#arkham!riddler

[finniestoncrane]

Arkham!Riddler x GN!Reader, word count: 1.2k it's SHAVING AS A SIGN OF INTIMACY TIME listen this might be the beginning of several on this theme it's a kink i've loved for a while!! anyway, eddie has requested some assistance with shaving from reader, who he has decided he trusts enough to hold a razor to his tender skin *drool* also i'm not sorry for how autistic eddie is about his question mark shirt, he is literally me 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: little bit of humorous threats, shaving, flirting, suggestive towards the end

"Must be painful for you, having to ask for help."

"And it might be painful for you to suffer the consequences of your insolent tone."

You lifted your hand up, holding the handle of the very old fashioned razor blade between your fingers and dangling it in front of him.

"And it might be even more painful for you to suffer the consequences of your own shitty attitude if you don't behave."

With a playful smile, you pressed a finger below his chin, lifting it up, noting the smile that curled slightly on his lips, one he was trying to suppress in favour of remaining stoic in your presence.

"You know, Eddie, if you would take proper rests between working on your projects you wouldn't make so many mistakes."

The blade was close to him, not close enough that it made contact with him, but enough that he was lucky you pulled it back quickly enough when he lifted his head once more.

"I don't make mistakes! I have suffered a minor injury to three of my fingers, a consequence of poor tools. It's difficult to source higher quality material when you're a known and wanted entity."

You gently tilted his head back once more, nodding along to his rants, knowing by now when it would be a futile effort to argue with him. And by the time he had finished rambling, you were ready with the blade and the shaving cream, both in hand as you stared him down, patiently waiting for him to be quiet.

"Well? Are you going to get on with it?"

He barked the question at you, and you prepared yourself to begin, stopping short as he raised a hand.

"Hold on. I don't want you to make a mess of my shirt."

He shrugged the green, paint stained, short-sleeved shirt from his slender torso, leaving him in just a low cut, torn vest.

"You're very clumsy."

"Eddie. Clumsy enough that you're worried I'll ruin your already disgusting shirt, but not so clumsy that you'll trust me with a sharpened blade against your throat?"

For a moment, you had him stuck. He didn't have an argument, any words, you seemed to have caught him. But instead of replying, he simply sighed and waved you off.

"The texture of these fresh hairs on my face is far more annoying than any potential nicks, life-threatening or otherwise. This shirt is the only one I own, and it's to the exact fit I like it after the years of wear."

"Your priorities are interesting."

"I'm interesting."

That was his rebuttal, and he was satisfied with it. So you began your work, carefully placing your palm against his cheek. A soft touch, a careful carress, a gesture of reassurance. You cared for him, despite the playful teasing, the insistence on his part that you were only a disposable assitant. You went above and beyond, in awe of him, unable to resist the urge to worship him. You wouldn't let harm come to him by your hands, that's what the touch meant.

And the fact that he seemed to trust you, regardless of whether that was pushed onto him by the circumstances, meant the world in return.

As the razor made it's first pass over his skin, he seemed to raise himself up slightly, a natural reaction to the cool of the metal. So you laid your hand on his chest, pressing him back down and keeping it there. His heartbeat was steady, skin clammy against yours, a brush of soft hair coating his chest.

While you were't able to detect any change in Eddie's demeanour, he was worrying that you could. The moment you touched him he had felt his blood run cold. The threat, the imminent danger, the possibility that you could, at any moment, take his life. But the odd certainty that you wouldn't. It was all swirling through his mind, picking up flecks of the ill-timed arousal as it went.

Each teasing touch felt like it made his heart beat just a little bit faster, and he could feel sweat beginning to bead on his forehead and under the foam on his upper lip. His body grew warmer, worked up in response to the intimacy, the delicate, tender way you handled both him and the potential weapon. And then it happened.

He squirmed slightly, hoping to adjust himself in a way that prevented his growing erection from becoming obvious. If he could keep your focus on his face, on the job at hand, then he might be able to calm himself down before he embarrassed himself. But the more you touched, the more aroused he became, hard against the front of his pants, and then, disaster occurring as his precum leaked out, staining a tiny mark on the front at his crotch.

Eddie's mind quickly flitted through the catalogue of quick excuses he could think of. He could play this off as a natural reaction. An expected response to someone touching him and being this close to him. Nothing to do with you or his deep attraction to you.

He could admit that the intimacy was exciting, allow a sliver of vulnerability to show as he confessed that it was one area that he wasn't all that experienced in.

Throw a curveball? Tell you that the danger was far more arousing that he imagined? That could backfire though, as he was well aware of how irritating he was, and inciting, or inviting, violence might not go as well for him as he hoped it might.

And finally, the ridiculous notion of proudly displaying the effect of your touch flashed through and was quickly stomped out. There was no way he would be able to play it off with any amount of confidence or charisma, and it would take a considerable amount indeed. But now it was in his head, the idea that you might be encouraged, enticed, by his arousal. Enough that it would strike a chord within you, making you as hot and needy as he was. That you might letyour hand trail down the front of his shirt, fingers skimming over the growing, throbbing bulge, offering, perhaps, to shave there too. To finish him off with a flourish. To hold him, touch him, until he-

"Edward?"

He snapped his head towards you, cheeks flushed and pupils wide as he came bck down to earth from his flight of fantasy.

"Edward, are you alright? You didn't answer..."

"I'm fine. my mind was elsewhere. You know how it is being a genius, or... you don't actually. But if you did, you'd know it was difficult to stop your brain from rattling through equations and plans and world changing ideas. So forgive me if I automatically reverted to paying attention to that instead of you."

Deciding to meet him with his own attitude, you tossed a towel towards him as you walked towards the sink, dropping the razor in as you spoke.

"Well, if that's a close enough shave you can wipe the foam off now. And maybe use the towel to clean yourself up further down too."

You had noticed. And you were teasing him.

And worse than that, the insolence, the cruel taunt that suggested you considered yourself good enough to stand toe to toe with him, he found that it only made him harder.

[nasturtiumloom]

Hi!!! new riddler writer omg!!

could you do AK!riddler w a f!assistant!reader who dresses nice? like he’s covered in grime and grease 24/7 but his assistant walks in all dressed up, long ahh nails, smelling great yknow? def not what you would wear when you’re making robots.

thank you!!

hello hello hello!!! ♡⸜(˶˃ ᵕ ��˶)⸝♡

i decided to do mini headcanons for this, i hope that’s okay!! requests are still open for a fic of this. ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა (but i’m still new so it might take a little while just like this one did, sorry! </3)i did go a little bit overboard with this one though..

MDNI

AK!riddler x fem assistant reader ⊹ ˚｡⋆🍋‍🟩° ᡣ𐭩₊ ⊹

After a small argument, Edward Nigma decided to make you his assistant while he worked on his robots and traps for Batman. He found it utterly ludicrous that you refused to get your hands dirty, insisting that you didn't want to ruin your nails or your suit.

"You expect me to believe you can't handle a little grease?" he scoffed, narrowing his eyes as he wiped oil from his hands onto an already stained rag.

You crossed your arms, maintaining your composure. "Edward, you know perfectly well that I have no intention of ruining my manicure or this designer suit. Besides, my skills are far more useful in other areas."

He rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath. "Fine. If you're so keen on staying pristine, you can assist me in other ways. Fetch the blueprints, organize the tools, and keep track of the parts I need. Happy now?"

A small, satisfied smile played on your lips. "Much better.”

as the heavy metal door to Edward’s lair creaked open. The rhythmic clacking of heels echoed through the dimly lit room, a sharp contrast to the usual silence. Edward glanced up from his workstation, a sneer already forming on his lips as he wiped a smudge of grease from his brow with the back of his hand.

“Good morning, Edward,” you said, walking over to him, placing a stack of papers on the cluttered desk. “I’ve compiled the latest data on Batman’s movements, as you requested.”

Edward’s eyes followed you, the sneer on his face barely concealing the intrigue in his eyes. “Oh good, only five minutes late this time.” he replied, annoyment lacing his words. “I’m sure your fancy clothes and perfect nails didn’t get in the way of your work, did they?”

You gave him a small smile, knowing the effect you had on him. It was a game you both played, the tension between you palpable yet unspoken. “Thank you, Edward. I take pride in my work.” earning another eye roll from him.

Despite being the complete opposite in appearance, this stark contrast is precisely what attracts Edward to you, not that he’d ever say that to you. Your neat, put-together self complements the dark, greasy, and oil-scented environment of his workshop, creating a dynamic that he finds both fascinating and alluring. Edward thrives in chaos, with his mind always racing with complex plans and intricate puzzles. However, your calm and orderly presence offers him a sense of balance, his eyes flickering up once in a while to see you write down any idea he would work on after another and another.

Edward always insists that you can never perfect his coffee, even though he requests it black. No matter how many times you bring him a steaming cup, he always takes a sip, frowns slightly, and mutters some critique about how it's too sweet, too weak, or not quite hot enough. Though he constantly nitpicks, he always finishes the cup and asks for more. He knows that without you, he'd probably forget to drink anything at all.

"Did you add sugar in this one? practically rotting my teeth," he grumbles, taking another sip.

You roll your eyes, replying, "It's exactly the same as yesterday."

He checks his watch before saying, "Bring me another coffee in an hour. And try not to do it blindfolded," with a hint of teasing in his voice.

the only reason he says he keeps you around is because you manage to keep his blueprints to a standard, picking at his messy notes into clean blueprints, sometimes it gets to him.

"You think I couldn't manage without you, don't you?" His voice held a mix of annoyance and grudging respect as he paced the cluttered workshop. The air smelled of grease and metal, a sharp contrast to your usual neat appearance.

You smiled slightly, adjusting the blueprint on the table. “Someone has to keep you from turning everything into a death trap. Someone who knows how to clean up nicely, maybe?" signaling to the huge huge rolling saw blades Catwoman had to dodge or the race that Batman had to maneuver through a course while avoiding being crushed by large metal blocks.

