Maestro-of-bulbs - Sam - Tumblr Blog

Art I drew a while ago and forgot to post :)

hi jon

lonely city eddie my beloved

my sleep paralysis demon

he can take him

I’m a scriddler fan, but I never drew a scriddler fanart AHAHAH (*whispers* because I’m laaazyyy)  so here a kiss <3

for @askriddleandspooky （*´▽｀*）

silly riddle man 💚

What it felt like..

His crimes include being a cutie patootie (amongst many, many other things)

Ahh, now THAT'S my Riddler!

Spam #3

This is it. This is their dynamic 😂

Playing doctor - Scriddler ff

The two tons of metal fell down from the ceiling and crashed to the ground with powerful impact, shattering a nearby riddlerbot into tiny pieces and lifting a cloud of dust into the air.

Riddler viewed this scene seemingly unfazed, completely ignoring the fact that the heavy panel landed a mere three feet from him. If anything, Edward looked irritated.

"You useless piece of electronics, can't you be more careful when handling my machinery," he yelled at the other robot that was working on the hydraulic arm that was supposed to hold the pressure plate in place.

The riddlerbot turned its metal head to its master and blinked its green vision-diodes at him, but it didn't answer, of course, and Scarecrow doubted it was capable of understanding a thing.

Much like its creator…

"It could have been you, you know," the hooded man nodded his head at the smashed riddlerbot, now invisible under the heavy panel.

A loose screw from the wreck rolled across the uneven flooring and right in Riddler's direction, stopping at the tip of his boot. Edward kicked it aside, disgusted.

"Do NOT patronize me, Crane. I'm perfectly capable of keeping this place a safe work environment for myself, thank you!" He put his gloved hands into his pockets, now slightly offended, and not caring to look at his interlocutor at all.

Scarecrow would have sighed at this, if he had more fucks to give. "Are you sure about that?"

"What are you implying?"

"I think, you're not careful enough, Edward."

As gentle as Scarecrow wished to put that, it still must have felt like a punch in the guts for Riddler's giant ego. The man in green clenched his jaw, his shoulders tensed, and his arms trembled slightly. As he turned to grace Crane with a furious glare, Jonathan already knew he was walking on thin ice.

"Are you saying my work is sloppy?" Lips pursed, and with the corner of his mouth contorted by an angry grimace, Edward stepped forward, moving dangerously close to Scarecrow, his index finger ready to jab at him with an unnecessary force. "Do you, by any chance, accuse me of being unqualified to do what I'm doing? Are you doubting my skills? MY skills!" The finger was there already, jabbing at Jonathan's chest. "And what gave You, of all people, the right to judge my competence, doctor? Do you think you're better than me? What possibly made you assume I'm not…" The jab "Being..." Another jab. "CAREFUL!"

Before the last jab could ever come, Scarecrow caught Riddler's hand with his own. Edward pulled away, or at least he tried to, but Jonathan's grip was a force to be reckoned with.

"Perhaps, my way of wording it was a little misleading." His voice was as calm as possible, not betraying any of the amusement that sure was there, watching Riddler struggle to get his hand free. "It has nothing to do with your formidable skills. I just thought," He pulled at Edward's arm, pulling the man with it, forcing him to press his body against Scarecrow's toxin vials. "It would be a shame if you lose those skillful fingers of yours in some freak accident," he finished with a soft whisper, aimed for Riddler's ear.

Said ear got a little redder at this comment, and so did Edward's neck, and cheeks.

Scarecrow's grip lightened but Riddler stopped struggling with him anyway. He even allowed a moment of silence between them, wordlessly watching Jonathan.

After a short pause, Scarecrow let the other go, and Edward moved away from him, looking partially confused, and partially flustered, as if he had expected something more to happen.

"Well, that's very thoughtful of you, Crane. But I'm careful, really."

This sounded silly, especially after what had happened to his robot just a moment earlier.

"You have burn marks all over your right forearm," Jon stated flatly, his eyes still searching Riddler's face for a reaction.

Edward shrugged. "I had a little quarrel... with my computer's transistor... But hey, you should have seen the 'other guy'," He let out a short, neurotic laugh, his attempted joke clearly a defense mechanism to brush the whole thing off. A method that didn't work with a qualified psychologist like Doctor Jonathan Crane.

