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@d0ctorjonathancrane
Greetings. I am doctor Jonathan Crane. A psychiatrist at Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. My life has become a shrine to my work. My studies of the human mind and the nightmares that torment it. My studies… of fear. Fear is everything. Fear is god. I am a willing disciple. Who wishes to understand. I will be documenting my studies here.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
You have found a journal page.
You know. I used to sit on stones, gravel. To be precise. It would bite at my legs. And press deep inside, scarred, burnt skin. Leaving red marks. But I never noticed. If I did. I thought it was kind. No, my thoughts, my eyes. They were on you. They have always been. I watched, as you played. As you danced and loved the sun I had grown to dread. Scorching, painful light you delighted in. I thought it was beautiful. I wanted…
Then. I watched as you fell. As you cried, as the gravel I was thankful for cut open your delicate knees. And you were taken to soft grass instead. Away from the sun. A patch of grass on a summers day cursed by the shadow of a tree. You… had the sun. But you wasted it. Because you were afraid. I continued to watch. I watched as others. Gathered to indulge you. As you cursed at my friend. They held you. Touched you. Wanted you. … and god. I still wanted to be in your warm flesh. And.
That. Jeremiah. Was not real. He could not be. Has Tetch broken out. His wonderfully vile machinery. I could feel the crows in my body.
@crowsinthecornfield
𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲. 𝐖𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭? 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬… 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.
𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬.
He stood and stumbled to the trashcan. His insides betraying him. He coughed and staggered as he fell to his knees. Still. He was smiling. The wonderful machines twisting his gut.
You enjoy a creature feature. Dont you. You remember all the lines.
𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧? 𝐇𝐦?
It perched atop his desk with its legs crossed, staring down at the person that wore the same mask that it did.
𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮.
𝐎𝐫 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐲 𝐢𝐭.
No. No. I want to see it at its fullest. Observe its effects on me. The painting. Beautiful. Wonderful artistry.
𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐈 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞?
It leans over, flicking the hair from his face. So that he does not get vomit on it.
𝐈, 𝐭𝐨𝐨, 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡.
Yes. … I hate how he makes me feels. I must study it.
𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭? 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬?
Both. I am rather gluttonous for candycorn.
That. Jeremiah. Was not real. He could not be. Has Tetch broken out. His wonderfully vile machinery. I could feel the crows in my body.
@crowsinthecornfield
𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲. 𝐖𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭? 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬… 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.
𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬.
He stood and stumbled to the trashcan. His insides betraying him. He coughed and staggered as he fell to his knees. Still. He was smiling. The wonderful machines twisting his gut.
You enjoy a creature feature. Dont you. You remember all the lines.
𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧? 𝐇𝐦?
It perched atop his desk with its legs crossed, staring down at the person that wore the same mask that it did.
𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮.
𝐎𝐫 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐲 𝐢𝐭.
No. No. I want to see it at its fullest. Observe its effects on me. The painting. Beautiful. Wonderful artistry.
𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐈 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞?
It leans over, flicking the hair from his face. So that he does not get vomit on it.
𝐈, 𝐭𝐨𝐨, 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡.
Yes. … I hate how he makes me feels. I must study it.
That. Jeremiah. Was not real. He could not be. Has Tetch broken out. His wonderfully vile machinery. I could feel the crows in my body.
@crowsinthecornfield
𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲. 𝐖𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭? 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬… 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.
𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬.
He stood and stumbled to the trashcan. His insides betraying him. He coughed and staggered as he fell to his knees. Still. He was smiling. The wonderful machines twisting his gut.
You enjoy a creature feature. Dont you. You remember all the lines.
𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧? 𝐇𝐦?
It perched atop his desk with its legs crossed, staring down at the person that wore the same mask that it did.
𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮.
𝐎𝐫 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐲 𝐢𝐭.
No. No. I want to see it at its fullest. Observe its effects on me. The painting. Beautiful. Wonderful artistry.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
That. Jeremiah. Was not real. He could not be. Has Tetch broken out. His wonderfully vile machinery. I could feel the crows in my body.
@crowsinthecornfield
𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲. 𝐖𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭? 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬… 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.
𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬.
He stood and stumbled to the trashcan. His insides betraying him. He coughed and staggered as he fell to his knees. Still. He was smiling. The wonderful machines twisting his gut.
