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finniestoncrane · 1 month ago

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🩷 Connie (OC) x Riddler x Boomerang, multi-part fic 🩷 constance dorothea drum (connie/conundrum) is my sorta self-insert OC who i like to put into situations!! i'm finally getting around to writing out her backstory and her love triangle and it is filled with fluff and angst and good old smut based in the arkham!verse in terms of character/place design, but divergent as far as the timeline goes fic masterlist • AO3 link • tag: auc fic • plushie doodles by @/march-harrigan

💚 Chapter 1: The Decision Is Made For You, word count: 2.5k 💚 present day: connie is meeting up with a friend to vent about her life (spoiler: it's not good). she has some decisions to make, which is typically pretty hard from her, so it's a blessing when the decision is made for her... right? request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: angst, career changes, kidnapping, ex-librarian is SUFFERING thanks, boomer and eddie aren't explicitly in this chapter but they will be soon!!

There was no reprieve for the wicked, and even less for the good. That was all she could think of as she looked out the window and to the sky, ruminating on the faux philosophic thought and trying to pretend that her suffering was poetic instead of just shit. Christ, even that was depressing. The endlessly grey clouds were beginning to feel claustrophobic, no longer a blanket of safety, a gothic romance waiting to happen. Now they felt like an old rug, and she was being swept up under it with everything else that was easier to forget about than deal with. Rain drops that might as well have been perpetual tears, rolling thunder like pained groans, gusts of wind a mockery of lamenting wails, and flashes of lightning that reminded her of the beginnings of her tension migraines. Gloomy. Grainy. Gotham.

“Hey! You good, Bubby?”

Despite the sorrowful mood that longed to be wallowed in, it did seem impossible not to smile when Harley spoke, her voice high pitched and lilting on the nickname she reserved for her oldest, continuing, friend. And even though she wanted to remain miserable, to allow herself a little bit of a pity party, Connie found herself smiling in response to the question, hoping that she could convince Harley not to worry too much.

“I’m ok. It’s just the same old stuff.”

Harley reached across the table, bruised fingers with red and black chipped nail polish at the ends delicately gripping Connie’s hand.

“Y’want me to psychoanalyse ya?”

Connie almost regretted the snort of laughter, worrying that Harley might be offended, but she could see by the mischievous grin that she was happily mocking herself.

“Yeah, sounds good. I’ll let the struck off criminal with no medical license poke around in my brain to see if that helps.”

Across the table, Harley shrugged and took a long sip of the colourful cocktail in front of her.

“Couldn’t hurt!”

It was obvious that the matter was going to be discussed, inevitable really. Connie wasn’t getting easily, especially not after how long she’d frowned for as the two of them sat together in the seediest bar in the most dangerous neighborhood in Gotham. “People don’t tattle in here!” Harley had said. The only reason they had to choose somewhere as terrifying, given her new career in criminality. Three very long years had passed since Harley had left the Asylum, following a love that Connie couldn’t talk her out of, chasing a dream that she couldn’t hear anything negative about. There had been apologies, of course, for the fallout of those events, and Connie had accepted them wholeheartedly, not wanting to lose the only friend she had. But it still weighed heavily on Harley, who seemed to have a compulsive need to make sure Connie was happy, or at the very least, surviving.

“The motel. Prices went up again.”

“Well, maybe you gotta move to a worse one. No hoity-toity, upscale, fancy living conditions for you. Bed bugs a must! No view, in fact, no windows! Rooms by the hour, discounts if you clean the mess that the last person in before you left behind! And dinner on us if that mess contains bodily fluids of any kind! Dinner will be provided by the vending machines, $3 dollar maximum .”

“Harley… I don’t think there’s anywhere that shitty even in Gotham. And I really am on the lowest possible rung of the budget ladder. Work is slow, the shifts are almost non-existent at the diner, and-”

“What happened to the cafe?”

“Explosion.”

“Typical!”

Harley rolled her eyes, trying to make light of the situation, but her forced smile turned quickly into a frown when she looked into Connie’s eyes, the telltale shimmer of tears beginning to form.

“Oh, Bubby, no! Listen, why don’t you come stay with me for a while, huh? I’m sure Mister J would-”

“No! No, thank you. I mean, I appreciate it, but I want to… I want to make it on my own. And you keep forgetting that I forgave you. You don’t owe me anything, ok? I’m just glad to still have you to talk to, when things get rough. Or rougher than they already were.”

