Author's note: DC is redesigning "Harley Quinn" for their Fall 2011 reboot. And I hate the redesign. It goes against everything about the character and her theme, to the point where it's not even her anymore. It takes a character that had a harlequin theme and makes her look like a random wannabe-goth skank. This is a lot bigger than just some minor thing like a woman putting on some pants (Wonder Woman), in comics the visual is important, and this redesign demolishes a huge chunk of her character identity. But the more I looked at it, the more I realized: I really, really want to fuck with it. This Harley deserves to be mocked, and I'm going to do it in my own special way, the way that draws on the impulses DC hopes will sell this version of her and takes them to their logical conclusion. This isn't about slut-shaming a change of clothes. If she started out this way, or even if she showed the same amount of skin but retained her harlequin theme, I'd be fine. This is about me mocking a character's identity ripped to shreds by editorial mandate.What is the new Harley's "logical conclusion"? I'm so glad you asked, puddin'. Although I doubt you will be.
There she was, laid out before her. The Dominoed Daredoll.
Bullshit. No one calls Batgirl "the dominoed daredoll." (looks it up on Google) Holy shit. They do. That's the worst superhero nickname ever.
With a slicked-down, skintight leather bodysuit, the redhead crawled her bloody way toward the flickering streetlight in the distance.
Harley, the new and "improved" Harley, grinned at the erotic sight of her prey's ass waving in a wormlike dance to freedom from the alley, her torn-up black and purple cape doing little to assuage a dimly lit view of Batgirl's shiny backside at brief motes of light.
Because what's more erotic than a dancing worm?
With a wicked, crazed black-lipsticked grin, she gingerly hopped on over to the hero and slammed her boot dead-on between Batgirl's firm cheeks.
There are Japanese salaryman who would pay good money for someone to do that to them.
"NGH!" Batgirl cried.
She tumbled forward, the new ache in her full ass throbbing as cool night air swept down the anal cleavage left by her tormentor's swift blow.
"Anal cleavage"? Anal cleavage "created" by a boot to the anus? DOES NOT COMPUTE
In the flapping flurry of her trashed cape, she banged against the nearest dumpster. Darkness, the kind promising the relief of unconsciousness, left her when Harley grabbed an ankle and dragged her back. Rough concrete scraped against her sore, exposed bubble gum nipples.
I assume the author means her nipples were bubblegum colored and not, say, so flexible AND chewy you could blow bubbles with them. Although admittedly with FFF authors you never know.
Just when the pain felt unbearable, eyes clenched and teeth gnashing, her foot dropped like a rock. A hand in her hair clutched and tugged on her luxurious orange mane, ripping her into the sight of that garish freak who abandoned the theme of her codename to become something far more disgusting than the lowest, most diseased of Gotham's red light whores.
Harley squatted before Batgirl. Rocking her ass side to side in her panty-sized shorts, her real black panties slipping out on the edges, she tapped her black thighhigh boots on the pavement and rubbed her sopping wet crotch.
"What have we here?" Harley said. "A good, upstanding lady, fighting for good and common decency?"
Hey, remember the other day when I ran that video revealing that Harley's motion capture person in Arkham Asylum was a dude? That's going to seem like a gentle hug compared to how Salarta's going to make you think about Harley.
Batgirl gagged at the stench wafting through the woman's shorts and out her deeply exposed cleavage, the strings of her corset loose enough to grant a view of Harley's all-black nipples.
I thought at first the odor was coming from Harley's vagina and her chest, but now I think it's coming from her ass, and the author is just obsessed with "ass cleavage." Whatever that is.
The sick sight of her deformed privates couldn't compare to the deathly white skin she openly bared for the public eye, more ghoulishly obscene than a month-old corpse.
Um, I'll take looking at pale skin over a deformed vagina any day of the week, please. And I'm going to go out on a limb and say most people would probably agree with me.
The pallor of a wide toothy grin and pointy nose in Batgirl's face burned the image of the witches of old in her brain, Harley's soulless black eyes surrounded by a false mask of black eyeshadow and mascara.
You know, all those witches of old and their stinky, deformed vaginas.
The barely-there cape on Harley's back ridiculed the very idea of modesty, as if a red cloth halfway down her back forgave the worthless corset on her chest.
Okay, the mini-cape is stupid. I will grant you that.
Bringing her arm behind her head, Harley ruffled through the red half of her black and red hair, producing a large knife and lifting it... then stopped. She sniffed, burying the full length of her nose into her ghastly, stretched armpit.
Raise your hand if you're Sure!
Hard as it was to believe, the corners of her lips spread farther, delight clear as she cackled madly.
"Ehehe, I'm the nastiest piece of ass in all of Gotham. Wanna smell?"
I know you read that in Arleen Sorkin's voice. I'm so sorry. I'm also sorry for everything else you're about to read in Sorkin's voice, too.
Batgirl's nose crinkled disgust. Her attempt to pull away from the pale, rancid pit was swiftly met by a hand to the back of her head, smearing her face into its deep recesses. One whiff of the foul toxins of Harley's body, and she reflexively gurgled at what invaded the sanctity of her nostrils.
