Have a seat, dear traveler. You can just call me Blacki, it's my favorite alias. I'm a lonely writer, interested in certain fandoms and like to make stupid memes. Sometimes... This is what my blog is dedicated to. Mostly I love comics and games. My favorite characters are the Riddler and the Scarecrow and, of course, I shipp them. I like different shipps in the bat-fandom, but Scriddler is the most favorite. Now I'm trying to write something with them, but, as usual, few people pay attention to my fanfiction🚬😒
Hmm, what else can I say? Well, I can say and tell a lot, but I have no one. Therefore, if you want to listen to the huge streams of my mental suffering and stories about my two internet divorces, I will buy you a drink🍷✨
Also have some experience in rp🌚🍆
Can communicate with you in Russian and English😘💖
Attention! I don't like and don’t write selfshipp😐
✍You can find my stories here✍
https://ficbook.net/authors/374795
https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blacki_Raven
If you want to get some scriddler paragraphs from me - ask is open!🌠
My gift for you on Valentine's Day. This fic was my first attempt at writing nsfw, but… it was not finished. I don't think I can handle this genre. But you can appreciate my only attempt🫢
The administration is not responsible.
The gently cold lights smoothly changed their colors, sliding along the walls and ceiling, hypnotizing the observers and depriving them of a sense of time. Calm jazz music massaged my tense mind, and the long-legged brunette beauty did not stop bringing me new portions of expensive cognac. The stilettos of her shoes clattered merrily, the revealing outfit of a waitress with a deep neckline appealed to the dirty looks of others, thin hands with elastic skin stroked my shoulders every time, casually, after refilling a glass, innocent laughter disgustingly tickled my ears. But every time I grunted disinterestedly and motioned for the girl to leave me alone. Today, all I needed was alcohol, doll-like beauty and obsession only irritated me. Long-aged liquid bronze was poured into the body in large quantities, thereby driving away painful thoughts. That night, I left my trusty lab alone, crawled out of my lair, and drank uncontrollably in the Iceberg Lounge like an ungrateful alcoholic father. Penguin accepted me without any questions, as he often needed to my knowledge of chemistry, he even singled out for me the farthest and most secluded place on one of the balconies, from where I could watch the carefree and noisy rats below. Only strong booze could soothe the gnawing pain, flood all the convolutions so that unwanted memories would not form in them. The spicy taste burned my throat, made it impossible to breathe normally, which made everything swim in front of my eyes, and my body merged with the soft sofa and only continued to stretch this pitiful state. A coarse cloth bag with many slits and seams stretched over my head absorbed all the alcohol fumes and grief from my breath, creating a dull haze. Just to drive away the oppressive feeling of shame and interrupt the obsessive strumming of nerves by invisible hands reaching for me from the distant past, from my other life. Today's date tortured me at first light, stabbing and crawling over my body with a horde of small stinging insects. No activity helped to distract me: neither caring for starving test tubes and flasks, nor the spontaneous killing of people. Their indescribable fear, their senseless grasping for life, their pleas and their final suffering deaths caused nothing. Only a mute emptiness, no satisfaction, the souls taken away have lost their former taste. All the curses hanging over me were waiting for this day to remind me of themselves every second, and time, which was on their side, was in no hurry.
Upstairs, near the ceiling, there was drunken loneliness and serious business face-to-face conversations, whose echoes would affect many lives and appear in the morning papers. Downstairs, where it was much brighter, life was thick and foamy, such large sums of money were being burned that the whole of Gotham could not starve for a week, glasses full of indifference and hypocrisy rang, laughter and fun sparkled. In the very center, on a huge flaunting iceberg of frozen sins, a live orchestra played continuously and young girls brought here by false promises danced fascinatingly. At the foot there was a bar for the important guests, worthy of quick service and a wonderful view of the beautiful fresh flesh. Amidst this blinding glare and gloss, a familiar, intense and delicate green flashed by. Putting down my glass of half-finished cognac, I peer into the crowd sitting at the bar. Unfortunately, my melting gaze and pickled mind weren't playing tricks on me. Dressed in a suit that stood out against any background, the Riddler enjoyed expensive cocktails and enthusiastically talked about something with other guests. Even from here, you could clearly see his wide, playful smile and the attention-grabbing emerald flame of his eyes. Edward Nygma, reinforcing the stories that I couldn't reach, actively gesticulated, turned from interlocutor to interlocutor, and after finishing, drank something new and bright. Dressed-up men and women admired his speeches, laughed with him at jokes and nodded their heads approvingly, announcing the next toasts. The alcohol curtain was being pulled off my face, feelings were peeking through the petrified shell, the wistfully smoldering embers flared up with renewed vigor, which made my blood boil in my veins. I hate them, I hate them all… When Riddler went into secret whispers with these strangers and they almost intertwined and touched each other, a furious tremor ran through my bones. The long rest was disrupted by a sharp headache and the gnashing of my own teeth. The body was straining like a taut string, then shrinking into a tangled ball. I wanted to get up and smash everything in my path with a loud stomp, get to them and strangle them with my bare hands, stuff them with broken glass and tear these paper images to shreds. Why is Nygma here?! Is he aware of my presence? And why is he so… radiant? Today's date affected both of us, because it was on this day, several years ago, that Dr. Jonathan Crane, who succumbed to manipulation, betrayed his special patient, Edward Nygma, with whom he had been building a trusting relationship for a long time. A dark room in an abandoned wing of Arkham and one injection of the toxin of fear at once collapsed all the bridges between us, and the realization of my own mistakes overtook us too late. From now on, Riddler hates me, but Scarecrow continues to shadow him, to watch him. This is my most important secret, hidden in my heart.
Everything I had drunk earlier aroused animal interest. I rested my elbows on the balcony railing and imperceptibly watched the flushed Nygma and the snakes gathered around him. Did you really decide to spend the night here too and scatter shards of memories into empty glasses because of the date that stitched us through with bloody threads? But why the Iceberg Lounge? As far as I know, Riddler has his own little club in his possession, where his loyal dogs and informants hang around, where he can do anything without paying too much, and ordinary people don't have access there. Do you not want them to see the undisclosed, wounded sides of your soul, or did you come here specifically for the sake of flimsy company, for the sake of comforting attention? Alas, Edward, of all the fake curiosity, only mine was real. This beast you persecuted, which you could have killed a long time ago, punished for eating your fears, turned up nearby again and watched over you. And he'd get angry, growl, spew hellfire, and sharpen his claws as he watched other people's hands touch you. But the long wait held me back with chains, the ground sank under my feet, and every gesture of Riddler felt like a needle thrust into my heart. If I showed up now, he would play a dramatic scene so that everyone could see that I was humiliated and eventually missed the fatal Prince of Puzzles, so I had to endure and ignore the alcohol that increased my rage. Gradually, the fresh leaves, poisoned by the mixed swill, lost interest, dried up and fell off in different directions. The fragrant flower, which did not notice the changes around it, remained alone and was already reaching its limit. The owner of this establishment, even with his entrenched status as a criminal businessman, guarantees complete safety to every guest. However, there is always a footnote written in the smallest handwriting stating that all elite charms fall off drunken guests. This is exactly what I expected, I hoped that Nygma would not calculate and slowly settle down on the smooth wooden surface, sinking deeper and deeper into some chaotic dreams and drunken delirium. And no one will find it suspicious that a Scarecrow has come out of nowhere, because these especially dangerous criminals constantly have conflicts, showdowns, and claims against each other. Still, sometimes you can play by the rules and get what you want.
