#Jonathan crane headcanons

[huntingingoodwill]

you’re! ruining! date! night! (j.c.)

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requested by: anon

prompt: "i've waited so long for this."

a/n: main atrocity in this is the reader using a fork to eat korean fried chicken instead of a gloved hand. i stand by the hc that jonathan is vegetarian all week except for fridays where he gets a free pass. please enjoy.

“I’ve waited so long for this.” Jon’s breath was warm against your shoulder as he sighed into it. He pressed his nose into the crook of your neck, his dark, dishevelled hair brushing against your jaw. 

Your nose scrunched at the ticklish sensation, laughter bubbling in your throat as you leaned away. His arms locked themselves around your waist, circling you in even as you tried to squirm out his grasp. 

“Maybe,” You began, adding oil to the saucepan, tilting it and watching as the liquid lazily circled around its surface, “You wouldn’t have to wait so long for date night if you didn’t insist on spending every night working late at Arkham.” 

“Don’t get smart with me.” He deadpanned, chest rumbling against your back as he grumbled. 

“Oh,” You sighed, overly saccharine in your sarcasm. “No one could ever be smarter than you, darling.” 

You felt him tense behind you, arms growing still around your waist. 

“Oh Jon, I was just teasing! I hope you aren’t gonna get into one of your moods again-” You sighed, trying to placate him when he cut you off, clapping his hand over your mouth. 

He lifted his finger to his lips, bright blue eyes alert as they darted around the room.

“He’s here.” He whispered, eyes turning toward the front door of his apartment. 

Slowly, he raised his arm, fingers feeling across the wall until he found the light switch. Click. The apartment plunged into darkness. You glanced at Jon, watching as he clenched his jaw, steeling himself as the pale, cold moonlight streaming in through the window casted him in its glow. 

He lifted his hand from your lips, pushing down on your shoulder. You followed his prompt, crouching down, shrouded by darkness in a shadowy corner of his kitchen. 

His gaze never leaving the front door, he smoothed a reassuring hand over your hair as you, tucked your legs into your chest, trying to make yourself as small as possible. 

He crept toward the door, feeling for his briefcase as he stepped through the living room. He took his time, opening the black, leather case open at a painstakingly slow speed. The click of its closures cut through the silence, the air thick with tension. He felt for a vial of his toxin, feeling its cool glass in his clammy hand. He reached for his mask, slipping it over his head. 

He reached out for the door knob. You watched, silencing yourself, hand held over your mouth. You could feel your laboured breath against your palm. 

His fingers barely grazed the door knob before it burst open, Batman’s silhouette illuminated in the light of the dingy hall. You rolled your eyes. This guy again. 

“Looks like I found you, Dr. Crane.” He growled, swinging at Jon. 

Jon managed to dodge the first one, but the next one caught him in the jaw, and you winced as you watched him bob backward, almost stumbling to the floor as he blinked away the pain. 

Bruce used that moment of vulnerability, shoving him against the wall with such force the window rattled in its pane. 

“You’re going away for a long, long ti-!” Bruce’s raspy voice trailed off into a squeak as you crept up behind him from the kitchen, bashing him on the head with your saucepan. 

“You’re!” Smack. “Ruining!” Bang. “Date!” Whack. “Night!” You screamed, using all your might to hit him on the head, over and over. 

He became very still, blinking, and you worried for a moment that you’d get out of this in cuffs, and he’d only sustain a couple of light bruises. 

Then, dazed, he fell to the floor. 

You huffed, wicking sweat away from your brow as his heavy body laid sprawled out on the floor. Your chest heaved from exertion, and, suddenly exhausted, you allowed the pan to slip out your hand, clattering to the floor. 

You fell into Jon’s arms as he wrapped his arms around you, smoothing down your hair. 

“I’m too tired to cook.” You grumbled into his shoulder. “I think I can’t, anyway. The pan’s dented. My poor pan.”  

“I’ll get you a new one.” Jon cooed, gently rocking back and forth as the two of you stood, wilting into each other’s arms, ignoring the unconscious body on the floor. 

You sighed, cheek pressing into the sharp bone of Jon’s shoulder as you nodded down at Bruce. 

“What do we do? Date night’s ruined. And there’s the matter of him, of course.” 

“No,” Jon said, putting his hands on your shoulders. “It’s not ruined yet. I know what to do.” 

“Hm..?” Bruce grumbled, the fog that clouded his eyes, making the world around him a blur, slowly lifting as he blinked away sleep. “Huh…what…? Where- Crane!”  He yelled, registering where he was. 

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” You smiled, your voice so bright it cut through the throbbing pain blooming all across Bruce’s head. You sauntered over from the front door, kicking it shut with your heel as two bags of takeaway hung off your hands, swinging with every step you took. 

You set down the boxes on the dining table, three places already set: you, Jon, and a last minute setting for Bruce, tied up to the dining room chair. 

His arms strained against the rope, and he struggled, only succeeding in rocking the wooden chair back and forth, its legs squeaking across the floor. 

Jon came over, two beer bottles in hand. He held one up to his mouth, pulling the cap off with his teeth, the sound of the fizzy drink sizzling from the bottle. 

“Cool, huh?” You gushed to Bruce, keeping your hands busy as you opened up the takeaway boxes. The greasy, fragrant smell of Korean fried chicken filled the air. “It’s one of his most redeemable qualities.” You cooed, laughing as Jon rolled his eyes. 

“Hush.” He mumbled, bringing the other bottle to his lips. 

“That, and I broke the bottle opener.” You whispered. 

You skewered a piece of the tender chicken with a fork, wagging it in front of Bruce. 

“Here comes the choo choo train! No?” You frowned as Bruce glared at you, gaze dripping with derision. 

“C’mon, I promise it’s good! Say ahhhhh!” You exclaimed. 

Bruce inhaled, taking a deep sigh, wishing he had chosen a different career path. 

“Ahhh.” He grumbled, opening his mouth and allowing you to feed him a piece of chicken, chewing irritatedly. 

“Good job.” You smiled. 

You turned to Jon, catching his eye as he raised an eyebrow at you. 

“Don’t be jealous.” You quipped, a cheeky smile growing on your face. You stabbed another piece of chicken onto the fork, making your way over to Jon. 

You slid into his lap, feeding him a piece before throwing your arms around his neck, planting a kiss on his stubbled cheek as he hummed gratefully. 

“Ew.” You heard a voice grumble behind you, turning to see a disgusted Bruce, all but forced to watch your displays of affection. 

