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call me out
Meme Prompts| Pic Prompts | Random scenario | Open RP
Dr. Harleen Quinzel version available by request
Meme Prompts| Pic Prompts | Random scenario | Open RP
Dr. Harleen Quinzel version available by request
Meme Prompts| Pic Prompts | Random scenario | Open RP
Dr. Harleen Quinzel version available by request
for prodigalmess
[ Harley takes her time freshening up at the station and then reads through each and every tourism brochure until Malcolm arrives. It's unlikely they'll leave the bed all weekend once they get started, but she's determined to be the foremost Niagara Falls expert just in case. ]
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He calls her when he's close, telling her to look out for a black Lexus. Malcolm pulls up to the curb and slides down the window, grinning at her. ]
Hello, beautiful.
[ Is that lame? Immediately he thinks that sounded really lame. He had nearly seven hours to work out an opening line and that's what he came up with? ]
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for prodigalmess
Harley spends the day in a foul mood after their conversation. Even if she knows Malcolm didn't mean to piss her off, she still can't stop stewing over the implication that she needs to be fixed up before she's fit for decent company.
It's nothing she didn't already know, but it still stings.
She's still in a snit when he calls to let her know he's home, and takes her sweet time actually making her way over. When she comes in, she ignores her poor boyfriend and gives Sunshine kisses instead.
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It takes her a while to get to his apartment after he calls, and he's briefly worried that something has happened to her before she finally shows up. When she goes right for Sunshine, Malcolm rolls his eyes. Sunshine eats it up though, nipping playfully at Harley's fingers and chirping at her.
Malcolm wanders off to the kitchen to pour them some drinks. "You know," he says, "the silent treatment is a form of passive-aggressive manipulative punishment. It actually started as a real treatment in prisons back in the 1800s. The theory was that if prisoners were subjected to silence it would encourage them to reflect on their crimes."
If she's going to go silent on him, he's going to go textbook on her. Malcolm can be a little bitch sometimes and can't resist being sassy when it's called for.
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THE PROMPT IS....LOCKED IN A CLOSET. We can also do this in a MoM AU style, too? :D
[ How did they wind up here? Negan doesn't really know. He got drunk. He fucked with the wrong people. Maybe Harley did, too. Maybe they both got knocked out and stuffed in a closet for the time being. But whatever the case, in spite of nursing one hell of a headache...he can appreciate the silhouette he sees of Harley in the dim light that creeps under the closet door. ]
Shit, almost makes me not wanna leave.
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[ Harley presses her ear to the door and strains to hear any sign of goons on the other side. She starts a list in her head of everyone she might have pissed off that would shove her in a closet, but loses count.
The door doesn't yield when she tries the knob so she starts feeling around in the dark for something she can use to knock it down. Her searching hands find his chest. Oh. Well.
Maybe she can stay for a few minutes. ]
So what're you in for?
nightmaresssss
Their sleeping arrangement is going well too. Malcolm has had a few nightmares, but nothing that Harley hasn't been able to handle yet. The restraints help to keep him from getting up out of the bed and going for a weapon. They always make sure that he's locked in before they go to sleep.
That night, they're cuddled together as usual when Malcolm slips into a dream. He's at Claremont, walking down the long hall that leads to his father's cell when he hears female laughter coming from inside. His heart drops. He would know that laugh anywhere.
The door swings open and Malcolm finds his father sitting on his bed with Harley, both of them grinning at each other. "My boy!" Martin says. "So nice of you to stop by. I've just been getting acquainted with your girlfriend. Might I say what a wonderful choice she is."
"Stay away from her!" Malcolm cries. It comes out as a whimper and a moan outside of his dream. He tries to get his feet to move, to grab Harley out of Martin's clutches, but it feels like he's the one at the end of a tether.
"Your father's so nice, Malcolm!" Harley says. "I don't know why you were so afraid for us to meet."
In bed, Malcolm twists, trying to get to her, to protect her.
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She fully wakes when he moves but is too slow to get out of bed before he lunges for her.
"Malcolm! Malcolm, baby, wake up."
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for hosannas_of_anguish
[ It was closer to two hours before Harley arrived at his door with four coffees (one for her, three for him) and a bag full of bagels (plenty to share with his crows) with his cigarettes were tucked into her back pocket. There had been a line, and she'd met several dogs along the way that she simply had to stop and pet.