My subsequent actions, fueled by alcohol, turned into a quick slideshow: a wide staircase, an iceberg bordered by a bar, but already close, a limp body falling into my hands, the main exit and a dozen frosty streets that I ran through in a short period of time. Now the source of warm light was the only small lamp on the table, and the native semi-darkness of my home allowed my eyes to rest. Assembled with my own hands from sturdy wood and metal, a heavy torture chair with special footrests and armrests with wide leather straps was moved from a carefully furnished laboratory to a simple bedroom. The new visitor was already sprawled on it with his head propped on his right shoulder, and I was soundlessly wandering around and listening to the soft snuffling. His limbs were not so tightly secured, and he had a blindfold over his eyes. A slight sobriety screamed in my head, "What the hell are you doing?! He'll only hate you more after that! What are you hoping for?!", but the beating heart, overflowing with cognac and pain from patience, ignored the remnants of common sense and demanded something else. Flashes of different emotions overlapped while the hands themselves took out a dusty bottle of cheap wine, which could be drunk straight from the throat, skipping all the points of etiquette. The mask pulled off my head tousled my long red hair and darted somewhere so as not to interfere with my drinking further. I've been chasing you for so long, Edward, every time I suddenly appear from the shadows and carry your wounded body to safety, to my hole with scratched and drenched walls. But every time you run away from me, even when fresh stitches may come apart, even when you may be crushed by the paws of a Bat, and all this in order not to see me, so that I would rush from corner to corner again and run wild from the smell of your blood. Why are you doing this to your Guardian Demon and not accepting the annual repentance?!
A couple more sips and the bottle left my hands. I bend down to his slightly swollen face, with trembling fingers I sweep away the dark blond strands that are in the way and stroke his warm cheeks, approaching the corners of his parted lips. You understand perfectly well that I will not back down, that I will continue to take every opportunity to see you, to touch you. You still have feelings for me in return, quite a bit, but they are there, which is why you didn't kill me when you had the opportunity… And someday, Edward, you will be able to forgive me, otherwise I will chase you through the circle of Hell prepared for all of us, and when I catch up, I will never let you out of my clutches, so that our torments will forever be tied in a strong knot. Riddler was so close, his breath calmed me, the strong scent of cologne caused depraved fantasies, and his condition easily solved this most difficult puzzle for me.
Taking a deep breath, I pressed my lips to Edward's and, having no experience, tried to create our first kiss. I dig into them hungrily, lightly licking and nibbling until the answer comes from the side of the dreams. Nygma's tongue moved cautiously, and I picked it up with my own and pulled it into a ridiculous dance, taking the taste of lime and mint for myself. The fact that I learned this only after stealing the object of my adoration was humiliating, but I couldn't stop enjoying it. Interrupting and starting over multiple kisses, I lift his head, stroking the edges of rapidly reddening lips with my thumbs. I'm unlikely to have another chance to try what I want, or without alcohol, I don't have the courage.
Heat pulsed through my entire body, but hands remained cold and reached out to the softly humming Riddler, one by one unbuttoning the gold buttons of his vest and shirt with tangled fingers. Unwrapping an expensive wrapper made of green and white fabrics, my palms dived under it and with a sharp movement pulled the entire suit off the pale pinkish shoulders. I freeze for a few minutes and admire the results, which only increased my appetite. Sinful reality seeped into Edward's dreams, and he blushed and panted in time with me. Such candid views came to me in fragments only when I was sewing up and bandaging his wounds, the blood and agony did not allow me to thoroughly study this gallery of one person. But tonight you're in my little power, and I'm going to make you like it. I lick my lips and approach Edward again, this time to his neck, which is no longer tied with a collar and tie. Teeth sank into the soft skin with restraint, and moist tongue traced rapidly emerging bluish-maroon patterns. After each new bite or hickey, Nygma groaned loudly, became hotter and covered with exciting goosebumps, and I could not restrain a deep growl. What's going on in your dreams right now, my love? Do I have a chance to be there and not be the epitome of horror exclusively for you? Or did you take this place a long time ago by someone else?..
The sight of the Riddler's rumpled and almost removed outfit was wildly arousing. Even though he continued to shyly cover his sensitive body, I still had full access to new research.
"Ah!.." Edward cried out with a shudder and tensed up when two soft nipples clamped between my fingers, wandering over his chest. The first moan I received caressed my ears and gently played a pleasant melody on the rusty strings of my soul. I want more! I pull them back a little, twist and twist them until two tiny buds swell and bloom bright scarlet, but my subject began to grunt and twitch his arms in displeasure, still remaining beyond the edge. As an affectionate apology, I cover his raised shoulders with a bunch of kisses. His knees were shaking and trying to collide with each other, but the high concentration of lust in the form of a hard erection distracted poor Edward. The echoes of dirty dreams fell from red lips with deep moans and sighs that stirred my insides. I could have stretched this moment out for long minutes and taste out every little reaction of Riddler, I could have brought him to a pleading whine, but I myself no longer had the patience. It became very hot and tense below the stomach, some adequate and cold thoughts quickly melted. I've never experienced anything like this in my entire life, and I can't control it. I was attracted to Edward Nygma, my accumulated feelings were bursting out and hoping for a second chance.
"Do you like it, Edward?" having decided to reveal the whole truth, I whisper right in his ear, slowly loosen my belt and pull it out of the loops of sharp-shooting trousers like a gift ribbon.
"What?.. Crane?!.." at the same moment, Riddler woke up and, perhaps, even sobered up a little, recognizing my voice through the darkness. Gradually realizing that something else was happening, derailing his strict scenarios straight into a messy ditch, he shook his head, tried to get up, but the chair continued to hold him. It was expected, but it still hurt in the riddled heart. Pulling off the blindfold, I found myself gripped by an indignant and frowning look, coupled with a touching blush.
"How did you… Let me go immediately, you bastard!" shouting and pursing his lips, which only recently willingly responded to my kisses, Nygma twitched and fidgeted. So unshakeable, stubborn, even when there is no escape… A satisfied smile spread on my face from these useless kicks. His disgust for me burns at the same time, but also amuses, provokes to continue the struggle for reciprocity, seasoning with gunpowder. Maybe that's exactly what you want? That's the riddle…
Chuckling encouragingly to myself, I bring the full weight of my palm down on his groin, and after a loud answering grunt that turns into viscous grunts, I unbutton his fly.
"I'm not letting you go anywhere in this state, Edward." my hand snaked under clothes and wrapped around my wet flesh. It was only now that Riddler, who was so eager to be free, realized that he was very excited because of the hated man.
"M-mh… Crane… you…" I don't let him finish and kiss again, catching him by the chin, as Nygma continued to resist. This time our kiss turned out to be more fervent and lively, tongues clashing and intertwining, lips clutching each other randomly. He subsided, just mumbled plaintively and looked at me with half-open eyes, in which it was impossible to hide the desires and the treasure with long-standing feelings I was looking for.
