#threadpull

[clawsextended]

@threadpull asked: [ TXT: 🐈‍⬛ ] : thought i'd reach out and see how you're doing. / becky!!!!

[ TXT: COOL WEIRD GIRL ] ur probably too nice for ur own good.

[ TXT: COOL WEIRD GIRL ] right now? doing ok

[ TXT: COOL WEIRD GIRL ] just can’t sleep. Clowns will eat me.

[ TXT: COOL WEIRD GIRL ] mostly i just can’t sleep.

[brokentoys]

remember: whenever you think arkham asylum can go low, just know that it goes LOWER!

[roisdevivre]

@threadpull gets a mini-starter no one asked for

“Okay, but why IS a raven like a writing desk?” Luca asked, pointing a french fry at Ed from across the table at the diner. “Riddle me that, Smarty Pants!”

[umbrellamedic]

Closed for @threadpull

The room is quiet by the time Bertha steps out and softly closes the door behind her. She does not want to wake the captive. Patient. Whatever they're calling the man strapped to the bed- it's for his own safety, really; he might hurt himself if he goes stumbling in search of an escape before his treatment is over. Her boots on the floor are loud enough to announce her approach, Bertha has no need to try and sneak around.

"Your patient is stable, Doctor." If she sounds pleased with herself, it's because she is. "He should be ready to resume your treatment in two or three days. Any sooner and his heart may not be able to handle the stress."

The man in the room really was in bad shape, it's amazing to see what Crane can do to these people. Bertha's always had to use more intrusive means of torture: cutting things, breaking things, burning or freezing or shocking. Pulling patients out of death's grasp and forcing their bodies to survive is rewarding. Not because she cares about the patients. She doesn't. But because she's successful. After the incident that severed her ties to Umbrella, after losing her entire team- she needs this. She can't stand to fail again. She hasn't lost one that was still alive when she began working on them yet.

From behind her mask, she regards the doctor. Less than a year since Raccoon City. Less than three months working for this man. She clears her throat and squares her shoulder. "Do you need another patient sourced?" In the moment of stabilizing a patient she's fine; in her element. Outside of that? Restless. It's like she's still trapped in a city full of hostiles; like any distant shadow is a threat and she should be lashing out. She needs an objective. Her hands clench and release at her sides, a small gesture meant to help relieve some of her restless energy. "Or anyone executed?"

[incangencence]

bingo… for science… || @threadpull cont. “therapy” session

“Mmhm. And I’m Queen of the Ice Warriors,” Gene scoffed, mostly teasing. She wasn’t jealous. Nope. Not at all. “People don’t phone their nemesis at all hours of the day and night…”

The Master did. When he and The Doctor were on speaking terms anyway. But she wasn’t going to mention that.

“How do you even have time to stalk some… other woman? Don’t you have research papers to write? For shame, Dr. Crane…”

[fartemis-crock-a]

jon gets to meet the nightmare child.

@threadpull

"--be nice."

the words weren't directed at him. no, they were directed towards the small blonde child who was sitting on the edge of the couch.

blue eyes were locked on jon. the seven year-old is almost identical to her mother--- save for the white-blonde hair, ice-blue eyes, and an absurdly serious expression. ---she's watching his every movement. looking at his clothes. the way he walked, everything.

he sits where artemis had ushered him to sit, in one of the blue chairs that sat opposite of the beat-up couch, and isabelle's facial expression changes. pure, unadulterated judgement crosses the little girl's face.

"be nice." is repeated, with something of a sigh punctuating artemis' words. she's standing to the side of jon's chair. gaze finding her daughter's in some silent bid for her not to be difficult. ---not that it works.

"---but he did that wrong."

the little voice is confident, blue eyes cutting from her mother to the stranger sitting in the livingroom with them. "you did that wrong, now the throw blanket is going to be all messed up when you stand up." isabelle's nose crinkled as she spoke, gaze falling towards jon's shoes, of all things. "---i can see your socks, too. you sat wrong."

[vitalphenomena]

@threadpull // ed // x

GRANDIOSE EGO AND CARTOONISH FLAMBOYANCY TO THIS DEGREE MAKE DMITRI SICK TO HIS STOMACH. He's too lucid for whatever the Riddler's whole deal is.

