#riddler fan

[madnessincarnate]

The riddler collection is coming along very well

[virutalquill]

[ ENTRY 12 ] > February 2, 2025 -> 8:16AM

> Now I'm extra silly..... (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡ .... <?>

> Dividers by fangedeer <?>

- posted at >> 8:20AM <?>

.. next

[the-enigma-1]

I used to hate The Batman (2022) Riddler. I went to see the movie being like "where's my egotistical riddle obsessed loser that I'm definitely normal about" and came out like "that's just the zodiac killer with a new skin pack."

Now I have been converted to a fan by the power of the Riddle Rats.

The Riddle Rats are a Riddler fan club that borders on cult at times. Mostly as a joke.

[adhdnursegoat]

I'm genuinely curious what folks will think of this. I was very unsure when writing it. My eyes started to cross everytime I edited this, so I hope it is okay. If you find any inconsistencies, then please, help a southern gal, and let me know. I hope you have fun.

As always link to full story on ao3 at the bottom.

When you were little, momma said that when a boy tugs on a little girl’s pigtails and pokes at her, it usually means he likes her. It means that he does not have the words to say what he really means, that he likes you – that he has a crush on you – that he thinks you are pretty.

You also remember that was the first time you said something “bad” in front of your momma.

Oh, what did I say…?

“Why doesn’t he grow a pair and just tell her?”

You member your mother dying laughing, not even bothering to chide your young, sharp mind. Instead, she covered her smile with a hand, trying to hide the majority of her amusement as she looked at you with wide, almost incredulous eyes.

“Well, I suppose you’re right, babygirl…” She pinched your cheek and crinkled her nose up at you. “Don’t ever let a man treat you any less than a queen.”

“Nygma!”

And you will never forget that.

Your voice screeches through the office door before it even slams open, the door handle nearly puncturing the wall behind it. In the doorway, you stand, body tense, feet spread, ready to pounce, and a bouquet of flowers clutched tightly in a fist. Feet stomping, you march through the room and slap the lavender down on the desk. Through reddened, watery eyes, you glare at the man leaning back too casually in his chair, his smug face clear despite your blurred vision.

“What’s up?” His voice is rich with blatant feigned innocence, a lopsided grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. Edward Nygma always exudes that irritating air of superiority.

“You know damn well ‘what’s up!’” you snap, your voice shaking with anger. You gesture forcefully to the flowers. “The fuck is this?”

He doesn’t even flinch, his emerald-green eyes glinting with mischief as they drift lazily toward the purple plant. “It is lavender. A symbol of purity, grace, and calm.” He steeples his fingers, his lips quirking into a poorly contained smirk. “Ironic choice, don’t you think?”

The smirk. That damned smirk.

Heat floods your cheeks, your fists clenching tightly at your sides. It’s always like this with him—his verbal jabs, his riddles, his constant need to prove that he’s the smartest person in the room. Smarter than everyone. Smarter than you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” The words burst out before you can stop them, your voice shaking with the force of your frustration.

But Edward doesn’t bat an eye. He leans back further in his chair, completely at ease, watching you unravel like you’re just another amusing puzzle. “So many things, my dear,” he purrs, “but I’m afraid we’d need a few hours to properly list and analyze them all.”

You want to scream, but instead, your rage is made into a joke as you tear a tissue from the box beside his computer, yanking it hard enough that the whole thing tumbles to the floor. Your movements are jerky and ungraceful as you scramble to pick up the tissues, slamming the box back onto the desk. It is all so ridiculous, but you don’t care. The tightness in your throat is unbearable, and your eyes are itching so badly that you can barely see straight.

As you blow your nose into the tissue, the sound is anything but elegant. Loud, obnoxious, a far cry from the calm and composed image you wish you could maintain around him. And then—of course—comes the sneezing. Violent, explosive sneezes that echo through the office like shouted expletives. One after the other, they wrack your body, and you can barely keep yourself upright.

When you think you’ve finally reached the end of this absurd display, you groan and pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to regain some semblance of composure. The pain behind your eyes throbs like a drumbeat, and you cut your gaze to Edward, who is, predictably, grinning at you like the smug bastard he is. His posture is relaxed, his head tilted ever so slightly as he watches your torment with undisguised glee.

“I thought you would’ve liked my gift, babe,” he drawls, his voice low and syrupy with false sweetness.

You can feel your blood pressure rising, the anger surging so violently that it feels like you might have an aneurysm. The pain in your head throbs in time with your growing irritation, and the audacity of his words is almost too much to bear.

“You know I’m allergic to lavender!” Your voice is hoarse and squeaky from the mucous clogging your throat, and you punctuate the statement with another round of sneezes, barely managing to stuff your nose into the tissue in time. You groan before growling low at him, “Why would you do this today of all days? You know the gala is tonight!”

Edward watches, unbothered, that insufferable grin still plastered on his face. There is not a single flicker of remorse in his eyes. He’s enjoying this—your discomfort, your rage, your attention. And why wouldn’t he? This is his game. Everything with Edward is a game.

With your free hand, you shove a finger in his direction, your words muffled and nasal as you shout, “You’re an asshole!”

That is when he finally laughs. It’s low and soft at first, but then it grows, filling the room with that rich, mocking sound. He’s practically doubling over, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye as he regards you with mock hurt and pity. “You wound me. Really. I’m simply trying to make your life more… interesting?”

You glare at him, another sneeze escaping before you can respond. The tissues are doing little to save you from the lavender-induced hell you’ve been thrown into, but you refuse to let him see you break. Not completely.

“Interesting?” you croak, still sniffling. “You tried to kill me with flowers!”

