#threadpull

[clawsextended]

@threadpull asked: [ TXT: 🐈‍⬛ ] : thought i'd reach out and see how you're doing. / becky!!!!

[ TXT: COOL WEIRD GIRL ] ur probably too nice for ur own good.

[ TXT: COOL WEIRD GIRL ] right now? doing ok

[ TXT: COOL WEIRD GIRL ] just can’t sleep. Clowns will eat me.

[ TXT: COOL WEIRD GIRL ] mostly i just can’t sleep.

[brokentoys]

remember: whenever you think arkham asylum can go low, just know that it goes LOWER!

[roisdevivre]

@threadpull gets a mini-starter no one asked for

“Okay, but why IS a raven like a writing desk?” Luca asked, pointing a french fry at Ed from across the table at the diner. “Riddle me that, Smarty Pants!”

[umbrellamedic]

Closed for @threadpull

The room is quiet by the time Bertha steps out and softly closes the door behind her. She does not want to wake the captive. Patient. Whatever they're calling the man strapped to the bed- it's for his own safety, really; he might hurt himself if he goes stumbling in search of an escape before his treatment is over. Her boots on the floor are loud enough to announce her approach, Bertha has no need to try and sneak around.

"Your patient is stable, Doctor." If she sounds pleased with herself, it's because she is. "He should be ready to resume your treatment in two or three days. Any sooner and his heart may not be able to handle the stress."

The man in the room really was in bad shape, it's amazing to see what Crane can do to these people. Bertha's always had to use more intrusive means of torture: cutting things, breaking things, burning or freezing or shocking. Pulling patients out of death's grasp and forcing their bodies to survive is rewarding. Not because she cares about the patients. She doesn't. But because she's successful. After the incident that severed her ties to Umbrella, after losing her entire team- she needs this. She can't stand to fail again. She hasn't lost one that was still alive when she began working on them yet.

From behind her mask, she regards the doctor. Less than a year since Raccoon City. Less than three months working for this man. She clears her throat and squares her shoulder. "Do you need another patient sourced?" In the moment of stabilizing a patient she's fine; in her element. Outside of that? Restless. It's like she's still trapped in a city full of hostiles; like any distant shadow is a threat and she should be lashing out. She needs an objective. Her hands clench and release at her sides, a small gesture meant to help relieve some of her restless energy. "Or anyone executed?"

[incangencence]

@threadpull liked this post for a touch of angst

The case of liquor slipped through Gene’s fingers with a crash loud enough to wake the dead, glass flying in every direction as bottles exploded against the concrete floor of the bar’s back store room.

One second the body was there. On the ground, lying before her in the dark. Dark skin. Blank eyes. Mouth full of black blood and silent accusation. Then it was gone.

She didn’t remember falling. Screaming. Her hands sliding over the broken fragments of glass, the sting of the alcohol as she tore her palms open in her haste to scramble away. She didn’t even know where she was until she felt her back hit the solid wall of the corner, and even then all she could do was curl in on herself as she started to sob. Unable to breathe. To stop the shaking in her hands.

Not real. Not real. Not real.

[fartemis-crock]

jon gets to meet the nightmare child.

@threadpull

"--be nice."

the words weren't directed at him. no, they were directed towards the small blonde child who was sitting on the edge of the couch.

blue eyes were locked on jon. the seven year-old is almost identical to her mother--- save for the white-blonde hair, ice-blue eyes, and an absurdly serious expression. ---she's watching his every movement. looking at his clothes. the way he walked, everything.

he sits where artemis had ushered him to sit, in one of the blue chairs that sat opposite of the beat-up couch, and isabelle's facial expression changes. pure, unadulterated judgement crosses the little girl's face.

"be nice." is repeated, with something of a sigh punctuating artemis' words. she's standing to the side of jon's chair. gaze finding her daughter's in some silent bid for her not to be difficult. ---not that it works.

"---but he did that wrong."

the little voice is confident, blue eyes cutting from her mother to the stranger sitting in the livingroom with them. "you did that wrong, now the throw blanket is going to be all messed up when you stand up." isabelle's nose crinkled as she spoke, gaze falling towards jon's shoes, of all things. "---i can see your socks, too. you sat wrong."

