#jonathon crane imagine

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

GN! TA Reader x Professor Jonathan Crane Headcanons: 

Characters: Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow); Gender Neutral! Reader 

Universe: Nolanverse (Batman Film Trilogy) 

Pairing(s): The beginning of a one-sided Jonathan Crane/Reader, if you squint 

Word Count: 1.6k 

A/N: It’s that time of year when I rewatch the Nolanverse Batman films and obsess over every frame that Cillian Murphy is on screen. (Okay, but he absolutely killed it, and what I wouldn't give to see him counter Robert Pattinson’s Batman.) This combined with reading some other Scarecrow/Reader fics has accumulated into this little plot bunny of my own. And yes, while I say these are headcanons, it’s more like extended fic. I truly tried to keep it short but, much like Dickens and Hemingway cannot seem to help myself when it comes to writing extended sentences. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

ALSO— in answer to the question you’re no doubt wondering—Yes! Answers to submitted asks will return after this deviation. I’ve just had this character circling in my head the past few days and I couldn’t get him out. 

TW!: Slight Manipulative/Yandere (by Crane, but nothing explicit); Also, please beware the formatting gets more unhinged/distracting as you read on, so if you have tracking issues or sensitive eyes, please be wary

Catching Professor Crane’s Attention Would Look Like: 

You were a great student, (obviously!), one the brightest and most dedicated in his class for you to be his TA. 

At first, Professor Crane found your enthusiasm and attentiveness annoying. He pegged you for yet another professional student brownnoser failing to get on his good side. 

Most of his TA’s enthusiasm eventually fizzled out once they realized flattery would get them no further in his gradebook. That, and his more advanced courses were incredibly demanding— they took a decent chunk of any student’s time and energy. 

Much to his surprise, not only did your cheery demeanor fail to vanish, but you somehow stayed on top of every bit of work he assigned. On top of which, you excelled in your role as Teacher’s Assistant, practically teaching half of the lessons when he was too busy with his, let’s just say, other proclivities, to make it to lecture on time.  

Jonathan was impressed when he learned you’ve spent nearly every spare moment you had in his official lab’s research library, reading through all of his previous labs’ notes and official documentation. He didn’t allow students, not even students of the Psychology Department, to make Xerox copies or check out his work— it was only available for temporary reading and viewing within the confines of his dedicated lab space.

He caught a glimpse of your notebook one day, having actually made it on time to be able to teach his lecture, seeing how meticulously you’ve copied down his experiments’ notes. In the past, only his most advanced students bothered to take notes on his previous work, and at best, they’d simply record the abstracts from his many published theses. 

He should have found it alarming, as opposed to intriguing. If one was to truly study his notes, they’d find vague little inconsistencies across his verbiage from where he was forced to omit information to cover his tracks. A smart enough person might be able to piece together that something else had been his true point of study in his experiments, and that meant having to dazzle the university board with bullshit and bribery once again. He had to take care of you and neutralize the threat before that happened. 

He should have felt resigned, indifferent to the unavoidable fate you’d just sealed for yourself. Instead, he wanted you to continue; he wanted to poke and prod you as you tried to figure it out. Observing you had turned into an utterly fascinating pastime to him.

He spoke to you after class one evening and enquired as to why you felt compelled to copy his exact notes down. Did you perhaps intend to parrot his findings as your own? Was this an ill-advised attempt at plagiarism? He comes off as cross, perhaps harsh, in his line of questioning, but he desperately needed to know how you’d respond to such an interrogative line of questioning. 

The question of ‘Why?’ had been gnawing at his psyche for days, even during his newfound dealings with Falcone and his thugs, and that simply would not do. He could not get distracted by some suck-up student. His work on secretly developing the most stable version of his toxic compound all while flying under the radar of his nosy, stupid University higher-ups was much more important than the mental inner workings of some lowly college student. His intrigue slowly turned to anger.

After you tell him you’re more fascinated by “the why of the why”— all his ruminations stop cold. You weren’t flustered, weren’t defensive, weren’t sniveling and begging for his forgiveness like the ones who have come before you, oh no. Instead, you met his gaze directly and answered his question with what sounded like a riddle. Your evasive answer officially moved the dial and Crane’s intrigue became replaced with disdain. 

How dare you?! Do you think your measly intellect could ever stump him? It would be almost laughable if it didn’t make his jaw clench and his nostrils flare. But Crane is nothing if not a control freak. So he did what any wise control freak would do, and decided to change the setting of the fight back to his familiar home turf. 

“I see.” Professor Dr. Crane kept his answers curt and restrained as per his usual. “I must admit you’d be the first student applying such a subjective angle to your thesis all while using a rather definitive lens. We should discuss your topic in depth before you waste any more time writing potentially unobjective garbage. Office Hours are posted on my door. I expect to see you before our lecture next week.” 

You were in your last year of University, with a declared double major in Psychology and Biochemistry, with a minor in Creative Writing of all things. By this time, you had undoubtedly outlined the controls for your upcoming psychological lab requirement for your Advanced Independent Study next semester. Of course, an Advanced Independent Study requirement for a Psychology Major was nothing compared to those seeking a Doctorate or Ph.D. However, it still involved a substantial amount of clinical time spent organizing and studying volunteers from your academic peers. 

If his work on fear and fear stimulation hormones was a similar area of interest, it could prove bothersome. If your… experiment was similar enough in nature, and it failed to yield similar results, it might encourage the University Board to take a closer look at his synthesized “fear hormone”. The morons on the board had accepted his previous explanation of whatever pharmaceutical mumbo-jumbo he’d thrown at them. A little cortisol here, a little adrenaline there… And those fools had bought it hook line and sinker! 

You arrived at his office the next morning, your usual bright and shiny self. Of course, you had signed up for the first available slot the following day, and of course, you showed up with even more coffee and donuts in hand. 

If you were anyone else, Dr. Crane would feel insulted that you thought you could quite literally sugar him up. But judging from the sincere look on your face to the way your own eyes lit up when he accepted the coffee, made him think bribery was the last thing on your agenda. It unnerved him how he failed to find an ulterior, more insidious motive within you. 

You explained that in your class lectures, you recalled Dr. Professor Crane had spoken about the major causes of fear, as well as its evolutionary purpose. You couldn't help but wonder, in the modern day and age, when humans were no longer nomads, no longer living in pre-industrial conditions, if that evolutionary aspect of fear hurt more than it helped. 

Your lab proposal went as followed: You wished to pool a large group of students, determine what their primary and secondary greatest fears were, and then, through a series of pre-set further questions, see if you could catalog how many such fears either 1) helped the individual’s behavior, or 2) merely hindered it. 

Jonathan found it a modest proposal, for your grade level anyway. And it would serve as a good taste of what working in either a clinical or research setting would look like after furthering your education and licensing accreditation. 

Unable to stop ruminating over the personal reasons as to why you found this fascinating, his obsessive nature prevented him from striking your proposal down. ‘What could be the harm?’ He asked himself after giving your study outline his official approval. You were nowhere near his intelligence level. Even with all your scribbling and copying of his notes, it was unlikely you’d ever uncover his plot. Besides, should push come to shove, all he’d need to do was ask Falcone for a favor, have you bumped off before things started to get too involved, too messy�� 

But a little mess? A little chaos? The idea sent a chill down Crane’s spine. It was the thrill of the chase, the inevitable mouse and cat, predator and prey dynamics that drove him to master the power of fear for himself. It was that addictive rush of adrenaline— the way it stroked his well-deserving ego— the way his victims screamed and cried and begged for mercy before him. 

Crane wasn’t oblivious as to why he relished such power. He was a psychologist after all. The doctor was well aware that childhood trauma was a powerful thing, an unstoppable perimeter in what made people tick. Professor Doctor Crane knew that he was rotten, yes— vile, at his core. It was that exact rot that enabled him not to care. 

Fear was the ultimate equalizer, it was the ultimate revenge. No one, not even himself could ever truly escape it, not entirely anyway. No amount of toxin tolerance or cognitive behavioral therapy, medication, or meditation could stop the chokehold fear had on all human beings. 

It seemed you knew that too… Why else would you have as much of a fascination with it? Why else would you scour his notes so intently? It was rather ironic, Jonathan thought to himself, one night, hidden deep in his basement Arkham Asylum Lab: it seemed fear ruled you just as much as it ruled him. 

Perhaps, with the right persuasion, and the right exposure, you would be open to exploring greater boundaries and experimenting with fear. 

Not once prior had Jonathan ever considered acquiring an assistant— someone to work on his toxin with. It was far too risky to have such little benefit. Everyone was far too stupid, too simple to realize the true greatness of what he was working on, the true greatness that Ra's al Ghul would help him release upon Gotham, and soon, the world. But you…. hmm. 

You— he would have to keep a closer eye on. 

A/N 2.0: Whoo! There you have it! My first official DC fandom post!

And if you enjoyed it, *Sabrina Carpenter voice* please, please, please REBLOG! Likes are great but Reblogs spread my writing much further.

Consider Tipping Me Via Kofi <3

[faerieboifics]

Jonathon Crane Imagine

"It wasn't anything you said! IT WASN'T ANYTHING YOU SAAAAID!" I shouted across the room more to myself than anyone. Jonathon looks at me. "Then what. Was it?" He asks in his clipped, polite tone. I take in a deep breath to try and quiet the emotions that bunched together like voices in my head. Or maybe they were voices drowned out by each other I had no time to figure it out. I was too emotionally drained. Jonathon sees this and replies: "Let's get you lying down on the couch with a warm blanket and a cup of tea, ay?" I nod silently. He leads me to the couch and helps me stretch my body out, guiding me and retrieving my favorite, soft blanket with flowers on it.

I melt into the couch practically. "Mm m" I mumble from beneath the blanket. Jonathon chuckles lightly. "What was that?" I take my mouth out from under the blanket and reply "Thank you." Jonathon smiles. "You are more than welcome. Now let me go get that tea made for you. Chamomile honey with milk?" I chirp. "Yes please" He nods and goes to the kitchen making my tea.

I try not to, but I begin drifting off to sleep, not realizing someone was watching me. That being Jonathon.

