#jonathan crane scarecrow

[cenobat]

some late bday scarecrow doodles. happy belated king!!🐦‍⬛🎃🎉🖤

(alt under cut)

#batman #dc #scarecrow #Jonathan crane #batman rogues #year one scarecrow #knight terrors #nightwing #knight terrors nightwing #nightwing knight terrors #batman rogue #non euclidean geometry #jonathan crane scarecrow #arkham knight #arkham asylum #sketch #my art #art #doodle #batman scarecrow #scarecrow Batman #loml #dc comics #knight terrors scarecrow #scarecrow knight terrors

[firewalkzwit]

runt // jonathan crane x reader. (29)

Chapter 29

cross-posted on AO3

masterlist.

"That might be a little too much..." The shy voice of Bruce Wayne reverberated as if the two were confined in a booth, instead being seated on chairs of refined interior design value. Even though she was once again endorsing in dining way over any of the paychecks her or her brother had ever seen, the hard linen of the seat was itching her the wrong way, even beneath the fabric of her dress. Y/N thought this was what provoked her to begin to rampantly down the bottle of wine Bruce had ordered for them, being poured a glass by the waiter even though he had no intent of even touching it.

It was as she once again began to fill her glass that his growing concern finally prompted him to make his best attempt at stopping her. Whenever he was unmasked, he felt almost naked, incompetent at anything Batman could do. It was as soon as they began to become closer that he no longer felt such an impending need to stalk her, and look after the product of the mask's uncontrolled violence; maybe the Batman wasn't better at everything he did as Bruce, being a friend to her felt like he was making up for his mistake more than anything else could; it was the best band-aid he could provide to an irreparable damage.

To have found out about her strange Stockholm syndrome relationship with Dr. Crane profoundly appalled him, not about her, but about him, the Scarecrow. Bruce felt no moral apprehension when he began to take advantage of her inebriation to squeeze information out of her. He was blatantly using who thought him to be a friend, but he liked to believe he wasn't any less of a confidant just because he vowed to look out for everyone's sake. He couldn't even fathom how such a repulsive intimacy could even blossom. It was hard to even imagine it blossoming, if the two were a plant they'd be more of an invasive weed that grows from pavement; undesirable and prompting people to stomp the life out of it. Bruce couldn't blame her, she was too vulnerable to be rational, but this didn't bother him any less, knowing that once again he couldn't stop evil without hurting her; necessary casualties always seemed to cost her happiness.

"I'll be fine." Her answer was dry, and her voice was shut off, as if it came from a foreign cabin in outer space.

"Is this about Dr. Crane?"

"Why would it be? I'm hardly going to Arkham lately. For all I know he might fire me."

"You seem okay with that."

"I'm okay with it."

"You don't like it there, do you?"

"Of course I don't. What type of question is that?" She aimed her glass at him as she rolled her eyes in a pace so slow only a drunk could exhibit, she'd hardly display such disrespect to someone like Bruce Wayne weren't she in the state she was by that point.

"Because of Crane, isn't it?"

"Stop it, please. It is not. There is no 'it', if there's a problem with the wine don't order one next time, I'm fine." And with that, she downed the last sips of wine as if it were a cheap shot.

"I know it has nothing to do with Arkham because you and Crane see each other outside of it." She got up abruptly, the sound of the chair scraping on the floor broke the silent aura of the room, some heads turning to nail their eyes on them.

"Please don't make a scene, I'll leave."

"I'm just looking out for you, Y/N."

"Well, don't." Between her speech escaped a sob, childish and offended. She felt taken for a joke, a male's assumption that all her aches and vulnerabilities stemmed from another male; her ego was punctured. His hand reached out across the table to hold her's, his gaze on her like never before, probably the first time she'd caught a glimpse so clear of his eyes; they were blue.

"I just fear what he might do to you, drown you with him in pursuit of something."

"I'm not enduring this any further, I'm going outside." Who did he think he was? Looking out for her without her consent. She thanked her self-control contained her enough to stop her from telling Bruce how much she wished she'd never returned his calls, desperate to imprint his ego on her subversive self like all the men in her life.

As she barged out, crying felt inevitable. What began to accumulate in her waterline clouded her vision so much she couldn't help but blink, evacuating the tears down her cheeks as she desperately tried to cooperate with the wind so her hair would cover the shame. She felt pathetic and small, as small as she did the last time she met the Batman. Helpless and surrendered to someone who deliberately wanted to humiliate her. She knew in reality it probably wasn't like that, but the fear of being put in the spotlight and control spilling from her glass felt so imminent, she couldn't help but want to hide from it. Suddenly, she felt a thirst on her throat so strong it tickled the nerves on her nipples and fingers, and she wanted a hug from the only father she'd ever recalled; her brother.

That night, she called Jonathan.

Leaned by the payphone as she clutched her purse and wept like a kid, she wished she could sometime see Bruce or Jonathan surrender to their own child selves. The pennies slipped from her hands and she felt too weak to grab them, she felt if she crouched down her knees would surrender and never get her back up. Bruce hadn't gone out in search of her. Or at least that was her impression, nothing could matter more than her perspective, it was all she had in the world. She didn't even have time to process Bruce's implications, he probably knew Crane was up to something, but she was too focused on her own misery to even care.

"Hello?"

"I need you to pick me up."

"I need you to beat some sense into me."

"Excuse me?" The last thing Jonathan expected to hear from her as he tried to comfort her with the usual sex was a request to be hit. She grabbed onto his wrists, his hands placed on each side of her body.

"Slap me as hard as you can, beat me, get my brain to sharpen up with some ultra-violence, just hit me once." Her grip on him became harder as she spoke, like a violent plea. Crane wanted many horrible things out of her, but he could hardly recall any instance where he wanted to hit her. He'd wished to control her, to murder her, to scare the life out of her and many other vile things, but beating her had never occupied a notch in his list. Though he recalled her making such a request before, he felt he'd remember it more if it were real, and pondered if he had ever hit her before.

"No."

"Just hit me, coward. Hit me!" Her hands drifted onto his shoulders and her nails dug into his flesh, desperation in his eyes.

"Why?" In the dream, he had hit her. But there, he couldn't bring himself to do so; he truly was still the same old coward after all, and he suddenly felt reduced to nothing. All he could do was ask her why, like the weak Jonathan Crane he'd always tried to shrink within his vessel.

