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corn-fanfiction · 16 days

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quam amiterre ludum (losing the game) James Moriarty x OC

Chapter Three: paciscor pro stulti

Chapter Two

Description: Anora had an encounter. Anora proves her worth.

Anora had never liked school. She loved learning, and nothing got her more excited than explaining foreign concepts to her family and friends- what few of them she had. But school has always proved to be a challenge. Her marks were fine, her teachers liked her well enough, but she bore a natural resistance to common systems. If an equation wasn't formed the way she wanted it to be, she grew incredibly frustrated. They asked her why it mattered, so long as both variations yielded the same result. She'd ask them if they'd say the same about mixing chemicals. They'd respond by saying chemicals aren't math. She'd finish by telling them that everything is math.

Her difficulty making and maintaining friendships didn't help. She had no one but Joseph to go to with her non-academic issues, like when Gertrude Hawkins didn't invite her to her thirteenth birthday celebration and Anora couldn't figure out why. Joseph helped in what ways he could, but eventually he grew into that young man who barely sat down, never stopped thinking or speaking or writing. He was always on the move and it became impossible for Anora to catch him. He left her behind. She couldn't hold it against him, knowing she would do the same thing if she had the chance.

But this, being at Queen Mary, was something else entirely. Most everyone was there for a common purpose, choosing to learn. It was competitive but not overly so. Anora sat by Lucius most days, remaining comfortably in the middle of everyone else. Her plan worked. She was never asked questions. Occasionally, to keep from seeming too quiet, she would participate, responding to class-wide discussions. She offered only enough to keep suspicions at bay.

On a crisp October day, well into the fall semester, Anora walked from the sciences wing to the maths wing, which were separated by a small yard and walkway. The fresh air was good because lecture halls get stuffy, and that didn't help her asthma, either.

She was closely reading over her notes with glasses perched on her nose when she collided with something, and her maths textbook and chemistry notes went careening to the ground, as well as her glasses.

She hadn't gotten a good look at whomever she bumped into by the time she was on the ground, desperately trying to retrieve her items before they were stolen by the wind.

“Oh-! Forgive me, I wasn't paying attention.”

Her victim also dropped something, and upon first glance she was confused. There were two copies of her maths book. Hers was obvious because of the ways the corners were already beig worn down from use. The other war worn, but in a different way. With age. With care.

Hands returned her glasses and then helped her up by her elbow. Anora cradled both their items in her arms the held out the other book. She realized before seeing his face that she had nearly knocked over her mathematics professor, James Moriarty.

“Sir! I'm so sorry. I was reviewing my chemistry notes…”

“The studying never stops for the studious, does it? Thank you,” he took his book from her. “It's alright. I assume you're on your way to class?”

They began to walk together since they shared a destination. Anora tried anxiously to tuck her notes away to prevent another incident but she worried that in and of itself could cause another collision, so she simply pressed the paper into the textbook.

“Yes, sir. I have study hall before this but I chose to harass Professor Harrigan for the period instead,” she joked lightly. She withdrew then, cautioning herself against being too forthcoming and therefore inviting inquiry.

“Not just anyone can manage to trap Harrigan during his break time.”

“It's one of the talents I'm not particularly proud of. I think I manage to make people just uncomfortable enough that they feel as though they have to listen.”

Her professor raised an eyebrow at her admission. She shocked herself. She wasn't supposed to be so vulnerable, but James Moriarty had a sort of safety about him. And then he cracked that smile, so she felt alright.

“May I ask you a question, Mr. Leeds?”

She was surprised he even remembered her name.

“Of course.”

“Why do you sit in the middle of the class?”

Anora wasn't sure what to say. She never thought she'd be asked so she'd never bothered to conjure a potential answer.

So, honesty is was, then.

“The middle is the safest place to be.”

The professor hummed and their pace took on a slower nature.

“When you say safest, do you mean comfortable?”

“I suppose.”

“I’ve read some of your work. Usually I have my aide do the grading for the lower level classes- there's so many of them in there, you know.”

Them?

“But I make a point to read those with higher scores. Your work is good. It's not perfect but no one expects it to be. All of this to say, you're an academic. You're intelligent enough, and seemingly social enough to participate. I've decided to expect more of you because I know you're capable.”

Anora was speechless. It was the strangest series of compliments she'd ever received and yet he rounded it all out with a challenge that felt impossible. She knew it was foolish to joke with him and these were the consequences. She only had herself to blame. But how dare he read her weakness so well?

“Are you telling me to move seats?”

She knew that wasn't it, but she needed to hear him say it so there was no question. He spoke low.

“Go to the trouble of raising your hand and asking a question on occasion. Even if you know the answer. It'll help the others.”

Before she knew it they were stopped in the hall by the classroom. Professor Moriarty smiled at her.

“Do we have a deal?”

Anora worked very hard to ignore the anxiety growing in her, and instead focused on the long forgotten glow that recognition can bring. She nods.

“We have a deal.”

The final decision was that they would seek out Sebastian Moran. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Anora hasn't seen him since the party, and she's not too keen on seeing him again, seeing as how he threatened her life.

That's when Holmes and Watson went to Inspector Lestrade. Meanwhile, Anora exercises her sleight of hand, which was out of practice since her abrupt unemployment, and takes to Moran's house in Mayfair. She highly doubts she will find anything of substance there since Moran has had more than enough time after the Fall to clear out. But, it seems the most logical step.

Of course, with Mayfair being one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in London, getting inside is no easy feat. Anora utilizes one of her pretty dresses and hopes that no one will recognize her. In the past, she spent most of her time as a man, and nowadays she's casually in slacks or skirts. She never has a reason to look the part of a proper lady as she had in her youngest years.

Anora begins by knocking on his door on the off chance someone has moved in. Moran isn't stupid. His home is grand and viable. If he can afford to keep it, then he will.

Of course, there is the glaring possibility that Moran is inside, that she may very well end up dead today. But Holmes found from a contact that Moran spends most of his time at clubs playing cards, and he's been taken into custody a handful of times. But Scotland Yard had no hard evidence of Moran's connections to Moriarty. This is where Anora's job begins: finding some concrete proof of their ties.

It does take some time for Anora to pick the lock but she does manage. The issue is that, if anyone is inside, it took her long enough that they may have noticed. She can only hold her breath and pray that isn't the case. She opens the door.

It's silent. The curtains are shut, allowing for no real light. But this is a nicer home in one of the most luxurious neighborhoods in the whole of England. Surely it's equipped with a gas valve.

She fumbles as quietly as one can in almost complete darkness. Once she finds the light chain she pulls, waiting for the gas to ignite. Slowly, the room begins to light up. It looks as it should, furnished with lavishly upholstered pieces and a sort of saccharine Rocco varnish that is slowly going out of style. It doesn't surprise her that Moran isn't a man to keep with trends.

Anora knows the first thing to look for is paper. Any sort of paper trail, bank notes, telegrams, letters- anything that can connect Moran and Moriarty can get Moran behind bars and interrogated. That leads to the issue of getting him to talk, but Anora has heard that some detectives, some inspectors have a fair record of confessions.

She's mindful of her steps as she moves through the house. It's well maintained, albeit with loose articles here and there. She's looking for a study, and she's trying to do it carefully. There's a hallway past the den with two rooms on either side. The doors are all open so there's no surprising her- or anyone else. The first room on her left is a bathroom. The room to her right shows a bookcase through the partially open door.

Curtains are still pulled tightly closed in here but the lamp on the desk is on. The door is open, but still too close for Anora's liking. She suddenly regrets the fact that she's unarmed. She doesn't want a gun per se, but she wouldn't have said no to a knife.

She has half a mind to find the kitchen and arm herself when her actual arm is pulled into the room. Anora flies face first towards the desk and she topples over it. The person behind her, whom she still isn't certain is Moran, gets one hand on her collar and the other on the waist of her dress and tosses her away, back towards the door. She catches herself on the frame but doesn't get much rest before a shined shoe meets her in the chest, crashing her into the wall of the hallway. She slides to the floor, gasping desperately for air. Her fingers clutch wildly to gain access to her bodice, anything to offer her relief.

Moran steps around knocked over books and stands beside her. Anora's now clawing to undo the back of her dress and get more air.

