“holding grudges isn’t good for you” yeah well neither is people hurting me and getting away w/ it so here we are
what's this under his tree, wrapped up in obnoxiously sparkly paper? why, it's presents from harley, of course! on top of the pile, there's a tin of at LEAST 20 homemade cookies and some sufganiyiot. the biggest box is suspiciously heavy and suspiciously espresso-machine-shaped, but, like, really, it could be a basketball. the other gifts are also suspiciously coffee-scented and suspiciously french press and pour-over cup-sized, but, y'know. you'll have to open them to find out. merry christmas!
Now there’s a grin of a man who isn’t going to be grumpy in the mornings ever again!
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As the truth unfolded, she wants to feel some sort of relief that comes with knowing the answers she’d wanted for so long. The questions had all boiled down to those various why’s and he’d finally filled in the blanks. However, a nagging voice in the back of her head began chattering, the one that had known the reasoning all along, at least to one of her questions. It’s your fault he’s dead. Had you just gone along with everything sooner, he’d still be here. He’s dead because of you. And in many ways, despite not being the one to have pulled the trigger, the voice is right and it cuts at her very core to know that even if Edward Nygma was the one in the wrong, she could have saved her dad’s life so easily. It makes her tense up, it makes her shake and her eyes water more. One less door slammed in his face. One less angry tirade. One less gift sent back. She could have stopped everything. But that knowledge couldn’t help anyone now.
“So, it was my fault then. All of it.” Unsteady syllables, muttering at not much more than a whisper. Of course, he can hear it but it’s mostly a voicing of her inner monologue–not a question or something meant to be commented upon. “Well, you got what you wanted in the end. You hurt me more than anyone else ever had. It still hurts. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop hurting over what happened. And, well, you don’t have to worry about other men in my life. I haven’t been able to be with anyone since. I can’t bring myself to…” On the verge of crying, she silences herself, taking a few breaths to keep herself from breaking altogether. Again, she finds the strength to look him in the eyes, face devoid of emotion. “Do you feel better now, Edward?”
“-- No!” He replies harshly, abruptly, eyes shutting tight for a long moment as he shakes his head & edges a little closer to the edge of the bench. “No, no, no. Wrong. Not your fault. Not your fault by a landslide.”
Eddie’s looking at her. His eyes are full of -- something. His expression, full of something. What is it? Regret? Pity? Horror? Downright and deep sadness? It’s hard to put a finger on it, but he is not a man who looks pleased with his past actions.
“Jessica Duchamp,” (It’s a name that still bites like poison; maybe if he says it enough, the poison will kill him. Maybe if he’s dead he won’t have to feel like this. Maybe she feels the same way.) “I was the one who stalked you. I was the one who pressured you. I was the one who -- who pulled the trigger and ended your father’s life.” He feels like he’s in a confessional. It’s both cathartic and terrifying. It’s amazing he’s still looking into her eyes -- those beautiful eyes, the eyes he once longed for and cried over. The eyes he very well may cry over later. (Surely those aren’t tears glazing over his brown eyes... are they?) “It is far from your fault. There is... nothing about this situation that wasn’t my doing.”
Part of him wants to lay a hand on her shoulder by way of comfort. But he feels as though if he touches her, he will burn her-- or very well, be burned-- like a mortal laying a hand on a god. He keeps his hands in his lap.
(His name on her tongue feels like what being struck by lightning feels like.)
It barely comes out as a whisper as he responds: “There is nothing I regret more.”
#jessicaduchamp#THIS IS SO LATE#tfw eddie has a bleeding heart#talk to me about eddie saying that hes over her but still having a grossly idealized version of her in his head#and still refuses to remove her from her pedestal even tho she broke his heart bc shes still the most magnificent thing hes ever seen#talk to me about how DISGUSTING EDWARD NYGMA IS
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She wrinkles her nose at the word Roseart (really, what self-respecting human being wouldn’t) and sets the toy back on the shelf.