"I feel like it's the only thing that can shock me into knowing I'm real right now." If he were Dr. Crane at that very moment, he'd coldly dismiss her as someone having an episode of derealization and prescribe her SSRIs, or sessions with a psychologist if he was feeling especially attentive. But while in her bed and on top of her naked body, pleading for a shock of reality, he felt a sense of pity he'd never felt before for anyone but himself, the most unprofessional of emotions for someone in his field of work.

He rolled off from above her and laid beside her, his gaze as soft as ever. His pupils seemed more dilated than usual, and the proximity between their faces was enough to feel his hot breath on her and to see the trembling of his nervous eyes shifting with unease; he was vulnerable.

"I don't know how to cope with the idea that I might die, or fail soon. I've always wanted this and now that it's so close I can count it in days I don't feel so confident, I'm too scared." Something about the way he stared at her simply made her want to vomit all the thoughts she could word. "I feel like if I convince myself I don't actually exist for long enough, I might brush this fear of impending doom away for long enough."

His hand reached out to gently caress her cheek, taking her by surprise. She wanted the same hand that softly grazed the skin on her face to suddenly lift up and hit her hard enough to chip her teeth, yet the softness of his hand, at least for a second —before she could remember who the vile Jonathan Crane was, felt as comforting enough to remember she was real, and that unfortunately so was he.

mc girlies when the man theyre in love with isnt a figment of their imagination but a real man with independent thoughts and feelings beyond what you want them or expect them to do😫😫

#jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow #jonathan crane scarecrow #cillian murphy #the batman #batman x reader #nolanverse batman #batman #batman begins

[shin-arei]

The Scarecrow mod for Stardew Valley slowly goes further, two new Scarecrows added.

I still want to work around the sprites a bit because there’s some pixels that bother me 😅 I was never doing pixel art so there’s a bit fuckering around

I wait for the weekend so @dercolaris can throw an eye into the codes to give me two pixel more in width for Fear State Jon. And if we can add more than 10 scarecrows available in game. Then I will be drawing pixel Scarecrows for rest of my days.

#shin plz #stardew valley #stardew valley mod #stardew valley mods #scarecrow valley project #jonathan crane #scarecrow #jonathan crane scarecrow #batman arkham asylum #batman arkham knight #batman year one #nolanverse #batman the animated series

[novalles]

When Bells Ring (Part V)

Bruce grinned as he finished his espresso. He decided to invite you for coffee after the awkward encounter at the asylum. His phone was silenced, and his focus was on the current moment. “Y/N, what exactly is going on with you and Crane?”

“Nothing, we are both psychiatrists at the asylum.” I folded my napkin on the table.

“To me, it seems like there's more.” He teased.

“Why do you care?” I raised my eyebrow.

“My good friend at the district attorney’s office hates him.” “Miss Dawes?” You rolled your eyes. To you, Dawes was pathetic. She definitely had a savior complex. You understood and respected her passion and her determination to clean Gotham. Yet, the way she had a black and white perspective made you annoyed. Are the Gotham criminals terrible? Yes. Do they deserve jail? No. You believed that people were complex and that there was an explanation for their behaviors.

“Uh, yeah.” He looked at the ground. “She has a hard time with both of you.”

“Funny.”

“I am sensing you aren’t her biggest fan.”

“You’re right. To me, Dawes is ignorant. Don’t get me wrong, she’s super intelligent and carries herself well yet she sees things as black or white. To me, there is always that gray area. I think she fails to see that.”

“What?” His nostrils started to flare.

“She is just an idealist.” You sipped from your cup.

“She just wants to do what’s best for Gotham.”

“If doing what’s best for Gotham is incarcerating everyone then I can’t support her.”

“Maybe you should re-evaluate your mindset.” His words made you angry.

“Well, Mr. Wayne, You have been raised in a perfect way. You have never felt hungry, the need to survive. You were an orphan yet you had someone there for you. My patients weren’t so lucky. They had to see and experience gruesome things at ages when that shouldn’t have happened.” You looked at him, his face was blank, before continuing.

“My patients are a product of their environments. You and your girlfriend are very narrow-minded.” You with your face in your hands. You were upset at the Wayne boy. You could not comprehend how someone could be so narrow-minded. You then thought about Crane. He understood your point.

#jonathan crane x you #batman villains #jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #cillian murphy #batman fanfiction #batman #the dark knight #christian bale #christopher nolan #jonathan crane fanfic #scarecrow x reader #bruce wayne #batman comics #the scarecrow #scarecrow #jonathan crane scarecrow #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian x reader

[lost-in-sokovia]

𝒿𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒸𝓇𝒶𝓃𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

꙳= indicates a drabble

> Surprise, Baby

#jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane imagine #jonathan crane fanfic #jonathan crane scarecrow #jonathan crane #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow fanfiction #scarecrow #batman begins

[nerdwhoauthorinserts]

Oh, I know that you think it’s just a fantasy~ But since he fled his cell, He could use a guy like me!

Jonathan Crane is drivin’ me insane! He’s all I want, and I can’t com-plain!

Johnny can’t you see? You’re just the guy for me!

I know it’s such a pain, but- I’m in love with Jonathan Crane!

#mlm f/o #mlm selfship #villain f/o #Blacrow #dc scarecrow #jonathan crane scarecrow #Jonathan Crane #fictional other #fictional other community #reblogs allowed #reblogs welcome #do not repost #simpwhoauthorinserts #original: stacy's mom

[2-guns-b1tch]

I know it’s not pride month anymore, but I though this would be funny

#batman villains #batman rogues #batman #batman fandom #jonathan crane fanart #the riddler fanart #two face #the riddler #harley quinn #poison ivy #scarecrow #batman fanart #harley quin #harley quinzel #tim drake #batfam

[yulyymr]

Alch que bueno

#jonathan crane #the scarecrow #Joker

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 41

Hear me out, DP and DC crossover where Scarecrow is cousins with the Fentons. 

 His mother was siblings with Jack’s father, and both Jazz and Danny met ‘Uncle Jonathan’ during one of the many Fenton-Nightingale family reunions that happens every few years. Honestly, perhaps it’s what gets Jazz interested in psychology, hearing from her ‘uncle’ about fear and its effects.