You enjoy a creature feature. Dont you. You remember all the lines.
That. Jeremiah. Was not real. He could not be. Has Tetch broken out. His wonderfully vile machinery. I could feel the crows in my body.
@crowsinthecornfield
WAIT EVERYONE SHUT UP. I JUST HAD THE BEST IDEA.
*picks up @d0ctorjonathancrane Doctor Poppet and @crowsinthecornfield Doctor Bird and throws them at you*
Doctor Bird—?
…
Well, hello, dears.
𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐝𝐝.
It stares at the man in front of him. He looks like its Jeremiah, but the two could not be any more different. This one is.... put together. Unafraid. Blond. It nods, in an attempt at a polite, professional gesture.
𝐀𝐡. 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐫𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞.
You must be..?
𝐃𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐞.
It holds out a hand to shake.
𝐀𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰.
Doctor Crane, it is lovely to meet you. I am Doctor Jeremiah Arkham.
He shook the man’s hand.
A lifted eyebrow.
𝐀 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫? 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥?
Hm? Whatever do you mean?
𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐏𝐞𝐭? 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐢𝐭?
It reached forward, holding his face in its hands.
𝐏𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝?
Of course I am able.
Do not lie.
WAIT EVERYONE SHUT UP. I JUST HAD THE BEST IDEA.
*picks up @d0ctorjonathancrane Doctor Poppet and @crowsinthecornfield Doctor Bird and throws them at you*
Doctor Bird—?
…
Well, hello, dears.
His eyes widened. A smile? Formed on his face. … though it was. Wilted. Odd. Wrong somehow.
Jeremiah. …my most darling vermin. What are you doing here. Out of your jacket? … why do you look like this?
His voice shook. The man was moving backwards. As though he saw a ghost in front of him. Wanting and hungry. But. For some reason. There was a look of pure bliss and pleasure in his eyes, and the smile on his mouth. Not sewn. Real. Just. Broken.
Poppet? What are you on about?
Should you not be resting in your room? Where are your horses?
Jeremiah tsked, gently pulling Jon close.
He shoved Jeremiah away. Reaching for his needles as his long limbs shook with ecstasy like sparking electrical wires. Out of control. Dangerous.
What are you? What are you attempting to gain?
WAIT EVERYONE SHUT UP. I JUST HAD THE BEST IDEA.
*picks up @d0ctorjonathancrane Doctor Poppet and @crowsinthecornfield Doctor Bird and throws them at you*
Doctor Bird—?
…
Well, hello, dears.
His eyes widened. A smile? Formed on his face. … though it was. Wilted. Odd. Wrong somehow.
Jeremiah. …my most darling vermin. What are you doing here. Out of your jacket? … why do you look like this?
His voice shook. The man was moving backwards. As though he saw a ghost in front of him. Wanting and hungry. But. For some reason. There was a look of pure bliss and pleasure in his eyes, and the smile on his mouth. Not sewn. Real. Just. Broken.
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*He thought it was a good day, but he supposed 'good days' don't end with him walking the lonely alleyways at night with a black eye and an almost-empty bottle of vodka - his fifth of the night - in his hand. He hated how Miss Tuesday's and Autumn's words about his alcohol problem reverberated out in his head. It made him scowl.*
- The War Profiteer
Oh. How troublesome he had disappeared before Jonathan could evaluate him properly. He sulked on the carride back. Until. … oh. What a miracle. A chance. Stepping out of the vehicle. Crane rolled up a light. Inhaling the tar. The cancer. The genocide of his lungs. He offered the poison to the broken little man.
I do apologise if we got off on the wrong foot. Are you quite alright?
*He squinted at the offering.*
"No thanks... No. How you dwoing?"
*He wobbled in place. It took his a long time to realize who it was. Oh... Meany Crane...*
*He took a swig of his vodka.*
I am just fine dear. Though I couldn't get you off my mind. You seemed. Awfully fragile. I can't help my professional curiousity. What would push a man such as yourself to kidnap someone half braindead.
*He leaned against the wall, tapping it twice beforehand, and listened. He groaned at the last part.*
“He shwowed up two my place. Mwust have escaped on his own.”
