Mix of Nolan and DC. No New 52.
Face claim is Cillian Murphy. Multi-universe. Multi-ship. Tracking 'doctorcraneisin'.
Read rules before contacting.
Hover over pic for main links.】
The sound of Jonathan’s voice in soft tones is a comfort that Edward can’t readily compare to anything else. Not that his mind is at all present — for once, he’s looking through eyes that do not scrutinize and try to figure. Quiet and invested wholly in the here-and-now, that little push feels like a gravitational pull and there’s not much at all that he can do to refuse it. In one fluid motion made awkward by a single stumbling hitch, both knees find purchase against the seat of the sofa on either side of Jonathan’s thighs. It is precisely at this moment that Edward’s glasses fog up beyond reconciliation and he’s left startled and blind, pulling them off and letting them land wherever they will on the sofa or the coffee table.
Still red in the face, he finds places for his hands on the warm slope of Jonathan’s neck and again loses focus when he kisses the older man long and hard until his thighs start to tremble. And this is when it strikes him. Of course, things will need to escalate beyond this. This will, eventually, need to turn into something entirely paradigm-shifting — something that Edward hasn’t come prepared for.
Reluctantly, he pulls away from the hot, wet mouth of his lover, licking his lips as if to desperately savor the taste of what had happened that still lingers on his mouth.
"I’ve never… had to do this before," he states slowly, eyes down as he catches his breath. "I’ve never wanted to. So, I… I think I need a while."
Easier said than done. He makes the mistake of looking back up at Crane to find that his glasses are skewed and his lips are reddened from the barrage. Cue the low whining sound and no sooner decided than undecided, his mouth is against Jonathan’s neck, just below his ear and traveling down.
"It’s better if we wait —- " he whispers, not waiting, let alone stopping.
The moment Edward moves back, Jonathan’s chest feels hollow. His breath catches in his throat and he knows, he knows, he knows that he did something wrong. This is too much, too soon, too overwhelming. And then there are the words, wise in their content but worrying in their subtext.
And, surprisingly, flattering. True the ‘need to think' makes Jonathan's heart beat just a little faster, the 'never wanted to' and the implied 'before' that follows gives Jonathan the same physiological reaction, albeit for entirely different reasons.
And—oh. Indecisive as Edward is, Jonathan hasn’t really seen him display this amount of cognitive dissonance before which, while slightly endearing (in that John Hughes movie sort of way), makes the certification-lacking psychologist sigh ever so softly and move his hands, one threading in Edward’s hair, the other against his clavicle, pressing him back. Not off his lap, mind, just back enough so they can speak.
”As…,” licking his lips, Jonathan has to pause to catch his breath, “as lovely as that was…you’re right.” In a slight juxtaposition to his words, he cranes his neck and places a chaste kiss on Edward’s jawline—one he forces to remain chaste.
”This…especially you…,” there’s a sigh.
”We can’t do this lightly. Not that I think we need to meticulously plan every semi-sexual incident, but. Ed.” Jonathan cocks his head and gives his
boyfriend lover soulmate a reassuring smile.
”I want you to be certain, as much as you can be.”
On the way back up the road, Juliet found that she was at a loss for what to do with her hands, first letting them hang at her sides, but that was too lacking. There were no pockets to tuck them into, so she fidgeted a little uncomfortably. Clasped behind her back felt ridiculous, and in front of her it made her feel like a child. Dammit. Her clutch was wrapped in the folds of the dress in the bag, well out of her reach. If she were not in Jonathan’s presence she would have groaned at how ridiculous she felt. It was only when he spoke up that her eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"Oh! I ah…" she had assumed he had plans after this, and for some reason it threw her off that he would need to lie low. Cursing herself for not thinking of that earlier, she nodded, "Of course. You’re always welcome in my home. For as long as you want, you know that." But celebrate? Celebrate? With her? She really didn’t know how to handle that, and felt her chest twist into a knot just thinking about it. No… tea, ordering in, those were normal. Normal, not special, just like when they went over notes. She could handle that. A…a movie? But… that was so… that wasn’t work. Why would he want that? With her? It was made even worse when he mentioned wanting to take her out to dinner, and she stopped cold in her tracks. “D-dinner? A proper restaurant? Why?” She choked a little, “Why would you want to do that?”
He was the only person capable of making her so incredibly anxious, to confuse her so much that she couldn’t even begin to hide it. But surely he didn’t have any feelings for her, he couldn’t possibly. She was his assistant, that was it. Not special. It was far easier to deal with her feelings for him when she thought he had less than none for her. Level ground, she knew how to handle that. But if there was a chance he might… her chest got tighter at the mere thought of him having even friendly thoughts toward her, and she looked away. Love was a mystery to her. She had no prior experience with it at all. And the anxiety of possibly fucking it all up made her want to retch. Before she could devolve into a full blown panic attack, the sounds of the fight they’d heard earlier changed, and she cast a glance in the direction of the raucous noise before nodding to the street ahead, “We should hurry.” Anything to escape her embarrassment and confusion.