"Ugh, you STINK. Get away from me!" Batgirl demanded.
As nerds, we've all had the misfortune of encountering people whose body odor is off-the-charts terrible. But have you ever smelled anyone you would describe as "rancid"? I mean, I'm sure Harley is pretty stinky, but unless she's using a decomposing rat corpse as a roll-on deodorant, I'm pretty sure Batgirl can handle it.
"Now now, Batgirl, you can't be a naive little girl forever," Harley teased, a cruel smile laced in her voice. "Though I do find it really hot and pathetic that you let a woman younger than you take the mantle of Batwoman. What are you, thirty?"
"Fuck you, Quinn. I was Oracle at the time. Go shove Didio's face into your armpits if you're so upset about it."
"I'm-" Batgirl clamped her mouth shut as she caught onto Harley's plan. In this small way of resistance, she shoved the conversation back on Harley. "What happened to you? You were never like this."
"Why, the New 52 happened to me! On sale now!"
"Never like what? A bitch and a whore?" Harley giggled at the scowl painting Batgirl's face from such coarse terms.
Excuse me, BARBARA GORDON WAS SHOT IN THE SPINE BY THE JOKER. I imagine she can handle a little foul language.
"Who cares! I look like a nasty, half-dead poser skank that gives goths a bad name. As long as boys and girls get their rocks off looking at my tits and buy more issues of the Gotham Gazette just to find out what a gross slut I was the night before, that's all that matters! If you're a woman, you can't sell yourself on an endearing and likable personality, you need to sell yourself with your body!"
What a second. Did Frank Miller write this?
All this dirty talk, much to Batgirl's disgust, revealed a trail of goosebumps along Harley's exposed flesh. The snap of a belt drew her gaze downward, to see Harley's hand removing her metal waist-bandolier and ripping off the flimsy excuses for clothes she kept on her lower body. She grimaced at the rising scent of Harley's wet arousal, puddling between the villain's legs like toxic sludge.
I could handle the smell and the deformation, but the idea of Harley's vagina leaking like a garden hose finally got me.
Then, realization hit her. She darted her gaze from Harley's right hand at her nether lips, and her other one clutching her knife inches above her head. Free from the woman's grip, Batgirl threw herself back.
"Oh no you don't," Harley threatened. In one swoop, she clasped Batgirl's cowl, slammed her once against the side of the dumpster and rammed her face back into her stinking corpse-pits. "For that, you need to lick it. And if you don't obey me, I'll slit your throat and fuck the corpse."
Right now, Babs is wondering why this kind of shit never happens to Tim Drake.
Batgirl's blue eyes went wide. The ghoulish slut's threat rang with intent, every flowing saucy fiber of her body oozing for an excuse to commit the act and prove herself as the nastiest, easiest bitch in Gotham. This wasn't Harley. This was a disgusting whore, ready to commit to any and all sick, twisted fetishes anyone could imagine.
You know, I'm starting to think that the author isn't a fan of DC's new take on Harley. It's a bit subtle, but I think I'm starting to pick up on a hint of disapproval.
Batgirl shuddered, her tongue revolting to its stinging, sour taste right from her first lick. Hair stubble flicked against her quaking upper lip, the bristly feel committing brand new horrors to memory.
I've been running FFF for over three years now, and every time I feel like I've read every horror fan fic has to offer, I come across an incredibly detailed description of Batgirl licking Harley Quinn's unwashed, unshaved armpits.
"Ehehe, how does defeat taste, little girl? I've built up a lot of funk in there for you to lap up. No sense washing up when desperate bastards and bitches will still flock to fuck a loose, half-dressed freak like me."
Suddenly, MTV executives appeared out of nowhere and asked Halrey if she'd like to star on the next season of Jersey Shore.
Through watering eyes, Batgirl glanced at the permanently grinning white harlot with revulsion, sinking lower and lower under the freak's orders. She groaned through her open mouth.
"What was that?" Harley asked. "I couldn't hear you over the sound of my biological clock ticking faster at how good it feels to have you licking my rank armpits."
So... Batgirl licking her unwashed armpits is making Harley Quinn ovulate. Gotcha. You know, there have been many, many FFF authors who have had no idea how a vagina works, but I believe this is the first time an author has had zero idea what a "biological clock" represents.
To expound her point, Harley viciously tugged Batgirl's hair back, away from her sweaty, saliva-drenched corpse-pit. She waited for her toy to answer.
"I said nothing," Batgirl bluntly answered, spitting excess Harley-scum from her mouth.
Harley flashed her pearly whites, first from Batgirl's response, then from a thin wave of stink-mist wafting from her armpit.
The hell? Harley's leaking all over the place. The Joker needs to get her to a mechanic, stat.
Inhaling the lusciously foul stench of her own body through her nose, Harley once again smashed Batgirl against her in the hungriest place of her body: her sticky, sopping wet pussy.
"Now you've done it, girl. I was going to use you as a warm-up before I make my rounds in the sewers tonight, but forcing you to pleasure me is too damn hot. Get crackin'. If you do a good enough job, I might spare your life so I can keep beating the shit out of you over and over until you become as much of a disgusting slut as I am."