Twice. … Obsessive compulsive. Likely. He had the behaviours of someone constantly held at gunpoint by his own mind.
You seem quite troubled. Forgive my saying so.
Hello, Dr. Crane. I am glad to be starting my internship for you officially.
The girl that stood before him was dressed in goth clothes and heavy makeup, borderline corpse paint. She tugged her skirt down and pulled her hair back.
@assisting-gothams-horror-king
You could quite easily forget outside, within Arkham, much resembling its name, it was a madhouse, wood and stone walls, paralysed between cold breaths of time, you could trip. If you were not careful. Some cells, dared to hold gods. Prophets ROTTEN AND FAKE. Who could tell you the meaning of your life, and why you should die. Others held hungry beasts. Pitiable fools. Eyes sharper then the blades they held when they snuffed out life. For them. The cells were far from punishment enough. Neons and black and red. Death and life. FLASHING IN A VIOLENT ASSALT ON YOUR EYES. You are dizzy. Aren’t you? But then. It stops, and the colour has died, and now. You stand in nothing. Life, before life. You are afraid, aren’t you? You want the colour to return. Just walk forward.
And then there is an office, and you seem to have left wonderland, and returned to reality, and you are in a yellow office with dark oak furniture you swear you have been in before. And there are bookcases. And crows. Hung on the walls. And they are staring at you. … you are dead. You are looking god straight in the eyes. And he is terrifying.
Oh. hello there. I do remember being booked in for an assistant interview. Forgive me I tend to lose track of time within my stories. I am doctor Jonathan Crane.
Ah, yes. Lovely to be officially meeting you, doctor. I hope to be working with you soon. I understand the factor of losing track of time. Oh!- I almost forgot to introduce myself. My name is Jane. I hope you’ve been able to glance at my resume with your busy schedule?
She folded her arms, not intimidated, not showing any sign of fear or anxiety. If she wore a mask, not even she or the psychiatrist in front of her knew. The girl glanced down at the papers in her arms.
Jane.
He paused to think. Before a smile dragged a claw through his sunken, pale cheeks.
Yes. I do remember, you seem perfectly qualified. I found myself rather impressed with your list of studies. However, I have a question I would quite like you to answer. Why do you need this job?
I need this job to continue my studies, to get paid for my rent, and for the experience, the first and last one being more important. I’d love to become a full time employee of Arkham one day, and getting a brief job here, no matter how long I’m working here, I know it will at least get me something in the real world.
Smooth, calculated, a slight shake in her voice….
I see. The mind is quite the complicated creature. There are things lurking inside of it, things most people are not prepared to witness.
That statement I agree with, sir. We know many things and yet almost nothing of the expanse of our minds, and the common people have yet to understand it. While my studies currently are focused on chemistry there’s just something about psychology that makes me think.
You're hired. I believe you will fit quite nicely here.
*He thought it was a good day, but he supposed 'good days' don't end with him walking the lonely alleyways at night with a black eye and an almost-empty bottle of vodka - his fifth of the night - in his hand. He hated how Miss Tuesday's and Autumn's words about his alcohol problem reverberated out in his head. It made him scowl.*
- The War Profiteer
Oh. How troublesome he had disappeared before Jonathan could evaluate him properly. He sulked on the carride back. Until. … oh. What a miracle. A chance. Stepping out of the vehicle. Crane rolled up a light. Inhaling the tar. The cancer. The genocide of his lungs. He offered the poison to the broken little man.
I do apologise if we got off on the wrong foot. Are you quite alright?
*He squinted at the offering.*
"No thanks... No. How you dwoing?"
*He wobbled in place. It took his a long time to realize who it was. Oh... Meany Crane...*
*He took a swig of his vodka.*
I am just fine dear. Though I couldn't get you off my mind. You seemed. Awfully fragile. I can't help my professional curiousity. What would push a man such as yourself to kidnap someone half braindead.
*He thought it was a good day, but he supposed 'good days' don't end with him walking the lonely alleyways at night with a black eye and an almost-empty bottle of vodka - his fifth of the night - in his hand. He hated how Miss Tuesday's and Autumn's words about his alcohol problem reverberated out in his head. It made him scowl.*
- The War Profiteer
Oh. How troublesome he had disappeared before Jonathan could evaluate him properly. He sulked on the carride back. Until. … oh. What a miracle. A chance. Stepping out of the vehicle. Crane rolled up a light. Inhaling the tar. The cancer. The genocide of his lungs. He offered the poison to the broken little man.
