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"i can come back later." @laughn

both of harleen’s hands hurried to close the newspaper shut , hiding away the large bold letters that read TRIPLE MURDER IN GOTHAM’S SUBWAY between the crumpled pages of the gotham gazette . the good doctor had heard all about it on the news . there had been riots throughout the whole city since those rich guys had been shot dead , of course she knew about it ! but perhaps dr . kopski had become ( against her will , of course ! ) overly attached to the idea of gotham having its’ own VIGILANTE ; a patron saint to the disenfranchised , capable of acting out all the fantasies ( she ) they could not . harleen had found the story both horrifying and inspiring . she hungered for more information , more detail , more angles on the why , the how , THE WHO OF IT ALL ! her husband had pointed out she was projecting . in response harleen had left earlier for work . “ no , no ! come in . ” the blonde quickly invited , folding the newspaper and tossing it to the side , far away from both her desk and her visitor’s gaze .

ARTHUR FLECK had been lingering around the asylum for days now . she would spot him outside , looking miserable , perpetually seeming as if he was already locked between padded walls . harleen thought he shouldn’t WANT to be in there . and yet , there he was , stuck to the doorframe , tied to the asylum like a ghost . surely there were better options for treatment . this couldn’t be it . the doctor realized she had been staring at poor arthur for far too long . harleen shook her head . “ sorry . things have been kinda crazy 'round here . arkham’s had a big influx of people coming in since that whole clown vigilante thing . ” harley began cleaning up her desk when she suddenly realized there was something terribly unethical about that meeting . arthur fleck wasn’t a patient yet ; arkham was a place meant for the criminally insane . the frail man standing by the door was neither of those things . and guests weren’t usually allowed to walk freely without an access pass or , at the very least , a guide . harley slowly turned her head , worried about the legality of arthur’s PRESENCE .

“ ... did staff give you clearance to be on this floor , arthur ? ”

#* ANSWERED .#* LAUGHN .#* V00 : TO BE TAGGED .#what are timeline s hjdfnskfd

‘ my demons are not remotely tackled. they’re just mildly concussed. ’ : @laughn ────── SHARP OBJECTS MEME

this is a first . having someone actually wanting to step into arkham asylum voluntarily . harleen blows out smoke and stares at a small bit of grass that grows between a crack on the pavement . it’s yellowish and dry . a feeble attempt at growth . THE MOST THERE WILL EVER BE IN THOSE PREMISES . someone steps out of the main entrance crying into a crumpled up tissue . and this guy thinks he’ll find help inside ( what are you ? nuts ?! ) . dr. kopski tried to look at him after he made his confession , but it was hard . there was a lot of sorrow in his eyes . his brow tried to cast a shadow over them , but it was too evident , too palpable . she focuses on the pavement again . taps some ash onto the little pile of grass , watches it get covered in grey . ❝ it’s not easy tackling demons . we carry them for so long they become part of us . ❞ harleen replied . this was a strange chat to have on her lunch break . most of her colleagues preferred to focus on issues involving delayed paychecks and erratic schedules . but they reeked of passive-aggressiveness . they didn’t like her very much . harleen lacked the warmth one would expect from a woman her age . ─── honestly she liked this better .

❝ gets hard to tell trauma from personality after a while . ❞ another drag from her cigarette , another cloud of smoke . WHO WAS SHE TALKING ABOUT , REALLY ? the blonde took another glance at the man when she thought he wasn’t looking and saw his slumped shoulders , the way the corners of his mouth pointed downwards , the bags under his eyes ( that’s a fella on the edge if i’ve ever seen one , yikes ! ) ... but it was abandonment that plagued him , not VIOLENCE . harley sniffed and looked away , fearing that if she stared for too long she too might become plagued with new demons . already got enough of those , thanks . ❝ you don’t belong in there , mister . ❞ the sentence rolls off her tongue faster than she can think it . she almost sounds frustrated about it . arkham asylum for the criminally insane . they imprisoned people in there under the guise of rehabilitation . the man was ready to waltz into that joint looking for a hug but he’d only end up being embraced by a straitjacket .

❝ trust me . ❞

#* IC .#* ANSWERED .#* V02 : BETTER THROW HER IN THE WATER !#* LAUGHN .#let's play the game of ''what is the timeline here''#becauseidon'tknow #also fAMOUS LAST WORD S H A RL EY WELL DO NE

❛ No one ever really gets used to nightmares. ❜

* 𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚅𝙴𝚂 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙴 : OPEN

Victor Fries looked up from his newspaper to glance at the only other person sitting in the rather dull looking waiting room . Pale blue eyes blinked a couple of times as he drank the man’s appearance in (even if a bit apprehensively) . He looked, above all things, tired ; far more tired than Dr. Fries. And he would have said he fit right into the psychiatrist’s severe looking decor were it not for his brightly colored jacket . There was some fun there , SOMETHING DARING . That was good, Victor thought . Since his wife had found out about her illness all she did was dress in BLACK AND GREY , trying to sink into the background, become part of Gotham’s asphalt , allow herself to fade away without anyone noticing . But Victor couldn’t worry . He had no time for it . HE’D FIND A WAY TO FIX THIS .

The Doctor folded his newspaper , his head bowing down a bit sheepishly when realizing he had left the man’s sentence hanging for a second too long . ❝ ━━ I can’t recall the last time I’ve had a nightmare. ❞ He admitted, leaning back against his chair, offering a small smile at the rather fragile looking man . ❝ My mind isn’t creative enough to horrify me. ❞ There was supposed to be humor in his words, but instead, Victor was met with a bitter taste over his tongue. He too sounded tired. Tired of doctors and psychiatrists and medication ; all that was supposed to make his wife’s end EASIER FOR HER only seemed to bring her more misery . Dear beautiful Nora ... He imagined her sobbing behind that closed door to a stranger who was paid to tell her to LET GO. Victor bent one leg over the other, trying to focus on his chatting buddy rather than the outrage poking at his guts .

❝ My dreams are always about the how rather than the if . Solving issues rather than exploring them. ❞ He thought about offering the other man a smile. But whatever optimism he might have hidden in the corners of his lips died out at the sight of his wife, shutting the door behind her with swollen red eyes . ❝ But I’m not entirely sure that’s an healthier option . ❞