We are so F***ed

BY : Fairy Peacock
Category: DC Verse Cartoons > Batman: The Animated Series
Dragon prints: 4637
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

We are so F***ed
Rating: R
Summary: Inspired by Angela Carter’s “Shadow Dance.” Harley Quinn is severely beaten and has a six-month-old child. Poison Ivy is in town, Joker got a new girlfriend and the Riddler is secretly married to Livewire. Harley Quinn’s POV
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Just letting you know, this is a crack fic that came to my head in my sleep. It was like, “What if Harley really got with Ivy?” And a whole bunch of shit began popping in my head like “Riddler getting married,” and Joker getting a new girlfriend. So reviews are appreciated, but not flames. I’ll just laugh. Also, point out where there are mistakes please so I get to fixing them.
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Right now, I’m in a bar, the vacant stares of people in the criminal underworld watching me. Yes I have my “war paint” on, but it barely covered the huge gash on my cheek that discolored my fair skin, making it black and blue as if a fountain pen exploded on my face. My lithe, giggly smile was replaced by an incessant scowl of sadness and depression as I was kicked out—again, but not only temporally. Puddin’, or ex-puddin, I should say. I always fell for his tactics. Why did I always crawl back to him in my submissive manner as if I was begging for his company and his domineering attitude? I was like glass, so fragile, so fine and so easy to break. And now the bruise, a terrible contusion that nearly split my face in half, black and blue in profile and thus stitches near my mouth looked like Scarecrow’s fucking mask.
Boyfriends are to kiss you good night, give you flowers, chocolate and occasional card for birthday or Christmas. Well, I got a slap goodnight, a box filled punches and sexual harassment was the closest thing to enjoyable birthday sex. I guess I deserved it. I was flirting with another guy while out of my costume. Butterfly kisses, sweet chocolate—I dreamed of that. I mean, I did have boyfriends in the past, but none of them were so exhilarating, so…fun. And crime was the best thing I ever turned to.
“Take care of her.”
And that’s what he did. He took a huge mallet-thing and struck me repeatedly over the face with it, doused in me in cold water and dragged me out our hideout by my hair and basically cursed me out. I was stranded, lost, bleeding…and even worse, pregnant. I didn’t tell him though. And now, she’s six-months, at home with some fellow prostitutes while I am here, drinking.
Everyone knew why I had this blatantly black and blue disfiguration that made me look as if I was a zombie with whiteface caked on and a harlequin outfit on. I wore the scar with a sense of disturbed pride, as if I survived what Mr. J could actually dish out. There was the naïve and childish pride of being a criminal. I did a lot of things for that man. I actually cut my golden tresses short so the harlequin hat could fit a hold set of hair. I shiver went down the bartender’s spine as he saw me, looking at me as if I was what I just described myself as. I distanced myself from him as he poured the drink.

Exposure to so much old water (rain and otherwise) made my voice hoarse, evocative and witchy. I mean, I sounded like a valley-girl and I still did, but with a darker edge to it, making people tinge when I spoke to them. I guess due to the reality shock, my giddy nature began to dissipate over time. Joker frequently compared me to a bucket of daises or moonlight, but that was before he brought down a heavy hatchet, mallet-whatever and tore my face in half with bruises that might never heal.
I lost a lot of weight after my child was born, so I looked like a wraith or some sort of spectral harlequin-themed apparition, as thin and ethereal as air or some sort of haunting ghost losing its way through the human world. My bones had thinned out. I mean, I still retained femininity and a certain amount of grace. My face wasn’t destroyed, just blemished with bruises, black eye and a stitch against my mouth. My hair was like straw though. Moonlight, daisies and roses were all gems of precious status compared to me now. Mr. J could never understand to treat someone. He found pleasure in tormenting people. He bought me gifts for me to come back and I fell for it every time. But apparently, he grew sick of me, didn’t want me back.
Immediately after sex (which was almost like rape ‘cause I didn’t even want it that badly), he was pissed. The sex went badly I guess because I wasn’t in to it. And then I made it worse by flirting. I came home, ready to give him what he wanted and then the weapon came down.
Afterwards, I guess reverted back to my promiscuous ways. I slept with most guys that found interest in me (which was quite a lot despite the bruise) and they paid me to do so. That was the only way to take care of the baby. I became a prostitute, another kind of monster in the peripheral sense as I reflected on this. I wandered through trashy alleyways, were the seedy and sordid with their hard eyes and even harder genitals shouted lewd calls to passing women. Since at the time, I was frequently drunk, I staggered about in heels and skimpy clothing, calling to men to take advantage of me. Only after that would I see my bra stuffed with money or roses and jewelry would be sent to me when I stripped in peepshows.
When I was performing in peepshows, I had been nearly raped. I escaped with my life and whatever scrap of pride I had left and returned back to the stinking hovel that I called my home, where my six-month old whom I didn’t name yet lived among refuse and trash and I had to make baby food because most times I could not afford to buy it because I would spend the money on booze and new clothing.


Then, when I was in my worst times, living slovenly and dirty in a state of abuse and squalor, apprehension and fear gripping me entirely, Red returned. Oh, she had left town for a long time and I was pleased to see her as she was with me. We hugged and embraced and she asked the standard question:

“What the hell happened to your face?”
Stitches, bruises and a small scar

I told her all what happened. She cringed in pain and empathy and invited me to her place with my child who she had named Sweet Pea.
After that, I routed through old buildings looking for furniture for Ivy’s place. Once again, I was frequently out, trying to hustle money in several ways. I could not steal like that anymore unless I was with Joker, my fearlessness was increased. Ivy’s returning made me fearless again so I began robbing stores for jewelry and money.
But I fell into a deep slump again, and here I am, in the bar. People loomed around me in curiosity and interest, drawn to me as I was some sort of light and they were the moths. But I recognized one of them—and I wouldn’t miss that Marilyn Manson look anywhere. The Riddler. He got a new look. Grew out his hair, its black, put on some black makeup and lipstick and got rid of the bowler’s hat and green suit. There were rumors going around that he was married. Ivy confirmed the rumors were true. He was married to Livewire.

Live-freaking-wire.

This juxtaposition of villains made me laugh. He greeted me because I recognized me as the Joker’s squeeze. Or slut. Whore. Whatever people called me these days. It looked like he was making fun of me.
“I’ll buy you a drink.”
Red told me they were partners in crime. Livewire just finally fell in love. I didn’t even know that was possible. The way he proposed was ridiculous—he asked her a riddle that would lead to the answer as “ring.” She got pregnant and gave birth on the train and the baby was delivered by bystanders. It was a boy.
Holy shit. A boy with Livewire’s genes.

That shock jockey already gave Superman a run for his money.
I drank the glass of fermented drink the Riddler bought. He then told me of Joker’s new girlfriend who he was treating like a queen. That’s probably because he didn’t think of her as a whore. Riddler left shortly after that. He’s usually hidden because he hacks into computer databases trying to avoid Batman
When I was done, I headed back to see Red.

“Mr. J got a new girl,” I bawled.
She rolled her eyes. “So? You can get any guy twice as better that asshole.”
She was right. All the great super villains were getting married like if it was a new trend or something. Lex was married to Lana. Riddler to Livewire (I shudder at the thought), Penguin married one of his geisha concubines, Two-face been married, Catwoman has a daughter from Batman and Mr. J was probably getting married to his new girlfriend.
I began to cry and Red became annoyed and kissed me on the lips.
“I should rephrase, you can get anyone twice as better than that asshole.”
I smiled at what she meant.



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