#porter house bar

[wolfsplosion]

this is tha life @destielgaysex

[welcometogrouchland]

If Amity's role in the hexsquad eco system is keeping Hunter humble then I think that Gus' role is keeping Amity humble. All three of them get along and like each other a lot but they will not hesitate to rib one another if they think someone's forgetting their roots.

[sometimeslondon]

The Market Porter pub in Borough Market

Many trips to this pub over the years but, of course, you can never have too many!

[supernatural-bias]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: none

↳ song: let's misbehave—cole porter and others

↳ notes: the fact i don't even care for the show and this is my second fic. save me alastor. save me.

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• It had been something of a shock when you found out that the giant joke of a hotel up the street was housing one of your oldest friends

• Alastor and you had run into each other during one of his first years in hell. A time when people still felt brave enough to point and laugh at him on the street without fear of being slaughtered

• You weren’t anything important at the time. Not an overlord or anything of the sort; just a regular sinner that died unexpectedly ended up face first on the concrete. Nothing to bat an eye at, really

• But for some reason, Alastor had been curtious to you all the same. Maybe it was the apologetic tip of your head you offered after accidentally running into him, or perhaps something else. Whatever it may be, the two of you wasted no time becoming fast friends. As long as you didn't mind the gore or screams of terror that is.

• And decades later, there you were, knocking slowly on a grand front door to pay him a long overdue visit

• Charlie and the rest of the hotel guests had been positively floored when you showed up in modern clothes and an easy-going ‘hello’, looking nothing like any friend of the Radio Demon

• “There has to be something wrong with you!” Angel Dust exclaimed, peering down at you in a stripped pink suit as he stood slack jawed. “No way Al has a normal friend. I mean none of us do either, but Alastor??”

• You think they were just shocked that Alastor had a friend outside of other overlords. And one he wasn’t using to make a deal with, nonetheless

• Husk and Nifty were the only ones that seemed unaffected by you. Not surprising, considering that you had met them both on separate occasions

• It only took one look from Husk behind his bar before was hopping out of the booth, mumbling to you that he would go get his boss. You just chuckled as he left

• Alastor was quick to materialize from behind you mere seconds later, wearing one of his larger smiles

• “My old pal! Oh how wonderful it is to see you again! It has been too long, I must say. Too long indeed!” The powerful demon laughed good naturedly . He held a hand out to you, and shook your arm with vigor as you returned the notion

• “Good to hear your voice again.” You said honestly, and smiled slightly at the familiar static pouring from his speech. He always has a way with words. “But really Alastor. Redemption? What are you up to this time.”

• “Hah! You know me too well, my dear.” He smiled deviously, twirling his staff from hand to hand as Charlie’s expression formed an offended pout behind him. You ignored it in favor of laughing with Alastor

• The demon wasted no time ushering you around the hotel for a good old fashioned walk-and-talk. It had been so long since he had last truly seen you, and there was just so much to catch up on! Of course, his events were a bit more exciting, so to speak, than yours, but the point still stands

• “— and oh how absolutely wondrous her screams were!” He cooed to himself, curling a clawed hand around the top of his staff in mirth

• “Alastor, you know how much I love your storytelling," You hummed slowly. "But mind telling me a bit about this hotel instead? Like what exactly you're doing here?”

• “Oh right! Of course!" He cleared his throat. "It all started when I saw this horrendous advertisement in one of those blasted T.V windows —"

• "Hey!"

• Judging from the shocked gasp that could be heard from behind you, Charlie didn’t take that too well

• More visits were made to Hazbin Hotel over the coming months. The more you came, the longer you stayed. Sometimes, you would just listen in on Alastor’s broadcasts like old times, or take to sitting at the bar as everyone else ran around like their heads were on fire

• Which happened more than you'd like to admit

• In the meantime, you became acquainted with all types of new faces; from a trio of bizarre eggs to the lord of hell himself

• Alastor had been very cagey that day.

• "Great to meet you, sir. Charlie’s talked about you before, and it's very nice to put a face to the name." You said politely while taking one of Lucifer's hands in both of yours to shake it. He just grinned uncontrollably response and made star eyes at the thought of his daughter mentioning him

• "Alright I think that's enough for introductions!" An irritated voice rang from beside you, practically overflowing with an aggressive amount of static

• "Oh shut up Alastor. I'm shaking the king of hell's hand. Let me have this."