 And honestly once they start having to deal with ghosts and having had to deal with their parents for years it’s not really hard to talk with their uncle. Crane still doesn’t know how he became these kids’ favorite uncle, or even all of the family kids’ favorite uncle-cousin, but that’s just how the family is. 

 Really he’s not even the only villain of the family, with both Jack and Maddie being close but not quite, even if they’re definitely mad scientists. Their son becoming a local hero, even if they’re not aware of that fact, is just ironic. 

 John knows. The two kids told him when they found out that Danny may or may not need to feed on fear now that he’s half ghost, and well he’s the specialist about the emotion so…

 At least they have someone to stay with when Jazz goes to Gotham university and brings Danny with her, even if the local vigilantes are concerned as to why Scarecrow attacks have suddenly took a nosedive…

#dcxdp #dpxdc #danny fenton #jazz fenton #jonathan crane #scarecrow #Uncle Scarecrow Au #Crane: How the fuck did I end up being the responsible one in this family when I am a wanted man declared insane #Crane looking at the rest of his family and their warrents: Oh... oh no I AM the responsible one #Liminal Crane who is sipping liquid fear toxin like it's coffee while he's sleep deprived/hangry: #His goons: *terrified nervous sweating* #batman au #gotham #ghost biology #liminal biology #Scarecrow deserves to have matching fangs and reflective green eyes like his niblings #Batfam learning about the fact that Scarecrow literally *needs* to eat fear to live: #prompts

[creaman]

SHOW IT!

#vclownverse #fanart #jonathan crane #edward nygma #scarecrow #riddler #batman #animation #vinegarclown #creaman #show it #my toonboom license expires like. now. so count this finished #riddler is orange to fit the colour scheme

[rredboard]

ur telling me batman (a hero whose power is like 65% fear 35% money) has a villain who is all about weaponizing fear and he’s not the main villain? ur telling me batman (man with a secret identity so strong that there are questions of who the real person is at the end of the day and whose entire creed is about stopping One Bad Day™️) has a villain who is his childhood friend that has physically separated his dual violent-nonviolent nature and is all about duality and chance and he’s not the main villain? ur telling me batman (man with strong ideas about the Right Way to stop crime and who emerged from the destruction of his own family structure) has a villain who is his undead son/former sidekick who he couldn’t save and now disagrees with the way to address crime in gotham and he’s not the main villain? ur shitting me about this clown guy right

#batman #dc #jason todd #scarecrow #two face #harvey dent #jonathan crane #bruce wayne #red hood

[firewalkzwit]

runt // jonathan crane x reader (31)

Chapter 31

cross-posted on AO3

masterlist.

Crane's fixation to his goals held a special allure to her, she'd watch him and listen to his careful planning and fidgeting of his fingers as he paced around the cold, humid sub-surface cave where all his supplies and secrets were kept. She'd finally figured she'd occupy her mind with visiting Arkham, it'd soothe Crane's mind and keep him out of her ear for a bit at least. In her mind, she'd made up and out of her unsteady relationship more times than she could count, but she doubted that even within the complexities of Crane's mind there had been room for that many questionings of their affairs. With his unwavering tacitly accepting attitude of her erratic behaviour, she couldn't help but feel it didn't come from a place of loyalty, but rather a tired toleration of her tantrums to maintain a peaceful formality, and on the side, good casual sex. He didn't react because he didn't care, and her emotions seemed to hold no place in his worries. He seemed so passionate and invested as he spoke with Falcone's men and his arms fluttered in gestures and pointed in every direction, that she knew the place his devotion to fear occupied in his heart could never be replaced by her.

She knew she needed no such thing anyway, it was never in her plans to get tangled in an affair with who, to her, should just be a gateway to her goal. He seemed to have that clearer than her. Though even in the slight ache in her chest as the realisation struck her, she found a strange comfort in who she could see as a mentor, and a certain fondness with no sexual hunger to prowl underneath it. It was as he rushed walking to a direction that was not her's, she placed her hand on his chest to halt him almost impulsively.

"How do you do that?" Although her head was tilted and between her eyebrows was a frown that seemed to demonstrate interest, her gaze seemed to be lost in something that was hardly his own. As if it seemed like her pupils were looking at his direction but trying to glimpse something further. Puzzled, he gave her his own wry as he thought his answer through.

"Do what?"

"You're so focused..."

"Yes; I should be, all this is important."

"No I mean, aren't you scared?" By that, the beginning of a scoff initiated his hand's motion towards her to gently slide it off his chest.

"No room for that here." Of course that was the answer, it was Dr. Crane talking for him anyway. She had no qualms in admitting to herself that she was terrified, but his answer seemed more of an attempt to reassure himself than calm her own fears. He walked with such performative security she envied him enormously. It felt as if she learnt how to perform for long enough she could somewhat convince herself, as she had done in the beginning, thinking whatever she was doing at that very moment should be the pinnacle of her priorities, or when the confusion of his role in her life had led her to ever believe she could be unconditionally in love with him.

It was as she remembered the reasons for her unease that she chased after him, the staccato of her heeled shoes reverberant in the ample height of the basement. As she reached him, hesitantly her hands gripped his shoulder as if she could feel him closer that way. There was a sense of privacy in holding tight onto the body of whom one wanted to share secrecy with, even though the sound wave would travel and smear just as fast, like gunpowder, she'd still felt words were more confined as her nails grazed the cloth of his suit and her mouth approached his ear close enough to feel her hot breath bounce back against him to return to her.

"I think Bruce might be suspecting something." His attention this time was far more poured into her than the last time, in his eyes and steady expression where not a single muscle twitched, nothing moved except his relentless trembling pupils. It was not natural or uncontrolled, it more seemed as if his gaze was trying to catch a focused glimpse of any minute detail separated from one another by a distance so minuscule the movement in his eyes hardly manifested itself in his eyelids. Yet all that came out of his mouth, despite her expecting him to scold her like a child or make quiet insinuations of immense disappointment, was nothing but a mere interjection.

"Ah?"

"I don't know, he seemed a bit distressed yesterday, he hinted something about danger."

"Well it must be the instinct." His speech, not calming nor alarming, seemed like more of a mild mockery, his reasoning completely incoherent for such a careful thinker. "Don't dwell on it too much, there's no way he got access to this cellar or any information related to it." His voice didn't coincide with his uneasy expression, and she could feel his body move under her hands as he tried to keep his accelerated breathing under control. He was like a rodent, anxious and jumpy, with his twitchy eyes and skittish way of moving, which did no favours to his gaunt and almost dainty physique, undercover within the layers of clothes he strategically wore to suppress what underneath was a frail frame.