He scoffed, pretending to inspect a gadget nearby, “Presentable, yes. You manage that quite well, among other things." As he returned to his work, you felt a quiet satisfaction.

He’d probably steal the credit when he sees Batman struggling with a certain riddle that you came up with, but when Batman finally solves it, it sparks a heated argument between you two, each blaming the other for potential mistakes.

Edward couldn't resist a smirk of satisfaction as he watched Batman puzzle over a riddle you had crafted. "Clearly, my intellect prevails once again," he remarked smugly, leaning back in his chair.

You shot him a pointed look, hands on your hips. "Edward, that was my idea and you know it. I spent hours perfecting that riddle."

"Details, my dear assistant," he retorted, waving a dismissive hand. "The credit rightfully belongs to the one who set the puzzle."

"But you wouldn't even have had the components if it weren't for me," you argued, frustration creeping into your voice.

but you guys quickly quiet down as you see batman pick up the riddler trophy through the computer screen, seeing edward’s hand grip his chair incredibly tight.

Edward might never admit it aloud, but the thought of your absence unsettled him. You had become the unexpected variable in his life that brought structure and, oddly enough, a sense of stability. In the grand scheme of his schemes and riddles, you were the constant that made everything else fall into place

Edward even found himself relying on you more than he ever anticipated. Your organized approach and sharp mind allowed him to focus solely on his grand designs, he was sure you wouldn’t disappoint that much with the finer details.

He would probably complain about smelling your lotion on the blueprints or papers you handed to him. Despite his grumbles, the subtle fragrance secretly provided him with an unexpected comfort amidst the chaos of his work. Even after you finished your tasks and he sent you away, your perfumes and lotion would still linger around his workshop, a ghostly reminder of your presence.

“Do you have to drench yourself in that stuff?” he’d mutter, nose wrinkling as he examined the schematics. “It’s distracting.”

You’d raise an eyebrow, hiding a smirk. “Distracting how, Eddie?”

His eyes would flicker to you, a fleeting vulnerability passing through them before he turned back to the blueprints. “It... interferes with my concentration. The smell is... too pleasant.”

You’d chuckle softly, leaning in closer. “Would you prefer I stop wearing it?”

A brief silence would follow, filled only by the hum of machinery. He’d sigh, his voice barely above a whisper. “No, just... be mindful.”

You’d nod, the hint of a smile on your lips. “Of course, Eddie.”

Later, when the workshop was quiet and the only sounds were the ticking of clocks and the hum of electronics, he’d find himself inhaling deeply, the faint scent of your lotion still lingering. Despite himself, he’d feel a strange sense of calm, a reminder that amidst his intricate plans and puzzles, there was something, someone, grounding him.

i feel like if you’d gifted him maybe a coconut lime sanitizer so his hands wouldn’t reek of metal and oil, he would claim to never use it that it’d be a waste of space and time, but as you cleaned up his messy desk the sanitizer would be half empty.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked, holding the small bottle between his fingers as if it were a foreign object. “Sanitizer? Really?”

“It’s practical, Eddie,” you replied, unfazed. “And it smells nice.”

He rolled his eyes. “I doubt I’ll ever use it.”

Weeks later, as you tidied up his messy desk, you noticed the sanitizer was half empty. You couldn't help but smile.

“You said you wouldn’t use it,” you teased, holding up the bottle.

He glanced at it, his expression unchanging. “I had to test its effectiveness. Purely for scientific purposes.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Sure, Eddie.”

In the quiet moments, when he was deep in thought, he’d find himself reaching for the bottle, the familiar scent providing a strange comfort. Despite his stubbornness, the small gift had found its place in his routine.

He’d probably complain about hearing your nails tapping against your desk, your heels clicking with every step, or your gum chewing distracting him. Yet, if you weren’t there, he’d be equally distracted by the silence. Your presence, irritating as he found it at times, had become a part of his rhythm. The soft rustle of your clothes as you moved, the faint scent of your perfume lingering in the air.

Without you, the oppressive quiet would remind him of how much he relied on your seemingly annoying habits to keep his own mind from unraveling.

If you ever caught him looking at you, he’d probably be the one to get mad.

"Why are you dressed up like that in a place like this? It’s not a fashion show," he’d snap, eyes narrowing. But the truth was, he noticed. He noticed the effort you put into your appearance, even if he pretended it annoyed him.

Over the times you both spent together, you’d notice the little things. He no longer grumbled as much after you spoke, his eyebrows weren't always scrunched up in frustration. Sometimes, he might even let you go home early,

"Fine, you can leave," he'd mutter, barely looking up from his work.

and if you were really lucky, he might just comment on your good work. These small gestures were his way of acknowledging your presence, your importance, even if he’d never admit it outright.

"Not bad," he'd say gruffly, a rare hint of approval in his voice.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

currently six in the morning and my brain is mush!!! goodnight everyone _(- _ｰ 」∠)_ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 or good morning !

[realityhelixcreates]

God I hate 90's fashion. Shapeless, ultra baggy nonsense. Anyway!

Arkham actually wasn't always as terrifying as we know him to be. When he was younger, it was all just a grand game! We still see glimpses of that dire playfulness, but decades of abuse within Gotham's brutal prisons and useless mental institutions did Arkham no favors. Being a massive nerd in the 70's and 80's didn't either, nor did his father's efforts to 'toughen him up', when he was a kid.

His parents fate is unknown. Most people just assume that he killed them, and he does not confirm or deny this. Given that they were born in the 1940's, there are plenty of reasons why they might no longer be around.

Arkham lets his reputation carry him, but if challenged, will not hesitate to reinforce that reputation. However, the passage of time, and the (sometimes grudging) support of Family allows him to grow into taking his 'father' role more seriously. Not necessarily less harsh, but more serious about mentoring and giving advice, rather than just tormenting the youngsters.

Everybody thought he was going to be the one influencing Puzzles, but turns out, it was the other way around.

He's still a massive dick though.

He and Detective are surprisingly ride or die for each other, considering they are on opposite ends of the Riddler spectrum. It isn't unusual that they will come to the other's aid, if it's truly necessary.

@captainbaddecisions @cardwrecks

[honkytonka]

Riddle Me Piss

“The project could have been finished hours, if not days ago, had I employed my own genius, but I graciously allowed you to toy around and perhaps gain even a modicum of skill. Yet, the headway you’ve made on my goals is inadequate, and the ineptitude of your technical ability is only eclipsed by your lack of respect. Should I look the other way as you disregard the terms of your employment in my workshop when you already contribute so little?” “If you want to trailblaze mediocrity, I’ll escort you to the door. I’m certain Dent or Cobblepot could use another mindless, incompetent goon. Otherwise, control yourself and just complete the task at hand.”

arkham!riddler x reader (gender neutral), omorashi, piss, honestly very little piss it's mostly them arguing, i just thought his rules in knight were INTERESTING, no use of y/n, 2.9k words, ao3 link if you wish

“At this rate, I should be done in under three hours!” You beamed up at your creation, and your creation returned the smile! Somewhat. It had been weeks you spent on this project in the notorious and infamously annoying Riddler’s workshop. The humanoid robot you’d been working to build so tirelessly was finally nearing completion, and you were giddy to see your project take form. Your boss would call it his project, but you had done the bulk of the work. He had drafted the schematics, but it was you hauling huge hunks of metal into the sewers! Running wires, oiling joints, nearly blowing your own eyebrows off when a controlled test explosion suddenly became uncontrollable, it was all you.

Despite it all, you could look back on the last few months fondly. While being employed by the Riddler wouldn’t be considered glamorous to most, you were ecstatic when he hired you as his assistant. Even if your job had mostly been transporting materials and cleaning up his sewer hideout the best you could. The robot that towered before you was, hopefully, your ticket to even more exciting opportunities. You didn’t just seek him out because you were desperate for work, but because you were desperate for work you actually cared about. You were also a little desperate for his approval, but you pushed that thought to the back of your mind.

Today, the workshop was particularly lively, both of you working in the same space. The air buzzed with the electrical crackling coming from your station, and the banging and whirring of a myriad bunch of tools from his. You looked to Edward for an assessment of your remaining work, hoping he could peel himself away from his own mechanism he’d been pouring over for countless hours. With a bit of verbal prodding you captured his attention, and he gave your project a cursory glance, an absentminded thumbs up, and returned to his own task one table over. A little disappointed with his indifference, but grateful that he didn’t have a tirade on the quality of your craftsmanship this time, you grinned.

Leaning away from your masterpiece, you pulled one of your arms out of the robot’s chest cavity, groaning as you stretched your muscles and rolled your shoulder. You couldn’t remember when you last had your arm free, likely hours ago. With a hand hovering over an electrical switch on your workbench, you prepared to temporarily put the robot in stasis. “I’ll be right back.“

Suddenly Ed was a bit more invested. While still hunched over his own work, he replied, “Excuse me? If you disengage the power without the lines fully linked, this entire stage will have to be restarted from the beginning.”

“Then I’ll just restart this part from the beginning,“ you shrugged. “I’m the one working this ‘bot, anyway. I’ll handle it, even if it takes a little more time.”

“And what is so important that you would halt my project’s progress at such a crucial point?”

“I’ve…just gotta take a piss?” you nervously chuckled.

He heaved an irritated sigh. “I don’t have you employed here to retrace steps and redo completed work. Especially not for something so…unfortunately biological. Perhaps your miniscule mind couldn’t retain an entire ten rules.”

You remained silent, and unseen by your boss, you raised an eyebrow.

He continued, “I’ll remind you of the seventh. Your bathroom breaks are discretionary, and thus, at my discretion, I am deciding you can wait. Finish this task before you go attend to your personal affairs.” His voice was dripping with condescension, as it always did when he affirmed control over his workspace. Always, even over trivial matters.

You tried to hold in the flabbergasted look on your face. Did he think eating and sleeping were ‘personal affairs’, too? You thought for a moment and came to the conclusion that yes, he probably did. “That rule wasn’t a joke?”

Riddler furrowed his brow. “Not only do you fail to comprehend the brilliance of my actual jokes-“ he paused when he heard you quietly snicker, “but you misconstrue my simple work guidelines? No, I was obviously serious.” His tone told you he was serious now, too.

