#queryverse

[questionquery]

@crowsinthecornfield

The car rolls to a smooth stop beneath the hotel’s awning, headlights cutting across polished stone and trimmed doors. Edward shifts the gear into park with a satisfied little click, glancing over at the passenger seat with that unmistakable spark in his eye.

“Jon, darling,”

he purrs, already unbuckling,

“we’re here.”

He steps out into the cool air, adjusts his coat, and circles around the hood with purposeful strides. The door on Jonathan’s side swings open with a neat, practiced flourish— a gesture halfway between showmanship and something uncharacteristically considerate.

“Come along,”

he murmurs, offering a hand as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

[detective-adler-on-the-case]

I was possessed with the image of Eddie with a manbun and I had to draw it.

@questionquery your long haired Eddie lives in my head rent free. He’s so cuntyyyy

✨Who is this diva??✨

I want to touch his hair. Perhaps braid it.

[questionquery]

The flight attendant leaned over the check-in counter just a little too far to be professional, her smile bright and practiced. Her eyes flicked over Edward’s face, then very noticeably to the sharp line of his jaw, then back up again.

“Long trip ahead? If you need help finding your gate… or anything else, really… I’m free for the next few minutes.” She handed him his boarding pass with a light brush of her fingers against his, enough to make it clear it wasn’t an accident. “Enjoy your flight, handsome.”

A slow, unmistakable grin curled at the corner of his mouth— sly, and far too pleased with itself. He accepted the boarding pass with a theatrical little flourish of his fingers, retracting them before her fingers could linger further.

His gaze flicked sideways to Jonathan, looking as if the interaction actively causing a grow to his ego.

“…Well aren't you a delight?”

he hummed, returning his attention to her with a clear sort of smugness.

“I'll keep the offer in mind, thank you.”

@crowsinthecornfield

[questionquery]

…

[questionquery]

The helicopter descended through the thick Maryland fog, its blades scattering the morning mist across the treeline as it descended into a narrow clearing. The landing site was an opening on the edge of a quiet town— nothing more than a scattering of farmland, a flickering motel sign, and a general store that looked like it hadn’t seen a renovation since the ‘70s. The mist hung low, heavy against the early morning light.

The pilot gave a curt nod to Waller as the skids touched down, the hum of the engine fading into the rustle of the trees. After the cabin doors swung open, Edward was the first to step out, irritation covering his face as his polished shoes sunk into the wet earth.

“Ugh… I just got these…”

…regardless, he was glad to have escaped the cabin. The tension that had settled there previously had been… uncomfortable.

@crowsinthecornfield

[questionquery]

//Continued from this

@crowsinthecornfield

As he rose from the chair and stepped away from the scattered evidence of his haircut, Edward focused on the sensation at the back of his neck—the familiar smoothness where weight and irritation had once lived. His fingers lingered there, grounding, and despite himself a small, almost private smile surfaced. It was him. He could still recognize that much.

The apartment felt heavy with tension, with the hum of Jonathan’s thoughts bleeding into the room even without words. Edward lingered in the doorway, watching Jonathan move with that brittle, frenetic precision, the cage held too tightly, as if the world might fracture if he loosened his grip.

Before he could overthink it—before he could decide it wasn’t his place—Edward spoke. His voice came out steadier than it had any right to, carrying a volume and certainty he hadn’t heard from himself in a long while.

“Would you like help with that?”

He leaned lightly against the doorframe, eyes following Jonathan's movements, offering the question not as a challenge or a test, but as something simpler. An opening.

[questionquery]

Nygma. Wake up.

Now, or I start taking teeth.

@crowsinthecornfield some of my asks have been sent as anons recently so im doing this for the time being just to be safe

…

It took him a moment to register the voice.

“…ngh…”

His eyes slowly open, unfocused, a quiet groan slipping out as he dragged a hand down his face.

“…what, no ‘good morning’?”

[questionquery]

Anniversary.

1 pm.

.

Edward Nygma walks into the lceberg Lounge.

The daylight outside bleeding pale and anemic through Gotham's clouds, but inside the club it might as well be midnight. The lights are low, the music lazy, the air thick with perfume and old money and quiet violence.

Normally, Edward would relish it— the controlled chaos, the aesthetic, the puzzle of who's lying to whom. Today, he barely registers it.

He looks awful.

Hair longer than it has any right to be, hanging loose and tangled down his back. Beard grown in unevenly, dark smudges under his eyes like bruises he didn't bother to hide. His clothes are wrinkled, buttoned wrong, tie missing entirely. There are faint yellow-purple shadows at his throat, scars peeking above his collar that weren't there the last time anyone in this room might have seen him.

People stare. They always do when something familiar comes back wrong.