That night, Crane drove quietly as she sat beside him, hugging her purse with her knees clasped tightly. The mild sound of the music on the radio had little room to move, too short to reach with steadiness the back of the car, as small as Crane's car was. He drove a '94 hatchback that looked tightly squashed, and it was shaped like a pencil sharpener. It was great to fit in the tight gaps that Gotham had for parking spots, and relatively consumed little gas, but it felt tight to be in, and poorly maintained. The cover of the passenger seat had a little hole she liked to poke her finger into, and the cranky gearshift made an unsettling noise every time Crane would yank it to change it. Still, she'd grown familiar to the car that had been the home to her last fear of death, and the car where she'd been put through an induced psychological torture so bizarre she was now back in it, with the man who'd nearly terrified her to death.

"Would you like to stay the night?" She finally asked once they'd been parked by her building for nearly five long minutes.

"Are you asking me if I want to stay the night or do you need me to stay the night?" Y/N thought her answer through, although reluctant to feed his arrogance she still felt prompted to be truthful.

"Both."

"Then I'll stay."

She didn't know exactly what had bewitched him, but that night, Crane had treated her as tenderly as ever. She felt taken to a nuance of his personality she hadn't been let into before, though he had a knack for revealing his different facets in sporadic outbursts of childlike or akin affection. He seemed to try his best to calm her by caressing her softly enough to make her feel like his fingers were made out of silk. His hands ran through her skin and cupped her face like she was his most prized possession, the apple of his eye. It felt so honest that for as long as that lasted, she'd felt him as genuine as ever. Her lashes fluttered with every blink, and even while she closed her eyes and let herself melt in the body heat and bitter wetness of sweaty bodies, she felt as if her lashes were the wings of a butterfly, his delicate treatment of her face almost made her feel like her body had shifted into a divine deity, feeling almost worshipped.

But as fast as it came, the feeling abandoned her like a wave that crests and dissipates down back to sea level, returning to the ordinary. The problem with serotonin highs was that their similarity to drug withdrawal was so strong the depression and loneliness she felt once he let go of her made her feel like shattered porcelain.

"I hope that helped you relieve your stress, you seemed very tense today." In her eyes, he had turned into an almost robotic satisfier, returning to his cold demeanour the second he considered it'd sufficed. In a way, he had achieved his objective, for all the stress in her body had slid off like the pest it was, leaving her laid in bed like wet clay, stiff in her position but every limb and bone in her body felt completely flexible. Though he didn't abandon her, staying in the small bed together like he'd promised, Crane turned and curled up into a ball. She could feel his arched bones against her back, and although she couldn't see his arms hugging his body tightly in search of simulating an embrace, she could swear she heard him weep, and in the occasional twitching and sharp inhaling on his side of the bed, Y/N felt too scared to bring him any comfort.

#jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane #scarecrow #jonathan crane scarecrow #the batman #cillian murphy #nolanverse batman #batman x reader #batman #batman begins

[shin-arei]

CALLING ALL THE SCARECROW FANS!

As some of you may know, me and @dercolaris are currently working on Gotham Valley mod for Stardew Valley. We are on the very start and the first milestone is scarecrow collection.

There are still two Scarecrows to be added, one being the first appearance Jon and…

And we want community to pick the last Scarecrow to be implemented into the mod.

So drop your picks in the comments. We are waiting 🎃

Currently Scarecrow collection contains:

Batman Year One Scarecrow

Long Halloween „Salecrow”

Dark Knight Trilogy Cillian Murphy’s Scarecrow

Arkham Asylum Scarecrow

Arkham Knight Scarecrow

Fear State Scarecrow

Batman the Animated Series Scarecrow

The New Batman Adventures Scarecrow

First appearance (to be added)

LESGOOOOOO

#stardew valley #stardew mods #sdv #sdv mods #gotham valley mod #jonathan crane #scarecrow #jonathan crane scarecrow #dc comics #riddler

[pandadrake]

Hroo hrah

I think its funny that the Scarecrow keeps showing up in Batman villain team-ups because I honestly think he causes more problems than he solves for everyone involved.

Couldn't figure out which versions of these characters to use so I just mashed stuff together.

#Dr. Crane is dedicated to one thing and that is giving everyone the worst trip of their lives #he teams up with Jervis a bunch so I guess they're bffs #Harvey and Two Face have different opinions on this thus the singular pronoun #There’s also the time when Jon removed someone’s ability to fear for the hell of it and that guy terrorized all of the rogues for a week #random batman fan art out of nowhere #my art #scarecrow #batman #mad hatter #jonathan crane #jervis tetch #harvey dent #two face #batman fanart #fear toxin #Batman fancomic #Batman

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 || dark!jonathan crane x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || since you're the only one of his coworkers at arkham who doesn't seem to be intimidated by his intelligence, jonathan decides it's time he finds out what does scare you... and how he can embody it. unfortunately for you, turning into your greatest nightmare doesn't prove very difficult for him.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 5.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || EXTREME AND EXPLICIT NONCON (18+ only and please proceed with caution), drugging and kidnapping, paralysis, traumatized reader, forced orgasms/overstimulation, degradation, humiliation, choking, slapping, unprotected sex/breeding, misogyny, jonathan is very much in character which means he is incredibly evil and has incel vibes (I know y'all are not about to get mad at me for writing a villain being a villain and not uwu babifying him...)

When you interrupted and corrected your colleague, Dr. Crane, about the correct combination of pharmaceuticals for a certain schizophrenic patient in the asylum who happened to have diabetes, you thought nothing of it.  After all, the whole point of staff meetings was to discuss and debate these things, and you weren’t about to let him damn-near poison a patient by giving him something that would interfere with his insulin.  You weren’t trying to be snarky about it, but you did sort of make a joke about how dangerous his suggestion was— and you didn’t notice the way Jonathan’s nostrils flared and jaw tightened when some others chuckled at what you said.

