#harley.verses

[messwrites]

harley quinn

Basic Information

all information provided is for her main verse she is predominently comic based

-Fᴜʟʟ Nᴀᴍᴇ : Harleen Quinzel - Nɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇ(s) : Harley Quinn - Aɢᴇ : 32 - Hᴏᴍᴇᴛᴏᴡɴ : Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York / Gotham - Cᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ Lᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ : Gotham - Pʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴs : she/her/hers - Oʀɪᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ : bisexual-biromantic - Oᴄᴄᴜᴘᴀᴛɪᴏɴ : criminal/funhouse owner - Lɪᴠɪɴɢ Aʀʀᴀɴɢᴇᴍᴇɴᴛs : loft - Lᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ(s) Sᴘᴏᴋᴇɴ : english, ASL, spanish - Aᴄᴄᴇɴᴛ : iconic Harley new yorker-ish???

Physical Appearance

- Fᴀᴄᴇ Cʟᴀɪᴍ : Natalie Dormer – Margot Robbie - Hᴀɪʀ Cᴏʟᴏᴜʀ : blonde - Eʏᴇ Cᴏʟᴏᴜʀ : blue - Hᴇɪɢʜᴛ : 5'2" - Wᴇɪɢʜᴛ : 140 lbs - Tᴀᴛᴛᴏᴏs :  TBD - Pɪᴇʀᴄɪɴɢs :  6 piercings on each ear - Usᴜᴀʟ Exᴘʀᴇssɪᴏɴ : pleasant, even friendly, perhaps a smile

Distinguishing Characteristics

- Pʜʏsɪᴄᴀʟ Aɪʟᴍᴇɴᴛs : no ailments, though she is classified as an enhanced-human. immunity to most drugs or toxins, and stronger than average strength - Nᴇᴜʀᴏʟᴏɢɪᴄᴀʟ Cᴏɴᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴs : undiagnosed, or misdiagnosed for the most part but, reoccurring manic depression, minor-treatable  case of paranoid schizophrenia, anxiety, - Aʟʟᴇʀɢɪᴇs : pollen, dust, pine nuts, and the full spectrum of human emotion - Sʟᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ Hᴀʙɪᴛs : prone to extremes staying awake for days or sleeping for 18 hours - Eᴀᴛɪɴɢ Hᴀʙɪᴛs : forgets to eat occasionally unless reminded, idle snacker when bored. - Exᴇʀᴄɪsᴇ Hᴀʙɪᴛs : strives for peak human conditioning, usually developed through criminal activity or gymnastics - Eᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ Sᴛᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ : 3.7 out of 10, 10 being the highest. She’s got low impulse control, and is in the process of coping with an abusive relationship, feelings of lack of control, adrenaline junkie, lack of support system. She has a lot of baggage. Prone to extremes. - Sᴏᴄɪᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ : generally friendly, able to strike up a conversation,  quick to become rude or aggressive if she doesn’t get her way or someone says something she doesn’t like. - Dʀᴜɢ Usᴇ : occasional prescriptions, occasional recreation - Aʟᴄᴏʜᴏʟ Usᴇ : social drinker, occasionally morose.

Personality

- Pᴏsɪᴛɪᴠᴇ Tʀᴀɪᴛs : resourceful, candid, resilient, - Nᴇɢᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ Tʀᴀɪᴛs : tactless, unforgiving, naive - Gᴏᴀʟs/Dᴇsɪʀᴇs : to determine what she likes for herself, or what she likes because of a continued and lingering influence of the joker. To stand on her own two feet. - Fᴇᴀʀs : y'know, normal Harley stuff. //vague shrugging noises - Hᴏʙʙɪᴇs : tumbling, gymnastics, bartending, gaming - Hᴀʙɪᴛs : nail biting, hair twirling, leaving the cap off the toothpaste and losing it, consistently getting hungry at 2 AM if she’s awake.

Favorites

- Wᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ : sunny, cool, with a slight breeze - Cᴏʟᴏᴜʀ : pink - Mᴜsɪᴄ : something she can move to, doesn’t matter the genre, prefers pop, pop-punk, rap, and occasionally old r&b - Mᴏᴠɪᴇs : the brave little toaster makes her cry - Sᴘᴏʀᴛ : derby - Bᴇᴠᴇʀᴀɢᴇ : root beer mixed with beer, or shirley temples - Fᴏᴏᴅ : junk food - Aɴɪᴍᴀʟ : hyenas

Family

- Fᴀᴛʜᴇʀ : out of the picture - Mᴏᴛʜᴇʀ : out of the picture - Sɪʙʟɪɴɢ(s) : estranged little siblings - Cʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ : none - Pᴇᴛ(s) : lou and bud, two hyenas - Fᴀᴍɪʟʏ’s Fɪɴᴀɴᴄɪᴀʟ Sᴛᴀᴛᴜs : broke