“You’re the one who interrupted our date night!” You laughed, Jon’s hands wrapping around your waist. 

“Get a room.” He huffed. 

“You’re in our apartment!”

[madame-fear]

yandere! dk! jonathan crane x fem!reader | general headcanons

request : can you do an imagine with yandery dk Jonathan Crane and a fem SO whos shockingly cool with it? “Oh you kidnapped me to keep me safe? Seem reasonable.” Kinda vibes. Absolutely love you!! (requested by: @kakepuff1234)

a/n : ahh thank you so so much dear, love you all too! 🥺💖 you have nooo idea how much i love the idea of yandere! nolanverse crane, so here it goes! 😌 if you'd like an imagine/one shot for this, feel free to tell me and i'll gladly do it <333

TW // Jonathan being a bit too obsessed with you, basically a yandere. Mentions of kidnapping and sickening obsession, but reader doesn't seem to mind.

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• The second Jonathan laid his eyes on you, he would've been hit with awe at such graceful sight; he had an almost immediate need of approaching you.

• You were his next door neighbour, and the two of you live on houses who are near Arkham Asylum. He accidentally bumped on you when none of you seemed to be looking at where you had going, and after meeting you, there was no going back.

• Interactions started slow between the two of you. ""Casually"" bumping into each other (say: at the grocery store near your home, walking pass through Arkham, or even, with the classic "do you have some sugar?" technique) was something often happening. You paid no mind to it whatsoever, and found him to be rather interesting.

• The burning, fervid obsession grew as days passed. Jonathan could barely handle the sight of you laughing, talking, or joking with another man who wasn't him. Can't you see, he's the one who so deserves, and is so in love with you?

• Then, as the obsession grew, Jonathan was truly avid to know every single detail about you, and make you his – so, the stalking as Scarecrow happened. Without you noticing, of course.

• Another thing happening with you two are small interactions, when, say, you bump into each other at the grocery store. "How have you been?" would usually be the keyphrase to start a conversation with you.

• After a short while, you got fully used to him. Often waving and smiling at him whenever you saw him somewhere; and that makes his lil growing yandere heart to go 🥰😍💖❤‼

• At this point, his excuse to meet him at his home would be to say that "you seem a lovely neighbour, and that he'd like to know you properly": and we all know that he just wants to keep you with him. Every day, all day long.

• Oh boy, you said yes to him. You're meeting at 9 at his home, unknowingly about to stay by his side for, probably, the rest of your life.

• Jonathan is truly charming with his looks and his captivating personality: it's almost as if he were hypnotising, in a way. He made dinner for you, like a true gentleman, and gave you the absolute princess treatment – only so you could be enchanted by him, just like he always hoped for.

• Didn't put anything into your food or beverage. Though, he had a fear toxin near him in case you tried anything funny when he forces you to stay with him – basically, kidnap you.

• Hours passed: you laughed, chatted, joked around, and even teased with each other. And of course, since everything has it's end, you eventually realised it was time to go back home.

“Would you look at the hour?” you said, abruptly changing the topic of the conversation as you slightly lifted your sleeve to take a look to the watch on your wrist. Jonathan's face fell. “I think, it's time for me to get going–” as you swinged your bag on your shoulder, you grabbed your car keys and made your way towards his front door; only to be stooped halfway by him, blocking the door.

“No, you shouldn't.” Your eyes lightly furrowed, looking at the nuance of his facial expressions. His usual icy blue eyes had oddly turned a darker shade. “It's dangerous out there. A lady like you shouldn't be out at such late hour, especially in a city like Gotham.” he continued, “You're staying here until I say so.” Jonathan slowly started walking towards you, as you instinctively made a few steps backwards. Your face suddenly softened, as you began sliding your bag down your arm, placing it on a nearby chair. “So... you're basically kinda kidnapping me, just so you can keep me safe? Seems reasonable enough, I'm staying.”

What? Now it was Jonathan's turn to furrow his eyebrows in a mild confusion. He expected you to make a fuss about it: screaming and crying for your life, begging for him to let go of you to the point where he'd have to, sadly, fear gas you to calm you down. But it turned out, to be a rather much more pleasant surprise, which made his lips turn into a tiny smile. “Anyways, you've got any clothing to spare? Sleeping with this on is going to be rather uncomfy.”

• Oh. Well. This was better than the scenario he had originally expected. Would be pretty bamboozled, though. You're okay with the fact that... he literally just admitted to you he was going to kidnap you????

• And quite honestly, he is taken aback by your "chill" answer... but I guess he doesn't mind???

• So you just make yourself at home. It kinda annoys you the fact that you can't go out without him following you everywhere, but it's alright, you don't mind.

• Also it's kinda like a silly kidnapping, at the edge of living with him, rather than being kidnapped. He literally helped you move your things to his home...

• Jonathan will also get much possesive with you, now that he's got you under his watch. Always monitoring who you talk to, what you do, where you go, not letting you leave the house by yourself, everything: just like the yandere man he is.

• BUT EVEN THAT !!! You either don't care about him being a possesive, soft yandere with you, or you're oblivious to it.

“Oh, so you want me to stop talking to him? THANK YOU, you have no idea how annoying he was. What should I tell him next time I bump into him?”

• Honestly he doesn't mind at all. He's quite satisfied how you don't care about it, and how you sweetly reciprocate the love and affection he shows and gives you.

• Eventually, he kinda felt as if you needed your own freedom; no matter how badly yandere he is. Of course, he's always going to keep an eye on you: but if you desire to go out by yourself without having him following you from behind, he'll gladly let you do so, and it shall be whatever God wants.

• Jonathan was terribly afraid that once you left his home by yourself, you'd never return. But oddly enough, you came back! You had gone out to buy some groceries for the two of you, and you had bought his favourite snacks.

“Love, I'm back! Apologies for how late I am, the queue was enormous. Anyways, I brought you your favourite snacks. Want some?”

• THE WAY HIS EYES INCREDIBLY LIT UP AT THE SIGHT OF YOU COMING BACK HOME TO HIM.

• Oh my. He's a fervid yandere who desires you to be with him 24/7 and admittedly confessed to you that he was going to kidnap you, and after a while he did so he let you out to go by yourself and you came back to him????

• Saying he's head over heels for you is truly an understimation. He will literally PRAISE you to no end, and will shower you with love and admiration, happy that you recriprocate his lil' obsessed feelings for you.