When you received an email from your therapist’s office informing you that there was evidence of a break-in in her building, but that the police were unable to officially determine if confidential client files were compromised, you thought nothing of it.  It was a big complex, these things happen, and you knew from being a clinician yourself how tricky the laws could be surrounding that stuff: she had to email you, legally, if there was any chance your file could’ve been accessed, and that didn’t mean you had any reason to fear your private therapy session notes had been read.  Besides, who would want to read about you and your boring life, diving into your mundane hopes and fears and daily stresses?

And when Crane came into the office with tea for you, you thought nothing of it.  Sure, you seemed surprised when he popped into your office with cups in hand— you asked him why he had two cups of tea, assuming they were both for himself, and he laughed.  Just that was out of character, he wasn’t much of a chucklehead or anything.  “Green tea, right?  With lime and honey?” he asked, setting one cup down for you.  You were still taken aback, but you had to admit defeat.

“Yeah,” you said, taking the cup as he sat down across the desk from you.  “Yeah, that’s my order— I didn’t know you drank tea.”

“Sometimes,” he informed you, hoping his poker face was holding up as he watched you take a sip.  He couldn’t help but stare at your lips wrapping around the little hole in the lid, the print of berry-red your lipstick left behind.  His heart was racing already, more than he expected.

When you finished the first sip, you smiled at him and let out a small, nervous laugh.  “Thank you,” you finally said.  So, yes, even though you clearly noticed this was slightly odd behavior, you thought nothing of drinking the tea.  That was one thing he hated about you: the thoughtlessness.  You didn’t seem to second-guess yourself much, if anything you were a little on the cocky side.  He found it so irritating— that confidence.  Sure, you were smart and you deserved to take yourself somewhat seriously, but the way you walked around this place— the way you ignored him so easily, or spoke over him if you wanted to, or ignored his suggestions when he gave them… you were a bitch, basically.  You clearly thought you were better than him— better than everybody else— for no reason at all.  Just because you were pretty and had a good job you thought you could get away with anything, surely; pretty girls always think that way.

He made casual conversation with you as you sipped the tea, asking questions he already knew the answer to, hoping to catch you in a lie.  For the most part, your stories matched up with what he’d learned from that file.  But, you left out the gory details— you left out the best parts, really.

You mentioned where you went to medical school and that you transferred mid-way through due to ‘stress’, but you didn’t elaborate on what really happened to you.  You mentioned having your own therapist— something you said passionately that every client-facing mental health professional should have— but left out what you were actually being treated for, not to mention the PTSD diagnosis.

He had to hide his smirk behind the paper cup every time you seemed to lose your train of thought— it wasn’t like you, so focused and determined all the time.  No, it was the drugs finally kicking in.  You went for bigger gulps of tea each time your eyes looked heavier, hoping the caffeine would work— but the trace caffeine in your green tea was nothing compared to what he’d added.

You tried to warn him that you were suddenly not feel up to par— that he needed to leave, and you might try to wake yourself up— but he just sat and waited.  He watched you try to get up, and lose your balance.  He watched you stumble, trip, and ultimately fall onto the floor limply.  He watched your eyes flutter shut and the final ounce of energy to fight it fade; he quietly took a final sip of his tea.

~

You woke up on the floor.  You could barely feel it beneath you, but you knew it was the floor— it was cold, and hard.  And you were looking up at the dark ceiling, at the fan spinning at the lowest speed; so you were definitely on the floor.

Jonathan was standing above you, not too far off, flipping through papers.  You couldn’t move— no matter how hard you fought to, you couldn’t.  You barely managed to turn your head, but it felt more like it rolled to the side on its own.  You tried to yell for Dr. Crane’s attention, for help, for him to explain what happened to you, but even your mouth couldn’t move.  The best you could do was breathe harder— actually, you were pretty sure your body was trying to hyperventilate, but you were too incapacitated to even have a proper panic attack.

He heard you, though; he looked away from the papers and grinned down at you.  “Comfortable down there?”

You started to put together a few things.  One, that the last thing you remembered was being in your office, and now you were in your apartment.  Two, that those papers were photoscans of chart notes— obviously you couldn’t make out the words from here, but the format gave away that it must have to do with a patient.

And three, that Crane was neither surprised that you were paralyzed on the floor, nor interested in helping you.

He half-rolled the papers in one hand and playfully hit the other hand’s palm with them.  “These have been quite interesting… revealing, to say the least,” he informed you, like it was a compliment— something you should be proud to hear.  “You’re quite the enigma, Doc!”

He sat down beside you on the floor, leaning on his hand first to find his balance with a little sigh; he seemed amused, actually, and your heart began to race.

As he started to read aloud from the page in front of him, you felt nauseous.  He was reading patient data, describing a client who was receiving individual counseling— or that’s what the CPT code indicated, at least.  As he listed the client’s demographic data— age, race, gender, height, weight— it became eerily obvious what he was doing.  You refused to believe it until he went on: “Client was recommended to Dr. Min Zhang for individual therapy concerning PTSD following sexual trauma.”

Your therapist.  This was a file he’d copied, which belonged to your therapist.  And it was obvious whose file it was.

As you tried with all your might to scream, Jonathan flipped a few pages ahead.

“Session fourteen, eleventh of June,” he continued.  “Client expressed frustration with an increased recurrence of nightmares and flashbacks to her assault.  Up until now, she has struggled to explain what triggers her anxiety without having to actually elaborate on the circumstances of the event.”

He stopped, but you weren’t exactly relieved.  In fact, you were horrified.  He had a little grin on his face when he looked at you, but you could finally see the rage in his eyes.  Suddenly, you realized how long it had been there.  You had sort of picked up on it before, the resentment he had towards you— and it didn’t take a Freudian expert to figure out that he was threatened by you, especially as a man.  He didn’t respond well to feeling upstaged and he clearly had an issue with women.  Maybe not that issue— he was good-looking and well-off, he didn’t need to have any issues with women if he didn’t want to— but an issue nonetheless.  

“Now,” he added, smiling wider than you’d ever seen him smile before, “client states she is ready to describe the incident in full detail.”

He set the papers aside for a second, leaning over you and almost looking… giddy, really.

“I won’t read you the rest, I’ve already pretty much memorized what goes on from there.  It was fascinating— seeing how what happened that night connected to the fears you still have today… the nightmares.  You said that you still feel sick at the smell of alcohol, you still don’t like to wear pinstripe skirts, and even just the wrong few words can make you feel like you’re right back there where it happened— on the floor of your apartment.”

