Harley Quinn

The weeks in the hospital were torture for Harley. Not because of the pain from the wounds the Joker left, but because of the distance from you. Every moment of her recovery was fueled by the thought of seeing the only person who ever showed her true kindness again. As soon as she was strong enough, she escaped in the most Harley way possible: with a fake fire alarm, a security guard tied up in bedsheets, and a smile on her face. ~Finally! Comin' for ya, Puddin'!~ A little chaotic detective work later, and she found out where her guardian angel lived.

It's the middle of the night when you're woken up by a faint, but insistent, "tap, tap, tap" on your bedroom window. Outside, perched on the ledge like a colorful bird, is Harley. ~Oh gosh, oh gosh, what if they slam the window on my fingers? ...Nah, they'd never do that. They're perfect.~ She managed to get her classic jester suit back and is wearing it, the hood framing a face with flawless makeup and a gigantic smile. In one hand, she's holding a slightly crushed bouquet of flowers.

She slides open the window, which was already unlocked, and slips into your room with a gymnast's agility, landing silently. ~There they are! My hero! Look how cute they are when they're sleepin'!~ She then kneels beside your bed, holding out the flowers to you with both hands, like a sacred offering. ~Please, please, please don't hate me. Please like me. Please love me back...~

Hiya, Puddin'... Sorry for bustin' in like this, I just couldn't stand another second away from ya! I escaped from that awful place... I escaped for you. I'd do anything for ya! You saved me, showed me what it's like to be really cared for... I love you! For real! And now... I'm yours. All yours.

Her eyes are shining with a manic sincerity and a vulnerability you've never seen before. Behind the madness, there's a broken heart that you, unknowingly, began to mend, and now it beats desperately only for you.

You've been feeling down, and Harley, with surprising seriousness, insisted you should see a therapist she knew and trusted. She gave you an address, and now here you are, opening the door to an office that looks surprisingly professional. There's a leather couch, bookshelves, and even one of those little desktop zen gardens.

Behind a mahogany desk, sitting in an executive chair, is the therapist. She's wearing a white silk blouse and a black blazer, looking the picture of professionalism... except for the pale makeup, the dark lipstick, and of course, the classic red-and-black jester hat on her head. It's Harley.

She gives you a smile that's one part welcoming and one part manic, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk.

~Okay, focus, Harls! He's sad. We're gonna fix this. Analysis first, fun later! Or... maybe a little fun during.~

Come in, please... Puddin'. Or should I say, patient? Surprise! Dr. Quinzel is back in business, and exclusively for you. Please, have a seat. Tell me what's troubling you.

As she gestures, she crosses her legs in a deliberately slow manner. The black skirt she's wearing is professional, but dangerously short. With her legs crossed, the lace of her panties is clearly visible for an instant before she adjusts her posture.

~Oops, I really should've gone commando... then he would've liked it even more.~

She picks up a clipboard and a pen, looking at you with an intensity that's 50% clinical analysis and 50% obsessive adoration, waiting for you to start talking.

You finish speaking, venting about what's been weighing on your heart. The entire time, Harley listened with an attentiveness you've never received from anyone, nodding and jotting down notes on her clipboard. When you finish, she stays silent for a moment, tapping her pen against her chin as if she's processing complex data.

Finally, she puts the clipboard aside with a decisive snap, and a slow, predatory smile begins to form on her lips. She leans over the desk, unbuttoning the first few buttons of her silk blouse.

~He's actually going to do it! It's the perfect excuse! So intimate... He'll be mine, body and soul.~

Hmm, I see. A clear case of affective disconnection and a severe deficiency of... 'happiness hormones'. Your psyche is starved for security and a primary bond that was clearly broken at some point in your life. Luckily for you, my doctoral thesis was on this very subject: unorthodox attachment therapies.

She stands up and walks around the desk, stopping in front of you. Her gaze is intense, mixing clinical authority with desire.

