#batman echoes

[scriddlecat-is-gold]

Echoes Riddler icons

? ~ more icons with Echoes Ed here

[chronicbeans]

Me as a kid: I wuv Mario because he saved the princess, Silver the Hedgehog because he's super cool, and I also wuv Shadow because he's super epic! 😊 I wonder who my hero crushes will be in the future, and if I'll ever get a boyfriend! That'd be so cool!

Me as an adult, flipping open my Pookie Notebook™: Um... 😐

Me as an adult: We're single in the future. NO FICTIONAL CRUSHES.

[justrandomtrashes]

RIDDLEBAT NATION WAKE THE FUCK UPPPPPPPPP

[ratsarescary]

Meanwhile he gives him hints that he likes him while talking

[acapelladitty]

Batman'89 Scarecrow - Stifled

Summary: In costume and in desperate need of a little release, Jonathan indulges in some auto-erotic asphyxiation.

Fic Masterlist // Link to AO3

(And please enjoy this paired art piece by the wonderfully skilled @wingedqueenlynx)

His costume a comforting weight against his thin frame, Jonathan settled against the sheets of his bed with a stuttering sigh as he exhaled deeply. Rolling his hands through his plume of curled hair, the soft pull of the strands made him extend his neck, a satisfying pop echoing from the left side of his throat.

Air more heated than he would have liked, a fact made worse by the heavy costume which pinned him in place, his hands slipped down towards his groin with a casualness that belied the slight tremor in the digits as they fought to free his half-hard cock from within the layers of fabric. With its familiar leftward tilt, his cock felt hot in his hand as he quickly stroked himself to hardness - the anticipation of his play sparking a guttural arousal which make his cock twitch.

Curling his fingers around his mask and the noose which looped loosely around its base, Jonathan released his cock long enough to slip the burlap cover over his face. It slid on like a second skin - his true face - and with it came a focus which made his skin itch with the need for something more, for a release that was long overdue.

His vision blurred from the lack of glasses or contacts he typically wore with the mask, the rest of his senses felt strengthened as he indulged in the scent of the burlap, earthy and wicked, and the way that it brushed the end of his proud nose. Cock neglected for the moment, he felt his balls tighten as his fingers curled around the knot of the noose.

Groaning as he tightened the noose around his neck to the point of constriction, the discomfort of his mask as it pressed into his vulnerable skin made his cock jerk untouched. He need this, deserved this, and he would take what he needed while ignoring the shame. One hand hanging loosely on the knot as he fought to breathe around it, his other hand snaked it ways down his chest, only pausing at his covered nipples to brush them roughly, indulging in the added stimulation before wrapping firmly around his cock once more.

The feel of his mask digging into his neck, pulled taut by his noose as it slowly strangled him, was deliciously painful with the added benefit of not leaving livid ropemarks against his skin. The burlap restricted his air at the best of times and the fabric pulled tight against his lips as he fought to inhale deeply, the tip of his nose scouring against the rough material with every shaky breath.

His free hand, the one not currently trained on his noose, stroked along his cock with a patient rhythm as it slowly drew every ounce of pleasure that it could. Painfully hard, the pulsing discomfort in his head was reflected in his cock as it throbbed in tandem.

Chest heaving as his lungs started to burn from the consistent lack of oxygen, the hot pleasure in his groin only grew more intense as the pressure in his head steadily built - his body struggling and writhing in place as his hand fisted along his cock messily. Pre-cum leaked freely from his slit, the moisture making his hand move with greater ease as he alternated stroking his length with brushing his palm across the head and rolling his balls between his rough fingers.

Grunting and whining, the noises slip free of his mask quietly as he chases his own pleasure. A familiar shame settles across his skin, the shame of having to give in to such base desires and depravity, but the heat of embarrassment only serves to stoke his arousal.

Head pounding, Jonathan lost himself in fantasy. His thoughts were erratic, slipping between visuals of that pretty brunette who dealt with his various journal requests at the local library to the new receptionist at the asylum whose perfume reminded him of wild flowers. However, such fantasies were quick to turn as his fingers picked up their pace across his velvety cock.