Harley’s hand gripped Connie’s fingers, a reassuring squeeze that said she understood, but wasn’t quite ready to give up her crusade for punishment for her actions.

“Doctor Quinzel, at your service.”

Connie raised an eyebrow, curling her lips into a silent question.

“Ok, ok! Harley Quinn, at your service . I was good, you know!”

“You were. The best. You still are.”

They kept their grip on one another, two hands reaching across the table, meeting in the middle in a firm but caring grip. They stayed that way for a few minutes, the world around them seeming to disappear. None of that meant anything to them when they could be together. They needed one another, seemingly had done all of their lives, so these moments were like a recharge for their souls. That was until Harley squealed in delight and her hands shot up, dropping Connie’s to the sticky table with a thud. Several of the more intense looking patrons of the bar turned around to eye them up, all of them awkwardly looking away when they realised who the noise had come from.

“Hey! Oh my god! I can’t believe I didn’t think about this before, but it just. Makes. Sense!”

Connie felt her chest tighten. Anything that Harley was this enthusiastic about could only be a bad idea. That was almost a given, and Connie had known her well enough for long enough to see it coming a mile off. But rather than interrupt, she let Harley continue.

“You should get yourself a little criminal gig! There’s always guys looking for new goons. I could make a few calls, see if there’s anything going. What kind of crimes would you be ok with committing?”

“Harley…”

“Oh c’mon! Don’t act like you’re above it. You’re in Gotham, Bubby. You gotta play the game .”

She sat with that thought for a moment. It was the last opportunity available, it seemed. And perhaps she was always heading towards this fate. Like destiny, calling her. No one survived Gotham long, and sometimes the only way to prolong your existence was to fall in with the most lucrative career going. But it didn’t sit right with her.

“Harley, I really don’t think I’m suited for a career in enforcement, do you?”

They both looked at her, sitting there in the booth. Her chubby, rounded face could provide ample opportunity for playing herself down and being an unassuming assassin, but she lacked a lot of physicality. Connie wasn’t strong, and she wasn’t quite as nimble or coordinated as was required. At university, Harley could be seen on weekends doing gymnastic training. And Connie could be found in the audience, cheering her on and managing to trip herself up while clapping. And while she was enamoured by other fat women who were athletic, attending Harley’s roller derby games if only to watch the gorgeous, large women engaging in intensely physical activity, Connie’s body betrayed her every attempt at running or fighting. She’d managed to get a bout of motion sickness from her first go at roller derby, and she couldn’t even muster the grace to walk from one place to the other without tripping or skipping. There wasn’t a lot she could say about herself that was kind, but when it came to her physical prowess, that was where she struggled the most.

“An assistant then! People are always looking for assistants. Answer the phones, smuggle the drugs, sell the firearms, sometimes, if you’re willing, they even need people to-”

“I am begging you not to finish that sentence, I don’t want to know.”

“Alright, alright. But it might be your only option, that’s all I’m saying. I mean, I did, and look at me! I’m… well, I’m doing alright, is the point I’m trying to make! Maybe you should do what I did?”

“What? Fall in love and become a criminal sidekick? Ouch!”

Harley kicked Connie under the table, laughing as she did so, immediately forgiving her for teasing that sensitive spot.

“Not quite , but…”

“Harley, did you learn nothing from our course?”

“I learned plenty, Bubby. And look where it got us.”

There was no arguing with that. Years of hard work, masters, doctorates, the professional progress between them impressive on paper before everything that happened. And yet here they both were. A criminal clown’s chew toy and a soon to be homeless loser. Gotham State University should use them both as success stories in their next newsletter, she thought, managing to find a smile for her own joke.

“Ok, I’m sorry to have to break us up, but I gotta be going. You gonna be ok?”

“As ok as I ever am.”

“And you’re gonna be fine walking home?”

Harley raised an eyebrow this time, aware that while she had a reputation, and her baseball bat, Connie was a fairly easy target for the thugs that lurked around every corner between the bar and the motel.

“I’ll be fine, you go do your thing, but be safe, ok?”

With a gleeful wink, her tongue sticking out of her mouth, Harley got up from the table and left the bar, hood up on her black jacket as she retreated into the cold, wet night. And before anyone could say anything to her, crowding around her either for conversation or cruelty, neither of which she was particularly open to, Connie left the bar as well.

