WELL, ISN'T SHE A SLEEPING BEAUTY? Harley's blonde hair frames her face like a halo. But we both know you're no angel, don't we? Drool slips from her open mouth, sullying the pillow beneath her head. Ah, that's more like the jester that Selina knows!
Selina is laying on the massive bed with the familiar black sheets inches away from Harley, head resting on her propped up hand, just watching the other woman breathe and snore and sleep. She resists the urge to pet her hair. Until she decides to do so, anyways. Perhaps it would be a sweet sight to behold. If it wasn't for the fact that Harley is fucking her husband, that is. (Ex-husband, Selina).
Yes, imagine her surprise when she found her friend in her husband's bed, the room smelling like sex and the bedsheets wet with his come. It took everything in her not to slash Harley's throat while she slept. The only reason she hasn't is because she wants to see the look of fear on Harley's face when she does it. Ah, finally, Sleeping Beauty is waking the fuck up!
She plasters a sickly sweet smile on her lips when Harley eventually stirs awake. ❛ I always did enjoy Bruce in blue, ❜ she purrs, referring to the dress shirt Harley wears. It would have hurt less had she just been naked, frankly. ❛ It goes so well with his eyes, don't you think? ❜
HER GRIEF IS STRIKING AND BRUTAL , enough to dig claws into his heart . harley has been like this all weekend , and sebastian has done whatever he can to offer reassurance and kindness , take care of her the BEST WAY he knows how . the gentle offer to join him at the grocery store comes rejected , but harley sniffles out a tiny request for an icee . at once , SEBASTIAN SMILES . ❝ absolutely . can i get you anything else ? ❞ he lowers beside her on the couch and starts rubbing her arm , a gesture of warmth , kindness , affection . ❝ everything’s going to be all right . ❞ friend to friend , bodyguard to harley quinn herself — support to her weakness . he wants to help her , shelter her from the fear she feels and the stress of the joker’s taunting . ❝ you know i won’t let him come near you . i won’t let anything happen to you . YOU’RE SAFE . what flavor of icee , my dear ? what would you like ? ❞
my hands are up. she’s wild-eyed and lurching forward and snapping out, surging with whatever venom of the night she’s consumed. i try not to block her swings with my gauntlets alone; i know if she takes a shot too hard she’ll hurt her hand. i know that it can easily take a straightforward connection to shatter knuckles.
and i know what she looks like when she’s panicking. when all she sees is red, whatever she may or may not be on in the moment. wherever she may be in the moment.
the slash grazes my arm and i hear the fabric of the suit tear loudly, a trickle of blood compressed around the tight grip of titanium woven fiber. i duck another shot-- and grab her right at the end of the roof before her next swing pitches her over the edge. she winds up to strike again, and i prepare to take a full hit wherever she lands so i can use her momentum to tug her back to safety, to the cold purchase of the concrete beneath us. the wind whips loudly off the river. i prepare to make a fulcrum of us both before her own mania makes her little more than another chalk outline left in an alley. my heart races at the sight in my mind.
the dark roof did not ease the suspicions that come with this meeting. the lamplight does not reach up here, but he walks without fear (he has scraped gotham as raw as any other bruise: he knew every faded corner as if it had twisted into the shape of his body, each contour evenly matched). his gaze is watchful as it dips into the shadows, his body trapped in endless pause as he heard a noise behind him. a small rustle... if he was less cautious, he would have ignored it. he spun in place, the lash of his cape throwing darker shadows across the night. his eyes scan the rooftop. gently, as quiet as can be, he hears approaching footsteps. ‘‘you should be more careful when you’re sneaking up on someone,’’ he warns, a voice that is solid & unamused.
harley is a flicker in the night. he is wise enough to never take his eyes off of her: this, after all, could well be an ambush (he goes through the mental checks of every weapon currently on him... the people that harley consorted with tended to encourage a certain type of worry). ‘‘you’ve called me here for a reason.’’ a question phrased like a statement: his cultivated art - form. ‘‘let’s hurry up. i have other things to be doing.’’ @crimeloyalty
“ eddie! ” harleen has one baby strapped to her back, the other to her front, and she’s reaching over her shoulder to squeak a toy in front of bryce’s face in the hopes that it’ll keep him from crying. he doesn’t take to new people well, though his sister’s practically bouncing in her carrier, hands already outstretching towards edward. jackie’s never met anyone she didn’t like. even in the chaos, harley’s smiling.
