#crowsinthecornfield

[twomindedsubject]

{{ make these two kiss, i beg of you @questionquery / @crowsinthecornfield }}

[dividedbybinaries]

{{ @crowsinthecornfield those five years apart really did them in }}

[thefireandtheblame]

@crowsinthecornfield

Shroud is just the beginning.

His, and by extension, the team’s, origin story.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? There’s always something bigger, someone better—

Robert squints at the headlines populating his phone screen, hastily texted his way by both Mandy and Chase in tandem, asking him in their own ways have you seen the news? because, yes, actually, Robert remembers reading about this literal months ago, back when the Scarecrow was actively terrorizing people.

Gotham is East Coast, a full three hours away (longer, if you actually plan on visiting), like a distant fever dream you can’t quite grasp between your hands.

Wait. Do they seriously think the Scarecrow would cross the nation and try to lay low in - ahem - Hollywood of all places? Where the cameras are always rolling?

He just doesn’t see it, the modus operandi, let alone the logic. But he promised them both he’d review the case, and keep his wits about himself, because, if you think about it, the guy would actually gain time back coming this way (versus if they were to give chase on his home turf.)

Robert leans back and stretches his arms overhead, letting out a mighty yawn. A shadow looms over him while his eyes are squeezed shut and he nearly jumps when a stranger sits down beside him.

Blink, blink.

Jesus, way to be rude, Robertson. He stuffs his phone into his jeans pocket and tries to make up for his nerves. “Uhh. Nice weather we’re having today.”

[thoserubyeyes]

"Time is up."

Astarion's eyes rolled. "Time is of no concern to me," He remarked, biting back with bitterness in his tone. He grew increasingly tired of this conversation. He thought he knew torture inside and out, from Cazador's rule over him, but it was nothing like this. No, this was a far different kind of torture; torture that Crane had been inflicting on him for a good while - psychological pain. Resurfacing buried memories - memories that Astarion, dare he say, FEARED. He was slowly being damaged. Him and and his healed psyche. He was so close to fight or flight.

The vampire desperately sought something of more meaningful interest as his blood-red gaze searched the room they were in, eventually turning his attention to his well-kept nails as he pretended to examine them. Any excuse to avoid looking his tormentor in the eye. "--it doesn't exist to me. It never has." The smallest sparkle of a tear formed in the corner of his eye, only to be blinked away seconds later by pure distain. "So why press myself with something so meaningless? There's a word I've come to favour after all these years: Forget."

[strikesfearbringshope]

⠀⠀⠀(( Continued from an ask for @crowsinthecornfield )) ⠀⠀⠀The body moved. ⠀⠀⠀Violently. ⠀⠀⠀Like a limp puppet having its strings yanked. Batman just barely caught it in the corner of his eye. Immediately, the caped crusader was on his knees, moving the man into the recovery position. ⠀⠀⠀"Stay calm," he quietly hushed, "you're going to be okay--" it was hard to tell who he was trying to convince. The man sprawled on the floor, or himself. The body remained exactly that, however. Still and lifeless. Batman's eyes narrowed as he grunted, brow furrowing beneath his cowl. ⠀⠀⠀Upon closer inspection of the body, Batman couldn't help but notice an eery similarity to another well-known figure of his Rogues Gallery. The man laying before him was eerily similar to Edward Nygma, the Riddler - only his hair was far longer than what the Bat remembered. ⠀⠀⠀The Bat had an idea. He brought his gauntlet up, activating a small display as he looked into recent Riddler sightings. ⠀⠀⠀Nothing. If anything, it was as if Nygma had all but vanished. ⠀⠀⠀"Just what is going on here...?"

[theoneandonlyscaregoon]

There had been whispers, of course. Idle chatter and circulating rumors that one has learned to ignore on Gotham’s streets.

They said there was a man dressed as the Scarecrow picking people off of the streets. Some of the were found days later with their guts spilling from their stomachs. Some of them were never found at all.

Idle chatter.

Rumors.

Surely.

That’s what one could assume. Until, of course, Merry saw him. The briefest flashes of movement had caught their attention, and they had turned just in time to see a crow swooping through the air and following after him.

They recognized that crow.

Elizabeth.

Merry tilted their head. They still had their bag slung over one shoulder, coming home from a late shift at Gotham Central. A recent Clayface rampage had meant that even the orderlies were putting in overtime at the hospital.

Follow the crow, it was that simple. Follow the crow.

Merry’s shoes clicked on the concrete as they began their pursuit.

[termonucleare]

"We are all collections of our fears, it is the most primal of ways to peer into this world. Tell me, what are yours? Isolation. Rejection. To be looked at, but not seen. Autophobia, even?"

The stink off this guy was enough to curl his nose hairs. It was a smell that normal folks couldn't sniff but for a hulk with a nose stronger than a polar bear's, it was like a blaring alarm going off.

Red didn't trust himself being human around this freak with the bad vibes he was picking up off him.

" Wouldn't YOU like ta know, Boo Boy."

If fear was what this freak wanted.....Red was very good at causing fear....

" I was in the military....da first thing they teach ya is to find out what scares ya....and embrace it. Channel it.....make it yer strength an' not your weakness. Don't matter what scares ya.....ya don't have the time or privilege of bitchin' about it.

Pull up yer thongs n' get yer ass out there ready ta fight."

" Tell me.....what scares the king o' fear..."

[got-a-question-for-you]

The Scarecrow has been missing from Gotham for five years.

And the change had been an uneasy one.

He was plucked off the streets, leaving Gotham in ruin. Leaving the world in the silence that always follows a storm. Four. Thousand. Deaths. Taken too soon, clawed to shreds by the delusions that terror always brings.

But the Scarecrow has been missing from Gotham.

And people are going missing again.

Unlike with Crane's earlier experiments, this doesn't seem to be the makings of a scientist. No, this is the work of a monster. A murderer. Some of his victims are found days later, with their guts hanging from their stomachs, their hearts surgically removed, and a crow's feather in their pockets. Others are never found at all.

The Scarecrow has been missing from Gotham.

And something wearing his face has returned to it.

Renee was feeling un pique horrible as she stood on the rooftop overlooking the city that was barely holding itself together in the wake of the grisly murders that had been cropping up lately.

How could she let this happen?

Irrational, maybe, but she found herself seeing red - a specific kind of red - as she pulled out the police reports she had managed to obtain from tickling the wire of old connections. Long ago she lost the queasiness of a rookie’s stomach when looking at gruesome crime scene photos, but the sickly feeling had been replaced by cold, hard resolve to catch the bastardo responsible.

Closing the files for the fifth time in as many hours, she let out a frustrated sigh. Nothing new presented itself to her. A bona fide monster was using Gotham as a buffet and she would have to pause her other investigation to work on this one, a feeling deep in her gut that she had learned to trust telling her that somehow, this was related.

Still, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering how this could be happening. How could any of this happen with so many masked vigilantes running around? With her here?

Renee takes a deep, fortifying breath, and presses the button on her belt buckle to activate the binary gas. The Question needed answers about the monster, and she knew the best place to start was at the beginning - Jonathan Crane’s old warehouses, long abandoned if not outright destroyed.