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@wittywitchness @anemicroyalties @imagine--if @scarecrow-jon-babe

[floralcyanidee]

ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀɴ ᴀʟᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀ - ᴊᴏɴᴀᴛʜᴀɴ ᴄʀᴀɴᴇ

Jonathan Crane x GN/AFAB!Reader Headcanons

Headcanons about Jonathan Crane and his life with an alt (emo/ goth) partner.

warnings: mentions of taxidermy, mentions of witchcraft, mentions of religion, mentions of animal remains, theft, innuendo, mature themes, mentions of body modifications

word count: 696

author's note: as ya'll know I'm a slut for Jonathan so I decided to do some headcanons about him with an alt partner (I'm alt soo it was warranted) I based these headcanons on universal and well known characteristics of alt peeps as well some based on me and my friends. i hope everyone enjoys! (:

main masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist | add yourself to the taglist here

＊ Jonathan is obviously a criminal, so nothing is stopping him from stealing. this includes him stealing things from inbound patients at Arkham Asylum. He often finds things that remind him of you and will give them to you. You know where they come from, obviously, because you know who Jonathan is, but you find it endearing and romantic that he thinks of you.

＊ You and Jonathan live on the outskirts of the city, where there’s plenty of woodland to explore. Jonathan enjoys it because it gives him peace from work and being a villain, you enjoy it because there are oodles of animal bones and plants to scavenge. 

＊ Keeping that in mind, you often use the plants or bones or even still-fresh remains you find for your spells/ rituals/ altars/ taxidermy/ crafts. Sometimes, Jonathan will also find things when he’s out exploring or getting away from things. Every now and then, he’ll try different plants for new toxins, so he’s out scouring the woods. He’s always thinking of you, of course, so whenever Jonathan comes across a cool-looking plant or the skull of an animal, he snatches it up immediately.

＊ He admires your belief system. Whether it’s Witchcraft, Hellenism, etc., he appreciates the art and dedication you put into it. Jonathan sees it as equivalent to science in a way- creating spells and mixtures and getting something new from it. Sometimes, he asks for your help with his experiments simply because of your knowledge of apothecaries and spells.

＊  Black is your color. Jonathan knows this and doesn’t mind that you’re clad in all black whenever he has to make an appearance in Gotham. You get plenty of stares, sure, but he doesn’t care about that. Jonathan doesn’t really care about anything except his experiments and you.

＊ Jonathan finds your body mods (tattoos, piercings, etc.) intriguing. When you first met, he had a ton of questions about them. Did they hurt? What do they mean? He loves the different jewelry you wear as well. 

＊ Your obsession with horror is one of Jonathan’s favorite things about you. He finds it adorable that you can quote numerous horror movies and even recite lines as they’re being said. When Halloween comes around, it’s always a treat (non pun intended.) You love cosplaying various horror characters from movies, shows, and video games. Jonathan adores it and sometimes plays along.

＊ Speaking of Halloween, one year, he dressed as a priest, and you dressed as an undead nun. This year, you’re becoming a crow, and he’s dressing as you guessed it- a scarecrow. You’re already planning next year’s costumes.

＊ You’ll drag Jonathan to concerts and cons all the time. At first, he was hesitant to go to them, but the more you’ve taken him, the more he’s grown interested. Your favorite bands are now his favorite bands. He’s found himself humming the heaviest of songs you introduced him to. You used to beg him to dress for the cons, but now you don’t have to. Jonathan already has ideas for the next con, even.

＊ You and Jonathan surprisingly have a lot in common. You had rough childhoods, you have a genuine disdain for other people most of the time, cats are interesting to both of you, and you have some mental illness as well, and so does he, obviously. You also have a mutual hatred for Batman. You think he’s overrated, and Jonathan, well, why he hates him is obvious, too.

＊ Did someone say fishnets? Jonathan has bought you so many pairs of those and knee socks because he’ll literally rip them off you. He gets you a bunch of fishnets in different colors to match the lingerie sets he buys you. Jonathan thinks you look the hottest in red.

＊ Jonathan’s favorite intimate thing to do is dye your roots or paint your nails. At first, he hated doing your hair, but now he does it without a problem, plus he’ll even touch up your layers. He’s delicate when painting your nails, holding your hands softly but firmly. Jonathan is very intricate in nature, so he does them flawlessly every time.

taglist:

@sstar-ggirl @cillsmurphs @ldklollord @thecherrycocktail @dunklerkeks1611 @hllywdwhre @ecstaticforus @faelvz @ceruleanrainblues @yongi-lee @baizzhu @aporiasposts @queenshelby @amanda08319 @orijanko @naty-1001 @raineeace @nela-cutie @cutexlr @flwrs4aust @langdons-slut @shynovelist @trixie23 @cillianbabe @slut4thebroken @mypoisonedvine @burnyouwithacigarettelighter @cranesbathtowel @arieslost @nefhertari @forgottenpeakywriter @llucky-llove @october-atoner @madlittlecriminal @ynisthatyou @starbxnny @darkmoviesquotespizza @newtsniffles

[scleracentipede]

made a reference sheet for myself and thought I’d share with y’all 🎃

[scarecrowismybabygirl]

I think I've seen this before...

Jonathan Crane choking kink confirmed

Video: Chinese DJ Yuan Yi Panel: Scarecrow edited by @ritzy-biscuit

[peaky1wh0re]

You can be my daddy

[lovelybucky1]

Better Than Revenge

Kinktober Day 7- Fear Play

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT- noncon, kidnapping, violence, drugging, mentions of sexual assault, revenge porn, non-consensual picture taking, stalking, forced breeding, blackmail, AFAB!reader, bondage, humiliation, pain play, degradation, vaginal fingering, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, 18+ minors DNI

kinktober masterlist

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You enjoyed your time at college. You made many new friends, partied, joined clubs, and learned a little along the way. It was fun for a freshly eighteen-year-old, but by the time the end of your senior year came, you were ready to move on to adult life. Since then, you don’t think about college much in your daily life. Your college friends are now just your friends, and your better days are still to come, not behind you.

That’s not to say you never think fondly back on a memory or two here and there, but you’re so busy with your job at the DA’s office that you don’t have time to be hung up on the past. Others, you’ve found, do still live in the past.

Dr. Jonathan Crane, the chief psychiatrist at Arkham took notice of you when you first started working for the DA. Crane was not well-liked by your boss, seeing as he always managed a way to get the criminals you were trying to put behind bars an insanity plea. While he was a frustrating legal enemy, you never had anything to do with the man outside of the courtroom, or so you thought.