[octuscle]

Gold and coal

Johannes was a passionate influencer. When he felt like it. Actually, he only called himself an "influencer" because it sounded better than "slacker" or "professional son". He actually made a good living from his parents' money, which he spent at parties, shopping and traveling.

"So, what do you think of my cute new hat? I found it at this very cool market here in Ankara. It goes well with the necklace, doesn't it?" There were fewer likes on the picture than usual. Comments instead. Critical comments. Why he suddenly has such a beard. Johannes grabbed his chin. He had no beard, he had no beard growth at all. And he had carefully retouched the picture before posting it on Instagram. There had been no beard. But still: the photo above the caption clearly showed a beard…

He would have to deal with it later. Johannes had a full schedule. Working out at a gym, which surprisingly enough actually wanted to pay him, a visit to a Turkish bath and cocktails and dinner at a trendy rooftop bar in the evening. Even though Johannes was a hedonist, he was usually well organized and punctual. But at the gym, his schedule started to slip. He trained harder and longer than usual. He felt full of energy. And the traditional Turkish bath and hammam were fantastic. He met super interesting people there. Surprisingly, in the two weeks he had been traveling around Turkey, he had picked up more Turkish than he thought he would. He struck up conversations with people and they got on with each other using their hands and feet. Actually, he should have been up on the roof terrace, styled and with a gin and tonic in his hand, when he left the Turkish bath with a real Turkish stallion. The two of them had shagged like Johannes had never shagged before in his life. Johannes' hair was still oily from the scalp massage. He was sweating. His stallion asked him if they wanted to have another cup of tea and a shisha. They did. And then Johannes was fucked again in the stallion's apartment!

"as-salāmu ʿalaikum, brothers! Today will be a great day. I'm going on a tour of the insider tips in Ankara with my brother Hakan today. But now it's time to pray. salla Allahu 'alaihi wa sallam."

There was a hail of question marks as comments. Friends asked whether he had gone mad. But he also received positive feedback. Because of his style. Because of his faith. These comments were mostly in Turkish or Arabic. Both languages that Johannes (or Yahya, as he called himself here) understood more poorly than well. But he recognized praise in every language!

Hakan and Yahya had a great day. In public, they were the typical machos, but Hakan knew the places in Ankara where there was good, hard sex. Yahya sucked a minister's cock in the station toilet. And got 200 US dollars for an obviously good performance. Enough money for a good evening in the hammam and a good shisha afterwards.

The apartment that Hakan and Yahya shared was small and stuffy. The housing shortage in Ankara was no different to anywhere else in Turkey. But thanks to their small extra income, they at least had three rooms. Pure luxury for two people.

For Yahya, Instagram and other social media were actually just full of sin and Western decadence. But of course they were important media for receiving news from his brothers. His own account existed. Nothing more. He followed a handful of fellow believers who posted frequently, but he didn't really have any followers himself. He still had an old account from his school days. His name was still Johannes. But he hadn't looked in there for years.

Working at the bazaar as a porter was hard and exhausting. But the bazaar was full of niches where you could earn money with services that his sheikh shouldn't know about. Although Hakan thought he had shagged the sheikh before. But Yahya didn't really believe that. But he didn't really care… The main thing was that he and Hakan had enough money and fun. They prayed for that. Not necessarily five times a day. But about ten times a week. If they sucked more cock, they prayed more often. And Yahya sometimes had to pray very often. He was grateful that he didn't stand out too much with his hairy body and bushy beard. But the blond hair was exotic. And many customers were willing to pay a lot for sex with a blond Muslim.

Yahya and Hakan were minor celebrities in the bazaar. Firstly, because they were oil wrestlers on their way to competing against each other for the title of national champion. On the other hand, because they were only simple porters. But they knew every corner, every trader and always knew everything. "Ask Yahya or Hakan!" was a common saying if you wanted to know anything. Or if you wanted a special service. But they didn't talk about details in the bazaar.