And here is the first unfinished fic that I'm going to show you. It's dedicated to my OC. I wanted to write something cute, maybe funny, and I wanted to describe John in detail as a "bad parent," but everything stopped at the most interesting place…
₊‧⁺˖⋆༊ some headcannons ༊.𖥔⁺‧₊
₊‧⁺˖⋆༊ other stories ༊.𖥔⁺‧₊
@creature-lala look at my version of dadcrow🫣
The dry basement air was quickly saturated with the pungent smell of exposed chemicals and salts. This heavy, harmful fog invigorated me better than any coffee and speeding up time. My hands quickly juggled flasks and conducted glass pipettes. The transparent mixture immediately turned a rich orange color after a couple drops of my own reagent. All that remains is to mix everything thoroughly and boil for an hour. The almost ready-made toxin splashed in a tall glass and hissed like a snake, wanting to finally get stronger and break free. In the whirlpool formed by the active stirring, the faces of the future test subjects were sometimes distorted with horror. One day, this turbulent and unstoppable stream will forever drag the annoying and arrogant bat to its depths. The last and eternal dance with hidden nightmares. If you look into a small amber abyss for a long time, you will involuntarily want to dive into a heat-resistant glass and dissolve into it. My vacation, spent entirely in the lab, is almost over, and soon Gotham will shudder from the concentrated horror I've brewed. A small and transparent Scarecrow box, screaming about its danger, but so inviting.
When the stove was already hot enough, there was a knock on the metal door of my shelter from above.
"And who did the devil send me this time?.." cursing and gritting my teeth, I was forced to turn off the hot burners and leave the glass under the working hood. All for the sake of the safety and integrity of my workplace and my chemical creations… The explosive mixture bubbled and hissed resentfully after me. My footsteps were heavy and loud, my hands trembled and wanted to strangle the uninvited guest right on the threshold. It must be something very-very important to distract me from my work! If the toxin stays around for a long time, it will end up in the sewer and won't even be able to poison rats. As far as I know, it has been raining outside for several days, my watch crows have hidden in their shelters and cannot drive away the intruder of our peace. Hmm, what if it's a quick delivery of a fresh test subject? For that, I would even fork out for a tip, which would still go back into my pocket. While I was went up the stairs and shaking all the spider webs in the corners with my exaggerated speed, there was another knock on the door. The blows were dull, weak, and short-lived. It was as if it was done by very small and fragile hands, which were known for my special combination.
Several locks clicked, and all the heavy bolts moved, and the large, rusty door opened with a loud creak. Cold fresh air, mixed with sticky fallen leaves, rushed into my face. I didn't see anyone, but my reflexes caused me to lower my head. A small, inconspicuous boy stood nearby. His thin jacket was soaked through, and his boots were filled with sloshing rainwater. The backpack on his back was heavy and swollen. His long hair was matted, and large drops of water dripped from the tips. His small hands were rubbing together in an attempt to warm up. The child was shivering, sniffling, and whimpering.
"Oy, hello, Leslie. Why aren't you with Edward?" I held the door open and sighed in frustration. It was likely that he had followed a stray puppy and gotten lost. However, for some reason, he remembered the way to my house perfectly.
"S-sir… he is… o-oh… M-mr. C-crane!" Leslie repeated incoherently, but his tears and cold prevented him from forming a coherent sentence.
"Can you explain to me properly what happened?" I placed my hands on my hips and rolled eyes. Whenever something happened, he would start crying, which irritated me. I had repeatedly stated that I would not listen to him unless he calmed down. Under the gentle pressure of my frown, Leslie frantically searched through his pockets.
"S-sor-ry! H-here… her-re…" he pulled out a small device with a speaker and a single green button from beneath his jacket and handed it to me with wet, pale hands. Finally! I recognize this small plastic box with short and important messages from Edward. Leslie almost always carries them with him.
"Listen to me carefully, Crane! Batman has cheated again, and he's on his way to destroy all my brilliant inventions. As always, he envies my intelligence and talent!" Edward's self-assurance in the audio message slightly lifted the corners of my lips, and I stopped paying attention to Leslie, who was still dripping water. In the background, I could hear rumbling and creaking sounds. Unfortunately, Batman's approach interrupted the Riddler's charming speech.
"In short, if you kick my boy out again, I'll have your head! Do you hear me, Crane?! Take care of him for a while, or I'll turn you into a real scarecrow! Please…" the last word, spoken with effort, touched my heart which was frozen from inhaling chemicals. It's wonderful when you need me, Eddie. When Batman disrupts and destroys the hive of mysteries, Nygma immediately remembers me and my crow's nest. It may not be cozy or welcoming, but the Riddler's little heir will be safe here.
"So that's it. You couldn't have told me right away?" after listening to the rest of the message, I chuckled at the boy.
"Sor-ry-y…" his blue lips trembled, and his childish tongue became even more slurred.
"That's enough. Come in before I change my mind." I stepped aside, allowing Leslie to cross the threshold of my residence. Rubbing his swollen nose with sleeve, the frightened child quickly entered, and the metal door slammed shut with a loud thud.
Slowly and wearily, Leslie followed me, holding onto the back of white coat, which was draped over my suit. This forced me to slow down my pace. The child's fears were so evident that they didn't require any effort to recognize them. He was always afraid of getting lost, getting confused, and accidentally returning to his parents' house. As a result, Leslie always held the hand of someone he trusted, someone who would take care of him and alleviate fears. For some reason, my name was also included in his small list of friends. However, I didn't allow the boy to hold my hand. I didn't like it. He figured it out quickly and now he's holding onto my clothes or sleeve to feel good, and that doesn't fall under my prohibition. The cold rainwater still flowed from small hands and feet, leaving a noticeable trail and footprints on the floor and stairs.
All the spare clothes that Leslie had brought with him in backpack were completely soaked. Fortunately for kid, I had some of his clothes which Edward had brought over just in case. Following my instructions, the boy went to the bathroom to wash himself, while I prepared a small stack of clothes for him and found an old, dusty plaid. I only had one blanket, and I wasn't willing to give it away. So, what else do children need to keep them occupied? They're like… hm-m, constantly spinning Rubik's cubes. That's why Edward is able to handle Leslie. In my performance, it will be comparable to aquarium fish that have been forgotten for a couple of months. But Nygma still hands over a small aquarium with his nimble but timid fish. You hate, but at the same time you trust me the most valuable thing.
When Leslie was done, I handed him the clothes and promptly closed the bathroom door before he could say anything. He's an adult, and at the age of eleven, he should be able to handle things on his own. His small size and external age inconsistencies do not affect me. Edward has already taught him how to sneak into protected areas and steal valuables or parts. The unfinished toxin is still waiting for me, so I need to finish things here as soon as possible.
A boy wrapped in a plaid sat unnoticed on the sofa while I was in the small kitchen next to living room. He learned to sneak well so that I wouldn't have time to spot him and chase him away. His washed hair was badly tangled, and the drooping Leslie was silent and looked at the floor with empty eyes, kicking his feet in high socks slightly.
"Tea or cocoa?" my question briefly dispelled the hazy silence and woke the child from his trance.
"Can I have some cocoa, Mr. Crane?" he fiddled with fingers in embarrassment and tried to see my cooking process, but I turned my back on him.
“No. Because I made tea." stirring strong black tea, I go up to Leslie and hand him a mug. Having fallen into a stupor, the boy nevertheless took the tea I offered and warmed his small palms. A transparent haze with a fruity fragrance applied a light pink blush to the child cheeks. Leslie blew on the hot tea and took the first cautious sips, and I studied him. Gradually, he calmed down, stopped shaking, but remained generally melancholy and depressed. Sometimes the kid would look at me with a dull, pleading gaze that constantly darted downward.
"How did this happen? Tell me." having made a choice in favor of the suffering boy, I take out my comb and approach the back of the sofa as quietly as possible. Leslie looked up, puzzled, and blinked his big green eyes animatedly. While waiting, I began to carefully untangle and comb his light brown hair.