Extra:

- Zᴏᴅɪᴀᴄ Sɪɢɴ : virgo - MBTI : ESFP - Eɴɴᴇᴀɢʀᴀᴍ : The Romantic - Tᴇᴍᴘᴇʀᴀᴍᴇɴᴛ : sanguine - Hᴏɢᴡᴀʀᴛs Hᴏᴜsᴇ : Slytherin - Mᴏʀᴀʟ Aʟɪɢɴᴍᴇɴᴛ : chaotic-good - Pʀɪᴍᴀʀʏ Vɪᴄᴇ : envy - Pʀɪᴍᴀʀʏ Vɪʀᴛᴜᴇ : charity

characterization notes :

Harley is not in love with the Joker, he’s more like a stain she can’t get out, he will always have an effect on her, but whether that effect is a positive one is largely debatable.

Currently Harley lives in an apartment complex she owns out at Coney Island, no other villains live with her though she treats her tenants like friends and even family.

Characterization is largely based off the Suicide Squad comic, she’s just freshly left the squad, roughly a year ago, and her personality is conflicted, she’s currently caught trying to discover who exactly she is, she’s torn between liking the things she does, and desperately wondering if her reason for liking that is because of the Joker’s continued influence over her.

While a little silly and kooky Harley is manic and has very low impulse control, it leads to her doing things without really worrying about the consequences, as well as simply not caring how others may perceive things. She has very little inhibitions.

Harley has gone back to going by what she perceives as her ‘maiden’ name, introducing herself as Harley Quinzel.

Harley considers diamonds to be a bit of a calling card, and while she no longer associates them with the clown she once was, she now thinks of them in the terms of ‘diamonds are a girl’s best friend’

Biography

comic based. post suicide-squad.

content warnings for: implied child abuse and child neglect and abandonment, manipulation, vague very vague references to abuse , codependent/unhealthy/toxic relationship. Implied drug abuse, implied alcoholism. I tried to err on the side of caution and warn for anything at all I could possibly think of.

Do you know what responsibility feels like? For Harleen it felt like a neglectful abusive mother and a con man father, and two twins half her age that she tucked in at night and soothed through nightmares. For Harleen it was endless schoolwork and never going to parties, and do you have any idea how hard it is to hit puberty and have no one to turn to? She does.

See the thing is, was, that her house was hectic, loud, chaotic, when you have kids raising kids they either grow up fast or they end up dead. Harleen was by no means perfect, but she tried, boy did she ever, she didn’t get a childhood, lying to teachers about where her mother was (passed out on the couch no doubt) what her father did (lied his way to the bank). What happened to her arm?

Oh Ma’am I fell is all, I was running and my brother got in my way, I didn’t want to land on him, and I hit the wall instead.

Harley counted the years, it wasn’t a running tally, she didn’t mark it down, she didn’t even mean to, fifth grade, lying to teachers and other parents, lying, lying, lying, she got really fucking good at it. Eight more years. She was lucky really, lucky that one of the parents paid attention even when she swore they didn’t, even if they came to the wrong conclusion. Sure it was a conclusion she helped them too, but it was better than nothing. She ended up having a place to run away to when she needed it, gymnastics, she hadn’t ever been afraid, not for a long time. It was no surprise she was fearless on the mats. She spent her time running or hiding, and always lying. Daddy’s little girl, taking after him when all she ever got was a pat on the head and some useless information she didn’t ever think she’d need.

The best way to pick a pocket is with your index and middle finger, remember Pumpkin.

Turns out she did need it, because her mother wasn’t picking herself up off the floor any time soon and her little siblings were hungry, school lunches couldn’t make up for a missing dinner, three nights of the week. She had a job of course, working at the local corner store, but someone had to take care of her siblings, just eleven years old, she didn’t want to leave them alone just yet, after all, two more years were all they had with her before they’d be alone again. At least, she thought, bagging groceries a handful of hours a week, at least they’d have each other. In between studying and work, looking after her siblings she was swamped, barely had time to go to that old gym, not that she didn’t make time. That didn’t pay the bills though, it didn’t fill their bellies either, so she took to stealing, a little here, a little there, just enough to keep them afloat, never from people who looked like they would need it. She hit tourists in time square, she hit fat cats in Manhattan, she did what she needed to do.

That’s all she ever did. What she needed to do.

She was eighteen, hard working, young, and fresh faced with idealism, her siblings hugged her before she got on the bus, two suitcases all she had to her name and no family that would ever visit her. It was worth it. Harleen Quinzel, a scholarship student at Gotham University with a full ride, a slot on the gymnastics team, no kids to look after, she’d gotten all the freedom she could ever want, or so she thought.

