cupid of crime.

The night had dredged through the early hours and Crane was lulled along in silent despair with each glass of wine astringent upon his lavish tongue. His sorrel tresses hung lazily in a ringlet of damp accumulation; uncombed and untouched. He had watched the sun rise through the window with bleary eyes. His insomnia only grew to worsen — a black sickness that only spreads along his body.

If he closed his eyes for too long, with the burning irritation along his lids due to lack of sleep, he’d hear Scarecrow and his sister argue. He’d feel the crimson liquid gather on the tips of his fingers and soak through his sheets: to only open his eyes and be deceived again. His sleeps only lasted about a half hour to forty-five minutes — to only be awaken in a cold sweat and the sharp pain of his nightmare lurking in his room. It discouraged him from teaching, from grading papers, and creating new lessons for the year. And the thought of Harley and Joker together didn’t help either.

He could hear the psychotic clown’s laugh every time he lulled into a pointless nap — where he’s half awake, half asleep — walking in on them in his cell: her legs wrapped around his waist, lab coat and dressed rising and panties hanging carelessly from her toes, his pants dropped onto the floor. He could just imagine it —— leaving him for Joker. And he knew he had to end it before the clown completely changes her.

Crane raised his tired head to the singed sun, bathing in its rays. He heard his alarm clock whine from the bedroom and willed it to stop, the sound searing his nerves. Drunk and exhausted, he carded his shaking fingers through his locks and then padded along the kitchen floor toward the sink, tipped his glass and watch the remnants of his wistful night alone swill down the drain. It’s time for work. Faint blue orbs flick towards the cluttered stack of ungraded papers — causing him to sulk and brush his fingers over his eyes. He reaches for the phone. He’s calling in sick.

As the steaming hot water causes goosebumps along the pale skin of the professor, the plans are made mentally. He had to end them today. End them now. Before it started. A freshly-ironed shirt and jeans are thrown on uncoordinated; whereas Crane catches a glimpse of himself before he reaches the front door; a sullen look carved onto his expression. This forces him to return to his bathroom —- shaving, tossing the old outfit for a sleeker, casual look, allow the bristles of the brush to fix his curls, and apply a touch of cologne.

At first, she told herself that this was expected: a natural desire for someone with a thirst for success. She wished to - for lack of a better word - exploit him, to scale the career ladder and reach the highest rung of respect in her field. But then, she began to realize that her eagerness to continue treating him was something more than mere fascination. Her other work - administrative tasks, and the like - have fallen by the wayside now; she is frequently late for meetings, and when she arrives she's decidedly vacant and lost. The only reason she hasn't been pulled up on her shortcomings, is because she appears to be getting somewhere with her patient. He responds well to her, and Harleen's superiors are well aware. By all accounts, she should be thrilled with all their combined progress.

But instead, she's losing sleep, and she isn't oblivious as to why. She cannot stop thinking about him.

Where she was once full of near-glaring sunshine, she's grey and dull in comparison. The light only really returns when she walks into those sessions, clutching her notes in anticipation and barely concealing a kilowatt grin.

Her peers have barely noticed this slight change of demeanor. They never liked her anyway - there was only one who ever took an interest, and the mere thought of him raises a sense of guilt and inner conflict. Getting involved with Dr. Crane - Jonathan - had been a product of her ruthless ambition. She initially seduced him to ensure a loyalty: a loyalty which would lead to his sponsorship in her petitions for treating the Joker. However, she did not expect to become attached to her mentor. It was... messy. It got messier when the clown began invading her dreams. She grew less and less available, before distancing herself from Dr. Crane altogether.

let’s kill a dude. ♕ Bloody swords, smoky guns, nasty smiles and badass girls who can beat the shit out of anyone who gets in their way.

{ “I don’t look for trouble but trouble looks for me." }

trouble - neon jungle ★ problem - natalia kills ★ bonfire - knife party ★ beautiful bride -flyleaf ★ seven nation army (the glitch mob remix) -the white stripes ★ salute - little mix ★ show me how to live - audioslave ★ domesticated -versaemerge ★ killin’ it -krewella ★ bad girls (barbaric merits chainbanging remix) -m.i.a ★ doom riff -skindred ★ a tribe called red- angel haze ★ fancy (feat. charlie xcx) -iggy azalea

☺: for a happy voicemail

♥ : for a loving voicemail

♚ : for a confessing voicemail

☆ : for a drunken voicemail

✾: for a congratulatory voicemail

☽: for the final voicemail ever received (think death, etc)

ϟ: for a break up voicemail

♦: for an apologetic voicemail

♣: for a sad voicemail

☎: for a voicemail not meant for you

☃: for a holiday-centric voicemail

✉: for a ‘BIG NEWS!’ voicemail