Taking a deep breath, you somewhat calmly stated, “Okay, but I’ve been elbow deep in wire management for the past seven hours, and I’d have to rework maybe twenty minutes of my time when I get back.” Your eyes darted over the lines you’d been working. Twenty minutes was underselling how much time it’d take, but there was no way you could wait another three hours to take a pee break.

“While your time is infinitely less valuable than mine,” he scoffed, finally turning to face you, “it isn’t completely worthless when you’re working my machine. I won’t have a moment of it wasted.”

“Ed-”

“Rule the first,” he chirped, “you are to refer to me as Riddler, The Riddler, or Mr. Nygma, sir.”

“Mr. Nygma. Sir,” you spat, losing your composure, “I get what you’re saying, but I’m seriously gonna piss my pants if I stay here too much longer.”

“How embarrassing that would be for you.” he tutted and turned back to his workbench. The sound of his clattering tools filled the space once more.

You stared daggers at the back of his stupid, greasy head, in disbelief that he would be so firm on a bathroom break rule, of all things. Was he holding himself to the same standard? He hadn’t left the room since you entered it hours ago, you supposed. The workshop was sweltering and he hardly drank water, so maybe he sweated it all out? You’d believe it from the state of his soaked wifebeater.

“Can I speak to HR?” you mused, hoping humor would soften him up.

“He’s preoccupied.”

And before you could squeeze in a retort, the whirring of a drill cut you off. With an audible, exasperated huff, you resumed your own work. For a little while longer, you could put off your break.

This was not the first time Edward had harped on your adherence to his rules, but it was certainly the most frustrating. Issues had arisen many times, especially in regard to his name, with each spiel about your insubordination ending in a self-aggrandizing speech about the importance of his chosen alias, ‘Riddler’. Yet, in the confines of his bunker under the city, his title felt overly formal and detached. It was alien, speaking of ‘the Riddler’ while he was in the very same room you stood. As with most of his rules, you tried to bend the first when you could help it. If you couldn’t, you stuck to ‘Mr. Nygma, sir’.

And Mr. Nygma was a curious case. The man behind the ‘Riddler’ moniker was just as egocentric and cooky as his public peacocking would lead you to believe. When you sought employment under his wing, you anticipated an eccentric inventor, a toned-down version of the act he put on with the Batman. On the contrary, he was even more eccentric behind closed doors, away from the scouring eyes of the public.

While you were still a smidge combative as he picked apart your skills and sought to debase your self esteem with every sentence he spoke, his antics were no longer surprising. If anything, they were a bit endearing. Navigating the minefield of his personality had become a fun challenge, for which you were up to the task. Perhaps too much so, as you genuinely chased after his good favor. There was a seed of hero worship somewhere within you that sprouted and flourished when his usual mockery turned to praise, however baseless or nonchalant.

But you couldn’t just put your damn urinary system on hold for him, he was being ridiculous. You were still a human being.

Another hour and a half of tinkering and toiling passed before you unceremoniously wrenched an arm out from the machinery, oil stains and dirt smearing your skin. You knew the longer you worked, the more you’d have to backtrack, and your need was growing urgent. It had just been too many hours. “I seriously can’t wait anymore, I’m leaving. I’ll be back in a few, and I’ll work extra fast to get caught back up to where I am now, okay? I promise.”

Once again answering without even turning to face you, he simply replied, “You exit the workshop right now and you will not be entering it again.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Eddie?”

He overlooked your repeat violation of his first rule and shifted attention to your tone. “You should be thankful that someone so wholly superior is tolerating your nonsense at all.” As if he could sense the vitriol forming in your throat, he held a finger in the air to shush you. It worked.

“The project could have been finished hours, if not days ago, had I employed my own genius. I graciously allowed you to toy around and perhaps gain even a modicum of skill. Yet, the headway you’ve made on my goals is inadequate, and the ineptitude of your technical ability is only eclipsed by your lack of respect. Should I look the other way as you disregard the terms of your employment in my workshop when you already contribute so little?” “If you want to trailblaze mediocrity, I’ll escort you to the door. I’m certain Dent or Cobblepot could use another mindless, incompetent goon. Otherwise, control yourself and just complete the task at hand.”

Rage boiled under your skin and your face flushed, but the heat shifted from anger to embarrassment to genuine concern as you realized he was truly not budging. Either he assumed you were bluffing when you mentioned pissing your pants, or he didn’t give a damn of you did.

“Please,” you muttered. If he couldn’t be reasoned with, maybe he could be guilted.

Edward actually turned his head to cast you an unamused glance. “What?”

“You know what I’m asking,” you paused to collect yourself and push more of your pride down. “I’m begging you to let me go.”

“I don’t recall my instructions stating that begging would release you from your responsibilities, either,” he quipped.

“Listen, I’ll do what it takes to make it up to you, but please.”

“No,” his gaze met yours, unyielding. “And cease your needless pleading, the banter is growing tiresome.”

With his eyes on you, you tried to mitigate the venom of your countenance, poorly. If it weren’t for the hum of machines in the room, he would have even heard your teeth grinding. “Fine. If you want this to be a whole thing, I guess it will be.” Before a rebuttal could leave his throat, you held up a finger up to shush him, as he had done to you. It worked. “And if you want piss on your workroom floor, just know it’ll be your own damn fault.”

For an aching long and quiet moment, he studied you over his shoulder, his eyes hovering over your balled up fists and slightly shaking legs. His expression was unreadable, indifferent at best. His eyebrows knitted and hope welled in your chest as he seemed to seriously contemplate his next words, only to dash your hope against the rocks as the grimace on his face contorted into a thin, wry smile. “Rule the eighth: Accidents as a result of my strict enforcement of the seventh rule are to be considered your fault entirely.” Each word of his rule was enunciated with painful clarity, as if you had misunderstood them before. “You only have yourself to blame for the predicament you’ve put yourself in.”

“That’s ridiculous! And you can’t seriously expect me, or anyone to follow your bullshit rules, especially this one!” you snapped and yelled, your decorum gone. “This isn’t how you treat someone working for you! You’re unfair-“

“And you’re delusional if you think you can berate your intellectual better in this manner.” While his tone was sharp, his smug grin did not falter. “This is your final warning, otherwise forsake your project, your employment, and leave. Feel free to spend all the time you wish sitting in a restroom somewhere off my premises, messaging your moronic friends about how you lost another job.”

You practically snarled at him, but your frustration quickly deflated at the prospect of being fired. Pinprick tears formed as your emotions spilled over, and you squinted your eyes shut. “I can’t believe you,” you murmured. Without another word, you silently returned to your work. Thankfully after a quiet moment, Ed was once again enrapt in his own project, too.

Of course, it was impossible to get any more work done this way. While trying to look busy, you contemplated throwing your tools in his face and walking out. You wondered if he would really just let you leave, considering the liability you could pose as a free agent with knowledge on his base of operations. And with contempt for yourself, you daydreamed about your finished project, and the tiniest scrap of praise he would toss your way as reward. You stayed still, futilely attempting to push the pressure in your groin to the back of your mind.

When it couldn’t be postponed any longer, you leaned into the robot and faced away from Ed, pressing a burning cheek against the cool, clammy metal. The open cavity of your robot cradled your head as you buried your face inside, anything to hide.

A small sob threatened to rise from your chest, and to keep it at bay, you bit your lip with a force to bruise. Muffled, your slight noises could barely be heard above the ambient workshop noise. Yet his ears must have picked it up, as the sound of Ed’s tools quieted, and you heard his clothes rustle like he was repositioning. Like he was turning to face you. You could practically feel his eyes boring into your back.

There was absolutely no satisfaction in finally getting release. Mortified, you stood motionless as your undergarments became warmer and wetter, followed by the inseam of your shorts, and down your legs. Ammonia joined the other scents that hung in the workshop air, the motor oil and sweat and mildew. When a puddle formed around your shoes, you whimpered, but dared not move your feet. You dared not move anything.

You heard a snicker behind you. “Look at me, you sniveling fool.”

When you did finally open your eyes, you couldn’t turn to face him. On the surface you were a wreck. Tears stained your cheeks, and your bottom lip was quivering. Your chest rose and fell quickly, trying and failing to measure your breaths and stay level headed. You didn’t want to know what you looked like below the torso. Deep down you were even worse, with butterflies swirling in your stomach, and fire in your mind. That Ed had turned to see everything had you confused, unsetted, and absolutely in a tizzy. His undivided attention flustered you under normal circumstances, and your mixed feelings on this current mess now had you beside yourself.

“Are your ears just as defective as your bladder? I told you to look at me.”

You snapped your head toward him, eyes still bleary. After blinking away the remaining tears, you could make out Edward looking down at you, arms crossed and face amused. “Well?”

“…well?” you repeated through gritted teeth.

He gestured to your lower half. “Are you going to apologize for mucking up my workshop floor with your appalling bodily fluids?”

You stared at him in disbelief for longer than was comfortable before finally mustering the courage for a comeback. “I-I don’t remember the rules saying I had to apologize.”

“As if your deficient memory of my rules could be trusted,” he sneered, his grin still unwavering. “Honestly, I hadn’t anticipated needing to outline a response to this issue. You’re in the presence of the Riddler, and you should know to mind your manners.”

You kept your lips pursed, shut tight.

He rolled his eyes. “New rule, the eleventh. You will promptly apologize to me in the event of any accidents caused by your negligence, and pay your dues for the consequences accordingly.”

“Sorry, I guess,” you lied through your teeth.

“Good, now go change into something else, and procure something to clean this while you’re at it.”

“Ed- I mean, Mr. Nygma,” you glanced at the robot’s internal wiring and back to him, “I’ll have to restart this stage if I put the project in stasis…?”

“Or,” he walked over and nudged you aside, checking for dry ground where he intended to step before positioning himself before the robot’s chest cavity, “you could simply close this circuit.” With deft hands he rearranged the tangled lines, routing and configuring them in a manner you would have never considered.