Her coat barely kept the wind and the rain from her, cheap as it was, and it was around two sizes too small, so there was no point in trying to pull it around her for extra warmth and comfort. Her face was damp, the freezing cold gusts biting at her cheeks and nose and lips, the almost frosted rain only salt in those wounds as she tried to keep herself sheltered and covered, foregoing her usual attempts at staying alert and vigilant. She wondered why that might be? Had she given up entirely? Probably. Inconsequential, that would be the way to go. She wasn’t out looking for her exit, not actively anyway, but it happened upon her she doubted she would put up much of a fight.

For the briefest of moments, she considered standing there in the street and yelling to the skies “Just come and take me then! I won’t even make the papers! I won’t put up a fight! I’ve got less than five dollars in my pocket and I’m worth more dead than alive! Come on and put me out of my fucking misery!” but she stopped herself, if only because she knew she would barely be heard above the wind and the rain. And there was also a little part of her that worried who might hear. A claim like that might merit her a little vacation to Arkham, and it was far better to rot in the cold of her shitty motel room than be cooped up in there. She’d witnessed it first hand, it was not an option. Never an option.

As the thought of what it might be like to truly succumb to either death or the asylum, a cheerful focus for her on this dreary night, she had all but given up on watching out for those that lurked. So invested in her own little “this or that” hypothetical was she that she hadn’t heard the faint footsteps behind her. Boots on gravel, the light clanking of metal, the shallow breath of someone trying to conceal their nerves.

Even if she had noticed, even if she’d had time to react, it would have made no difference. Her screams would have gone unnoticed against the driving rain and the background cacophony of the myriad other yells and cries of the streets. And whatever weak puns she could throw at her attacker would have likely missed anyway, a lucky one that landed offering no more than a mild irritation to the situation than a deterrence.

No, it was just Connie, oblivious to everything but her own misery, suddenly experiencing true darkness, before she had even registered the pain at the back of her head, the dull thud almost fictional as far as she was concerned in her unconscious state. And she drifted in and out as she was transported by her assailant until she blacked out entirely.

Her first thought upon waking was disappointment that she wasn’t actually dead yet. It felt like a waste of her time. Her bleary vision steadied, focusing in on the view immediately in front of her. A room lit with almost clinical lighting, but it wasn’t clean and it certainly wasn;t somewhere to receive any kind of treatment. It was damp, worn, clearly long abandoned before Connie was left in here. There was a switch on the wall labelled with a piece of paper, and as she stood up to take a closer look she realised first of all that she was seated, and second of all, that she was tethered to the chair she found herself on. Wrists and ankles and her waist, all bound by leather restraints that were a little too tight for comfort now that she was paying attention to them.

“What… the actual fuck?”

If they weren’t going to kill her, she assumed they were going to torture her, and the thought alone was so absurdly perfect. Of course this is how it would go. Of course her life would end in drawn out, pointless agony. Just like how she’d been living it. And with that thought, she laughed out loud, either trying to find the humour in the situation, or finally losing her mind, she couldn’t be sure which and she suspected it might be both.

“This really isn’t funny, you know. Although, you’ll realise that soon enough.”

The voice surprised her, cutting off her laughter and making her sit up straight, back tense against the chair as she strained her neck to see where it might be coming from, and who it might be coming from. There was something familiar about it. Not a known person, not someone she felt she had heard physically. Something she recognised from a recording, perhaps on the news or from her studies.

Footsteps approached from directly behind her, just out of her line of sight with her neck turning both ways, and as her captor continued speaking, she began to place the elements of speech. The tone, the words, the cadence, the dictation, all of it so obvious when she could dedicate her brain to that alone instead of fear and panic and pathetic self-pity at her less than ceremonious end.

“Allow me to introduce myself, only polite after all. Although, I would expect you would know who I am, after all, I make no enigma of myself.”

#this is so dear to me please be nice and kind and maybe reblog it or read it or like it or pet me on the head #finnie writes #auc fic #the riddler #riddler #edward nigma #arkham riddler #arkham verse #oc #oc fanfiction #captain boomerang #george harkness

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finniestoncrane · 11 days ago

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💚 Chapter 2: Perfect Timing, word count: 2.8k 💚 10 years ago: connie and harley spend an agonising day in the library trying to solve connie's thesis problems. luckily, she comes up with the perfect topic, one that ends up grabbing her attention in more ways than one. request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: we finally see how mentally ill connie is for eddie, even at these early stages of her career, and there's a bit more harley and connie friendship to absorb because they're cute ok

“I’m really cutting it close now, Harley. My meeting with the advisor is in ten minutes, and if I don’t take an actual concrete idea to my supervisor today, then I might as well drop out now.”