"Sir has been making this trap for so long. It was so-o-o big and there were so-o-o many riddles! I even helped sir build this super trap. Well… uh… a little bit." Leslie began to tell enthusiastically, demonstrating the habit of actively gesticulating that he had learned from Edward. But I subdued him and saved the splashing remnants of tea from falling with a light but stern push in the back.
"As I understand, you built everything for Batman?"
"Yes! But he… started breaking everything. It was very fast. We tried so hard… and now there's nothing left." the stream of children's positive mood immediately crashed into shock and confusion. Is it really that hard for Batman to give some of his time to poor Eddie? Just play with him, follow his rules, even if they are as absurd as possible, and be sure to give in to him. And then returning to Arkham won't hurt him so much. My most accurate observations, written during the years when I was Nygma's therapist, have been gathering dust in the archives for a long time. But why study all this and draw any conclusions, since I myself have become a criminal? The end result is always self-affirmation, domination, and humiliation of the loser, rather than an attempt to help and eradicate crime.
"Did you run away right away?"
“No. I hid myself. In the wall. Sir said I should keep quiet and wait." Leslie shuddered all over his body once and squeezed the mug tightly. The strained shoulders rose strongly, the small legs began to fidget and twitch. Everything persistently signaled that he had seen something very unpleasant, something frightening. Edward had once mentioned the small loopholes he was building in temporary lairs for Leslie's quick and stealthy escape. They are either disguised as parts of common mechanisms, or have a self-destruct function after the kid passes through the last door and presses a special button.
"Sh-h-h. It has already happened. You're here, not there anymore." my fingers dug into thick curls and lightly scratched the back of his head. It worked instantly, and Leslie relaxed for a moment and reached for my hands, begging for more comforting tactile contact.
"Many bad things will need to be remembered someday. There's no way we can avoid this. We have to live with them, to coexist. That's why they shouldn't hurt you. Scroll through them like a cassette tape, analyze, cling to important details and try to turn off your feelings in these moments." these sensitive aspects of parenting have always been problematic for Edward, therefore, the boy's preparation for a harsh criminal life partially laid on my shoulders. He would have been very happy to protect his beloved Leslie from all the bad things, and would not have allowed him to get to know the rest of our colleagues. Fortunately, Nygma understands that this is simply impossible, and adaptation is necessary.
"Oh… so you have bad memories too, Mr. Crane?"
"And I learned to control them." having brought Leslie to the disappointing conclusion that now he must repeat this path, I combed the tangled ends of my hair and finally finished. He finished his tea in one nervous, loud gulp and tried to concentrate as much as possible. I never would have thought that one day someone's child would want to take an example from me, but it's really happening now. Leslie squeezed his eyes shut and clutched knees.
"When I was hiding… I… uh. I saw… Batman. He… it was like he broke through a wall. It was very loud. And he… beat sir. He hit and hit… and hit. Bloody dots… very, very many. Sir was shouting, too loudly, and I… I tried… not to make any noise." small tears hung on the tips of his eyelashes, but the boy persevered and held back the cry that were coming.
"Enough. It's all clear to me. Are you hungry?" my attempt to redirect the child to another neutral topic proved successful.
"Uh… yeah, a little bit." rubbing his eyes, Leslie lowered head in embarrassment and folded hands on his stomach, which had managed to growl characteristically several times during our dialogue.
"Then you'll have to wait. I need to finish my work in the lab." I shake my hands and take out the TV remote control from under the sofa cushion. So that the boy wouldn't get bored in silence, I handed over the remote control for his full use and walked slowly towards the basement stairs.
"Okay, Mr. Crane…" Leslie replied, almost in a whisper, with a pitiful puppy-dog look. When I passed through some of the creaking steps, I heard the sound of a TV on from above. The channels quickly and indistinctly replaced each other.
"There are new details of the arrest of the Riddler on our nightly broadcast right now! What did Edward Nygma invent this time and how did Batman save the dreams of Gotham residents again? Stay tuned!" the latest news screamed, but I quickly hid in laboratory from this dance on other people's tragic fates.
A small yellowish precipitate in the form of sharp crystals had formed at the bottom of the glass. Trapped in the transparent walls, the beast was already grinning and growling in the absence of its master. While the tile was heating up, I dissolved the sediment by intensive stirring. The toxin frothed with displeasure and exuded a specific sour smell, which was instantly absorbed by the hood, which was working all the time. The glass stick rang with every contact with the glass. It was like a bell warning of impending chaos. Such complex and dangerous things need much more attention and sensitivity. The fiery mixture quickly heated up on the stove, pushing out large bubbles from the bottom. A column of thick orange steam rose above the glass, and for my own safety, I had to put on a respirator. The hood was working at full power, making a hum and creating a light coolness around itself. The finished, perfectly clean and transparent fear toxin was left to cool for about ten minutes, and I occupied myself with washing the chemical dishes that had accumulated in the sink. I even managed to reward myself with a break and smoke a couple of cigarettes. When the monster, starved of human tears and screams, has calmed down, I add a few milliliters of stabilizer, then divide the toxin into two parts. The first half was poured into a thick brown glass bottle and stored in the refrigerator. Gas will be made from this. The second half was carefully and to the last drop poured into pre-prepared ampoules. For future injections.
My painstaking and monotonous work was briefly interrupted by a foreign rustle. Looking away from the tenth ampoule, I notice Leslie stubbornly walking down the stairs and carrying a stool with him. I freeze, like a predator hiding in the tall grass, and carefully watch his every move. Leslie positioned himself right in front of the threshold of the laboratory: he put a stool close to the side wall of the opening, sat down and swinging his legs. His innocent and curious eyes studied every ampoule on the table and my partially white figure. The boy often came here without asking, and I always chased him away and forbade him to invade my work area. Prohibition always increases the interest and desire for research, especially among children, and a small room with stocks of dangerous reagents, solutions and glassware was no exception. And even in this situation, Leslie found a workaround. Just like Edward… He chose this stool from all my modest furniture and comes down here to observe my work and sometimes asking all sorts of questions. I feel like a museum exhibit or an exciting television program.
"Mr. Crane, why is Batman doing this?"
"Be specific, Leslie."
"Well… Sir didn't have a weapon, and he wasn't going to resist in any way. But Batman beat him like that. Why?.. Does he like hurting others?"
"You have no idea how many years we've been puzzling over this and still can't reach the truth."
This is possibly the best characterization of scarecrow ive seen in a fanfiction! The way the reader can just understand and appreciate the way Cranes mind works and have that contrast with the childish nature of Leslie creates such a sense of empathy for the both of them.
Ah! Thank you very much! I tried to create a narrative that John doesn't like Leslie, but Crane still takes care of the boy, in his own way, gradually, as he needs time to accept the kid👀❤️❤️❤️
And here is the first unfinished fic that I'm going to show you. It's dedicated to my OC. I wanted to write something cute, maybe funny, and I wanted to describe John in detail as a "bad parent," but everything stopped at the most interesting place…
₊‧⁺˖⋆༊ some headcannons ༊.𖥔⁺‧₊
₊‧⁺˖⋆༊ other stories ༊.𖥔⁺‧₊
@creature-lala look at my version of dadcrow🫣
The dry basement air was quickly saturated with the pungent smell of exposed chemicals and salts. This heavy, harmful fog invigorated me better than any coffee and speeding up time. My hands quickly juggled flasks and conducted glass pipettes. The transparent mixture immediately turned a rich orange color after a couple drops of my own reagent. All that remains is to mix everything thoroughly and boil for an hour. The almost ready-made toxin splashed in a tall glass and hissed like a snake, wanting to finally get stronger and break free. In the whirlpool formed by the active stirring, the faces of the future test subjects were sometimes distorted with horror. One day, this turbulent and unstoppable stream will forever drag the annoying and arrogant bat to its depths. The last and eternal dance with hidden nightmares. If you look into a small amber abyss for a long time, you will involuntarily want to dive into a heat-resistant glass and dissolve into it. My vacation, spent entirely in the lab, is almost over, and soon Gotham will shudder from the concentrated horror I've brewed. A small and transparent Scarecrow box, screaming about its danger, but so inviting.
