the wonderful world of DCU toons
Extra disclaimer: All [livejournal.com profile] thete1's fault. As are some of the lines, and a lot of the action.
Notes: Totally gratuitous chatborn porn threesomes. I *must* stop doing this. )
jamjar: (Default)
They're both approximately the same height and colouring, one gave the impression of being darker, while the other has a steadfast aura of tweed. Being able to give the appearance of wearing a tweed suit while wearing spandex is rarely listed as a meta-ability, but Wally is starting to feel that it should be.

'Who are you? How did you...?' )
jamjar: (Default)
Firstly, a little something I like to call the PreYJ OT3 Gen fic. Oh yes, it has a proper title, but I like all the little words and letters.

Young Justice (DCU):

The Case Of the Disappearing Felines.
Bart, Kon and Tim, when they were young, and Tim hadn't revealed his real name and Superboy didn't *have one*.

Next, in response to the amnesty challenge at [livejournal.com profile] dc_flashfiction

Batman Beyond:
Beyond the Veil.
Bruce and Terry. Note: This at one point had the working title "big scary batgod fic."

And in case anyone missed it (and you weren't missing much),over at [livejournal.com profile] weneedhelp,

DCU/Good Omens crossover madness!

Why yes, I am very suggestible. How did you know?"
jamjar: (stone cold bitch)
Title: Socialise
Fandom: Batman Beyond
Disclaimer: Not mine, never were.
Notes: [livejournal.com profile] buggery needed cheering up. Possibly, there are other ways to make someone feel better than Bruce/Terry porn, but neither of us could think of any off the top of our heads. Written in AIM, so unbeta'd. Comments, criticisms and pointing out of mistakes is always appreciated.

It's the kind of party Terry is only just comfortable at )

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jamjar

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