"There is a band-aid on your neck," Scarecrow tried to make his point yet again, and yet again it failed.

"Merely a scratch from shaving."

"You're not shaved."

"What is this!?" Edward snapped. "An interrogation?"

"I'm simply worried about your well-being. Care to tell me where you got the cut above your left temple from?" He reached to touch Edward's fresh scar, but the man jumped away from him, as if Crane's hand was a white-hot iron.

"That's none of your business," Nigma barked back at him like an angry dog, obviously protecting himself from the painful facts. "A spring might have snapped and scratched my forehead," he added, apparently compelled to answer the truth.

"And you didn't wear a welding mask, did you?"

"I..." This seemed to be a dead end for Riddler's reasonable argumentation, and now he decided to change his tactics and attack. "Look who's talking! The man who had himself handed to a crocodile on a silver plate!" Riddler spat out quite hatefully, some spit shooting out of his mouth as he did.

Scarecrow knew Edward Nigma and this was rather expected, offending others when feeling threatened. Jonathan didn't mind. His skin was tougher than that, Edward's words, no matter how harmful, couldn't hurt him.

"I had the doubtful pleasure of experiencing the close proximity of your fully exposed body. I remember your every defect, I can recall every little scar on your broken frame, including the one on your left wrist, quite telling evidence of your weakness, I'd say."

As far as Jonathan remembered, this “doubtful pleasure”, as the man kindly phrased it, had been received by Riddler quite enthusiastically. By insulting his partner, Nigma was only insulting himself.

Despite all that, there sure was an unexpected pang of bitterness in Jonathan’s heart. He shouldn't have let this man under his skin like this, yet alone into his bed, but here they were, discussing one of the two most sensitive topics for Jon like it was Gotham’s yesterday weather.

Perhaps, he had been too trusting toward the other rogue, naively hoping Edward would be more decent than this?

Edward had been anything but decent. "Riddle me this, Scarecrow," the man went on, now fully confident of his victory. "Which one of us is not careful enough? Which one of us went into the sewers of Gotham without a decent plan, hoping for the best? Which one of us was stupid enough to get himself mauled by a mindless crocodile-man? YOU!" Edward ended his little tirade pointing a judging finger at Jonathan, a triumphant, unhinged grin stretched across his wrinkled face.

Inhaling deeply through his mutilated nose, Scarecrow tried to swallow his resentment toward the other. It wasn't Edward's fault, he told himself, it was simply how his fragile ego functioned. And Edward was a sick man, it was the only way he could operate at all. If anything, he needed help, not logical arguments, and not a heavy hand, but just a little support.

At this point, however, it was really a charity on Scarecrow’s side to even consider giving him that much.

"You're right," Jonathan told the man, not without some spite. It felt like a thousand and the first time he had done this same old thing. One of them had to be smarter, if they didn't want to end up tearing at each other’s throats, and unfortunately, it was never Edward. "I must admit, I didn't plan my sewer escapade as thoroughly as I should have, and it has cost me dearly, which you are aware of. But you're not like me, Edward, you know better than being reckless. That's why..." Slowly, he pulled a little paper slip out of the pocket of his brown, stitched-up coat.

"What's this?" Riddler eyed the slip suspiciously.

"Take a look for yourself," Jonathan offered, outstretching his arm, and handing the paper to the other man.

A mix of curiosity and distrust was painted all over Edward's face as he attempted to read the note in the dim light of an underground train tunnel.

"Are you kidding me? Is that a prescription?" Nigma's voice was basically shaking with anger as he figured out the words scribbled on a little paper slip. "Are you prescribing me medication, Crane? What are you? My psychiatrist?"

“More than you know,” was hanging on the tip of Scarecrow’s tongue but he didn’t allow it to slip through. "Well, I am a doctor, so I..." he wanted to explain but he was cut short by another one of Riddler’s angry outburst.

"I don't want your medical opinion, and I don't need your help," he shouted, enraged once again. "Not yours! Not Batman's! And especially not that from those dolts back at Arkham! When will it sink in to your two-cells brains! I'm-not-CRAZY!"