Soft touches dissolved into rough handling, his hand wrapping around a panicking throat as anxious pants grew into wails of terror. His toxin quickly disappearing from the syringe as it found itself plunged into an unwilling vein. Screaming and begging for a mercy which could never come as he pushed his work to higher and higher levels.

Jonathan came with a shuddering groan, his release spreading across his fingers as the pressure in his head grew to a point where his vision started to dull around the edges. It was too much and yet not enough as he continued to stroke along his cock despite the fact that the overstimulation was quick to make every motion feel as terrible as it were brilliant.

His vision starting to darken further, Jonathan took a moment to loosen the knot around his neck and immediately inhale grateful lungfuls of air as his chest burned. His body overheated and sensitive, every trembling jerk of his cock drew a bestiary grunt from his aching throat as he forced himself to feel the comedown.

The mask feeling suddenly unbearable, his hands moved shakily as they pulled the material free of his head - releasing his face from the cloying heat and rapidly stroking his fingers through his curled hair as he fought to quell the heaving movements of his chest.

Glancing down, Jonathan regarded the spend across his fingers with mild disgust, wiping it off on a nearby handkerchief to prevent any excess mess from staining his beloved costume. Exhausted and fighting a headache brought on by his oxygen deprivation, his body relaxed fully as he enjoyed the peace for the few moments he would allow himself to indulge it.

[current-comix]

[chronicbeans]

HEAR ME OUT PLEASE-

I’m perfectly normal about this Jonathan crane i swear-

-From Batman 89 echoes 3

[excalisi]

it's a fun hc of mine that during dick's robin days, he went through the "omg i wish i had a cool secret language so i can have secret conversations with my friends" phase all kids go through. but one of his closest friends at the time also happened to be the batman, a guy with possibly the most bizarrely diverse arsenal of skills in the world. bruce sees the merit in the entire idea of a coded language to communicate rudimentary information when they can hear but not see each other. so why not make a code built on bird vocalizations? it's pretty much incomprehensible to anyone without a trained ear or comprehensive knowledge of birding and impossible to even passably mimic without proper training, so while the chances of interception are high, the chances of someone understanding it enough to interrupt during the middle of a bird-convo and feed false information are not.

it also, batman and robin come to realize, feeds into the "holy fuck our vigilantes are cryptids" idea. bird sounds that come from seemingly no determinable location (ventriloquism) come to mean batman and robin are nearby. to the goons of gotham, bird song becomes inextricably connected to getting your ass kicked by the dynamic duo. the real reason why criminals don't operate during the day is because they get skittish and jumpy about if the sounds of birds chirping are real birds or some masked vigilantes lying in wait to rock your shit, and it's just easier to commit crimes during the night when all the birds are asleep so you know for sure.

ornithologists have boards on their bedrooms dedicated to the bird-bats of gotham. they've written dissertations.

the bird language becomes a bit of a batfamily bonding connection. teaching each other how to do different clicks and whistles, making up slang so bruce and barbara can't complain of clogging up comms with non-mission relevant talk, searching up birds to associate them with different people, psychologically terrorizing the criminal populace of gotham by chirping at them...

how the bird code works is that there's a bird assigned to each one of gotham's major heavy hitter criminals and vigilantes, and a few assigned to heroes out of the city (by which i mean the ones the bats associate with often enough to have a sign to address by). the only birds i've got so far are the robin (for robin. self-explanatory) and the glistening-green tanager (for the joker). i only have one for the joker bc i wanted to reference this hc in one of my fics and so searched up green birds to find the most eye-searingly annoying-to-look-at green bird i could find, and the glistening-green tanager was the closest one to fit the bill.

[noxcheshire]

I am sick, dizzy, and can barely think but you know what would be WILD?

If the DC universe was an echo of Danny’s world. What if the continents of their planet shifted enough where Amity is now in New Jersey and had then become Gotham.