“I’ve witnessed you failing to find this solution the entire day. I anticipated that a higher pressure environment would spur the wheels in your head to finally start turning,” he chuckled. “Evidently not.” With a click, he put the robot into stasis and turned to face you with some approximation of a genuine smile.

Mouth agape, you stared at him, incredulous, before turning to shuffle out the room without another word. You had plenty to say to him, but it could all wait until you had dry bottoms.

[therealityhelix]

Shards of the Nexus: Regression Engine

There's a reason he wanted to be somebody else.

Takes place before Seeker and Seer.

Warning! Bit of nasty language. Also, this is a long one.

@cardwrecks @captainbaddecisions

Song: Don't Let Me Get Me-P!ink

The alcohol both numbed and lifted him, blending with the thrumming music to create a fizzy, dizzying sensation in his head. The dance floor spun along with him, the lights a spangling rainbow in the dark. A writhing human ocean of bodies and hands pressing against him, a hundred clashing perfumes and colognes rising to the ceiling, buoyed on a cloud of sweat.

Swag loved this feeling.

Usually.

Tonight, the dizziness wasn't a release, it was just disorientation, and he wobbled across the dance floor, to wind his way upstairs. On his way there, he somehow latched arms with a few people, who ended up in his room with him, but he didn't have any complaints. And he made sure they didn't either.

When he dragged himself out of bed in the morning-well, midmorning-well, noon actually-only two of them were still there. He hoped the others hadn't fucked with any of his stuff on their way out, but his reputation still held on enough that most people didn't.

He was well aware that a lot of the people who found their way into his bed were in it for the thrill of who he'd used to be. The challenge, the bragging rights, the curiosity. Whatever. He didn't mind; he got to have a good time too, after all. Most of them didn't stick around for long afterward though.

These two, however, seemed to at least want breakfast.

“So big boy, you as good in the kitchen as you are in the sheets?” one asked.

His laugh was rough with sleep and residual alcohol.

“Unfortunately, no. I put all my extra points into my hips, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, I do. That's okay, I can throw us something together. How d'you like your eggs?”

“Scramb-” he began, cutting off as he noticed her face fade from flirty, to frightened.

“What the fuck is that?” she whispered, pointing to one corner of his bedroom.

An anomalous form hunched there, pale gray and shifting, just barely humanoid. One of those damn wizard aliens! He didn't have much patience for these things.

“i'm curious about you”

Its voice slithered into his mind, nothing more than a whispered breath, as lacking in detail as its blank face.

“The feeling ain't mutual. Now scram!”

“Is it talking to you?” the other one asked, both partners taking shelter behind him. He glanced back.

“Hey, don't worry, okay? It's weird, but it'll be all right. Hey, you're freaking out my guests! Beat it!”

“i'm curious about how you were once one way but are now another way

how is that

humans can't really change so how are you doing it”

“Man, it's a long story, and I don't really feel like telling you. I just decided to, okay?”

“just decided to act differently and dress differently and be different

what part of it allows you to be different”

“The indomitable human spirit and my slammin' fashion sense. Go away.”

“ah your 'swag' as you humans put it

what a quaint concept

all that garish color and pointless detail

what if you didn't have that”

“Then I'd be naked.” Swag sneered. “Well...more naked.”

“then I expunge your 'swag' and all it entails

i want to see what will happen”

“Bro, that is so fuckin' stu-”

Magic flipped him inside out like a photo negative, a spool winding backwards. A spurt of malevolence splashed though his veins, making his fluffy bathrobe uncomfortably hot. He tore it from his thin form, and dropped it on the ground. Everything in the room felt wrong. Stifling. Everything was so...so fuzzy and soft, so clogged with dust, the perfect home for mites and allergens, and who knew what other kinds of potential pests and infestations?

It wasn't just the clothes. It wasn't just the clothes that made him who he was, it was the attitude, the demeanor, the coping mechanism he used to direct his mind away from its old paths. The Gray had lumped everything under the umbrella term of 'swag' and snatched it all away.

And who was he without that?

He knew. Unfortunately, he knew.

His sideburns itched, unnecessary, extraneous growths that served no purpose but to gather dirt. Everything was dirty; when was the last time anything in here had been cleaned?

“Eddie? Baby, are you okay?” One of the strangers placed their hand on his arm. He shoved them away immediately.

“Don't touch me!” he shouted, eyes wild. “You're filthy! All of you are covered in disease! Don't-”

They recoiled in fear.

“Fuck. Sorry. S-sorry, I didn't mean that.” he stammered, battling back a flood of anger and disgust. “Sorry, just...just don't touch me. You should...you should probably leave.”

“What happened?” the other asked, reaching out. “Do you need help?”

“Get out!”

He shoved them again, and this time, he didn't feel nearly as sorry.

They ran from him, but it didn't matter.

He needed to go check his cameras.

?~?~?~?~?

Something was wrong. Something was wrong.

It scuttled up the back of Detective's scalp, ruffling hairs along the way.

Something was wrong.

They hurried into their study, snatching up a small velvet bag along the way. Seating themselves at their antique leathertop desk, they lit a candle. They stared into the little flame, breathing deeply to push back against rising panic.

Once they had regained control, they opened the velvet bag, removing an ornate tarot deck.

What was the universe trying to tell them? They asked the cards while shuffling, slipping out three, and spreading them out on the desk.

The Five of Cups. The Tower. And off to the side, Temperance, reversed.

Regret. Failure. Terrible upheaval. And...

Swag.

They had to go find Swag. Something was wrong.

The world of the Question Mark shimmered at the edge of their vision. Swag. And danger. A faraway figure out on the horizon.

By the time they realized they were walking, their feet had already taken them to his doorstep.

Inside, everything was quiet and still. Detective heard muffled voices, and followed them to their source.

Swag perched on a chair in the kitchen, sketching on a roll a paper spread over the table.

“Crushing is always such a fun possibility.” Arkham's voice floated, tinny and harsh, from Swag's phone. “The walls closing in, just slowly enough that the victim can see what is going to happen, and panic at their own helplessness. The desperation. The inevitable ending. Such a good time. Well, when you're on the outside anyway. I have some of the parts you might need, if you feel like swinging by.”

“Hm. Not a bad suggestion.” Swag said. “But you'll forgive me if I don't jump at the opportunity to make myself vulnerable in somebody else's lair.”

“Will I?” Arkham said. “I suppose I will. Just this once.”

“Poisoning, perhaps.” Swag mused. “Something slow-acting. Pose the riddle and watch their terror grow as they begin to drop on the dance floor. If someone solves it, they get the antidote, but only the one who answered. Make it competitive.”

“Desperation and selfishness. A delight. But I thought you wanted blood?”

“Perhaps more metaphorically than literally, but I certainly wouldn't mind. Actually, there's enough space in here that I could put together a whole gauntlet without much trouble. I think I'll do that.”

“Swag?” Detective asked, worried. This kind of talk was...uncomfortable.

Swag held his hand up in a silencing gesture.

“How do you keep an idiot waiting?” he mumbled.

“What was that?” Arkham asked.

“Nothing to worry about. An interruption has arrived. I'll see to it.”

“Shall I call back?” Arkham offered.

“I think not. It's not that your company is unpleasant or anything, it's just that I know you're trying to distract me, and I'm not inclined to let you continue. Clever attempt though. I'm sure we'll cross paths later.”

Better hope not.” Arkham said, and they both laughed. Swag hung up the phone.

“I'll tell you later.” he finished the riddle, a drawl of challenge in his rolling tone. “So. You.”

“I can't help but feel as though you are on the edge of doing something you might later regret.”

“Something you might regret perhaps, but I'm feeling better than ever.” Swag asserted, holding his arms out wide. His eyes held no happiness that they could detect, just a manic sort of fervor. “I'm leaving behind all of my guilt and anxiety, ditching the false face. I'm letting that moron die and rising back up from the ashes. Call it an act of self care.”

“I shan't.” Detective said. “The Swag I know-”

Swag slammed his fist down on the table. Detective flinched.

“You never knew me.” he growled. “All you knew was a mask. A fucking jester. A coping mechanism that rose as a defense to too much thinking. He was, by nature and by design, my lesser.”

“He is loved.” Detective insisted. “What has brought this on? If you were truly so dissatisfied with things, why not speak with us about it? It's terrible to see you like this.”

“You will learn to like it!” Swag snapped. “Just like everyone else. Honestly, you act like I've killed somebody's best friend...which I have. Just not today. Not yet.”

“I will not allow-”

“It isn't your choice.” Swag cut them off. “Really, this infatuation of yours is pointless. Don't mourn that disgrace, Detective, welcome his restored superior! And also, leave. I have work to do.”

“Swag-” Detective stepped forward, stopping abruptly as the tip of Swags pen came up beneath their chin.

“Think you can take me?” Swag asked. “You aren't armed, are you? You don't bring weapons here. Swag's not dangerous, after all.”

Detective backed away.

“I shall take my leave.” they said.

?~?~?~?~?

No answer.

“Maybe he didn't hear?” Narci suggested.

“He'd better not be 'occupied'.” Puzzles grumbled, typing into his phone. “He knows we were coming, and I am not playing second fiddle to some floozie.”

He rang the doorbell several more times.

“Come on you strutting voluptuary, don't you dare leave us waiting.”

The door slammed open. Narci jumped. A stranger shoved his head out.

“What do you fucks want?” He snapped.

It was Swag, Puzzles realized with a shock. Clean-shaven and divested of his jewelry, hair slicked back under an olive green bowler. He glared coldly at them, and Narci shifted uncomfortably.

“You, uh, you were going to show me how to rewire an intercom system?” Narci said quietly, staring.

Swag sneered.

“Too stupid to figure it out on your own?”

“No!” Narci protested. “Of course not! You just said you were going to show us some tricks.”

Swag scoffed. He was actually in a suit for once, and...carrying a cane?

Something felt wrong here. Swag wasn't just in a bad mood. He felt different somehow.

“All right, spill it. Something's wrong with you.”