After a long day of court and debating with Crane, you were walking home from the office late when a metal pipe cracked over your head and you fell to the wet pavement, out cold. When you woke, you found yourself in a damp, cold warehouse with Dr. Crane looking on from a chair, dressed in a lab coat. Fear spikes in your stomach when you see the man in front of you. Being in your position, there’s only one explanation for why he would be here as well, though you can’t imagine why.

You are bound and gagged; your arms are wrenched in an uncomfortable position above your head and your wrists are tied to a chain from the ceiling. Your mouth is covered with duct tape, effectively suppressing any screams. Your toes just barely touch the floor, which puts a horrible strain on your arms, but there is no use fighting against the bonds.

When Crane notices you regain consciousness, he stands from his chair and approaches you. He gets close to your face and looks into your slightly hazy and unfocused eyes, his own piercing ones making you tremble under his gaze.

“Don’t struggle, you’ll hurt yourself,” he says, voice eerily soothing for a kidnapper. “You know, it’s dangerous for a girl like you to walk alone at night. This city’s a dangerous place, you never know what kind of creeps could be lurking in the shadows.”

He grins a sick, vile grin that makes your skin crawl. Crane reaches out and tips your chin up with his cold pointer finger. He moves your face from side to side, examining you, checking for any damage he might have done. His thumb traces the duct tape over your mouth, finding the seam of your lips and touching you like a doll.

“I’m surprised you’ve kept your looks with how you used to party,” he says casually. You furrow your brows in confusion but you’re unable to question him. “Though I’m sure your liver isn’t what it used to be.”

Before you can ponder his words, Crane walks behind you and you can hear the sound of metal tools clattering together. When he reappears, he is holding a pair of sheers and wears a sadistic smirk. He roughly grabs the hem of your blouse and cuts it up the middle, exposing your bra. He then cuts the fabric of the sleeves so the garment falls to the floor, leaving you topless.

You want to fight back to get this sick creep off of you, but you figure it’s best not to provoke the man with scissors against your skin. Instead, you’re subjected to his eyes ogling you.

“What a thing to wear to work,” he says, amused. “I’m sure this can’t be comfortable. Were you wearing it for an occasion?” he asks, fingers tracing the delicate lace of the band. “Surely not a date. I know you don’t have a boyfriend, and I don’t think you’re the type of girl to put out on the first date.”

You wonder how he could know you don’t have a boyfriend when the realization hits you. He knew what path you took on your way home, he knew what time you’d be leaving the office, and he knew details of your private life that you haven’t shared with anyone but your friends. He’s been stalking you.

“Maybe you had other plans for lunch with your boss this afternoon. Dent is quite the looker, and I’ve seen the way he looks at you. What his poor wife doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” he asks with a smirk. “You really haven't changed.” You’re not sure what he means by that, but you’re not sure what any of this means.

Crane then moves the sheers to the hem of your skirt and makes a small cut. Instead of cutting all the way up like he did with your blouse, he drops the scissors, grasps the skirt, and starts to slowly tear it. The sound of the fabric ripping is deafening in the near-silent warehouse, and fear threatens to rise in your throat as he creeps up your thigh. His eyes watch the exposed skin intently as he undresses you, clearly gaining some kind of pleasure from this. When he reaches the top, he lets the skirt fall at your feet and now has an unobstructed view of your matching underwear set.

“Oh,” he chuckles, “what a surprise. I guess you did have big plans.”

He slips his finger underneath the elastic band of your panties and snaps them back against your hip, making you jump. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps from the cold air and you squirm as you try in vain to hide yourself.

“You don’t mind if I look under these, do you?” he asks, tugging on your panties again.

Up to this point, you haven’t protested, figuring it was better to cooperate, but you can’t let him violate you like this. You let out a muffled “no” and violently shake your head as you try to move away from his touch. Crane only laughs and moves closer to you. You kick him in the knee and he curses, but it doesn’t do much to deter him.

“You can’t fight me off. All you’re doing is making this worse for yourself,” he hisses. You try to scream, but with the duct tape sealing your lips, it’s no use. “Do you have something to say?”

You plead with your eyes and he reaches up to grasp the edge of the duct tape, but he takes it as an opportunity to be more cruel. He rips the tape from your lips, surely taking skin with it.

“Help!” you scream, “Somebody help me!”

Instead of ordering you to be quiet or suppressing your screams, Crane just laughs.

“Scream all you want, no one’s going to hear you. Not like anyone would care if the world was down one useless bimbo anyway.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you doing this to me?” you shout, your throat feeling raw from the strain.

Anger flashes in Crane’s eyes and his jaw clenches. You continue to thrash and scream, and despite what he said about no one caring, he tightly grabs your waist and steps on your foot to keep you from moving. His face is now only inches from yours and you get the idea to spit into his face. It won’t do much, but it’s the only thing you can do to deter him.

Crane hisses and lets go of your waist to wipe the spit out of his eyes, and when he looks back at you, his eyes are glassy and his dark eyelashes are clumped together.

“You fucking bitch,” he bites. “You’re lucky I haven’t hurt you yet.”

The vague threat does frighten you, but you have many questions that you demand answers to.

“Why the fuck are you doing this to me, Crane?” you ask again.

He laughs bitterly. “Of course you don’t know. You probably have no clue what you’ve done to me. The hell you put me through.”

He leans his weight on the foot crushing yours and when you wince, he grabs your jaw tightly, squishing your cheeks together and forcing your mouth open.

“I don’t know,” you say as best you can.

“You don’t remember college?” he asks. “Your sorority sisters and their fucking jock boyfriends tormenting me. How for years you made my life a living hell just for existing outside of your perfect little bubble.”

His face is twisted into a snarl now as he recounts the memories that drove him to his actions tonight. “I thought the bullying would be over when I got to college but it was so much worse. My door would get vandalized every fucking day with insults and crude images. You and your group of whores spread all kinds of rumors that I was crazy. You said I was a psychopath, a pervert, a sadistic killer who got off on seeing women in fear. Everyone believed it. Everyone.”

As he explained his story, your memory was jogged. You remember a short, skinny guy from college who wore thick-framed glasses and carried a satchel to class. He was awkward, made uncomfortable eye contact, and often made himself the target of ridicule. He had a vast knowledge of science and medicine and was very interested in the mind’s reaction to fear. You never knew his name, only ever referring to him as “Peeping Tom”, which was kind in comparison to some of your friends’ nicknames for him.

“I was an outcast for four fucking years. I couldn’t transfer, I couldn’t afford any other school. Not like you could ever understand that. I accepted that I was a social pariah, but then you went and ruined my fucking life even more,” he hisses.