Of course, Connie could be as vocal about how stressed she was all that she wanted, but she was also very aware that it was her own fault for leaving things so late. She was one for getting distracted, unable to start things, unable to keep her mind focused on one train of thought. Undiagnosed ADHD, that’s what Harley had said while she was practising her clinical work on her, although how much of that was truthful could be argued, given Harley was studying psychology and not psychiatry. Whatever was wrong with her, though, she had to try and overcome it or all of her years of study so far at Gotham State would all be for nothing.

“Bubby, I don’t know what you want me to say. We’ve been trying to come up with a topic for your thesis for… years now. Literally years. You just gotta pick one from the pile of rejects and go with it, that’s what I think!”

“But I want to believe in my idea! I want it to be something I can write about confidently, passionately. I want a good grade.”

Harley tossed the book she was absent-mindedly reading to the ground, kicking her legs up on the table and leaning back with a sigh that turned into a groan before she spoke.

“What does it matter anyway, really? All of this studying? I mean, have you ever thought about how many criminals lately have doctorate degrees? Real life actual doctors, people who studied their tight little asses off like you’re trying to right now, driven eventually to a life of crime. Good grade or not, if you really think about it, we’re just here studying to end up as Batman and the GCPDs punching bags.”

“Huh… you’re right…”

“I am!?” Harley sat up straight like a dog hearing their favourite word, grinning wide at Connie’s agreement. “So does that mean we can blow this dump and go to the pier?”

With an expression of disappointment, Connie raised her eyebrows, exasperatedly dropping her hands to the table as she renewed her patience for Harley before bursting her bubble.

“No. I mean that you’re right about the doctorates. The list must be pretty long. Let me think… you’ve got… Oh, Freeze, he was a doctor, wasn’t he?”

“Oh yeah, he was a babe, too.”

“Another one… Langstrom!”

“Babe.”

“Sartorius.”

“Babe.”

“Hellfern!”

“Spooky babe!”

“And Isley, of course.”

“ Super babe.”

“All of them, intelligent people with ambitions and passion, driven to criminality because of… what? There must be some relation to super intelligence, a correlation between super intellect and… maybe a lack of stimulation? Or perhaps they have a greater understanding of the unfairness of society? A clinical mind that can compartmentalise morals in the name of the greater good of humanity of science? Looking for an outlet of their genius? And just a little sprinkling of autism?”

“Well, you would be the expert there.”

“I would… But I’m still not sure what it is that definitively pushes them…”

“Maybe you find out when you study it for your thesis then? You ask the question, you find some evidence. Sounds like as good an idea as any of the others we’ve talked and talked and talked and talked about.”

“Hmm… Yeah, I think I like it!”

“So now can we get out of here? I hate the library. It’s too quiet! Which really tests my need for chaos .”

“It’s not exactly quiet when you’re in here.” Connie shoved Harley’s arm playfully, watching as she very intentionally, and very dramatically, fell to the ground with a ridiculous groan. “Ok, ok, I have my meeting in five minutes and then once I’m done we can leave. Wish me luck!”

Harley offered a smile and a salute, her way of sending positive vibes to Connie as she left for her meeting, but she really didn’t need any luck or good will at all. When she posed the question to her advisor, he had smiled knowingly, satisfied with the proposal and definitely intrigued by it. And that was despite her unprepared stammering and lack of any preliminary research to accompany it. She assumed the enthusiasm would bode well for her once she actually got to the meat of the project.

“There’s just one thing, though…” he had said, smoothing his fingers over the stubble on his chin, a self-satisfactory move from the proclaimed intellectual, who Connie hoped would soon enter his own criminal phase and be swiftly beaten to a bloody pulp. “Do you intend to only focus on those with doctorates? Or would you be interested in intelligence which hasn’t been professionally recognised, so to speak?”

Connie tilted her head slightly, trying to understand the question.

“Do you mean like… Emotional or social intelligence? Like how Roman Sionis seems to be able to charm or threaten his way out of, well, literally everything and anything?”

“No, no. God no. We’d be here forever discussing that kind of thing. I mean, every criminal must have an ounce of charisma or muscle to back up their actions. No, I mean those who might not necessarily have a professional title, or even a formal education, but who still exhibit, or present themselves as having, the same level of intelligence as your aforementioned doctorates. Perhaps there might be some who are even smarter?”

“Like?”

