Sickkk and tired of pretending I’m not into him. I’d let him manipulate me. No, he wouldn’t even need to manipulate me. I’m fine with the truth too. I can take him. Hear me out.
I love me some weird, old, intelligent, masochistic, devoted, ever so slightly effeminate guy. With pretty hands. Can’t forget the hands.
I want to take Arthur Harrow and put him into a tiny petri dish and do unethical experiments on him like a lab rat so I can figure out what’s going on in his little brain and why he acts the way he acts.
Pls psychoanalyse him with me guys he’s so interesting honestly. I hate him but I love him. What the hell is wrong with him
IF and only IF someone is willing to, can someone write up a story with Dr. Daniel Harrow and Dr. Lyle Fairley? I love those two they have a great dynamic
Originally, this was going to be derived from Prompt #5. But then I read @jokingmaiden's post about Dr Harrow as a factive, and my mind added him to the whole scenario. And from there, the story mixed with the help of some of Rebecca Sugar's music, and evolved into something sweeter, I think.
Enjoy and be gentle
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Dr Harrow sat with his back to the door and thought.
"I do not understand," he said aloud, "so much really. There is a world outside of this one. I've never seen it, but I know it. And in this world, is another.
With my face and voice, and part of my name. I did not exist before him. Not until he-" A shaking breath briefly detrailed his monologue: "I have a duty of care, to Marc, to Steven, and to Jake. I know that they don't see what I do as caring. I-I made some missteps during our initial sessions, and..."
He sighed. "I bare the face of their killer, of the only person who tormented them as much as She did." Reaching down from where he sat on his desk, Dr Harrow removed one of his shoes. "The man knew he had grievous sins, knew enough to try to punish himself for them," he noted, staring into the pool of blood and glass, "And yet, he never gave a name to them. Never thought of why the sins were there in the first place."
"But now I have to wonder," he set the bloody shoe on the deck, "What's the difference between me and him?" A mirror sat in a drawer and was removed: "I can't be him, as I live in here, and for a moment we lived at the same time. But we both could see the problems, couldn't we? The unspoken, throbbing pain that breathes and bleeds in the same action. They all hate to think about it, and we both force them to. I am not him, but what right do I have to call myself different?"
And, in that moment, Dr Harrow felt tired. He felt every inch the age his form reflected. The sound of shuffling reached him, but he had no desire to do a session. He closed his eyes. Until his other shoe was removed.
"I think you have every right," Marc said firmly, eyes on Dr Harrow's feet as he opened a first aid box, "I won't deny the...similarities, but he only claimed to want to help. To want something good for everyone else."
Marc's hand gripped Dr Harrow's ankle. It felt like a restraint, strapped in to avoid drifting away to somehwere unknown. "But you," he continued, "You've been actually trying to help us." Each word sounded astonished, said inbetween shards of glass being freed from Dr Harrow's flesh: "Because, to you, we can get better. And you believe that we should."
Silence filled the room once his feet were clean of glass and blood. Bandages slowly wrapped around his feet with caring hands. "So, Doc, can I help you for once?" he looked up.
"There is something," Dr Harrow stated after a moment, "It's been bothering me since I arrived. I've not been able to do anything about it, but maybe you can."
Marc followed his gaze to a record player sitting on a table on the back wall. It definetly was not there before. A record sat ready to play. When the needle was set, a soft yet unfamilar piano came through and a door appeared right next to it. Marc stepped through right as the lyrics kicked in.
"Let's go in the garden, you'll find something waiting. Right there where you left it, lying upside down."
A garden was on the otherside. Thin white trunked trees stretched as far as he could see. Orange leaves blanketed the floor and acted as the sky. Marc walked forward.
"When you finally find it, you'll see how it's faded. The underside is lighter when you turn it around."
A clearing suddenly appeared. One tree had a thicker trunk than the others, and among the strong lower branches, was a treehouse.
"Everything stays, right where you left it. Everything stays, but it still changes. Ever so slightly, daily and nightly. In little ways, when everything stays."
The action of climbing that rope ladder felt so familar to Marc, yet he could not place it. Even more familar was the inside. A simple box, but coated in memories. Walls covered in children's drawings, the only thing other then the occupied sleeping bag in the treehouse. Jake stirred and blinked at him.
"Hah. Didn't think I'd see you here again."
"Again?"
Jake sighed wearily, but sat up as Marc pulled himself inside.
"When the body was younger, I found you and Steven. Quite easily in fact," Jake laughed with no joy, "But, no matter the hints I gave, you both never found me. So, one day, I took the initiative.
"The body was close to sleep, and I managed to get you both here. And introduced myself. We came up here and spent the night together, drawing and hanging out.
I'd never been so happy."
"When I next woke up, it was like it never happened," Jake's eyes glistened with tears, "I made a replica of one of my drawings, one you saw me make. You just turned it over and ignored it. And I knew, that you weren't suppose to know me. No one was."
Jake lost his fight with his tears. And Marc's heart bled.
He crawled inside, right up to Jake's shaking frame, and tucked him into a encompassing hug. Marc's collar was almost immediately wet, but he didn't care one bit. Just held him tight.
When Jake's sobs slowed into shuddering breaths, Marc slowly guided them down to the floor.
"Why don't you get some sleep?" Marc rubbed the back of Jake's head.
"No," Jake shook his head, even as it was still buried in Marc's neck, "You'll forget me again."
"No I won't," Marc placed a kiss on Jake's temple, "If Steven can now know about me and everything else, then I can remember you."
As Jake's breathing evened, music faintly could be heard. No lyrics could be heard, not until the end: " Today, right here, right now, I already feel found..."
