#murphycrow

[gl1tchr]

I want to kiss every single Riddler and Scarecrow you’ve drawn Gl1tchr. I say as I get dragged away to Arkham Asylum.

they're a little busy.

[scout985]

murphycrow again >:]

[apollogeesss]

I appreciate those who make Murphycrow fanfics giving him a real past and background, Nolan did nothing good with the man. I really like Cillian Murphy, he's one of my favorite actors and his portrayal of Crane was my first introduction to the character, but honestly he's a bad scarecrow.

On AO3 I've seen how sometimes they take his Scarecrow and do good things with him, I think he's one of the worst Jonathan Cranes there is, but I guess they've been able to work with what they have and do something cool.

[scleracentipede]

Hroo, and dare I say, Hraa!

(Image Description: A comic book page style collage of various scarecrow designs with “Hroo! Hraa!” written with a little cartoon scarecrow. The top corner has MurphyCrow in a padded cell with a text box saying “in the loving arms of …” then the next two panels show two redesigns by us inspired by fear state and the animated series. The panel below is a fear state scarecrow fanart and next to that is a SaleCrow piece. Below on the left is an Arkham asylum scarecrow and next to it a silhouetted year one scarecrow with a text box saying “the scarecrow”. End ID)

[jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear]

could you do an mlm flag for murphycrow ? 🫶

Couldn't find the original psd I made those icons with, so I whipped this up quickly

[apollogeesss]

You should read this fanfic, I think it's one of the best and most beautiful I've ever read regarding about Murphycrow!! ����🩷

runt // jonathan crane x reader - masterlist.

The Batman had a no-killing rule, but he didn't particularly take it easy on the beatings either. When violence is your tool, accidents are bound to happen, and internal bleeding is what killed Y/N's brother shortly after being brutally striked by the Bat. Her brother was no saint, but had he to pay the price for their family's odds, to the point where it took his life? Whatever reason it was, the grudge was held on the mysterious vigilante, and she'd work with anyone and anywhere to hunt him down. Prowling for a chance to pound, she'd come across particular enemies the Batman had earned, growing close in the search for closure.

english isn’t my first language!! i also write in third person.

cross-posted on AO3

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Chapter 1 - Prelude.

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11 (1/2)

Chapter 12 (2/2)

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

[scarecrowismybabygirl]

I think about this scene in Batman Begins out of context at least 10 times a day.

[march-harrigan]

DK Scarecrow crush got hit with fear toxin but instead of being scared it made her … oddly affectionate. Hugs him, rubs her head on his neck and has a goofy smile.

Hey! Sorry this one took so long! I wanted to make up a hopefully fun reason that the toxin would affect the reader differently. I ultimately settled on reader being an alien. Something akin to John Carpenter's "The Thing" but... You know, friendlier.

Hope you like it!

Extraterrestrial physiology was a strange thing. Some weren't all too different from humans, or even some of Earth's other creatures. Some rested in between. Similar in some ways, but unique from Earthly lifeforms in others(Superman would make for the perfect example of this). And then there were those that were just something else entirely.

Jonathan Crane was aware of this fact, although he'd done no research into the subject himself. Despite the fact that he'd been dating one for the last year now. You, to be specific. Or maybe it was because the only alien he had access to was the one he loved. He was willing to bank on you being the 'something else' variety given your true form. An odd mass of a creature that could perfectly imitate the form of any other lifeform you chose(although for the sake of your life on Earth, you typically stuck to your human disguise). Jon wouldn't lie and say that he wasn't curious what effects his fear toxin might have on such a creature. But he never tested it. Not on you. Never on you.

But accidents were bound to happen from time to time. And whether he liked it or not, your proximity to him would eventually put you at risk.

He hadn't expected you that night when something went wrong with the bunsen burner. The flame turned up higher than it should have, and before he could put it out, the glass he had been working with overheated. Fortunately, Jon always took the proper safety measures when working in the lab. When creating a gas that attacked your psyche with your deepest fears, wearing a gas mask was just common sense. He was safe. But you weren't.

You'd been approaching from behind when the glass shattered, the overheated toxin having already evaporated into its gaseous form inside the beaker. As soon as it was unleashed, you got an unintentional whiff of the stuff, and with a loud squeak, you now stood stiff behind Jonathan. He turned, eyes wide as horror dawned at him at the realization of what had just occurred. You had inhaled his toxin, and now he was going to see its effects on your unique physiology whether he liked it or not. Not knowing what else to do, he took your hands in his and lead you a safe distance from the worktable. He couldn't undo what had been done, but he could prevent you from taking an even higher dose.