it takes a minute for harley to untangle herself from the babies, handing jackie to eddie with an apologetic smile. no’s not an option. “ they cry if they’re not being held, and bryce won’t let anybody but me take him. ”
what harley doesn’t say is that eddie’s one of the only people in gotham she trusts with her kids. with bruce gone, the list gets shorter every day. jackie reaches up, tiny hand pawing at edward’s cheek while harleen pulls out her chair, bouncing bryce in her arms once she sits. he looks alarmed until he spots his sister, then is content to hide in his mother’s arms. “ aw, eddie, you know i live for our lunches. how else am i gonna find out about how you’re gonna put gcpd outta business? ”
what she doesn’t say this time is that, with bruce gone, he’s one of the only friends she has left. between the twins and work, harley doesn’t get out much —- and every attempt at joining facebook mom groups has resulted in nasty messages about ‘ not allowing criminals. ’
“ okay, tell me everything, please. i haven’t had an adult conversation that didn’t revolve around gunshot wounds since —- well, since the last time we did this. ”
The baby babbles at him. His back straightens and Quinzel beams.
"Harleen,” he starts, exasperated. He raises his hands. “I’m hardly–”
It's non-negotiable, and he’s already holding Jackie.
He never planned on this. Not the kids; he knew they were coming. But Harleen passing her daughter along with that sorry look in her eye, Jackie laughing— He's out of his depth. Edward knows the impossible, all the maths and the sciences, the tidbits of information no one could ever care about, but he’s never learned how to hold a little girl while her mother watches. He never held Emma.
How is Harleen? Bryce has her hair. Jackie’s, darker, just like dad’s. Napier is dead. He’s holding the Joker’s daughter.
She grins, gummy-mouthed at him, and paws at his face. He winces away and holds her like she’d snap in the wind.
"It's like they always say," he starts, aiming for something like charm and cheer. He bobs his head. "'The more things change, the more they stay the same.'"
Jackie mimics the head bob. She laughs at his bemused look, and he's charmed. "There's no case I can't solve, and that always pays the bills. Mabel is away on maternity leave, and I, of course, have to straighten everything out - myself… But she couldn't be happier. And, oh…" —he wags a hand, smiling. It’s almost blasé— "all's well that ends well."
If he's fortunate, Harleen won't notice so little has happened that he has to mention his secretary at all. As if she ever asked.
The waitress comes by again, and this time, she looks relieved. Maybe because there's someone else at the other side of the table now. Maybe because she got a good tip. He orders the penne alla vodka. Then, giving in, a sauvignon.
There’s high chairs they can set the kids in. It’ll be a good idea soon.
"You clearly have your hands full." He'd said it with a smile, playful and sly if not for the fact that that’s just Edward. A second goes, and he’s sweeter and slower. “Has anyone ever told you she has your eyes?"
Gotham criminal politics are untenable. Just, like, abysmal.
No, really. Los Angeles was incestuous enough with connections-upon-connections and the perpetual circle of scheming, but this goes above and beyond. It’s really half just personally relationships and pettiness that have nothing to do with business, and everyone’s perpetually head-butting clinically-diagnosed psychoses.
He used to be buddies with him before he bombed his favorite soda shop, so-and-so used to be in a romantic tangle before a puppy-massacre incident...
Here is, allegedly, a former flame of someone who he’s finding is increasingly impossible to avoid in this city. Or rather, it’s her apartment he’s breaking into at 3 AM in the morning, with intent to do his fair share of snooping around.
Former psychiatric professional-turned-whatever-the-fuck-she-is-now? He was having his fingers crossed that she wouldn’t be defending her place adequately.
Unfortunately, he sets off a booby trap the second he breaks and slides into a window], so that’s already proved implausible.
@crimeloyalty asked: [ patch ] - for harls to patch up jay's wound/s
“Thanks, honey.” the words slipped out as smooth as silk, as natural as the rising sun, as if they hadn’t spent the last year and some months completely apart. joker hadn’t spoken a word to her during her entire incarceration. not a single phone call, not a letter. not even a few bucks in her account so she could buy a honeybun. their reunification hadn’t gone that smooth but when push came to shove, and he found himself injured; it was harley that he would seek out. not for any sort of sentimental reason, of course. but because he knew she would let him inside! she would gasp and grab all her medical supplies, and fix him up as good as new. joker kicked his legs slightly, as the dangled off the edge of her kitchen table.
in a rare show of affection, the clown’s hand rested against harley’s lower back as she dutifully cleaned up the drying blood from his neck and bare collar area. “Almost got me, didn’t he?” HAHA! it seemed to look a lot worse than it actually was. his shirt, which was now discarded, was nearly completely stained down the front with the reddish brown of blood. a nasty cut slashed from the side of his neck and down towards his chest. if he hadn’t thrown himself backwards, down some concrete steps, he might have been a goner! his ribs weren’t too happy about option b, though. harley already said she’d take a look at the bruising next, the gash took priority. “You should’a seen the look on your face,” he commented, head tilting slightly as he stared down her profile; brow pinched, lips parted. so focused on making sure he was fine. “It was priceless. You always look your prettiest when you’re scared.”
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