[vitalphenomena]

@threadpull // ed // x

GRANDIOSE EGO AND CARTOONISH FLAMBOYANCY TO THIS DEGREE MAKE DMITRI SICK TO HIS STOMACH. He's too lucid for whatever the Riddler's whole deal is.

Dmitri's voice is low and slow. He likes this bulky, masculine form—in contrast with the Riddler's own mannerisms and physique. "You have no need to forgive me because I have done nothing to be forgiven for." If the Riddler can't handle the heat of an unhinged man's emotional outburst and threat of brutality, they better get out of the supervillainous fucking kitchen.

"If we're going to work together on this, put your pride aside. It's already getting in the way of having a regular conversation."

Is he going to be petty? He might need to be a little petty.

"Because you'll drive yourself past your current madness looking for any actual signs of jealousy. There are none."

[archaievist]

This is a date, right? It had to be after their texts. When was the last time she was on a date? Probably with Andrew.

"Jon?" She had really outdone herself. Hair not in a braid or ponytail but done up. Instead of her green, she had opted for a nice black dress. But despite all of that she still wore her dark red lipstick. Perhaps she has aspirations of leaving it on him somewhere...

@threadpull | A continuation of the text thread

[riddlesnap]

If you had to choose between your ambition and the life of someone you care about, what would you do?

A list of moral questions to developing a villainous character @halfghcst , @qu-tipie asked these too

"Of all the questions you had to ask, it just had to be this one, didn't it?" Edward said. He's frowning, thin face scrunched up in an odd mixture of contemplation and, dare he say, confliction. Because his answer would have been very different had he been asked this conundrum not so very long ago. Killing the Batman had become his burning ambition. It didn't always used to be that way. The vigilante had only been an annoyance at the start, a roadblock on his path to pulling the plug beneath Gotham's sordid underbelly and exposing her filth for all to see. His noble goal had been stopped however, Batman no doubt being in on that corruption. Worse still, Edward had been punished for it! Thrown into Blackgate like some common criminal, and everything that had gone wrong in his life since was all that stupid bat's fault. But he'd made certain acquaintances along the way, hadn't he? People that might not have wormed their way into his life had Edward never been pushed to such extreme measures. People like Artemis, even Jonathan to some extent. Killing Batman was still something Edward very much wanted but... was he really willing to go that far? Risk their lives just for a chance at revenge? Before the answer would have been so easy. It would have been a resounding yes, a thought he wouldn't have thought twice about. Now Edward wasn't so sure, and it was disturbing to think how he could be swayed so easily by such silly, sentimental feelings. His face scrunches further, clearly not liking what he was about to say.

"As the Riddler, I have hundreds, thousands of ideas I can put into action at any given moment. Were I forced to pick between killing the bat and ensuring at least one life I remotely cared about would be safe, I'd pick the latter." Edward said grudgingly. Oh, he'd hate it, especially if victory was within grasp of his ambitious hands but Lady Luck favoured the bat too often for his liking and Edward wasn't about to put that theory to the test anytime soon. "I can always come up with another plan, another brilliant idea to extract my rightful revenge against that bothersome bat no matter how long it takes. As it is, bringing somebody back from the dead is a lot harder than it is killing them, but I only need one perfect idea to succeed in my goal. It can be done." He was the man, he had the plan and Edward was nothing if not patient. He'd waited a long time for his revenge, what was a few more until the perfect opportunity arose?

[cataclysmgrcve]

Observant is the Cat| @threadpull

"Much as you'll hate hearing this…. you're very much so like the master of fear. No wonder he keeps going after you. Obsessed with something so familiar. Is that why you can't let it go either?" Kitty pondered while her eyes lingered on the lawyer. Pressing on such an open wound.

The daughter of the Riddler was always collecting details on just about anyone in Gotham. Even those who's lives where just simple. Of course Becky wasn't a simple person. No no not one bit. There was reasoning for Jonathan Crane to keep digging his claws into her. But why?