“Didn't I say I'd kill you? If I ever saw you again?”

Moran fists the shoulders of her dress and lifts her from the ground. She grabs his arms for balance.

“I think…” She wheezes. “I may remember something like that…”

“You here alone?”

“Are you?”

Moran snarls, likely at the insolence of her quip and shakes her against the wall. She groans in pain.

“What are you doing here? Tell me quickly or I'll make good on my promise.”

Anora thinks fast and comes to a surprising conclusion. If he hasn't killed her, he's not going today. Not here, not on this day.

“Where is he?”

“What makes you think I know?”

“Who else would?”

Moran laughs with his head thrown back.

“Poor Anora. Left behind again, aren't you?”

He knows she's quick to anger so he really should have been prepared for the knee she brings up against his groin. Moran releases her and doubles over. Anora stumbles and tries to make her way to the door but Moran grabs her ankle from his spot on the floor. He yanks her towards him and pins her in place, face up, and straddles her torso.

She should have brought a weapon.

“I'm doing you a favor. Now you can stop chasing after him and die with some dignity.”

As he says this, Moran produces a switchblade from his vest and flicks it open menacingly, but it's not the weapon that concerns Anora. It's him.

Moran is prepared to bring his knife down into Anora's sternum when the front door swings open, and from the ground and upside down, Anora can almost spot her pitiful reflection in the matching shiny shoes of Scotland Yard’s police, who file inside the house.

Anora watches Moran weigh his options. He can surrender and take his chances with her alive, and with the chance he won't face charges. Or, he can kill her now, be locked up for murder, and spend the rest of his days in prison with the satisfaction that he saved his employer.

Moran lowers the knife as police surround him. Two sets of hands hoist Anora up by her arms and place her in a nearby chair. A policeman ties back a handful of the curtains and everyone winces at the bright sunlight. Now she can see Moran better. He's grayed significantly and his eyes are sinking into his face. He's tired and it's beginning to show.

Doctor Watson appears at her side, or maybe he's always been here, and Holmes goes to interrogate Moran.

Doctor Watson gently holds Anora's chin between his thumb and forefinger and examines her injuries.

“Didn't want to take your chances with cards today, eh Sebastian?” Inspector Lestrade taunts as Moran is restrained. Watson checks Anora's eyes.

“Did he hurt you?”

“A good kick to the chest but I don't think anything's broken. What impeccable timing, eh?”

Anora winces through her laughter but she does feel a bit lighter. Doctor Watson smiles at her and pats her hand.

“Good work, Anora.”

Anora thinks of the last time she heard those words and she fights a cringe, reminding herself that Doctor John Watson is a good man who would want to see her safe. It makes her smile.

“I could say the same for you two. Well, three,” she adds Lestrade into the equation.

“Hmm, no, just the two really.” Watson winks at her and they share a laugh.

“What's so funny?” Holmes asks as he approaches them. He lights his pipe and gives it a few testing puffs.

“Just about how Inspector Lestrade and Watson really came through, don't you agree?”

Holmes chuckles humorlessly and rolls his eyes. Anora is, surprisingly, very amused by this.

“Oh, I hope you're happy!”

The small revelry is cut short when Moran begins to speak. The police have him and they're taking him towards the door.

“I think we've got good reason to be,” Holmes says through the pipe in his mouth.

Ice settles into Anora's veins when Moran's eyes lock onto hers.

“I should've killed you, that night. How disappointed he would be in you.”

All the joy, regardless of the fact that it was small, drains from Anora in an instant. Instead, she's plagued by the image of Moriarty looking at her from across a snowy balcony.

“Foolish.”

Moran must notice the change his words wrought in her and he grins in satisfaction. He doesn't get another word out before he's hauled out of the house and into the police wagon, but he doesn't need to. He did his damage. He's cursed her twofold. One, with the continuing opening of the wound, and two, by the pressing of it. He would be disappointed in her. How horrible it is that the thought is still devastating.

#rdj sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock Holmes a game of shadows #game of shadows #james moriarty #john watson #mary watson #not a self insert #bc I'm bad at math and science #james Moriarty x oc #shut up

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conradscrime · 1 year

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Albert Fish

March 30, 2023

***Trigger Warning: Lots of graphic nature and abuse of children***

Albert Fish was born Hamilton Howard Albert Fish on May 19, 1870 in Washington, D.C. to Randall and Ellen Fish. Randall was 43 years older than Albert’s mother Ellen, and was 75 years old when Albert was born. The pair had multiple children together, with Albert being the youngest.

Albert began using the name Albert as a child, named after his dead brother so that his peers would stop calling him “Ham & Eggs” a childhood nickname he despised.

Many of Albert’s family members suffered from different mental illnesses. Albert’s mother, Ellen, had what was known as “aural and/or visual hallucinations.” Albert’s father, Randall, had a heart attack and on October 16,1875 he died when Albert was only 5 years old.

Ellen, being overwhelmed with her husband now gone placed Albert in the Saint John’s Orphanage where Albert was abused regularly. Albert would later begin to enjoy the pain he endured at the orphanage, the beginning of him experiencing sexual pleasure during pain or inflicting pain.

In 1880, Ellen got a better paying job and was able to get her son back from the orphanage. In 1882, Albert had begun a relationship with a boy who introduced Albert to drinking urine and eating feces. Albert also began visiting public baths where he could watch young boys undress.

Albert also began to write obscene letters to women who he would see their names in classified ads in the papers.

In 1890, at the age of 20, Albert moved to New York City where he was a male sex worker and began to rape and molest boys, most of whom were under the age of 6. In 1898, Albert married a woman named Anna Mary Hoffman, who was 9 years younger than him. This was an arranged marriage Albert’s mother had set up. Albert and Anna had 6 children together: Albert, Anna, Gertrude, Eugene, John and Henry.

In 1903 Albert was arrested for grand larceny and incarcerated in Sing Sing. Albert later said he had gone to a wax museum with a male lover once and became fascinated by the bisection of the human penis, which led to an obsession with sexual mutilation.

In 1910, Albert met a man named Thomas Kedden. It was said that Thomas was intellectually disabled. The two began a sadomasochistic relationship, it is unclear whether Albert forced Thomas to do any of the acts. After 10 days, Albert took Thomas to an old farm house where he tortured him for two weeks, tying him up and cutting off half of his penis.

Albert’s original plan was the kill Thomas and cut up his body. Albert feared he would be noticed if he tried to bring Thomas’ body back to his house, so he poured peroxide over the wound, wrapped it in a Vaseline-covered handkerchief, and left him $10.

Albert never contacted or tried to contact Thomas again and does not know what happened to him after that.

In January 1917, Albert’s wife left him for another man who had been boarding with them. Albert was then left to raise his children on his own, saying that his wife had taken almost everything they owned with her.

Albert often began having auditory hallucinations, once wrapping himself in a carpet saying he was following instructions from John the Apostle.

Albert began to self harm by embedding needles into his groin and abdomen areas. After he was arrested, the X-rays showed that Albert had at least 29 needles in his pelvic area. He would also hit himself with a nail studded paddle and would put wool covered in lighter fluid into his anus and light it up.

It was never reported that Albert ever abused his own children physically, however it is said that Albert would encourage his children and their friends to hit him in the buttocks with the nail studded paddle.

Around 1919, Albert had stabbed an intellectually disabled boy in Georgetown. Fish claimed he would go over intellectually disabled or African-American people because he did not think they would be missed.

On July 11, 1924, Albert saw 8 year old Beatrice Kiel playing alone on her parent’s farm in Staten Island, New York. Albert offered the little girl money to come help him look for rhubarb. Beatrice was about to leave the farm when her mother chased Albert away. Albert later returned to the Kiel farm where he tried to sleep in their barn, but was discovered by Beatrice’s father.

During 1924, Albert was suffering from psychosis and claimed God was commanding him to torture and sexually mutilate children. Three days after the Kiel’s, Albert murdered Francis McDonnell on Staten Island.

Francis McDonnell

On July 14, 1924, 9 year old Francis McDonnell was reported missing when he did not return home from playing with friends. A search began and his body was found, hanging by a tree in a wooden area near his home.

