As a child, Jonathan Crane frightened birds

@atrickofthetoxin​  inquired :  ♭ 

           Okay,  he’ll  admit  it  perhaps  he  does  have  a  habit  of  talking  too  much  and  stepping  on  toes,  but  it  wasn’t  like  he  was  purposely  trying  to  set  off  the  other.  Letting  out  a  small  groan  as  Scarecrow  tightly  gripped  his  jaw,  leaving  Edward  no  choice  but  to  look  him  in  the  eyes.  Carefully  lifting  up  his  hands  in  defeat,  not  even  tempting  at  trying  to  free  himself,  he  rather  not  have  this  escalate  any  further  so  he  kept  quiet  and  waited  for  the  other  to  speak  his  mind.

Manhandling symbol starters 

Sharpened nails dig into the man’s flesh, stopping just short of drawing blood ( call it an exercise in self control, not that Crane is often in large supply of it ). He had been more then generous in his mind, in allowing the man to prattle on as he wished, at least, until Jonathan’s limited patience wore thin, and an offhand comment struck just the right nerve.

silence        :        contemplative        * &        HEAVY        [  .  .  .  ]        ❛        y’know        ,        ❜        𝚑𝚎  𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚜        .        ❛        yer  in  a  sticky        𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.  .  .        how  long  y’  been  here        :        ON  THE  FLOOR        ,        BLEEDIN’  OUT        ?        hm        ?❜        jack  shifts  position        ,        bringing  his  face  closer  to  the  other’s        .        ❛        clock’s  tickin’        ,        jonathan        .        ❜        each  syllable  punctuated  by        COFFEE        * &        SMOKE  INFUSED  BREATH        .        ❛        AAAAAND        .  .        since  we’re        ( uh )        since  we’re  not  .  friends        ——        ❜  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜  𝚊  𝚙𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎        /        𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜    𝚊    𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔        .        ❛       well        ,        guess  there’s  nothin’  i  can  do  ‘bout  it [  ‘CEPT  SIT  BACK  ‘N        𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀  𝑻𝑯𝑬  𝑺𝑯𝑶𝑾  ] !        ❜ 

How long indeed? A lifetime perhaps, eternity measured in spreading sanguine and struggling breath, in cycles of creeping unconsciousness and a silent, growing dread. Maybe just an hour, maybe two or three. It doesn’t matter, not really. What matters is that Jack is asking for the one thing Jonathan is not willing to give, even with his oh-so-precious dignity torn from him and made mockery of.

The master of fear does not beg. The Child begs, pleads to an unhearing god and an uncaring guardian, The Fallen God begs, brought low from divine heights in the crunch of bone and black-caped kevlar. Jonathan Crane is neither, Jonathan Crane is impassive and barbed, Jonathan Crane delights in sadism and little else, Jonathan Crane..........does not want to die. Not like this, not here. Not under the delighted gaze of this scarred jackal.

“We’re friends.” Weakly spat, laden with clear disgust as much as with pain, but voiced all the same. A wet cough leads into several more, spraying crimson. “Happy?“

“Don’t let a man like me ruin your drinks. Perhaps I could offer you another? Maybe with a drop of Arsenic, or cyanide if its more your taste.”

"Listen...I think we got off the wrong start. Thomas Elliot, surgeon of gotham general." He holds his hand out, perhaps a bit too nervously considering who he is talking to. Who doesn't know about Jonathan Crane?

He raises an eyebrow slightly at the gesture, dark-eyed gaze dissecting the other man with a palpable annoyance. It’s the only acknowledgment Thomas will receive for his gesture of civility, as Jonathan’s own hands remain firmly clasped behind his back.

THE  DOC        *        jonathan  crane        /        @atrickofthetoxin​

life  /  death        (  despair  /  bliss  )        .  .  .        𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃’𝚂  𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝚆𝙰𝚈  𝙸𝚃  𝙸𝚂        ;        a  constant  push        * &        pull        ——        especially  in  gotham        /        𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆  𝒔𝒐  𝒊𝒇  𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆  𝒋𝒂𝒄𝒌  𝒏𝒂𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒓        [  .  .  .  ]        bruised  knuckles        ʟᴀɴᴅ  ʜᴇᴀᴠɪʟʏ  ᴀɢᴀɪɴꜱᴛ  ᴛʜᴇ  ᴅᴏᴏʀ        ——        unrhythmic        * &        loud        .        ᵏᶰᵒᶜᵏ  ᵏᶰᵒᶜᵏ  ᵏᶰᵒᶜᵏ  ᵏᶰᵒᶜᵏ        !        when  it  finally  opens        an  (𝖎𝖒𝖕𝖎𝖘𝖍  !  )  smile  graces  scarred  features        ,       𝚙𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎  𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍  𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜  𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚍𝚕𝚢  𝚘𝚗  𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢        .        ❛        what’s  up        ,        doc        ?        ❜        jack  would  greet  the  other        BEFORE  PUSHING  IN  PAST  HIM        . 

His eyebrows raise, slightly, and for once, there is no whip-sharp retort to keep Jack from entering the doctor’s home, in fact, there’s no retort at all, although several attempted to press their way from his lips ; Where the hell have you been is foremost among them.

“Hm. So the prodigal son returns.” The door shuts behind them with a click, Jonathan’s eyes sweeping over the clown in search of some clue, some patent reason for his sudden disappearance and even more sudden arrival.

Valentines <3 // Still accepting

He stiffens slightly, his arms hovering awkwardly in the air before hesitantly moving to pat her on the back. “Is it? I must have missed that. Ridiculous holiday...”  

Just...ignore the pink in his cheeks, and ignore the small smile too, while you’re at it.

Rolling her eyes at the dry comment, Elise shook her head. Since he hadn’t asked her to leave she would assume her company to be wanted, and hope that meant she could avoid him ruining an otherwise good plate of food.

“Jambalaya sounds wonderful. What can I do to help?” Not if she could help, she had already decided that she would.

Crane knows her well enough not to bother with a refusal, although he’d much rather simply handle everything himself. He picks the simplest possible task that comes to mind. “Rice in the cupboard, make a cup or two.”