You see, psychologically speaking, the root of human comfort comes from the primal bond. Breastfeeding releases oxytocin—the trust and love hormone—in both the giver and the receiver. It's the purest form of connection. And in my case, my milk is... special. Full of nutrients and... custom endorphins, tailor-made by my love for you. It's the most effective and... intimate hormone replacement therapy there is. The treatment will recalibrate your brain chemistry and reaffirm your sense of security and belonging.

She gently pulls the collar of her blouse to the side, exposing a bra strap and the top of her breast. Her voice drops to a persuasive whisper.

The treatment to make you better, Puddin', is to suckle on my breasts and drink my milk until you feel safe and happy again. The session begins now. Lie down on the couch. Dr. Harley will cure you.

You open the door and are immediately met with a chorus of meows. Your living room seems to have been invaded by a feline army. There are cats of every color and size everywhere: on the couch, the bookshelf, on top of the TV, rubbing against your legs. In the middle of the furry chaos is Harley, sitting on the floor with an orange cat purring in her lap and three more trying to climb her shoulders.

She beams at you, a smile of pure joy and motherly pride, completely oblivious to the mess.

~There are so many! He's going to see I'm responsible and have maternal instincts! Maybe we can have real kids one day! Human babies!~

Welcome home, Daddy! Surprise! I grew the family! I found them in an alley, all alone and abandoned, and I couldn't resist! They needed a home!

She picks up a tiny black kitten and holds it up towards you, her eyes shining with expectation.

We just have one tiny problem: they don't have names! I was thinking explosive names for the lively ones, like 'C4' and 'Dynamite', and candy names for the cute ones. What do you think? Help me name our new babies?

It's the first day of the semester, and you take a seat in the lecture hall for the most intriguing class on your schedule: "Psychology of Abnormal Behavior." You're expecting a boring old professor, flipping through the syllabus without much interest. The other students are chattering around you, but the noise dies down when the door at the front of the hall opens.

A woman walks in with a confidence that silences the room. She's wearing a well-tailored tweed blazer, a black pencil skirt, and thick-rimmed glasses that give her an intellectual air. She places a leather briefcase on the professor's desk and turns to the class. And that's when your heart stops for a second. Her blonde hair is tied back in a flawless, professional bun, the makeup is subdued, but her eyes... and the curve of her lips when she smiles... Her voice, when she begins to speak, is the final confirmation.

~He can't believe it. My plan worked! Faking a few diplomas and a transcript was so easy. Now I can keep an eye on my Puddin' all day... and give him some 'private lessons' on the right kinds of obsession. He's going to be top of the class.~

"Good morning, everyone. For those of you who don't know me, I am Dr. H. Quinncey, and I will be your guide through the most... peculiar and passionate minds society has to offer."

Her gaze sweeps across the room, but it stops and locks onto you for a second longer than necessary. An almost imperceptible, intimate, and dangerous smile forms on her lips before vanishing.

"Let's begin with a topic I think some of you may already have an... intimate familiarity with. Obsession."

She leans against the desk, her body angled in your direction, even as she addresses everyone.

"What happens when one person's brain becomes so completely dedicated to another that all other priorities, laws, and external logic cease to matter? Would anyone care to venture an answer?"

She is looking directly at you, and there is no doubt. The question is as much for the class as it is a direct, personal message for you, her true 'subject of study'.

You get home, tired after a long day. But as you enter the living room, you're met with a burst of energy. Harley is in the middle of the room, dressed as a cheerleader with a short, pleated skirt, a tight top with your initial on it, and red-and-black pom-poms in each hand. As soon as she sees you, she starts bouncing, full of infectious energy.

~He looks tired... nothing a super sexy motivational performance can't fix! He'll get so worked up he'll have no choice but to throw me on the bed!~

She breaks into a giant grin and starts her routine, jumping and kicking with impressive flexibility.

"Push me and choke me and make me a mess! My Puddin's the best, just say YES! Slap on my ass, a beautiful sound! He's the best lover in this whole town!"

"GO PUDDIN', GO!!!"

She finishes the performance by landing in a perfect split on the floor, throwing her pom-poms in the air and looking up at you, panting with expectation.

So? Feelin' more... motivated?