All you could do was look up at him, and you felt your eyes get hot as they welled with tears.

“Not this apartment, obviously— the one by your old school,” Jonathan sighed, “but this will have to do.  And the smell of alcohol, well, I wouldn’t want to let anything cloud my experience— but I dabbed a little gin on my wrists, what do you think?”

He held his hand up by your face, caressing your cheek for a second, and you imagined yourself pulling away— turning your head and shrugging his touch off of you with a grimace.  But nothing happened, of course, and you were entirely helpless as the acidic stench of liquor became apparent.  You couldn’t give your typical outward reaction of a frown, but inside, you felt just the same as always: your stomach twisted, your heart pounded, your head swirled.

“Smell is such a… primal trigger of memory, isn’t it?” he mused, watching your face reverently.  “I can see it in your eyes, it’s affecting you even more than I expected.  You act so fearless at work— but I knew you must have been overcompensating.  God, you’re terrified— I would say you’re paralyzed, but, well… it would be too literal, I think.”

You knew that Crane studied fear and phobias, even trauma occasionally, as a personal interest within the field.  It was normal to have a favorite subtopic, and to conduct related research on it— but obviously, this was far from normal, this was absolutely deranged.  You knew that part of this was vengeance, in his own mind at least, but you didn't feel like you'd done anything actually wrong to him.  And the rest of it, well, it seemed like some twisted experiment, but if you were able to speak you would've tried to remind him that this 'research' wasn't going to get him published or advance his career— but of course, that wasn't what he wanted.  He just wanted to humiliate you.

“I was worried I didn’t have enough to work with, you know,” he added.  “I knew I couldn’t get you to where it happened, if I could even figure it out since you never filed that police report… and the skirt, well, I considered it.  It sounded pretty exciting to dress you up like the night it happened— what I would give to know everything you were wearing that night, but I don’t have a ton to work with.  Obviously, you don’t own any pinstripe skirts anymore, so I would’ve had to buy one… and I wasn’t quite ready for the looks I’d get shopping at Macy’s, so…”

Carefully, he reached up to take off his glasses, folding them and setting them down on your coffee table.

“You know how detail-oriented I am— I mean, I went to all this, didn’t I?” He continued, reaching down and brushing his fingers for a moment over your leg.  It was so instinctive to pull away that it took you a moment to realize you hadn’t… because of course, you couldn’t.  “But it’s impossible to recreate it all perfectly.  Clearly, I don’t need to— if only you could see it, Doc, you look… you look so weak.  Pathetic.”

Since the only thing you could do was look around, you tried to look away— to not give him the satisfaction of seeing the terror in your eyes.  He grabbed your face and turned it until you looked up at him.  

“Did you think you’d be able to face your greatest fear?  Perhaps with a bit more dignity?” he mused.  He looked different without the glasses on; and, ironically, you felt like he could see you even better now.

It was obvious that he enjoyed lording complete power over you, but a quick glance down to his suit trousers made it clear just how much he enjoyed it.  You quickly darted your gaze away, but it was too late; he started to climb on top of you, staring at your face uncomfortably close, and worked on opening his belt and fly.

“Fear rules us all, doesn’t it?  Everything you did, it was guided by your fear that it would— well, why paraphrase?  Let me find exactly how you put it…”

He picked up the papers again quickly, licking his thumb and flipping around until he found the right entry.

“Yes,” he said, “here it is: client states she lives in almost constant fear that it will happen again.”

So that's what this was: his disturbed take on exposure therapy.

As he tossed the copied charts away for the last time and reached up under your skirt, he leaned down and whispered in your ear— and you couldn’t even flinch from the harsh sounds of his words.  “It took you over fifty sessions to admit it,” he recalled, “to tell her the whole truth.  Not just what he did to you… what you did.”

With a small growl, he yanked your panties down your legs and rubbed your thighs with far too much aggression, such that you expected bruises from his hands— just like the ones you’d had before.

“You said he made you do it,” he continued, “you couldn’t help it, right?  But you said nothing’s ever felt like that— that you’d never had such a powerful orgasm.”

You would’ve vomited, except that that, too, requires your muscles to not be paralyzed.  Rolling your skirt up and spreading your legs, he positioned himself right between them, rubbing his cock's leaking head around your hole.

“Your greatest fear isn’t really that it’ll happen again, is it?” Jonathan taunted.  “You’re afraid someone’s going to find out how much you liked it.”

With that, he punched his hips forward and speared you on his cock.

It had been years since you'd had anything inside you, even your own fingers.  You couldn't even remember if being penetrated hurt like this during your assault, and you would've sworn before that you remembered every detail perfectly.  But this was so real, not a memory or a nightmare.  You couldn't cry out from the sting.

"God, it's tight," he groaned, "I bet you weren't this tight when it happened— you'd been whoring around, hadn't you?  Letting all kinds of guys use you… just ran into the wrong one and got your drink spiked.  But now…"

He hissed through his teeth, tightening his grip on your hip.  

"Now it's all mine, isn't it?"

Inside, you were screaming and kicking and pleading for mercy.  You imagined you would be angry and violent, beat him to death with your heel or something, but you wondered if you'd be forced to bargain with him— apologize for whatever you did to upset him, promise you wouldn't tell a soul about this as long as he left you alone.  But either way, it didn't matter… on the outside, you were useless, laying there and letting him use you.

"What made you come so much before?  Did he have a big cock, is that it?” he asked with a snarl.  “Did he know exactly how to touch you?  Or was it just that you’d been craving it, needed it really rough to get off properly?  Is that why you came while he raped you?”

It was a biological response, you told yourself like you had over and over, I couldn't help it, it wasn't my fault, it was a biological response— it wasn't my fault, I didn't like it, it was a biological response.

“I think I know what it is,” he mused, looking down at you with heavy eyes and almost purring as he watched your limp form bounce on the floor.  “I think you wanted to be put in your place.  You act so liberated, so empowered— but you’re a creature of instinct, like anything else.  You need someone to remind you how weak you are, I know, fuck, I know you do…”

He fucked you just a bit faster, grunting and tightening his fist on the floor by your head.

“You haven’t been able to have an orgasm at all, since then,” he stated— almost making it like a question, with the way he said it, but he obviously already knew it was true.  He sounded shockingly sympathetic— not even pitying, not condescending, for once.  “I’m sure for a while you didn’t even try, afraid it would remind you— but that’s the thing, you can’t finish unless you’re reminded.”

