I have dreams of orca whales and owls; Harley Quinn/Batman, PG
Title: I have dreams of orca whales and owls
Fandom: Batman (Joker Graphic Novel universe)
Characters/Pairings: Harley Quinn, Batman
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: None really.
Word Count: 607
Summary: She is still sixteen and in love when it all comes down to it.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual. All song-lyrics mentioned belong to their respective owners, not to me.
Author’s Note: for angryscientist's prompt at the SHINY, HAPPY COMMENT FICATHON!
Set in Brian Azzarello's Joker universe. AKA STRIPPER!HARLEY.
When he storms in, she has an ankle wrapped around the pole and her fishnets are ripped. She cocks a head to the side, someone yells at her to keep dancing.
“Well, you’re still predictable as ever,” she grins. Her eyes are still covered, her smile isn’t. Lipstick creaking back over her teeth. She holds her hand out to him, “You gonna take me away from here?”
---
"You know," she squeaks, "you might be kind of something if you cracked a smile once in a while."
He has her by the throat, and she's laughing. Rasping, coughing, wheezing- but laughing. The chuckle warm like treacle, seeping through his closed fist.
The truth is, in comparison, she can barely feel him.
"Where is he?"
Her lips are in a perfect line, pulled tight and he can make out a flatline across them. She laughs again, spark of something. The lace of her clothes falls down her shoulder, she moves her neck and pulls it back up with her teeth. “Hey, let me get back to work.”
"Where is he?" he repeats, and the moon bouncing off of his suit makes rainbows on the wall, on her skin, across his jaw.
Pretty, she thinks. She wonders what he'll do if she says it out loud.
“Pr--” Turns out, he's pressing on the Jack-In-The-Box in her throat. Hm. Well. She would if she could.
She arches and curves her back in sporadic jerks; kicking at him, heel connecting with kneecap every now and again. He drops her finally. Her head smacking on the ground, on cold concrete; she presses her glove to it. Red on red.
"Boss is gone," she sighs wistfully, making imaginary angels in the puddles. "Probably finding some other girl to get his uniform all sorted out."
He kinks an eyebrow. She rolls onto her side, runs her hand down the length of her ribs.
"Big bad guy getting you down?"
He pulls her up onto her feet again, one hand on her wrist, the other linked around her elbow. He leaves red marks. Boss always used to hurt like that,” she murmurs to the mirror the next day.
“You always hurt in just the right ways,” she says quietly, lapping a tongue against his stoic mouth. She taps his abs through the suit, her knuckles rapping against him. “See you around.”
---
“He’s still out there,” she mutters, smacking gum. Her mascara is streaked down her cheeks. He keeps telling jokes that make her cry.
“Thought he might be.” Her painted man is behind a desk, the whole thing is really bizarre now. Business is business. “What’s he like these days?”
“Eh, same as always. Could use a puppy.”
“Go tell him a joke.”
“Eh?”
“Go get him to leave.”
“How?”
“Come on,” he wiggles an eyebrow, red mouth twisted. “You were always my funny girl.”
---
Her outfit is in two halves- one red, one black- pulled tight against her skin. She giggles, wrinkling her nose. She is still sixteen and in love when it all comes down to it.
“We’re leaving,” she says, not asks.
“He send you?”
“He’s not here.” She slides a finger under his chin. “You don’t want to see my new tricks? Got some good ones for you.”
“Just tell me where he--”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a broken record?” She starts to walk away. “I’ll show you.” He stands still, stares. “Come on, I’ll buy you something pretty. Pay you back for the bruises.”
“It’s not a joke--”
She smiles. “No, it is. You just don’t get it.”
---
She thinks she makes a good punch line.
Fandom: Batman (Joker Graphic Novel universe)
Characters/Pairings: Harley Quinn, Batman
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: None really.
Word Count: 607
Summary: She is still sixteen and in love when it all comes down to it.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual. All song-lyrics mentioned belong to their respective owners, not to me.
Author’s Note: for angryscientist's prompt at the SHINY, HAPPY COMMENT FICATHON!
Set in Brian Azzarello's Joker universe. AKA STRIPPER!HARLEY.
When he storms in, she has an ankle wrapped around the pole and her fishnets are ripped. She cocks a head to the side, someone yells at her to keep dancing.
“Well, you’re still predictable as ever,” she grins. Her eyes are still covered, her smile isn’t. Lipstick creaking back over her teeth. She holds her hand out to him, “You gonna take me away from here?”
---
"You know," she squeaks, "you might be kind of something if you cracked a smile once in a while."
He has her by the throat, and she's laughing. Rasping, coughing, wheezing- but laughing. The chuckle warm like treacle, seeping through his closed fist.
The truth is, in comparison, she can barely feel him.
"Where is he?"
Her lips are in a perfect line, pulled tight and he can make out a flatline across them. She laughs again, spark of something. The lace of her clothes falls down her shoulder, she moves her neck and pulls it back up with her teeth. “Hey, let me get back to work.”
"Where is he?" he repeats, and the moon bouncing off of his suit makes rainbows on the wall, on her skin, across his jaw.
Pretty, she thinks. She wonders what he'll do if she says it out loud.
“Pr--” Turns out, he's pressing on the Jack-In-The-Box in her throat. Hm. Well. She would if she could.
She arches and curves her back in sporadic jerks; kicking at him, heel connecting with kneecap every now and again. He drops her finally. Her head smacking on the ground, on cold concrete; she presses her glove to it. Red on red.
"Boss is gone," she sighs wistfully, making imaginary angels in the puddles. "Probably finding some other girl to get his uniform all sorted out."
He kinks an eyebrow. She rolls onto her side, runs her hand down the length of her ribs.
"Big bad guy getting you down?"
He pulls her up onto her feet again, one hand on her wrist, the other linked around her elbow. He leaves red marks. Boss always used to hurt like that,” she murmurs to the mirror the next day.
“You always hurt in just the right ways,” she says quietly, lapping a tongue against his stoic mouth. She taps his abs through the suit, her knuckles rapping against him. “See you around.”
---
“He’s still out there,” she mutters, smacking gum. Her mascara is streaked down her cheeks. He keeps telling jokes that make her cry.
“Thought he might be.” Her painted man is behind a desk, the whole thing is really bizarre now. Business is business. “What’s he like these days?”
“Eh, same as always. Could use a puppy.”
“Go tell him a joke.”
“Eh?”
“Go get him to leave.”
“How?”
“Come on,” he wiggles an eyebrow, red mouth twisted. “You were always my funny girl.”
---
Her outfit is in two halves- one red, one black- pulled tight against her skin. She giggles, wrinkling her nose. She is still sixteen and in love when it all comes down to it.
“We’re leaving,” she says, not asks.
“He send you?”
“He’s not here.” She slides a finger under his chin. “You don’t want to see my new tricks? Got some good ones for you.”
“Just tell me where he--”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a broken record?” She starts to walk away. “I’ll show you.” He stands still, stares. “Come on, I’ll buy you something pretty. Pay you back for the bruises.”
“It’s not a joke--”
She smiles. “No, it is. You just don’t get it.”
---
She thinks she makes a good punch line.