You didn’t notice the knife in his hand until the point was against your chest, too lost in his rage-filled eyes. You now remember more of what he’s saying and you want to apologize and assure him that you’ve changed, but he seems past the point of reason.

“October 2nd, 1997. I was in my room studying for an exam when you showed up at my door. You were clearly drunk and you came onto me. You promised me all kinds of things and pushed me onto my bed and sat on my lap. You kissed me and took off my shirt, then put your hand down my pants and took my dick out. That’s when your hoard of sluts and every guy you’ve ever fucked barged into my room and took pictures. They spread them to everyone, and it was all because of you.” he hissed. “I was labeled the creep, the predator, the pathetic virgin who thought he could make it with a sorority girl and it was all your fault.”

The man in front of you was shaking with anger, his voice trembling slightly as he recounted the memory. The blade trembled in his hand and dug slightly into your skin, but the pain from the knife was overpowered by the icy feeling of fear.

“Jonathan,” you say meekly, “That was almost a decade ago. I-I’m so sorry I did that to you, I don’t even remember it. I promise I’ve changed.”

“You don’t remember it, that’s exactly why I have to do this. You’re never going to forget again.”

You whimper in fear as he brings the knife up to your neck. The blade bites at your skin, catching when you take a breath.

“Please don’t kill me,” you whisper with your eyes squeezed shut.

“Oh, I’m not going to kill you. That’d be such a waste of a warm hole.”

His words are disgusting and degrading. They make you want to shiver out of your own skin and run as far away from him as possible. Luckily, he removes the knife from your neck and takes a small step back.

Crane reaches into his pants pocket and takes out a small digital camera. Your eyes widen when you see it, immediately catching on to what he plans to do to you. He powers the camera on and points it at you, smiling when he sees your pixilated form on the display. He clicks the shutter and a light flashes.

He lowers the camera from his face to reveal a wicked smirk. "It doesn't feel too good, does it?" he asks. "Well it's about to get a lot worse for you."

He kicks your bare ankle with his foot, making you wince as your legs spread. He laughs cruelly and does the same to the other foot. Your legs are open uncomfortably, giving him easy access to what you're desperate to hide from him.

His fingers, long and cold, push through your folds and into your cunt without warning or preparation. He fingers you despite being dry to start, but you slowly get wetter in response to the intrusion.

"Still such a slut even after all this time," he says. "I'm not surprised you're so loose."

He fingers you roughly, seemingly unsure of how to do it, or maybe he just cares that little for your comfort. His nails catch on the ridges inside of you and the poking of his fingers scissoring make you wince. Thankfully he got his fill of that quickly, and pulled out his wet fingers.

He brings them to his nose to sniff, then wipes your wetness off on his pants. "Smells like whore," he says.

Without any further words, Crane reaches down and grabs you by your ankle and pulls it off the floor. You yelp as you lose your balance and your bonds tug on your shoulders. Crane then hooks your foot on a strap that also comes from the ceiling. He then does the same to your other leg.

Now you're suspended in the air, cunt on display for him and helpless. Crane takes out the camera again and takes more pictures of you spread out.

"I have waited so long for this."

Crane wears a sick, wicked grin that does not falter as stands between your spread legs. His hands work his fly open and quickly he frees his cock. It's already hard and the flushed tip is leaking, just from the torture he's inflicting onto you.

"I knew after that night that you would be my first," he says as he rubs his head through your folds. "Weather you wanted to be or not."

Your breath catches in your throat when he pushes into you bare. He goes slow, likely for his own sake so he doesn’t cum too soon, but whatever mercy he shows you doesn’t provide any comfort.

Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he begins to rut. Erratic, inexperienced thrusts to chase his own pleasure inside of being conscientious of yours. His eyes are half lidded and laser-focused on your breasts.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

With each thrust, the makeshift sex swing he has you in rocks, making the chains that hold you creak. You worry that you’re going to fall, but you suppose that would be better than a knife in your gut.

Crane’s cock bumps against your cervix which makes you whimper from the discomfort, but he thinks it’s out of pleasure.

“You like that? You like taking my cock like a fucking fleshlight? Didn’t think you’d be so easy, but I guess all it took back then was a spot on the football team to get into your pants.”

Crane is indeed using you like a fleshlight. He alternates between thrusting into you and holding onto the chains to move you over his cock. It’s humiliating, painful, awful, but he’s no longer threatening you with a knife.

He pulls out the camera again and points the lens at your pussy where it’s stretched around him. Then he backs up the camera a bit to capture your full form, contorted by the chains.

“W-what are you gonna do with those?” you ask with your broken voice.

“Exactly what you did to me,” he growls.

“No! No, please, you can’t do that.”

He grabs the chains and slams you down onto him, sending him impossibly deeper.

“You ruined my life. Now it’s your turn.”

“My career will be over! Please, I’ll do anything, just don’t send those to anyone!”

You’re begging shamelessly, sobbing and snotty, but none of this seems to turn him off. In fact, he seems to enjoy it more.

“I’m sure Dent would be interested to see what you get up to after hours. Of course, your reputation would be ruined once the rest of the city sees your messy cunt.”

All you can do is cry and shake your head.

“I know you’re good friends with Bruce Wayne. Maybe I’ll tell everyone that he did this to you and ruin you both. Wouldn’t that be sweet,” he says.

His voice is raspy and low; he’s clearly very affected by the pleasure of using you and you doubt he can hold on for much longer.

“I-I’ll do anything, Dr. Crane. Please,” you say between sobs.

“Hmm,” he hums.

Crane grabs your breast roughly and squeezes, digging his nails into your soft skin. You hiss and your face screws up with pain. He then slaps it repeatedly until you show signs of more discomfort.

“Please,” you beg again.

“It might be nice to have a friend at the DA’s office,” he says with a smirk. “Especially one that would bid in my favor, lest some dirty pictures get out.”

Blackmail? Jesus, he’s fucking sick. Though you suppose the threat of releasing them is better than him actually doing it.

“Yes, yes, I’ll do it. I’ll help you out, just please don’t send them,” you say frantically.

He fucks you even more erratically now, like he can’t decide if he should edge or finish himself off.

“Are you scared?” he asks, voice frighteningly low. You nod in response. “You’re scared of me, the loser you tormented in college? Don’t you regret that?”

He’s speaking so quiet and slowly like he’s trying to hypnotize you. You nod along with what he’s saying, figuring it’s better just to agree.

“You’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Every time you look at our bastard child, you’ll see my face and regret what you did to me.”

That catches your attention. Our child?

