Fear and Madness It was surprisingly quiet in Professor Crane's home, considering a certain guest had come over, ranting about how long it had been since they had shared a pot of tea.
Jonathan Crane looked up for a moment from the various chemicals he had scattered across the counter of his workspace and glanced over his thin shoulders at the sofa beyond the doorway. He was mildly surprised when he saw the familiar sandy-colored hair peeking around the back of the sofa. More than that, however, he was a bit irked. Jervis Tetch was showing a remarkable amount of patience today When the Mad Hatter had arrived three hours ago, Crane instantly tried to shoo him away. The stubbornness between the two was to be admired, considering how unstable they were. After a great deal of failed attempts to rid himself of the tea-loving man, Crane apparently gave in.
'When I'm finished with my work, we'll have tea,' Jonathan had said with a great sigh of defeat
Asylum - Ch. 1Asylum
I do not own any of the named characters present. They all belong to DC Comics. This was written purely for fun.
asylum: 1. a psychiatric hospital; 2. a shelter
The ride to Arkham Asylum always felt surreal when he wasn't driving the Batmobile. Bruce Wayne came here enough as his vigilante secret identity, hauling the escaped convicts back through the revolving doors of the rehabilitation center/prison. Not many people made the drive, aside from cops and the occasional reporter for a story.
This wasn't a business trip.
The sleek Lamborghini rounded the final curve before slowing to a stop at the massive iron gates. Bruce leaned out of the window and pressed the intercom button on a small speaker next to the entrance. He waited, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and allowing his eyes to roll
Madness Ch. 1Madness
I do not own Jonathan Crane (aka The Scarecrow) or Jervis Tetch (aka The Mad Hatter). They belong to DC Comics. Quotes belong to Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. This was written purely for fun. I am going to apologize in advance if I offend anyone. It is not intentional.
The streets of Old Gotham were completely dead, its inhabitants hiding in sleep until the break of dawn. The windows of all the buildings that lined the streets were dark; one would assume everyone was in bed, given the hour.
Assumptions of the common man were meaningless in this part of town. The common man was oblivious to the kind of lives people lived down in this forsaken area of Gotham. The norms of society were lost upon crossing over into Old Gotham; decent folks knew better than to come through here at night, let alone live here. People are afrai
Welcome to Arkham Ch. 4Welcome to Arkham
I do not own Jervis Tetch (aka The Mad Hatter), Alice Pleasance, or her boyfriend Billy. They belong to DC Comics. Dr. Myers is mine. All the other named characters present also belong to DC Comics. Quotations are all from Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. This was written purely for fun.
Chapter Four: Sentence First
Lord, he felt ill. The past week (or from what he could tell, it had been a week; he wasn't sure how much time had passed) had dragged on. His time in solitary confinement was interrupted only by the guards who would haul him off to an unwanted session with Dr. Myers. In the meantime, Jervis Tetch was stuck in silence, only broken by his loose sputtering of Lewis Carroll.
And now, he was sitting between two heavyset guards in a courtroom. If Arkham didn't make him anxious, the court of law certain
From Hell - SolitaryThe light was always sparse in Bedlam. Concrete walls with barred windows tolerated little sun in the already gloomy atmosphere. But in the solitary confinement cells, patients had not even the courtesy of a hole in the wall. The only light available to cast the eerie shadows over the maniacs through the cell bars came from the tiny candle held comfortably in the fingers of Dr. Adam Younge.
Being met with outstretched hands and senseless babbling in an imaginary tongue was surprisingly uneventful for the good doctor. When one works in such an environment, one must become desensitized. Especially if one particularly enjoys one's line of work. And Dr. Younge did so love his work! And tonight he was visiting his favorite pet project.
"Good evening, Mr. Mihail," he greeted with a cheerful, soothing voice. "How are we this lovely day?"
There was no answer at first. The only indication that the cell was inhabited was the dark shadow of a figure slumped over in the dingy corner. As Acheros pe
Ambassador SalspaldaPenny twirled 'round the corner, smacking face-first into a man's chest.
"Omigosh! Sorry, sir!" she said, yanking back. She looked up into the man's face, and froze.
There was no face. There was no head. There was a half-neck protruding from a collar, ruddy and swollen, terminating in a livid cross-section of tubes, muscle, and bone. Penny took three quick stumbles backward, mouth agape, where her brother Cornelius collided with her from behind.
"Penny, what..." he began, before catching sight of the headless body and joining her in a moment of shocked silence. "The devil...?"
Then a man's head came around the corner, in the most literal sense. Dark eyes stared down from a bronzed (and scowling) Arroyan face with handsome features, his black hair swept back in a long tail. Startlingly, the man ended halfway down his neck in the jagged mate to the headless, severed throat. The living head was joined to a ghostly body and a long cloak cinched at his throat hung aro
Appetite Comes with the Eating1. The real horror of October
is the winter, the rising darkness.
It's said they caught him weeping,
heard him babbling about the steam in the snow,
the brown mass that had been a person
his little girl, dead from the cold.
He ate his wife and daughters.
And when the villagers came for him,
he let them take himto the tree
in the center of the square, where he hung,
discolored with frostbite and gangrene.
They called him Wendigo,
gave him to the spirit of the Dying Season,
and hoped that he would rest.
2. My ancestors had a word for his kind
They would have cut out his heart
to stop him from feeding.
He walked again.
Ate his fill of the town that killed him
and marched south, slept every spring
to wait for the Season of the Dying
to come again.
3. I saw the flesh-eater once, in my youth
in a Massachusetts town
near Boston, out on a frozen pond.
I saw his face beneath the ice,
saw his teeth bent with bone-crunching,
before he disappeared into the black w