#theenygma

[babydxhl]

👫(for @the--e--nygma)

send a 👫and I’ll write four headcanons I have about our muses’ relationship

Mary has a tendency to treat his place as a halfway house, turning up for the few hours she needs to make her phone calls and get a ride, stealing a free meal in the process.

Cat owner pride. They rarely text but do send photos back and forth pretty regularly. Each is very much convinced their own pet(s) is/are cuter.

She finds herself oddly protective of him at times, even though she's so cruel to him. A part of her likes that he got out and is staying out of Arkham, of crime — it gives her some private hope she might be able to do the same. And the thought of anyone messing that up or taking that away she finds unspeakable ugly; more than once some loudmouth or off-duty goon has ended the night with his teeth kicked in because he decided to lash out at Edward Nygma with Mary Dahl in earshot.

Because of overlap in their respective media/entertainment industries they've found they share a lot of passing acquaintances over the years, and occasionally swap gossip and horror stories they hear.

[babydxhl]

the--e--nygma·:

“Oh, people know me. But the people I care about, the people who matter, well…” He let his head fall back to look upward to the wide open skylight roof. “They’re forgetting me. Batman is forgetting me.” He sighed, shaking his head with a shameful look on his face.

“I’ve tried to have him over. Lure him with my riddles to dinner dates and chess matches. None of it has worked. He’ll show up, insult my efforts, and leave! I–” He tensed, then sank back into his seat and et out a chuckle. “Oh, I must sound pathetic.”

“You do,” she hummed, still fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve, twisting the cufflink between her fingertips. She watched him, eyes narrowed just a fraction — inspecting him, even as the smile kept playing at the corners of her mouth. “But anyone who wants his attention in this city is pathetic. Not just you.”

Not quite kindness, but not quite malice either. 

She released the cufflink and leaned on his shoulder again, hands neatly on top of the other, on her knees in the booth so they were at an even level. You could always come back. She remembered she had said the same thing to Arnold Wesker the week before, desperate to see an old friend who had been locked up in a box somewhere. It hadn’t worked. "You think we’re all forgetting you?” 

[maximuswolf]

Blankenberge - Everything [Shoegaze]

Blankenberge - Everything [Shoegaze] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ARScgVS227A Submitted August 27, 2024 at 01:49PM by TheEnygma https://ift.tt/cAfnhip via /r/Music

[babydxhl]

(from @the--e--nygma)

here, i brought you your favorites.  ❜ with drinks from the iceberg lounge bar.

random fluffy starters | still accepting.

She runs her hands through her hair, sweeping the curls back from her face, revealing the fading purple, green, yellow bruise still peppering her hairline.

"You miss me that much, Eddie? You buying me drinks now?" Her tone is light, teasing, and a smirk twists the corners of her mouth — but the gesture is the closest thing to kindness she's had in weeks, and it leaves something unnameable strangled tight around her throat.

Her hand snakes out to take one of the glasses, feeling the condensation slick against the palm of her hand. "Heard a few things while I was in there. Interesting things."

[babydxhl]

The Secret History RP Meme (@the--e--nygma) “ do you feel afraid a lot? for no good reason you can think of? ”

the secret history rp starters | still accepting.

Mary stared at the ceiling in the dark, watching the flickering lights of Gotham creeping in across the plasterboard, the pale echo of a familiar symbol still blazing on the clouds even as the minutes ticked closer to morning.

"You want me to tell you I'm always afraid, is that it?" Her throat ached, scraped with nicotine; she reached one hand across the living room rug and spread her fingers starfish-like among the plush fibres. "Will that make you feel better?"

She was afraid, she supposed, in some way, of all kinds of small things. Of the way a police car rolled by on the street, too fast or too slow. Of the way passers-by sometimes stared a little too long, like they saw something in her that she herself could not describe.

Of the way her thoughts sometimes skittered away into thin air, of the way the ground tilted beneath her feet and time warped around her head, of the way she so often felt seized up by rage and despair and the desire to flush all her pills and scream for as long as she could. Scream and scream and scream.

"I'm not scared of anything, Eddie," she said softly after a moment, aware of him watching her on the couch. She'd waited too long to say it. "Never."