“Well, I’m thinking of people like Jervis Tetch, the Mad Hatter as he was perhaps better known. Incredibly intelligent man, talented in so many different skills, but not necessarily renowned for his intellect, and I’m sure he will have a degree, but not necessarily an academic ranking.”

“Hm, interesting.”

“Or take, for instance, Garfield Lynns. Are you familiar?”

“That’s Firefly, no?”

“Indeed. He worked with highly dangerous chemicals for a living, and for fun. Pyrotechnic work, bombs, explosives. Jobs which require an advanced degree of training and study and knowledge, but don't necessarily need a doctorate. And his engineering skills were admirable too, even if they were being put towards his criminal activities.”

“Oh! Or Bane!”

“Precisely! His work with chemicals and the study of his own sickness and addiction are fascinating on their own, even putting aside the fact that he had no formal teaching during his upbringing in prison. I’d kill to take a look at his research. Someone like him would make an excellent case study! That’s what I’m talking about, people like that. There’s always a modicum of intelligence behind being a successful criminal. The stupider ones get caught far too quickly. To last a while, to be a pain to the criminal justice system, you have to be able to outsmart it.”

Connie nodded, her eyes wide with excitement as she felt the inspiration flowing through her, her advisor continuing to lecture on the point which he wished he was making under his own name.

“Of course, bring up the doctorates too. Bring up as many examples as you can. But I would advise you to have one star of the show, as it were. Just something to focus the research on. An example that can relate to all the examples. Got it?”

Connie left the room feeling lighter than she had in months. Although the last thing her advisor had said did cling to her chest, a little nugget of anxiety in itself. Sure, she had the plan, but now she needed a star to pull everything together. Someone to focus on, someone interesting, appealing, intelligent and an example of criminality. Someone, preferably, without a professional title since that felt like an interesting angle to her. As she pondered, deep in thought, she could make out Harley ahead of her. She was face down at one of the tables at the end of the shelves of books, impatiently waiting to leave the library and forget about her studies for a moment, the complete opposite attitude from Connie.

That was understandable, Connie thought. She was planning on getting her masters in Library Science, finishing her degree in Psychology this year without the intention of becoming a doctor or a researcher or a therapist or a professor. Those seemed far too daunting to her, she’d realised in her studies. It was too much for her to have that kind of responsibility, she had learned. She was far too gentle, far too manipulatable. She was leaving all of that to Harley, who was the kind of person that Connie was certain could speak to a criminal and not be afraid, and definitely not be sucked in and swayed by their charms. So for Connie, there were only two and a half more years to go of the relentless essays and exams and presentations. For Harley, it could take anywhere between six and nine, and that was if she could sit still for long enough to actually apply herself. She was intelligent enough, but she was so easily distracted, always in need of excitement, of something new. So regular breaks were a necessity. But Connie just couldn’t commit to that today.

“So? How did it go? We off the hook for the day?”

“It went great, actually. He liked the idea a lot, and he gave me some really good notes too.”

“Then why do ya look like he told you he slept with your grandmother and now he’s getting your share of the inheritance?”

“... Because I can’t come out with you.”

“Aw, c’mon, Bubby, I-”

“I know, I know. But I really need to get started on this. I’m so sorry! I just really need to find someone to be the focal point of this stupid thesis and then find my bearings with it. I am really sorry, Harls.”

“Urgh…” Harley tossed her head back, her flexibility pushed as she seemed to completely curl backwards on herself before springing back to attention. “Fine! But you owe me, Bubby! I just wanna get out of here more than anything else, so you’re lucky! Have fun finding the perfect criminal. I would suggest checking today’s paper if you want a head start!”

The last part she spoke in a sing-songy voice before picking up her backpack and heading out, keychains jingling, flipping her fingers up to Connie on her way out, followed by her usual call of “LOVE YA!” and then she disappeared from sight. It was odd of her to mention the newspaper, given how unlikely it was for her to actually sit down and read one. “She must have been really bored…” Connie thought, as she settled herself down at the table and picked up the paper. The edges had been torn, some of the articles outlined in doodles of love hearts and smiley faces, all the work of Harley’s nervous, fidgeting fingers. But it was easy to look past them to the particular article of interest.

“Oh… Oh!”

As Connie read the article, pieces of the information rang a bell in her memory. Edward Nigma, previously known as Edward Nashton and Enigma, who had a while back begun operating under the moniker The Riddler , was now free again. High-priced lawyers will get a man anything, Connie mused. She remembered him, and she definitely remembered Enigma for sure. That was one of the first times that Gotham had really heard of Batman in a positive light after being touted for so long as a menace, a criminal vigilante. And Enigma seemed to be the same thing, just written in a different font.