Francis had been sexually assaulted and then strangled with his suspenders. His left hamstring had been almost entirely stripped of flesh. Albert denied responsibility for this but did say he planned to castrate the boy but heard someone approaching so he ran off.

Francis’ friends told police Francis had been taken by an elderly man with a grey moustache. A neighbour also claimed to have seen Francis with a similar looking man walking towards the woods.

Anna McDonnell, Francis’ mother, said she also saw that man earlier in the day, claiming he had been coming up the street mumbling to himself and making motions with his hands. Anna said the man appeared faded and grey, this description eventually leading to “The Grey Man” nickname Albert was dubbed.

Francis McDonnell’s murder went unsolved until Grace Budd. Albert denied the charges until March 1935, after the trial of Grace Budd’s murder, where he admitted to killing Francis and another boy, Billy Gaffney.

Billy Gaffney

On February 11, 1927, 4 year old Billy Gaffney was playing in their apartment hallway with two other boys, ages 4 and 12. When the 12 year old left, the two smaller boys disappeared.

The 4 year old, a boy named Billy Beaton was found on the roof of the apartments. Beaton said that the “bogeyman” had taken Billy Gaffney. Gaffney’s body was never recovered. A man named Joseph Meehan, a motorman on the Brooklyn trolley eventually recognized a picture of Albert, claiming that was the man he saw on the day Billy went missing.

Meehan claimed the man had been trying to quiet a little boy on the trolley. The boy was not wearing a jacket and was crying for his mother. It was found that Albert had been working a few miles from the location Billy was taken at the time.

Albert later confessed he had taken the boy, tied his hands and feet, and gagged him. He burned his clothes and left. The next day he went back with his tools and whipped Billy, cut off his ears, nose and slit his mouth from ear to ear. Albert also gouged out his eyes, and drank his blood. Albert cut off the head, arms, hands, legs and feet, and threw them in sacks with stones, throwing them into water.

The rest of the boy Albert took home with him and ate. Billy’s mother travelled to Sing Sing to ask Albert about her son’s death but he refused to speak with her. Albert began to weep and asked to be left alone. After two hours of asking questions through his lawyer, Billy’s mother gave up and was not convinced he had killed her son.

Grace Budd

On May 25, 1928, Albert saw an ad in the paper by a young man who wanted work. The young man was 18 year old Edward Budd, who lived at 406 West 15th Street.

On May 28, Albert went to see the Budd family in Manhattan, claiming he wanted to hire Edward but was really planning to tie him up and mutilate him. Albert introduced himself as Frank Howard, a farmer from Farmingdale, New York. Albert told Edward he would take on him and his friend Willie, and would come back for them in a few days.

Albert never showed up a few days later, sending a telegram that apologized to the family, setting up a new date for when he would return.

When Albert came back, he met Edward’s little sister Grace, who was 10 years old at the time. Albert knew he immediately wanted to take Grace instead of Edward, so made up a story about going to his niece’s birthday party, asking Delia and Albert Budd if Grace could come along with him.

Albert took Grace to an abandoned house, a house he had previously picked out for his next victim, before his plans changed and he took Grace instead. Albert murdered Grace Budd and claimed he ate her after as well.

The police arrested a man named Charles Edward Pope on September 5, 1930 for the murder of Grace Budd after his estranged wife accused him. He spent months in jail and was his trial began on December 22, 1930. He was found not guilty.

In November 1934, an anonymous letter was sent to the Budd family, claiming that whoever wrote the letter had murdered Grace and detailed how they had tortured her and then taken 9 days to eat her body. The letter did say that Grace had fought back, and that the writer, who was obviously “Frank Howard” had let Grace die a virgin.

The letter eventually led police back to Albert Fish, who did not deny the murder of Grace Budd. He actually told police his original plan was to kill her brother, Edward. Albert claimed he had no intention of raping Grace, but when he was strangling her he had two involuntary ejaculations.

This was used in trial to determine Grace’s kidnapping was sexually motivated, and it avoided the cannibalism.

Albert’s trial for the murder of Grace Budd started on March 11, 1935. The trial lasted 10 days, where Albert pleaded insanity, claiming he heard God telling him to kill children. It was said that Albert was a “psychiatric phenomenon” and that there was no other individual in medical records who had this many sexual abnormalities.

The jurors all believed that Albert Fish was insane, but they believed he should be executed anyway. So they found him sane and guilty and he was sentenced to death by electrocution.

Albert Fish was executed on January 16, 1936, in the electric chair in Sing Sing. It was said that Albert had actually helped the executioner position the electrodes on his body before he died. He last words were, “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

According to a witness, it took two jolts before Albert died, and rumours circulated that it was due to the needles that he had inserted into his body for years. These rumours turned out to be untrue, as it was claimed that many individuals in the electric chair take more than just one jolt to die.

After Albert’s execution, his lawyer, James Dempsey said he had Albert’s final statement, which was multiple pages of hand-written notes that Albert had written hours before his death. When journalists asked Dempsey to say what Albert had written, he replied, “I will never show it to anyone. It was the most filthy string of obscenities that I have ever read.”

#solved #Crime #true crime #murderer #child #albert #fish #serial killer #new york #UNSOLVED MYSTERIES #mystery

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plutoisnotaplanet42 · 1 year

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Intro Post

name: eva ✨🪐🌈 pronouns: she/her

fandom(s): doctor who, osemanverse, stuttgart homicide, grishaverse, magnus archives, good omens, the x-files, …

fav book(s): Last Night at the Telegraph Club, Carol/The Price of Salt, Radio Silence

fav colour(s): midnight blue

comfort character(s): Mary Poppins, Hannah Zeiler, Pippa Fitz-Amobi, Dana Scully, Moiraine Damodred, Gertrude Robinson

fav song(s): The Record Player Song by Daisy the Great, Space Girl by Frances Forever

I like: rain, gingerbread, my books

I dislike: hot days, illogicality, boredom

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grandma-battle · 1 year

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hello and welcome to the grandma battle! here your favorite grandmas will battle it out to see who’s the ultimate grandma! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و

here are all of our competitors!

nana (luigi’s mansion) VS granny ethel (tumblr)

battle granny gertrude (tumblr) VS mamie (coline et colas)

abigail puckett (hoodwinked) VS toph (the legend of korra)

granny (once upon a time) VS suzi q joestar (jojo's bizarre adventure)

luisa castillo-flores (elena of avalor) VS bridgette mcguire (once and future)

granny (celeste game) VS abuela claudia (in the heights)

erina pendleton joestar (jojo's bizarre adventure) VS grandmama addams (the addams family)

ida manson (danny phantom) VS queen clarisse marie grimaldi renaldi (the princess diaries)

agathe/agatha (phantom spirits) VS seer (hollow knight)

fairy godmother (shrek) VS gramma tala (moana)

tsubone (hunter x hunter) VS katara (the legend of korra)

daisy suchot (arthur and the invisibles) VS josefina ortiz/old woman josie (welcome to night vale)

gwendolyn clawthorne (the owl house) VS nana (madagascar)

evelyn (stardew valley) VS grandmother (the witches)

gran (the trouble with gran) VS granny (ice age)

sophie hatter (howl’s moving castle) VS pinako rockbell (fullmetal alchemist)

karin’s grandma (magia record) VS klara (saga)

grandma dowel (a long way from chicago) VS grandma (grandma got run over by a reindeer)

granny (loony toons) VS elvira duck (disney ducks)

yan lin (w.i.t.c.h) VS morri (critical role)

the polls will last one day, & i'll be posting two polls a day for now. a visual will be added soon, & i wish every granny the best of luck!

the first two polls will be posted at 8:00 tonight, EST

#grandmabattle #grandmainfo #grandmapolls #grandmaasks #grandmapropaganda

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nonnistired · 1 month

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Okay so, I've finally finished reading the transcript for every episode I've listened to until now, and taking notes for each one. Since the podcast already ended I can't share my theories with anyone, and my friends are waaay behind me... so I thought I'd post it here, just to have it somewhere

Spoilers up to MAG 144

(THIS IS A REALLY LONG POST!!)