“Mentally ill.”

“What did you just…”

“I said,” Scarecrow kept perfectly calm, savoring the precious image of Riddler’s furious expression, “the correct medical term would be: ‘I’m not mentally ill’. ‘Crazy’ is not exactly the professional way to put it. And of course, you’re not crazy." Crane decided to dodge the incoming tantrum. He walked toward the man, placing his hand on the other's shoulder as if to console him. "But you're stressed, overworked, your body tense, I can sense that much."

It was unlike Edward, not to instantly fend away the intrusive hand resting on his shoulder.

"I'm just.." Nigma was searching for the right word to express himself, his anger getting in his way. "Since when are you so observant? You’re nearly blind, from what I know. Last time you had to ask me to thread a needle for you.”

“…so I could stitch up your favorite shirt.”

“That’s beside the point!”

“It’s fine if you don’t want it,” Crane referred to the prescription, now crumpled into a small ball of paper within Riddler’s clenched fist. “It was a friendly gesture, don’t read too much into it. I simply assumed you might want some of the good stuff to help you relax.”

He pressed a little harder, showing Edward how painfully tense his neck muscles were. Before it could start to hurt, he undid the pressure and gave a little massage instead, trying to release the tension.

Nigma exhaled audibly, his breath a gust of hot air as if he literally let out some steam from his overheating system.

Scarecrow watched him closely, observed how his eyelids lowered just slightly, and how his facial muscles relaxed, giving his otherwise sharp features a calmer expression.

He circled him, never breaking the touch, until he stood behind him with both his hands over Edward’s shoulders.

It was almost unthinkable, how the two cruel villains had learned to accept the touch of the other. As violent as it had been at times, as bizarre, or as clumsy – they both had grown to appreciate the attempted intimacy, and even to seek it in their lonely hours.

And accepting the touch didn’t come easy to people like them, to ones who had been abused, scarred, beaten, traumatized, and forced into straitjackets, or strapped down to a cot in the asylum one time too many. Physical proximity didn’t spark positive feedback in their brains, and yet, they somewhat craved the comforting warmth of another body.

“I can’t just…rest. I have so much to do. One hundred and seventy-five riddles to write, two more racetracks to finish, and the bomb needs to be tested…” Riddler rambled on, and Scarecrow could basically feel his stress, so tangible under his fingertips.

“I know, Edward,” He lowered his voice, making the words come off as gentle, almost sympathetic. His hands were still on Riddler, giving a small massage to his neck, through the soft fabric of his green cotton shirt. “It must feel like suffocating, this overwhelming need to finish what you started. And the thought of something going wrong…” His hands slid to the front of Edward’s chest, as Scarecrow rested his chin on the other man’s shoulder. “Does it terrify you?” He murmured into his ear, eyes narrowed like a content cat. “Do you want this to stop? To silence all those voices in your head telling you that you might fail again, and it will be your own fault?”

He could sense Riddler’s chest raising and falling with sharp in- and exhales. He could feel his heart rapidly pounding as he held him trapped in the cage of his bony arms.

Was his embrace pleasant to the other, he wondered, or was he just preying on Edward’s insecurity again, only making things worse? They both had their compulsions, and while Riddler’s were flashy, and all over the place, his own were more subtle but definitely present.

The way he interacted with people, always treating them like test subjects in his never-ending studies of fear, Jonathan would have lied to himself, if he claimed he controlled that habit. It ran deeper than his conscious mind, it was in his nature, just like it was in a wolf’s nature to devour a sheep.

Scarecrow was a monster who had to sink his claws into his victims, and slowly tear them apart until he saw their innards, whether he wanted that or not.

“You’re wrong, Crane. I’m not afraid,” Riddler’s lies came out a tad too weak to be believable. “I’m going to win this time, I won’t let him beat me…”

“He did us both enough harm.” Crane’s palms traveled over Riddler’s body, finding no resistance. “You work night and day preparing your challenge, letting him sharpen his mind on your ingenious contraptions like on a whetstone, and what do you get in return? Mockery, humiliation, and pain…”

He knew he should stop himself before he would send Edward’s mind spiraling into the depths of his worst intrusive thoughts, but it was tempting, so bloody tempting to explore his fear of failure, to see him crippled by it, unable to act.