And when Danny died underneath the portal a part of his death fractured and imprinted itself into those various worlds. One of them being Gotham, where Danny’s home ironically used to be where Wayne Manor used to be.

So just imagine it, you’re coming back from patrol, grimy, sweaty, and with questionable intentions by dressing as an overgrown bat when suddenly the lights dim. It dims and brings darkness, only enough light to catch the beady marble eyes of the bats you fear.

And then electricity jumps in the middle of the room, flinging itself around like an agitated snake in wide open circles.

Everyone is backing away, some weary, some cursing, some just half way out of their own suit.

And then a child — barely as old as your youngest now, flickers to life before you, screaming and screaming, wailing in pain as the scent of burning flesh mingles into the air. You can see the boy, black hair and blue eyes that underneath the bright light that burns them is causing black to turn white, and blue to turn green.

The electricity crackles and when the boy is about the drop, limp, certainly lifeless, he vanishes as if nothing had ever been there.

But he comes back, he always comes back, in the moment of calm and in the moment of despair, echoing that painful wailing of death.

It’s so wrong.

It’s very, very wrong.

It didn’t even matter anymore why the boy showed up, only that this moment of pain continues to haunt the cave of heroes.

Continuously haunting, even as some whispered apologizes when the boy appeared. Continuously haunting, even as some provided songs of comfort when the boy appeared. Continuously haunting, even as stories of Gotham are told and promises (though uncertain and flimsy at best) are spoken to the wailing boy who always drops fast and disappears just as quickly.

Always, it was the same.

Until one day it wasn’t.

The electricity crackled like it always did. A spark, and then a calamity of light. And the boy would be there, uncurling himself into a tense position as he would wail.

But not this time.

Instead the boy curled himself in the air, calm as can be, almost as if he were sleeping. Even the electricity that they have learned to dance away from was calm, gentle, like ocean waves.

And when the electricity vanished, the boy did not, instead dropping to the floor where Dick was quick to catch him, grunting in preparation of weight only to show alarm at how thin the boy truly was.

On that face that has haunted them all for months is just a boy, sleeping, and scarred. A boy breathing very slow, slower than what they would like, but here in the physical realm with them.

Dick brushed back bangs of black hair, and slowly, ever so slowly, glazed blue eyes stared back.

[latverianpaparazzi]

queer-on-queer workplace hostility

[bianc0re]

Their looks? Questionable

Their intentions? Also questionable 🧩

[scriddlecat-is-gold]

Jon from Echoes too?

Echoes Jonathan Crane for anon ~

[moxis]

oldish batman art i never posted here. i think. and a daredevil

[skxtchyghost]

i want to bite him

[renecdote]

do you think Bruce ever lies awake at night thinking about all the things he has taught his kids and how it seemed like a good idea at the time but maybe some of those habits are actually more bad than good

[acapelladitty]

Around The Water Cooler

Summary: Working at Arkham Asylum, Dr. Jonathan Crane crosses paths with a certain Dr. Harleen Quinzel as they begin to see the other as they truly are.

(My half of an exchange with the absolutely delightful @cooldreamyfox who requested some Scarecrow & Harley having some back and forth in Arkham Asylum.)

Fic Masterlist /// Link To AO3

Taking a hearty gulp of the freshly poured coffee which sloshed its way into his mug, Jonathan fought a grimace at the thoroughly bitter taste which stained his tongue. It was the cheapest coffee the arkham staff were willing to collectively chip in for and it had definitely long overstayed its welcome within the cheap pot which housed it.

It had been a long day and the shitty coffee really did nothing to improve his even shittier mood.

"If it's that bad, why not just bring your own in from home?" A soft voice chimed in from his side and Jonathan turned just in time to see Harleen Quinzel pouring herself a healthy cup of coffee from the same pot.

Well, healthy to a point as she essentially only half-filled the mug before topping it with a frankly ludicrous amount of creamer and sugar, the final result looking more like a milkshake than anything resembling coffee.

Unble to hide his distaste for her concoction, Jonathan sniffed at the simple suggestion as he forced another acrid sip down his throat.