Kitty of course found out. Which led her to picking at Becky. Wanting to hear her side of things.

[svjetllost]

“No. I don’t want anyone else in this restaurant.” The waitress blinked slowly, her expression smoothing into that vacant, cheerful obedience he’d seen so many times before. She smiled, of course she did, and turned on her heel without a word, vanishing behind the kitchen wall.

This place was one of his favorites in the city; it was quiet, tucked away, and entirely too charming to be spoiled by the noise of strangers and their whiny offspring. The idea of enduring chatter, clinking cutlery, or the smell of someone else's regrettable menu choice was offensive. Thankfully, he didn’t have to. He already had the only person he wanted across the table.

“I ordered for both of us,” he said smoothly, resting back with a smug kind of satisfaction. “Trust me, I know what’s best here.” He gestured idly with a hand, eyes fixed on her. “Now... you were telling me about your latest case?”

Behind the wall, the rest of the staff stood silent, lined up neatly, backs brushing plaster, eyes glued to the door. Should anyone try to enter, they would be stopped before their first step. Otherwise, they would remain exactly where they were. Still. Quiet. Out of sight. Just the way he liked it.

He leaned in, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb lingered just a moment too long on her cheek, light, possessive, like he was straightening something that already belonged to him.

“There. Much better.”

She looked perfect, of course she did. He'd chosen the suit himself, after all. The cut was impeccable, and the color was just right. Hair swept up the way he liked it, even if a few defiant strands had slipped loose to frame her face. He didn’t mind. It added a touch of softness.

It was a beautiful morning, really. And he sincerely hoped nothing ruined it. “I’d hate to be… irritated.” The way he said it was light. Polite, even. But underneath, it pulsed with quiet threat, like the edge of a knife hidden behind a silk ribbon.

@threadpull liked for a shippy starter!

[sifonie]

[ TXT: Sybil!!!!! ] : WHAT are you doing that's more important than me? / eddie, aka god's gift to humanity, who simply cannot understand why they are not the priority at any given moment

game of telephone!

[ TXT: Ready Eddie ] : um, a LOT? wouldn't you like to know, riddle guy

[ TXT: Ready Eddie ] : god, what am i? your BABYSITTER?

[ TXT: Ready Eddie ] : what do you want, anyways? better make it quick and worth my time bc i'm about 5 seconds away from muting you.

[ TXT: Ready Eddie ] : and YES, i will require something in return if you so desperately need me to entertain you.

[brokentoys]

tweet, tweet! // accepting // @threadpull sent . . . 🐤 jon jon jon

Talking about a 48 yr old man like this btw

[dreamswideawake]

@threadpull continued from [x]

Leaning against the raven-shaped handle of his candy striped walking cane, an amused smile slowly graced the Poet's face until he let out an ungraceful guffaw that starkly juxtaposed his elegant appearance.

He flourished a wrist and brought it to his chest. "Heavens no!" he exclaimed with faux indignation. "Whatever do you take me for, darling? I've never been one to stand in the way of friendship and kind gestures-!" He rolled his wrist, gesturing to the can in their hand. "Paint away, friend!"

He tilted his head, admiring the drawing on the wall. "I've always seen graffiti as an underappreciated and misunderstood art form, myself," he mused, his singular blue eye flickering as he stood in pensive curiosity. "Who cares about breaking the law? Art is art..."

He turned back to them, grinning from ear to ear. "...unless there's something more sinister afoot? Do say there is, I love a good bit of gossip."