When the stove was already hot enough, there was a knock on the metal door of my shelter from above.
"And who did the devil send me this time?.." cursing and gritting my teeth, I was forced to turn off the hot burners and leave the glass under the working hood. All for the sake of the safety and integrity of my workplace and my chemical creations… The explosive mixture bubbled and hissed resentfully after me. My footsteps were heavy and loud, my hands trembled and wanted to strangle the uninvited guest right on the threshold. It must be something very-very important to distract me from my work! If the toxin stays around for a long time, it will end up in the sewer and won't even be able to poison rats. As far as I know, it has been raining outside for several days, my watch crows have hidden in their shelters and cannot drive away the intruder of our peace. Hmm, what if it's a quick delivery of a fresh test subject? For that, I would even fork out for a tip, which would still go back into my pocket. While I was went up the stairs and shaking all the spider webs in the corners with my exaggerated speed, there was another knock on the door. The blows were dull, weak, and short-lived. It was as if it was done by very small and fragile hands, which were known for my special combination.
Several locks clicked, and all the heavy bolts moved, and the large, rusty door opened with a loud creak. Cold fresh air, mixed with sticky fallen leaves, rushed into my face. I didn't see anyone, but my reflexes caused me to lower my head. A small, inconspicuous boy stood nearby. His thin jacket was soaked through, and his boots were filled with sloshing rainwater. The backpack on his back was heavy and swollen. His long hair was matted, and large drops of water dripped from the tips. His small hands were rubbing together in an attempt to warm up. The child was shivering, sniffling, and whimpering.
"Oy, hello, Leslie. Why aren't you with Edward?" I held the door open and sighed in frustration. It was likely that he had followed a stray puppy and gotten lost. However, for some reason, he remembered the way to my house perfectly.
"S-sir… he is… o-oh… M-mr. C-crane!" Leslie repeated incoherently, but his tears and cold prevented him from forming a coherent sentence.
"Can you explain to me properly what happened?" I placed my hands on my hips and rolled eyes. Whenever something happened, he would start crying, which irritated me. I had repeatedly stated that I would not listen to him unless he calmed down. Under the gentle pressure of my frown, Leslie frantically searched through his pockets.
"S-sor-ry! H-here… her-re…" he pulled out a small device with a speaker and a single green button from beneath his jacket and handed it to me with wet, pale hands. Finally! I recognize this small plastic box with short and important messages from Edward. Leslie almost always carries them with him.
"Listen to me carefully, Crane! Batman has cheated again, and he's on his way to destroy all my brilliant inventions. As always, he envies my intelligence and talent!" Edward's self-assurance in the audio message slightly lifted the corners of my lips, and I stopped paying attention to Leslie, who was still dripping water. In the background, I could hear rumbling and creaking sounds. Unfortunately, Batman's approach interrupted the Riddler's charming speech.
"In short, if you kick my boy out again, I'll have your head! Do you hear me, Crane?! Take care of him for a while, or I'll turn you into a real scarecrow! Please…" the last word, spoken with effort, touched my heart which was frozen from inhaling chemicals. It's wonderful when you need me, Eddie. When Batman disrupts and destroys the hive of mysteries, Nygma immediately remembers me and my crow's nest. It may not be cozy or welcoming, but the Riddler's little heir will be safe here.
"So that's it. You couldn't have told me right away?" after listening to the rest of the message, I chuckled at the boy.
"Sor-ry-y…" his blue lips trembled, and his childish tongue became even more slurred.
"That's enough. Come in before I change my mind." I stepped aside, allowing Leslie to cross the threshold of my residence. Rubbing his swollen nose with sleeve, the frightened child quickly entered, and the metal door slammed shut with a loud thud.
Slowly and wearily, Leslie followed me, holding onto the back of white coat, which was draped over my suit. This forced me to slow down my pace. The child's fears were so evident that they didn't require any effort to recognize them. He was always afraid of getting lost, getting confused, and accidentally returning to his parents' house. As a result, Leslie always held the hand of someone he trusted, someone who would take care of him and alleviate fears. For some reason, my name was also included in his small list of friends. However, I didn't allow the boy to hold my hand. I didn't like it. He figured it out quickly and now he's holding onto my clothes or sleeve to feel good, and that doesn't fall under my prohibition. The cold rainwater still flowed from small hands and feet, leaving a noticeable trail and footprints on the floor and stairs.
All the spare clothes that Leslie had brought with him in backpack were completely soaked. Fortunately for kid, I had some of his clothes which Edward had brought over just in case. Following my instructions, the boy went to the bathroom to wash himself, while I prepared a small stack of clothes for him and found an old, dusty plaid. I only had one blanket, and I wasn't willing to give it away. So, what else do children need to keep them occupied? They're like… hm-m, constantly spinning Rubik's cubes. That's why Edward is able to handle Leslie. In my performance, it will be comparable to aquarium fish that have been forgotten for a couple of months. But Nygma still hands over a small aquarium with his nimble but timid fish. You hate, but at the same time you trust me the most valuable thing.
When Leslie was done, I handed him the clothes and promptly closed the bathroom door before he could say anything. He's an adult, and at the age of eleven, he should be able to handle things on his own. His small size and external age inconsistencies do not affect me. Edward has already taught him how to sneak into protected areas and steal valuables or parts. The unfinished toxin is still waiting for me, so I need to finish things here as soon as possible.
A boy wrapped in a plaid sat unnoticed on the sofa while I was in the small kitchen next to living room. He learned to sneak well so that I wouldn't have time to spot him and chase him away. His washed hair was badly tangled, and the drooping Leslie was silent and looked at the floor with empty eyes, kicking his feet in high socks slightly.
"Tea or cocoa?" my question briefly dispelled the hazy silence and woke the child from his trance.
"Can I have some cocoa, Mr. Crane?" he fiddled with fingers in embarrassment and tried to see my cooking process, but I turned my back on him.
“No. Because I made tea." stirring strong black tea, I go up to Leslie and hand him a mug. Having fallen into a stupor, the boy nevertheless took the tea I offered and warmed his small palms. A transparent haze with a fruity fragrance applied a light pink blush to the child cheeks. Leslie blew on the hot tea and took the first cautious sips, and I studied him. Gradually, he calmed down, stopped shaking, but remained generally melancholy and depressed. Sometimes the kid would look at me with a dull, pleading gaze that constantly darted downward.
"How did this happen? Tell me." having made a choice in favor of the suffering boy, I take out my comb and approach the back of the sofa as quietly as possible. Leslie looked up, puzzled, and blinked his big green eyes animatedly. While waiting, I began to carefully untangle and comb his light brown hair.
"Sir has been making this trap for so long. It was so-o-o big and there were so-o-o many riddles! I even helped sir build this super trap. Well… uh… a little bit." Leslie began to tell enthusiastically, demonstrating the habit of actively gesticulating that he had learned from Edward. But I subdued him and saved the splashing remnants of tea from falling with a light but stern push in the back.
