moved to librarywent

      Crashing and clanging ― In an instance, he’s returned to his youth; his former self. The self he had convinced himself had died. And yet, there he was: frozen, as chaos makes itself known within his supposed-to-be haven. He reaches for his mask before cautiously forcing limbs to press forward and investigate. To meet the conflict. Jonathan would have hid or ran, and with each step, the Scarecrow uses such logic to convince himself he is no longer that quivering boy.      Hold upon his scythe tightens, as the noise gets louder. The reaper’s own footsteps are silent in comparison, concealed as he lurks closer among the darkness. Finally, his presence is made known with an elevated growl, “What the hell are you doing?!” Demands the Scarecrow, as hidden hues fall upon the most unwelcomed of guests.      His gaze lurches to the absolute mess the clown has made of his work and flame only grows within him. “Get. Out. NOW!” An explosion leaves lips used to a softer tone. His throat starts to ache in turn. He’s too scared ― hesitant. Cautious . . . Careful. Strategic ― to near the figure, but once again he commands it of scarred legs. White knuckles are hidden beneath gloves as he swings his blade at the other ( in a way, aiding the other in the destruction of his lab ).      But the Joker doesn't leave. In fact, it seems as though he was nearing at a similar pace to his own. “I won’t say it again.” Hurried words spill from him; it’s a warning, he’s decided, but deep down it doesn’t quite feel like one.

like / message / etc. for a spoopy boi interaction

     She had a temper, that was for sure. However, the majority of his newest associates had, it seemed. Anger issues and mental illness were collective among Gotham city’s newest adversaries. It was little wonder why then so many of the criminals were locked away within Arkham rather than Blackgate. And perhaps they could have been subjected to truly meaningful aid, if the asylum was not so corrupt. If only that were the case. But alas, the city was truly godforsaken, with its politicians and celebrities, fueled by corporate greed, blind to the daily struggles of lower socioeconomic citizens, ( such as Gotham’s very own son, Bruce Wayne ). Its “justice” system, with brutality from police and the court alike. And The Bat at the center of the chaos and suffering.      No one gave a damn about the poor or mentally ill. No one cared whether they got better. In fact, the majority of the population preferred the city’s most unfortunate to either suffer silently, or do them a favor and die already. While a number of the criminals which emerged fed off of this chaos for their own profit, ( namely mob bosses who had been ruling for decades, ) there were a number of rogues which acted as rebels. At least, that was the way in which Scarecrow viewed it. And within this group of martyrs, a type of contorted family was created.      The reaper himself had never known how to properly interact with others. He had never had friends, and the only family he had ever known was taken by him at such a tender age by flames. He preferred solitude, however, unfortunately for him, it seemed occasional collaboration necessary to pursue his mission. So the scarecrow complied, teeth gritted beneath his burlap covering.      Mary Dahl, or otherwise referred to as Baby Doll, had been one of the few less irksome colleagues. And so, he tends to her wound. A wet cloth is taken and wipes away the blood and debris, fragments of glass are discarded. A sigh is given in response, “You should know by now to ignore Tetch when he begins his rambles.” With that, he bandages her hand, and releases her from his grip. “You must learn to pick your battles, Miss Dahl, or you won’t have enough energy for the fights that truly matter.”

     Whether it’s the way you bare your teeth when backed in a corner, your loyalty, or your tendency to act on instinct, your reoccurring theme is the dog. Like Mitski said, “I get mean when I’m nervous, like a bad dog,” or how Halsey said, “I won’t smile but I’ll show you my teeth,” even when Migos said, “Dance with my dogs in the night time,” the essence of the dog runs through you.      You’re tough and a quick draw on the outside, but if we got down to it we’d see you’re acting the only way you’ve ever known how. It doesn’t make you bad, survival is natural, your loyalty and determination is commendable. I don’t blame you for the way you act when your back is against a wall, but please remember to not bite the hand that feeds.