Here are my main notes and theories until now, by fear (and some extra comments). The Eye is the one I have the most questions about, ironically:

Note: the people with an (x) are marked as dead. The ones with (-) are unknown.

1. The Eye

Important people:

Elias Bouchard: Joined the institute in 1991 and became head of the institute in 1996. He used to work in artifact storage. Graduated from Christchurch (MAG 49)

Jonathan Sims: Not much to say. Love the guy. Uhmmm he starts being called "Archivist" in the transcripts from MAG 43 onwards. He is in the dreams of people whose statements he has taken, except the ones that work in the Institute.

James Wright(x): Former head of the Institute(1973-1996). His initials match with the coin from MAG 23 (Johann von Württemberg), which could mean something, or could mean nothing.

Gertrude Robinson(x): Died on March 15, 2015. She planned to destroy the Archives with the help of Leitner (stopping a ritual, I assume)

Gerard Keay(x): :( I miss him. His father (Eric) used to work for the Institute but left when he was born.

Basira Hussain: I’m putting her here because she was REALLY eager to learn when she joined the institute. Also, she has been called "Detective" by Elias a few times and it could be a title like Jon's "Archivist". Not related but I need her to stop treating Jon like that, although I understand that she's scared and wants control.

Jonah Magnus (-): Founded the institute in 1818. He knew Smirke, Rayner, (Mordechai?) Lukas, George Gilbert Scott, and Albrecht von Closen. He constructed the Institute above the tunnels of Millbank Prison (good place for the whole Eye thing after all). I've got a lot of questions about the guy. Those are below

Albrecht von Closen(x): Found that mausoleum on MAG 23, and after taking that one book he started getting closer to The Eye. He died just after putting back every book in the mausoleum, possibly because he rejected the entity?

Johann von Württemberg(x?): Or "Ulrich's bastard". WHO IS THIS GUY. I LITERALLY HAVE NOTHING.

Theories and doubts:

1. The institute was founded in 1818, but Millbank was completed in 1821 and demolished in 1890. Was the institute in another place until then, was it the prison itself, or did it simply not exist physically until after 1890? Jonah owned the prison, so he might have constructed it as a way to serve The Eye, and then transformed it into the Institute after he had a lot of statements.

2. How did Eric manage to leave the institute? Maybe he just wasn't too involved? Gertrude knew about him though

3. The blind man from MAG 23 might've not had eyes because he tried to reject The Eye. I really want to know who this person is.

4. Did Jonah attempt a ritual? He must have. If so, why did it fail (DID it fail?)? And did something happen to him?

5. On MAG 29 Jon said that Elias was working as a filing clerk in 1972. This does not match with the information from MAG 49, which is probably just a continuity error, but I still wanted to mention it. If it's not a continuity error, my theory is weird other-dimension stuff. My other theory is Elias messing with other people's minds.

2. The Spiral

Important people:

Michael [Shelley] (x): RIP

Helen [Richardson]: Not much to say, I just hope she doesn't betray Jon/Melanie/Basira (she probably will) (I'm sad)

"People-who-are-not-there"?: Like the one from Upon the stair (MAG 85). They were also described in MAG101

Gabriel(x? In the Great Twisting): Worker of clay

Doubts:

My only question is if there was another "Identity" that was created from the spiral before Michael. Just curious.

3. The End

Important people:

Mary Keay(x)

Oliver Banks / Antonio Blake: he said “in my other statements” on MAG 121 so I’m hoping that he shows up again…

Justing Gough(-): He was lobotomized so uhmmmm I guess no more carbon monoxide

Georgina Barker: I find it curious that Jon cannot feed on her fear from the dreams because she can't feel fear (MAG 120)

Nathaniel Thorp and the others that have "evaded" death

4. The Stranger

Important people:

NotThem(-): I would take them as just one entity, honestly. Or simply one monster

Anglerfish / taxidermy guys(-): the ones from MAG 1

Nikola Orsinov(x): Created by Gregor Orsinov(x)

Breekon and Hope(x): have worked with The Web, the circus, and maybe The Corruption?

Nikolai Denikin(x), others from the circus...

Leanne Denikin: I hope she’s doing okay

It's hard to pinpoint specific important people here because they change all the time. Also, I don't know if I should mark them as dead because they have many bodies.

Note: they had a ritual in 1787

5. The Lonely

Important people:

Peter Lukas

Nathaniel Lukas: Sponsored the Daedalus space station.

Mordechai Lukas (1824): at this point I'm not sure if he's Peter Lukas or not. Do these people really die? Weird

Martin Blackwood: MARTIN PLEASE GET OUT OF HERE PLEAAAAAAAAASEEEEEEEEEE PLEASE TALK TO JON OR LITERALLY ANYONE ELSE. I DON'T CARE THAT YOU'RE TRYING TO PROTECT THEM. PLEAAAAASEEEEE

Not a doubt but I find it funny that the people related to The Lonely are THE only big family related to the fears, and also the ones that apparently don't become immortal.

6. The Desolation

Important people:

Agnes Montague(x): Hanged on 23/11/2006. Raymond Fielding's hand was hanging from her hip. Born around the 1950s. In Hill Top Road in the 1960s.

Jude Perry

Diego Molina(x): Arsonist from the Section 31 episode. Probably the man that Gerry killed in First Aid.

Arthur: Arthur Nolan? Used to be leader of the cult. Not sure if he's still around. Maybe Jane Prentiss' landlord? What

Eugene Vanderstock(-)

Gertrude created a ritual in MAG 37, I guess to stop them from doing something?

7. The Slaughter

Important people:

Alfred Grifter

The Piper? Is he even a guy??

Melanie King: Glad she's going to therapy (although I didn't like the therapist wanting to record the sessions).

I couldn't find many people from here because they literally all die as soon as they fall to The Slaughter. There's the dead woman from MAG 125 who had a Leitner, or the (dead?) people from the Nemesis, but uhhhhh

Not a theory but, I like that music is associated with The Slaughter. I know it’s meant to be scary, but imagining the guys from the Nemesis doing a little dance is really funny. The bagpipes don’t scare me either because they’re really common where I live. They’re just silly guys…

8. The Vast

Important people:

Simon Fairchild: Looks like he just has fun tormenting people and feeding The Vast. I would like to hear him appear in person.

Harriet Fairchild

Mike Crew(x): I hope he was able to heal and didn't die on the spot but uhhhhh I doubt it. RIP you were a great villain and I will draw you someday.

Jan Kilbride(x): Used as a sacrifice to stop the Buried ritual

Okay, so... Did Mike lose the book in 2012? He obtained it around 1998 but in Dominic Swain's statement from 2013 he found the book somewhere. I'm really confused about this. Did he not need the book anymore and just disposed of it?

9. The Buried

Important people:

George Gilbert Scott(-): Henry Robert's apprentice. Made St. Pancras Station (where Karolina, MAG 71, was trapped), the Albert Memorial and the restoration of Westminster Abbey

Stefan Brotchen(x) ? I guess? I'm just wondering if he became an avatar (MAG 99)

I wrote down the names of the victims of the buried (including the statement givers), but none have shown up more than once.

10. The Dark

Important people:

Maxwell Rayner(x?): AKA Edmund Halley. Transformation May 2nd, 1715. Gave Robert Montauk Jobs. Apparently died in WW1 with the name Joseph Rayner. Manuela said he died in the last body change but I'm not sure I believe it (she wasn't there. Also maybe it just takes time).

Callum Brodie: If he isn't Maxwell Rayner, he might be the new avatar for The Dark.

Manuela Dominguez: Importance on the Daedalus.

Vardan Darvish(x), Christopher Lorne(x) and Natalie Ennis(x)

The main thing that confuses me here is how the last ritual was stopped? Gertrude had died 5 days prior. Maybe there was going to be an eye ritual, they were just preparing but the archivist was needed and Elias had to decide between a possibly failing ritual and training a new archivist? And since The Dark and The Eye are so different... It just failed?

...Maybe the ritual failed because eclipses are not eternal (I'm sorry)

I don't even understand why the ritual at Hither Green failed, at all. The guy from the statement used a light, sure, but that was days before.

Hey. Hey. Has ANY ritual worked? EVER? What the hell??