She didn't want to stoop and put something down to free up her hands, so she kicked awkwardly at the door with a rubber toed sneaker. ]
Little pig, little pig, let me come in!
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Hearing the kick the sound, the door opened, no real sound of walking before hand just, the door open to messy haired Crane in jeans with white button up just off one button with the two two left open and sleeves rolled to his elbows, and Halloween socks. ]
I was starting to worry.
[ He spoke in greeting as he stepped aside.]
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The next morning
Jonathan moved back to the bed to kiss Harley's forehead. Jotting a quick note he left it on the pillow, simply saying he was downstairs making coffee. Which of course he had to find his jeans first and deal with all the joys of waking up a quick shave.
He was leaning in the kitchen reading over one of his books whole the coffee was brewing. His back was burning from the claw marks he didn't remember her getting that rough, but he was far too relaxed to care. He just wanted the coffee to hurry up so he could take it upstairs. Wanting to bring her some before she woke. He doubted that would happen. Though, the old coffee pot was taking it's sweet time. ]
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Once she felt fresh, she pulled on her dress and went to find him downstairs. Her hair was still damp and her face clean of garish makeup. She wore bite marks around her collarbone like a necklace. ]
Hi.
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stuck in an elevator
They're in the elevator, heading down to the morgue so that Harley can view the victim's body. "I think you'll like Edrisa," Malcolm tells her. "She's... quirky."
The elevator starts to move and about halfway between floors it shudders to a stop. The two of them look at each other.
"Uhh..."
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Her brows furrow as the elevator shudders and grinds to a halt. Hopefully it's a regular mechanical failure and not an assault on the precinct. That could make for a real awkward reunion with one of her former friends. She looks up at the emergency hatch.
"I could climb up and take a look, but there's not a lot I can actually do about it."
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A few days after the delete.
After Scarecrow deleted her data, Jonathan, of course, sided with his other-self. He didn't get video games or the like, and still, he didn't see the issue. At least until after the second night without Harley passed. The third day while in the lab, waiting on chemicals to proof as bundled up as he could be in the cold weather without the chance of static electricity. It was in this downtime when he would usually call his lover...maybe ex-girlfriend now? Relationships were weird. This time he looked up how to recover and island. Of course, it required the system to be stolen or broken and a call to Nintendo. Meaning Edward likely could save it. It must be on a cloud, but that was not what caught his attention.
It was time. The time spent to create such an island. Now, that, he could respect. That much time and effort to get as high as she could for Scarecrow to delete it... over ice cream. He weighed his choices a long while before deciding to again text in true dumb male fashion. He could guess she was in a bar or at her apartment or with someone else. That last one made his jealous bone bristle, but he could let it go if it wasn't Joker. If it was, well, he deserved that. ]
I would like for us to speak, Scarecrow is not prepared to apologize. I, however, am. I have also researched how to recover your island if no one has been able to yet. I am sorry he did this to you, Dr. Quinzel.
[ Of course, he started typing, deleted, and retyped about seven times before sending the message and demanding a cigarette from Stanley. He hated doubting himself, but he'd hate himself more if he didn't try to fix the issue.]
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we not on first name basis anymore?
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Happy Birthday, Harley!
However when he's picking up order, he notices a display of a mace that is right up Harley's alley. Thus he can't leave without it. It costs him a mint, since the smith wasn't interested in selling it. But when now that he has it wrapped as if it is nothing more than a bunch of long stemmed roses. He's pleased with the purchase.
Thus when she returns home from walking her baby, Bruce. She'll find the two wrapped birthday gifts sitting on her table, while Five waits patiently on the couch. ]
Happy Birthday, Har.
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Harley, not blessed with a predator's keen nose to give her a heads up on surprise guests, is a little taken aback to see him sitting there. He's let himself in plenty of times but usually let her know he was coming first and at first she's worried that something is wrong. But she doesn't see any blood and he isn't anxious so what--
Oh. Oh right, her birthday! ]
How'd you know?
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for allbedestroyed
He said she didn't need to hold his hat hostage to get a second date, but if that was true then he didn't move fast enough for her. Not that anyone could really keep up with her
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If she gives him a chance to, he'll get out and open the door for her. Either way, he looks her up and down, eyes lingering on his hat for a second, before he focuses on her face. "You look nice."