"As I understand, you built everything for Batman?"
"Yes! But he… started breaking everything. It was very fast. We tried so hard… and now there's nothing left." the stream of children's positive mood immediately crashed into shock and confusion. Is it really that hard for Batman to give some of his time to poor Eddie? Just play with him, follow his rules, even if they are as absurd as possible, and be sure to give in to him. And then returning to Arkham won't hurt him so much. My most accurate observations, written during the years when I was Nygma's therapist, have been gathering dust in the archives for a long time. But why study all this and draw any conclusions, since I myself have become a criminal? The end result is always self-affirmation, domination, and humiliation of the loser, rather than an attempt to help and eradicate crime.
"Did you run away right away?"
“No. I hid myself. In the wall. Sir said I should keep quiet and wait." Leslie shuddered all over his body once and squeezed the mug tightly. The strained shoulders rose strongly, the small legs began to fidget and twitch. Everything persistently signaled that he had seen something very unpleasant, something frightening. Edward had once mentioned the small loopholes he was building in temporary lairs for Leslie's quick and stealthy escape. They are either disguised as parts of common mechanisms, or have a self-destruct function after the kid passes through the last door and presses a special button.
"Sh-h-h. It has already happened. You're here, not there anymore." my fingers dug into thick curls and lightly scratched the back of his head. It worked instantly, and Leslie relaxed for a moment and reached for my hands, begging for more comforting tactile contact.
"Many bad things will need to be remembered someday. There's no way we can avoid this. We have to live with them, to coexist. That's why they shouldn't hurt you. Scroll through them like a cassette tape, analyze, cling to important details and try to turn off your feelings in these moments." these sensitive aspects of parenting have always been problematic for Edward, therefore, the boy's preparation for a harsh criminal life partially laid on my shoulders. He would have been very happy to protect his beloved Leslie from all the bad things, and would not have allowed him to get to know the rest of our colleagues. Fortunately, Nygma understands that this is simply impossible, and adaptation is necessary.
"Oh… so you have bad memories too, Mr. Crane?"
"And I learned to control them." having brought Leslie to the disappointing conclusion that now he must repeat this path, I combed the tangled ends of my hair and finally finished. He finished his tea in one nervous, loud gulp and tried to concentrate as much as possible. I never would have thought that one day someone's child would want to take an example from me, but it's really happening now. Leslie squeezed his eyes shut and clutched knees.
"When I was hiding… I… uh. I saw… Batman. He… it was like he broke through a wall. It was very loud. And he… beat sir. He hit and hit… and hit. Bloody dots… very, very many. Sir was shouting, too loudly, and I… I tried… not to make any noise." small tears hung on the tips of his eyelashes, but the boy persevered and held back the cry that were coming.
"Enough. It's all clear to me. Are you hungry?" my attempt to redirect the child to another neutral topic proved successful.
"Uh… yeah, a little bit." rubbing his eyes, Leslie lowered head in embarrassment and folded hands on his stomach, which had managed to growl characteristically several times during our dialogue.
"Then you'll have to wait. I need to finish my work in the lab." I shake my hands and take out the TV remote control from under the sofa cushion. So that the boy wouldn't get bored in silence, I handed over the remote control for his full use and walked slowly towards the basement stairs.
"Okay, Mr. Crane…" Leslie replied, almost in a whisper, with a pitiful puppy-dog look. When I passed through some of the creaking steps, I heard the sound of a TV on from above. The channels quickly and indistinctly replaced each other.
"There are new details of the arrest of the Riddler on our nightly broadcast right now! What did Edward Nygma invent this time and how did Batman save the dreams of Gotham residents again? Stay tuned!" the latest news screamed, but I quickly hid in laboratory from this dance on other people's tragic fates.
A small yellowish precipitate in the form of sharp crystals had formed at the bottom of the glass. Trapped in the transparent walls, the beast was already grinning and growling in the absence of its master. While the tile was heating up, I dissolved the sediment by intensive stirring. The toxin frothed with displeasure and exuded a specific sour smell, which was instantly absorbed by the hood, which was working all the time. The glass stick rang with every contact with the glass. It was like a bell warning of impending chaos. Such complex and dangerous things need much more attention and sensitivity. The fiery mixture quickly heated up on the stove, pushing out large bubbles from the bottom. A column of thick orange steam rose above the glass, and for my own safety, I had to put on a respirator. The hood was working at full power, making a hum and creating a light coolness around itself. The finished, perfectly clean and transparent fear toxin was left to cool for about ten minutes, and I occupied myself with washing the chemical dishes that had accumulated in the sink. I even managed to reward myself with a break and smoke a couple of cigarettes. When the monster, starved of human tears and screams, has calmed down, I add a few milliliters of stabilizer, then divide the toxin into two parts. The first half was poured into a thick brown glass bottle and stored in the refrigerator. Gas will be made from this. The second half was carefully and to the last drop poured into pre-prepared ampoules. For future injections.
My painstaking and monotonous work was briefly interrupted by a foreign rustle. Looking away from the tenth ampoule, I notice Leslie stubbornly walking down the stairs and carrying a stool with him. I freeze, like a predator hiding in the tall grass, and carefully watch his every move. Leslie positioned himself right in front of the threshold of the laboratory: he put a stool close to the side wall of the opening, sat down and swinging his legs. His innocent and curious eyes studied every ampoule on the table and my partially white figure. The boy often came here without asking, and I always chased him away and forbade him to invade my work area. Prohibition always increases the interest and desire for research, especially among children, and a small room with stocks of dangerous reagents, solutions and glassware was no exception. And even in this situation, Leslie found a workaround. Just like Edward… He chose this stool from all my modest furniture and comes down here to observe my work and sometimes asking all sorts of questions. I feel like a museum exhibit or an exciting television program.
"Mr. Crane, why is Batman doing this?"
"Be specific, Leslie."
"Well… Sir didn't have a weapon, and he wasn't going to resist in any way. But Batman beat him like that. Why?.. Does he like hurting others?"
"You have no idea how many years we've been puzzling over this and still can't reach the truth."
My scriddler fics still haven't found their readers, and no one is interested in the other shipp at all. It's sad, so I need more time to recover. Maybe the problem is my style, my narration, or a poor translation. I need to think about it…
So, there are some fics in my archives that I haven't finished. I'll probably publish them soon so that my blog doesn't get abandoned at all.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: Staying at work at night to diligently continue creating his project, Edward Nygma becomes a bystander to the murder of a colleague. The loyal and cruel killer Jack Napier was sent after the debtor of the mafia family, and now he had to decide another fate. Should Jack kill him without hesitation, or should frame him and divert blind justice from Valestra? Edward was able to avoid a tragic end, but had to reveal his most important secret: he has long been interested in hacking and make the necessary equipment for this. This skill has always been used for no malicious intent, but now it's in the hands of a gangster. To save his life, Nygma is forced to go with Napier to a special mission, where something needs to be hacked. There is a constant threat to life, freedom and career, and at the center of this whole nightmare is a laughing bandit.
Oh, what? Am I already 27?.. And it seemed that I had only recently started reading comics and comprehending two favorite characters. And shipp them, of course.
Even though there are so few of you, I'm still grateful that I have you, that you read me and wait for me to come back from my next self-dig. Thank you, my dear readers! Thank you for enjoying my pure romance with me.