[noneknxws]

fear gas is cool and all, but what if Crane made a gas that affects the fucked up parts of your brain? that makes the intrusive thoughts louder? that makes the executive paralysis worse? that ups the sensory issues by 110%?

i think his evil evil psychologist brain would love dissecting neurodivergent thoughts and such

i went insane in the tags about this and other scenarios

[cillianslvt]

This but with Jonathan Crane

[angstandhappiness]

LMAO YES

Bruce Wayne’s a Real Freak

Imagine if you went to school with child Bruce Wayne. Like imagine you are in the same elementary school as Bruce Wayne, and he’s this bookish little freak who has trouble speaking, and his best friend is this other bookish little freak, Tommy Elliot, and these two freaks openly talk about how everyone else here is stupid for not knowing random things, and they go out into the woods past the school grounds at recess to find dead animals to dissect. They dissect so many animals. They make sketches. They’re freaks. And Bruce Wayne gets picked on sooo much, but every once in a while, the motherfucker snaps, and you can’t find it in yourself to pity either side, because you have no sympathy for Bruce fucking Wayne but it was really the other kids’ fault if they thought this would go well for them.

Keep reading

[sl-newsie]

Behind Masks (Dr. Jonathon Crane x OC) Ch. 5: Relations and Reminisce

“And you said yes?!”

“For the tenth time Ivy, yes.”

“I can’t believe it.” She throws her arms up dramatically. “I thought you were smart. How could you throw away any chance of escape for group therapy?”

I just spent the night in a black hole. Literally all light is gone from my isolated cell except for a tiny floodlight that only projects more spooky shadows on the gloomy walls. I don’t mind some free time to myself but it’s an overabundance I could do without. But today is my first day with Crane’s “experiments” and I hope they will distract me from the dreary lonesome.

“I applaud Calico for her bravery,” Nigma looks up from the crossword puzzle he’s working on. “Crane’s a hard nut to crack but I think she can handle him.”

“But she’s new to Arkham. Callie’s fresh meat for Crane.”

“Guys, guys.” I hold up my hands. “I’ve handled lunatics each day for three years.”

“Yeah, but this is Dr. Crane. The Scarecrow. You’ll never sleep again after he gets through with you.”

“Sleepless nights are a fear of childhood, Nigma. If anything I’m ready to embrace death come what may.”

The pair look at me as if I just announced that all the kittens in the world died. They’re supposed to be the lunatics but they look at me as if I’m just as mad as any other inmate.

“What? I’m well aware of universality. Death is unavoidable to every living thing at every moment of its life.”

Ivy and Nigma don’t appear to have a response and the room stays quiet, that is until slow clapping breaks the silence.

“Quite philosophical, Dr. Prentiss. Perhaps that can be extended further during your testing today.”

Dr. Crane’s voice pierces my thoughts with a chilly imagination. All morning I’ve been worrying about what tests he has planned. Strap me to a chair? Hang me upside-down? And what type of toxin? Air-based? Water-borne?

Ivy senses my discomfort and steps in front to block him. “You’ve stooped low, Crane. Testing on an innocent woman? You’ve got some nerve.” She flicks a few specks of pollen on him and I see Crane’s eyes go wide. “Just watch it. If she dies I may just have to cause a breakout and show them the basement.”

Basement? I know Arkham has a basement but what's so significant about-?

“And I can make sure your babies get tossed in the next compost bin,” Crane replies harshly and grabs my arm to pull me away before Ivy can scratch his eyes out while Nigma just laughs. “How can you even stand to talk to that enviro-mental-whacko?”

“Just because your toxin doesn’t work on her doesn’t give you a reason to be cross,” I answer calmly as we head into the cold, dark hallway. “At least she gives me the time of day, unlike my previous co-workers.”

We enter further into the maze of abandoned hallways and come across what appears to be a room that was used for an operating theater. Although he has no audience I shudder to think of what Crane’s prepared to show off. 

“Step up, please.” Crane gestures to the platform at the center of the room. One with restraints.

“Are you going to-?”

“Yes,” he replies. He knows what I’m thinking. “They will help protect you from hurting yourself. I’ve seen unrestrained patients carry out extreme measures, some including pulling their eyes out or running into the wall.”

I follow his instructions and lean up against the cold concrete. When I look over I see he’s preparing multiple syringes on the table.

“Just how many toxin variations do you have?” I ask with a hint of nervousness.

“Variety brings results. Right now I’m hoping to find a special dose to give to the lunatic who’s been interrupting my associates’ plans.”

The talk of Batman has only grown in the past few days I’ve been here and I can’t say I’m not curious. Rumors say he’s doing the police’s job and actually cleaning out the city’s criminals.

“He’s got you worried,” I say almost tauntingly as the doctor attaches my wrists to the straps.

“Don’t start,” Crane warns. “Soon he will seek out the drugs I’ve hidden and then I will give him an introduction he’ll never forget.” His crystal eyes drift over to face me directly. “I thought you were interested in the science of fear, Dr. Prentiss.”

“Unlike you I’m a psychiatrist with morals. One who doesn’t test toxins on patients. Get back to me when you’re not trying to kill the only justice in this world.”

He hums in response and returns to tightening the straps around my legs. “So you’re on the Batman’s side?”

“I’m on the side of justice, one you are very unfamiliar with. And by the way my interest is focused on death and the fear that revolves around it.”

Crane gets up and walks over to grab the first syringe with child-like giddiness. “We’ll start with one dose so it can filter out of your bloodstream. Then after the antidote kicks in we’ll go onto the next. I’ll administer this one through your brachial artery. Please inform me of any side effects immediately.”

I flinch as the needle pricks my arm and I feel the toxin surge into my blood. While I wait for whatever horrors this will bring, Crane watches with glee as if watching a magic act. There’s no rapid heartbeat or intense breathing like last time. There’s actually less- Oh.

“How do you feel?” Crane asks when he sees my eyes widen.

“I can’t. My feet have gone numb.”

He jots some notes down on some scrap paper and hurries back to administer the antidote. Instantly a cold sensation jolts through me and I can feel my feet again.”

“Do you make one for every dose?”

“Absolutely. In my years of research a way to reverse accidents is always useful.” He waits a few more seconds and decides the antidote has done its job. He holds up another syringe and pierces the needle into my other arm.

“What about now?”

After a few seconds I start to get dizzy. Is my skin supposed to get this hot? And why is it isolated?

“My waist feels warm.”

The doctor’s eyes lift up from his notes and take in my confused expression. “Interesting. Do you know what’s happening?”

“I’m getting a fever?”

Crane smirks and points to my eyes. “Let’s say that your dilated pupils tell enough.”

Does he mean what I think he means? The kind of repulsive side effects that make people’s minds melt into obeying, brainwashed zombies. 

“Are you saying I’m…?” I ask, disgusted.

Crane’s surprised smile says enough. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve never had-?”

“Do not use that word,” I snap and exhale. “No, Dr. Crane. I have not had urges.”

“Fascinating,” he observes as he looks over my pathetic state with wide eyes.

My eyes narrow. “How so?”

“I imagined a woman like you would have been through something by now but then you stated in your profile you are a virgin. Is this perhaps caused by philophobia? Genophobia, maybe?”

His guessing misses its target each time. He really doesn’t know. If it weren’t for the annoying dampness below this would actually be fun. 

“It’s just bugging you, isn’t it? The infamous Scarecrow can’t figure out my fear?”

The cunning doctor leans in with an amused smirk, his lips almost pressing against my ear. “I’ll find out soon enough.”

I can handle death. I can handle fear to some extent. But this? This is an all-new emotion I want to burn and bury in the depths of forgotten embarrassments. Just because I can’t control my own biological response doesn’t mean I can’t keep a clear head. Time to end this twisted game.

“I’ll spare you the trouble. Atychiphobia.”

Crane nods with a look that says he won. “Ah. The fear of failure. I should have expected that. Am I going to receive an explanation to go along with this?”

Fear of failure is a peculiar phobia. No matter how hard I try it always seems to make me second-guess everything. People praise me for my accomplishments at the same time I hate myself for not being perfect.

Now the effects of the failed toxin are replaced by a furrowed brow and clenched fists. Crane must think he’s struck the motherlode-

“It’s ok to be upset.”

That’s him? Did someone just replace Dr. Crane with a real therapist? He puts a hand on my still-shaking shoulder and for some reason part of my rage melts away. My mind can’t decide if I’m angry or depressed.

“I never had a ‘normal’ childhood since my parents sent me to prep school. They always wanted me to be the best at everything. Any time I did less than perfect they would shame me.” I scoff and look to the floor. “My father would yell while my mother ranted about how I disgrace the family name.”

“You obviously come from money,” Crane observes softly.

I shrug, still eyeing the cement floor. “It’s no big secret, really. If you do enough digging you’ll probably find news articles of me in high school winning the Metropolis Genius award with comments from my father about how ‘there’s always room for improvement.’ Money means nothing when it comes to love. Flaunting my parents’ riches never gained me anything but a spot in Metropolis University.”

The doctor nods again, almost appearing empathetic. "I think that's enough experiments for today."

I expect him to write more notes but he never does.

“Aren’t you going to write about how sad my childhood was?” I mock darkly. “Just another excuse to keep me locked up as a ‘crazed inmate.’”

But he just shakes his head. “I know a thing or two about family issues. We’ll keep this off the books, shall we?” 

This is the same person who sprayed me with fear gas?

“How did they die?”

There we are. Right back to picking apart my diagnosis.

My eyes narrow. “You know how. Anyone who watches the news knows.”

“It might be better if you say it-”

“They were killed, ok?” I burst, surprising both Jonathon and myself. “Another statistic to the growing number of casualties in Gotham. Some psychos blew up a bridge and they just happened to be driving on it.”

By now I’m shaking both from the last few effects left from the toxin and the emotional imbalance whirling inside me. If it weren’t for the straps still securing me to the wall  I would be bent over in tears. And that’s what happens when I feel Crane release my limbs from the restraints. My knees buckle and I go forward- But instead of ending up sprawled on the ground Crane catches me. I look up and want to yell at him for getting so close but my mind’s too full to speak, distraught with old memories and broken regrets.

“I can see now why you don’t fear death,” Crane whispers.

“The experience of death becomes more familiar the more you are exposed to it. A death of a family member or a close friend could impact how one sees death. Another instance could be a near-death experience such as a heart attack or car crash, causing possible trauma and a different view of death.” I take a shaky breath. “After my parents died, death became everything to me. I believe that if I walk the line of embracing death then I won’t be scared to do anything.”

Slowly, Crane walks me over to a chair and we both sit down. I’m not shaking so much now and I can actually think. “Maybe part of the reason I left Metropolis is to get a fresh start. Though this isn’t exactly the prime scenario.” I gesture to the dull operating theater.