I do apologise if we got off on the wrong foot. Are you quite alright?
There was a knock at the door.
*He casually walked up to it. He wasn’t expecting anyone, but was he ever?*
*He slowly opened it.*
“Hello?”
- The War Profiteer
In the doorway stood. Crane. Though not the one Kilroy knew. Limbs in tact. A glint in eyes with light not yet stolen. Long hair tied back, clean. Organised. It was all. Too. perfect.
Good evening. I believe you have my patient.
*He blinked a few times, fighting the initial urge to squeeze him tight in a hug. He bowed his head.*
“My liege. Your patient?… Oh… oh…”
Oh. Quite the fascinating sight. A poisoned one. With illness so progressed. The crows were yet to collect him? Strange. A follower. Clearly. What else would there be to do in his state? Perhaps that. Was the thread he hung onto. Red string. A claim to life. Even when his hands trembled. Codependency. A denial of fear’s claim. Someone who must be fixed. Wasn’t he so generous.
Jeremiah. Arkham. Bring him to me now. You do not want the police involved I presume. Given that this resembles an illegal arms factory.
He would keep the mask. To be safe. Until this man made the mistake of showing he did not want it.
*He paled, and gave a shaky inhale.*
"Yes... Of course... You don't kn-... Would you like to come in to collect him, or...?"
Come now. My friend do you think I am stupid? Why would I follow a kidnapper. Likely one with a fixation on roleplay. Fake life. Friends. Family. Into a location I know nothing about. Bring him here. Now.
*He frowned with a growl. He didn't like this Dr. Crane... He was a meany.*
"It's awfully cold. That's all... and he's a bitch to drag around. Whatever. I'll be back..."
*He turned to fetch the screaming lunatic.*
Jeremiah was trembling, but sat up straighter. He heard his Doctor’s voice. Doctor Poppet was here.
*He opened the door to the bedroom he was keeping the man in.*
"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. Your parent's here to pick you up from daycare."
Doctor— Doctor Pop— pet— need— need Doctor Poppet—
He stood up, trembling and trying to push past Kilroy to get to Jonathan.
"Ugh! Fine, lead the way."
*He in turn pushed the man ahead of him and followed loosely behind to the door.*
"Here he is."
@d0ctorjonathancrane
Jeremiah practically threw himself into Crane’s arms tearfully. Begging for forgiveness.
@d0ctorjonathancrane
Oh. My dearest crow. You were so frightened. right. Come here.
He grabbed Jeremiah’s chin. Looking down at him with a tilted head and hollow grin. Equally empty Eyes scrutinising shaking features. But the tears. Were not fast enough. The shakes were inadequate. Oh. He would have to up the dose again. Wouldn’t he. Well. This would do for now. His face fell. The grin darkening. The eyes. Sharper. He glared, at his patient. Raising a hand Jonathan slapped Jeremiah across the face.
Not. Enough. Are you not grateful that I came to save you? You pathetic wreckage.
Jeremiah sobbed, clutching onto Jonathan in terror and shame. He didn’t know what he did wrong.
His voice was near unintelligible as he babbled about ‘Doctor Poppet’, ‘scared’, ‘Hawkins’, and being ‘so grateful’
Ah. There we are. My perfect toy. My dearest crow. You always come back together again. The man on the wall must be jealous of you. He fears fragility. Let us go home. Hm?
H-Ho—ome— ple—ase—
He wanted to go home so badly, he clung to Jonathan’s side desperately.
…
D-Doctor— Pop—pet—?
Yes. Yes. Your doctor is here. Jeremiah. Angel.
Doc— Doctor— Pop—pet—? Ha— have ques—ion—
He spoke quietly, barely over a whisper as he relaxed into his doctor’s hold, still shaking.
Hm? You can speak freely. Youre too afraid to lie right now. Aren’t you?
Won— won’t— lie— t’— my— doc’or— lo—ve— my— doc— doc’or—
Good. Then ask your question.
I—If— I— be g-good…
…m-may— ha—ve— we—weig—hted— bl— blank—et?