And then, of course, there was his work as The Riddler. He’d been under the radar for the longest time, all through her studies it seemed, after being apprehended by Batman in Arkham City. Since then, he’d been unusually silent, behaving himself during his time at Arkham Asylum. So he had sort of disappeared from everyone’s minds, an easy feat in Gotham even for big name criminals, given the onslaught of entirely ubiquitous criminality that found its home there. But she remembered him now, very clearly, as she gazed at the old image of him being dragged from his lair by Aaron Cash.

And she remembered how she felt at the time of his arrest. It had been difficult for her to reconcile herself with her feelings, knowing what crimes he committed and still being unable to deny the fact that he was actually quite cute. Those feelings stirred themselves up again as she read the article describing his release with excitement.

“Egotistical, egomaniacal.”

“Superiority complex, God complex.”

“Intelligent, superior intellect.”

“Self-assured, irritating, compulsive, obsessive.”

No mention of a degree though, no doctorate, no title. After a records search, she pulled out the few newspapers that mentioned him, noting that none of them mentioned his schooling, his degree titles, where he might have studied. And then, the jackpot. One which actually explicitly mentioned his lack thereof.

“Edward Nigma, as he now prefers to be called, refused to attend university. He claims his school life was boring and a test of his patience, and that levels of intelligence such as his cannot be measured by peers, as he has none.”

“Wow. What an ass. He’s perfect .”

So perfect, in fact, that Connie had no concept of just how much time had passed while she read everything she could about The Riddler and his crimes. That was until Harley was smacking her on the back, causing her to choke and splutter on the soda she was sipping. She’d been caught in the middle of reading yet another report which barely even mentioned Edward except in passing, but which she was intent on reading anyway in order to satisfy her desire to find out more, and more, and more.

“Jeez, Harley! You scared me!”

“ I scared you!? You terrified me! Have you been in here this whole time!?”

“Yeah! You knew that! I said I was going to stay here and study for a little bit.”

“Bubby, I left you eight hours ago. Eight hours! And you’re not answering your phone!”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, shit! Have you been sitting here studying this whole time? And is that… OH, I see you picked up the paper then? I mentioned that as a joke .” She looked to the piles of reference materials littering the table and the floor. “Oh… Connie, Bubby. Is he who you’re focusing on?”

Connie tried to conceal her embarrassment, scrambling to cover the sheets of paper, knowing it was pointless now that the secret was out.

“Are you blushing ? Oh my god . Connie, you’re supposed to be studying him like the nasty little loser bug he is. This is a psychological deep dive, not a… well, you’re not supposed to have a crush on your patients!”

“He’s not a patient!” Connie reminded herself to keep her voice quiet, rushing to clarify the second part of Harley’s statement. “And I don’t have a crush on him! He’s just… fascinating, that’s all.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. Fascinating . Next you’re going to be telling me he’s dreamy, so clever, a handsome face for someone so much older than you.”

Desperate to change the subject, Connie closed her notebooks and began packing things into her bag as she spoke.

“And I’m pretty far ahead with where I wanted to be, so now we can do whatever you want this weekend if you can promise to drop this and not make fun of me.”

“No can do, Bubby. But we are leaving this place, I gotta deprogramme you before you go completely wacko for some puzzle-brained doofus. Pack up your things, say goodbye to your boyfriend and let’s GO!”

Harley was right. Time to relax, let the idea simmer, and then come back to it with a fresh mind on Monday. But it was easier said than put into practice. Surprisingly, it was not all that easy to stop thinking about Nigma. He really was just fascinating . And as her studies continued, the crush developed, to the point where she had considered thanking him in the acknowledgements of the finished product, thought about him as she walked across the stage to get her diploma, wrote about him in her application for her masters, and almost, though luckily she saw sense at the last minute, sent him a copy of her thesis to read.

But by the time she had finished her masters she was far too focused on the looming threat of real life. There were bills to pay, apartments to rent, work to be done at her new job in the Asylum, a place where Edward had been free of for years. In the back of her mind though, he always lingered, it’s just that there was so little opportunity for her to actually think for herself that he remained just a shadow, a memory of her past life. But not entirely forgettable.

#finnie writes #auc fic #the riddler #riddler #edward nigma #arkham riddler #arkham verse #oc #oc fanfiction #captain boomerang #george harkness

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