(Me defending canon Riddler because he deserves more love)
We need to talk about how brilliant canon Edward Nygma is. He’s not just “the riddle guy.” He’s a malignant narcissist with OCD traits and straight up megalomania. That’s what makes him so interesting, he’s dangerous because he’s smart, manipulative, bitter, and obsessed with proving he’s better than everyone.
His meltdowns? Not overstimulation. They’re ego injuries. He loses it when his superiority gets bruised, when Batman solves something too fast, when people don’t recognize his genius. That’s the point. He’s allowed to be a narcissist, that’s his personality.
He’s not alone because he can’t make friends, he’s alone because he refuses to believe anyone is worth his time. He doesn’t want love, he wants validation. He doesn’t want equals, he wants an audience.
And he’s allowed to be evil. He’s a villain. That’s what makes him compelling. Stop sanding villains down to make them palatable. Edward is brilliant because he’s manipulative, obsessive, and cruel. That’s who he is, and that’s why he’s so good.
Personally I prefer canon Riddler because that’s his true essence. It’s boring when he’s watered down to be a comfort character or representation. He’d laugh at that and then throw you into one of his death traps.
Hey lovelies, I’m sorry for being so inactive. Life has been crazy. I work full time Monday to Friday but I’ve also just got a placement with an artist to produce music for so I’ve been working on my music and the blog has been at the back of my mind. I feel bad for not uploading in a while.
Hopefully soon I’ll upload the Gotham Edward fic soon once I’ve finished it.
I hope you’re all doing great and had a great Halloween 🎃
I’ve been practicing more with drawing Biblically Accurate Arkham Riddler, and oh boy-
He’s so pretty and stinky hehe :3c
His nose gives me heart ache to draw but it is worth it to have this goober, he is so shape (I was staring at the reference pictures so intensely to get him right fr)
Arkham Riddler x female reader: word count, 1022. This is basically a sequel to Butterflies?, Ed makes a cute gesture and he’s getting a bit hot and bothered. 🌶️
⚠️CW: subtle nsfw themes, lowkey horny Eddie.
The soft clink of plates being set on the table was the first thing you noticed as you entered Edward’s lair, an unexpected contrast to the usual mechanical hum of his endless gadgets and monitors. The dim lighting was still there, casting the familiar shadows you had grown used to, but something was different. A faint, savory aroma filled the room—rich, garlicky, with hints of herbs that made your stomach rumble in response.
You stopped in your tracks, blinking in surprise. “Eddie?”
He was standing by the small, cluttered kitchenette he rarely used, a large pot simmering on the stove. His back was to you, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, as though he was trying too hard to appear nonchalant.
“Ah, you’re finally here,” he said, his voice just a touch too casual as he turned to face you. His sharp blue eyes darted over you, lingering a second too long before he quickly busied himself with stirring the pot. “I thought it would be... a suitable gesture. For your, ah, assistance the other day.”
Your brow furrowed as you glanced at the neatly set table, complete with a bottle of wine and a plate of freshly made pasta. The surprise was... unexpected, to say the least. You’d never imagined Edward Nigma, of all people, standing over a stove, cooking for someone else.
“You made dinner?” you asked, incredulous but charmed. “Italian?”
“I’m perfectly capable,” he replied, a bit defensively, though his tone softened almost immediately. “I don’t often have the time, but I find it... a reasonable challenge.”
You smiled, stepping closer. “You didn’t have to do all this, Ed.”
He glanced at you, something unreadable flickering across his expression. “Consider it a thank you for... tending to my injury. And putting up with my... many quirks.”
Your heart warmed at the gesture. Edward wasn’t exactly the most emotionally expressive person, and this was his way of showing appreciation—a quiet, meticulous gesture, just like him. As you approached the table, admiring the effort, you could feel his eyes on you, a gaze that felt a bit more intense than usual.
Edward watched you closely as you moved about, his fingers tightening around the handle of the wooden spoon in his hand. There was something about the way you moved, the way your hips swayed as you pulled out a chair, that had him shifting uncomfortably. He quickly turned his attention back to the food, but his mind betrayed him, wandering to the thought of those hips pressed against him. The curve of your waist, the softness of your skin—images he shouldn’t be entertaining but found increasingly harder to suppress.
He swallowed hard, pushing those thoughts away, annoyed at his own weakness. This was supposed to be a simple gesture, a thank you. Nothing more. But every time he looked at you, he felt that strange flutter again, the one he had tried to brush off the other day. His eyes trailed over the way your shirt hugged your curves, how the neckline dipped just slightly, revealing the faint curve of your collarbone. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus on serving the food instead of how his fingers itched to touch you.
You looked up from the table, noticing the tension in his movements. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he replied quickly, almost too quickly. He brought the plates over to the table and set them down with deliberate precision, as if focusing on the smallest details could help keep his mind from wandering to the way your lips had looked when you smiled at him earlier.
As you sat down, taking in the beautifully prepared meal, you glanced up at him with a grateful smile. “This is really sweet, Ed. I didn’t know you could cook like this.”
He grunted softly, sitting down across from you. “There are many things you don’t know about me,” he replied, his tone cryptic as ever. But even as he said it, his gaze flicked up to meet yours, lingering for a beat longer than necessary.
You took a bite of the pasta, savoring the rich flavors, but your focus wasn’t on the food anymore. There was something simmering in the air between you, something that hadn’t been there before. It was subtle, but undeniable. You could feel it in the way his eyes kept drifting back to you, the way his fingers twitched slightly, as if he was resisting some unseen force.
“Is it to your liking?” he asked, but the question felt like it carried more weight than just about the food.
“It’s perfect,” you replied, smiling softly. “Thank you, really.”