“How about you go fuck yourself.” Swag growled.

“How about I don't, and you tell me what's going on?” Puzzles shot back. “What's happened to you?”

“Nothing that needs to concern you. I had a change of heart, nothing more. I'm just trying to get something done, and I am out of patience with these interruptions.”

“What are you trying to do?” Narci asked.

“None of your business. Let's just say that Gotham needs a reminder. They've grown too complacent in my absence. I've been far too frivolous. Well, I mean to remedy that mistake.”

“Wait!” Narci cut in. “I could help you! If you could use another great mind, another pair of hands. We could punish this city together!”

Puzzles glanced aside. Narci had that weird look in his eyes again. The kid just got like that sometimes, like a curious dog, he just wanted to be involved in everything. Puzzles was vaguely aware of his isolated childhood, but there was a time and a place, and this definitely wasn't it.

But Swag-well, not Swag exactly right now, more like Less Swag, Opposite Swag, UnSwag-laughed mockingly.

“You? The constant failure? You're worthless. You don't have the respect of a single member of this wankfest of a Family, and you're going to help me? More like you need me to help you look better. Get lost you over-inflated fuck suit. You too, Autism Speaks, shove off before I bury you both.”

Puzzle's lip curled as Narci drew back, obviously hurt.

“No wonder you wanted to be anything other than this. You're insufferable.”

“Oh no, the twerp doesn't like me, how will I go on with my life? Go cry to mama, and get out of my parking lot.”

The UnSwag waved his cane threateningly at them. Puzzles eyed it cautiously. A Riddler's cane could be a dangerous thing; Puzzles own had a battery powered taser just under the question mark curl, a fear toxin dart in the bottom, and a short blade that could flick out of the side. Swag's preferred arsenal while he was a Riddler was a mystery to the Family.

“Perhaps a calculated retreat is in order.” Puzzles said quietly.

“He didn't have to say it like that.” Narci muttered, but he followed Puzzles away without arguing. “That's not...That's not actually true. I don't always fail. I'm not worthless. That's not true.”

“I'm sure you'll become capable eventually if you just keep at it.” Puzzles said, ignoring the betrayed glance the boy shot him. It was true. For the most part. Not many among them genuinely liked Narci, mostly just tolerating his antics for Nash's sake. Narci did have a lot left to prove, and whining about it wouldn't fix the problem. “More importantly; what's gotten into him? He has never acted that way since I've known him. We've argued before, and I know he is capable of being unreasonable, but I've never felt actually threatened before.” Puzzles mused, Narci sulking alongside him.

“Maybe he's just had enough.” Narci grumbled. “It could happen to anyone. Even m-even him.”

“Enough of what? The man is a bottomless pit of hedonistic debauchery.”

“But he wasn't always like that, was he? He was somehow else before...before all this. Maybe he got tired of people only thinking of him in one way. Maybe he needs to remind people what he's capable of.”

“Doesn't sound right.” Puzzles said dismissively. “But strange things do happen. We should probably let him be until this passes. Come on, we still need to talk about that sapphire heist.”

“I said I was sorry!” Narci groaned. “I just misunder...I just...”

“You were just wrong, and it cost us! Now come on!”

?~?~?~?~?

Nash spotted him near a wall panel tugging at a mess of wiring. This place was probably an electrical labyrinth, though maybe not quite as bad as the small lairs and foxholes Nash typically hid out in. Nash knew the Question Mark had once been an old warehouse; refurbishing those into hotspots for the night life was pretty common in Gotham, but Swag had really gone all out. On the inside, at least, it was impossible to tell what the building had once been.

Swag turned to look at him. Was he wearing a hat? That was odd.

Overlying his mind and perceptions, Lust hissed.

Nash stepped back, wary.

Swag smiled lightly, eyes sly.

“Good instincts.” he said. “But it took you just a little too long anyway.”

“Is...is something wrong?” Nash asked. Swag shrugged.

“Not from my perspective. Did we have plans? It doesn't matter, they'll have to be canceled, just like the rest. I find myself unexpectedly busy.”

This...this was wrong. Nash could still feel Lust bristling, able to sense things Nash couldn't, but he didn't need that to know something was terribly off here. Swags clothes...well they were always bright, eye-catching, stylish in a way that was either on the edge of going out of style, or just about to come back into style. Swag lived on the edges, shaped them and was shaped by them, but this green suit, that bowler hat, it was somehow lacking in the vibrancy Swag was known for.

And had he shaved???

Was this the same Swag, or yet another Riddler from another world? Nash knew Swag had been a Riddler, but not during the time Nash had known him. Not during the time any of them had known him.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Some kind of vague being came by and we had a talk. I came to the understanding that things were simply not working out the way I'd hoped. Oh well. I gave it a try, but I couldn't deny my destiny forever.”

“A vague... a Gray? Did a Gray do this to you?”

“A Gray? Can't I make my own mind up? Oh never mind, it doesn't matter. I have things to do.”

He didn't even sound like Swag. The easy-going affectation dropped entirely in favor of a mocking, almost angry tone.

“What are you planning?” Nash asked. He eyed the wires worming out of the panel.

“Grand re-opening tonight.” Not-Swag said. “This place will be filled with the most vapid, frivolous socialites middle class Gotham has to offer. How many of them do you think will make it out?”

A deathtrap. Swag was building a deathtrap. It was wrong. That wasn't what Swag did!

“Will Swag ever come back?”

Not-Swag rolled his eyes.

“He never left. I'm Swag. He's me! Ugh, why did I ever allow anyone to call me that? Fucking ridiculous. The disrespect I allowed...well that's over now. I'm him, he's me, we're the same person. I was always here, I was just wearing a different mask. Trying a different mode of being, but it didn't work. Too fragile a concept to build a life off of. Anxiety, pointless hedonism. No direction. No, I had already found what I was meant to be, no use in denying it any longer. It's time for a comeback. Now, why don't you come over here?”

Nash could feel Lust's denial, and he didn't feel very safe either. He backed up even farther.

“I think I'm gonna go...”

“Get over here, Nash. You won't have to do much. Just be tied to a chair so the others don't keep bothering me.”

“~The doorway over there~” Lust whispered in his mind. “~The worlds are thin there. I can get us through~”

“Come here, you fucking brat!” Not-Swag lunged for him.

“~Run for it!~” Lust screeched.

Nash threw himself blindly through the doorway-

-and stumbled into an entirely different building to sprawl, disoriented, on someones kitchen floor. He heard the patter of footsteps approaching and tried to climb to his feet. They were upon him before he knew it.

“Nash? When did you get here?”

“Oh, Nash! Are you all right?”

They helped him up, arms around his thin shoulders to stabilize him. Puzzles and Narci, their concerned faces hovering close to his. He was safe.

“Swag!” he gasped. “Something's wrong with him!”

Puzzles frowned, Narci's pale eyes slid away from Nash's face.

“We know.” Puzzles said. “We had an unfortunate encounter with him earlier. He was incredibly unpleasant.”

“Don't like seeing him this way.” Narci muttered. “Feels wrong.”

The three of them lapsed into an uncomfortably contemplative silence. They were the youngest of their group, just starting out on a journey that Swag had already ended. Narci and Nash were still figuring what the persona of the Riddler meant for them, and Puzzles only had a few years of experience under his belt. Swag was an odd outlier, but he was still a respected elder by now, at least in their youthful perspective.

And yet this thing that they all wanted so desperately to grow into, felt so wrong on Swag, who actually had once been that thing.

“It was a Gray.” Nash said. “He described it to me. He thinks he's made this decision himself, but it was one of those awful things.”

Puzzles sighed in irritation. “I suspected it might be something along those lines.”

“What's a Gray?” Narci asked.

“You haven't seen them?” Nash was surprised. He thought everyone had to deal with the mischievous creatures. Narci shook his head.

“Count yourself lucky.” Puzzles said. “They're some kind of magical being-yes, I know, but they are.” he insisted at Narci's disbelieving expression.

“They don't have any faces.” Nash explained. “They're all gray all over, and they kinda look like they're made out of slime or fog. They only barely look human. They talk inside your head. They're really creepy. They cast magic on you, like curses. They can make you do stupid things, or change your shape, or...practically anything! It's like they're playing pranks.”

“But they have been known to go too far.” Puzzles said bitterly. “Cause major problems for their own entertainment. Mostly they're just annoying, but they can be downright dangerous at times. The one saving grace is that their magic is nearly always temporary. This UnSwag has an expiration date. He'll go back to normal in a day or two. We'll just avoid him until then.”

“What about his customers?” Nash asked.

“What about them?” Puzzles said. “They can go a few nights without practicing their debauchery, I'm sure.”

“But he didn't close the club!” Nash exclaimed. “He's turning it into a deathtrap!”

Narci gasped. Puzzles stared at the ceiling with an irritated groan.

“Of course he is. This couldn't be easy, oh no, no, no. Instead, he has to go and do something that will get him tossed back in Arkham after the Gray magic wears off. This is why these creatures are so insidious, Narci. Their magic is temporary, but it can have long lasting consequences.”

“What do we do?” Narci asked. His feather light voice was laced with a fear Nash had never heard him express. He understood though. They could lose one of their number over this. One of their special Family. He and Narci didn't really have many people to turn to, and Narci had only recently been getting closer to the older members of the group. A few bad run-ins with Arkham had left him shy and demoralized.

But Swag had always been friendly. Always ready with another chance, even when Narci had been rude, or awkward, or-worst of all-wrong about something. He'd shown the same welcoming face to Puzzles and Nash too, even though Nash was technically too young to be allowed into the club during business hours, and Puzzles...well in the interest of being honest, Puzzles could get pretty rude about things too sometimes. Nash thought it must be a way of protecting himself. Even so, Swag still let him in.

“Well...We're Riddlers, aren't we?” Puzzles mused. “So, we stop him. Before he can kill anybody, and before any vigilantes show up. This is our business. We'll take care of it.”

Both boys nodded, dead serious.