Oh, God. There it is. Of course. The crippling anxiety, the ‘why the fuck did you say that’ that so often haunts him. Clearing his throat, Jonathan, immeasurably thankful for the darkness around them hiding any color that may rise to his cheeks, keeps pace with her and nods, any verbal response, for the meantime, caught in his throat.
They pass a few narrow apartment buildings, closed laundry-mats and bustling bars, some overflowing into the street with the patrons, thankfully, too intoxicated to recognize Jonathan or notice the peculiarity of their garb for this time of night. He resists the urge to pull her close every time a man gets too close, he knows that behavior isn’t healthy and, more to the point, isn’t wanted. So he keeps his hands and gaze away from her, but even that feels unnatural.
He’s careful not to lead her through too many alleyways, for their safety but also for her comfort. Having someone’s trust, especially a woman’s which, admittedly, shouldn’t be problematic for Jonathan but, well, is—it’s rather unfamiliar territory, and he wants to make her comfortable. Which is juxtaposed by the fact that less than an hour ago he was holding a knife to her neck but, eh, details.
When they arrive on her street, quite despite the noise of the social scene merely blocks away, Jonathan feels a little more at ease. Not that they’re out of the proverbial woods just yet, but safety and comfort are a stone’s throw away and, perhaps, the awkwardness will fade then.
Feeling like a teenager on a first date—not that he dated as a teenager—he stands at the bottom of the front step, hands tensing and un-tensing in the too-long sleeves of his sweater.
Not Crane, no. Same face, but not him. This is a different man. His smile is sharp with an unnerving cruelty, and he moves like he’s circling his prey, intimidating. But Arthur doesn’t say anything in response.
He is quietly deliberating, hands curling into fists, then uncurling, watching as he steps into the midst of his art, the creator, careless as if this man bleeding all over the floor - painting the place with red- is nothing more than a plaything. The pleading whines and dying whimpers have him blinking rapidly, mouth dry. And in watching all this, letting it sink into the crevices of his mind, the point man has to wonder exactly who he gave his trust to, who he was wrong to get close to.
Who is the mask? The man or the monster?
But at the rate he seems to attract psychopaths, he thinks bitterly, he wouldn’t be surprised if it were the former.
With the gaze turned to him Arthur is snapped back to reality, heart pumping painfully against his ribs as if to break them, breathing harsh in his ears - and he can only hope as he reaches for his gun, teeth clenched, that he won’t be too late.
Tutting, Scarecrow shakes his head.
“Not exactly. You see…" Taking a few steps back, though by no means retreating, Scarecrow cocks his head and licks his lips. "Johnny-boy’s on a little vacation." With a look of mock concern, Scarecrow makes his way back to one of the derelict desks, where his kit awaits him.
“He’s not feeling too well. So sad, so vulnerable.”
The faux empathy is cut away with a grin.
(no, stop, let me back, this isn’t, please)
“It’s really fucking funny. And you? You’re so sweet to help him through it.”
Casually, the Scarecrow raises one of the aerosol dispersers, fiddling idly.
“Too bad bein’ sweet don’t get you anything, huh? Because as much as I love to break my toys…”, he has to pause to let out a wry chuckle, “Johnny-boy….Johnny’s the fuckin’ master. Didn’t he warn you? Hmph. Some psychiatrist." Scarecrow clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
“He’s corrosive. Everything he touches just…”, the empty hand comes up and makes a vague gesture, “crumbles down. He’s not alone because he chooses to be, he’s alone because they all leave. They always have and always will. Only thing he got is…”, Scarecrow gives Arthur a cocky smile and waves his hand downward, gesturing to himself, “me. That’s all he’ll ever have. It’d be so much fuckin’ easier if he just accepted it. Then we could both have fun together.”
(shut up, stop, please)
“But he’s gotta be fuckin’ difficult." There’s a shrug. "Though, I suppose we got ways of dealin’ with that…don’t we?”
(please, please, please!)
There’s a soft hissing and Scarecrow, already immune to this stream of toxin, doesn’t bother reaching for his rebreather. Instead he watches, amused, as the gas starts to swell and fill the room, the corpse on the floor now the least interesting thing in the world.
Midgard. How strange it was that in the years since his attempted reign over it from the saddle of New York he’d come to find more solace in the place than his once home of Asgard. Here there was now gilded spires and the fake love of a King who claimed to love both sons, but had always mistrusted one. Here the world was as it was, dark gritty and stark. That was especially true of Gotham. What a dark city it could both day and night, but in the night that was when the true players came out. The hero they called Batman and his…ah, yes, his Rogues.
Loki adjusted the emerald scarf he wore over his suit and took in the lights and sounds of the city before cutting down one dank alley after next. Was he courting trouble? Well not necessarily, but he was certainly trying to observe it. He wanted to see the underbelly, not the flashy lights. They reminded him of lies and though as God of them he could smile, he wanted the truth. He wanted to see the city as it was, not its deceptions.
Perhaps he would tonight.
He tries not to stare, really he does. But it isn’t every day you see a so-called God who tried to take over the world roaming the streets. Jonathan actually has to do a double take at first, doubting the Asgardian would be on Earth, much less the cesspool that was Gotham City, but lo and behold, as Jonathan…not follows, per se, merely observes, it is.