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The next day (because clearly I can't wait for sunday's gen texts.)
Gary was true to his word, he played Tekken 3, at least an hour before spending awhile on DDR and a few other games the arcade had. He'd gotten back to the Newark Mansion he lived in with his bosses and went to bed. After dodging questions from them.
He didn't text in the morning, he knew Harley wasn't a morning person, most henches aren't. But, around three in the afternoon, a text comes her way.
Sorry for being a dick last night. It was pretty funny. We cool?
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No I was the dick
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[ Negaduck detests 99% of people, really, whether they be human or waterfowl. This isn't so much true for Harley, though. He has a special place in his heart just for her, a very new feeling he might call "mild annoyance" that gets stronger the more she speaks. It’s one of the few feelings he has beyond pure venom.
It's late at night, and Negs has a big heist planned for tomorrow that requires all his energy, but he's not about to be rude when she turns up at his doorstep looking like a sadsack. He’d actually love to be, and if it were Quackerjack or Bushroot showing up at his secret hideout, they’d be getting a chainsaw to the face right now. But with Harley — there’s something in that shriveled husk of a duck heart that keeps him from doing so.
Instead, Neggsy answers the door with a scowl. He's still wearing his fedora and jacket, a little ruffled from a long day of being blown up by gas guns by his archenemy. No doubt she would have seen his run-in with Darkwing at the bank all over the news. He glowers down at her, leaning against the doorway and waiting for an explanation as to why she's here. Was his hideout that easy to find? ]
This better be good.
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She skips up the stoop, heavy bag bouncing jauntily against her hip, and puts on a tone of voice that is absolutely guaranteed to slide under his skin like a needle. ]
Aww! Neggsy-weggsy is gwumpy-wumpy!
[ She drops a hand on top of his hat and spins it on his head as she muscles past him through the door. ]
I brought presents.
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for 89p13
It wasn't something they ever talked about, really. Occasional meetings in dive bars turned into intentional meetings in dive bars, became a reliable plus one for any fussy event that would be more bearable with a partner in crime -- the crime often literal, as they developed a game of seeing who could pickpocket the best stuff by the end of the night -- and then finally spending time together on purpose for no reason at all.
The first time she took him out for a night in Gotham, Rocket had clocked the second the air changed when he walked into a bar. Some woman had looked down and he had an angry retort building in his throat as her lip began to curl in a sneer, and then Harley had launched herself over him to beat the disdain out of them. He plucked broken pieces of teeth out of her knuckles in the bathroom and called her a frickin' moron. Word spread. Nobody in Gotham gives him any problems now.
Eventually a whistleblower held a press conference about Task Force X and let the public know that a group of criminals had been government property, used as fodder in suicide missions and saved the world at least twice. Two days later, Rocket had shown up at her door with a tool kit with a grumbled lie about wanting to have the tech injected into her head. She let him cut into the back of her neck in a tiny studio kitchen and never worried for even a second that he'd make a wrong move.
Then he'd stayed at her place for the rest of the week, refusing to admit it had anything to do with her wellbeing, and bitched about the nanobomb being rudimentary and useless. Not even worth the trip.
Harley tries to name it sometimes, asking when their next date night will be, and he sneers it off. He's not stupid. She might be open minded for her species but she's still Terran. Terrans go for other Terrans or, in a pinch, at least something Terran-shaped. Rocket has seen her flirt as easily as breathing with all manner of folks, in her city and on Knowhere, and she never takes up any offers. There's just no meeting whatever impossible standards this broad is looking for. That's fine. Nothing to do with him. It's a criminal waste that she keeps herself on a shelf, but hell. Not like he was ever in the running anyway.
He's piloting a ship now, Harley settled in the copilot seat with firm instructions not to touch anything. And he'd rerouted all the controls on that side of the panel for good measure. She waits until they're out of orbit, in endless open space, before she turns the music off and looks at him with those big baby blues and a stubborn twist to her mouth.
"How many dates before you put out?"
or this one
There's a slick gold convertible on the street and some leggy broad is bent at the waist to get under the hood. It's like a shot from a pinup calendar.
Oh, so that's where Harley is.
we'll go back to the space travel later pin up thighs here i come
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