“Okay. Narci, you go try to find YJ. I'll talk to Arkham. Nash, I want you to get Detec-”

“No need.” Detective's voice floated up from Puzzles left arm. “I'm already here~”

Puzzles shoved up his sleeve, revealing the tiny computer strapped there.

“Did you hack my Wrist Buddy?” he exclaimed, irritated and impressed.

“Never mind that. Do let me in. We have something to discuss.”

Grumbling, Puzzles typed a code into the tiny keyboard, and the front door unlocked. Detective entered without further preamble.

They were dressed for business, in a sleek green blazer over gray shirt and slacks, a green derby hiding their vermilion hair. They were even wearing their mask! Nash had never seen that before. They looked...dangerous. Not like the mothering figure Nash had grown to know, but like the debonair villain they had once been.

Narci stared with unabashed awe. Puzzles, on the other hand, crossed his arms and leaned against the counter.

“One would almost think you knew something in advance.” he said impudently.

“I did foresee something happening.” Detective replied.

“Oh, you foresaw it? How inconvenient that you didn't see fit to clue anybody else in!”

Nash squirmed. The Detective had visions. Claimed to have visions, anyway. And while Puzzles acknowledged the otherworldly beings that Nash was friends with, and the Grays with their magic, he did not entirely accept the Detectives oracular assertions.

“I didn't see exactly what it was. You know it doesn't work that way.”

“What a helpful ability.”

“Puzzles, we don't have time for this. Let's argue about it over tea some other time.”

“Yeah.” Narci said disapprovingly. “We have to help Swag. I'll go get YJ.”

“No, dears. I saw this too. YJ is too far away, and Arkham is too curious about the outcome to involve himself. He merely wishes to observe.”

“We'll see about that.” Puzzles typed speedily on his tiny wrist keyboard. “I'll contact him myself...Oh.”

The answer he got pulled his mouth into a frown. Detective cleared their throat.

“As I was saying, I saw something important pertaining to Swag. And then I spoke to him.”

“Odious, isn't he?” Puzzles said at Detective's disgruntled expression.

“Swag made an important decision about where to go with his life, and while it may be different that what you three would do, it was his choice. That has been taken from him, by force of magic, and that cannot be allowed. We make our own fates, and we must support each other in our decisions. We will not allow him to fall. So, suit up dear children. We're staging a coup~”

“How many times do I have to tell you I am not a child?” Puzzles complained, but Nash and Narci were already dashing back to their respective universes, to gear up.

Nash didn't have much; a mismatched thrift store Sunday suit, made for someone much younger than him. A shoplifted self defense keychain he could stab with. A miniature canister of pepper spray. He also had a lockpick that he hid in his department store trilby, and a very sharp hat pin, as well as a pocket knife, a portable usb drive with a deadly computer virus, a set of jewelers tools that he used on wiring, and one of YJ's smoke bombs. Nash tied his mask-just a strip of black cloth with holes cut out-around his head, and returned through the worlds, to Puzzles apartment.

Puzzles had taken the time to gear up as well, in his coveted kelly green suit and brilliant purple gloves. The colors smashed against each other, practically glowing at the edges. The classic bowler perched on his head and sleek mask always made him look older, and Nash knew he had some wicked weaponry hidden away.

Narci didn't have many places to hide things in his form-fitting, hand painted unitard and gymnasts shoes, but Narci carried few weapons or tools. He didn't need them; Narci was actually very strong, and could hold his own well in a fight, all of which was clear by merely a look at him in this getup. Any items he needed, he kept in a slender harness that girded his waist and thighs. He said it was to keep his freedom of movement, and Nash knew he'd been training as a gymnast ever since he could walk, but Nash couldn't help but bashfully notice how the harness accentuated certain of Narci's assets. In fact, the outfit put everything on display, and with his tight black curls, and slim, diamond shaped mask that hid very little of his face, it seemed like Narci wanted to be seen.

He practically posed; shoulders back and chest out, nose proudly in the air. He was only an inch taller than Nash, but seemed much bigger next to Nash's shrinking slouch.

“Have we got everything we need?” Detective asked. All three young men nodded. “All right. You have all been to the Question Mark before. Do you know the internal layout?”

“I've been inside.” Puzzles said. “I know how both floors are laid out.”

“Me too.” Nash added.

“I've only seen the first floor.” Narci admitted.

“All right. So here's what we'll do.”

?~?~?~?~?

The crowd outside the Question Mark was thick with people and irony; scattered among clubbers finery were people sporting Riddler costumes-the gallows humor of Gotham. Everyone knew who owned this nightclub, as Swag had not just not hidden the fact, but had actively banked on it.

Puzzles slipped unnoticed into the crowd, making his way up to the front where he immediately picked a fight with the bouncer. The others used the distraction to find a way into one of the areas few surveillance blind spots.

“Do you think you can do it?” Detective asked quietly. Narci scanned the wall carefully, taking in the texture of the bricks, the decorative façade, the bars on the windows, the height of the roof.

“Yes.” he said confidently, and began to climb. Nash watched him scramble up the building, taking out security cameras and motion sensors along the way. His job was to destroy as much of the security system as possible; especially the flood lights on the roof. They didn't move again until Narci had disappeared over the top, then they sneaked along, hugging the wall, until reaching nearly the back of the building.

This area was employees only, and fenced in with tall chain link. Nash was a Gotham youth, and scaled it easily, pausing at the barbed wire coiled at the top. His jeweler's tools included a wire cutter, and after a few tries, he was able to remove a length of the barbed wire wide enough for him to pass through. Back on the asphalt, he began working on the lock. It was good quality, but nothing Nash couldn't pick. Swag was protecting against the basic Gotham punks, after all, not other Riddlers.

In the meantime, Detective had set down their briefcase and opened it, lifting out a honed woodcutter's ax, with a handle wrapped in blue leather.

“It's one of Jervis's.” They said at Nash's stare. “He insisted I bring it with me. It may prove useful after all.”

The lock clicked in Nash's hand, and he tossed it over his shoulder, letting the Detective breeze through the gate. It sucked they had to cause all this damage, but it was better than letting Swag get dragged off to jail just because some Gray thought it'd be funny.

Detective began examining the power meter, but Nash noticed movement and pulled them back around the corner. The two peeked around to see a pair of very tough looking women approach the employees entrance.

“Oh dear.” Detective whispered. “This could be bad. I've seen those two before; they're this worlds Query and Echo. Rotten luck that they'd be here tonight.”

“I'll distract them.” Nash volunteered. Detective grabbed his arm.

“You mustn't try to fight them.” they insisted. “They are very dangerous!”

“I won't.” Nash said. “Just trust me, okay?”

Detectives lips thinned out, but they let go.

Nash stuck his hands in his pockets, let his head droop and walked into the employee parking lot, kicking at a rock.

The women paused. He let just a little bit of his secret power seep out, a supernatural drug that mentally disarmed anyone who looked at him. These two would see whatever it was that would make them most sympathetic towards him.

“Hey, either of you two got two dollars I can borrow?”

“What's the matter kid?” one asked. “Fake ID didn't work out?”

“Yeah.” Nash said sullenly, petulance seeping out of his demeanor. “And my ride says she's gonna stay anyway, and I don't have any bus fare. Can't call my mom to come pick me up; I'd be grounded for a month.”

He'd slowly made his way over to them, acting exactly like a defeated teenager, and both women smiled condescendingly.

“Ha. It was a nice try kid. Here, take this and come back in a few years.”

Nash was just reaching out to take the money, mind whirring on how to continue the distraction, when the floodlights went out.

“What the fu-”

Nash whipped his hand out of his pocket and threw YJ's smoke bomb to the ground. It exploded into a miasma of choking green. Behind him, the sound of metal striking brick as Detective took the chance to shear the meter clean off the wall. The rest of the external lights went dark.

Beside him, something dropped into the cloud of smoke, landing on one of the searching women with a heavy thud. Nash flinched and threw himself through the employee entrance, hoping Narci hadn't killed her with the impact.

He skidded down the hall, hugging the walls, as the sounds of fighting faded behind him. The area was bathed in eerie green, the emergency lighting casting deep shadows.

“Lust, help me hide.” Nash whispered.

“~Of course. Relax yourself and let me embrace you~”

Nash concentrated on relaxing his body through the tickling sensation of Lusts hundreds of amorphous tendrils breaching his skin. They wrapped tightly around every inch of his body, covering him in a smoky bodysuit of shifting shadows.

Now camouflaged, he slinked down the hall and up the stairs, not entering the dance floor. He was sure it was trapped, waiting for hapless revelers to meet their makers. Maybe they deserved it, maybe they didn't; Nash didn't care about that very much, but he knew that Swag would.

He crept along the second story, the darkness itself seeming to muffle his steps. A door banged open, and Nash threw himself into the bedroom doorway, heart in his throat. UnSwag stalked by and down the stairs, grumbling angrily about the power.

Nash skittered into the newly vacated room before the door shut. It was full of darkened screens and neatly lined computer towers, their whirring hum silenced.

Swag had backup generators. Of course he would. He must have. And that's where UnSwag had to be heading. Nash readied his usb drive. The screens flickered back to life, and Nash jammed the usb in. He might only have a few moments.

Fingers flying he unleashed the malevolent little worm of code, then slipped back out into the now worryingly lit hallway. Down the stairs, towards the exit-

Snatched off his feet, and slammed headfirst into the wall. Lust took the edge off the blow, but it still rattled Nash's brain. UnSwag twisted his arm behind him, held him by his hair, and dragged him out onto the dance floor.

“Hey guys! You looking for this? You fucking looking for this?” He shook Nash hard, who squealed under the pressure on his arm. Narci, Puzzles, and the Detective all turned from their positions creeping along the walls in search of traps.

“Lust!” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“~If I do it, he will be harmed! Perhaps permanently~” the demon whispered from within him. “~I can get you free, but he might not recover~”

“Hold off then. We didn't come to kill him.”

“Stop mumbling, brat.” UnSwag growled in his ear. “Whatever code you're trying to use, it won't work. They won't do a thing while I have you. Isn't that right?”