“W-what?”

“You thought I kidnapped you just to cum in my hand? I’m gonna fill you up until you’re leaking with my fucking cum. Oh, and you know that little pill you take every day? I switched that out weeks ago. This little womb is as fertile as ever, and you’re going to give me a baby.”

Your stomach flips and you immediately feel nauseous. He tampered with your birth control? That means he was in your house. He could have put cameras up, bugged the place. You have no idea what he’s truly capable of.

Tears being to stream down your cheeks again. You feel so violated, so helpless. He doesn’t wipe away your tears or even tell you to stop crying. He just watches as he fucks you.

“I’m gonna cum,” he growls. “And you’re gonna take it all.”

He leans forward to press his forehead to yours, forcing you to look deep into his eyes as he fills you with his cum. The wet, hot feeling of it flooding your insides makes you feel sick, and he continues to fuck himself through his orgasm which makes the cum froth and leak down your holes.

He stays seated inside you, keeping you plugged so the sperm has time to take. Crane is breathing heavily but he doesn’t once look away from you.

"Good girl," he mutters. "Good pussy."

You sag in relief when he finally pulls out. Your cunt aches from his rough treatment, and not in the fun way. Your arms and legs hurt from the bonds, but that appears to be a pain you won't soon be free from.

Crane walks back over to the chair he was sitting in when you first woke up and takes a seat. "I'll keep you here for a couple days so you can't go off and take one of those pesky morning after pills," he says casually.

"Y-you can't. They'll notice when I don't show up for work," you try to reason with him.

"Oh, don't worry about that. I called on your behalf and told them you had a family emergency. Something about grandma and her heart," he says. "I've taken care of everything."

You don't doubt that he has, and that scares you. He rests his ankle on the opposite knee and looks at the pictures he took on the camera.

"Now all you have to do is stay out of my way in court, and no one will ever see these," he grins, letting the camera dangle from his wrist by the strap.

You nod in understanding. "Good girl."

[oldmannapping]

Headcanon:

Scarecrow is the most left-wing, progressive, banner-waving, protest-marching rogue in Gotham.

Why?

Because fears rooted in systemic abuses of power are boring.

He wants something juicy. He wants a fear rooted in a personal insecurity that cuts deep into an individual’s fragile psyche.

He doesn’t want every minority’s biggest fear to be the cops. That’s BORING.

He gets so upset when people’s biggest fears are being outed. He hates bigots because they make fears predictable.

So every time there’s a petition, every time there’s a protest, every time Gotham’s streets get closed for another march, Scarecrow’s there.

He’s handing out water bottles and sunscreen, he’s reminding everyone what the hashtags are, he’s coordinating with Red Hood’s goons to hold back the police presence and keep the protests peaceful.

Then he’s going back to his crazy lab to design a toxin that will obliterate the sanity of every single person in Gotham, and so help the city if someone hallucinates their transphobic uncle again.

[incorrectbatfam]

Has Jon Kent ever met the other Jon? (Jonathan Crane)

I can only imagine how that would go...

Crane: With this organic compound, I will not only make you see your greatest fear, I will MANIFEST them.

Crane: *pushes a button*

Crane: Tremble as your worst nightmare comes to life!

Crane: *disappears*

Jon: *tears up because he's all alone*

[amomentsescape]

can you do soft headcanons with the J squad, please?

Soft! Headcanons with the J Squad

Jerome Valeska x Reader

Jonathan Crane x Reader

Jervis Tetch x Reader

A/N: This is my first time writing for Jonathan and Jervis, so I hope this came out to your liking!

Jerome Valeska

He's one of those guys that truly doesn't care what he does in front of people, or what others think of him

Do you want to cuddle up against him in front of everyone?

He'll proudly hold you in his arms

You want to plant kisses all over his face just because?

He happily smiles through them all

Whatever you want, he'll give you

Doesn't matter when or where

And this doesn't change in private either

He loves physical touch, so you're up against his side about 23 hours out of the day

He's also clingy in his own way too

You're using the bathroom?

He just walks right in, no shame

You're getting dressed?

Oh, let him help you with that

He might not admit it, but he likes having eyes on you every minute of every day

As happy as he acts all the time, he does really worry about you

You're a huge part of what keeps him going

Without you, he literally has no humanity left

Jonathan Crane

You are basically his life line

When the nightmares become too much, he grabs ahold of you to reassure himself that he's not alone

When you aren't around, he doesn't eat, doesn't drink, and finds himself engulfed in utter terror

He actually needs you

Even if he wants a bit of space, he needs you in the room with him so he has something he knows is real

During the good days, he's very attentive to you

He enjoys being cuddled up next to you, listening to you talk about random stuff

He also likes when you play with his hands

Physical touch can sometimes be overwhelming for him, but just the softest feeling of your fingers against his helps ground him

There are some moments where he hides himself from you

He's so afraid that he'll hurt you or something will come and take you away from him

But each time, you're there to coax him out of that darkness with a gentle smile and a reassuring voice

He knows deep down that he'll always be able to count on you

Jervis Tetch

He enjoys having a routine with you

Each morning you get up together and have breakfast

In the afternoon, you both share tea and pastries

And at night, you both put on colorful matching pajamas while you read to him

He just really enjoys affectionate time with you

Your arm wrapped in his, the occasional kiss on the cheek or hand, and being entangled in each other's embrace every night during bed

Whenever he has a nightmare about his sister or finds himself going too mad, he seeks you out

You're able to bring him back better than anyone else

He likes to bring home lavish clothing for you to wear

One of his favorite things is playing dress up and watching you try on all the stuff he's gotten for you

And if there's one outfit he finds especially pleasing, he'll take you in his arms and sway you around to whatever song pops in his head

During his low moments, he'll lay against you and ask you to tell him a story

It doesn't really matter what it is, he just enjoys hearing your voice and feeling your chest vibrate against his ear

[c0l0re]

Songs that I associate with TMA characters

Jon:

The Great Tale of How I Ruined It All - Jhariah

Whose Eye Is It Anyway??? - Jhariah

Violence and Spiders - SAINT PHNX

Honey I'm Home - Ghost and Pals

I Ain't Done - The Crane Wives

Reckless Battery Burns - Ghost and Pals + Vane Lily

Martin:

The Crooked, The Cradle - The Crane Wives

Every Day Is Exactly The Same - Nine Inch Nails

Goodbye - Jhariah

Achilles Come Down - Gang of Youths

My Time - bo en

Sweet Hibiscus Tea - Penelope Scott

Melanie:

Somewhat Damaged - Nine Inch Nails

I'm Gonna Win - Rob Cantor

Take Me To War - The Crane Wives

The Moon Will Sing - The Crane Wives

Where the Girls Are - Gossip

The Afternoon - Lemon Demon

Michael Distortion:

Pathological Façade - Ghost and Pals

You're at the Party - Lemon Demon

Turn the Lights Off - Tally Hall

Mask of My Own Face - Lemon Demon

The Chattering Lack of Common Sense - Ghost and Pals

A Crow's Trial - Vane Lily

Elias:

Kiss Me, Son of God - They Might Be Giants

Laplace's Angel - Will Wood

Weight of the World - Shayfer James

Lifetime Achievement Award - Lemon Demon

BAD LUCK! - Jhariah

Sympathy For the Devil - The Rolling Stones

[huntingingoodwill]

Imagine Jonathan Crane slowly corrupting a hero! or civilian! Reader into becoming a villain

i love jc i look at him and im gigglin having a cheeky giggle

him becoming obsessed with the hero that has beat him up a few times and foiled his little evil plans (let’s be real he’s so touch starved he was probably like omg she’s touching me 🥰 while being tackled to the floor)

after a while he purposely sends her leads that amount to nothing just so he can stand in the shadows and watch her or have a meaningless little fight (this is his idea of courtship)

slowly random files and envelopes show up at her house (yes he knows her address bc let’s say it all together now. hes CREEPY!) and it’s all evidence of how her fellow heroes have been backstabbing her… yeah it’s a little fabricated a little twisted to fit jon’s truth but anyway! it’s enough to make her doubt her “friends” and jon probably uses a bit of his chemical help to help manipulate you…

he confesses his love to you and at first you’re a bit like. uhhhhh but you’re manipulated into being over reliant on him soon enough </3

you break him out of jail eventually 🥰 it’s like your first date! and it’s proof you love him so he’ll cling onto you forever >:)

[madame-fear]

Y/N: Someone’s trying to break in. Call the cops! Jonathan : *loads shotgun* I got this. Y/N: Last week you fell up the stairs, what do you mean-

[fuckmycrane]

Testing — Dr. Jonathan Crane.

— CW: 18+, smut, noncon! (DNI if uncomfortable 😴), fisting, slight spit kink, Crane using medical language? Rubber gloves! | word count: 2k!

— a/n: I don't know how to tag! This came to me before bed the other day. SUPER GRATEFUL AND FOREVER IN LOVE WITH @pictureinme for beta-reading this! I love you so much pookie 💌.

A shiver runs down your spine as Dr. Crane's camera on the tripod flashes red— an ominous light that warns your humiliation is being recorded.

Your legs are stretched out wide on the cold metal table, chained to the bars on each side, strains reserved for patients in the consulting room who refuse to be sedated. Reserved to those who will involve to be a problem to Dr. Crane, your boss. Hands above your head, your fingers curl around the wire he used to tie your wrists together. Too tight, it felt like a punishment. The blood circulation was slow, causing them to feel numb.

He had to improvise, the sedative he administrated in your morning coffee was a mild dose, enough to keep you knocked out for at least 40 minutes— enough for him to drag you to his private laboratory, undress you, and tie you up. 

Reaching inside the pocket of his pristine lab coat, Crane brings the voice recorder to his mouth, clicking the thick button and twitching in excitement at the mute sound of the tapes rolling inside the device.

“October 14th, 2001,” He speaks, looking at you from behind his thin glasses. “Test subject is awake now, they appear to be responding normally. I will be monitoring them for the next few hours to ensure continued stability. Will report any significant changes in behavior immediately.” 

Clicking the button again, Crane returns the recorder inside his pocket, approaching you with cautious steps— similar to a predator looming over its helpless, little prey; even his eyes hold that harpy gaze. Cold and relentless, your body shivers in fear. The same fear he thrives on, the same fear that makes his blood circulate and sends an excited beat to his heart. 

Your mouth opens but before a sound comes out he raises her hand in a shutting motion, to which you surprisingly obey in response. “Don’t even try,” he warns you, reaching for a tiny box on the tall desk next to your bed. “This experiment is happening either way.” 

Sliding the blue rubber glove over his right hand, Jonathan stretches it, letting it snap with a loud sound. His eyes never leave your face which is a remarkable show of professionalism, taking into consideration your lack of clothes, and the awkward, obscene position. Standing next to you, his index finger traces from your knee to your hip, relishing the way your body squirms uncomfortably. Grasping the recorder once more, he turns it on before leaving it next to the box where he retrieved the gloves from, returning his attention to you.

“Subject internally rejects light physical stimuli,” He repeats the action, going from knee to thigh over and over, the rubber sliding smoothly from the cold sweat of fear that grants your body a soft glow. “Their body appears to be affected by the fear and anxiety. Mild sweating, constant twitching.”

Crane’s finger ventures to the inside of your thigh, raising goosebumps on your skin. An eternity passes until he finally comes in contact with your mound, pressing it softly with his fingerpad. The uneasy pressure makes you choke a sob, a sob that isn’t acknowledged by the doctor. Lower, he begins to circle your clit in slow, methodical circles. The sensation makes your legs tense, instinctively try to close them but are not allowed to do so, thanks to the restraints. Crane watches you with an unamused expression, noticing how lost you are in distress to notice how his leg twitches slightly at the sight of such a pretty face denying the pleasure. The pressure over your clit increases but the pace stays the same, giving you a similar feeling of breathlessness and dizziness. He knows what he is doing, how couldn’t he? Such a brilliant mind, such skilled fingers… he knows.

Closing your eyes shut, your brain shortcuts for seconds, trying to reject the pleasure that Jonathan’s ministrations provide— you shouldn’t, succumbing isn’t an option. Tears silently trickle down your flushed cheeks, embarrassed by your own natural body response. The slick is slowly but surely building up in between your legs, and it’s just a matter of time for Crane to notice it. You wish you could scream, curse him, damn him, and send his soul to hell— but it’s difficult to even breathe. The confusing mix of fear and innate pleasure clouds your common sense.

“Patient is responding correctly to clitoral stimulation,” His deep voice snatches you from your internal battle, snapping your eyes open and finding those same blue eyes that you grew accustomed to, watching you as if you were a mere lab rat. “But, they appear to be having a moral conflict.” 

Perhaps you are. 

When he stops his circling over your clit, a sigh of relief escapes from your lips, but you are disgusted by the sting of disappointment that your body sends you; The ease doesn’t last long, as his finger slides between your folds, gathering the slick and bringing back to your clit briefly. 