"I put twenty dollars into the coffee committee at the last collection. I will see that I get my moneys worth out of it before I admit defeat."

"Okay, tightwad." Harleen laughed, but unlike many of the others her laugh was one which encouraged him to join in with her rather than appearing more directed towards him. "So how's your day going, doc?"

"Three appointments with paranoid schizophrenics and one with a borderline catatonic patient who, despite my repeated warnings as to the possibility, chose to relieve themselves on the carpet rather than engage with any attempted therapies."

"Yowch. That's a hard day." Harleen grimaced, rolling her palm across her blonde hair to ensure it was kept tight to her scalp until it flared up into a sensible ponytail. "My day has been a little better than that. I've finally spoken to Dr. Mair about being assigned to the new Joker case."

"Is that so?" Not quite recalling asking how her day was, Jonathan didn't mind the information as Harleen was one of the few of his colleagues to have some personality to her that amused him when it came out to play. "And why would a junior doctor be so determined to be assigned to such a high-profile case? Lots of room for failure."

"And lots more for potential gains. This case could make me."

Leaning on the counter of the staff room worktop, Harleen held Jonathan's eye with a fearlessness which made his lips quirk into a smirk. Having never worked directly with her, he had heard rumours from the others of her ambitions and her ability to get ahead where others seemed to fail.

"Make you academically or make you millions? The rumour mill is ablaze with the potential of a tell-all book from one Miss Harleen Quinzel showcasing her work on such a notorious case and ones like it."

Harley to her credit, didn't flinch, but a blush crept high onto her cheeks and refused to shift as she narrowed her painfully blue eyes at him.

"And who's been saying that?"

"I don't indulge in workplace gossip."

"Hmm," Harley smiled and the curve of her lips held danger within them, "then you won't be too upset if the rumour mill starts to whisper of strange and spooky goings on in the solidarity wing? Lots of patients there seem to be experiencing similar difficulties."

Heart skipping a beat even as his face betrayed nothing, Jonathan tightened his grip on his coffee as he met her angry expression with his own cold gaze.

She couldn't know about the experiments.

He had covered every track and only selected patients who were unreliable narrators at the best of times. He had even limited his use of his developing toxin to ensure that it would not appear in any drug screenings.

"The solitary wing?" Jonathan asked, his expression stony and unyielding. "Not my department. If you have concerns then you should take them to your team leader."

"I would rather discuss them with you." Placing her cup down on the unit, Harleen stood to her full, if unimpressive height, as she made her point. "I don't see a good reason to bring anyone else into this. Do you?"

"Very professional of you, Miss Quinzel." A trickle of relief touched at the suspicion which stiffened his spine and Jonathan made the split decision to drop all pretence. "And what do you want? I'm not much of a dancer and this back and forth boxstep is tedious. You clearly possess a similar ethical code to my own so speak your mind and let's be done with it."

Her eyes flashing, Harleen took the sudden coldness in her stride - appearing unsurprised by the change.

"I want your support in being assigned to the Joker case. You have the respect and power which I don't have yet and if you give the say then the others won't have shit to stop me on."

Her ambition radiated from her like an aura, her blue eyes narrowing into something almost predatory as her plump, reddened lips widened into an inviting smile. Suddenly more interested in her than ever, Jonathan took in her angelic appearance - only now seeing the devil which lurked just below the surface.

Very interesting.

"If I give you the endorsement you're seeking, then I will expect something in return. My experimental work within the solitary wing would be easier facilitated with a second body able to sign off and manage certain documentation."

It was an offer, the only one she was going to get if they were to come to an understanding and Jonathan watched her expression smooth out as her mask slipped back into place.

"Of course, Doctor Crane!" Grinning widely, Harleen snatched up her coffee cup once more and inclined it to him with a coquettish wink. "I would be honoured to help out with your work. Get me in that room and you can count on me."

Without anything else to say, Crane peered down at her with his hawk-like gaze and attempted to ignore the nagging voice in the recess of his mind that told him she was too much of a loose cannon to be counted on.