Removing his mask, he whispered your name. "Please… Say something. Tell me you're okay." Concern laced his tone as he gently took your face into both hands. For once, he was the one who was terrified. He had no idea what effect his toxin would have on you. And if it all went wrong, if it went downhill too quickly, he had no way of fixing it. No way of saving you.

And then you laughed.

Horror turned to surprise as your lips met his. A quick light kiss followed by a stunned blink from him. He repeated your name, this time like it was a question. And before he knew it, you were hugging him. Not just hugging, but embracing, tighter than you ever had before with a big, silly grin on your face. He breathed out before questioning you again. "You're… Are you okay, angel? You had me worried!"

"Oh Jonny, I've never felt better," you giggled, keeping your arms firmly laced around him. He couldn't help but feel that you were being excessively affectionate. Even for you. And when you peppered his face with several more kisses, it confirmed his suspicions. His toxin, designed to instill terror had instead left you utterly enamoured. This was a concern in and of itself, but he supposed that of all the possibilities, this was far from the worst case scenario. At the very least, you were alive and safely with him.

"Let's get you to the couch," he sighed, lifting you up. He may not have looked it, but he was at least strong enough to carry you that distance. As he walked you over, he couldn't help but chuckle as you nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck and hummed contentedly. Batting your eyelashes at him, you smiled and asked, "Will you stay and snuggle with me, Crow?"

"I suppose there's no harm in it." Setting you down on the couch, he sat next to you. If all you wanted was to cuddle, then that was fine. He'd hold your hand and let you hug and nuzzle to your heart's content, until you were relaxed enough to drift off. With luck, you'd sleep it off. If not, he was sure he could create an antidote. For your sake, he'd get you back to your still lovable, but not quite as love drunk self.

[criter]

[x-gotham-rogues]

Headcanons surrounding Murphy!Crow? Specifically concerning his knowledge of his prettyness? Like, is he aware of it? Is he oblivious? And if he's aware of it, does he like it or hate it?

Time to channel my inner crush on any character played by Cillian Murphy

I am torn between him being acutely aware of his looks and him being oblivious as fuck, because both would be hilarious

Oh, the pure chaos that would go with him being oblivious is too funny not to imagine

Why, why is everyone looking at him like that

He doesn’t understand, do they know he’s up to something?

Will they, please. Stop. Staring. At him!?!??!?!?!!?!??!

Jon just wants to do his work in peace and he doesn’t understand why there are people looking at him like he’s some famous supermodel

But with him being aware, I’d just imagine him being frustrated nearly all the time

No, no, you’re supposed to be SCARED not AROUSED you HORNY FUCK

And that’s partly why he wears the burlap mask, because evidently, he isn’t scaring anyone with his pretty face

Even though there are upsides to him being pretty, for example, society having a harder time believing that he’s up to something, the positive attention it brings to him is annoying and a hinderance to his plans

Simply put, he can live with it, but he isn’t exactly fond of how his looks appeal to most of society

[gl1tchr]

I love Murphycrow / Danoriddler bc you know when Ed was like "All it takes is FEAR and a little FOCUSED VIOLENCE-" Jon was pressed against the door of the interrogation room like "let me in LET ME IN"

[ur-favoriterecord]

Arkhamverse AU where everything is the same except the Scarecrow in it is Murphy!Crow

Discuss

[apollogeesss]

A Scarecrow's tale.

Summary:

Following the flooding of much of Gotham City caused by the Riddler and his followers, the poorest parts of Gotham are left with no uncertain future while the rich go into hiding.

With all this new situation, Ellen Joy, a stranger, tries to survive one more day in no man's land, finding work at Arkham State Hospital where she meets a special character. One that brings back bitter memories of the past she vowed to bury—young doctor Jonathan Crane.

Content warnings: depictions of complex trauma, religious fanaticism, southern!Crane, depression, emotional abuse, institutional corruption, abuse of power in the academic and workplace, psychological manipulation, violence (physical and symbolic), gaslighting, power imbalances between characters, slow burn???, main character with addictions, and depictions of mental deterioration. Set in the universe of The Batman (Matt Reeves), without using Y/N, it's an oc! I'm bad at writing with a Y/N I just don't feel comfortable. ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE, SORRY 💔.

Notes: I wasn't sure about posting this and I'm certainly a bit embarrassed since I'm pretty new to this, but I wanted to write something about Murphycrow in the Reeves universe. Pwwww. I think it's a bit of a short, sorry.

ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ᵒⁿᵉ—

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The city was a mess: flooded and without power in many areas. The National Guard came to help, but even they couldn't prevent the high number of casualties caused by the terrorist attack from the criminal the news had dubbed "The Riddler." It felt like a disease creeping under the skin until it consumed it, leaving it motionless, paralyzed by fear. The poorest neighborhoods, like Crown Point, were the hardest hit, while the rich and powerful at least had options to move amid the chaos. In less than a week, missing person posters covered the walls of streets that hadn't yet flooded.

Ellen was one of the affected. Her apartment, located in a small residential area in the lower part of the city, was completely flooded and lost. Not only did her money and belongings disappear with the water, but also any chance of finding a warm burrow to sleep in.

She had recently graduated in nursing from Gotham University, and although she had a certificate, that didn't guarantee she could find anything.

Then she saw it. It was a small, torn ad in a section of the subway that hadn't ended up underwater. A letter from Arkham requesting staff for the night shift. It wasn't her dream job, but they promised a bed. A bed.

Ellen had dreamed of working at the city hospital, but the next morning, she was standing there, in front of the main entrance to the asylum, holding the few papers she'd managed to save to apply for the job. Her clothes already smelled of dampness and dust, as she hadn’t been able to wash much in the last week. She felt full of shame, feeling once again like that girl from rural Georgia (the same part no one knows because without Atlanta, they were nothing) who had come to Gotham with nothing but a dream. A dream that didn't survive the discovery of how the city treated both its own and outsiders.

The entrance guard was a big man with a broom-like mustache and one of those striking moles that fall into two categories: the kind that adds elegance and the kind that sticks out like a raisin. This man’s was of the second type. Ellen found herself handing over papers and explaining her situation, hoping he would feel pity for her and let her pass for an interview. She prayed that no one would want to work at Arkham, and the place would be empty for her.

“Go ahead, I’ll let the chief psychiatrist know to make room for you in his schedule,” he said, and those words brought a smile to her face.

Ellen entered Arkham with uncertainty. The guards reflected the conditions in which they worked; their steps seemed like those of a baby next to those men who had surely dealt with the worst kind of people in the city. Hopefully, being new, they’d assign her to the ward with the least dangerous patients, far from the high-security cells with the real monsters.

She sat on one of the benches in the waiting room in front of the chief psychiatrist’s office. She had read that the man in charge was new, after the firing of Dr. Ventris under circumstances she didn’t know.

Ellen let her gaze wander over the gray wall; the lights gave the room a cold look, dehumanizing anyone who crossed its threshold. She took out her phone and started scrolling through videos: people eating, girls in expensive clothes… like flipping through fashion magazines she used to buy at the dollar store before she turned twelve.

The distant sound of the elevator snapped her out of her reverie. She quickly turned off her phone when the silhouette of someone appeared in the room. She combed her hair lightly, fixing her undone braid, and licked her lips.

The man who entered didn’t seem like the type of person who would run Arkham: thin, young, with body language that exuded discomfort, though he tried to hide it with a forced and upright posture. He was putting on expensive-looking glasses as he walked.

Ellen stood up immediately, clutching her portfolio to her chest.

“Excuse me, good morning. Are you Dr. Ellroy?” she asked. The man stopped just within her line of sight.

He looked uncomfortable even with his own shadow. His glasses were slightly crooked. He stared at her without blinking for a second.

“Dr. Ellroy? No, no. I’m Dr. Crane,” he replied. They both fell silent, sharing a longer-than-necessary glance.

“So… do you work here too?” Ellen asked, somewhat unsure.

He tilted his head slightly.

“That’s what I’m trying to do.”

He stepped a little closer, lowering his voice as if they were no longer speaking in a public place. Jonathan had those captivating eyes; there was something ghostly in the blue of his gaze.

“You’re here for the night vacancy. There aren’t many applicants. I imagine you didn’t have much of a choice,” he said, almost in a pretentious tone.

Ellen swallowed hard.

“The ad said they offer a bed… and food.”

“And was that enough?”

She hesitated to answer. Jonathan scanned her up and down. He didn’t smile, but his eyes briefly glinted, as if passing judgment.

“What a charitable city,” he commented sarcastically. “At least here, you’ll know when people look at you funny.”

Ellen blinked, confused.

“Excuse me?”

He shook his head, already pulling away.

“Nothing. Welcome to Arkham.”

And just before disappearing completely, his voice came again, almost like a whisper thrown over his shoulder:

“Your name?”

“Ellen. Ellen Joy.”

“I’ll remember you,” were his last words before he entered Dr. Ellroy’s office and closed the door behind him.