He inserts a finger, unhurriedly. He has all the time in the world— it is not like you are leaving anyway. Jonathan breaks the eye contact and focuses on opening you up carefully; It’s easy to read he is not doing it because he is scared of hurting you, it is because causing you pain in this state will lower his experiments. The pace of his digit mimics the one he created before, methodical. Everything about him appears premeditated. Curling his index finger, it takes him around eight seconds to locate your G-spot, rubbing it with expertise and ease; “It appears to be a considerable amount of lubrication,” He continues speaking to the recorder, speeding up his movements slightly. “Corporeal response is positive, the experiment is going as planned”

Planned. That word strikes a cord inside your hazy mind. So he already intended to do this.

A second finger joins, spreading you, but not in a painful way. In fact, the remorse falters, as the pleasure begins to build, strong and hopeless to avoid. Repeating the same curling motion, Jonathan’s hand twitches when he hears the first moan of the evening. It’s weak, but something like that will never go unnoticed. 

“Patient is showing vocal responses after two fingers, vaginal stimulation is going as expected.” 

A wave of heat starts to crumble the last bits of your will, he knows what he is doing— the bastard fucking knows. A new set of tears swell up in your eyes, falling without you doing much to stop them. A meek sob that breaks into a choked moan catches the doctor’s attention, his rosy lips curling into a wicked smile. This is probably the first time you had ever seen Crane smile. Your cunt and his fingers work together to create an obscene wet sound, smearing it all over your labia and printing it with fire and fear in your mind.

A third finger prods outside your aching hole, threatening; When it joins the party, that same stretch comes back— once again not uncomfortable.

“Three fingers have been inserted now,” Crane says, his voice faltering at the end of the sentence. “The patient shows no signs of pain nor discomfort”

Faster, his fingers are going faster now. Three fingers plugging in and out of you without any hint of mercy or consideration. You dare to bend your neck, a sick need to watch his hand invading you, only to find his hand soaked. Involuntary, your cunt clench around his fingers, something that also was noticed.

Expecting him to talk again to the voice recorder, only to encounter a quicker pace, your back arches, the cold laboratory bed suddenly too cold for the boiling temperature of your body. A cloud of guilty pleasure numbs your brain— unable to register the fourth finger peeking at your pussy.

The intrusion hurts, the current lubrication not enough to save the painful stretch. Jonathan notices this, an expert in reading body language; “In response to the fourth finger, the patient has experienced slight pain. After a quick thought, I have come to the conclusion that the rubber gloves inhibit the vagina lubrication to be sufficient.” 

Removing your fingers from your cunt, you watch with half-lidded eyes how he practically rips the glove off his hand, almost frustrated. Returning his now bare fingers to your poor hole, a mewl escapes your lips when he returns three fingers, humming at the clear difference of sensations.

His fingers, his skin is a whole different sensation than the damn rubber. His pinky finger sneaks in again, but your pussy clenches, making the intrusion painful again. Crane huffs in annoyance, bending over and hovering over your crotch, gathering saliva in his mouth and spitting right in your pussy. The action, which perhaps holds strictly experimental intentions, is so perverted it makes your stomach flutter— erotic, that was erotic.

You find Dr. Crane spitting on your pussy erotic.

“Fucking finally,” he whispers.

In no time, and thanks to the skin-to-skin contact, the penetration is easier, for him at least. Four fingers slide in and out effortlessly, as your legs begin to shake, and the tight knot in your lower region threatens to snap.

“You are not allowed to come,'' his stern voice is like a fork scraping against a porcelain plate— dominant and authoritarian. “Hold it, or there will be consequences.”

The promise of a punishment for disobeying is even scarier than the possible consequences, causing you to nod and succumb to his wishes— although you don’t have much choice.

His other hand, which had been fidgeting around ever since his touch over your skin started, approaches your clit dangerously, pressing his thumb on the swollen nub, reminiscing of the circles he did an hour prior, this time tighter— faster.

His actions are lewd, definitely illegal— your noises are lewd, definitely unwilling. Your body thrashes over the metal, yanking the restraints with little success to lose them. The rational instinct screams at you to move, fight— but the overwhelming sensations act like a drug. His fingers curl in an odd position, and before you can react, his thumb slides in.

Fitting his whole hand inside your poor, stretched, wet hole. 

He moves his hand slowly, testing the waters. This is the crucial part of the experiment, one false move and everything will be extremely painful to you.

Torturing your clit, Jonathan uses the lubrication and his saliva to move his hand, keeping his fingers straight and still— ignoring the uncomfortable erection straining against his slacks. 

“The experiment has been a success. The patient has been able to fit my hand inside them. There are no signs of pain, discomfort, or physical rejection—” His voice shakes slightly, as if he was fighting to keep composure the same way you fought the pleasure that his unwanted touch gave you.

That's when the real thing begins.

Crane’s hand curls into a fist, making you moan louder. How can something so twisted feel so good? Lowering your watery gaze, the borderline pornographic view of being fucked by your boss’ fist sends you to a frenzied state. He keeps forcing his fist inside you, uncurling his finger lightly every now and then just to add a new sensation. 

“Good…” He pants, biting his lower lip. “Come. You can come now.”

And you do. Oh, you do. 

His hand assaults your pussy, stretching it beyond limits and giving you the most mind–blowing, earth–shattering, painful orgasm you had ever experienced in your life. Your clit burns from the rough treatment, and something whispers in the back of your drowning mind, that even if you manage to see the light of another day if Crane decided to let you go; you will never find something as pleasurable as what he just did.

To you. To your body. To your mind.

The realization, the crude reality— breaks the thin veil of lust. Crying, sobbing, screaming— the voice you seemed to have lost while he experimented with you finally came back. 

Jonathan wipes his wet hand with his lab coat, reaching for the recorder. His black shoes click on the white tiles of the consultation room as he approaches the camera, clicking the «play» button off, the red light winking at you before disappearing.

Until next time. 

Dr. Crane licks his lips, his cold blue eyes glistening with morbid excitement. His hand trembles when he brings the recorder to his lips, piercing your soul with those orbs just like he pierced your body and dignity with his fist.

“The experiment was a success.”

[scleracentipede]

thought I’d share my reference sheets for the different alters in our Scarecrows’ system since y’all have been digging it

(If you see spelling mistakes, no you don’t.)

[scarecrowismybabygirl]

I’m sure Jonathan Crane would appreciate Cocteau Twin’s music simply because he’s a man of taste.