As a gift, you can re-read my fics or take the time unread ones and leave a nice review. You can even reblog something or… um … draw for me? Pretty please?🥺👉👈
Here is a list of the most important fics for me. I hope you enjoy it👀
✮˖ ⊹⋆.Rose in a cage ⊹₊⟡⋆❀°
Drowning in your scriddler art!!!!! Do you have any scriddler fic recs/Writers? Ive only recently found the ship and I am dyingg for more.
@acapelladitty
@panic-prones-blog
@feartoxinjelloshot
@robot-carl
@blackiraven
These are some of my mutuals that do awesome scriddler fics that range from fluffy romance to the spiciest smut and everything in between ✨🌸Please check them out! :D <333
Yes, I didn't expect this from myself after five years in scriddler.
It all started with watching "Batman: Mask of the Phantasm." I've always disliked Joker himself, but Jack Napier looked very hot and interesting to me. Yes, I can start to adore a character who hasn't said a word in all his short appearances…
And I had a cool idea where gangster-killer Jack and game developer Edward meet each other before becoming particularly dangerous villains. That's why this fic was written. Plus, I wanted to try something new, new dynamics, new genres, so please don't unsubscribe from me, scriddler fans👀💦
I hope you enjoy it👉👈
Фанфик на русском можно почитать ✨тут✨
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Not so long ago, I reread the "War of Jokes and Riddles" and I wanted to write such scriddler. They're just as good, aren't they? I was generally fascinated by the pumped-up Eddie and I'm waiting for Hash 2🌚
In addition, these beautiful drawings have fueled my inspiration. It's not mine, you'll find the author here👈👀
Let's enjoy this version together! My fanfiction is below👇👀
✨Фик на русском тут✨
Play card in chest pocket
"Scarecrow. In my office in ten minutes." it sounded affirmatively from all the transmitters, echoed through the room and collapsed into a quiet sediment. The general frenzy of activity was interrupted, panicked glances were thrown at each other, and after a belated realization they gathered over me. The placebo-like leadership voice even soothed the long agony of the severely wounded, or the reason was relief that someone else had been called instead of them. Bandages have just been changed, stitches were applied a couple of hours ago, and even earlier, a new encounter with the enemy ended exhausted. Batman's intrusion into a process that had absolutely nothing to do with him only spoiled and prolonged our war. It was because of his intervention that I got shot and had to stay with the rest of the injured in an improvised medical center. All the blood had just dried up before the long pilgrimage to the designated place. It is necessary to get up from the couch and walk the learned path with numb legs, loading mute support or the snide grins of the lucky people onto the twisted back. A piercing pain in side pulled me to the ground, to a primitive helpless state in the fetal position, but the order imprinted in my half-clouded consciousness, like a spell, raised me from the dead. The diabolical draw was only accelerating. Someone returned from Riddler's office more crippled, someone got off with an educational conversation, the most suspicious ones have not been seen or heard for a long time. "How do you leave and stay in the building at the same time? To be carried out dead in several bags and remain alive in the memory of the inhabitants."
The main headquarters was located behind a door that carefully hidden into the dark corridor. Crossing his threshold, the summoned one undertook to take off his masks, shed his superfluous personalities and swallow its own ambitions. The appearance of the four walls has long been forgotten due to the hung maps of the districts of Gotham. The lists of remaining and "dropped out" mercenaries, the plans for the placement of small bases and the division of conquered territories. The various photographs, trophies and notes re-drawn dozens of times. Each guest or intruder was hooked and delayed by this gallery, in the constellations of letters and numbers their fate or the beckoning opportunity to decipher Riddler's notes and mentally surpass him could be hidden. A simple deception and a check on an idiot. The dusty screen was of no importance, the necessary data and calculations were actually stored in a large red head. Nygma himself was sitting calmly on the edge of his office desk, completely engrossed in some papers, some of which were finally torn into small pieces. He escaped with major abrasions and still oozing bruises, refused medical help, made a list of all the injured and the dead, and returned to work.
"Come on in. Have a seat." Nygma didn't pay any attention to me at all, incessantly sorting through and destroying someone's personal files with trembling, bluish hands with torn knuckles. Restraining a slight but assertive indignation at such a greeting, I use my last strength to reach the armchair, which is normally located in the center, but now moved closer to the table. Due to the "accidental coincidence", my journey was extended by several more painful steps. There was no soft, decent landing. An attack of painful spasms overtook at the most inopportune moment, squeezing my insides, cutting off coordination and pounding in my head with alarming pulsations. I shamefully plop into the interrogation and torture unit, disguised as a deceptively and captivatingly comfortable chair. You could say that I fell at the feet of the commander. Sweat poured down my temples and the back of neck, and groans broke through my clenched teeth. My hands reflexively wrapped around my stomach, probing the bandages from all sides, but fortunately, the stitches withstood the unexpected test. Gradually, all that remained of the convulsions was shortness of breath. Between the rustling leaves, brown eyes caught hold of me with concern for a moment. The germinating emotions faded away in a vicious cycle of indifference.
After an incalculable amount of time, my withered body merged with the harmless upholstery this time, and dust climbed up my ankles. Just the paper rustle and the ticking of the clock, dissolving and scattering the numbers every time you look at them. To make a painful journey just… to sit here? Of course, his office is quiet and comfortable, but this is not the result that should be included in our meeting.
"Knock-knock." hoarsely and somehow unplanned frighteningly poured out of the throat. When Riddler and Joker exchange these jokes that don't get through… it annoys me. It's a good time to try it myself, right?.. Nygma is definitely not going to kill him, adhering to a well-developed tactic of mental humiliation, turning the saved life of the enemy into a hell of self-destruction. But I would finish Joker off at the first opportunity, poison him to death with a toxin while he is vulnerable, while he is focused on one opponent. To stop… their interactions! Including the whole war. Excessive impulsiveness deprived me of an invitation to the upcoming talks with Bruce Wayne. The white paper curtain finally showed to the honorary guest the same honorary actor of the solitary theater sitting on a high stage.
"Who's there?" startled, Edward replied with supportive interest, glancing first at me and then at the drooping documents.
"A bullet."
"A bullet doesn't knock on the door."
"Yes. It breaks through." at the mention of the sutured wound, it ached and tightened a little. It's a familiar feeling that we can now discuss in private. Sighing, he finally put down the annoying stack.
"Hmf… I'm sorry about that. I don't like public dissection of flaws. You know." Nygma's confessions were not fully revealed, with great pain and resistance, but they were sincere. The rare remorse that made me feel guilty wasn't the main goal. I can really be offended or angered by being ignored, which he just played with without remorse.
"Not everything can be predetermined and calculated." said backhand meant the end of this topic, but in the impenetrable green abyss of continuous thought, everything changed into a claim, into a challenge.
"You just haven't tried it, Crane." his shoulders straightened proudly, one leg crossed over the other, and his hands clasped together on his knee. A smirk, sharpened by the upturned corners of his lips, darted out for the last time and pinned me to the chair at the very moment when I began to relax.
"I don't need it."
"Huh. Just as I thought."
The inappropriate confrontation that was gaining momentum, after the start was immediately cut short by a sluggish, wordless refusal to attack. Physical battles are enough. Nygma accepted my position, or rather, spared me, magnanimously cleared me from the gaming table and brewed us coffee, already looking for ways to vent his displeasure on the next visitors to the tribunal.
"Thanks" carefully sip the fragrant, strong truce with chocolate chips, so that my guts don't turn out and my throat doesn't burn. At least sometimes you can put crucial events on pause and settle down in a cozy corner. It's as if the earth littered with corpses doesn't shake every day outside the room. The sweetness was interrupted by the bitter taste of the old routine.