Pics made by @ki-kink

[vind3miat0r]

new audio ramble (yap below the cut) (this is not organized just my pure unfiltered thoughts)

god this audio just ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped on it because OWWWW OW OW OWWWW

i love flawed and complicated relationships actually, and im living for the fact that theyre both in the wrong here. Treasure shouldnt have pushed the issue, and Porter shouldnt have been so passive aggressive about the whole thing, especially how he seemed to specifically say things in order to make Treasure feel worse when, ultimately, they were just wanting to help (but went about it the worst way possible)

i find it so interesting that Porter Solaire, the man who directly asked Treasure if they wanted to take their relationship further, completely shuts down their attempts at getting to know him better/understanding him. this isnt dragging on him, its just something i find interesting (its also making me hold my head in my hands like PORTERRR PLEASEEEE YOU HAVE TO TRUST THEMMMM)

pulling from a discussion me and my friends are having, one of my friends pointed out that Porter may resent Treasure. not resent in a hateful way, but resent the fact that they dont have to worry about holding an entire vampire house on their shoulders. he did specifically bring that up, that theyre human, that they wouldnt understand, that the only things they have to worry about are mundane compared to what hes going through

but whatever Treasure is going through isnt mundane or simple or anything of the like

shoutout to this person specifically for saying what i was thinking. looking back at the way they acted in Porter's very first audio; "Leaving their friends at the bar indicates that they weren’t great friends to begin with. Immediately believing a stranger when he says he’s a vampire, allowing him to lure you into the woods" as said by my friend

and Porter directly says this too!! "Tell me, have you ever taken more than a moment to think of the chain of events that has led to us standing here in this room together? The kind of internal tumult that has led you here into the arms of a total stranger, inconceivably vast power imbalance and all?"

and again, the laundry comment really makes me think that Treasure's life isnt much better than Porter's. i mean, sure, they arent out risking their life and killing old bloods, but its clear that they struggle with depression and/or loneliness

their separate lives shouldnt even be a comparison in the first place. its just like Angel after the Inversion, where they thought that David had it worse, that their pain wasnt as bad and didnt need attention. pain isnt a competition, and the way you live your life isnt either

shoutout to this person for also saying what i was thinking!! i dont have much to add since anything i would want to say has pretty much already been said lol

in the end, theyre both in the wrong, and that is a real depiction of a relationship and even if it hurts you cant say its not good

[astrojulia]

Tarot Cards as Professions

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Major Arcanas:

The Fool: Work with abroad, connections with imports, language teacher, multinationals, entrepreneur, intern, college student, art major.

The Magician: Entrepreneur, job that needs skill with the hands (acupuncture, hairdresser, artisan), actor, salesperson, influencer.

The High Priestess: Education, especially children, nutrition, psychology, cook, housewife, food engineering, toy factory, fortuneteller, spiritual advisor, librarian.

The Empress: Management, business administration, foreign trade, secretariat, translation, decoration, stay-at-home mom, model, cook, farmer.

The Emperor: Business administration, work related to areas of technological innovation, the military or sportsmen, CEO, tycoon.

The Hierophant: Philanthropic areas, ONGs, religious work, social work, diplomacy, and a degree, journalism, writer, editor, priest, spiritual guru, politician.

The Lovers: Sales area in any sector, tourism, theater, advertising, the arts in general, porn star, stripper, masseuse.

The Chariot: Activities related to transport, cars, the latest technology, chauffeur, mechanic, athlete.

Strength: Aesthetics, physical education and various body therapies, medicine, zoologist.

The Hermit: Teacher, writer, doctor, antique dealer, restorer, librarian, gardener.

Wheel of Fortune: Financial market, exchange offices, casinos, lottery houses, stock exchanges, and areas related to public relations, hospitality, game show host.

Justice: Public jobs, won through competitions, politics, police, with government positions, in the diplomatic area, law, insurance company worker.

The Hanged Man: Nurse, auditor, inspector, porter, secretariat, general assistants, yoga instructor, prison guard, philanthropist.

Death: Doctor, farmer, geologist, business administrator, gardener, accountant, assassin, death row executioner, surgeon.

Temperance: Working with liquids in general or with what is transported in liquid form such as alcoholic beverages, medicines, juices. chemist, chef, food critic, regional or even international traffic.

The Devil: Does not limit the individual to a professional wing, so he can also go to extremes for the desire he has, such as landlord, drug lord, sex trafficker.

The Tower: Social assistance, humanitarian aid, medicine, firefighter, police officer, construction worker.

The Star: Music, painting, sculpture, poetry, cinema, makeup artist, dressmaker, beautician, agent, promoter, sound artist, astronomer, harpist, dealer, meteorologist.

The Moon: Oceanographers, sailors, fishermen, owners of bars and restaurants or nightclubs, artists in general, medium, hypnotist, psychiatrist.

The Sun: Motivational speaker, entertainer, comedian, social relationships, work with the public, artist in general, member of society.

Judgment: Work done at home, connection with the law, lawyer, judge, work with disabled or people excluded from society, social assistance, board member, executive producer, director.