You almost surprised yourself when you heard a whine come from your throat; he smiled proudly.

"It's wearing off, I think," he noticed.  "I only gave you a small dose.  Can you move at all?  Can you beg me to stop?"

You opened your mouth to try to say everything you'd wanted to since you awoke, but all that came out was a moan.  You hated yourself for that, and he laughed happily.

"You don't want me to stop," he decided.  "Feels too good?"

I fucking hate you, you wanted to scream, you sick son of a bitch, I fucking hate you—

"You didn't say it outright, but he must have said something to you— during, maybe after," Jonathan theorized.  "You didn't say what it was, but you told your therapist about having a vivid flashback after being accosted by a delusional homeless man on the street.  He called you a bitch, seemingly for no reason… is that what your rapist said to you?  Did he say you were a stuck-up little bitch?"

As burning hot tears striped your temples, you curled your fingers over and over— maybe you could move your arms if you really tried…

"He was fucking right about you.  You think you're so much fucking better than everyone else," he growled.  "You think you're so fucking smart, and special.  But you're no fucking different, you're nothing—"

You whined and reached up, weakly trying to push him off of you, but all you could do was limply grasp at his shoulders.

"Nothing but a stupid—" he grunted the word as he slammed himself into you— "fucking—" he did it again— "bitch."

"No!" you finally heard yourself sob, clutching a weak fistful of his white shirt, but he grabbed your hands and shoved them back down to the floor.

“God,” he choked, holding your wrists tightly until you whined, “it’s so much better when you can fight— fuck, it’s so much better.  Keep struggling if you want, Doc, you’re still too weak for me…”

Your legs moved a little, but they felt heavy.  Sensation was only just beginning to return to them, like pins and needles, and it stung; you winced as you managed to squirm a bit beneath him.

"That's it," he praised, "this is probably just how you did it before.  Too drunk and too desperate for cock to really do much, but trying so hard to look like you hate it— I understand, you don't want anyone to know that you need this.  They'd never look at you the same again: the smart, accomplished psychiatrist who likes getting treated like fuckmeat.  What would they think of you if they knew?"

"No…" you said again, too weak and traumatized to say much else— but it wasn't what he said that made you say no, it was the pulse of pleasure inside your cunt.  He must have felt it, and if he didn't, he surely felt the next; yes, he did, because he smiled down at you excitedly.

"It's happening, isn't it?  You're gonna come."

He held on tight to one of your legs, gripping your thigh and staring uncomfortably into your eyes as he kept going— faster and rougher with each thrust.  You choked on your throat, trying to stop any part of this, but the pleasure was undeniable; it still hurt, yes, and you still felt so angry and sick and numb, but something familiar and desperate was tightening in your gut.  It’d been so long since anyone touched you… you’d forgotten how natural it could feel, even when it was so horrible.

"I read it in your file, but I still couldn't really believe it,” he laughed quietly, “I couldn't believe you came over and over while being raped— but here you are, wow, look at you… you’re so beautiful when you’re scared.”

A long, heavy sigh fell from your lips; your eyes got heavier, and your whole body seemed to relax— in a way totally different from the medication-induced paralysis.

He cooed at you, seeming oddly proud, and you were oddly compliant as he picked you up and pulled you into his lap.

Tears streamed across your cheeks as he held you close, one hand around your back while the other moved your hips against his.  “There you go— come for me, I wanna feel it— another one, baby, for me…”

It wasn’t much longer before another one came— from what you remembered, it was a lot like the first time, this terribly wonderful way your body protected itself from the trauma by immersing you in pleasure.  Of course, Jonathan helped you along by rubbing your clit with his thumb, excited to watch you surrender to ecstasy even when you begged him to just stop and leave you alone.

Of course, your protests were less and less believable as more of your strength and mobility returned— you could’ve tried harder to get away, but instead you found your hips rocking with his, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.  No, you didn’t want this— you never wanted this— but you found the way he spoke to you impossibly comforting even while it was still deeply upsetting.  “Tell me about the nightmares, darling,” he whispered— some impossible mix of pleading and ordering.

“A-almost every night,” you whimpered.  “I… I got used to it, but I used to… I used to wake up and think I was still…”

"They felt so real, hm?" he presumed, and you nodded.  “It’s real now… you don’t have to be afraid of the dreams anymore, it’s all real— I’m right here.”

You couldn’t tell if he was trying to scare or comfort you; he pet your hair, clinging to you tightly, kissing your face and neck along the lines of the tears soaking your skin.  

You felt his grin against your cheek when another wavering moan echoed in your chest, and he laid you back on the floor to hover over you again.  “Was that your third one, already?” he noticed.  “This is so much easier than I thought… you needed this so badly, you poor girl.”

A quick wave of panic settled over you when his hand wrapped around your neck.  “W-wait,” you pleaded instantly, as if you really feared he would just strangle you to death right then and there.  Your hands, still weak and tingly, reached up to his arm, and you felt his cock throb inside you— of course that was what he wanted, to see you react in fear again.  So many other emotions were at play right now, even some you didn’t know existed (like whatever the word would be for longing for the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, or feeling like the only person you can trust is the person hurting you the most), but fear was still going to rule it all as long as he had any say.

"How many times did you come before?" he demanded to know, nostrils flaring as he fucked you harder.  "Tell me how many times you came when he raped you."

"I— I don't—" you stammered.

"Say it," he ordered.

"I— I don't know!" you yelped, whimpers falling to silence as he tightened his grip on your neck. 

"You don't fucking know?" he snarled at you, watching you fight for air.  You clawed at his shirt, his wrist, tried to pry his fingers away, but he just sneered as he stared at your numbing face.  "You don't know how many times you creamed on your rapist's cock?  Bullshit."

"I—" you gasped when he let go of your throat, "I lost count…"

He went from livid to ecstatic in a second, laughing proudly and dipping down to kiss your neck passionately.  "Good girl," he mumbled against your skin, fucking you even faster.  "That's what you need to do for me now— come for me until you lose count."

