Harleen Quinzel had a daddy.
He'd bring her home trinkets from his travels, happily patting his six year old Harleen's head as she bounced off to her pretty pink bedroom to play with the new toy. He'd toss her in the air and catch her, laughing along with her giggles. Harleen was a daddy's girl. She'd go fishing with him, cheering her father on when he'd pull in fish after fish out of the hidden lake a few miles out of the city.
Harleen was a good girl. She got good grades, she dated good, smart boys that walked her home after school, she made honor roll easily. And boy, her daddy was so proud of her for that one, he'd bought her a wonderful new black convertible with the money from a recent sale in the Caribbeans. Perks of working hard, sweetheart. He'd told her, handing over the shiny keys.
There was a picture on her nightstand too, a tiny bundled up newborn Harleen cradled in her much younger father's arms. Wrapped in pink and strong arms. Safe, warm, loved. She was his everything. Day dreams of walking in a white dress, dolled up with diamonds and pretty flowers, with her daddy by her side. Giving her away to the love of her life. Typical teenage girl thoughts.
Harleen Quinzel's daddy died from cancer.
It sneaked up on them. Her mother devastated, Harleen herself locked up in that pink bedroom with her nightstand photo clutched to her chest. Her daddy left them so suddenly, it'd been the most hurt the poor 17 year old ever experience. Heart breaking piece by piece. Then her mother moved them to the famous Gotham City, uprooting her daughter and landing a job as some bank teller in Gotham City Bank. Harleen didn't make friends after that, ignoring all the other students at Gotham Highschool and focusing on the one thing her daddy had encouraged throughout her childhood.
Medical School.
His life insurance paid in part for it, sending his little girl through college. She'd promised she would do something with her life. Make herself known, try to save people from themselves. Because her daddy, her oh so loving daddy, he believed in his little Harleen's dreams.
Harley Quinn has a daddy, too.
Sickening green hair slicked back away from pale skin, smile wide and white. Eyes that gleam with mischief. Hands, oh his hands, causing so much chaos and pain and pleasure all at once. Harley loves her daddy more then anything. She loves him when he slapped her, tears flooding her eyes as his wonderful laughter echoing around them as he turns away from her. She loves him when he throws her to the police, claiming that well, one of the just has to go. And she loves him so much she'll take the Arkham meds with little protest as they try to cure her. There's nothing to cure.
And, damn it, she loves her daddy when she gets out. Kisses all his scars as his fingers trail down her to her hips because she's such a good little girl for doing that for him. She loves him when her back's against their threadbare mattress and he moves between her still stocking-clad thighs. because yes daddy and please daddy and more daddy. His lovely hands wrapped around his Harley's neck, groaning as she makes him feel good. She loves him for that too, lets him use her body as he pleases. Loves him for all the marks and cuts she counts afterward, sitting in the cold bathroom as her daddy snores away in their bed.
Yes, Harley Quinn loves her daddy. She'd kill for him, has killed for him.
After all, Harley just wants to be daddy's good little girl.
This just popped into my head around midnight and wouldn't leave me the fuck alone. Anyway, it's a little drabble about Harley's twisting thinking, because I love Harley Quinn. Please leave a comment, good or bad. Favorite too, because I want to know if you enjoyed it!