“Kill you? Oh, don’t be dramatic.” His laughter subsides into a smirk, and he leans back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Babe, if I wanted you dead, I assure you, I’d be far more creative than a bouquet of lavender.” His voice drops lower, dripping with playful menace. “This is merely foreplay.”

Your face flushes hotter, but this time, it’s not from the allergic reaction. You know he is pushing buttons on purpose, prodding at you just to see how far he can take things before you snap. It’s all part of his game, the endless mental tug-of-war he thrives on.

And despite yourself, despite the sneezing, the watery eyes, and the frustration burning in your chest—you feel the pull. That magnetic, infuriating pull that keeps you locked in this back-and-forth with him. It’s infuriating, maddening.

“Besides,” he drawls, his voice thick with amusement, those puckish green eyes narrowing with mischievous intent, “you’re hot when you’re mad.”

This.

This right here. This is the exact shit you’re talking about. His smugness, his unrelenting need to take something as simple and sweet as buying flowers, something flirtatious like calling you hot, and perverting it into a means to torment you. Instead of being genuine in his attraction, he turns it into a mind game while he watches you squirm.

Why can’t he just be normal?

If it weren’t for this bullshit, you would absolutely date him. He’s got a great job, a little power, and, honestly, he’s cute in that boyish way that makes you bite your lip. And intelligent—fuck, do you love a man with a big brain. The kind of intelligence that can both outwit and excite you, leaving you breathless in more ways than one.

But those toxic green eyes of his—they should be a warning. A signal. Everything you need to know about him wrapped up in one sharp, venomous look. Yet you can’t seem to look away. You struggle to maintain the appropriate amount of eye contact to hide your obvious staring, to keep the desire from slipping through your façade.

“Can’t you just buy me flowers and ask me on a date like a normal fucking human?” you grumble thickly, the words muffled by the remnants of your sneezing fit. It’s more of a plea than an actual complaint.

Edward tilts his head, and you watch as that thick red hair of his shifts with the motion. His lips purse thoughtfully, and he crinkles his nose as if he’s truly trying to wrap his mind around your sentiment. As if this simple idea—normalcy—is something foreign to him. “Where’s the fun in that?”

His tone is deceptively innocent, but the glint in his eyes says otherwise. There’s no innocence here. Only the gleeful manipulation he’s mastered so well. And somehow, that cocky confidence only makes you want him more. As much as it pisses you off, it ignites something in you. It always does.

 “You’re the fucking worst, Nygma.” You dig a card from the offending flowers – the note scrawled saying “what’s the most romantic fruit” – and flick it at his chest. He doesn’t even flinch. “I wouldn’t date you if you were the last man on Earth.”

“Well, I don’t have to take you out on a date. I’m just being polite.” His eyes trail down your form, lingering appreciatively on your breasts before tracing your hips. You clear your throat, both for his attention and the mucous collected in the back of your mouth. He flicks his eyes back to yours and he shrugs. “I can just eat you out right now if you like.”

Edward’s voice is smooth, unbothered, like he’s making the most casual offer in the world. Your stomach flips—whether it’s from anger or something else, you’re not sure. Your blood feels like it’s boiling beneath your skin, heart pounding in your chest. Edward’s insufferable grin makes your stomach flip in the worst—and best—way. You can’t believe the balls on this man, the sheer gall of him. You feel your mouth open to respond, to unleash the torrent of words building in your chest, but they falter as you meet his gaze. That damn smirk. That cocky, self-assured smirk that says he knows exactly how to get under your skin. He’s not even trying to hide it. He just lounges, looking so casual, so damn cocky, like he knows he’s already won. Your fists clench at your sides, nails digging into your palms. The worst part is, he’s right. He knows he’s won this round, just like he always does.

Edward Nygma always has the upper hand, and it drives you insane.

“I’m leaving,” you say, your voice trembling with barely contained fury. You push yourself away from his desk, needing to put distance between the two of you before you do something you’ll regret. Your hands are shaking, but you refuse to let him see how deeply he’s gotten to you.

“What storms out angry but will always come back?”

The words stop you dead in your tracks, heat flushing your skin.

You.

He means you. And you know it. The fact that he’s right only makes the frustration burn hotter in your chest, makes it even worse because—of course—he’s grinning behind you, so damn sure of himself, knowing full well his words will haunt you for the rest of the day.

What the hell is wrong with me?

You shove the door open hard, letting it slam behind you, the satisfying thud doing little to calm your racing pulse. But out in the hallway, your thoughts are a chaotic mess. Edward is insufferable, and yet he has this uncanny way of slipping into your day—your life—whether you like it or not. You don’t even work in the same department! Yet, here you are.

And, somehow, he is always there.

Click here for full length work: Power Play

Original pinterest picture credit: summer howard

[comics-at-dawn]

i love how batman is holding a lil riddle 🤭

[adhdnursegoat]

writing the October series had me thinking about pet names the Eddie would prefer for their partners. I'm sure someone has already done this so here's my picks:

Gotham - darling, dear, pumpkin, muffin, kitten

Lonely City - love, angel, darling, dear, sweetheart

Zero Year - baby, babe, angel, gorgeous, beautiful, kitten

BTAS - love, darling, dear, sweetheart

Assault on Arkham - darling, dear, angel, kitten, sweetheart

Arkhamverse - dear, darling (can't imagine him using many pet names fr fr but I'll make him say whatever the fuk I want 😈)

[adhdnursegoat]

OKAY! Zero Year Eddie piece is out and about. And I hope you all like it cause I'm just feeling 🤡 about everything I do right now.