The hypnotic properties of the cabinet, which was different from the others, once again spun the webs of their influence – and after a "couple" of promised sips, the bottom of the white cup already appeared. "Why is coffee tastier than usual? Because he's poisoned." And the poison can be anything, not necessarily murderous. In exceptional cases…
"How are you feeling?" wandering around with quiet steps, Nygma successfully drove away a viscous doze, from which a shapeless coffee grounds remained. Won't be able to look into the future with even one eye anymore.
"It's much better now." I had to move my head along the trajectory of his direction so that the grateful attention would not run out.
"Would you like to stay?" with an abrupt stop, he fixed my gaze on himself, caught and captured the answer that hadn't had time to slip through, studied it in detail, sweetening his coffee with it.
"There's no place for me in your schedule at the moment, is there?" it's better to accept the obvious disappointing outcome right away, avoiding a slap in the face more crushing than a bullet. The empty and cooled cup was joined by an identical one. Edward took one out of the middle of the tattered stack of papers with one easy movement and, with a wink, handed it to me. This is a list of necessary reagents and equipment for the laboratory that I have compiled. A regular request, approved by Riddler every time, requiring large financial investments. What does that have to do with it? Oh, shit, was he going to discuss this right now? Or… Rereading the items marked with green ticks, I notice the numbers and symbols underlined with the same pencil. Very small. This definitely wasn't the case before. If put them in order, it get… "2:35 am"? The time? Today? Why exactly thirty-five minutes?.. Under Nygma's mischievous laughter, a fragment of the letter was taken away and returned in the same way.
"You guessed wrong."
Before I could fully comprehend the simple six-piece puzzle, Edward came closer, grabbed the rope around my neck and gently pulled me towards him, as if inviting me to a romantic dance. His characteristic suddenness. My retaliatory movements unsuccessfully stumbled and flopped down, so I only managed to pliantly jump out of the chair.
"You're pretty hard to ignore, John." the end of the rope wound around his wrist, bringing closer to the noose, and his voice became charmingly quiet.
"And I can't bear to leave you every time, Edward." finally, I could grab onto him like a saving edge of a cliff into a damp grave. In response, strong arms wrapped around me, lifted off the floor and gently hugged without causing pain. The heaviness was eliminated from my body, the burning sensation in the side calmed down. As soon as the first drops of blush fell on Edward's cheeks, I kissed his plump lips and watched with half-open eyes the saturated shades. Fingers crept up Edward's broad back to the nape of his neck, timidly stroking and twirling the unsupervised curly red strands. Between multiple intermittent kisses, our in-breaths and out-breaths took off, begging for more and more.
"Be careful next time and… stay close to me." his palm intertwined with mine and squeezed tightly, his red-hot cheek pressed against my temple so that the assignment for the future would definitely be heard and understood. Even in such infrequent moments, he continues to think about further plans and their ramifications.…
"So that Bat can overtake both of us at once?" muttering with displeasure, I rudely violate the boundaries and continue to kiss him. This time, the cool imprints of chapped lips remained on the healing abrasions.
"He's obviously going to do it anyway, but he's going to put more force and hate into hitting me." from such a bringing-back-to-earth conclusion, my heart painfully trembled in my chest and casually wrapped a lump in my throat with prickly threads. Yes, it's too obvious and even necessary. Riddler is one of the instigators, it would be strange if Batman chose another target. But…
"Isn't that stupid?"
"I prefer the "tactically correct distribution of combat units."
I hope he can anticipate that very blow. Otherwise, I will become the ultimate punishment for the assassination attempt on my commander. Maybe that's the whole idea, too?..
"How many wing flaps will it take for a hummingbird to fly from the rainforest to the desert?" once again ignoring my mental anguish. That impenetrable smile again, surrounded by bruises from armored punches. I definitely didn't need an exact calculation for this riddle, so I raised an eyebrow questioningly, waiting for the answer that was invisible on the surface.
"Not a single one. Because hummingbird doesn't need to fly to the desert, it die there." my retreating, frowning face was caught by warming hands. Edward resumed the kiss, pressing me against his chest, which was constantly open and did not need a bulletproof vest. A surging, deep, long kiss, like an eternity of pleasure. Tongues circled each other, lips pitied the aching points, taking over the tingling pain. The man-made scar question mark quivered and wriggled like a non-hostile snake, and my wound seemed to respond similarly. There are too many stares, too many lies and flattery said. There are too many emotions of souls who have chosen their side, which elevate and bring Riddler closer to a well-deserved victory, while I am left in his shadow. Hate it. Only I am honored to enjoy him in every possible way, to want him, to hold him, and to hear something other than strict orders. The war not only mixed green with purple, getting red "miraculously", but also closed its shackles on me. Only behind closed doors, behind thick walls, and behind curtained windows can Nygma, who makes up secret schedules, take them off me. Pretending to be sadistic cruelty, forced protection and concealment of faded value. But such a cruel decision only fuels the strength and zeal to fight a new battle for a worthy reward. The pain of all kinds of injuries has long been familiar, but someone's healing caress is completely new and effective.
"Wouldn't such an order be suspicious?" a slight bite of his soft upper lip reminded of Edward's choice of encrypting all heartfelt messages.
"Hmm, not at all. Everything is simple. The cunning and quirky Scarecrow seeks my loyalty in every possible way. For the sake of profit. Just like everyone else." he squinted at me like a trapped traitor, then restrained my angry kicking, smiled playfully and adjusted the bandage with a question mark on my arm.
"Nygma, are you… serious? Retraining me as sycophants?!"
"Of the ten accused, all but one were executed. How did the latter escape punishment? He pretended to be nine people all the time."
I don't understand such a negative reaction to the new Riddler design.
For me, as a long-time reader, the plot is primarily important and how the character will behave, as the authors will show him. In this case, we didn't really see Nygma in action! Maybe his new look will be plot-based. For example, the Riddler became stronger and made himself armor to fight back against Hush both physically and mentally. Why not? Let Eddie be a gagachad genius who can smash his opponent's face instead of running to Joker or Penguin and crying for help (yes, there was such a comic, and he was killed there in the end)
In addition, there were other, similar designs, more cringe for me...
And seeing all this, I prefer this new Eddie. For example, yes, at first I didn't like Riddler from "War of Jokes and Riddles", but as I read, seeing his moves, seeing his advantage, I began to love and respect this version. Therefore, the plot is important first of all. Just imagine Edward from Hush 2 in a classic costume! Oh, gosh, girls, it's just going to be beautiful, and so hot!🫣🤤🤤🤤
Yes, the more classical version is more preferable and canonical, I like it too. And, I hope, new comics will be released with Eddie, who is canonical for us. But I don't understand such a huge argument and whining about Hush 2. They didn't really show Nygma in the first part! Do you care? They decided to write the second part after 20 years, come on! This is definitely in order to attract a new audience. I would understand if Riddler from "Year Zero", where he was the main villain, where he was shown to the readers as well as possible, was so radically changed. Such a decision would be terrible for a fan!
Plus, if you just compare, then in most comics Riddler is… canonical! Yes, that's it! They most likely do not plan to change him to the ground and degrade it before the first appearance in the comics🤷♀️
My redraw for @blackiraven! She wrote a new fanfiction inspired by one painting. I suggest all fans of scriddler read this fic! And you can also join in and redraw this picture too.