A feeling of unease settled in Ellen’s stomach. The encounter had left her with nothing but a bad premonition. She tried to convince herself that she was just a victim of the same prejudice toward the unknown that had infected her whole family at one point.

She sat back down. Sometimes she glanced at the office door, hoping to see the young psychiatrist leave, just to make sure he wasn’t a ghost.

Five minutes later, he left. Ellen looked up, hoping for at least a hint of human warmth, but this time he passed by without a glance, as if he’d never been there.

It must have just been politeness.

Ellen sank into the seat and hugged her portfolio, seeking warmth from within herself. Sometimes she thought Gotham had never been for her, despite everything she had heard on the radio when she was a child.

Half an hour later, the real Dr. Ellroy appeared. He was old, but not enough to be bald. He greeted her with a polite but equally cold attitude.

“Miss Joy, I was told you were waiting for me,” he said. “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting.”

The doctor invited her into his office, the same one Dr. Crane had entered and left just minutes earlier. It was luxuriously decorated. The carpet under Ellen’s feet was probably worth more than the monthly rent of her old apartment.

“Have a seat. I heard you’re here for the night shift,” he mentioned while sitting himself down. The dark wooden desk gleamed fiercely. “A brave decision. Not many nurses enjoy spending the night in a place like Arkham.”

Ellen sat down in front of him. The chair was noticeably more comfortable than the one in the hallway. With a forced smile, she nodded. It wasn’t like she had many options.

“Yes, I saw in the ad that they offer a bed and food for night staff, and it seemed... helpful,” she whispered. Her shoes, once white, tapped restlessly on the floor, muffled by the carpet.

“I see. And that’s correct: we offer bed and dinner for night staff since that shift tends to be the toughest,” he said while adjusting his glasses. “Do you have previous experience? Any past work?”

Ellen quickly looked at the portfolio in her arms and placed it on the desk. She stared at it with the intensity of a hungry wolf, hoping he would hurry up. The situation honestly seemed awful.

“No, doctor, but I graduated with honors in nursing from Gotham University. I included a copy of my thesis in the portfolio, one of the few things I could save from the flood,” she said immediately. Maybe mentioning her situation would help her get a quicker “yes.” She wasn’t lying, she was just making the most of her circumstances.

“Flood? You were affected by that madman’s attack, right?” he asked. She nodded. “I see. We have him locked up… in the maximum-security wing.”

The doctor flipped through the portfolio. Ellen couldn’t do anything but watch him, wishing he would accept her immediately. She didn’t even care that the cause of her misfortune was nearby.

“And…?” she asked with a nervous smile. The doctor seemed amused.

“It’s a perfect academic record. You definitely meet the characteristics of an ideal nurse,” he said. The words returned Ellen’s breath.

She was already savoring a dry bed and a hot dinner.

“We’ll give you a month’s trial to evaluate you properly, of course, but given your situation, we can guarantee you the bed, but not the food, as that comes with the pay,” Ellroy explained. “You can start tomorrow.”

“Can I start today?”

Her words came out faster than anything else, almost grabbing the edge of the chair to avoid jumping on the psychiatrist. She knew she sounded desperate, but she really was.

The older man fell silent but didn’t deny her request, just another workhorse to help lighten the mood.

“Sure, then you’ll need to go to the laundry to request a uniform and fill out some papers to ensure everything is in order. Your shift would start at 8 pm and end at 7 am.”

Ellen barely heard what he said after the “sure,” she just looked at him. She was going to be locked up with the worst of the worst in a hostile and indifferent environment, but at least a warm bed would welcome her.

"Regarding a possible advance payment if we see good results... you could look into it at the end of the month, depending on your performance, of course. The rules here are strict, and we don't have room for mistakes, but we’re not inhuman either," he finished in a neutral tone, though with a certain weight in his words.

Ellen nodded forcefully, trying to hide the tremor in her hands. One month. Just one month, and maybe she could have some stability. She only needed to hold back the fear.

"Thank you very much, Dr. Ellroy. I promise I won’t disappoint you," she said, with a mix of humility and barely contained desperation.

He simply made a gesture with his hand.

"Ms. Danvers, head nurse of the night shift, will show you your duties. Present your papers at reception and then pick up your uniform at the supply room. Welcome to Arkham, Ms. Joy."

Ellen stood up, gave a clumsy little bow, and left the office, feeling as though she had just crossed an invisible threshold into a world nothing like the one she had dreamed of in college.

Back in the hallway, she saw no sign of Dr. Crane. Not even a shadow. Just the distant murmur of closing doors and the deep sound of the heating system knocking against the pipes.