11. The Corruption

Important people:

Jane Prentiss(x): Worm lady... I miss you.... I watched an animatic of her the other day and it made me really sad.

Amherst: More related to disease than insects (MAG 36 and MAG 68). I wonder what he's up to.

Ivy Meadows was important. Not anymore I suppose.

12. The Web

Important people:

Raymond Fielding(x): I hate him.

Neil Lagorio(x): Animatronics guy.

Annabelle Cane: I REALLY want to know what she's planning. She doesn't have a clear connection to Fielding or Hill Top Road but is still really related to The Web. Also, probably the client from that urban legend web episode.

Theories and doubts:

1. The Web is really close to The Eye. I feel like it has been compelling Jon with a lot of stuff ever since he received that lighter (also probably why he wanted a cigarette when Leitner died. Damn). I wonder if it's The Web in general or Annabelle's direct influence. Also Elias MUST know about this, right?

2. What the Fuck is up with Hill Top Road. Owned by Raymond who ate/abducted children, then burnt after Henry White went missing… Most of the “inconsistencies” I’ve found in my revisits to the statements are from Hill Top Road.

Ivo’s construction work was in 2006/2007, but Bethany O’Connor, who had died before Father Burroughs went to Hill Top Road, is said to have matriculated in 2008.

Ivo took down the tree during the construction, but when Anya Villette went to clean the house, the tree was standing again

Father Burroughs said Bethany was living at 89 Bullingdon road, but Jon said that no one was living there that year.

In one statement “Annie” (the nurse) is called Anna Kasuma. In the other she’s called Anne Willett (similar name to Anya Villette)

In Anya’s statement she mentioned some new owners, but Hill Top Road has been abandoned since 1974 / 2006 as far as I’m aware.

I’m pretty sure Anya’s statement confirms the existence of other realities or universes. I wonder if it happens when more than one fear has a big presence somewhere (desolation vs web in this case).

Also, “Annabelle Cane” is not too different from Anna / Anne / Anya. Considering how the Web behaves, it wouldn’t surprise me that she was manipulating father Burroughs and other people using a fake name.

3. A man with brown hair went to visit the house when Ivo was there saying he was Raymond Fielding. I honestly don’t have the energy to theorize about this. Sure would love knowing who this guy is.

4. Jon mentioned on MAG 59 that it was difficult tracking down records of Raymond Fielding, Hill Top Road and similar institutions. Definitely looks like something intentional. I just don’t know from who (Raymond, Elias, Agnes, Annabelle?)

I have way more stuff written down about Hill Top Road but these are the main things, I think.

13. The Flesh

Important people:

Tom Haan: mentioned in MAG 18

Jared Hopworth(-): stuck in a bridge / drowned? So I'm not worried about him. Also RIP Jon's ribs.

THAT PIG(x)

Toby Carlisle(-)

John Haan(x?)

Alice? from MAG 14

I don't have much on these. Also this doesn't matter, for sure, but Not!Sasha's fake boyfriend was named Tom (I really don't have anything).

I want to know who was sending Jared those letters. My main suspect is Elias but he can’t be the main bad guy for everything. Annabelle maybe? Tom??

14. The Hunt

Important people:

Alice "Daisy" Tonner: I need her to be okay (and for her to not kill more people)

Trevor Herbert: I'm pretty sure he transformed when he died in the Institute

Julia Montauk

Werewolves are a part of this one, so I guess vampires too?

15. The Extinction

Important people:

Garland Hillier?

There's only been two episodes about this so I've got nothing.

OTHERS

Mikaele Salesa(x): Sold objects, worked with Lukas. I should revisit his statements but I’m too lazy to do it.

Adelard Dekker: Explosives guy!! He helped Gertrude. He used to "own" the Web box and table.

Leitner(x) (damn)

Robert Smirke(x?) (damn again)

I actually don't want to split the fears too much because sorting them into boxes is a human thing. But also, I am a human and I love sorting things into boxes. Also I'm sure most of my theories don't even make sense but that's the fun of it! I'm having a blast with this series

That's all!! I would love to hear people's theories if they're on the same episode as me. Also, you can correct me on stuff I might've said wrong (as long as it isn't a spoiler).

I usually listen to an episode per day, so I should be done in around… two months. Damn, that's a lot.

#tma #tma season 4 #tma spoilers #tma rant #tma theory #nonn blog

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merrom · 2 months

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(via (20+) Facebook) o ReadFernande Olivier (1881-1966) (*) Fernande Olivier began her career as a professional model, and worked for many artists of Montmartre such as Cormon, Manolo, Canals, before becoming better known as the companion of the young Picasso. Amongst the colourful picture of Montmartre life, other artists chose Fernande as a model, such as Van Dongen. During his relationship with Picasso from 1905 until his break-up in 1911, at the heart of his daily life as an artist, Fernande was at the centre of his creation - from the blue period to the Cubist revolution - inspired by multiple alchemies around her face. This personality of the Bateau-Lavoir and of Montmartre life at the beginning of the 20th century, was a modern woman, model, artist and writer, an inescapable witness of an era and an artistic milieu. Fernande had much to say about herself through her writings: "Souvenirs intimes" and "Picasso et ses amis". Her "Intimate Memories" evoke her condition as a woman and their difficult emancipation at the beginning of the century. Fernande's precious testimonies describe the members of the Bateau-Lavoir artistic circle with intelligence and humor: Jacob, Apollinaire, Derain, Braque, Rousseau, Matisse... The hard work of a model and the bohemian life in Montmartre before, during and after her encounter with Picasso and his gang was the focus of an exhibition dedicated to her at the @Musee de Montmartre ( "Fernande Olivier and Pablo Picasso" was presented at the Musée de Montmartre from 14 October 2022 to 19 February 2023 as part of the Picasso Celebration (1973-2023)) In addition, the exhibition highlighted other figures of this circle: women artists, patrons and companions with multiple and major roles such as Gertrude Stein, Marie Laurencin, Guus van Dongen and Suzanne Valadon. (*) Source: @Musee de Montmartre Pablo Picasso Buste de femme 1907 oil, canvas, 58.5 x 46 cm @Musee Picasso Paris Ver menos— em Musée Picasso Paris.

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abwwia · 6 months

Text

Ellen Emmet Rand, portrait of Mary Elizabeth Marvin Goodrich (org tittle: Mrs. Benjamin Franklin Goodrich), 1906, oil on canvas, 44 3⁄4 x 35 1⁄8 in. (113.8 x 89.1 cm), Smithsonian American Art Museum, Gift of Mrs. Jefferson Patterson, 1976.111

Bottom left: Ellen Emmet Rand in her studio, © Peter A. Juley & Son Collection, Smithsonian American Art Museum J0038382 | Self-Portrait, 1927 bottom right

Ellen Emmet Rand (née Ellen Gertrude Emmet; March 4, 1875 – December 18, 1941) was a painter and illustrator. She specialized in portraits, painting over 500 works during her career. Rand studied at the Cowles Art School in Boston and the Art Students League in New York City and produced illustrations for Vogue Magazine and Harper's Weekly before traveling to England and then France to study. Via Wikipedia

#Ellen Emmet Rand #art by women #art #palianshow

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undead-supernova · 7 months

Text

I'll Pay the Price, You Won't.

Miss Heartbreak / Masterlist

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

plot: no cameras catch my muffled cries...you are the only one who seems to care...this is a fight that some day we're gonna win

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: slut shaming, body image insecurities, public shaming, crying

wc: 5.3k

When you first realized you were in love with him, it was a Saturday night. You weren’t even with him. In fact, you were at a house party with some of your best friends. They weren’t famous—these three girls were in college, just the way you should’ve been. You’d met them at a dive bar in Pittsburg while touring.

There was a distinct memory of watching these girls walk in, talking about their English courses and the ten-page research papers on the feminist lens of the works of Octavia Butler, rape culture in a novel called Waiting for the Barbarians, and how the third girl was doing some deep dive into the coded lesbianism in Gertrude Stein’s Tender Buttons. You approached them, desperate to know more about their class. Their studies. Their college experiences.

Desperate to know more about the life you gave away when your career blew up three days before moving into your dorm room.

