Greetings, reader. Here you are loved, regardless of your skin color, religion, gender or orientation.
I am Karincha, a girl who loves a Scarecrow (Batman), and loves to draw. This blog was created to combine these two favorite things.
What can you do here? You can ask me to draw art! Don't be shy!
My favorite version of scarecrow is salecrow (scarecrow drawn by Tim Sale, like in Long Halloween). I have salecrow ask-blog, so if you like usuch thing you can check it out! My nickname - @askthelordofdespair.
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."
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 ⊹₊⟡⋆❀°
It's my friend's birthday! I'm showing you an illustration from her fanfiction, "Heron and Frog." I've read it myself, and I recommend that everyone do the same.
If at the very beginning of Batman: Arkham City, not to fall for the threat of the Joker and wait, then he will not immediately blow up the tower, but will say something like: "It all ends with one of us die. The question is who".