“I— I can’t,” you choked, grabbing at his shoulders as he seemed to overwhelm you just by pressing his weight down on top of you.  “I’m sorry— you… you proved your point, I— I just need a break—”

Even though the drug he’d injected you with was wearing off, you realized you were just as limp and helpless as before… after all, some of the most powerful chemicals come inside the body.  You didn’t even fight it when he put his hand over your mouth, spitting out a quiet but hateful shut up and continuing with his quick and forceful thrusts into you.  

He kept you conscious and lucid by occasionally hitting or choking you, talking to you, once or twice even ordering you to kiss him.  Like you mean it, he’d said, slapping you as punishment for doing it wrong.  Truth be told, you hadn’t kissed anyone in so long that you’d really been trying your best the first time.  Sometimes he told you to beg him for more— or to beg him to get off of you— and yet he would usually punish you for speaking at all.  He was completely unpredictable, and you figured that was part of the plan: take away any shred of control you might try to get by making it impossible to follow his rules.  Keep you confused and crying, keep you fearful, keep you obedient.

But, he did seem to enjoy when you could only just choke out a broken please.  He laughed at you, pinching your sore clit in response until you sobbed and tried to jerk your hips away.  “‘Please’ what, honey?  You mean, ‘please keep fucking me, Doctor Crane, you’ll make me come again?’” he taunted.  “Something like that?”

“Please… please,” you swallowed around your whines, “please just… finish, and go…”

“Oh,” he purred, “you want me to come?”

You’d specifically not phrased it that way, but, yes, that was what you were asking for.  You weren’t sure what else he wanted from you now, it felt like he’d drained you of everything.

“You can just say that, baby— you wanna make me come?” he grinned, moving in closer for a kiss, but you turned your head away.  He grabbed your jaw again and stared at you with an angry glare.  “This isn’t about me.  This is what you wanted.  This is what you fucking wanted!”

As he screamed in your face, you sobbed and tried to look away again, but he hit you hard on the face and covered your mouth before the cry of agony could come out.  

“This is what you wanted, right?” he insisted again, forcing your head to nod with his clammy, iron-tight grip.  “Uh huh— and you wanna make me come, don’t you?  You understand now that’s all you’re good for.”

As sick as it was, you felt yourself fall into another orgasm when he said that; your eyes rolled back a bit, and for a moment you felt even hotter between your legs.

“I think, if you beg me to come, maybe I will,” he offered— bargaining with you, probably another way to trick you into clamoring for some control only to yank it away.  Unfortunately, you were in no position to turn down a deal.

“Please,” you blurted out the second he released your mouth from under his hand; when you blinked the tears from your eyes, you saw him clearly again and realized how completely different he looked from the arrogant-but-generally-unassuming man you knew from work.  His hair was fallen beside his face, and he was close enough that the ends were tickling your forehead.  His eyes were bloodshot, crazed, and dark.  His lips, always full and plush but usually in a tight frown or neutral look of condescending boredom, were curled around the teeth he bared at you.  He looked animalistic, for a man typically so measured.  Only he could do something so animalistic in a way that required such intellect, foresight, and contemplation— using his superhuman skills to treat you in a subhuman manner.  You realized that you were really seeing him for the first time— the person you’d known before was the mask.  This was something horribly freeing for him; and you were having a much easier time analyzing and thinking about him to distract from how sickly freeing this experience was becoming for you.  “Please, Jonathan—”

“Doctor Crane,” he corrected.  Apparently this wasn’t enough to put you on a first name basis…

“Doctor Crane,” you repeated, “please… come.  I want… I want you to come.”

“Hmm,” he considered, and you worried he’d decide he was unimpressed with your effort and hurt you again— but, he did maybe the only thing worse.  “Okay,” he agreed, “if it’s so important to you.”

Just when you shut your eyes tight and hoped you could just get through this— just hold on for a few more minutes at most and then this would be over and done with— he whispered in your ear that he needed you to keep your eyes open if he was going to finish.  

Though, when you obeyed, he purred at you and let his own eyes flutter shut for just a moment.  For once, he actually seemed affected by all this physically and not just psychosexually.  “I think I’ll come inside, like he did before,” Crane decided with a groan when he opened his eyes, biting his lip for a moment as he stared down at you.  “I didn’t see any birth control in your listed medications on chart… I guess we’ll find out if you have a fear of getting pregnant.”

"Jonathan— don't," you whimpered.  "Please, don't do that—"

"Shh," he soothed, petting the top of your head and laying his weight over you.  "Shh, it's alright.  I think you need to be filled with come… I think that might be the one thing that’ll get you to settle down, now just hold still.”

“I— please… please…” you began to beg again, but your words faded away as another wave of sensation washed over you— they started to blend together, like before, and you realized you were doing what he’d asked: you were losing count.

“Good girl,” he praised under his breath, “like that— fuck, I’m close.  Fuck!”

He held onto you tight— one hand on your thigh and the other on your neck as his thrusts sped to a desperately, impossibly fast pace.  You moaned— or cried, or yelled, or something— as he pushed just a little too deep and your toes curled in your heels.

“Uh huh,” he encouraged, “just one more while I come inside you— I think you can manage that, just one more good squeeze on my cock— oh, fuck, that’s it, yes, just like that…”

You stopped being able to understand what he was saying, but you heard the wavering groan that came a few moments later when his movements suddenly stopped.  He gasped and kept himself as far inside you as possible; you shuddered, blinking fresh tears out of your eyes, and felt paralyzed in an entirely new way as you laid under him, staring up at your ceiling, seeing how far the sun had set since it began— actually, it had started to rain, making it even more impossible to tell how much time had really passed.  Eventually, though, he took his head out from the crook of your neck and propped himself up enough to look down at you.  

Reaching to your coffee table, he fumbled his hand around until he found his glasses, and shakily put them back on.  “Well,” he grinned, still panting but seeming to be mostly back to himself (whoever that was).  “I never thought I’d meet someone who loves fear as much as I do.”

#jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #cillian murphy x reader #jonathan crane smut #cillian murphy smut #IM SO SORRY TO THIS MAN #not to crane he's garbage

[nerdwhoauthorinserts]

   Do you think if you put peanut butter on the scarebeast’s ‘nose’, he’d start licking at it and smacking his lips like a dog?

   I mean, he seems to have a long enough tongue-

#scarebeast #dc scarecrow #dc scarebeast #the scarebeast #Blake-rambles #Blacrow #batman scarecrow #jonathan crane scarecrow