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Love Is Just Another Four-Letter Word (but that never stopped nobody)

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 I see you watching me, eyes on your target
Mixed drinks and smoke rings it’s already started
It won’t be too long before me and you
Are doing what lovers do

“So, I hear you’re the Joker’s new plaything.”

The sultry, smoke voice comes from the woman seated in the booth across Harley. Her green velvet evening dress is liquid around her hourglass figure, and green eyes glint from underneath red-gold lashes. Harley’s never been more enchanted.

“Y-yeah. Harley Quinn. Pleased to meetcha.” She holds out one hand, covered in chunky rings. The woman raises one eyebrow and leans forward to shake Harley’s hand, but before she does

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, sweetheart.”

At the sound of her Puddin’s voice, Harley jumps to her feet. She feels the red-haired woman’s eyes lingering on her, and feels like a streetwalker in the fishnet stockings and half red, half black dress that looked mature and sultry back in her bedroom mirror. At least I’m not wearing the pigtails, she thinks, and fights the urge to run her hand self-consciously through her blonde curls.

“I was talking to Harley, of course,” Mr. J drawls. “You’re anything but a sweetheart, Pammy.”

“Ah, J. Wish I could say it was a pleasure, but I’d be lying.”

Joker takes a seat, clearly expecting Harley to sit on his lap, but under the cool green gaze of “Pammy”, she flushes and instead scoots in next to him in the too-small booth of the Iceberg Lounge.

“He’s right, though, Harley. Skin-to-skin contact is all it takes for me to kill a man."

Harley smirks. "Good thing I'm a woman then."

Joker chuckles. “Meet my new business associate. Harls, this is Poison Ivy, but I call her Pammy. She just loves it, don’tcha Pam?”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response, Joker.” Ivy’s cool gaze slides disinterestedly past Harley as she and Joker begin to negotiate, and Harley pouts.

Under the table, she slips one of her stiletto heels off and begins sliding her foot up Ivy’s leg, bare through the thigh-high slit in her dress. Ivy’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly and she glances sideways at Harley.

Harley winks.


 

Clothes on the floor we’re exploring our bodies
Getting you off is my new favorite hobby
Lipstick on your neck brands like a tattoo
Cause that’s just how lovers do

They share a room in Arkham Asylum, and Mr. J’s in solitary, so he doesn’t know about the almost tender way Ivy strips Harley of their orange jumpsuits and begins kissing down her spine. When Ivy orgasms, her cheeks flush pink and she makes a soft “ohh” little noise. The first time she does it, it makes Harley determines to hear it again, and when she gets something into her head she can be very, very determined.

Soon enough, through exchanged threats, bribes, and kisses, the security guards know not to check on Isley and Quinzel after lights-out. And no one, not even Two-Face, says a word when Ivy walks into the breakfast hall the next day with her roommate’s trademark red lipstick stamped onto her neck, the same color as her hair.
Ivy and Harley ignore each other at breakfast, as they always do.  Harley sits with Nygma, Tetch, and Crane, all of whom have admitted to enjoying the company of the little henchwench, while Ivy, as usual, sits alone.


 

Oh, love is just another four letter word but that never stopped nobody

When Harley breaks out, she doesn’t bring her cellmate with her. She goes straight back to Joker, and if Ivy’s hurt, she doesn’t show it.

“I’m not sure she has emotions at all,” Jervis Tetch confesses to Jonathan Crane in a whisper, glancing over his shoulder to make sure she hasn’t heard him. But no, she’s by the window, whispering to one of her plants.

“Oh, she has emotions, Tetch. Just not for humans,” muses the Scarecrow, and his fingers twitch the way they do when he’s itching to start taking notes.

(Jervis steals his cellmate a pen and lets him take notes on his back. After all, they’re no longer allowed paper after that thing with Joker…)


 

That’s how it goes so take care like a grownup
Life’s not a fairytale it’s hard to own up

Two months later, Ivy finds her greenhouse broken into and her experiments stolen, and her plants all doused with weed killer.

She falls to her knees among crumbling leaves and screams in fury because she told the location of her hideout to only one person who she was stupid enough to trust.

When she reaches Harley’s apartment and slams down the door, she expects to find the clown girl in full whiteface with a mallet in her hands, but instead she finds Harley Quinn crying in front of a mirror with a “J” branded onto her hipbone with the sort of tool one uses to brand cattle.

Harley sees the look in her former lover’s face. “Pammy don’t -”

Joker exits the bedroom, a cattle iron glowing in his hand, and Pamela sees red.

 

Hire a hitman to take care of you
And end it like lovers do

“Ivy, please. I’m begging ya!” Harley’s on her knees, tears ruining her clown makeup, and if Ivy had looked at her face, she would have given in.

Ivy doesn’t look at her face. Instead she looks at the Joker, bloody and bruised in front of her, but nowhere near as bruised as his little plaything.
“You hurt her, Joker. You destroy everything good in life. I don’t know why I’m surprised that you brainwashed Dr. Quinzel, the only good thing in this goddamn asylum!”

She’s not human or nature in that moment, but the embodiment of fury: eyes set on her target, and deadly vines twisting at her command. He’s laughing, of course he’s laughing, and all she wants is for him to SHUT THE HELL UP

She leaves Harley to sob over his corpse.


 

I see you watching me eyes on your target
Mixed drinks and smoke rings it’s already started

Harley Quinn hasn’t been seen in four months, so Penguin drops his drink when she walks into his club, skin bleached white, hair dyed half black and half red, and eyes cold.
The bubbly cheerleader, the intelligent psychiatrist, the obedient henchgirl had all been discarded like old leaves, and as she swansinto the club with her hyenas on a diamond leash, Cobblepot thinks she looks even scarier than the Joker himself.

“M-Miss Quinn,” he stammers. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, you can, Ozzy, thanks.” Harley’s Brooklyn accent is gone, and she enunciates her words with a deadly precision. “Where is Pamela Isley?”


 

Let’s roll the dice and we’ll both make our moves -

 “This has been a long time coming, hasn’t it, Pamela?”

“Only my friends call me Pamela, Harley Quinn.”

“It’s Queen Harley Quinn, actually. Queen of Gotham. And you don’t have any friends, Pamela. We both know that.”

Pam's green eyes flick to the new inhabitants of her green house and Harley laughs cruelly. “Any friends that can’t be taken care of with a bottle of herbicide, I mean.”

Ivy’s fists clench and a mutated Venus flytrap flexes threateningly. “Are you here to kill me?”

“No, darling. I’m here to do this.” Harley Quinn punches Poison Ivy in the mouth and the young goddess of nature falls to the hard dirt. When Ivy moves, the two hyenas bare their teeth at her challengingly, and she stays put.

Harley tosses a vial of acid at the Venus flytrap and it wilts. It doesn’t scream, but Ivy howls.

“Okay.” Harley says, withdrawing a pair of pruning shears. “Now I’m here to kill you.”


 Playing like lovers do


 

Two years earlier, Pamela looks suspiciously up at the woman who’d entered her cell. “You’re the new doctor, aren’t you?”

“My name’s Harleen Quinzel. It’s nice to finally meet you, Miss Isley.”

“You got me my window back.”

“I want to be your friend.” Dr. Quinzel smiles, so gentle and trusting it makes Ivy almost sad. “They’re going to eat you alive in here,” she says, dispassionately.

Harleen shrugs. “We’ll see.”

 

Either way we lose

Just like lovers, just like lovers do