He, of course, has his mask and syringes, filled with a few forms of his toxin and, more importantly, sedatives, but he can’t trust those to work on someone who, for all intents and purposes, is a fucking alien. Aesthetically similar to humans, but biologically? Perhaps not.
Bearing that in mind, it’s a wonder why Jonathan takes a larger step forward, out of the shadows and into the dull glow of the streetlight. Later, if he survives this in the first place, he’ll chastise himself for his foolishness at confronting a God. But, now, there’s a certain rush of adrenaline that makes him feel as if he can hold his own.
Or maybe he just has a death wish.
"I saw you on the news. Impressive stuff. I’m surprised S.H.I.E.L.D. let that brother of yours take you back to Asgard. Though I have to say, I’m more surprised that you’d return to Earth."
//I thought, because I missed munday, I’d share with you all the playlist I listen to when writing specifically Scarecrow threads. (I made a playlist for Jonathan somewhere on my blog, but another one I didn’t make can be found here))
"Really." Arthur slouches against the edge of the desk, hands in his pockets, legs outstretched. It quite honestly does come as a surprise to him, but for all his endless paranoia, he’s only amused. "Tell me about your illegalities and I’ll tell you more about the PASIV."
Now, that? That surprises Jonathan.
"You haven’t thought to look me up? Hm. I can’t decide if I should be insulted or not." Jonathan’s smile is easy, Arthur tends to make him feel at ease, but there’s still a part of him that’s on edge, like always, ready to react, to strike, if need be.
"I am—was—a psychologist. Psychopharmacologist. I studied the effects of drugs on mood, thinking, behavior. Specializing in fear. I taught abnormal psychology classes at Gotham University. Worked for a while at Arkham Asylum. And, well. Experiment is such a harsh word, but, according to the Board of Directors, I ‘experimented’ on patients. I was only testing a psychotropic hallucinogen but, you know. Two sides to every story."
"There’s a bit of the illegalities, I feel I’ve earned some more information about this highly illegal device."
《Original image courtesy of Detective Comics #23.3》
I don’t roleplay with him as he is not a traditional roleplay blog, but if you do not follow
you are missing out.
「Thus concludes doctor-crane-is-in’s follow forever! Likely to be amended as I work with new people and/or realize I forgot someone. 」
//in other news, the mun sprained her ankle
Send ✆ for a morning text
[text] Last night was lovely, darling. I’ll come again if I may.
Send ⁇ for a worried text
[text] I saw the news, do you need me for an alibi?
Send ✘ for a text that should never have been sent
[text] I hate you, I HATE you. Why do you have everything and I have nothing?
Send ✺ for a saucy text
[text] I found some toys. Do you want to come over and play?
Send √ for a long winded confessing text
[text] We’re not supposed to know of each other, you know, the same person with different lives. Sort of. And do you ever think that entire solar systems die every time we touch? We kill hundreds with every brush of our hands, thousands every time we link fingers, millions every time we kiss. I’m not sure how you would feel about that. But I know I would never take back any of it.
//I GOT A 100% ON MY ABNORMAL PSYCHOLOGY TEST
IM SO HAPPY
Send ✆ for a morning text
「text」Is it possible to shoot the sun?
Send ♔ for an angry text
「text」Get your goons away from my warehouse!
Send ♠ for a drunk text
「text」do yuo thni k it
Send ☏ for a vague text
「text」Yes, well. Don’t let it happen again.
Send ⁇ for a worried text
「text」Your father was on the news. Again. Are you alright?
Send ♣ for a text not meant for you
「text」Oh God, no. You know it’s not like that, Eddie.
「text」Forget that, wrong number.
Send ✘ for a text that should never have been sent
「text」I miss your company.
Send ✺for a saucy text
「text」I hope you like the new dress. Edward assured me it’d fit marvelously. I’ll have to see for myself.
Send √ for a long winded confessing text
「text」Things are good now, with me. Which is something I haven’t really been able to say before. I’m happy and in love and not entirely psychotic, which is always a plus. So, while I’m building bridges, I wanted to take the opportunity to tell you that I’m sorry. For everything, but that’s really too much of a blanket statement. I’m sorry for the way I hurt you back at the monastery, both physically and mentally. And I’m sorry for the way I let Scarecrow hurt you, both physically and mentally. I’d very much like to rekindle our friendship, as I think you’re a fantastic woman, powerful and cunning, but if you’d rather not, I understand. I’d tell you that I wish you the best but, while it’d be true, you don’t need my well wishes.
「text」Also, Edward says hello.
Send ☠ for misguided advice
「text」Go for it. Not the first time someone has tried to kill Robin.
Send ☢ for a desperate text
「text」Need your help. 42nd and Jefferson. Now.
Send ☼ for a congratulatory text
「text」Three SWAT teams and seven army officers. Nice.
Send ☠ for misguided advice
「text」I mean, don’t take my word for it, but you you should definitely steal the Declaration of Independence. How funny would that be?