“Benny’s gettin’ into tech stuff,” she says, loud enough for Ed to hear but with an expression that suggests she’s lost in thought. “He likes t’ build stuff, but he’s too old f’r play sets…” It trails off as she starts wandering down the aisle. A couple of kids have passed them by already, towing parents along behind them and pointing and explaining exactly what the want for Christmas; more than a few solo parents have also come by, too engrossed in their shopping to realize that they’re standing right next to a couple of notorious supercriminals. It’s a strange sensation, being nigh-invisible like that. Harley’s fascinated by it.
“– What about Legos? Do kids still like Legos? Or is it more, like.” (She’s staring critically at some rather intricate Harry Potter sets, no doubt wondering if any children in the world actually have the cognitive abilities and attention span to complete them.) “Adult collectors now.”
An eyebrow quirks at the thought, and arms cross over his chest while his eyes wander as he’s THINKING as well about -- about toys, which is a subject that ironically, he hasn’t thought MUCH of since CHILDHOOD. (Sure, he teased the idea of a toyline not too long ago, but he’d rather not THINK about the times when he was so mentally unhealthy that his actions and thoughts seem literally EMBARRASSING nowadays. Not to mention... Batman. Yeah. No. Not getting started here in a dim Toys R’ Us.)
“Sure, kids like Legos.” Eddie says, picking up a little yellow man from a demonstrative set nearby and holding up the poor little construction worker between his thumb and index finger for Harley to see. “-- they’re good for a start. But wouldn’t a video game where you build things be a little more helpful if he’s really into building things? All of this,” gesturing vaguely to the Legos part of the aisle, “seems rather... primitive, in the scheme of things.”
(Yeah. It’s obvious Eddie doesn’t really know how childhoods work. He’s a kid, Eddie, not an aspiring major in architecture.)
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Anonymous asked:
mistletoe - PUZZLEBORN XOXOXO
“– That’s just ridiculous,” Harley’s saying to the barista as she whips up a toffee nut latte. “That’s ridiculous, you shouldn’t have to work on Christmas. I mean, I know I’m not gonna be here, an’ I know nobody else is gonna be here– y’know what? Y’know what? Jus’ don’t come in. No, I mean it, jus’ don’t come in on Christmas, I don’t care what th’ manager says. I’ll take care of it.”
“I don’t know,” the barista responds slowly, sounding less like she’s trying to be a good employee and more like this is just too good to be true. “I don’t know, I mean, I could get fired for–”
“Stevie.” Harley’s got her drink, now, and she catches the girl’s hand before she retreats back behind the counter. Stevie doesn’t mind; there are only two customers in right now, Harley included.
“Don’t worry about it,” Harley insists. “I’ll take care of it.”
Stevie cracks a smile. Harley cracks a smile back.
“I feel like this is how people get roped into being henchmen.”
Harley chuffs a laugh and picks up her two drinks. “You’re too smart t’ be a henchman.”
See, the Starbucks on Fifth never complains about supervillains as long as they’re civil. Many of its employees have received hefty tips after serving a weary criminal just looking for some peace and quiet and overpriced coffee. Harley herself has personally seen that one of the baristas got into a good culinary school. Because of this arrangement, as one might imagine, there is a regular criminal clientele. Right now, an hour before closing time, the only customers in are Harley Quinn and the Riddler. They’ve just finished Christmas shopping.
Edward, bless his heart, has been texting or Tweeting or doing whatever on his phone the whole time that Harley’s been talking with Stevie. He doesn’t even look up until Harley nudges his phone with the hot paper cup. He blinks, pockets his phone, thanks her, takes a drink.
“You can’t come here on Christmas,” Harley tells him matter-of-factly.
“And why not?”
“Nobody’s comin’ t’ work. I told ‘em I’d take care of it.”
“Ah.”
“Mhm.”
