#fearsewn

[protective starters || accepting]

“My Timelord.”

She practically purred the phrase, a sly smirk crossing her face. Gene sauntered over to the door to the laboratory — locked it — and turned to press her back against it, grinning at the doctor.

what really happened?  harley doesn’t take the handkerchief @fearsewn​ offers,  too exhausted to worry about being polite.  instead,  she drops his head onto his shoulder,  desperate for any shelter she can find. if she’s near him,  if she’s tucked against one nightmare,  none of the others can get her. 

“ i think my boyfriend’s trying to kill me, ”  she says,  voice as flat as if she’s reciting facts from some study to him.  it’s an answer,  but it’s not enough of one : crane would be able to assess the same just by observing the clown masks covering the faces of the men on the floor. 

people have tried to help harleen quinzel.  joan leland has spent hours talking to her,  has sent the best of the best ( at least -- those who would dare set foot in gotham ) to try to treat the once brilliant doctor.  no one has been able to so much as crack her.  any improvement has been an act ; harleen knows exactly what their benchmarks for rehabilitation are,  and she has never met a test she hasn’t been able to ace.

but jonathan crane is not just a psychiatrist -- he is also her friend,  one of the only ones she has left.  harley wraps her arms tightly around one of his,  trying to anchor herself to now instead of slipping away to the explosive fight that had sent her running from the home house she and joker share live. 

“ to those of you who’ve been following me more closely over the years,  today’s guest won’t be a surprise.  i’d like to introduce @fearsewn​ to you all.  he’s an old friend whose path has been remarkably similar to mine .”

The psychiatrist pauses mid-step, down the night-watch halls of Arkham, to behold the specter of … himself.

Well.

This is becoming an alarmingly regular occurrence: encounters with dopplegangers.

   “Hum,” he remarks, after a protracted pause. “I should have drawn the last dose of my compound with gloves on.”

He reaches out a hand to shake, as much because of scientific curiosity as trust.  After all, Jonathan Crane is rarely trustworthy.

“You should have.” Crane agrees quietly. “Although I have no room to talk.” The hand he extended is covered with scars, proving his point, and he withdraws it rather quickly after a firm handshake.

For every 🎊 I get I’ll recommend a blog

@fearsewn is a fantastic RPer and one of the Best Scarecrow RPs I’ve read. Even if you’re not in the community, I would check out their meta and headcanon posts. Mostly dabbles in Year One and Noalnverse.  Def. Worth checking out!

       I CAN’T GO BACK TO YESTERDAY.    No, he was a different person then. No turning back from what he’s done, only forward- ever forward- down and down and down...

They took his hat. Of COURSE they did, but-- did they HAVE to? That BAT thing had already broken the long crafted tech hidden inside, what harm was it? ( And more so, was there anything here he could use to remake it all? ) He felt so terribly stripped bare, so horridly forced to look at himself when he was anyone BUT himself--   OH WELL.  Without a hat, he was still the Hatter. One already resolute in his decision.  Madness. Wonderland. Alice. That Alice. Which Alice? No, WHOSE Alice? MY ALICE!

So... even being led to his first appointment with his first doctor, unnerving an experience as it was, he was singing a song under his breath as he was brought in to sit with them.