Crane lets out what I think is an actual laugh. No mockery or sarcastic intention at all. “But you have to admit this is far more exciting. You need to loosen up, Dr. Prentiss.”

“And I suppose the man who dresses up in a burlap mask knows all about stress relief?” I arch a brow. “You don’t strike me as someone who goes clubbing.”

“You don’t seem the type either. Am I right?”

I give an annoyed grunt. “Yes. Social drinking is incredibly overrated and only results in bad decisions and depleted brain cells.”

“Speaking of brain cells-” Dr. Crane pulls out what looks like a mini calendar out of his pocket. “I’m scheduling you for both an MRI and a CT scan to make sure there’s no damage to yours.”

He gathers up his things and gestures for me to exit the theater. 

“All for me?” I gush dramatically as we head back to my ‘private cell.’ “Aw, you shouldn’t have.”

Before Crane closes the door he looks through the gate with what appears to be legit concern. “Can’t have a prime mind like yours going to waste, can I?”

[mistahjs-jester]

Joker x Oc (Part 12)

The door was blown wide open and in strutted the one person I didn't want to see. The Joker.

     He states dramatically. "Where's my ah plate?" I don't reply, staring at him blankly as I dissociate. Jonathon looks from the Joker to me. Joker examines us both then says with his hands up. "Relax, I'm ah not here to hurt you." I look at him cautiously then back at Jonathon who nods slowly gesturing for Joker to continue. I look down at my food while he speaks. "You ah forgot that ah Hugo Strange has a knack for bringing people back to life. Once he found me he ah couldn't resist.

      I look up at Joker but continue to stay silent. Joker cocks his head and examines me. "Ah, Sage. Always stoic in the face of true… EMOTION." He puts emphasis on emotion. I don't give him an expression but keep eye contact. He states. "Stems from ah childhood trauma, eh Crane?" Jonathon agrees with a "Yes." But says nothing further.

      Joker grins widely like the Cheshire cat. Funny example. I think back to my time with Jervis. The moments we had of tea and biscuits. The moments I escaped Joker to get them. He knew it was me every time.

      Joker raises his brows. "Daydreaming, are we dear? You were always the one with the good imagination." I come to, absorbing his words and look at Jonathon. He takes my hand and Joker notices this, tensing up. "What have we here? A, ah happy couple?" 

I look back at Joker bravely and reply. "Jonathon cares." Joker seethe. "I ah CARE, Sage!" Jonathon replies calmly for me. "We've been working on touch therapy together. It is quite successful." Joker looks stunned but quickly covers it with a smirk. "Oh so little Sage isn't so skittish about ah affection as she was?" Jonathon defends me. "She's worked very hard and been through a mass amount of trauma invoking her to be cautious of whom touches her in any way. It isn't easy going through these things. You should know something about trauma."

       Joker smiles wryly. "Don't doctor me, doctor." Jonathon chuckles dryly and lets go of my hand, patting it then completely taking all contact from me as he gets up. "Is this all you came for? Useless words?"

      Joker plays with a blade. "I wanted your ah…" he looks down then back up again with an almost angry and conflicted expression. "Forgiveness." He says bitterly.

      Jonathon and I exchange looks then both eye him. "Forgiveness?" He queries. Joker says sternly. "Yes."

     I cross my arms and hug my body slightly. "This is obviously a ploy." Joker says in a low husky voice. "If it was you would already be… Mine." 

       I look away and try to process this whole encounter. He burst open the door, came in unannounced and without invitation… And now he wants forgiveness? What does this even mean? And why did Jonathon want to have dinner in the first place?

[galentineday]

hear me out when i say.. jamie campbell bower would be the perfect scarecrow / jonathon crane for the reeves verse

[excessively-english-jd]

Inspired by that last post:

I will pay literal cashmoney to see Mads Mikkelsen play Jonathon Crane/Scarecrow opposite Battinson. Can you imagine. The drama, the tension, the absolute feral energy. I am going to pass away if this is not brought to fruition.

[your-averagewriter]

Arkham breakout.

Summary: Jerome plans to break out of Arkham with Jervis Tetch, Jonathon Crane and his partner. It's based on the one episode in season 4.

Includes: Violence, blood, insanity? and canon-level warnings

Word count: 0.8K words (sorry, it's short)

-

-

Pacing back and force in my cell I twirl my hair around my finger smiling maniacally. Today’s the day. 

Suddenly I hear a knock at my door and a rhyming introduction. The cell door opens and a young officer steps aside revealing Jervis Tetch.

“Good day, my dear.” He greets, smiling.

“Right on time, Mr Tetch.” I say with an excited smile. I step outside of my cell and follow behind the two men and the officer. We walk down the hallways towards Jerome’s cell and I pull out the knife from my pocket as an un-hypnotized officer runs towards us.

He looks at us before cocking his gun, I duck and slide underneath him slitting his throat. He falls to his knees right in front of me so I grab his horrified and scared face.

“Why so serious?” I say slowly as I see the life drain from his face. I cackle as I stand back up looking just in time to see Jerome push open his cell doors.

I start jumping up and down as the alarms go off, the red lights flashing. 

He walks out checking his watch before speaking.

“When I say, “three hairs past a freckle,” gentlemen, I do not mean five hairs past.” He looks back up at them before continuing. “Let’s do better next time, hmm?” He says walking towards me and throwing his arm over my shoulders.

“Mind both “P’s” and “Q’s”, Valeska. We are not your militia to be becked and called.” They both walk towards him, I imagine trying to be intimidating. 

“I dread to think where you’d be without us.” Scarecrow says and I must admit that his mask is quite something to see.

“Boys, boys, let’s-” I clear my throat and he looks at me. “Right, ladies as well, let’s, uh, not squabble too early in our partnership.” 

“Right.” I say still smiling. “There’ll be plenty of time to stab each other in the backs later. But for now, let’s stick to Jerome’s plan and everyone will get what they want.”  

“Well said.” Jerome says, tilting his head.

“An earthly kingdom of terror.” Mr Crane says, his voice slightly muffled by the mask.

“A piece of Gotham pie, both sky and high.” Mr Tetch continues.

“That’s the spirit. Think big. And kinky.” He walks forward myself in tow before stopping seeing the young officer.

“And lose the weirdo. She’s giving me the heebie-jeebies.” He says looking repulsed.

“Your work is done, my dear. Your race is all run.” Jervis says.

“Glad to be of help.” She says before passing over the keys then slitting her own throat.

“Now that gave me the heebie-jeebies.” I say shivering slightly.

“Much better. Now, to free the rest of our cronies, and blow this pop stand.”

We venture through the facility and unlock all the cell doors letting out the rest of the criminally insane. I laugh as I watch the cameras seeing them all escape out into the courtyard.

“This is such fun!” I say to Jerome almost jumping around.

“Oh, I know, my sweet. Isn’t it such a beautiful sight?” He shouts, dramatically referencing the havoc and chaos we’d created.

“Beautiful indeed.” I say grinning eye to eye.

Once satisfied with the state of the building we wander down outside into the courtyard. Walking out and man bumps into me clearly in some dream-like state. 

“Enjoy yourself!” I say pointing him towards his freedom but he grabs onto my hips. My face distorts as he doesn’t let go of me. “Get off!” I yell stamping on his foot almost hoping that he doesn’t so I can kill him. “Fine.” I say pulling out my knife and quickly slitting his throat causing blood to spray out of the wound. 

He falls to the ground and I groan as his blood is smeared down my striped dress.

Quickly catching up with the others a little ahead of me I carefully maneuver my knife back into my belt (under the dress). 

I huff as I walk next to Jerome crossing my arms.

“Whoa! What happened to you?” He says looking at the blood on my dress.

“Some fool wouldn’t let go of me,” I say slightly angered as we make our way through the crowd of crazy people. Some of the prisoners form an arch out of whatever tools they could find so that we can walk under. I curtsy as they all cheer for us. Jerome salutes them as the police officers start to gain some control. 

I blow kisses and make funny hand signals as I walk beside Jerome. I run ahead and unlock the main gate pushing it open letting all the criminals aout. I throw my head back chuckling to myself as I rejoin the others. 

“Onward march!” Jerome shouts.

-

Hope you enjoyed reading.

Sorry it's short, I've got writer's block at the moment.

[sunrisefairy]

Secret moments

Pairing: Sirius Black x reader Summary: Sirius and reader are dating in secret and reader has had enough.  Warning: just a big of angst, mentions of sex (blink and you’ll miss it), swearing, mention of alcohol.

A/N: for @theweasleyslut writing challenge. Based off the prompts “There’s people here” “I know”

taglist: if your name is crossed out i couldn’t tag you @theweasleyslut @anxiousblanketqueen @accioweaslcy @widowdays @inglourious-imagines @garbdump @star-sunshine-sage @weelittleweasley @a-dusty-emerald @starlightkell @omghufflepuff @weasleyprincess @j-amespotter @gryffindorgirl @siriusbarnesslut @joytyce397 @layaaaa @thegirlinthelibrary​ @ch0colatefr0gs​ @weasleyyy​ @amourtentiaa​ @kaslupin

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A volcano. You can feel it; in the pit of your stomach, angrily bubbling and ready to erupt, to destroy whatever is in its path and right now that’s yours and Sirius’ relationship. If that’s what you can even call it. You and Sirius had been friends ever since first year when you charmed his quill to squirt ink on his robes whenever he picked it up. Young Sirius was equal parts embarrassed and stunned when he locked eyes with the pretty young witch sat at the front of the classroom who shot a smirk and a cheeky wink his way. To this day Sirius doesn’t think he’s blushed as hard as he did in that moment. Almost instantly you seamlessly slipped you way into a tight knitted friendship with Sirius and the rest of the marauders, the 5 of you hardly to be found separately. You seemed to gravitate towards the raven-haired boy the most though, Sirius rapidly became your best friend and the two of you were joined at the hip.

About 4 months ago, you and Sirius crossed the line from best friends to something more when you shared a heated kiss after a late-night study session. The two of you promised it was a one-time thing… it wasn’t. Months of sneaking around, stolen kisses behind closed doors, quick fucks between classes and private dates when the rest of the marauders had detentions. Your secret relationship with Sirius started off perfectly, neither of you wanted the rest of the world to know, you were content with this just being something you and Sirius shared in private but that was 4 months ago. And right now you were over it, over having to watch girls and boys flirt with Sirius right in front of you, over making up excuses as to why you don’t want to swap saliva with the tall Ravenclaw James tried to set you up with, over being Sirius private girlfriend.