They lapse into intermittent silence and idle chatter. Half an hour later, they’re ready to go. Edward stands, puts his scarf and hat on, pulls on his coat; Harley follows suit. He starts to go around the table to leave but she stops him.
“Hold on, you forgot something.”
He holds his hands up and starts looking around. “No I–?”
“Look behind you.”
“… It’s… a bulletin board.”
“With mistletoe on it.”
“… Oh, Harley, come on–”
“I can’t, Eddie, it’s tradition, I have to–”
She’s giggling when she moves around the table. He tries half-heartedly to dodge, but of course she catches him; she holds onto his coat with one hand and pulls a chair out with the other, and then she stands on it in order to reach.
“Merry Christmas, Eddie.” She puts her hands on his shoulders and plants a kiss (mmmmmmmwah!) on his cheek.
He huffs a little, blushes a little, says a quiet Merry Christmas back to her and helps her down from the chair. He keeps a careful watch all the way out the door for any other mistletoe.
A day later, there’ll be a picture of Harley kissing his cheek all over the internet– Stevie’s doing, of course.
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Send my muse hard-to-answer questions.
For example: Ask them how their parent(s) died, ask them why they did something morally questionable, ask them how they feel about a serious issue, etc.
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all the relationships in pushing daisies |→ ned and olive
“I was awful and I’m ashamed of myself because I know what it feels like to be abandoned, how you think you’re worthless and unloveable and your heart hardens to the person who did it to you. Forgiving them is inconceivable. So I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, but I still wanna tell you…I’m sorry.”
ME, BANGING POTS AND PANS: EDDIE HAS TO PUT UP WITH JON DURING HALLOWEEN SO JON HAS TO PUT UP WITH EDDIE DURING CHRISTMAS
even if eddie and jon Could work phones like The Kids These Days do, u can bet the only things they’d snap each other are blurry pictures of birds & streets and vague pictures of stores that jsut are captioned “ok im here what do u want again” and actually clear selfies that harley took n sent,
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I WILL SCARE YOU AWAY || ♪ depressing melancholy scriddler mix for those who can’t love and those who feel unlovable ♪
TRACK LIST
Tiny Animals - Foot Ox // Love In The Time Of Human Papillomavirus - AJJ // How To Embrace A Swamp Creature - The Mountain Goats // Never Coming Home (Song For The Guilty) - Ramshackle Glory // Blue Valentines - Tom Waits // That’s Okay - The Hush Sound // On Melancholy Hill - Gorillaz // Ghosting - Mother Mother // *BONUS* Autoclave - The Mountain Goats / *BONUS 2* I Love You For Psychological Reasons - They Might Be Giants //
[MANY MANY THANKS TO @violentdancing THS IS BASICALLY A COLLAB WITH HER <3]
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me: i love edward n//ygma and i want to protect him from everything bad thats ever happened
me: drags him as brutally as possible at every available opportunity, loves seeing him get hurt, dreams of one day being able to smack him in the face with a folding chair pro wrestling style
that video: lol dc doesn’t want u to know that “ed.ward ny.gma” is a stupid name that sounds like enigma!!! and that some of the riddles that he tells are really stupid!!! dc doesnt want u to know that riddler is almost exactly like the joker!!!
me: I
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[eddie voice] YOU’RE LITERALLY AN ASSHOLE
[jon voice] HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE I CANT BE AN ASSHOLE IVE GOT ARMS AND LEGS AND A HEAD
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riddlcr-deactivated20180509
Another month, another giveaway. This month’s theme is: A mix box of DC and Marvel products. As always, all items are in mint condition.
Rules:
- Must be following me
- You must reblog the post to enter (likes don’t count)
- You can reblog a post as many time as you like
- I’ll ship anywhere
- If you remove the description your entry won’t count
- Ends Christmas night (Dec 25th), winner will be picked shortly after
Good luck o7o
ofboomerangs said: ❝I'll listen t' ya riddles Eddster!❞
“I know you will, Digger.” Pats the other’s shoulder fondly.