They knew who you were, but they didn’t care to squeal or ask for pictures. Instead, they motioned for you to join them and started to complain about their shared Rhetorical Analysis class. And after a few Fireball shots, some poor attempts at karaoke, and loud debates about Jane Austen and Emily Brontë that nearly got you kicked out, you were solidified.

But there you were, at a college house party after flying out just to see them. You were in drastically different makeup than you were used to. In short, you were basically in Eddie Munson cosplay. Your friends had dressed you up, giggling and adding more charcoal eye shadow than you desired. Becky, Mary, and Este swore it would make you feel better. That you’d dance the night away without a care in the world.

But the couch was where you stayed the whole night, a mimosa (filled with more prosecco than orange juice) in your hands as you watched life exist around you. You were pretending to be a normal twenty-two year old girl. You were pretending that you could have love affairs with anyone you wanted to and if your heart got broken every single time, it wouldn’t be such a big deal to anyone outside of your friends that loved you.

And he would be there, too.

With your head to rest on his shoulder, listening to him talk about his Dungeons and Dragons game he hosted with the rest of the band when they were tucked away in hotel rooms. They were too big to go out without everyone and their mother following them, so they found a way to escape.

(People thought they did drugs and partied. And, at the start of the band, they did. Eddie had told you about having a coke problem in the beginning and Gareth, Jeff, and Grant trashing hotel rooms. Ronnie getting the cops called on her house regularly for the outrageous parties she hosted. But it died out after about a year when they realized how tiring it was to just be on all the time. They went to parties sometimes, but now they really looked forward to smoking a few joints and playing a fantasy game.)

In this fictional scenario, they’d congregate in the communal rooms at their dorm. They’d buy a few pizzas and beer, remembering to get the garlic twists of course, and play for six hours.

And you would lean over to his ear, brushing your lips against his ear and say, “I’m in love with you.”

As soon as it fell into your imagination, you were startled to the point of springing up and running to the bathroom, hyperventilating in the mirror. The rest of your night had been spent with your friends cuddling you in their shared apartment until you could calm down.

“It’s too soon for this!” you exclaimed. “It’s too soon for me to fall in love.”

They said that it was fine. That you were allowed to love him. That the chance at love was worth the bullshit. You could survive this, even if he didn’t feel the same. Maybe you would be able to connect better if you just told him how you felt.

But this was only a month after you started seeing each other.

Only a week before you two were caught in public together.

Only a week before the whole world had an opinion.

“I can’t believe we’re out at a restaurant in Manhattan of all places.”

“On a date,” he noted.

“On a date.”

“Oh, and happy four-month anniversary,” he said while holding up his piece of bread, leaning over to tap yours with it.

“Ah, yes. How could I forget?” you teased before stuffing the slice in your mouth, closing your eyes as you became overwhelmingly calmed by the taste of butter melting on your tongue.

It was super late on a Saturday, one of the only times you could get away with having a private dinner without the threat of paparazzi and lingering glances. You felt fancy, with a sparkly silver dress on, all short with thin straps and a small slit at the thigh. Tall, sparkly silver heels that made you nearly the same height as him. A fluffy pink faux fur coat sitting on the back of the chair (that Eddie had spent the whole drive here running his hands through). Pink nails to match, already chipped from your nervous picking.

Eddie was dressed beautifully, wearing a silk white button down. Simple black blazer and slacks. His signature boots. Those rings. That necklace. Hair up in a bun with bangs and stray hairs framing his face. The only real nontraditional part of his ensemble was a thin layer of black eyeliner adorning his eyelids and waterline, with mascara to match.

Oh, and a coat of lipgloss, lipgloss that he borrowed from you, that was now lining the rim of his wine glass.

“Do you like it?” he asked. “The wine, I mean.”

You looked down at the burgundy liquid you were absentmindedly swirling. You had no clue what that did for the drink or if it was just to look fancy, but it was something you saw your parents do growing up. You decided to take a crack at being an adult tonight, just to see how it felt.

“Yeah, it’s nice. Thank you.”

He nodded, but you could tell that he was still nervous about the whole thing. You couldn’t blame him. Being out for an official date together in the heart of a city with nearly nine million people who could ruin it at any second was quite a heavy burden. There was a part of you that feared that you had become a burden in the last four months.

Enough of that, you tried to tell yourself.

“However,” you added. “I do have to confess that I have absolutely no clue what the difference is between this and the stuff I get at the grocery store.”

Eddie let out a sigh and a breathy laugh. You wondered how long he’d been holding it in. “Well, that’s a relief because I was literally sitting here thinking the exact same thing.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Are you serious?”

He kept laughing. “Yes! I thought I was the only one!”

“No, this is literally exactly how I feel whenever I have dinner with some of the label execs,” you exclaimed. “They order all this like crazy expensive wine, and I have to just sit there and be like,” you raised the pitch of your voice, “Oh, wow. This is sooo cool. So good. What year is it? That must cost a fortune.”

Eddie nodded. “Me, too! And it’s like: Dude, seriously? I could get shit I like better than this at, like, Trader Joe’s or Target. Fuck, even Walmart.”

You giggled as you continued to nod with him. “Yes, yes, yes! I genuinely don’t get it. Everyone is so pretentious, I swear.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Eddie raised his glass. “Fuck ‘em.”

You grinned. “Fuck ‘em!” you agreed, clinking your glass with his before you took a hearty sip. Finally took a second glance around the room.

“I really thought there’d be more people here,” you observed. “Isn’t this, like, a popular restaurant? I hear celebs love this place.”

“I maaaay have bought out the empty tables,” Eddie admitted, looking sheepish. “I didn’t want our first official date to be bombarded with people we know or even ones we don’t. I wanted to make sure I could focus.”

A grin met your lips. “You’re a sweetheart, you know that?”

“That’s you, baby. That’s all you.”

The playful dinner conversation continued with a whole three course meal plus dessert. You came alive in public for once, talking in silly voices and laughing as loud as you wanted. Like you were best friends. Like you were lovers. Holding Eddie’s hand at the table without having to worry about cell phones. No one here was able to take away what was yours.

Despite feeling full, you couldn’t help but nibble on some more of the bread. Your personal trainer, Mary, forbid you from eating any while you were gearing up for another album release and tour. But you were starting to care a little bit less. And she wasn’t here. Eddie was, pushing the basket towards you.

But then the strangest thing happened as the waiter took your dinner plate.

As he turned to leave, you looked past him and saw that the other five occupied tables in the restaurant were…staring. And…so were their waiters? Had everyone finally started staring or were you only now noticing? But you would’ve noticed before…

They were all looking from their phones to you and then back again. The hushed whispers were getting a bit louder, even catching Eddie’s ears. He turned his head to look but was distracted when his phone started ringing.

Gareth.

“Take it,” you encouraged. Eddie raised an eyebrow. “It’s probably important.”

He nodded. “Hey,” he said as he answered. “No, I’m on an incredibly important date, remember?”

As you spread butter over the last slice, you couldn’t help but giggle when Eddie looked up at you with a quick wink and a smile meant only for you.

But then his eyebrows narrowed.

“What’re you doing watching cable?”

And a part of you wished you could hear the other side of the conversation when you watched Eddie’s neutral expression falling into anger.

“They what?”

“It’s fucking SNL. They haven’t had a good run in years. I don’t think anyone even watches—”

You noticed him get cut off before shaking his head.

“What? Why the fuck do people care?”

“Fuck…yeah, okay… Sure, whatever…” He sighed, pinching his nose in frustration. “No, I’m not mad at you. Promise… I’m sorry for being a dick. I just hate people, I swear…” A quick nod. “Thanks for understanding and letting me know. Love you, dude. Okay, talk later.”

“What’s wrong?” you asked as he immediately started searching for something on his phone. “Is everything okay?”

Eddie paused, looking away from his phone to bring his attention back to you.

His expression held something resembling an apology.

“The guys are watching TV back at the hotel and, uh, they were watching SNL…”

“Okay?”

“Apparently they did a skit about you.”

Your stomach dropped as you let his words sink in.

It was one thing to have random people on the internet give you shit. It was another thing entirely for a long-running, highly known television show to have grown adults portray you and spend four to six minutes making fun of you. Especially when you’d performed there merely two months ago.