Which led to this moment right now, in your dorm room, fighting. Your blood was boiling and pumping rapidly inside your veins after having to witness Sirius decline another date from a pretty Hufflepuff. The air felt thick and heavy as your voices raised higher and got louder, you could only hope your conversation couldn’t be heard from the common room below.

“Are you ashamed of me? Is that why you don’t want to tell anyone about us?” the words jab at Sirius’ heart strings almost hard enough to make him stand down and wrap his arms around your smaller frame and whisper how much he cares for you. But his emotions have the better of him and Sirius Black isn’t one to back down.

He scoffs, masking the sharp pain stabbing his chest whenever he sees you upset and the knife in his heart twists knowing he’s the one causing your pain, “of course not! Sorry for not wanting to parade my girlfriend around like a piece of meat.” His voice is thick with sarcasm.

“Oh yes I forgot,” you glare harshly at the boy in front of you, “clearly my memory has failed me because you definitely did not like parading Julianne Sommers around when you were dating her in 4th year and definitely did not suck her face off and grope the poor thing every chance you got. And don’t even get my started on Jonathon Michaels in 5th year, how that boy didn’t pass out from lack of oxygen is beyond me because you liked to make it very clear the two of you were dating. Don’t give me that bullshit excuse Sirius because I know it’s not true. You had no problem letting the world know you were dating them, so what’s so different about me?” Your chest feels heavy and you’re tired; tired of this, tired of playing pretend.

Sirius knows very well the true reason why he wants to keep your relationship a secret and it isn’t because he’s ashamed of you or scared of the friendly teasing James, Remus and Peter will be sure to send your way. It kills him to see other blokes talk about how fit you are and whenever he sees you, he just wants to walk right up and cup your cheeks and kiss you so deeply everyone knows you’re taken. But the truth is, he’s frightened. He’s frightened because he loves you so fucking much and he’s never loved anyone like this. He never thought of himself as a coward. Sirius gladly punched Samuel Stevens (who is twice Sirius’ size) in the nose after he pinched your arse in 5th year, he’s never once backed down from a fight when someone is teasing Remus and never fails to stand up for Peter and will always stand by James’ side. But ‘brave’ Sirius Black is scared of loving you, in particular Sirius is scared of everyone knowing he loves you. Sirius Black is a coward because he’s terrified that if people and merlin forbid you, know about his love then that will destroy the bubble the two of you have created. And if staying in this private bubble and keeping your relationship a secret is how he can keep everything together then he’ll gladly do it. Because he can’t lose you, he can’t risk you leaving him, the thought of everyone knowing petrifies him. He’s worried that it will taint your relationship.

Sirius chokes on his words, because I love you, he wants to say but he struggles to get them out, in fear of ruining what you have but it seems he’s doing that anyway when you leave the room and slam the door on your way out.

….

“Oh my ghosts! You look stunning babes,” Marlene wolf whistles and grips your shoulders to spin you around wanting to see your whole outfit. “You trying to impress anyone tonight hun?”

You have to crane your neck to hear her over the music pumping around the common room. “Nope, no one to impress.” You mutter sadly. It’s been over a week since your fight with Sirius. Neither of you have made the effort to apologise, although Sirius might have tried once or twice but you refused to be alone with the boy. You were angry and pissed and needed Sirius to realise that if he wanted you then it was all or nothing. You were tired of hiding.

“Well, who needs stupid boys anyway when we have each other!” Marlene declares dragging you to the drinks table to pour you some of the questionable looking punch.

Most of the night is spent dancing on the makeshift dance floor with Marlene, Mary and Lily; hips swinging and hair flowing, seemingly not a care in the world. It was just the distraction you were after, although you knew eventually you were going to see Sirius, given it was a party in the Gryffindor common room you couldn’t expect Sirius not to make an appearance.

“Nice to see the boys finally showed up,” Mary comments nodding her head in the direction of the stairs which lead up to the boy’s dorm. The 4 marauders come clambering down the stairs clearly ready to have some fun. Your breath hitches in your throat when you see Sirius, clad in a dark button up which he might as well not even bother wearing with how many buttons he has undone, half his muscly, toned chest on display. His dark locks fall lusciously against his shoulders and if you look closely you can spot some black eyeliner that makes his piercing grey eyes pop even more, he looks utterly gorgeous and your heart plummets into your stomach at the realisation of spending the reminder of the night watching him flirt with people that aren’t you.

You don’t even notice Sirius push his way through the crowd towards you until he’s towering over you. He’s standing so close that you can smell his aftershave, it’s both intoxicating and comforting at the same time. After a beat of the two of you staring at each other with no words you realise how close you are, way too close to convince everyone that you’re just friends. However, after the fight you aren’t 100% sure if you and Sirius are even still dating. Just as you’re about to take a step back from Sirius, he brings his hands to cup your face forcing you to look at him. Your eyes widen as you stare up at Sirius and notice the familiar glint in his eyes, you know that look and any hints of uncertainty were squashed when you catch the way his eyes flicker down to your lips. It feels as it time slows to a complete stop when Sirius leans down clearly trying to meet your soft lips.

Your hands fly up and press firmly against his hard chest, halting his movements. You frantically look around the room and notice multiple pairs of eyes watching you. “What are you doing? There’s people here y’know?” You question, Sirius must clearly be off his face, too intoxicated to register the room full of people watching your every movements. Surely, he pregamed a little too hard and fully believes it’s just the two of you in the common room because why else would he be standing here with his large hands caressing your face so gently?

Sirius smirks, little did you know there wasn’t one drop of alcohol in his body, however he was drunk on you. “I know,” he whispers so quietly it was almost swept away before connecting your lips together in a deep kiss.

Sirius’ lips have always felt like home; warm and soft and never failed to make butterflies and fireworks explode in your tummy, his kisses always made your head dizzy and knees weak. You couldn’t believe you had gone a full week without them, without him. The music around you fades into nothing, all you can focus on his Sirius lips and tongue and how they dance against yours and his hands as they travel from your face down to your hips, clinging onto you as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. You let your own hands get tangled in his curly hair, determined to show him you don’t want him to go anywhere. Ever.

You find yourself chasing his lips when he finally pulls away, breathlessly. He chuckles at your movements and pecks your lips lightly twice before opening his eyes, he finds you already staring up at him confusion smeared all across your features.

“M’sorry for being a dick, I care for you so much baby and I was shit scared that if everyone knew about us then somehow it would ruin what we had and I’m terrified of losing you. But I realise now that I was throwing it all away by keeping you a secret, so I’m not going to do that anymore.” Sirius then looks over your head and nods at James. “Now Prongs,” James turns off the record player which causes a few people to groan at the loss of music. James gives Sirius a cheesy grin, you see Remus and Peter standing beside the bespectacled boy all 3 of them giving Sirius enthusiastic thumbs up.

You turn your attention back to Sirius who is now standing on top of the nearby table. You and the rest of the Gryffindor house all gawk the boy, uncertain what is about to happen.

“My darling Y/N, I want everyone here tonight to bear witness to what I’m about to say,” Sirius has always been dramatic and now was no expection. He clears his throat, raising his voice to ensure everyone can hear him, “Y/N L/N you are my everything and I love you. I’m sorry for being a complete tosser but it would make me a very, very happy man if you agree to be my girlfriend? Again.”

The smile that consumes your face is so big and bright it hurts your cheeks, you know you look like a proper sap but you don’t care, “get down here you big idiot so I can kiss you.” You motion for Sirius to join you again.

It was Sirius’ turn to grin as he jumps down from the table and makes his way towards you, “is that a yes then?”

You roll your eyes playfully at him, wrapping your arms around his waist, Sirius immediately wraps his around your shoulders giving them a light squeeze, “of course Sirius.”

Sirius doesn’t think his smile could get any bigger, well that was until he heard you mumble 4 words into his chest. He knew in that moment he was a complete goner for you. I love you too.

[ithinkthingsaboutstuff]

Going Rogue:The Crow’s Nest

This is a fic series, that looks at the ecosystem of Arkham asylum, How the rogues interactions with one another and how therapy is or is not administered. The partnerships, the connections, the feud’s and the all the madness that rest inside the padded walls.

Going Rogue:

part 3: The Crow’s Nest

There is a saying in Arkham. first floor for the mad, seconded floor for the crazy and the third floor for the insane. Now obviously, this is semantics, but the inclination is rather important here. The mortals with the ailment of men are kept on the ground floor as to give the illusion to any haply soul that enters that this could pass as a simple house of nightmares. The seconded floor is the maze of madness, the corridors to the crazy, that gives the doctors more than enough reason to question whatever deity or deities they may believe in. The third floor however is where all hope of humanity leaves you, not just for the patients but for anyone who comes across it.

The third floor was filled with the more ‘experimental’ therapy's or ancient practices depending on who you ask, the politicians who are the same people who still classify Arkham as a ‘mental health facility’ will tell you that this is all a part of new cutting edge techniques and therapy's that help the poor inhabitants of Akrham. If you ask the first and second floor patients, its where monsters go to lose their fangs and claws, so that they can be tamed by lesser men. The doctors at Akrham would like to pretend that this is a last resort, that its only used on the hopeless cases and that they are beyond any other kind of help, but mostly each doctor in their quiet moments, still and clam when the screams fall silent and the eyes of men and women haunt their closed eye lids, they have one creeping, sinking thought,

This is madness.

But thoughts like that must be pushed down lest you let them take you. But that’s not to say all doctors at Arkham feel that way, but then again not all the doctors in Arkham are in-front of the glass are they. Dr Jonathon Crane was once a honoured and respected doctor, or that’s what people say now anyway, about Dr Crane’s earlier years in medicine and teaching, truth is if you had asked these same people back then what they thought of him they would all give to roughly the same answer. ‘He’s a quiet but an odd man,’ ‘there’s something not quite right about him.’ ‘little obsessive isn’t he.’ ‘Who?’

Not that any of their opinions are remotely of consequence, not back then and defiantly not now. Jonathon has been sent to the third floor for treatment on and off for years now, he never talks about what happens there, no one ever dose but Jonathon shows a particulate disdain when it comes to talking about anything that involves himself. Besides, Jonathon was not like the other patients on the third floor, unlike all the others in his unfortunate position, that position being that one is at any given moment an airs breath way from being a grotesqueness shell of human facilities, the difference is,

Jonathon enjoyed it.