He gave a short nod, but the moment hung between you, heavy with something unsaid. His mind wandered again, despite his best efforts. He imagined what it would be like to reach across the table, to slide his hand over yours. To pull you close, feel the warmth of your skin against his. The thought of pressing his lips to your neck, trailing them lower...
He exhaled sharply, cutting the thought off before it could spiral further. Stop, he told himself. She’s your assistant. This is a simple dinner. Don’t complicate it.
But his body was betraying him in ways his mind refused to acknowledge. The stir of arousal pooled low in his stomach, a dull ache that was becoming harder to ignore the more he tried to suppress it. You were so close, just across the table, your presence intoxicating in a way he couldn’t quite understand.
He forced himself to focus on the conversation, but even as you spoke, laughing softly at something he said, his mind kept drifting back to the way your lips curved when you laughed, the way your body seemed to lean toward him, even if unconsciously. It was maddening.
As the evening wore on, Edward struggled to maintain his composure, to keep the growing tension from boiling over. But as he poured you both another glass of wine, he couldn’t help but wonder how much longer he could keep suppressing the thoughts that were quickly becoming impossible to ignore.
Arkham Riddler x Reader: word count, 912. Okay but Eddie getting kinda flustered when you tend to his wounds.
⚠️CW: mention of blood, a little fluff, Eddie realising he’s a human being and not a robot
The sharp clatter of metal echoed through the dimly lit workshop as Edward worked intently on his latest project - a series of robots designed to carry out tasks with ruthless precision. His brow was furrowed in concentration, the soft glow of the monitors casting shadows across his face. You stood nearby, cataloging his latest notes, eyes glancing up occasionally as you tried to follow the intricate process of his genius.
He muttered to himself under his breath, words slipping into riddles as they often did when he was particularly focused. You’d grown used to it by now, the way his mind seemed to work on an entirely different plane from anyone else’s. It was part of what made him so fascinating—and so infuriating at times.
Suddenly, there was a sharp intake of breath from Edward, followed by a low curse. Your head snapped up, and you saw him clutching his left hand, blood already seeping between his fingers. The pliers he had been using lay discarded on the floor, a tiny smear of red marking where he had dropped it.
"Edward!" you exclaimed, rushing over to his side. "What happened?"
He grimaced, holding up his hand. "Just a... minor miscalculation," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Nothing I can’t handle."
You frowned, not buying his nonchalance for a second. The cut was deeper than he was letting on, a jagged gash running across the side of his palm. Blood dripped steadily onto the floor, staining the metal surface beneath him.
"That’s not ‘minor,’ Ed," you said, your voice firm as you grabbed a clean cloth from the nearby table. "Sit down."
He looked as if he might protest, his pride clearly wounded as much as his hand, but there was something in your tone that made him pause. Reluctantly, he sat on the edge of the table, still holding his bleeding hand in front of him.
You carefully took his hand in yours, your fingers warm against his cold calloused skin. His blood smeared slightly against your palm, but you ignored it, focusing on the wound. “This is pretty deep,” you murmured, pressing the cloth against the cut to slow the bleeding. "You should’ve been more careful."
Edward scoffed, though it was half-hearted. “I’m always careful,” he grumbled, though the tightness in his voice gave away the sting of the injury. His eyes flicked down to where your hands were gently tending to his wound, his breathing slightly uneven.
A strange flutter stirred in his stomach, something unfamiliar and unwelcome. It wasn’t just the pain. It was… something else. The way your fingers brushed against his skin, the care in your touch. It made him feel exposed in a way he wasn’t used to. He frowned, trying to brush it off, attributing it to the adrenaline and discomfort.
You reached for a bottle of disinfectant and some gauze, your movements practiced and efficient. As you began to clean the wound, Edward winced, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his eyes stayed locked on you, as if studying every small detail of your face—the furrow in your brow, the way you bit your lip in concentration.
"You don’t have to do this, you know," he said after a long pause, his voice softer than usual. "I could’ve handled it."
You glanced up, meeting his gaze. “Maybe. But you don’t have to do everything on your own, Eddie.” Your voice was gentle, almost too gentle for someone as sharp and calculated as him. "It’s okay to let someone help once in a while."
He blinked, momentarily thrown off by your words. For someone who prided himself on solving every problem, it was strange to hear that. Stranger still that it came from you, his assistant, the one person he could always count on for efficiency, logic, and order. And yet here you were, tending to his wound with a softness that was unsettling in ways he couldn’t quite articulate.
The flutter in his stomach returned, stronger this time. His mind scrambled to rationalise it. Perhaps it was just the rush of adrenaline wearing off. Yes, that must be it. It had to be.
As you finished wrapping the bandage around his hand, your fingers brushed against his wrist, sending an unexpected jolt through him. He tensed slightly, trying to suppress the odd sensation that seemed to crawl up his arm.
"There," you said with a small smile, tying the bandage securely. "All done. Just try not to reopen it, okay?"
Edward looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers slightly. The bandage was snug, the bleeding had stopped, but his focus wasn’t on the injury anymore. His eyes drifted back to you, lingering a little too long on the way you smiled at him, the way you stood just a little too close.
“Thank you,” he murmured, the words coming out awkwardly, as if they didn’t quite fit in his mouth. Gratitude wasn’t something he was used to expressing, especially not in moments like this. Vulnerability was a puzzle he had never solved, one he hadn’t even wanted to.
You tilted your head, your smile softening. "You’re welcome, Ed. Now, let’s try to get through the rest of the day without any more accidents, okay?"
He nodded, his mind still reeling from the strange mix of emotions swirling inside him. As you turned back to your work, he let out a slow breath, rubbing his bandaged hand absently.