“You deserve better than that, Edward,” Scarecrow surprised himself by saying this.

Perhaps he had some self-restraint left in him after all?

“You deserve some rest.” His finger brushed over Riddler’s lips and moved to stroke his cheekbone. It was this kind of soft gesture that Edward really hated, and yet, he allowed himself to melt under Jonathan’s touch. “You deserve a good night’s sleep, and a calm mind to work on your projects. That’s why you will send one of your goons to get you those meds I prescribed you. Can you do this much for me, Edward? And if not for me, can you do it for yourself?”

The man in his arms let out a small sound, something between a grunt and an incoherent confirmation.

Then he shifted his position to face Jon directly. “I don’t work with people anymore,” the man muttered, throwing his arms around Crane’s neck. “They weren’t worth my time. I prefer the company of my riddlerbots… Or you, doctor.”

Crane would have smiled at that, if not for his face. He had to admit, he had never met a man with a gaze so brutally intense as the one of Edward Nigma. But then again, everything about this obnoxious bastard was so damn intense, so vibrant and lively, screaming desperation and insanity. And Jonathan loved that with all his might.

“You must be awfully lonely, my dear,” he teased, holding the other close and gently rubbing his back.

Riddler’s left hand held the back of his hood, eagerly roaming across the thick fabric, while his right was still keeping the prescription.

Jon would have kissed him already, hell knew he would have – lack of damn lips could be a bitch sometimes.

“You have no idea,” Edward confirmed with a haunting whisper, his breath provocatively warm on Scarecrow’s wounded face hidden beneath the burlap. “In fact, I don’t think you can even begin to comprehend how lonely it is at the top, above everyone else...”

“Don’t worry,” Crane pulled him further in, forcing their groins to collide. “With me, you can indulge yourself with being at the bottom.”

“How generous,” Riddler sounded almost offended, however, that didn’t really stop him from rocking his hips slowly, creating more friction. “You may have lost your face, but apparently not your terrible sense of humor. Perhaps you could even replace the Joker?”

“I wasn’t joking,” Jon assured him as his palms found their way down to Edward’s backsides. “If you behave, I will offer you ‘something extra’ to help you relax. What would you say?”

The man in his arms smiled at him flirtatiously. “I… might take you on your offer, dear doctor.”

Would Nigma take the meds afterwards, or not – it didn’t really matter. Even if Jon could fix him, he wouldn’t change a single thing about Edward. He didn’t wish for Riddler to get better, he wanted him alive, yes, but not a compulsion-free, and mentally stable man.

After all, if not for Riddler’s mental issues, the two of them would never have ended up in this unhealthy relationship, and would never have shared any of their precious, intimate moments together.

Had Edward been sane, he’d have cut all ties with Crane faster than one could tell a riddle.

The Master of Fear was not a man easily frightened, but the sudden thought of Riddler slipping through his fingers filled his heart with dread.

Jonathan couldn't afford it. He was ready to suffer Edward’s horrible temper only to keep this thing between them going, because in all honesty, Edward was the best that had happened to Jon his entire life.

Ironically, Jonathan was one of the worst things for Riddler’s mental health.

Fortunately, Edward didn’t seem to mind that.

i showed you my riddle pls respond

I was going to say something but it's honestly just funnier to try and guess what they're talking about

I was finally able to write something. I'm really sorry that I can't write like I used to… I hope you're still here and waiting for my stories. Thanks🥹

Psychosis.

The dead silence and the frozen viscous air completely enveloped Riddler. For ten minutes he had been sitting motionless at his desk in the workshop and just staring at one point. The last drops of his free time were draining away from him, but Nygma couldn't do anything about it. He could only count the seconds so that his head would not completely empty. Again. He failed again. The pieces of metal lying around disappointingly indicated that Edward's new idea could not find life. Everything looked perfect in the drawings, the details were made with millimeter precision. But one moment devalued all his efforts. Further ideas with plans withered away, and the concentrated poison of failure continued to eat into the depths. Now it's just a pile of garbage. The source of strength, enthusiasm and excitement has dried up abruptly. His body went limp, his head drooped, and his hands fell into his lap. The pain in the back of his head, legs, and fingers was the only reminder that Edward was still alive, that he had to do something, had to move, had to think. But he didn't want any of that right now. Nygma got tired of all this, the fact of his own existence became disgusting and tragic. The pulse of a worn-out heart cut through every part of his body. It's over, this hell of circulating futility and hopelessness will never end.

