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i wanted to be here more today but i had some class assignments to finish up and then i got a shitty grade on a quiz which put me in a terrible mood and also. so tired. hope y’all are livin la vida loca, for i am not

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— Luca Changretta ( 5 / ∞ )

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@psyclownsis / continued

Oof. That was— it was supposed to be romantic. A confession of sorts after the other night. An offering that he hoped she might take. It's sincere and heartfelt and, now, just screams pathetic. And the tone of her words— is she... Is she mad at him?

Jonathan's all rosy cheeked. His hands are curled in towards his chest, fingers grabbing each other to pinch and pull out of nervous fidgeting. "I don't. I don't want to hook up, Harlene," he says, just above a mumble. Because I want more, he can't say. He can't say. "Not when— umm, well, you were. You were drinking. Drunk. Darling, I knew you were not in your right mind, directing that at me of all people."

You don't want me. Not really.

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I love being hateful I love being a bitch I love being overly critical I love complaining

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The comment earns a scoff. Jonathan's mildly amused, even if his face remains neutral. He likes to play the stuffy doctor role. "No beards as of yet."

One hand falls behind him, clasped in a fist, resting against the small of his back. His other gestures vaguely with a few swipes at the air, his gaze drifting to a corner of the ceiling. "Side effects vary. There's during sessions and afterward. The medication causes adrenaline spikes, hallucinations, heart palpitations, paranoia, anxiety, fear," he rattles off. Then his strange eyes are on her, pale blue with a rust color at the edges of his pupils. "You know this by now, I would hope."

Then he turns aside, takes a step. "Otherwise, these symptoms mostly dissipate after the session. But sometimes they linger. We would adjust the dosage if this is a problem." And he spins on his heel, doing a 180 degree turn, taking another step. And another. His hand is waving around again as he talks. "And I need to check the viability of you being a candidate by taking vitals, hearing your medical history. If you have previous heart problems, you're out, my dear. I'm not interested in your expiration coming sooner than later."

continued || @sscarecrow

"I'll be here every day."

Elaine had grown up on the wrong side of the tracks back home. It's hard to lose that hunger for the need for money. She'll take any job she can to make sure she has food in her belly and maybe the occasional enough for a psychedelic trip here and there. It's how she first stumbled on Crane and how she'd come to work for him. She'll turn her head to the real criminal shit he gets up to, especially if there's money involved and he treats her with some amount of respect.

"What's the side effects? I'll still keep this face, yeah? If I'm going to grow a beard then count me out. Otherwise, I'm all in."

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Each time he meets a vigilante, the toxin is revised. Something stronger or more specialized. Perhaps more focused on adrenaline and paranoia? Or maybe more hallucinogenic in its properties?

Well. Doesn't fucking matter when Jonathan's adversary is wearing a filtered mask. Sure, at this point his usual gas has been formulated into something that can seep past typical filters, but it's hardly enough to do more than make these hero-types jumpy. See some shadows in the corners of their eyes. Which may or may not be helpful when the Red Hood is a trigger-happy kind of guy.

"Would love to, but I have an appointment!" The Scarecrow is booking it away as fast as his spindly spider legs can carry him. In sing-song: "With three kittens; they lost their mittens—"

Fucking fear gas. The smell, in Jason's opinion, is worse than a skunk but then again he's always had a sensitive nose. Thankfully his helmet has a built in filter so as long as he doesn't damage his helmet too much and as long as the recepie Scarecrow is using today isn't that different than the original it should be fine.

"You've been hanging out with Riddler too much," Jason growls, already pulling a pistol free from its holster. "Cut the shit and fight me. Or am I too scary for you?"

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drowning in deadlines but here’s jonathan

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Gotta love when Scarecrow gets his karma

New Year's Evil: Scarecrow || Scanned at 300dpi

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when i’m finally writing on @threadpull and the power goes out

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Good news for you, this August 23rd.

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i changed my riddlehatcrow tag to "rel: the book club" because i know them nerds have one, particularly in arkham

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or walls in this case

the term 'varying heights' made me think of them lol

this is supposed to be them at arkham??? maybe??? or like... mysterious concrete tunnel

i feel bad for how boring my jervis is lol he is quite literally just his BTAS version, i gave him fancy eyes tho 😔 sorry boo

one thing i love abt these three is that they all have different 'colors', like ed is green, jon is orange, and jervis is blue

funfact, each of their line arts is just their color darkened + on multiply

[sscarecrow]

Lucifer breathes easy, hearing Jonathan's words. Some tension he didn't realize he was carrying dissipates, shoulders relaxing into Jonathan's touch. The small bottle of lubricant is set down for the moment, ready for when it becomes relevant.