Again -- I can't say for certain, but I feel like the author just doesn't care for the new Harley. If you read between the lines, that is. The lines about Batgirl giving cunnilingus against her with to Harley's genital disaster area.
What choice did she have? At Harley's mercy between a knife and a rotten place, her tongue darted into Harley's huge, gaping cleft. Old, flaking cum scattered about her cheeks, an unclean sense to match the acrid funk waterfalling from Harley's corpse white pussy. Once the former harlequin's clit rubbed against the roof of her mouth, fierce orders from her horny mistress had her gnawing gently on the small nub.
"Oh yeah, that's the shit. That's the shit right there." Harley giggled.
"I mean literally, that's shit. I had Two-Face take a dump on my pussy an hour ago."
Lowering her knife, the slice of metal to string burst the tiny corset clean off her body with her bulging bust. The knife dropped to the ground with a clatter, her hands sprung to roughly grope her own tits, pinching the twin peaks with enough force that if she had normal skin color, they would have passed from light pink to deep, dark purple in seconds. Her bucking hips wrapped her legs around the Dominoed Daredoll's head, trapping Barbara to her fate.
Honestly, learning that Batgirl was once actually called "The Dominoed Daredoll" may actually be the worst part of this story for me.
"Wanna know how I became a freak? Do ya Batgirl?" Harley teased, waving her pussy against Batgirl's face. "Alright, I'll tell ya. One day, this voice popped in my head that started telling me things like 'Harley Quinn needs to look like a slutty juggalo, a female Joker that dresses like she'd fuck anything that moves.' And you know what?
"That voice was Jim Lee's."
The more I heard the voice, the more it sank in that it was right."
As she talked, Harley's eternal grin opened to throw out a hot, horny moan, puffing into the cold night air. Taking one final whiff of putrid pit, she snatched up her knife, spun it to hold the blade and jammed the handle deep between Batgirl's bubbly butt. The delicious cry of her plaything's anguish sent a pleasure pulse to her pussy. She swirled the knife around for more, blood dripping onto Batgirl's ass cheeks from tiny knicks and cuts in Harley's fingers.
Somehow, I don't think "Women with knife hilts stuck in their asses while being forced to give oral sex" will be replacing the phrase "women in refrigerators any time soon.
"The voice was right," Harley continued. "All these years, I've been charming my way into the hearts of people and getting fans because they liked who I was for me, when what I should've been doing was charming my way into the pants of horny little boys and sick freaks that would sooner fuck a corpse than a woman."
"Harley, that's not-" Batgirl rose up and began, only to be forced back down to her place between the slut's legs.
"Harley, that's not at all accurate," is what I imagine Batgirl is trying to say. "Yes, you look like a slutty Insane Clown Posse fan on that Suicide Squad cover, but you don't look like particularly corpse-like. I mean, DC has its problems, but trying to make you appeal to necrophiliacs is not one of them."
"Little girls shouldn't speak. Where was I? Oh yes. Over time, the voice used some kind of magic to turn me into the least respectable... THING you could imagine.
What spell do you think Jim Lee used? A Harry Potter-esque "Lindsaylohaniarmus!" or a more traditional "Yelrah Yfittuls!"?
Now look at me. I look like a tryhard poser goth skank, I taste every bit as foul as I smell, and I've never felt looser in my life!"
Batgirl wanted to vomit. The running dialogue of Harley's self-absorbed slutdom was hardly a fair distraction from wave after wave of the woman's slick, sour juices. Right as she thought the danger of hurling might eclipse her restraint, Harley shuffled from her low squat to a full stand.
God help me, I had a brief second where I thought the author missed an opportunity to have Batgirl vomit on Harley Quinn's vagina and have Harley excited about it. If you'll excuse me I need to throw myself out my 8th story window immediately.
A pull upon Batgirl's tattered cape lifted and dangled her in midair, the knife still buried into her throbbing anal folds. Harley's ghastly visage hovered before her, gloating through her grin.
"What did you think, Batgirl? Did you enjoy getting one step closer to becoming a Batwoman at the ripe age of thirty?"
A girl performing oral sex on a girl does not a Batwoman make, Harley. Although I guess I can see where you'd get the idea.
"I think... I'm sick..." Batgirl groaned."
Harley viciously giggled. "Don't worry, I don't have any STDs... yet. I may be the skankiest, scummiest scum of Gotham, but believe it or not Gotham's criminals refuse to piss in my slutpool. Condoms every time. But, I think they'll make an exception for a good little girl like you, and I'll need every STD known to man inside you if I'm going to top what the Joker did to sweet little Barbara Gordon."
Holy shit, I think Fank Miller did write this. I think we've stumbled across the script for a new issue of All-Star Batman and Robin.
And with those final words, Harley Quinn carried the kicking, freaking Batgirl over her shoulder to her horrid fate.
And that horrid fate... was reading the new Hawk & Dove #1.
I kid, I kid! The end. For more adventures of Harley and her bodily odors and fluids, check out Suicide Squad #1, on sale now! I won't, because seriously, I'm throwing myself out the goddamn window. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll land on Didio.