Suddenly Edward jumped up like an unclenched spring, his trembling fists hitting the table. Everything rattled and fell to the floor. Instead of regular breathing, incomprehensible wild wheezes were heard, everything in his chest was compressed and cracked.

"Why?! It should have worked! It should have been!" grabbing a fragment of a failed structure and uncontrollably squeezing it until it crunched in his knuckles, the unrecognized genius threw it far away, just not to see these pieces of the puzzle gathering into a picture of shame. After the violent waves of rage, there came a calm of longing and helplessness. Flopping unevenly back into his chair, Nygma clutched his head, inside which everything was mixing and screaming. Bent over, he swayed heavily from side to side.

"I just want to prove to everyone his stupidity… his cheating… Why can't I do it? I'm right…" silent tears slowly rolled down his cheeks, ignoring all Edward's attempts to hide it from himself. "Indeed, why should they think and seek the truth?! It's easier to exist in stupid fantasies, where a pretentious hero will do everything for them! Idiots… idiots!" he also screamed sharply at the ceiling with his head tilted back. In a fit, the hands clutched at each other and dug their nails into the dry and flaky skin, scratching new cracks. Then the hands jerked up to the head, simultaneously pinching the neck. Trembling palms were kneading his pale and blue face in places, wiping sweat and pulling dirty hair. It was as if he was trying to sculpt something out of a soft material, something new and perfect. But this also did not work out, for which Riddler immediately punished himself with unpleasant slaps in the face.

"Edward? Is everything all right?" a calm, viscous voice stopped self-torture, and the turned-on light dispersed the psychedelic shadow theater in the cracked mirror of the mind. As it turned out, the thrown out part hit the switch exactly, and the workshop turned into a bottomless dark spot. Crane, whom Nygma had arranged to meet that evening, was standing on the threshold. Unable to find the creator of the dangerous traps anywhere, Scarecrow had to open the metal tomb. A slight coolness cautiously penetrated inside, and the ancient curse did not want to get out of its native depths in any way. Instead of the promised demonstration of a new invention and ringing, proud speeches, Jonathan found only a wounded and devastated soul, around which dust was actively accumulating.

"I'm fine! I… I'll be there soon." Edward shouted out too abnormally, without even looking at the scheduled guest. He quickly and rather absurdly pretended to be busy with a very important job, which attracted even more concerned attention to himself. John was not going to believe this, since all the tools with torn drawings were scattered everywhere, but not on the table. And the bent, trembling condition of the martyr in green made everything obvious.

"Edward… what happened? What offended you?" keeping his usual composure inside, Crane quietly entered the workshop and carefully examined the bomb ready to explode in the dim light.

"Nothing!" he was rushing around, constantly shaking his hands and wanting to get under the table as soon as possible so as not to show his loss. The ghost, soaked with the fears of the innocent, persistently made its way through all the protective barriers closer and closer.

"You don't have to hide it from me. I'll listen to everything." Crane stretched out his hand and was about to touch pain-riddled body and take away some of the tension, but Nygma, gritting his teeth, jumped up in an attacking stance.

"Do you want to hear what a nothingness I am?! Yes! That's the way it is! I failed again! There is no ingenious invention! There is absolutely nothing! Nothing!" Riddler totally broke down and screamed at the top of his voice, advancing on Scarecrow with heavy steps. The whole world seemed to shake and collapse with him. The long-infected wound had ruptured and was spewing bubbling blood and acidic pus. For a moment, John still succumbed to confusion and shock, but immediately closed the remnants of his lips, put his hands behind his back and assumed a defensive position. He knew perfectly well and had repeatedly witnessed Edward's similar attacks, but this time Jonathan was greatly hurt by the fact that he did not have time to foresee the impending storm. That he did not keep track of the deteriorating condition of his close colleague and did not pay the necessary attention in time.