“Is it…” you trailed, almost unable to speak.

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “Yeah, it’s bad.”

“It’s on YouTube already?” He nodded. “Let me see.”

“Are you sure you want to watch it?”

You nodded. “I should know what’s going on. Everyone’s already staring at us,” you stated, gesturing behind him.

When Eddie looked back at every nameless face watching you, every single person looked away. Like he commanded the room with his presence. Like he had the power to change the world with just one stare.

He had changed your world with just one glance.

Sighing, Eddie clicked on the video, holding it between you two on the table.

“I decided to go on The Bachelorette to prove that I haven't dated everyone,” a woman said with a huge grin, mimicking the way you smiled. "And to get new inspiration because I need to sell my next album. I'm sure this will be fun."

Some new addition to the cast tried to imitate your posture. Your voice. Your everything. She was acting like you were some ditsy girl. Did people really think of you like this? Is this how the cast and crew saw you when you were there?

A fake announcer's voice said, “Here are the men and women chosen for tonight.”

The woman impersonating you smiled even wider in a comedic fashion, making fun of the way you, what, didn't ever give a negative reaction? The camera turned to watch everyone file in.

The different men and women of the SNL cast rotated, pretending to be people you’d allegedly been with. But most of them were wrong. When you were rumored to be dating these people, friend or not, they left, either from wanting that clout or being unable to handle the noise. All you had wanted were real friendships, real relationships. But being burnt at the stake came with the possibility of flammable embers.

One after the other, impression after impression, they were reminding you of everyone you’d lost.

And was that Jacob Elordi pretending to be…Christopher Briney?

(You met Christopher once at the Emmy’s, having taken one fucking photo together before he was whisked away by his team. At the time, you had only wished he would notice you before he got a girlfriend…)

“We're missing one guy...where is he?” the announcer said.

Mikey Day popped in with a smoke machine behind him and some copyright free rock music playing, wearing a curly wig and pretending to be Eddie. The audience lost their minds, erupting in applause and laughter at the sheer mention of him. He was immediately stereotyped as a punk stoner who only pretended to listen to you talk while playing his guitar.

“Hey, babe,” he said, trying to mimic Eddie’s voice. “What’s up?”

You looked over at the real Eddie who looked less than impressed. Less than affected by someone trying to make fun of him. You wished you could say the same for yourself.

“I CHOOSE HIM FOR MY NEXT ALBUM!” the woman shouted before ripping up the roses and walking over. However, she turned and pointed at the others. "Save them for me in case I get bored.”

As she grabbed onto "Eddie's" arm and professed her love, it was clear that he wasn't paying attention. "Are you even listening to me?" she shouted.

“Nah, baaabe,” he said and then realized his “mistake”. Cue laughter. “I’m totes paying attention.” Laughter. “Just practicing this sick riff for the band.” He raised his guitar before turning it the other way. “Does it look cool this way, babe?” Laughter ensued as he pretended to play his guitar right-handed. “Do I look metal as hell?”

“Totally, babe,” the woman said, giggling. “You’re so hot.”

“Ah, babe, thanks. I know it’s been three minutes but this is forever, babe.”

When the skit ended, Eddie turned it off and shoved his phone in his pocket.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay,” you said, trying to tell yourself more than him. “It’s okay. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Did anyone see what was happening? That this was starting to get out of hand? It was like nobody gave a shit, nobody cared that you were human. Yes, you were privileged and had money, you knew that. You grew up fucking poor, hit even worse with the 2008 recession, hardly ever recovering.

You always acknowledged your privilege, always made it a point to give it away to people who needed it more than you. Provided for your family so your parents didn’t have to go back to working at the sawmill and being fucking tour guides for next to nothing at Graceland. (The fucking irony.) Donated constantly to animal shelters, women’s shelters, LGBTQIA+ youth organizations, etc. etc.

But no one would know any of that because you kept that secret. Kept it hidden to be the face of your label, with a shiny pageant smile. You were now the punching bag, the reflection of society that every YouTuber did deep dives on and now SNL was taking a shot at.

When would it end?

“Are you?” Eddie asked, causing you to come out of the fog. “‘Cause your hands are shaking.”

You looked down, realizing he was right. “I—”

Before you could say anything, your own phone buzzed. Looking down, you noticed a text from Becky. It was a link to a video on Twitter or X or whatever the fuck it was called now. Her text read,

Look how delusional the internet is. I don’t care about this crap but I wanted to make sure you knew what was going on before you got bamboozled or something. Also, fuck that SNL skit. Love you.

“There’s more,” you murmured, looking up at Eddie’s concerned expression.

“Fuck.”

He stood up immediately and pulled over the chair next to you. He sat and leaned in, just as deep into this as you were. You didn’t hesitate to click on the link. It was just another band-aid to rip off anyways.

The caption said:

are gareth ronnie and grant next? lmao eddie shouldn’t have gone anywhere near her. the vibes are soooo off

You heard Eddie scoff as he read it.

The video attached was of you and Jeff walking around New York City that very morning, laughing together. You nudged his arm, animatedly talking.

You knew what had happened, distinctly remembering that the conversation was about Eddie. Jeff had been teasing you, telling you that he knew you were disgustingly in love with him and that you needed to just say it before you lost your minds. You thought it was funny, so you jokingly nudged his arm and pretended to threaten violence. That was it. Nothing else happened.

“No!” you exclaimed, wild-eyed as you turned to Eddie. “No, Jeff and I went to get this chocolate mousse at this little bistro we both like. We told you before we left, remember? I swear it was the truth. We were literally talking about you. Eddie, I—”

“It’s all good, sweetheart,” Eddie interrupted, kissing your temple four times. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It’s okay. I believe you. I know you’d never do anything like that.” You felt yourself breathe again. “Besides, Jeff has a crush on our tech manager anyways.”

That made you chuckle for a second, but you felt yourself deflate, putting a hand on your forehead as tears trickled down your cheeks. “I’m scared. I don’t like this, Eddie.”

“Me neither.”

Before you could say anything else, your waiter was approaching the table.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” the waiter asked, hands politely clasped in front of him. You avoided his gaze, embarrassment flooding your system. There was something irrational telling you that he would tell the internet about your breakdown, expose you for your reaction.

But when you glanced at him, he actually looked…concerned.

“Yeah, could we get the check, please?” Eddie asked in a hushed voice, running his fingers down your back. “We’re gonna need a minute, but I just wanna get that out of the way.”

“Of course, Mr. Munson.” he responded before turning to you. “I can take that plate for you if you’d like?”

“Oh, yes, sorry,” you said, sniffling.

Without thinking, you moved your hand to grab your bread plate, accidentally knocking your glass on the table. You watched as the wine seeped into the white cloth, staining the fabric.

Eddie was quick to grab the glass before it shattered on the floor.

“Oh, shit,” you muttered, taking your napkin and trying to blot the stain. You kept glancing up at the waiter through your tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. That’s so rude of me. I’m so sorry.”

The waiter shook his head. “It’s okay, ma’am. We have a hundred more in the back. This happens all the time.”

“Here,” you said, shaking your head as you rummaged through your purse. When you found your wad of cash, you handed him a one-hundred-dollar bill. “Take this. For you, not the restaurant. I’m so sorry.”

He gaped at you, looking down at the bill before looking back up. “Um, thank you,” he said, breaking his customer service voice before taking the cash from you. “I’ll get everything sorted for you right away.”

“Sweetheart.”

“I want to leave,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Can we leave?”

You looked over at Eddie who was already standing and grabbing your coat.

“Yeah, baby,” he said softly. “I’ll pay up front. Come on, let’s go.”

But it wasn’t really going to be that simple, was it?

As soon as you reached the front doors, James and Scott, your personal bodyguard, were stopping you.

“Guys, uh, we got a situation,” Scott said, mainly looking at you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“There’s a fuck ton of paparazzi out there.”

“And that’s the only way we can get to the car,” James added.

You wanted to look at Eddie, but you didn’t want him knowing just how scared you were. He was so stoic and strong, always being able to shrug everything off. It was like he was born for this.

Maybe you weren’t.