…pl-please?
…We will see. I do believe you are ready for my new. Creation. I am sure if you take it well. A little exchange could be made. Friend. Now. Wait outside in the car. For me. My interests are not finished here. Not yet.
…th—thank— y-you— doc’or—
He squeezed Jonathan once more in a tight hug. He asked one more question before he began to pull away.
…w-we— he—elp— g-god—…. he-help— f-fear—?
Clever boy.
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There was a knock at the door.
*He casually walked up to it. He wasn’t expecting anyone, but was he ever?*
*He slowly opened it.*
“Hello?”
- The War Profiteer
In the doorway stood. Crane. Though not the one Kilroy knew. Limbs in tact. A glint in eyes with light not yet stolen. Long hair tied back, clean. Organised. It was all. Too. perfect.
Good evening. I believe you have my patient.
*He blinked a few times, fighting the initial urge to squeeze him tight in a hug. He bowed his head.*
“My liege. Your patient?… Oh… oh…”
Oh. Quite the fascinating sight. A poisoned one. With illness so progressed. The crows were yet to collect him? Strange. A follower. Clearly. What else would there be to do in his state? Perhaps that. Was the thread he hung onto. Red string. A claim to life. Even when his hands trembled. Codependency. A denial of fear’s claim. Someone who must be fixed. Wasn’t he so generous.
Jeremiah. Arkham. Bring him to me now. You do not want the police involved I presume. Given that this resembles an illegal arms factory.
He would keep the mask. To be safe. Until this man made the mistake of showing he did not want it.
*He paled, and gave a shaky inhale.*
"Yes... Of course... You don't kn-... Would you like to come in to collect him, or...?"
Come now. My friend do you think I am stupid? Why would I follow a kidnapper. Likely one with a fixation on roleplay. Fake life. Friends. Family. Into a location I know nothing about. Bring him here. Now.
*He frowned with a growl. He didn't like this Dr. Crane... He was a meany.*
"It's awfully cold. That's all... and he's a bitch to drag around. Whatever. I'll be back..."
*He turned to fetch the screaming lunatic.*
Jeremiah was trembling, but sat up straighter. He heard his Doctor’s voice. Doctor Poppet was here.
*He opened the door to the bedroom he was keeping the man in.*
"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. Your parent's here to pick you up from daycare."
Doctor— Doctor Pop— pet— need— need Doctor Poppet—
He stood up, trembling and trying to push past Kilroy to get to Jonathan.
"Ugh! Fine, lead the way."
*He in turn pushed the man ahead of him and followed loosely behind to the door.*
"Here he is."
@d0ctorjonathancrane
Jeremiah practically threw himself into Crane’s arms tearfully. Begging for forgiveness.
@d0ctorjonathancrane
Oh. My dearest crow. You were so frightened. right. Come here.
He grabbed Jeremiah’s chin. Looking down at him with a tilted head and hollow grin. Equally empty Eyes scrutinising shaking features. But the tears. Were not fast enough. The shakes were inadequate. Oh. He would have to up the dose again. Wouldn’t he. Well. This would do for now. His face fell. The grin darkening. The eyes. Sharper. He glared, at his patient. Raising a hand Jonathan slapped Jeremiah across the face.
Not. Enough. Are you not grateful that I came to save you? You pathetic wreckage.
Jeremiah sobbed, clutching onto Jonathan in terror and shame. He didn’t know what he did wrong.
His voice was near unintelligible as he babbled about ‘Doctor Poppet’, ‘scared’, ‘Hawkins’, and being ‘so grateful’
Ah. There we are. My perfect toy. My dearest crow. You always come back together again. The man on the wall must be jealous of you. He fears fragility. Let us go home. Hm?
H-Ho—ome— ple—ase—
He wanted to go home so badly, he clung to Jonathan’s side desperately.
…
D-Doctor— Pop—pet—?
Yes. Yes. Your doctor is here. Jeremiah. Angel.
Doc— Doctor— Pop—pet—? Ha— have ques—ion—
He spoke quietly, barely over a whisper as he relaxed into his doctor’s hold, still shaking.
Hm? You can speak freely. Youre too afraid to lie right now. Aren’t you?