[mad-hunts]

@threadpull (a plotted starter between jonathan and barton will be below! i hope you like it, tehe)

one of the first things that the people at arkham doing intake now to barton is cut his sharp nails. not only because they were a danger to others, they said, but also a danger to himself. though judging by the way that barton made one of their noses bleed before two people had to restrain him while they cut them... it was much more the latter to him, personally. yeah; that little action unfortunately bought barton a strong dose of versed to the deltoid as well via a nurse. because it was made quite obvious to them then, in their own sadistic words, that he needed something to 'calm down.'

it did indeed calm barton down, by the way, but that was because it was of course a sedative. he was brought to the cell that'd be assigned to him and a bunkmate then before sleeping most of the day away. luckily, the orderlies around that day somehow seemed to have some comprehension that barton would be down for the count until the next day, so he was unbothered from his sleep too. but on the second day that he was there? that is, after he was told he would be limited to only being outside his cell for about two hours, because barton 'needed to be in isolation until he proved he wasn't a danger to other inmates?' around nine PM that night, he finally met who would be his bunkmate.

and let me tell you, jonathan looked like absolute shit. as if the careless was that the orderlies tossed him into their cell wasn't shocking enough on its own, he had bruising all over his face. if he could squint due to the lights being out besides the little light that streamed in through the window... barton also thought he saw a cut or two on his face as too and one of his eyes braved one of those cuts; like someone had just missed blinding him in it. where dr. crane had been all day suddenly became much more of a concern, because whoever did this to him obviously either had some sort of vendetta against him personally — or maybe the rogues themselves. the silence that ensued in the cell subsequently was thick enough to hear a pin drop in.

being in isolation suddenly didn't seem half as bad as whatever jonathan had endured. with the way he limped to the bed that wasn't occupied, barton could more than tell that the bruising was not just on his face now. chances were that it likely littered doctor crane's body; and it clicked in barton's head as to who might have done such a thing to the other. stuck between the decision of calling out to him and letting him be at first, it was only when jonathan seemed to be struggling to even lay down that barton felt a string of cognitive empathy for him. plus, if he wasn't mistaken, the glint that the light in the window showed of his face indicated he was tearing up. what an abusive shit-show this place was.

❝ hey... come over here for a moment, hmm? i'm not going to hurt you. i just think its damn incredible that they left you in such a bad state without so much as cleaning up your cuts. but hey, this is arkham, ❞ to his surprise, perhaps due to the fact that jon was likely too out of it to care if barton actually meant he wasn't going to hurt him or not, he was approaching him then. he repositioned himself so that he was at one end of his bunk and once jonathan was sitting next to him, he carefully maneuvered his body down. now, the other's head was in his lap, and he experimentally placed a hand on his forearm to give it a comforting squeeze.

this was before he began to move his hand up and down the other's forearm slowly. barton knew well that, in arkham, you were not going to get any comfort out of the staff — hell, you weren't even going to get any from being let outside or the food — and thus, their options to not break down sometimes came down to really what you or your cellmate was willing to do for you. luckily for jonathan, barton was quite amenable to being surprisingly kind to his fellow patients when they were in trouble. he wanted to get the other's mind off of what had happened to him and so he thought; what better way to do that than to talk about nonsense with doctor crane?

❝ say... i don't know if you're a bird guy, but did you know that the largest bird in the world that can fly is the andean condor? it has about a ten and a half foot wingspan, and they live in the andes mountains, as well as the pacific coast. i only know that because i got really into studying birds here once to not go completely insane and they still peak my interest even now. its kind of darkly funny, huh? ❞

[incangencence]

hc + aging

[headcanon prompts || always accepting]

Gene never used to think about getting older, because she never really… expected to Be Old. She couldn’t imagine herself older than twenty or thirty, and so she never really bothered to worry about it.

Now that she’s met The Master… she does worry about getting to a point where he decides she’s “too old.” Either because she physically can’t keep up, or because she isn’t young and beautiful anymore. She’s more certain than ever that she’ll probably die young — facing Daleks and Sontarans and The Doctor isn’t safe by any means, and The Master himself is plenty dangerous when he loses interest or is feeling cruel — but now she’s suddenly faced with the possibility that she might survive. And she might find herself forever shut out of the one place in the universe she finally feels certain she’s meant to be.

And it’s most prevalent with The Master, but I think it’s true of her in all her verses. She’s so used to moving on, leaving people before they leave her, that when she finds someone she loves, someone she wants to stay with, suddenly she develops this fear around growing into someone or something they won’t want anymore.

It scares her more than she’d ever admit.