The third floor had the thickest cells in all of Arkham. Unlike the second floor this layout was not a maze, it is much more straight forward but what it lacked it terrainle confusion it made up for it in being a hallway of horrors hellscape. The people sent here are jacketed and chained to their wall, and that’s how stay until a doctor tells them otherwise. Spending their days desperately trying not to piss themselves as they wait for their scheduled bathroom times, mind you at this point most of the occupants that make it to the third circle of this Halloween themed death-hole are more than willing to defecate themselves like zoo animals then most folks. The staff spends the bathroom times simply cleaning the zoo cages.  

In one of these cells, thick and padded. Jonathan sat on his bed, the walls were ripped exposing the wool that had become yellow with decay. The window was no bigger than a sheet of paper, the bars on them were thin and had rusted to the point that they had holes making it look like it had a termite infestation. Jonathon was not in a straight-jacket anymore but his right leg was still chained to the back wall. He sat on his bed or buck or canvas lined poles, Jonathon found the bed comforting, he often slept in his scarecrow mask and this bed made him feel like he was wrapped in it.

He was not in the best of places when he was brought in this time, not that he ever was in his right mind when he was brought in here, but this was different. This time the bat didn’t drag him in, this time he came willingly. October was not a good month for him with all the temptation about, the autumn air so sweet in his nose but bitter on his brain. Every crunch of the leaves and the air that sent a chill down his spine and vibrated through his very soul, all of it was getting to much, he felt himself slipping or rather he felt the scarecrow creeping up the back of his mind and skulking behind his eyelids. He then went to arkham of his own accord as to not find himself wrapped in burlap for at least one Halloween night. Jonathon was at this point in his treatment allowed some writing implements, this made his focus clearer and allowed him to make his notes.        

Medical log 29: Dr. Jonathon Crane.

Time, 1700 hours.

Date, October 29th,

Year, ...who the fuck cares anymore.

The screams coming from the north wall started at about 1130 hours and ceased at approximately 1450 hours.

As to what ‘therapy' was being administered in that time is up of speculation, however I have it on good authority and judging on the volume and intensity of the screams for such a period, they are most likely being caused by electroshock mixed with a high Diazepam concentrate.

As to the effectiveness of this treatment remains to be seen, the north wall has been having these sessions by my approximation for about 19 days now, with about 5 patients, four male and one female.

four of the screams are unfamiliar to me, but the fifths I am all too familiar with, well not screams so much, as this creature does not know fear at least not in a traditional sense.  

and I would know that ass-clowns giggles anywhere.

Most likely this treatment was done on him by the direction of his new doctor. They never learn, that his mind cannot be reasoned with, and most certainly cannot be saved. But youth is often unpractised in the ways of disappointment. They will continue the trials for the next two days ending it on three weeks. As to what will come from this, I will monitor for any overall behaviour changes in the third floor, but have not other means of conducting further analysed at this present time.

As for my own treatment, I am becoming more loseit by the day, I expect to be returned to the second floor by the weeks end. My doctor has been most helpful, in making the transition this time around, I will be having a session with them in a tomorrow morning. They do have some skill unlike most of the so called doctors in the hellhouse,

however their naivety is most troubling.

What will become of them in a place like this remains to be seem, I will monitor they decline for future reference.    

Log 29, End.

Jonathon then moved to the window. The tiny thing would have been at the top of most people’s heads, but Jonathon was a tall man. His body towered over most peoples, his body was lean and skinny, like his skin was a thin cloth that covered his skeleton to keep himself together. His hands where rough and callus from all those years of swing a large heavy scythe, his face sunken with dark bags under his eyes. His glasses were slightly cracked on the left side frame, on his right temple down to his neck was a thin but jagged scar as if someone slide the knife down his face before trying to slit his throat.

Jonathon was able to pier out the window and see outside into the grounds of Arkham. Not much out there at the moment as you could imagine, mostly just over grow weeds and underbrush. But the courtyard was filled with birds or rather crows. They would squawk and cry for all to hear, it was the only thing in Arkham that was more constant then the screams. One of the crows landed on the windows ledge and squawked in Jonathon’s face. Jonathon stared at it for a moment before it squawked at him again, he then let a smile slowly creep onto his face.

‘Alright, alright, easy now, I get the picture.’

His voice was low just about a whisper, is southern accent rumbled as he tried to use a hushing tone.

‘How was your day today little birdy.’        

The crow pecked at the concrete as Jon reached into his pocket. He then pulled out his hand and held it to the window, sprinkling out crumbs of food on the ledge. The crow pecked at the food and Jon moved his fingers to slowly stroke the birds feathers.

‘You had a hard day huh, me too, but its not so bad, is it little birdy, you got big sky's and lots of places to go, but here you are, sitten with little old me, not that I don’t like when you come to visit, just seems like you’d have better places to be is all. You came he to have rest before going off to do what you need do, I get that, why you stick around me I’m not so sure though. But to each there own I suppose.’

The bird bobbed its head and Jonathon continued to pet it.

‘You such a pretty bird aren't you, and smart bird, you got anything for me?’

The bird flapped its wings and flew off, a few moments pasted and the bird returned holding something shinny in its beck.

‘Well, what’s this now?’

Jonathon took the object out of the birds beck and examined it, it was a thin metal rod it looks like it broke off an old lighting fixture,

‘A little rusted by I can file it down some. Thank you little birdy.’

Jonathon petted the bird again as it happily cried. A noise came from the hallway, footsteps came closer to his door.    

‘You should be on you way now, Little birdy.’

Jonathon then shooed the bird away it bounced on the ledge a few times before flapping its wings and flying away. Jonathon then weaved the metal rod inside one of the holes in one of the padded walls, he moves the fabric to hide the shape of the rod sticking through the wall with the padding. Jonathon then moved slowly as to not rattle his chain, he sat back on his bed and made it look like he was still taking notes.

The footsteps made it to his door and the big heavy door began to unlock and with one strong push it came open.

‘Evening.’

The voice called from the door frame.

‘I must admit I was not expecting you.’

Jonathon said as they then shut the door behind them.

‘And why’s that?’

Jonathon looked behind the one in front of him eyes darting back and forth.

‘Here all by yourself aren't you? no guards, no back up. You might get into some trouble for that.’

‘Doubt it,’

They answered smugly.

‘Fair point, so what brings you here?’

‘What else, you.’

‘You came all the way up here to see little old me, all by yourself huh, not to bright.’

‘Well you are chained to the wall so I would like to see what you could do.’

They let out a soft quiet laugh. Jonathon then shuffled jostling his leg.

‘I’m only chained to the wall at your recommendation, Doctor Quinzell,’

The young women could not hide her smile at that one. She tried not to see her patients after hours but Jonathon was one of the few she could make lenience for on that front.

‘Now Jonathon that’s for your safely as well as mine.’

‘That’s Bullshit, and you know it.’

She moved over to a chair that was on the opposite of the bed.

‘No need for that language, Jonathon.’

‘No need for a god damn chain on my leg neither.’

Doctor Quinzell then pulled out a note pad from her bag.

‘Now, How have you been Jonathon.’

He looked at her for a moment and put his own note pad to his side and looked her in the eye again.

‘Fine.’

Doctor Quinzell tapped her pen to her pad.

‘Well, you’ve been fine, the last 28 times we’ve meet up, most be an in house record.’

‘Don’t sass me child.’

‘Jonathon, if you want to leave the third floor your going to have to work with me here.’

Jonathon let out a sigh.

‘Fine...I’m feeling things again, so that’s something.’

‘What things?’

‘Sensations...my face...the air.... beating of my heart, the screams on the walls.’

‘That good, better then last time, how dose that make you feel.’

‘Cold mostly.’

‘Right, anything else.’

‘I have been sleeping better,’

‘Good, why do you think that is?’

‘The birds maybe?’

‘Ok, is there anything else you want to talk about.’

‘Like what.’

‘Like the incident that got you moved up here from the seconded floor, about three weeks ago.’

‘I’m not sorry and you can tell Jervis that I said so.’

‘So you remember what happened now.’

‘Kind of, I remember the screams and Bolton flying across the room but not much else.’

‘Well better then nothing, is there anything else you want to talk about.’

‘Not really, how about you?’

Doctor Qiunzell moved in her chair. Jonathon tapped his glasses.

‘You seem to be looking and forgive my me, rather brunt out as it were.’

Doctor Qiunzell bit her lip for a split second.

‘Now Jonathon, let us keep this about you,’

Jonathon put his hands together and leaned forward.

‘Very well, do you remember, back in the day when I was still teaching and you sat in the back row taking notes like a bat out of hell, you wrote down just about every word I said no matter how unimportant it was.’

‘Yes, ok, um why do you mention that,’

‘You see when you and I first started having are sessions, It seemed to me you kept that habit, but as of the last oh, year or so you seemed to have lost that habit. In fact you have not written a single thing down since you came in here.’

‘Things change and its just was not necessary anymore,’

‘Necessary, interesting that you use that word Doctor Quinzell, wouldn’t you say.’

‘I think, its more about understanding what information I do and don’t need.’

‘But you said necessary, a need is done out of purpose outside of our own judgement, when we feel something is or is not necessary it speaks more of our own personal biases, the fact you no longer see it to be necessary suggest you have had a shift in your priorities.’

‘And what might that be Professor Crane.’

‘Well, what do think, what have you been up to lately.’

‘Well, I have been working on more patients lately. And I think I’m losing track of then,’  

Doctor Crane then took the note pad from his side and opened it.

‘such as,’

‘I had Victor Freeze the other day and I just could not listen to anything he had to say, he talks about his wife his, feelings and all I could do is look at my watch the whole time.’

Doctor Crane took down a note.

‘I see, why do you think that is.’

‘I had my other patient to get to,’

‘Which one.’

‘Joker.’

Doctor Crane took another note and underlined it.

‘I see do you have this problem with him?’

‘No, if anything I go over time. That’s why I missed my session with Nygma, yesterday.’

‘Edwards back, huh,  good to know, Is there a reason why you are spending so much time with Joker as opposed to you other patients, Harley.’

Harley Stated to play with her hair taking it down from a bun,

‘He’s just so open with me you know.’

Doctor Crane tapped his glasses and took another note.

‘Open, open how?’

Harley played with her hair more patting it down and straightening it out the best she could but to no avail.

‘Oh I can’t tell you that, can’t break the rules’

Doctor Crane took down another note underlining it twice.

‘Hmm,very well, so you do have him on a new treatment though, don’t you Harley.’

Harley looked surprised.

‘How do you know that.’

‘I may not always be in the best of mind, but my ears work perfectly. I can hear the laugh through the walls’

‘Oh, I see that makes senses. silly me, oops ’

‘That’s ok, I there any improvement in any of them so far.’