Won— won’t— lie— t’— my— doc’or— lo—ve— my— doc— doc’or—
Good. Then ask your question.
I—If— I— be g-good…
…m-may— ha—ve— we—weig—hted— bl— blank—et?
…pl-please?
…We will see. I do believe you are ready for my new. Creation. I am sure if you take it well. A little exchange could be made. Friend. Now. Wait outside in the car. For me. My interests are not finished here. Not yet.
There was a knock at the door.
*He casually walked up to it. He wasn’t expecting anyone, but was he ever?*
*He slowly opened it.*
“Hello?”
- The War Profiteer
In the doorway stood. Crane. Though not the one Kilroy knew. Limbs in tact. A glint in eyes with light not yet stolen. Long hair tied back, clean. Organised. It was all. Too. perfect.
Good evening. I believe you have my patient.
*He blinked a few times, fighting the initial urge to squeeze him tight in a hug. He bowed his head.*
“My liege. Your patient?… Oh… oh…”
Oh. Quite the fascinating sight. A poisoned one. With illness so progressed. The crows were yet to collect him? Strange. A follower. Clearly. What else would there be to do in his state? Perhaps that. Was the thread he hung onto. Red string. A claim to life. Even when his hands trembled. Codependency. A denial of fear’s claim. Someone who must be fixed. Wasn’t he so generous.
Jeremiah. Arkham. Bring him to me now. You do not want the police involved I presume. Given that this resembles an illegal arms factory.
He would keep the mask. To be safe. Until this man made the mistake of showing he did not want it.
*He paled, and gave a shaky inhale.*
"Yes... Of course... You don't kn-... Would you like to come in to collect him, or...?"
Come now. My friend do you think I am stupid? Why would I follow a kidnapper. Likely one with a fixation on roleplay. Fake life. Friends. Family. Into a location I know nothing about. Bring him here. Now.
*He frowned with a growl. He didn't like this Dr. Crane... He was a meany.*
"It's awfully cold. That's all... and he's a bitch to drag around. Whatever. I'll be back..."
*He turned to fetch the screaming lunatic.*
Jeremiah was trembling, but sat up straighter. He heard his Doctor’s voice. Doctor Poppet was here.
*He opened the door to the bedroom he was keeping the man in.*
"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. Your parent's here to pick you up from daycare."
Doctor— Doctor Pop— pet— need— need Doctor Poppet—
He stood up, trembling and trying to push past Kilroy to get to Jonathan.
"Ugh! Fine, lead the way."
*He in turn pushed the man ahead of him and followed loosely behind to the door.*
"Here he is."
@d0ctorjonathancrane
Jeremiah practically threw himself into Crane’s arms tearfully. Begging for forgiveness.
@d0ctorjonathancrane
Oh. My dearest crow. You were so frightened. right. Come here.
He grabbed Jeremiah’s chin. Looking down at him with a tilted head and hollow grin. Equally empty Eyes scrutinising shaking features. But the tears. Were not fast enough. The shakes were inadequate. Oh. He would have to up the dose again. Wouldn’t he. Well. This would do for now. His face fell. The grin darkening. The eyes. Sharper. He glared, at his patient. Raising a hand Jonathan slapped Jeremiah across the face.
Not. Enough. Are you not grateful that I came to save you? You pathetic wreckage.
Jeremiah sobbed, clutching onto Jonathan in terror and shame. He didn’t know what he did wrong.
His voice was near unintelligible as he babbled about ‘Doctor Poppet’, ‘scared’, ‘Hawkins’, and being ‘so grateful’
Ah. There we are. My perfect toy. My dearest crow. You always come back together again. The man on the wall must be jealous of you. He fears fragility. Let us go home. Hm?
H-Ho—ome— ple—ase—
He wanted to go home so badly, he clung to Jonathan’s side desperately.
…
D-Doctor— Pop—pet—?
Yes. Yes. Your doctor is here. Jeremiah. Angel.
Doc— Doctor— Pop—pet—? Ha— have ques—ion—
He spoke quietly, barely over a whisper as he relaxed into his doctor’s hold, still shaking.
Hm? You can speak freely. Youre too afraid to lie right now. Aren’t you?
Won— won’t— lie— t’— my— doc’or— lo—ve— my— doc— doc’or—
Good. Then ask your question.
