E. Nygma, private investigator Chap1Edward Nygma was very bored. Sitting at his desk in his brand new office, his arms crossed and his hat hiding his eyes, the man was waiting for someone, something, to interrupt the heavy silence. The red-haired man had put aside his criminal activities. He had thought about it for a very long time; being a villain had been fun, but it often made him end up with broken ribs and bruises. The man hated having bruises; especially on his face. He was extremely proud of his good looks, and needed to feel handsome in order to be happy; thus, having a black-eye or a busted lip made him most unhappy.
The fact two other villains he knew had started to become slightly more normal also made him want to change; the Scarecrow and the Mad Hatter were still criminals, and rather great ones, but Becky and Alice's presence made their lives a little brighter. Though he didn't want to admit it, Edward was quite jealous; he hadn't had a girlfriend in a relatively long time, and did not understand why two f
Demise of the Master of Fear Chap1DISCLAIMER : this is my very first fanfic. EVER. Meaning it can contain mistakes. I would very much appreciate feedback. Even if you comment only to tell me there's a grammar mistake somewhere, or to tell me a character is OOC, it would be very useful.Demise of the Master of Fear Chap13 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
The main characters will be Jonathan Crane (the Scarecrow) and Becky Albright. The first chapter contains also the Joker and the Riddler. I might include the Mad Hatter at some point, if the story allows it. (I have no idea where this is going yet)
Batman and all related characters belong to the wonderful and amazing DC Comics. I'm only a fan that wished she owned them
The Scarecrow, great Master of Fear, had an equally great enemy. A young woman, Becky Albright. Their first encounter made the poor child face her deepest fear : people. She screamed, quaked and trembled at the feet of the Scarecrow; he broke her mind. If such a torture wasn't enough, the criminal had to become infatuated with her as well; not the nice kind of inf
The Crooked ManGranny Keeny had been a cruel woman, frail in body and hard in heart. Her temper was volatile and explosive, and Jonathan Crane had learned early in life that her anger was something to be avoided at all costs. The best way to do that was to remain out of her sight as much as possible, and so he spent his time outside of school hiding out in his room inside of Keeny Mansion, hunched over a book. He was content enough with this arrangement, accompanied by the likes of Poe, Kipling, and Shelley. His past time had to be kept secret, of course—Granny Keeny did not approve of such unholy vices as fiction and creative writing.The Crooked Man2 years ago in Horror More Like This
The exemption to this rule was nursery tales. Crane suspected that this was because so many stories featured misbehaving individuals gaining their comeuppance, often in a rather unpleasant manner. From the ages of two to ten, Granny Keeny would perform a nightly ritual of reading to Crane a story from a large, leather-bound book titled Nursery Tales.
Scarecrow-the shadows on the wallScarecrow-the shadows on the wall3 years ago in Drama More Like This
The shadows on the wall
It was a rainy Wednesday, I remember it very well, I had been informed about a new doctor who asked explicitly to be my psychologist, and of course, Dr. Wilson had no objection, he had reluctantly taken my case because nobody else wanted it, and you can say I was not what we Doctors call "cooperative". But for some reason this doctor wanted it, it took me on surprise, I imagined he'll be one of those old and cheap, egomaniac copies of Freud that are more like "fraud".
My God I was so wrong! I was watching the rain throw the window and then I saw Dr. Effie Jequille, She sat on the chair in front of the desk as she stretched out her hand and said:
-Good Morning, I am Dr. Jequille
I shook her hand and, as I saw she kept looking at me I said
-You know who I am
-No, I know that your birth name is Jonathan Crane and you call yourself the scarecrow, but I don't know who you are. Who are you Dr. Crane? Who are you, Scarecrow?
-I'm a man who don't answe
An Unlikely EncounterAn Unlikely EncounterAn Unlikely Encounter4 years ago in Profiles More Like This
It was hot.
It was really hot.
I woke up this morning, my hair sticking to my face, my body trapped in a cocoon of bed sheets I'd created in my sleep.
I could hear sirens blaring in the distance, the sound of angry caffeine-deprived drivers shouting obscenities greeted me; Just another annoying day in Gotham City.
I spared a glance at the clock. Sigh, I'm late again.
I wonder if today I can manage to find the energy to care. . .
Didn't think so.
It took me ten more minutes of coaxing my body to move for me to succeed in getting out of bed.
"Hey Katherine! You want an omelette or some pancakes?" called my roommate, Roxanne from the kitchen. God bless that woman.
"How about both?" I yelled back, sleep evident in my voice.
I crawled to the bathroom to take a shower, removing an article of clothing with every step. I avoided looking in the mirror as I always do. No need to work myself up this early in my routine.
I adjusted the temperature of the water to how I liked
Group Therapy"Alright everybody, quiet, please—quiet—now, let's begin..."Group Therapy2 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Group therapy at Arkham Asylum was by no means a simple, uneventful affair. The hour-long sessions required no less than ten guards, each one equipped with an electric baton and a canister of mace, and covered head to toe in riot gear. No sharp objects were allowed in the room—no pencils, no pens. Crayons had previously been approved for use in art therapy, but after Joker drove a waxy stick of Tickle Me Pink into a therapist's eye the privilege had been revoked.
Finger-painting had been the next logical step and had lasted for precisely two sessions before Joker—who else—began to paint obscene drawings of Batman onto the walls with his fingertips, depicting the Dark Knight's demise in a variety of imaginative and colorful ways. The therapist at the time had encouraged this behavior, assuring the guards that the act was not one of defiance, but of expression and an eagerness to work thro
Pots and Kettles (Nine)NINE:Pots and Kettles (Nine)3 years ago in Drama More Like This
"Yes," hissed the Scarecrow. Nigma began to struggle feebly, trying to pull away and tumbling down off the sofa in his efforts, but Jonathan's grip held.
"Please don't," the ginger begged, eyes wide and desperate as he stared up at the Scarecrow, "Please don't, I can't--"
The pathetic plea disappeared in a yelp of pain as the needle plunged into his neck.
There were a few seconds of panting silence as the drug worked into his system. Then Nigma's pupils contracted to pinpricks as his eyes glazed over, his pale face twisted suddenly in an expression of terror and anguish.
Scarecrow retreated to the dented folding chair a yard or so back to watch the show.
"N-no," came the tremulous whisper, "No, it's not possible..." Great tears began to form in Nigma's distant eyes. "No, no, please, no, oh god..."
Scarecrow watched, intri