‘No not really Professor Crane, and honestly I don’t think we should continue...but.’

‘But what? Harley.’

She took a deep breath and leaned back with a wishful sigh.

‘He has such a beautiful laugh and its the only thing that makes him smile right now.’

Doctor Crane kept quietly taking notes.

‘I see, well Harley...’

Footsteps where making there way down the hall.

‘I think it be best if you were on you way now,’

Harley straighten like she had just been sobered up.

‘Yes, your right Professor Crane.’

She then started to tie her hair up again. The footsteps came closer and Harley had grabbed all her things and made her way to the door, she waited a moment as she heard the footsteps walk past the door. She then pulled the door open and she opened it wide enough for herself to push herself out, as she went into the hallway she was meet with a man, she yelped.

‘Oh, Mr Bolton, you scared me.’

‘Sorry about that Doc, what are you doing up here this late?’

‘Just catching up with my patients, goodnight Mr Bolton.’

Harley tried to fix her hair as she went down the hall, rushing to the elevator. Bolton then waited for her to be out of sight before opening the heavy door again. Jonathon was still sitting on his bed making notes and Bolton slammed the door shut behind him.

‘I am very popular today aren’t I.’

Jonathon said without lifting his head.

‘What did you do to that Doctor Crane.’

Jonathon snapped his book shut and looked to Bolton eyes over his glasses.

‘I assure you it is strictly professional.’

‘Is that right. Well then I assure you from professional to another, This is going to hurt.’        

‘What are you going on about Bolton.’

Bolton looked at the chain that connected Jonathon to the wall.

‘No where to run Crane,’

‘No where to hide neither Bolton.’

Bolton moved closer to him slowly as he prepared his fists.

‘Let’s see if I can get the scarecrow to be afraid,’

‘How much time you got.’

‘All night.’

Jonathon looked at Bolton unfazed by his actions knowing what is to come.The Crows outside squawked as they flew in circles outside, one of which landed on the window.

‘I guess I can pencil you in.’

‘I’m going to make sure you never get the chance to throw me around again, your staying in lockup.’

‘Haroo,Hraa.’

The crows cried the courtyard was empty, the screams where loud but tonight the crows where louder.

[darkwingsnark]

my headcanon: Jonathon would sing a sweet lullaby to Jervis so he could go to sleep. And after that, he would kiss him goodnight in his forehead and tells him how much he means to him, and then Jonathon sleeps with him. P.S. I sent my headcanon to Mistress of Fear and she kinda likes it, but she recommended me to put it here. So enjoy!

If that ain’t saccharine goodness to wake up to, I don’t know what else is. 

I can see the appeal: but may I make a suggestion? I feel like a part of the charm of Crane is– while he can be sweet in his own ways– doing it a bit more under the radar. So imagine with me, if you would, Hatter having a night terror in his sleep. Probably a lot of whimpering that ends up waking up Crane– because they already share a bed; already being a couple is optional. But yes, wakes up Crane and perhaps he watches for a moment. Really takes in all of Jervis’ twitches and facial expressions. Because this is what Crane’s about, correct? The master of fear, the one who enjoys the suffering of others.

He sighs, as he quickly realizes seeing someone he cares about in such a state doesn’t do anything for him. There is no thrill, in fact, it hurts him to see the man he loves in such a state.Crane leans down, doing his best to carefully nestle in as close as he can, as he then sings a calming lullaby. (Depending on the headcanon, he maybe struggles with this because his upbringing didn’t really involve songs to comfort.) But Crane tries his best, using a hand to gently pet the sides of Jervis’ arm to sooth. Hatter never wakes up, but soon stops his whimpering-- the night is silent.

Jonathan remains where he is, at Jervis’ side.

[argylemikewheeler]

imagine steve's coming out to the kids, like obviously nancy and jonathon already know, they're his best friends, and this kids are obviously all accepting of steve and they just all wanna know when he's gonna get a boyfriend it's so PURE

[[writing this was the best thing i’ve ever done. thank you xo i loved it sm]]

Steve’s freaking out. He’s really freaking out. Being honest, Steve Harrington has done some stupid fucking shit and has probably warranted a prescription for an anti-anxiety or something by this point. But this– this fucking decision– was the dumbest thing he’s ever done. Or at least, will be after he does it.

“Steve, why do you look like you’re going to throw up?” Jonathan asks, poking his banana split with his spoon.

“Because, Johnny, I am.” Steve mutters, craning his neck to see if the kids are coming yet.

“They’re fourteen year olds.” Nancy tries to hide her laugh in a cough.

“Please don’t throw up.” Jonathan adds. “Not on my ice cream.”

“Gee, thanks. Love you too.” Steve snaps with a tisk of his tongue.

“Steve, you’re coming out to a bunch of middle schoolers. This isn’t a trial.” Nancy says, trying to diffuse their glaring. “You do know like, two of them are probably gay. Like, statistically.”

“Yeah, well they got one big ol’ gay right fucking here, scooping them ice cream. Statistically.” Steve begins to chew his bottom lip. “Oh my god, they probably already figured it out. They stood me up.”

Jonathan doesn’t acknowledge Steve’s idiotic logic. “Why again are you having them meet you at an ice cream parlor? You work here.”

“Cheap ice cream. I can bribe them.” Steve answers without thought. “And it’s in public, so they won’t make a scene if things go sour.”

“Steve,” Nancy says, taking his hand. Jonathan takes the other and it’s annoyingly calming. “they aren’t your parents. They’re good kids. They’re going to be okay with it.”

“I really hope so– Oh fuck here they are.” Steve pulls his hands away and tries to dry his palms on his jeans.

Max walks in with her arms around Lucas and Dustin. Her smile is an echo of a memory Steve hasn’t had in a while. Lucas laughs and Dustin is cackling from the joke Steve was just out of reach of. Behind her, El skips into the parlor with Will, who is walking. Definitely walking. He looks sure to put both feet down evenly, alerting everyone he is walking. Steve knows that look– no, he wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Steve looks away and spots Mike coming in last. He spots his sister and waves at her, locating Steve in the next moment.

“I’m gonna hurl. Oh my god.”

“Why are you doing this again?” Jonathan asks, reaching for his hand again. He’d started holding Steve’s hand after Steve had come out. Steve had confessed his own disgust with himself, with how much he was afraid to touch Jonathan in passing or even play a sport because he didn’t want to make anyone feel invaded or uncomfortable. Jonathan told him he was never bothered and began grabbing hand when he wants Steve to know he’s listening. Steve doesn’t hate it.

“I don’t want them to be scared like me. The news is getting… worse and I want them to have someone happy– and healthy– to look up to if they are… how they are.” Steve says, squeezing Jonathan’s hand.

“You’re a really good friend to them, Steve.” Nancy smiles as she slides out of the booth. She kisses him on the cheek and fixes his hair; he hadn’t washed it in two days. Hadn’t slept properly longer.

“Good luck. Come get us when it’s all over.” Jonathan pats Steve on the shoulder as they walk away and leave the booth open for the kids.

“Hey Steve!” Dustin slides in beside him, scooting him against the wall. “What’s new?”

“Nothing really.” Still the same Steve, unfortunately. Now just self-aware. “How’s your summer?”

“Hot.” El says– she wasn’t going by Jane anymore, he thinks– thudding her elbows on the table as she sits. Mike slides in next to her and Will beside him. Max pulls up a chair to the end of the table as Lucas finishes off the bench with Steve and Dustin. “I want ice cream.”

“I’ll get you some. What flavor?” Max says, the easiest to stand.

“No. No I’ll get everyone ice cream.” Steve says, waving her back down to her seat. “I’ll use my employee discount and everything. I just want to.. I want to talk to you guys for a second. If that’s okay.” He feels his heart try to stop. Not skip a beat, not sink to his stomach or jump to his throat. No, it tries to come to a halt and kill him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you going far away for college!” Max cries, gripping at the table edge. “I thought you said that you were going locally! We need you here!”

“I am, I still am.” Steve soothes. “It has nothing to do with college.”

“Then what? What else do you do with your time other than scoop ice cream and bitch about going to college?” Dustin says.

“Hey, language.” Steve says firmly. “And I do plenty of other things.”

“Yeah, you sit in my living room and bitch to Nancy.” Mike laughs.

“Hey! Language!”

“So far we haven’t told a lie.” Lucas reaches behind Dustin to playfully shove Steve. “But, for real, what’s wrong? You typically don’t call us in like this.”

“I feel like I’m at a business meeting.” Will notes, folding his hands on the tabletop. Mike laughs and does the same, as does El. “Mr. Harrington, please, state your business.”

This is the moment, Steve knows it. It’s exactly what he wanted, but why does it feel so difficult? It feels like pressure squeezing around him– rather than on his hand. He wishes for a moment that Jonathan was there, but he has to do it alone anyway. It’ll be alone for the rest of his life anyway.

“I wanted to tell you guys that when I go to college, I might… I uh, I might start dating. Well, like, more seriously than I did in high school.” Steve isn’t sure what their parents have said about gay people and he wants to humanize and deescalate the lies built around his life. He doesn’t want to scare them.

“Well I hope so.” Mike says. “You can’t keep hanging around with us forever. I mean, we’re cool shit and everything–”

“Dammit, Mike! Language!” Steve sighs, poking his hands harshly. “Don’t make me tell Nancy.”

“She’s got a filthier mouth than me!” Mike cries. “She taught me how to correctly use the F word the other day!”

“Ooo! You’ll have to share.” Dustin says with excitement.

“Which F word. I know at least… thirty.” El asks quietly, nudging Mike with her elbow.

Steve can think of a completely different F word for the situation. And he hates that he thinks of it, but he imagines one of the kids spitting the word at him as they storm away from the table. But Nancy was right, these kids aren’t his parents. They wouldn’t use that word. They were raised different. They were raised in the middle of this chaos and death– they were empathetic and loving. He raised them; they’d have to still love him. Right?

“Guys, Steve’s trying to talk.” Lucas says, cutting through the suddenly yammering.

“I-It’s not important.”

“It is if you’re gonna buy us ice cream after.” Max counters. “That never happens. Unless it’s important. Or like, a divorce.” She laughs but Steve also knows she isn’t kidding.

“Uh, I just wanted to tell you that… that when I start dating in college. The people I date might not be who you expect.” Steve is such an idiot. Such a coward. He’s afraid of fourteen year olds. Genuinely afraid.