As she walked down the hallway, a nurse passed by without greeting her, as if she were already used to seeing new faces that wouldn’t last. Ellen felt like she had to cling to whatever little she had left, even if it was just her wet portfolio and her hope.

She followed a narrow hallway, indicated by one of the guards, until she reached a door with a metallic sign: "Nursing – Authorized Personnel." She knocked twice and entered when she heard a voice saying "come in."

The head nurse was a stocky woman with a square face and a permanent expression of disgust. Her hair was pulled back so tightly that it seemed to stretch the skin on her forehead, and her white uniform was immaculate, with not a single wrinkle. A small plaque hung from her lab coat: Mrs. Danvers.

"Are you the new one?" she asked without lifting her gaze from a file. Ellen nodded.

"Well. Let me tell you something, kid: this is not a regular hospital. Here, it’s not about curing, it’s about containing. And the most important thing: don’t talk to them unless they talk to you, and never touch them unless it's strictly necessary. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Ellen replied in a thin voice.

"Your uniform is in room 6B. They’ve assigned you a bed on the third floor, west wing. You’ll share a room with two others. In this place, if you want to survive, don’t ask questions and don’t be late for your shift. Dinner starts at 7 p.m. At 8, your shift begins. And remember: if you hear laughter where there should be none, don’t follow it."

Ellen stood in silence, absorbing every word as if it were an oath. Danvers let out a grunt.

"Follow me, I’ll give you a quick tour before your shift starts."

They walked down the hallways as if Arkham had a life of its own, breathing through its damp walls and distant whispers. The lights flickered every now and then, and the echo of other footsteps could be heard, even though there was no one at the end of the hall.

They passed several observation cells with reinforced doors that barely allowed a glimpse of the figures inside. Danvers explained the basics: medication routines, temperature control, guard changes. Everything was mechanical, impersonal.

In one of the corridors, they suddenly stopped. Two guards were pushing a stretcher on which a patient writhed, strapped with leather restraints. He was completely covered with a straitjacket, yet he screamed like a wounded animal, spitting saliva and threats at those holding him.

"They’re not dead! I saw them move! They talked to me last night, they said you aren’t real!"

Ellen stepped aside, stomach churning. The patient turned slightly as they passed and yelled at her:

"You’re gonna burn too! You’ll hear them crying inside the walls!"

The guards dragged him into the elevator, and the echo of his screams faded as if Arkham were swallowing them. Mrs. Danvers didn’t seem to flinch.

"Those are the easy ones," she said dryly. "The important thing is to stay calm. If one smells your fear, they all will."

They continued walking. As they passed a back door, Danvers muttered:

"This is where we go to smoke. Although you shouldn’t," she added, glancing at her. "But you will anyway."

She kept walking, but Ellen stopped for a moment, drawn to a shadow on the outside near the gate leading to the back garden. She approached quietly and saw him.

Jonathan Crane, with his back to her, his white coat billowing slightly in the breeze, held a lit cigarette between his long fingers. He smoked in silence, staring at the gate as if waiting to see something beyond the boundaries of the asylum. He didn’t look relaxed or at peace. Rather, he seemed like someone trapped in a pause between two unsettling thoughts.

Ellen made no sound, but he seemed to notice her. Without turning around, he spoke:

"Do you know it’s not allowed to be out here without authorization?"

She didn’t answer. His silhouette, outlined against the dim light of the security lamp, made him seem almost unreal.

"But... I guess the rules don’t matter much anymore, huh?" he added before crushing the cigarette against the gate and disappearing through a side door.

Ellen stood for a few more seconds, feeling the smell of tobacco mixed with something else: that damp breeze that Arkham always brings at night, as if it were coming from the depths of a forgotten grave.

Then she resumed her walk. Her shift started at eight.

And something inside her told her that this would be the last night she’d sleep with both eyes closed.

[plantahmane]

The world you live in. Credit: murphycrowe

[gxdsetmxnsters]

Eeeeeee

Reading this part, especially the “I don’t want to talk to scarecrow, I want Jonathan Crane made me think 1) it’s rude to ask to speak to a different alter that’s not fronting /hj (since obviously canonically he doesn’t have DID), and 2) Murphycrow’s quote of “Dr. Crane isn’t here right now but if you’d like to leave a message...”

[strangestcase]

Still better than Murphycrow who has such a boring design it cancels out with everything else.

I only know about Titans scarecrow via cultural osmosis but apparently he's an ungodly fusion of scarecrow (he's the scarecrow), the riddler (he's Like That), and the mad hatter (he smokes weed)