Detective held their hands up, palms empty. Jervis's hatchet was nowhere to be seen.

“Please. There is no need to endanger the boy.” they said gently.

“He endangered himself. He didn't have to throw in with you and invade my home, but he did. He made his own choice. There are consequences for that.”

“Look, we're not trying to hurt you or anything.” Puzzles said. “We're just trying to save you from regrets.”

“Who asked you?”

“You would have, if you were in your right mind. But you are being controlled right now, by one of those gray beings-”

“Puzzles!”

“Wrong answer!” UnSwag snarled, and flung Nash out onto the trapped floor.

The others began shouting. Nash hit a pressure plate, heard it click.

Nothing.

“What.” UnSwag said. Nash rose from the floor, grinning like the devil.

“Oops.” he said. “I think I broke it. Sorry.”

UnSwag shoved his hand into his jacket. Whatever he was reaching for, he never made it. Narci hit him with freight train force, and he went down instantly. Nash winced. Narci never did pull his punches.

The acrobatic Riddler swiftly had UnSwag tied with a cord from his harness. He immediately started wiggling free, so Narci perched on his back and held him down.

“Wow. One punch.” Puzzles sneered. “You are going to be so embarrassed when you wake up.”

“I am already awake!” UnSwag insisted. “Why don't any of you see? It was all just a pipe dream! It was never real. This is who I have always been.”

“Then why is this temporary?” Puzzles asked. “Why did you have to be pushed back into it by force? You know it's temporary, don't you?”

“It doesn't matter! I am who I'll always be! No matter what mask he puts on, I'll still be here. He'll never be rid of me. And what does it matter to you anyway? Why would you go so far to stop me?”

“We are rather fond of our dear Swag~” Detective said. “And we respect the decisions he has made.”

“Why do you like me that way so much? I've made an imbecile of myself, and I'm only trying to rectify that. You three! Isn't this the life you've chosen? And you! You might have retired, but you didn't put your brain on the shelf! All I do as your precious 'Swag', is waste my time with harlots and drink to oblivion. I hate him as me. It was a mistake.”

“You don't see the value in your own choices?” Detective asked. “You've put in so much effort. Do you see what you've built? The people still dance to your tune, it's just more literal this time.”

“Don't fucking start. That shit might work on these fetuses, but not-”

Narci stroked his hair gently, and UnSwag shuddered.

“Don't touch me!”

“Swag is perfect.” Narci asserted. “In a different way from us, yes. But you are wonderful like that.”

“Bullshit. None of us actually get along.” he jutted his chin towards Puzzles. “That little bitch hates everyone. The brat over there can't be trusted. And you...” he bucked, trying to throw Narci off. “Even as that frivolous idiot, I still don't respect you. No one does.”

Narci sighed, and stroked his hair once more.

“I know. But you tolerate me, and that's important too. In time, I'll earn the rest of it. I know how to work hard to become something great. That's why I can't stand to see you like this. All that effort, taken away.”

UnSwag groaned in annoyance.

“So what about the rest of you? Any more pithy speeches before I fade back into featherbrained worthlessness?”

“Two to midnight.” Puzzles said, checking his wrist computer.

“Nothing to say.” Nash added.

“Now we simply wait.” Detective finished.

“Fine.” UnSwag said. “If that's the official consensus. Just know that if this ever happens again, you're all on the list. So nobody better ever bring me back.”

“It'll be okay.” Narci said, stroking his hair one last time. “It'll be over soon.”

“Don't touch me.” UnSwag repeated. “Just...let me sleep, I guess.”

Instead of looming over their defeated foe, Detective, Puzzles, and Nash gathered to sit on the floor next to Narci and UnSwag. He lay quietly, as they all waited together for the last moments of the past to trickle away.

Puzzles wrist computer beeped. Everyone held their breath. If they were right about the temporary nature of Gray magic...

“Hey Narci? You're a handsome young man and' all, but would you mind getting the fuck off? Kinda crushin' my ribcage here.”

Narci hopped off his back immediately. Nash reached out for the rope binding him.

“Wait!” Detective commanded. “Relief cannot be allowed to overcome caution. If you would all be so kind as to move away...”

The young Riddlers drew back.

Detective knelt next to their captive and raised him up by the shoulders. Looked into the clean shaven face, the deep blue eyes, and kissed him, long and deep.

Narci gasped, but Nash knew they were like that sometimes.

“Disgusting.” Puzzles muttered. But when they parted, Swag was smiling.

“Hell of a welcome home. Got any more for me? I'm already all tied up, after all. But we probably better send the kiddies home first.”

“It's him.” Puzzles said flatly.

Nash and Narci cheered.

They untied him, checked him for injuries-Narci had hit him pretty hard after all. Narci apologized endlessly, but Swag waved it off.

“Not like I didn't earn it.”

“Um, can you apologize to the ladies for me too? When they wake up, I mean.”

“N-Nina? And Deirdre? You took them out? By yourself?”

Narci stood straighter.

“Well, Nash dropped a smoke bomb, and I didn't really want to hurt them or anything...but yes. I did.”

Swag patted Narci on the shoulder.

“I'm impressed, kid. Now never ever do that again.”

The young Riddlers didn't stay long; technically it was illegal for Narci and Nash to be in the club during business hours, even if the Question Mark wouldn't be opening tonight. 'Electrical malfunction' they had told the disappointed crowd. But for a while after that, Detective stayed by Swag's side, comforting arm around his shoulders.

“You guys did right.” Swag said. “There's a reason I didn't want to be like that anymore. Like, yeah, that's me, and that's still swimming around inside me. Everything I did, and everything I thought and felt. That's entirely me. But this is also me. This is what I chose.” he stroked his chin. “Ugh, he shaved me. Damnit, that's gonna take weeks to grow back just right. And where are my earrings?”

He got up and began searching around for his jewelry.

“Swag.”

“Yeah?”

“If you are serious about letting go of the past...may I suggest that you actually let go?”

They gestured at the green suit Swag was still wearing. He plucked at the lapels.

“Yeah...guess I've grown out of it, huh. Doesn't fit quite right anymore. I don't know why I kept all this stuff. Contingency, I guess. But...I don't need it anymore. Tell ya what, I'll pack all this stuff up, the suit, the hat, the cane, all of that. And I'll... I dunno. Throw it in the bay. Donate it to a museum. Something like that.”

“I could help, if you like.”

“Nah...this is really somethin' I should do myself. 'Sides, you guys already helped me out plenty tonight. Guess this whole Family business is worth somethin' after all. If you can see me at my worst and still stick around...I dunno, it's giving 'hope for the future', you know?”

Detective stayed the night, just talking while Swag packed, bathed, rested. And though they did see that hope Swag spoke of peeking through as he chattered about future plans, they couldn't help but to let their mind drift to the mystery they knew hung on the horizon.

Artist: @cardwrecks

[midknight-hour]

me when the multiplayer live service dc videogame game doesn’t actually follow up on arkham plots and doesn’t show the riddler’s slide into further insanity after the man he’d been obsessed with beating for most of his life dies at someone else’s hands and just has him spout random unrelated riddles at king shark

[bathtub4rats]

Do you see my vision? I cannot describe how many times i had to stop working on this bc i was giggling too hard and losing my shit

[mylifeingotham]

[goldfish-inhaler]

i like to think that the Arkham rec room has little busy work activities for the patients. most of them you could find in an elementary school until Riddler was admitted, then they had to start providing calculus and trig worksheets lol

[cornetespoir]

A silly sketch

[gl1tchr]

love this guy

[finniestoncrane]

Can you do a oneshot of Arkham Knight Riddler eating reader out? He needs to eat. And I need a dirty, greasy, disgusting man to violate me with his tongue. I want his to have to wipe the cum and drool as it dribbles down his chin. Absolutely NASTY!

Snack

Arkham!Riddler x Fem!Reader, word count: 450 just a lil oneshot, just a lil snack u-u listen i've done it before and i'll do it again lmao if there's one thin i won't get tired of it's eddie eating pussy!! also it's fem!reader but there's no gendered language, so anyone with a vagina who doesn't mind the word pussy should be all good request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: oral sex, a bit of fingering, mentions of overstim

Eddie rolled his tongue, almost wave like, making the muscle pulse and curve from the back to the tip against your dripping cunt. Each lap made you wail, your fingers curled into his hair, tugging at the root as you pushed him to you and pulled him away when you could feel yourself getting too close to your inevitable orgasm.

From the moment he'd fallen to his knees in front of you, you had been close. Desperate. Wet. You could feel your clit twitching as he pulled off your pants, then your underwear. Feel your inside aching as he lifted your legs up and placed them on his deceptively strong shoulders. Let your jaw drop, a howling wail coming out of your open mouth as he used his thumbs to spread your lips apart.

Now, you were soaking, your entire body throbbing, muscles tensing as they waited for your release. Eddie worked at it, his thin lips circling your clit as he inserted a finger inside of you, another joining it quickly after. The way he spread you open, devouring you as though he were actually starving made your heart pound, your stomach flip, your vision going blurry as you got closer to the edge of the intense climax that felt as though it choked you.

You were clouded by your orgasm, brain fogged with only the notion of seeking pleasure coming into focus, but you still stole a look down towards Eddie. As though he sensed you watching him, he looked up towards you, steely blue eyes glinting with his malicious glee. He removed his fingers from you, using the back of the same hand to wipe his chin which was slick with your cum, dripping with his own drool.

Every second he spent away from you was agonising, threatening to dull the release that had been building up. But you felt his sharp nose come into contact with your once again, his stubbled cheeks between your thighs, dark brown hair tickling your skin as he dove back in, pressing his tongue in and out of you, moaning as he fucked you with his mouth.

With a sharp squeal you came, quivering under his continued touch, overstimulated almost immediately after your body settled back down. But Eddie kept going, chuckling to himself, not quite satisfied and certain you had more to give him. He pulled away briefly, only long enough to reassure you in a cruel, teasing tone that felt like he was purposefully mocking your pathetic desperation.

"If you want me to stop, you only have to ask. 'Please, Mister Nigma, Sir. I've had enough.' Say it loud and clear."