“Okay,” Eddie said, putting his shoulders back before grabbing your hand. His grasp was firm with a gentle squeeze that left your heart soaring despite the fear. He nudged your arm, causing you to look up. “Ready, sweetheart?”

You nodded, looking back at James and Scott, tear stains still adorning your cheeks. “I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

A gasp left your mouth as the doors opened and a swarm of people with cameras crowded around you. Flashes and red recording lights and cell phones. Screams, gasps. Some fans tried to catch your attention the best they could, but their voices were drowned out by the incessant vultures. James and Scott were on either side of you, pushing people out of the way.

But it did nothing. It only sprung more tears.

Paparazzi shouted your name. Shouted Eddie’s.

“What did you think of the SNL skit?”

“Any comment on the cheating allegations?”

“Is this thing between you serious?”

They were all variations of the same thing.

Except for one voice that stood out from the rest.

“Hey, why are you crying?”

You turned, seeing a teenage girl who looked barely fourteen, maybe fifteen, with rainbow braces and friendship bracelets in her hand. She stood next to who you presumed to be her mother, over by the curb. Set apart from the hive.

Despite your better judgment, you nudged Scott and walked over to her quickly.

“I want to talk to her,” you told him loudly, disconnecting your hand from Eddie’s.

Scott nodded. “You got maybe a minute and a half before things get buckwild.”

“She’s got this,” Eddie said. You looked at him and smiled.

Thank you, you mouthed before rushing over to the girl.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Just got a lot going on, hun,” you said softly, trying to smile but your tears clouded your vision. Your only hope was that the sight wouldn’t scar her for the rest of her life. “What’s your name?”

“Caroline,” she said before handing you the bracelets. “I made these for you.”

Her mom placed a hand on your shoulder, causing you to look up. “She’s been keeping them with her just in case she ever saw you in the city. She’s a big, big fan.”

You could only try to smile again, studying the colors Caroline chose to represent your last few albums. Light blue to represent your self-titled album. A soft sage for your second, “Tetris”. Sparkling gold for your last album, “Acacia My Dear”. There were even one or two that had references to inside jokes shared between you and the fans.

“These are beautiful,” you told her, immediately rolling them onto your wrist. “Thank you so much, Caroline.”

“Could I get a picture of you two?” her mom asked.

“Hey,” Scott interrupted. “Sorry, we gotta cut this short. They’re pressin’ in on us.”

You nodded, looking back at Caroline. “Thank you so much, Caroline. This means everything to me,” you said honestly. Without thought, you gave her a tight hug. “You just made everything better,” you whispered in her ear.

When you pulled back, her mom grabbed your hand. “You’re doing great things,” she said, softly squeezing your hand. “Don’t let those bastards win.”

Before you could even process her words or thank her, Scott was pulling you back to Eddie. Scott seemed a little softer, blonde hair still peppering with gray. He was from Tennessee, like you, his accent just noticeable enough to give him away. James seemed to contrast him, with thick muscles, frown lines across his forehead, and a bald head. Oh, and did you mention that he was a hardass from Ireland?

Your grasp on Eddie’s hand tightened with every passing second before you were finally enclosed in the confines of the black van.

The walk to the car was only, what, two minutes? Three?

But it felt like forever.

The waterworks continued, wracking your body with sobs you didn’t realize were just brewing behind the façade you were able to put up on any given occasion.

Scott took the driver’s seat while James took shotgun. You could just barely make out what they were whispering.

“Fucking vampires, the lot of ‘em,” James said, shaking his head.

“Them two deserve better,” Scott replied. “They’re just fucking kids.”

Eddie pulled you into his side, making sure you were hidden from any and all intrusion even if the windows were severely tinted.

You had an urge, however miniscule it felt, to go on your Instagram story and be bitter about it. Tell SNL to fuck off and remind them how sexist and gross it was to put you in a sketch just to make fun of your dating history when there were men around you who ran through women like sport and talked about them like each one was a momentary fad.

But you knew what would happen. You would be considered overreacting. You’d be a woman scorned and laughed at for caring so much despite the rest of the fucking internet seeming to care more.

So, you did nothing. Said nothing.

You merely curled yourself further into Eddie and fought the urge to have a mental breakdown.

“We’re getting out of the city,” he whispered. “Back to your place.”

“It’s a long drive,” you mumbled.

“I don’t mind. Really. We made the drive out here, remember?” Eddie shook his head. “Speaking of, I’m sorry. I should’ve chosen somewhere more secluded.”

“You shouldn’t have to. We shouldn’t have to.”

He leaned back, tilting your chin up to make eye contact with you. “I want you to feel safe.”

“But I want us to be normal people going to a normal restaurant and have a normal date.”

“We’ll win this fight, okay?” he said, tracing his thumb along your cheeks as the tears came and went. “They have to get bored soon enough, yeah? TikTok will move on to its next viral bullshit anytime now. We just have to wait it out.”

“It’ll just go away?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Both you and Eddie let out a sigh. “Listen, okay? Just listen to me. We’ll figure this out. I’ll tell the world to fuck off. Just give me the word and I’ll do it.”

“That’ll just egg them on.”

He kissed your wet cheek. Pulling back, you could see the color return to his face as he smiled. “I could always pull an Ozzy.”

That got a giggle out of you, a few snot bubbles awkwardly falling down your lips. Eddie didn’t mind, simply grabbing a tissue to help wipe it away.

“Absolutely do not do that,” you said with a sigh, grabbing another one.

“Then I won’t. But I’m here in front of you. I want you. I need you.”

You nodded, your eyes glassy and wild as you tried to stop crying.

“Alright, babe?” he exaggerated, imitating Mikey Day. “I’m metal as hell, babe.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. It was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. You looked up at him, watching a playful grin meet his lips.

“Oh, yeah, babe,” you played along, still wiping your tears. “You’re sooooo hot, babe.”

Eddie nearly suffocated you with another hug, rapidly kissing the top of your head. You couldn’t help but giggle again, feeling some weight lifting off of you. For the first time, you had someone in your life who was blocking out the noise.

“You know, the jokes aren’t even funny,” he said. “I don’t know why they’re making fun of a right-handed guitar. Jimi Hendrix had one and that guy’s a legend.”

“I think the point was to make you look dumb by playing it upside down.”

“Mmmm, I don’t think so, babe,” he teased. “I’m, like, sooooo smart.”

“You’re soooo right, babe.” “Okay, I’m cutting us off. I just know we won’t stop talking like this.”

The laughter died out, silence ensuing. Eddie was fiddling with your bracelets, his touch settling the storm in your stomach.

“Why did you walk over to that girl?”

You thought about her, Caroline, and how she was the only one outside to ask if you were okay. All she wanted was to give you bracelets. Had been keeping them with her just in case she ever saw you. Fuck, if that wasn’t one of the most shocking things you’d ever heard from a fan. It was kind. And when she did see you, she cared more about how you were feeling.

“She asked me why I was crying,” you said. “She actually cared. It meant something to me.”

“You really love the fans, don’t you?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

The night seemed to settle into comfortable silliness, ending with pints of Ben & Jerry’s and the start of another TV show for you two to binge. You settled into his side with fuzzy socks and old pajamas from before all of the bullshit ensued. They were probably ten years old, from the thrift store down the street from your childhood home. The hand-me-downs that never seemed to get holes, the ones that always seemed to save you from the brink of madness.

Eddie was donning a similar outfit, just with a few holes here and there. Baseball tee with a logo for his old D&D group, Hellfire Club, back in high school. Some of the lines were starting to crack, the red fading into something nearly blood orange.

It was comforting to know that Eddie was able to shrug it all off. That he was able to guide you through this fear and loathing. But some part of you wondered how long that could last. All the heat and dismissal and scrutiny and humiliation. All the assumptions and poking.

Because if he wanted to do this, if he was in it for the long haul, this was going to be how it was for the rest of your careers, for the rest of your lives. He wasn’t going to be able to shrug everything off. What happens when he’s poked at? When he’s the one in your shoes?

And as you laid there at 2am with Eddie fast asleep next to you, you were starting to wonder about yourself. Because if you wanted to do this, if you wanted to follow wherever he led, you were going to have to endure. Watching him sleeping soundly, you couldn’t help but wonder how long you could last.

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