"It's nice to know, isn't it?! Is it nice to see a worthless competitor eliminate himself?! Funny, isn't it?! Yes! I can't take it anymore! You can all trample on me and finish me off like a beast! Yes, yes! Right now! I don't need anything else!" his own words stuck in his throat and did not allow Nygma to breathe normally. He was sobbing, grunting, waving his arms and kicking all the heavy parts and tools. Carefully stepping back, Crane withstood the jagged words piercing into his soul with all fortitude and waited for the right moment.

"Everything is so simple for you! None of you will understand the severity of my work! Found the guns – you are the coolest, mixed the chemical formula – you are the most dangerous and scary! I hate it! I hate it! I put everything in, I do everything, and you always laugh and think I'm a jerk! Idiots! Bastards! I hate you all!" in the end, everything got mixed up and turned into a long scream and howl. A broken and clouded mind took Riddler somewhere very far away into blood-dark fantasies, where everyone is struggling in agony and burning with hellish flames. The voice trailed off and died away like on a broken record, and a strong and unbearable pain hit his temples. Edward, who was bent over, clutched his head, moaned and burst into tears, like the most offended child in the world. He managed to recover briefly only when jets of thickened blood gushed out of his nose. All sound disappeared, then a nasty ringing began to drill into his brain, and Jonathan stood in front of his reddened eyes, numb.

"I… huh… I'm sorry… I'm sorry… ah! I didn't want to …" from the belated realization of everything that had happened, heart began to pound even harder, blood poured down to his chin and fell down in large drops. The consequences of the emotional storm were terrible. A constantly distorted face was visible between the twitching fingers. Shame, misunderstanding, horror and the need to sink into the ground and hammer in a coffin.

"Edward… it's okay…"

"No! No! Don't come near me! I've said too much."

The small confrontation continued, and the two only warriors exchanged roles. Now Edward was dodging the skinny hands reaching out to him. Wounded and cornered, the beast was quickly losing its last strength so that John could easily catch it.

"Edward! It's over. You need to calm down." faded scarred palms gripped Nygma's tense and raised shoulders.

"No! Leave me alone!" he kicked and wouldn't let Crane close the distance between them.

"Leave you alone for what? You've already done enough." for a successful move, Jonathan decided to apply a little rigor. Without any mercy, he grabbed the disobedient and stubborn boy by the scruff of the neck and dragged him along. The slightly rude method worked – finally outraged, Edward finally calmed down and trailed after Scarecrow with shaky legs. The headache completely disarmed him and made him as malleable as possible. In Crane's arms, he briefly felt like a leaf caught in a warm, light wind.

An inconspicuous but valuable relic was completely removed from the suffocating crypt. Riddler's devastated body was seated on the only harsh sofa in the living room. He wanted to say something, to object, but Scarecrow put hand on his head in time and thereby stopped him.

"Just take a deep breath. I'll be right back." lightly scratching the shaggy top of his head, John briefly left Edward, who was constantly sniffing, smearing blood on his face and holding onto his aching head. Crane returned quickly, bringing with him a glass of water and several pills with a strong sedative effect. Nygma again forgot to take his medications periodically and brought everything up to the present moment.

"Thank you…" the patient mumbled and gulped down all the water along with the pills. The liquid coolness was quickly absorbed and spread over the withered body, extinguishing the insatiable fire and supporting the remnants of life. A personal psychotherapist sat down next to him and carefully wiped his nose and chin with a damp cloth.

"Don't get hung up on it. You need peace now."

"But I…"

"Edward, please."

"I really didn't succeed."

"But it doesn't end there."

"That's right. This only confirms my insignificance and everything continues."

“No. It just signals that you need to rest and gain strength. You're exhausting yourself."

"It's too easy…"

"And you're complicating things again, aren't you?"

"It makes more sense and logic."

"But it's not always necessary, Edward."

