#august 2017.

jeremy that’s gay - (please don’t tag as kin/me/etc.)

          “It’s true that a lot of our deep-seated issues revolve around our relationships with our parents,” Harley Harleen replied, one long leg crossed over the other as she glanced up towards the other over the rim of her glasses.  “But that doesn’t mean that those issues can be resolved by killing them -- as nice as that’d be and all.”

2nd pic is transparent ‘cause why not

      “I mean, as far as prison pics go, I’d rate it a solid seven,” Harley suggested, peering over their shoulder to the file open on the desk in front of them.  “Not exactly the best of hair days, but you get dragged outta the river by your feet and try not to look like a drowned rat when it counts.”

          The sound of bent metal, the shatter of glass, the screech of tires -- i can’t swim! -- ( she shoulda woulda coulda learned from the last time ) -- pain raced, ricocheting across her face, her shoulder... for a minute there she was flying, flying like an eagle -- landing like a chicken.  She came to a stop suddenly, painfully, any sound she made swallowed by the air that got knocked clean out of her lungs, limbs crumpling in in awkward, and most definitely unladylike angles.  “I’m gonna kick somebody’s ass,” she managed to gasp, a hand dragging across her eyes to try and get the rain and blood out of them to see just who it was to blame for her current conundrum.

          Her breath was shallow, a shudder trailing down her spine that she tried to control, tried to swallow back the faint groan, the barest whimper of pain from where she had collapsed onto the floor.  Blood still stained her lips, gashes seen across her side, an unpleasant assortment of scrapes and bruises dotting her person.  “Fuck,” she exhaled roughly, her lashes forced upon through sheer force of will to try and see the face that went with the footsteps that she could swear she could feel through the floor.

          “Wheeeeeeeeeeeee,” the voice came from above, ending in a laugh that was more cackle than giggle and was found to emerge from the blonde that was contentedly tangled in the mess of ropes that hung haphazardly from the roof and rafters of the heretofore abandoned building that was one of a half dozen being considered another base of operations by Joker.  “I approve,” she called.

      “Woah, hang on -- did you see that?!”  She had moved quickly to her feet at the flashes of light, the low growl and faint feel of thunder tumbling through the air within seconds.  “Since when is lightning purple?!”