“What do you think we expect?” Will asks, furrowing his eyebrows. “All of them to look like Nancy?”

Well, no. But they’d be Nancies.

“Well, I’m sure you expect women.” Steve spits. “A-And… They won’t be.”

The table is still. They all stare at the table and Lucas turns his head to stare at Steve, the first one to move.

“Are you telling us you’re gay? That’s it?” He says with horrifying nonchalance. His courage frightens Steve.

“I am. Yes.”

“Oh. That’s the ice cream event?” Mike asks, unfolding his hands. “That’s not really that important.”

“It is to Steve.” Will reasons, reaching a hand out toward Steve on the table. Oh, Steve thinks, that’s why he came out. Will knows. He lets Will touch his hand, just like his older brother would. This time though, Steve is comforting someone else’s fear of contact rather than the reverse.

“Wait, does this mean you’re gonna have college boyfriends!” El asks with wide eyes. “Oh! They’ll look like those boys in the movies, Mike. Leather jackets and everything?”

“I mean, sure. Yeah. I could have a boyfriend with a leather jacket. Or maybe a denim one. Or like, no coat at all if he’s tough or something. I’m open to all fashion choices.”

“Except like, those weird colorful shorts or something.” Dustin says.

“I happen to think Jams are cute, thank you very much.” Steve says shooting him a look and pressing his lips together in a joking purse.

“Cute?” Mike repeats. “Oooooo! Steve thinks boys are cute!”

“I’m gay, that’s what that means.” He shoots back, the words coming naturally. He never thought he’d see the day. Maybe all it took were some rambunctious kids.

“But I mean… cute? That’s so sixth grade.” Max scrunches her nose and laughs.

“Unless he’s thinking of someone in particular.” Lucas points and Steve feels the thrumming excitement with none of the fear. “Who is it! Who is he!”

“No one! I’m not seeing anyone! You think I’d get a boyfriend before I told my number ones? I don’t think so.”

“When are you going to get a boyfriend, then? We want to terrorize him!” Mike groans, slapping the table jokingly. “Get a boyfriend already, Steve. God!”

“Not everyone gets a girlfriend from another dimension, Mike.” Will quips, his hand still touching Steve’s. “Steve is limited to human earthlings only.”

“Are the boys on Earth cute?” El asks. Steve isn’t sure if she’s playing along or not.

“Don’t you have eyes?” Steve asks, blinking slowly. “I mean, why are you asking me?”

“None of us are gay.” Steve doesn’t catch who says it but he feels a shift in his hand. “We don’t see what you see!”

“I see the same thing as you.”

“But they’re older than us! We don’t know what’s cute when you turn nineteen!” Max reasons. “The only nineteen year old I know is… Not cute.”

“That’s cause he’s your brother.”

“I think monster is his preferred species of origin.” Will cuts in, raising an eyebrow.

“Either way. He’s not cute, right, Steve?” Max holds a hand out to Steve, ready to receive the verbal validation.

“Yeah. Not.” Steve laughs. “Mullets? Not really my speed. I mean, neither is getting my nose broken– and that shouldn’t be for you either.”

“Okay, so Steve thinks that non-mullets, jackets, and non-violent boys are cute. Okay. That’s easy. We can get you a boyfriend!” Dustin starts counting the traits on his hands. “Please reconsider the Jams though, Steve.”

“You guys haven’t even had a serious girlfriend– o-or boyfriend.” He counters, resting his arm on the back of the booth seat. He accidentally nudges the man behind them, his hand jerking away to rest in his lap. He doesn’t look back as the man looks at Steve.

“Excuse me?” Mike says with mock offense. “Uh, I’m fine thanks.”

“You’re fourteen.”

“We’re holding hands.”

“I’m gonna gag.” Max teases, although Steve easily spots her hand resting against Lucas’ arm on the table. “I need ice cream.”

“Here, let me out and I’ll get you some– on one condition.” Steve points at all of them sternly. “You don’t embarrass me in front of any man that is between the ages of twenty and twenty-five that may or may not be wearing colorful shorts.”

“Twenty-five?” Mike repeats. “Isn’t that a bit old for you?”

“Isn’t El a little too cool for you?” Lucas says in Steve’s defense.

“She is.” Mike says sitting up straight. “But you don’t have to remind her.”

“Oh, I know, Mike.” She isn’t even joking a little bit. Steve loves Eleven. He really does.

“Alright alright, lets get you ice cream.” Steve waves the kids out of his booth and stands. His legs still feel like they want to buckle, but with a new sense of relief. He’s got six kids around him in case he falls.

Steve walks them up to the counter, waving to Robin as he slides over the counter to start serving them. Mike wants a sundae with two spoons, Dustin wants mint chocolate chip– two scoops, Steve, I’m a growing boy– in the last waffle cone, Lucas can’t decide between two flavors so Steve manages a special twisted stack of peanut butter and rocky road scoops, and Will gets sherbet– fucking rainbow sherbet– and Steve makes sure it’s the nicest three scoops he’s ever managed. Max asks Steve to surprise her as she ushers away, trying to keep Will from dripping on his shirt. She’s grabbing napkins from passing tables and holding it around the cone as Will readjusts his grip.

She’s a lovely kid, growing up in the sunshine despite being raised in such darkness. It was kind of inspiring, Steve hated to admit. She was five years younger than him and she was already showing him the promising future of keeping his head up. He needed these kids more than they ever needed him.

“I’m sorry.” A young man approaches Steve as he walks back around the counter, Max’s cone in his hand. “I don’t mean to bother you, but I overheard you talking.”

“Oh… Sorry if we were being loud.” Steve mutters handing Max her ice cream. He notices there is no one behind them. “Oh, was it you I hit earlier? I’m sorry.”

“No! No! That’s not it at all!” His eyes are green. Steve has never seen eyes so green in his life. He’s glad talking is an excuse to look into them. “I wanted to say that I agree.”

“What?”

“Jams are cute. Although, I think ruddy converse and jeans are cuter.” Steve fights the urge to look down at his own outfit; he knows he’s wearing those two things but he wants to make sure he isn’t hallucinating.

“I– thank you.” Steve is blushing in front of a bunch of teenagers and he wants to scream.

“Do you come here often? Live close or just on vacation?” The boy asks, licking his ice cream. Steve wants to scream. Why isn’t he screaming?

“I work here.”

“Oh. Good.” The boy smiles. “Guess I’ll see you again…”

“Steve. I’m Steve.”

“Theodore.” He nods and leaves Steve with a long look.

“Dude!” Dustin cries, slapping his arms and trying to bring him back to reality. “DUDE!”

“I can’t believe you all just saw that.” Steve was checked out, for the first time, in front of his babysitting gig.

“Steve’s got a boyfriend!” Max laughs, sitting back in her chair. “Didn’t take long.”

Steve nods in agreement, but there were so many months of half started conversations and awkward bail out lines that led to Steve even being able to make eye contact with Theodore. It didn’t feel like long to them because they only got to follow the positive; the journey including the negative and the regression was at least five years. But in the long run of the rest of his life, it really didn’t take long. Steve now had the rest of his life to be happy– maybe or maybe not with Theodore.

“I can’t wait for Steve to start college dating. It’s going to be so fun!”

“What if your boyfriend is like, a doctor or something? Will you date a doctor, Steve?”

“No! No! He should date a guy that can fix a car– you’re really bad at it, Steve.”

“You can’t pick his boyfriend’s skills like a Sears catalog… You should just go for someone tall! Like, taller than you. Or maybe blond too.”

“A redhead!”

“Hey, hey, hey. I’ll date who I date.” Steve laughs, sitting down in the booth again. “Lets not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Promise you’ll introduce him to us?” Will asks, twisting cone in his hand.

“Of course I will. And if you approve, it’s wedding bells for that poor sucker.”

“He better not own Jams, Steve, I swear to god.” Dustin sighs.

“So glad my sexuality doesn’t bother you but his potential fashion does.” Steve laughs. He wants to cry, if he’s being honest. This was the dumbest thing he’s ever done in his life, but it’s the most important.

“If you date someone who’s not as cool as you, I’m gonna be really upset.” Max says firmly. “You only date up.”

“Guys, stop.” Mike whispered, looking at El with over dramatic paranoia. “She’ll hear you.” El dips her finger in the whipped cream and slides it on Mike’s nose.

“How about this? I’ll only date someone who likes me, likes you guys, and… and…”

“Makes you happy.” Will pipes up, a dot of sherbet on his nose.

“Yeah!” They all agree, nodding their heads with their cones.

“That sounds easy enough.” Steve smiles. He places his arm around the back of the booth again, leaning into Dustin’s side. “Thanks for listening, guys. You’re pretty cool, I guess. All of you.”

“We love you, Steve.” Max says, the other Party members nodding.

I’m gay was yet to be followed by I love you for Steve. He grins and reaches his hand into the middle of the table. All the kids place their own on top and smile in return. He’s completely alright with finding a new family for college, even if it means he has to be the “adult” one. That doesn’t mean he can’t learn from his six brothers and sisters. They love him. That’s all he needs.

[jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear]

If Jonathon Crane finds his student had doodled their paper during the test, would he accept it or would he punished them for doodling?

I don’t think he would punish them, no. He wouldn’t really care about someone doodling on their paper, because he would understand that in some cases, doodling helps students keep focus. I know that’s how it was for me. I just imagine him being the kind of teacher who lets his students do their own thing as long as it isn’t disruptive. That’s why I see him allowing fidget toys.

[sl-newsie]

Behind Masks (Dr. Jonathon Crane x OC) Ch. 7: Escape

“What exactly did he put into the water system?” I ask Montoya as she shifts through paper files.

I’m currently waiting in Crane’s former office (that feels so good to hear!) while the detective is looking for my records.

“We’re not sure. Batman’s going to run some tests-”

“Batman?” My head perks up.

“Yes. He’s the one who found out about Crane’s operation. Some say he’s overstepping his boundaries and doing our work for us. Personally I think he’s a concerned citizen who’s trying to help clean out Gotham.”

Could this new vigilante be the answer? For weeks I’ve been waiting for justice to strike. If this Batman character causes the mob to get shaky then surely the rest of the scum in Gotham won’t dare to stand out anymore.

Another 20 minutes of searching goes by and I hear Montoya sigh.

“I’m sorry Dr. Prentiss but there’s complications with some of the paperwork. Your file’s not on record here.”

My mind does a flip-flop. “But that’s good, right? That should mean I’m not an inmate here.”

“Sadly that’s not the case now. A law just passed stating that any prisoner found without proper records is to be kept on lockdown until ID is recognized.”