The insecurity surprises him. Maybe it shouldn't. They are, after all, so similar. And he himself feels so inadequate, albeit in different ways. Lucifer suddenly feels very aware of the kind of history they share - he never heard those sorts of remarks on his size, quite the opposite, but he was made to feel disgusting about it regardless. Anything was fuel for them. Nonconsensual touch in locker rooms, comments he didn't want. Jonathan might have suffered something similar, Lucifer is unsure. But the possibility is there.

"No one I've been with has been larger than you."

Technically true. Sort of. Lucifer has only ever been with women, in his mind (he doesn't count those instances at Pandora's Box with men; he swears they were not sexual encounters on his part) (Ted Bones was an experience, but that wasn't really sex, now, was it?) (none of these count).

"Either way, boy, I don't care. I want to be with you."

As he says this, his hand is sliding up from Jonathan's groin, reaching for any obstacles in his path of getting Jonathan naked. The borrowed vest is unbuttoned. Lucifer is working on the shirt.

"Do you understand? Nothing about you is going to deter me," he reassures, pulling the clothes apart to expose Jonathan's chest, tugging them past his shoulders. He traces a finger down Jonathan's sternum, lower, dripping down his belly-button and to his belt. Unbuckles it. "Look at me. You're my boy. I like every part of my baby boy. It's you and I want you. I've already witnessed your full appearance, and I took pleasure in it. And I'm going to again, darling."

By the time he finishes speaking, he's already tugging Jonathan's pants down. Lucifer rises from the bed, standing to fully remove them, taking off the borrowed socks and shoes with them. Everything he has peeled off is tossed aside in a pile on the floor. His eyes flit downward, then slide back up, practically raking over Jonathan's body to meet his gaze. Something Lucifer enjoys is the inherent power difference made visual through clothes worn by him and the lack of clothes on his counterpart. He takes a moment to remove his own sweater that Jonathan previously clawed at unsuccessfully, but it only reveals his own button-up and tie and suspenders underneath (he only bothers because he's feeling heated already).

"Relax," he croons softly, smoothly, now crawling back onto the bed. Lucifer situates himself between Jonathan's legs. "I want to please you. Then you can please me too." He takes Jonathan in hand, stroking him. "Sweetheart, I'm going to make you feel good. Will you let daddy? Can daddy do that for you?"

Jonathan doesn't fight it when his wrists are pressed to the bed- not that this is a fight he would win, but he didn't want to try. It's a small thrill to have this silent command. Stop. He grips the sheets to keep himself still. Wants to see what Lucifer is doing. He's curious and excited, and what is that? Jonathan can't see what Lucifer has. On some level, Crane can't fully release the part of himself that is positive this is something dangerous- is Lucifer about to pour caustic acid over his chest? Burn a hole wide enough to rip his heart out? Laugh and reject Jonathan for wanting to be with Lucifer forever? He ignores this thought. Trust Lucifer. Daddy won't betray him. Daddy will take care of him. Jonathan grips the sheets a little tighter.

It's easier to ignore the paranoid thought with Lucifer touching him again. Jonathan stops himself from humping Lucifer's hand, but can't keep from pressing up desperately into the touch and whining. He's nodding and quick to reply. "Yes! Daddy, yes!" He doesn't even need to think about it. This is as obvious and natural a fact as the color of the sky being blue. "Now, repeatedly, always- whenever you want! Please, I'll make you happy whenever you want." Babbling and desperate. He can't help it. He reaches for Lucifer again, needing to touch him.

Crane doesn't try to undress his counter. He's too focused with running his hands over Lucifer's shoulders and chest and arms, anything he can reach. It's grounding to feel that he's solid and real and not leaving. "It won't hurt. I have a high pain tolerance." Anyone who gets beaten up by the Batman as frequently as Jonathan has to. "You can use me, daddy. Anything you want, I'll give you whatever you want." It's an extension of Jonathan's inherent selfishness. He wants to feel Lucifer inside of him; he wants to make Lucifer cum again, like he did in the bath.

"Daddy-" Crane bites his lip, shifting nervously. He wants to give Lucifer what he wants. He is physically inadequate and will disappoint Lucifer. "....I understand. But. You won't- you don't know what you want. It's not that. I won't make you happy and then you'll leave and I'm going to burn this place down with both of us trapped inside and we'll be ghosts stuck here together forever."

He squeezes Lucifer's shoulders, turning his head to look away despite not being about to clearly see him anyways. "....you can do anything you want. I want you to do whatever you want. But you'll tell me if I'm disappointing? You'll let me find other ways to please you when you realize I can't fill your mouth enough? You won't leave if I'm not enough. Right?"