Harleen was infinitely interested in psychology, she wanted to, well, understand her parents, what had made them what they were today, what choices they’d made, because it wasn’t always this way she was sure. Knows from nights of hugging old picture frames to her chest in the dark, knows from the photos of them as a family, her father holding her in his arms and her mother smiling at the camera. The more extreme the personality, the more interested she was, it wasn’t any surprise that Harleen gravitated toward the Joker, not to her anyway.

She’d originally planned on simply diagnosing him, dissecting him and writing a book, Harleen Quinzel, the woman who rehabilitated the Joker, it was going to be her way of beating her family. Not a criminal, not an alcoholic, nothing like that at all, she was going to be something great, and she’d take care of her siblings, and…well, she’d do this whole living thing right. By the time she graduated, finished her thesis and begun her tenure at Arkham, Harleen had a plan. Three months in and after countless hours of needling and prodding she finally got what she wanted. Her first session with the infamous Joker and it was everything she thought it’d be an more.

See, Harley was smart, Harley had a plan, after all, what do you do to get on the good side of a clown? It seemed simple enough, make him laugh. No one has any idea how many witness reports and videos she went through of the Joker, no one has any idea to this day how long she spent workshopping that first joke. She knew that first joke, that first impression would make or break this, though, she didn’t know just how true that would be. He hadn’t reacted well to any of the orthodox techniques, and why would he, unorthodox was sort of her specialty though.

“I’m your new psychologist, Doctor Harleen Quinzel, but you can call me Harley Quinn. Like the clown. Get it?”

He’d stared at her for one unwavering moment, eyes dark and then he’d thrown his head back and laughed, carefree, wild, cracked laughter that echoed off the walls and sent chills down her spine, goosebumps over her skin.

“Why Harley, are flirting with me?”

Their initial meeting had been explosive, his hands around her neck, his lips stretched wide over teeth that glinted in the florescents as he laughed. By the time he’d backed off cackling, ‘it’s a joke a joke I swear!’ she’d had a pen in her grip the point of it ready to go into him. She didn’t release her white knuckled grip on it even as she smiled tightly at him, lipstick smudged over her cheek and hair in disarray.

“Mister Joker, touch me again and I’ll show you you how we did it back in Bensonhurst, your balls will be so far up your throat they get lost in your vocal cords.”

That started a rapport that surprised everyone, Harley included. It was easier she found to not be professional, to ask questions here or there and let him talk, some sessions he’d try and pull her heart strings, some sessions he’d tell her about how to make a car battery bomb. She can’t describe what happened, not really not to this day, she was a master of lies, she’d been lying her whole life after all.

People think she just went mad one day, or she’d been manipulated, tricked into loving him from a little sob story like she didn’t have one of her own. She doesn’t know when she fell in love with the Joker, maybe it was somewhere between the fake story about his dad and the real story about the bank robbing, maybe it was the way he looked at her like she was the only interesting thing he got to see all day, maybe it was the fact she’d deluded herself into thinking she could understand. That she was the one person who could understand. Or maybe it was none of that at all.

Maybe she was just tired of doing what she was supposed to, tired of responsibility, tired of putting on her glasses and her little white coat and having a fine night and a fine day and waking up and looking back and realizing that her life had been one big long line of fine with nothing to break it up but misery and the only time she felt like she could do more, be more was when the Joker was talking to her. When she realized that laws have power because people gave them power and if enough people just stopped trying to be so damn responsible it would all be chaos out there. It almost already was.

Welcome to Gotham City, home of the criminally deranged.

She doesn’t know what made her break him out the first time, she has no idea what finally broke her, no, that’s a lie, when he’d escaped without her help she’d gone to the scene of his crime, police tape and sirens and screaming and fire, she’d gone to the lights and the noise and she’d looked at the aftermath of what he’d done and she’d laughed. One man had done all of this? He made her efficiency look like wasting time. She watched the news zealously for any trace of him, listened as people who didn’t know him dissected him on TV, so-called professionals giving their opinion and they were all so fucking stupid. They didn’t get it at all, they never would.

When the Joker returned to Arkham, bruised, beaten, Harleen took one look at him and decided this wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to just feel special when he looked at her in these four walls, because one day he wouldn’t be able to look at her anymore. One day he’d die, one day he’d be sent to prison, one day a lot of things and she couldn’t handle that, couldn’t deal with the thought of not being special anymore, because the Joker. He was what made her days great, more than just fine. He was what made her feel like she was more than just a little lab rat in heels and a coat.