He only offered you the out as he was confident you wouldn't take it, smiling smugly to himself as you grabbed him by his hair and pushed him back into you.

[frightshack]

fiddle diddle diddle

[realityhelixcreates]

Happy Valentines Day, everyone!

artists: Me, @captainbaddecisions @miasmacaron @cardwrecks @motherdearestriddler @billdenbroing

[1m0g3n09]

Alfred was an absolute icon in btas

[therealityhelix]

Shards of the Nexus: Tangled Pinstripes

Things were very tenuous for him, in the beginning.

Song: Building a Mystery- Sarah McLachlan

@cardwrecks @captainbaddecisions

Detective watched as his blonde counterpart took a slow pull from his glittery green vape, and breathed out a long stream of apple scented steam.

“Well,” he said. “At least my other me's are hot.”

Detective and YJ shared a glance.

“It's good you're taking this so well.” YJ said, soft lisp sliding along his tongue. “Because we know there is another, and we think there may be more. Are you interested?”

“In what?” the blonde asked, splaying himself indolently across his couch. “I'mma be real wit'chu fellas. I ain't really interested in some riddle man fan club. Tryin' to leave all that behind.”

“As did I.” Detective said. “Of course, you would not be forced to participate in anything you didn't want to. This is not some kind of secret society. But...it is fascinating, is it not? Other worlds, multiversal theory. That you can reach into another reality and find yourself.”

“I dunno. Sounds like a whole bunch of not my business.”

“You aren't even interested in other worlds?” YJ asked, incredulous.

“Look, gentlefriends, I got a good thing goin' here.” He pulled himself off the couch and stretched. “And I ain't inclined to fuck around with it, especially not for the sake of the Riddler. Hate that guy. Now, if you'll excuse me...Feel free to buy a drink, watch the night life, whatever, but don't you cause no problems in my club.”

He walked right past them, out into the undulating chaos of the dance floor, where several people immediately draped themselves all over him.

Arkham chuckled.

“Ooh, he's got a bit of swagger, hasn't he? Ha. I kind of want to break his legs.”

“We cannot force anyone.” Detective said. “That isn't the point of this.”

“I can't imagine anyone with a mind like ours having no interest in the multiverse.” YJ muttered.

“Just give it a bit of time.” Arkham said. “The seed's planted now. If he's worthy of the name, he won't be able to resist learning more. And if he's not...no need to waste our time.”

There was no threat contained within the words, but the way Arkham said it sparked worry in YJ's mind. When Detective described finding their counterparts in other worlds, there was a definite edge of urgency involved. If Arkham fully agreed with Detective's quest, YJ couldn't help but wonder how far he might go to make sure that quest wasn't endangered.

Loyalty wasn't a word YJ would ascribe to Arkham, but decisiveness certainly was.

“I think I actually would like a drink, honestly.” Detective said. “Why waste what might be our only opportunity to see what kind of concoctions a Riddler might come up with?”

YJ joined them at the question mark shaped bar. People made room for them, giving both he and Detective appreciative looks. Bashfulness warmed his fuzzy cheeks. Detective, of course, was incredibly beautiful, like the angels of myth. Himself, however...Well, he didn't think he was ugly! Far from it! It was just that, on his world, in his line of work, people like him were not very favored. He was aware of the traits he had that others would consider 'flaws'. The gap in his teeth, the lisp in his voice, the color blindness, the neurodivergence, all the crime. But the people here had imperfect faces, wild make up, raccoon tail stripes in their hair. They wore platform boots, and neon fishnets, and they smiled at him and winked.

The dancers didn't all dance well, but they danced freely, and everyone sparkled in the lights from the floor and ceiling, spangled in the reflected magic of the spinning disco ball.

This place was hypnotic, and the Mesmer in the center was the Riddler who wasn't, the Riddler who didn't claim it, but displayed it everywhere nonetheless. Question mark iconography peppered the entire place, named it, shaped it, hung from the non-Riddler's neck like a golden noose. The drinks menu was full of villain-themed cocktails, of green and gold and violet.

Trying to leave that all behind, he had said, and yet, to YJ it seemed he had simply dragged it all into a different venue, turned a spotlight on it, and commanded it to dance.

Perhaps that was how he gained control. They all had their ways.

He ordered the least alcoholic thing on the menu and smiled back at the girl next to him. Detective chatted up a young man who looked both confused and thrilled. And Arkham-

He had lost track of Arkham.

?~?~?~?~?

Edward slipped out of the crowd and into the kitchen, unnoticed by anyone save the cooks.

“Yeah, three of them!” he exclaimed into his phone. “This is getting outta hand. I know we thought somethin' like this might happen since that other Harley came through, but...any other 'you's' show up?”

The gravelly voice on the other end answered in the negative.

“Damn. I'm still not sure they're legit, or some mindfuck Sionis whipped up to run me off since he wants to claim this as his turf, even though it's obviously mine. Yeah I know he doesn't think it counts cause I stopped doin' the riddly thing, but that doesn't mean I gotta give up to some other asshole. Speaking of-!”

He spun to the side, deftly dodging the hand reaching out from behind him.

It was the big one, the one that had stayed quiet almost the whole time the pretty one was talking, just staring intensely. He was still staring, his chapped lips stretched into a thin smile.

“Hey! Employees only, dickfuck!” Edward snapped. “Get outta here!”

The smile widened, though it didn't seem to reach his icy eyes. Edward slipped his hand into his pocket in deceptive nonchalance. There was more in there than just his glittery vape.

“Shelby. Andrew. Scram.” he said, and the two cooks fled through the employee exit.

“Toldja I didn't want none of this.” he continued, his fingers threading through the fused rings of a set of knuckledusters. “So if Miss Marple out there sent you in to be the bulldog, they got another thing comin'.”

“Do you think they command me?” the other him asked, rough and sneering. “Have you chosen a leader already?”

“I didn't choose nothin'!”

“Really? Then why are you here, running a speakeasy? I'd call that a choice.”

Too close too close too close! The menacing Riddler slithered up on him like some grinning eel, right up in his face in open challenge.

“Back the fuck off, bruh.”

“Or what?” The larger Riddler reached for his face. He whipped his hand out of his pocket and smashed a fistful of brass across the other man's jaw. The man staggered, but drove his own fist into Edward's stomach. He was a lot stronger than Edward expected, and he doubled over, both men simultaneously struggling with and supporting each other. The other Riddler reached into his jacket in search of something Edward didn't give him the chance to find. He stomped down hard on he other mans foot, snatching a knife off the countertop as the larger man's greater weight dragged him down. Crouching over him like a wasp over a tarantula, Edward held the knife to his neck.

“Fuckin' warned you!” he snarled through teeth gritted so hard it hurt his jaw. “Could'a just fuckin' left me alone, I wanted to be left alone, could'a just bounced, but no! You had to fuck around, and now I gotta...I...”

A thin line of red at the edge of the blade, a string of scarlet seed beads on his stubbled throat. Edward flung the knife away.

“Still got it.” the older man mocked.

“Fuck you!” he hissed. “I was doing fine before you showed up! I was fine!”

“Were you really?” he backed away, and the older Riddler sat up. “Seems to me you're holding on by a thread. If the tiniest little push can break you down like that.”

“Shut the fuck up. What do you even want from me?”

“Do you have what it takes?”

“I told you, I'm leaving that behind!”

“That's not what I meant.”

“Then what the fuck did you mean?”

“Do you have. What it takes.”

“You know what, I don't fuckin' care. You can go be a creepy bitch out on the street. I'm officially kicking you out.”

The one with the mullet shoved his way into the kitchen.

“Hey, have you seen...Oh no.”

“Hey, good timing.” Edward said. “Collect your friend and get the fuck out, before I wreck his ass for real.”

“How will you do that?” the older Riddler challenged, inclining his head toward the knife under the table. “You've thrown away your advantage.”

“I can get another.” Edward threatened.

“Arkham, we said not to antagonize him!” the third Riddler groaned, exasperated. The older Riddler shrugged.

“Instructions unclear.” he said dismissively. “Besides, we can't leave now. He needs our help.”

“Like fuck I do.”

“I hear you've got a problem with the Roman.”

Edward sneered.

“Roman Sionis is a punk ass bitch who's just mad he got to the party late. Wants to prove he can be a big man in the masked crowd, but that ship has mostly sailed. So now he thinks he can be the only one in town, and tries to bully the rest of us. Just some upstart who doesn't know the rules.”

“You have rules?”

“You don't? Psh, doesn't surprise me.”

The older Riddler smiled that cold half-smile.

“I've got rules.”

The third Riddler helped the older fellow up.

“I'm sorry about him...”

“Don't you dare ever apologize for me, boy. You aren't that weak.” the older Riddler-Arkham-growled.

“Stop compromising my manners then.” the younger Riddler shot back. “We already said we weren't going to force him. I don't want you making liars of us.”

“Why, I did no such thing. I didn't even touch him until he attacked me.” Arkham said. The third Riddler flicked his umber gaze in Edward's direction.

Edward seethed. Goddamnit, it was true. The fucker had baited him, and he'd fallen for it. Practically jumped at it. He wanted to leave it all behind, but damn if he hadn't been ready to kill.

Damnit, did he have what it took?

“Hey, hold on.” he said. “Hypothetically speaking, if some wannabe crime boss with a black, skull shaped edgelord mask, like, say, Roman Sionis was breathing his gross breath down your neck, but you was trying real hard not to be a little murder gremlin, what would you do?”

Arkham grinned, and this time it reached his eyes.

“Well, that depends. Do I happen to have any friends who still embrace the 'murder gremlin' lifestyle? Am I willing to look the other way? All important questions.”

“Yeah. And what would that cost me?”

He continued smiling. Edward sighed.

“Tell Nancy Drew I'll have a sit down talk with them.”

The younger Riddler ushered Arkham out of the kitchen. Edward retrieved his phone.

“Harvey? Yeah, I'm fine. Hey listen, I'm gonna have to call you back, okay?”