The World: Pharmacist, massage therapist, scientist, teacher, community leader, religious leader or priest, fashion designer, makeup artist, interior decorator.

Wands:

Creative industries such as advertising, marketing, and graphic design.

Entrepreneurship and starting your own business.

Athletics, sports coaching, or physical training.

Outdoor jobs like park ranger or tour guide.

Event planning or organizing.

Firefighters or rescue workers.

Ace of Wands: Entrepreneur, startup founder, motivational speaker, fitness coach, personal trainer.

Two of Wands: Business strategist, project manager, travel agent, international consultant, import/export specialist.

Three of Wands: Sales representative, marketing manager, e-commerce entrepreneur, market researcher, international trade coordinator.

Four of Wands: Event planner, wedding coordinator, party organizer, festival manager, hospitality industry professional.

Five of Wands: Conflict resolution specialist, mediator, lawyer, debate coach, competitive sports coach.

Six of Wands: Public relations manager, spokesperson, social media influencer, motivational speaker, winning athlete.

Seven of Wands: Defense attorney, human rights activist, political campaigner, advocate, civil liberties lawyer.

Eight of Wands: Courier, delivery driver, airline pilot, travel blogger, expedition guide.

Nine of Wands: Security guard, bodyguard, soldier, endurance athlete, self-defense instructor.

Ten of Wands: Overworked entrepreneur, project manager, event organizer, professional organizer, heavy equipment operator.

Page of Wands: Assistant in a creative field, aspiring artist, intern in a startup, social media coordinator, apprentice.

Knight of Wands: Travel journalist, adventure tour guide, professional athlete, race car driver, stunt performer.

Queen of Wands: CEO, business owner, charismatic leader, life coach, influential speaker.

King of Wands: Executive manager, entrepreneur, leadership coach, consultant, director of a creative agency.

Cups:

Counseling, therapy, or social work.

Hospitality industry, including restaurant management and bartending.

Wedding planner or event coordinator.

Artistic fields like poetry, writing, or acting.

Healing professions such as nursing or holistic therapy.

Psychologist or counselor specializing in emotions and relationships.

Ace of Cups: Therapist, counselor, social worker, holistic healer, emotional support specialist.

Two of Cups: Marriage counselor, matchmaker, relationship coach, wedding planner, love psychic.

Three of Cups: Event organizer, party planner, celebratory event coordinator, community organizer.

Four of Cups: Meditation teacher, mindfulness coach, spiritual counselor, psychologist, therapist.

Five of Cups: Grief counselor, trauma therapist, hospice worker, emotional healing practitioner, bereavement support.

Six of Cups: Child psychologist, teacher, daycare worker, children's book author, pediatric nurse.

Seven of Cups: Creative writer, fantasy novelist, imaginative artist, dream analyst, visionary.

Eight of Cups: Travel blogger, adventure seeker, spiritual pilgrim, explorer, wanderlust photographer.

Nine of Cups: Life coach, happiness consultant, gratitude coach, self-help author, wellness retreat organizer.

Ten of Cups: Family therapist, marriage and family counselor, foster care advocate, wedding planner, family mediator.

Page of Cups: Creative writer, artist in training, intuitive healer, aspiring therapist, dream interpreter.

Knight of Cups: Actor, romantic poet, musician, art therapist, love and relationship coach.

Queen of Cups: Psychic reader, intuitive healer, counselor, compassionate caregiver, therapist.

King of Cups: Therapist, counselor, intuitive mentor, emotional intelligence trainer, psychologist.

Swords:

Legal professions like lawyers, judges, or law enforcement officers.

Journalists, reporters, or investigators.

IT specialists, computer programmers, or hackers.

Teachers or professors specializing in critical thinking or philosophy.

Military or defense-related careers.

Strategic planners or analysts.

Ace of Swords: Lawyer, judge, legal consultant, investigative journalist, strategic planner.

Two of Swords: Mediator, conflict resolution specialist, negotiator, diplomat, relationship counselor.

Three of Swords: Divorce lawyer, grief counselor, trauma therapist, emotional healer, heart surgeon.

Four of Swords: Rest and relaxation specialist, meditation teacher, spiritual retreat organizer, yoga instructor.

Five of Swords: Military strategist, competitive sports coach, lawyer specializing in litigation, debate coach.

Six of Swords: Travel agent, relocation consultant, therapist specializing in transitions, boat captain.

Seven of Swords: Private investigator, spy, intelligence analyst, cybersecurity expert, undercover agent.