Turns out her boss the good Doc Serano had stolen her notes. All of them, every single one of them on the Joker, and you know what, terrible work ethic aside, she learned something about the Joker much quicker than Harley did. Doctor Serano learned that one Harleen Quinzel was in love with him. There was a fight, a broken picture frame, a cut face, and before she knew it she was running down the hall to the surprised shout of security.

‘Is one of the patients loose?!’

Not yet. She let the Joker out to the sound of laughter and explained things in a rush, surrounded by flashing lights, mad screams and the facility going into high security he pulled her close and he hugged her, his large hand cradled the back of her head.

The chemical plant was horrifying to behold, nailed shut dilapidated railing and broken windows, the place had an air of desperation and the broken boards stood stark like bared teeth. She tried to run, of course she did, she’d wanted, something, to feel special and, this, this was too far, but The Joker, he was always faster than her wasn’t he? One step ahead of her. Into the mix she went, stir once, stir twice, drain and ta dah, Harley Quinn was born.

Lou and Bud her precious baby boys were the first gift she ever got from the Joker, a birthday present for a girl who had been baptized again, reborn in chemicals and washed clean.

Goodbye Harleen and helloooooooo Harley.

They wreaked havoc, they destroyed the city, lit it up with fire and laughter and well, love. The city never knew crime until the two of them brought it on with the force of a tsunami, they destroyed that place, wrecked lives, bought cops, laughed and laughed and laughed until there was nothing but laughter and screams in the night.

Then one day he got put away, locked up in Arkham and the key thrown away, Harley was in a different part of the city at the time, distracting the police during the big confrontation with the Bat. She escaped custody, just for long enough to get revenge on every lawyer that helped put him away, she was gonna dance with every one, gonna show him she could make her Puddin proud. Pile them so high he’d have to notice her.

Well, Belle Reeve was more, some knockout gas, a nanobomb necktie and a new cutie to play house with Harley got it all. It was hard in the beginning, tortured for information she didn’t have to prove to a jury she didn’t know that she wouldn’t rat them out. Amanda Waller was her jailer and her judge and her executioner, she was sent out on missions, the sort of thing she wouldn’t bother with normally, where’s the artistry? The laughs? Sure, it wasn’t boring but it wasn’t fun, not really, secret government missions and the constant threat of death, the idea sounds like a ball of laughs but it got old really fast. Turns out there’s nothing good, or fun, or hell even funny about following orders and laying your life on the line for things you don’t care about, people you don’t care about. That’s the thing, she doesn’t mind almost dying if it’s for something she gives a damn about but Waller’s little playdates with world governments and secret shenanigans? She couldn’t give a rats ass.

Harley played a little too fast and loose, heard the Joker came back, took out the kid, played it fast and loose like her, but that wasn’t the deal. See, her and Puddin was always after the bat, not the kiddies, they were kids, you know, she always thought they’d have some one day, settle down with Bud and Lou and a bunch of brats. You don’t bring the kids into a domestic. What happened to the commissioners kid that was about the worst thing Harley had ever heard, she denied it, said there was no way that her Puddin could do something like that, that wasn’t a joke, that wasn’t madness, that was just sick. And they never went that far, never would. Until he did.

Harley almost died, turns out things ain’t so good on the outside, not as cushy as it is inside, and Harley went a little bit cuckoo for cocoa puffs there for awhile, life went Looney Tunes and she was tired. Tired of Waller’s games, tired of being manipulated, Waller sent someone to her, quite the looker since he was a replica of her Puddin. And he said the sweetest things, all the things she’d heard when she stepped out of that chemical bath, oh she knew what Waller was playing at. Of course she knew, when the fake tried to knife her between the ribs and the new Robin Hood of their merry band of fuck ups stepped out of the shadows to save her. She wasn’t so easy to play, Waller had to learn. It was easy to slip that pretty little knife between his ribs and tell Waller she was done.

That’s when the fun began, a prison riot, a bitch taken hostage and her life sentence was shortened up. One year. One more year. It’s a good thing Harley got good at counting years. Harley got out of Suicide Squad, she did. she left them, and she left the Joker too, gonna make her own way, she figures she’s been gone long enough. It’s time for her to go home.

Verses

verse: 001. main verse, comic based, canon-divergent, headcanon driven

verse: 002. SS Squad film-novel verse, headcanon driven, FC: Margot Robbie

verse: 003. Pre-Arkham verse, canon divergent, fc: Emily Kinney // Margot Robbie

verse: 004. different strokes. AU verse where Harley becomes drawn to a different member of the Rogues and becomes their partner in crime rather then the Joker’s, fc: dependent

verse: 005. hero doctor, Harley sets herself up post-squad as a psychiatrist for villains and almost reluctantly heroes as well

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#muse.harley #harley.bio #harley.verses #harley.character.sheet #long post for ts