“B-But I do have an ID! Just call my boss back in Metropolis, please!” I’m starting to shake. Whether it be from nerves or anger is unclear. “I am not insane!”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to remain here for the next week or so.” Montoya says calmly and walks out of the office, locking me inside my twisted psychiatrist’s lair.

That’s it, then. 10 years spent studying psychology and I wind up in a nuthouse as a patient forever.

Time truly is relative, because the clock shows I’ve only been in here for one hour but to me it feels like an entire day. Crane’s chosen decor of past MRI scans and ink blot tests don’t do any help to calm my spasming thoughts. When the sound of jingling keys rings through the air I almost think I’m imagining it.

“Not to fret, Dr. Prentiss,” Baxton taunts smugly and cuffs my limp hands, tugging me up and pushing me down the familiar beige hall. “You can consult your complaints with your new inmate Dr. Crane.”

Sounds peachy-keen.

Baxton stops in front of a cell and unlocks the door to shove me inside. This cell is similar to my old one except it’s more padded and instead of a bed there’s a single chair. One that is occupied by none other than Dr. Jonathan Crane, who’s wrapped tightly in a full body straightjacket. Just as before his eyes are wide and keep staring into an invisible abyss.

“What happened?” I ask the guard.

“The Batman sprayed him with an unknown gas. We think it’s a hallucinogen.”

I know exactly what kind of gas he used. Crane finally got a taste of his own medicine. Literally. Once Baxton walks off I casually strut up and kneel down to be at eye level with the crazed doctor.

“Well well well. Got what’s coming to you, Dr. Crane.”

If there’s any part of him that’s somewhat sane he does little to acknowledge he sees me. “Scarecrow…” He mumbles.

“Oh, excuse me,” I apologize sarcastically. “Scarecrow. How does it feel to have your brain turned inside out?”

“It’s… dark. Very dark…” He whispers, eyes flitting all over my face as if I’m about to attack him.

“Poor Johnny, all tied up. Who’s laughing now, hm?” I rest my chin on my fists and continue to stare as he breaks down further. “How long is the medicine supposed to last? If it was anything like what you gave me then it shouldn’t be but a few hours. Although from what I see here it looks like Batman gave you a stronger dose.”

At the mention of Batman Crane’s eyes get wider and he starts shaking. “Scarecrow…”

There’s no use trying to reach him. I remember back during the first few days of my experiments that it can take days to filter out what’s real and what’s fantasy. If Crane weren’t such an emotionless pain I might actually feel sorry for him.

What to do now… Since Crane’s the one who’s kept me locked in Arkham then maybe I can get some leverage to escape. 

“Knock knock.”

I look up at the new voice and see we have company. A group of 3 inmates has gathered outside our cell and the leader is twirling a familiar set of keys.

“Did Baxton take the evening off?” I peer suggestively at the keys.

“Let’s just say it’s time for our own therapy appointment with Dr. Crane,” the lanky man with the keys says darkly. He’s the very definition of an Arkham patient. Crazed eyes and a shaved head.

Adrenaline surges through me and my reflexes kick on. I step in front of Crane to block him from the inmates’ view. The only thing separating him from being pummeled is me and the cell door- which the inmate leader is now unlocking.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, toots,” a taller brute says.

Hm. I suppose Crane does deserve a good talking to. Maybe some criticism is just what the doctor ordered-

Thud!

The bigger inmate’s fist collides with Crane’s jaw and he goes limp. This triggers the other two inmates to join in.

Oh no. My first prison riot. 

“Wait- Oh God!” I grab a hold of one’s jumpsuit and try to tear him away. “What are you doing? Stop! You’re hurting him!”

“Since when do you have sympathy for this freak?” The smallest one seethes. “He tested on all of us!”

“You of all people should know he needs to pay for it!” The leader jabs at me. “We heard he’d drug you up every single day. He must be punished!”

“But not like this! This isn’t justice-!”

Bang! Bang!

The sound of a baton lifts my hopes. Baxton’s back! Maybe he finally came to his senses-

“Come on. Let’s go.”

He grabs my ponytail and yanks me into the hallway. I try to pull away but Baxton grabs me from behind and drags me further away.

“But you can’t just-!”

Slap!

A sharp pain stings my cheek from where Baxton slapped me. “Let’s go. Now!”

I’m shoved into an empty cell and he stands in the doorway with a sinister grin.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

My eyes narrow. Where are the other guards? Can’t they see what’s happening? They should call the police! This is against all protocol!  “You can’t ignore a prison riot! This is anarchy!”

Baxton shrugs. “Gotham is anarchy, princess.”

My eyes flash in an angry sneer and I clutch the brute’s shoulders to give his privates a stiff blow. He crumples to the ground and cries out in agony, too stunned in pain to form words.

I lean down and get in his face. “It’s Prentiss!” I hiss.

Quickly I snatch the gun from his holster and rush back towards Crane’s cell. Inside I find the doctor barely conscious and the three inmates glaring down at his beaten face. I hope this works.

Bang!

 I fire a warning shot into the ceiling and everyone jumps to look at me.

“Stand down. Now!” I speak firmly but still maintain the persona of a therapist. “Take a deep breath and go back to your cells.”

The tallest one looks apprehensive but the others simply shrug and stride out. “Our work is done here.”

Yes. Their work has left the fear doctor in rough shape. A black eye is starting to spread onto Dr. Crane’s left eye and there’s a bad cut on his lip. And those are just the visible injuries. Lord knows what they’ve done to his internal organs.

“You’re coming with me.”

I unlock the chair he’s strapped in and wheel him down to his office. With his assistance and a little luck I can find what I’m looking for.

“Where’s the antidote?” I speak directly to him.

There must still be part of his sane self left because his eyes dart to look at a painting of Sigmund Freud. I step closer to feel around the frame’s edge and find a handle. Giving it a firm tug, the picture swings away on a hinge to reveal a hidden cupboard. Inside there’s an arrangement of test tubes and vials, each labeled with Crane’s scribbled writing. How do I know which one to use?

“Crane, which one is it?” I point to the cupboard.

The dazed doctor lifts his head up. The only response I get is a small hum. I guess I just have to pick one and hope for the best.

One vial in the front has the freshest writing, which leads me to believe it’s Crane’s most recent antidote. That’s my best shot. But how is it administered? Batman sprayed Crane with a gas, while I’ve only been injected with serums. Is the antidote supposed to be inhaled or injected?

“Scarecrow!”

Jesus! Crane’s sudden outburst makes me jump. His condition is deteriorating. It’s now or never.

“This is going to hurt,” I explain in a doctor-patient manner as I dig out a syringe from the desk and sterilize it. Now I just need to figure out how to get his arm exposed without Crane going ballistic. He’s starting to shake and break out in a sweat. “Just… try to hold still.”

I pick up a scalpel and slice a hole in the straightjacket. Crane sees this and shakes even harder. I need to be quick. 

“One, two, three.”

“Ah!” 

Crane winces when the needle pricks his pale skin. How long am I supposed to wait? What if there are side effects? Any allergic reactions? My on-a-whim thinking is starting to make me double-guess if this was the best option-

“What happened?”

Crane’s normal voice strangely seems to calm my nerves. I used to shiver at the sound of it but now instead of him being a creep it means he might be back to normal. His eyes aren’t as feral and he’s stopped shaking, looking around the room as if just awakened from a deep sleep. He takes one look at me and then notices the jacket he’s wrapped in.

Crane quirks an eyebrow. “Care to explain, Dr. Prentiss?”

I set the used syringe down and take a deep breath. “Batman sprayed you with a toxin. You’ve been in a deranged state for the past 72 hours. I’m the only one who thought to look for the antidote.”

“Hm. And care to explain why my face feels like I collided with a brick wall?”

Oh. Right.

“Some inmates chose to administer self-justice and nearly snapped you in two. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them in time but I was being detained at the moment.”

Crane nods, still with a peculiar look. “How did you escape your cell?”

“Persuasion.”

“Sexual favors?”

I smirk. “You could say that. I kneed the guard in the crotch and persuaded him to let me escape.” I walk closer and kneel down to look at him with almost taunting eyes. “What was your plan, Crane? Before it all went south?”

The doctor’s brow furrows in confusion. “Gordon was in here asking me the same thing. Why should I tell you?”

“You have nothing to lose.”

“Are you going to knee me in the crotch too?”

I huff. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? No. I’m asking nicely.” Since he’s being resistant to the person who just gave him his sanity back I see no reason to help him anymore. My conscience is clear. “If you’re not worth my time I’m going to leave this God-forsaken place without you.”

Dr. Crane still has the same befuddled look as I stand up to leave. “I’m the one who tortured you. Why come back for me?”

I shake my head and turn to look at him with new-found sincerity. “You didn’t torture me. You helped me grieve.”

Something flashes in Crane’s eyes. Something I’ve never seen before- But in a split second it’s gone again and it’s back to his cold, calculating stare.

“You’re going to escape?”

“Yes.”

Crane tosses his head back and forth, seeming to decide his options. “If you release me I can get you out. Sadly I don’t think the staff is going to let me just waltz out of here after my… episode. Between that and your record of defying corrupted judges we’ll both have to go off the grid.”

“Agreed. I say we make a deal to get each other out. Then as soon as we’re past Arkham’s gates we go our separate ways.” I clap my hands together and walk closer. “Now that you’re your usual twisted self again am I right to assume it’s safe to remove the jacket?”

Screee! Screee!

Ow! A new alarm blares throughout the PA system. I have to cover my ears to block the painful noise. Unfortunately Crane has no use of his limbs.

“Prison break!” I try to yell over the sound. 

I walk back to the doorframe to get a better look outside. Baxton better not be- Oh my God.

“Crane… Arkham’s not that old, right? Please tell me there isn’t a button that releases all inmates at once?”

A few seconds go by and then Crane yells back: “Yes. There is.”

“Uh-huh. Now my next question: how easy is it to access that button?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because someone pressed it.”

It’s complete chaos. A human zoo. Dozens of inmates are sprinting up and down the hall, ranting and raving in every form of insanity possible. From what little I’ve seen so far there’s already been multiple fractures and abrasions. There’s no telling what damage they will do once they get ahold of weapons.

Uh-oh.

A tall man in dark clothing steps towards me. He is no inmate, yet his vicious gaze is enough to earn him a cell here just as much as the others. He pays no attention to me as I step out of his way and he tosses a familiar burlap mask onto Crane’s lap.

“Time to play.”