DISCLAIMER: Birds of Prey and its characters are the property of Miller/Tobin Productions, Warner Brothers and DC comics. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Written for the IDF 2013 Revive a Fandom Challenge. Ramblings courtesy of the mind of Harley Quinn.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
FEEDBACK: To Geekgrrl.lurking[at]gmail.com
No Rest for the Wicked
It's not easy being an evil genius. I mean, I should know, right? After all, running Mr. J's empire while he is gone is a full time position. Payroll, costume dry cleaning, and don't even get me started on medical insurance. Scheduling is always a nightmare, and good help is so hard to find these days. So when you come across someone as gifted and talented as Helena Kyle, well, you need to just snap her up.
I have no idea what that idiot mentor of hers, Barbara Gordon has been waiting for. It's as plain as Helena's adorable nose on her face that she was half in love with her. That mousy little school teacher should be smart enough to figure it all out. Want. Take. Have. That's how the world works, Miss Gordon, or did you miss that class?
So snap...her UP!
Whatever. Enough about her, if that loser is unable to get the job done, then there are plenty of us evil genius types ready and willing to teach Helena the ways of the world.
Dear God, am I willing and almost painfully ready to school that girl. I have come to enjoy our therapy sessions; skillfully wooing that dear sweet misguided girl to the dark side has become a most desirable pleasure. One of many pleasures I wish to share with Helena.
Oh, I'm sure my sweetie-pie-Joker-pooh won't mind in the least. After all, a girl has needs. So many aching, throbbing, decidedly naughty needs, especially when Helena sits there and does that tongue thing she does oh, the things I'd love to put that tongue to work on but I digress. Mr. J knows that I am his, heart, mind and battered soul, but that doesn't mean I can't play.
I mean, I am an evil genius after all. I'm not one of his buffoon like muscle heads, I am much more creative than that, so much more than all that and a bag of chips. He understands that. I'm talent after all, and I can just let him watch from that creepy web cam he has set up.
Besides, she wants me too. I know it. The flash in her eyes, the long looks, her desire is there lurking behind those dark mysterious eyes. Helena trusts me; I can feel it, emanating from her in waves. She wants to believe in something, someone again. And if Barbara Gordon won't step up to the plate, well, I'm your girl.
Tell me your secrets, my fragile little bird. I'll take them to your grave.
Her hair is so incredibly soft, and smells of strawberries in the summer sun. I'd never expected it of her, Helena's tough girl exterior is almost impenetrable. That soft butch look suits her, the leather, the boots, the kick ass attitude, however it is the tender center that I am privileged to see. Her dark hair running through my fingers, the troubled eyes looking up so sad, baring her darkest secrets to me and I am amazed that she has opened up to me. Before me is the little girl who's mother died at her feet, who has been looking ever since to fill that gaping hole of insecurity. She trusts me to be there for her.
The sweet, adorable fool.
If I still had a conscience I'm sure I'd feel bad about manipulating her. Happily, dear sweet Mr. J killed that weakness in me a long, long time ago. She will thank me eventually too, when I've shown her how liberating it is to just let go of all that pesky morality. She just needs to let herself go with me in a bed preferably, although I'm not opposed to my desk.
Yes, a nice soft bed with feather pillows and her sweet curves to break my fall. I can almost picture Helena writhing beneath me, opening herself and surrendering to me, those dark trusting eyes watching my every move, that busy tongue desperate to track across my hot flushed skin. I can almost hear her moan my name as I slowly penetrate, long and deep, claiming her as my own. Taking what she will offer up to me. Making her mine.
Yes, I do enjoy the job perks around here, a pretty young thing in my bed, wet and waiting for my touch, all but begging me to take her. Just don't leave her, don't abandon her like everyone and everything else in her life has. She will do anything for me.
Ah, my fine feathered friend, trapped in my gilded cage, what secrets will you sing to me in your sleep, hm? I wonder.
It's almost time, my sweet. What pleasures will we indulge in next? What darkness will you reveal? What piece of your soul can I steal from you today? What piece of mine will you restore? What gnawing hunger will you fill and what demons will your touch soothe, down so deep inside?
Please help me. Show me the way, my little angel dove
The darkness is soothing really, comforting in a way that is hard to explain. The madness is like a million little cuts inside, bleeding you dry. And yet you still survive, you still live. The pain is nothing; you stuff it down deep inside, leaving only numbing cold. Leaving you alone in the darkness, with nothing but your chattering mind and the wise teachings of my dear Mr. J for company.
I mean, there is so much to think about, so much left to do.
Whether I want to or not
But there is no rest for the wicked, though?
Ah, there's Helena now
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