#jessicaduchamp

[riddled-mind]

I see that you continued the trend of ruining the lives of redheaded women who did nothing other than exist in the same space as you. Congratulations on your consistency and my sincerest condolences to the woman in question.

I have ruined no one’s life. People, including red-heads, are capable of making their own life decisions perfectly well. 

[puzzleborn-blog]

jessica: what do you think of this painting?

eddie: well, it was painted in the 1500s and -

jessica: no i mean like what do you THINK of it??

eddie: what do i ??? what???????? i 

[adrenalinesaint-archive]

jessicaduchamp started following you

well hello there legs

[scarestress-a]

jessicaduchamp replied to your post:*sees zach talking about how edward and jessica...

BECKY ‘I’M JUST NOT THAT INTO MUPPETS’ ALBRIGHT

*jon voice* this is muppandry (muppet misandry)

[riddled-mind]

jessicaduchamp started following you

[puzzleborn-blog]

 Eddie’s been in this museum a thousand times. Knows all the pieces, their histories. But seldom has he experienced it the way that SOME GIRL is experiencing them right now. Now he knows it’s a bit ODD to stare at someone, but he can’t tear his eyes away from this woman RIGHT NEXT TO HIM who is gazing at a rather simplistic Greek bust, taking notes, and creasing her brow. 

God, what is she thinking about? There’s only one way to find out.

“-- Excuse me? Miss? Yes, hello. I was just wondering,” He gestures idly to the blank-faced statue before them. “-- What do you think of this? Out of pure curiosity. You see, I find it difficult wondering how one can have artistic interpretations about this armless antique.” He raises his brows. “... You seem. Captivated by it.” His tone is not condescending, not argumentative. It’s purely curious, if not inviting for a friendly discussion. 

@jessicaduchamp

[puzzleborn-blog]

jessica: why didn’t you just kill me? eddie: oh look at the time! I gotta go now! I gotta g

[puzzleborn-blog]

  Eddie knew by now that LOVE was not apart of his destiny. He had no interest in it, he did not long for it like most men longed. In fact, his feelings regarding love completely defied what most men felt: Edward Nygma feared love. He feared any and all interaction with it. And that is what set him apart. 

His experience with Jessica, although put in the past, still dwelled in his mind in some moments. He had changed everything about himself in order to understand. Had pursued it relentlessly. Had fallen short time after time, had felt hurt, broken, confused.  And yet after all that, even after SOLVING THE RIDDLE that was the reciprocation of love (artificial or NO, on Jessica’s part),   HE STILL DIDN’T UNDERSTAND.

 She was Jessica Duchamp. Edward Nygma’s greatest love. Greatest fear. Greatest humiliation. Greatest failure. Greatest MYSTERY.  He was decidedly disinterested, and yet profoundly curious,  about her still. Why was it, truly, that she had hated him so? What was it about her that pressed him underneath her spell?  Eddie knew EVERYTHING about her -- still remembered her favorite stories, her family, her FACE --  but he had never known her. 

 So one could easily imagine Edward Nygma, leaving his building with folders and papers & coffee cup in hand as he always did,  heading home as he always did, and how he reacted to coming within  FEET  of  HELEN OF TROY, HERSELF.  

That face. That face. That hair. Those eyes. Those lips. Her. Her. Jessica.

(Something has seized his chest, his voice, his heart. LOVE, FEAR, HUMILIATION, FAILURE, MYSTERY, CURIOSITY. Can he speak? He doesn’t know if he can speak.)  “Oh.” Here you are. Remember when I killed your father? Don’t say that. You look beautiful. Don’t say that. “It’s you... Jessica.”

@jessicaduchamp