Dmitri's voice is low and slow. He likes this bulky, masculine form—in contrast with the Riddler's own mannerisms and physique. "You have no need to forgive me because I have done nothing to be forgiven for." If the Riddler can't handle the heat of an unhinged man's emotional outburst and threat of brutality, they better get out of the supervillainous fucking kitchen.

"If we're going to work together on this, put your pride aside. It's already getting in the way of having a regular conversation."

Is he going to be petty? He might need to be a little petty.

"Because you'll drive yourself past your current madness looking for any actual signs of jealousy. There are none."

[mad-hunts]

@threadpull (a plotted starter between jonathan and barton will be below! i hope you like it, tehe)

one of the first things that the people at arkham doing intake now to barton is cut his sharp nails. not only because they were a danger to others, they said, but also a danger to himself. though judging by the way that barton made one of their noses bleed before two people had to restrain him while they cut them... it was much more the latter to him, personally. yeah; that little action unfortunately bought barton a strong dose of versed to the deltoid as well via a nurse. because it was made quite obvious to them then, in their own sadistic words, that he needed something to 'calm down.'

it did indeed calm barton down, by the way, but that was because it was of course a sedative. he was brought to the cell that'd be assigned to him and a bunkmate then before sleeping most of the day away. luckily, the orderlies around that day somehow seemed to have some comprehension that barton would be down for the count until the next day, so he was unbothered from his sleep too. but on the second day that he was there? that is, after he was told he would be limited to only being outside his cell for about two hours, because barton 'needed to be in isolation until he proved he wasn't a danger to other inmates?' around nine PM that night, he finally met who would be his bunkmate.

and let me tell you, jonathan looked like absolute shit. as if the careless was that the orderlies tossed him into their cell wasn't shocking enough on its own, he had bruising all over his face. if he could squint due to the lights being out besides the little light that streamed in through the window... barton also thought he saw a cut or two on his face as too and one of his eyes braved one of those cuts; like someone had just missed blinding him in it. where dr. crane had been all day suddenly became much more of a concern, because whoever did this to him obviously either had some sort of vendetta against him personally — or maybe the rogues themselves. the silence that ensued in the cell subsequently was thick enough to hear a pin drop in.

being in isolation suddenly didn't seem half as bad as whatever jonathan had endured. with the way he limped to the bed that wasn't occupied, barton could more than tell that the bruising was not just on his face now. chances were that it likely littered doctor crane's body; and it clicked in barton's head as to who might have done such a thing to the other. stuck between the decision of calling out to him and letting him be at first, it was only when jonathan seemed to be struggling to even lay down that barton felt a string of cognitive empathy for him. plus, if he wasn't mistaken, the glint that the light in the window showed of his face indicated he was tearing up. what an abusive shit-show this place was.

❝ hey... come over here for a moment, hmm? i'm not going to hurt you. i just think its damn incredible that they left you in such a bad state without so much as cleaning up your cuts. but hey, this is arkham, ❞ to his surprise, perhaps due to the fact that jon was likely too out of it to care if barton actually meant he wasn't going to hurt him or not, he was approaching him then. he repositioned himself so that he was at one end of his bunk and once jonathan was sitting next to him, he carefully maneuvered his body down. now, the other's head was in his lap, and he experimentally placed a hand on his forearm to give it a comforting squeeze.

this was before he began to move his hand up and down the other's forearm slowly. barton knew well that, in arkham, you were not going to get any comfort out of the staff — hell, you weren't even going to get any from being let outside or the food — and thus, their options to not break down sometimes came down to really what you or your cellmate was willing to do for you. luckily for jonathan, barton was quite amenable to being surprisingly kind to his fellow patients when they were in trouble. he wanted to get the other's mind off of what had happened to him and so he thought; what better way to do that than to talk about nonsense with doctor crane?

❝ say... i don't know if you're a bird guy, but did you know that the largest bird in the world that can fly is the andean condor? it has about a ten and a half foot wingspan, and they live in the andes mountains, as well as the pacific coast. i only know that because i got really into studying birds here once to not go completely insane and they still peak my interest even now. its kind of darkly funny, huh? ❞