The confused and broken Riddler continued to turn his head in every possible way and grunt with displeasure. In the end, Scarecrow was able to pull him to himself and lay him on his shoulder, continuing to stroke his head and cheeks. Starting to breathe deeply, Edward buried his face in the thin and deeply scarred neck. Fingers with black nails, like tree roots, crept up to the glazed, tear-soaked eyes and covered them with themselves. The impenetrable darkness and the returned silence helped to cope with the consequences of total psychosis. The high blood pressure returned to a normal rhythm, the heavy pulsations in the skull contracted, the tormenting thoughts dissipated. Nygma was able to simply enjoy being with the only person close to him and feel safe. Abandoned and cursed by the whole world, and only the same leper and rejected could give him care and support.

"I'm sorry. I'm… such an idiot." trembling hands, looking for at least a little warmth, clung to the unshakeable Crane, ready to take away all the ailments of the Riddler and end his suffering.

"It's all right. I'm not offended by you at all." he says it every time and every time it calms Edward down and takes a heavy load off his twisted shoulders. John would never be able to take offense or get angry at Eddie, who is so harmless and gentle inside. He sees through Riddler, can perfectly understand him, listen and find a gentle approach, for which Nygma reveals his positive qualities and spiritual secrets to Scarecrow. Edward needs to be himself with at least someone, to be a sensitive child, and John needs to devote the rest of his life to at least someone and give the remnants of human feelings. Such small and delicate moments are slowly becoming part of the meaning of their existence. And no one else knows about it. The pills continued to work, Nygma's eyelids, darkened due to lack of sleep, became heavy and closed. Smiling slightly at the cute picture, Crane smoothly laid Edward's head on his lap and put a pillow under. His limping leg hurt a little, but he was willing to suffer for the sake of a restful sleep of his precious exhibit.

"So I'll be able to do it next time?" Riddler's voice was getting quieter and quieter, he was already half asleep, but he still wanted to talk a little more.

"Of course, Edward. Before that, you had a lot of successful plans, so don't cancel everything because of a couple of failures." encouraging words lulled well and protected from possible nightmares.

"Really?.." the fog of comfort thickened in his head and this fact from his own biography was able to surprise Riddler.

“Yeah. Last time, you quickly caught Robin in your trap and Batman had to save his adopted bird." Jonathan seemed to be telling a fascinating fairy tale, holding Nygma's hand and continuing to stroke his head.

"Mef… Robin is too stupid, it's always easy to catch him." he waved away and tucked his legs under him, turning over in displeasure.

"But this proves that Batman still cannot train his heir, that he is not able to choose a decent person. And no one notices it. Except for you."

"Ha! And for the umpteenth time… oh… I get into this… oh… weak spot of his! Brilliant!" with each new yawn, Eddie fell deeper and deeper into dreams with a soft smile.

"That's right, Edward, that's right. Only you can do it, no one else." leaning over and whispering in his ear, Crane kissed the curled-up Nygma. Before completely dissolving into reviving fantasies, he mumbled something unintelligible. Now Riddler is safe, the lord of nightmares himself guarded his sleep and covered him with a slightly prickly but warm blanket. Poor, exhausted Eddie will have a long and sound sleep, perhaps for twelve hours or even for the whole day. And while his body and psyche are recovering, Jonathan will stay here to take care of this unfortunate child, who may injure himself alone. When he wakes up, he will look like a newborn baby: just as hungry, unable to speak and navigate in space. For a Scarecrow, this is a wonderful sight every time like the first time. Even in the thickest and darkest forest of horror and fear, there is a small cozy place hidden from everyone, designed for one person.

John sat on the couch for a while longer, enjoying the favorable silence interspersed with Edward's peaceful snuffling. But he had to leave the sleeper to do some things: prepare new portions of medicines and study the consequences of Riddler's self-poisoning, reflected in his lair. As a rule, this is a huge tangled tangle of mess, dirt and ruin. And the author himself will unravel all this, having previously listened to a long and educational lecture from Crane. He will always be there, will always look out for Nygma and will be his support in difficult moments. The initial scientific interest slowly and imperceptibly turned into another vital need. Riddler categorically cannot and does not want to show his weaknesses and ask for help, but he always hopes and waits for Scarecrow to reach his sore spots and heal them. This mute call and inner cry reached the addressee again.

scriddler

here's jonny