Eight of Swords: Social justice lawyer, human rights advocate, disability rights activist, therapist specializing in limiting beliefs.

Nine of Swords: Insomnia specialist, anxiety therapist, nightmare counselor, sleep coach, mental health counselor.

Ten of Swords: Surgeon, coroner, forensic scientist, mortician, grief counselor.

Page of Swords: Researcher, journalist, fact-checker, apprentice in a legal field, investigative reporter.

Knight of Swords: Military officer, police officer, attorney, competitive fencer, conflict resolution specialist.

Queen of Swords: Judge, lawyer, critic, journalist, literary agent.

King of Swords: Judge, attorney, CEO, strategist, military general.

Pentacles:

Financial advisors or investment bankers.

Real estate agents or property developers.

Agriculture, farming, or gardening.

Architects, builders, or construction workers.

Conservationists or environmentalists.

Accountants or bookkeepers.

Ace of Pentacles: Financial advisor, investment banker, wealth manager, entrepreneur, luxury goods retailer.

Two of Pentacles: Financial analyst, accountant, bookkeeper, event planner, stock trader.

Three of Pentacles: Architect, contractor, project manager, teamwork facilitator, craftsman.

Four of Pentacles: Wealth manager, investor, financial planner, asset protection specialist, treasurer.

Five of Pentacles: Social worker, philanthropist, charity organizer, financial counselor, volunteer.

Six of Pentacles: Philanthropist, humanitarian worker, non-profit manager, social worker, charitable fundraiser.

Seven of Pentacles: Gardener, farmer, agricultural consultant, sustainability expert, botanist.

Eight of Pentacles: Craftsperson, artisan, apprentice, skilled tradesperson, technical trainer.

Nine of Pentacles: Luxury brand manager, independent business owner, successful entrepreneur, vineyard owner, art collector.

Ten of Pentacles: Real estate developer, property investor, family business owner, generational wealth manager, financial advisor.

Page of Pentacles: Intern, student, apprentice in a practical field, aspiring entrepreneur, entry-level employee.

Knight of Pentacles: Accountant, financial planner, farmer, skilled tradesperson, meticulous worker.

Queen of Pentacles: CEO, business owner, property developer, hospitality industry entrepreneur, financial advisor.

King of Pentacles: CEO, business mogul, successful investor, high-level executive, financial consultant.

(CC) AstroJulia Some Rights Reserved

[gretavangroupie]

Transcendent - One

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 24.0k

Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol, Smoking, Cursing, Mention and Use of Magic, Black Magic, Curses, Fire, Death in Fire, Anxiety, Arguing, Physical Violence, Fighting, Use of Weapons, Blood, Arranged Marriage, Unhappy Relationships, Sadness, Illness, Death, Use of Restraints. Smut: Heavy Pining, Kissing, Light Touching.

A/N: Surprise! @gretavanmoon and I are back with what has to be our favorite project yet. Without giving too much away, this will not be your traditional storyline. We've been dreaming on this one for a while and after a quick little break we are ready to get back to business. There will be no posting schedule with this story, taking it as it comes to give you the best story possible. But, it will be ongoing throughout this Fall and Winter season. As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting and reblogging. It means the world to us and truly keeps us going.

JAKE

I push the old wooden door open, the rusty handle leaving my hand feeling stiff and dirty. I swipe it against my canvas trousers, all the while knowing they are just as dirty as my hand is now. A hard day's work will do that to you. A hard day’s work is also how one finds themselves wandering into a bar at quittin’ time. I had to ask around to find one, the mason on the jobsite informing me of this place tucked away between two shops just a few blocks down the road from the job. There’s no sign out front, nothing that would ever reveal that it was a barroom. But as I open the door and step inside, the smell is what hits me first and I know I’ve found the right place. 

I make my way towards the bar attendant, the room warm from the kerosene lamps burning on the tables. It's dimly lit and the place seems to be full of laborers like myself. Everyone has just gotten off a job or is looking for work themselves. I keep my head low as I approach the attendant, not wanting to draw attention to myself. I don’t know who knows what around here, but the town is small and I know people talk. Especially in my line of work, ain’t nothing to do besides talk. 

“What’ll ya have,” the attendant asks. His lips are almost fully enveloped beneath his thick mustache as his eyes look me up and down. 

“A Lager, thanks,” I say, sticking my hand into my trouser pocket in search of coins.

“Outta the Lager, I can do a Porter,” he counters, reaching for a mug. “I seen you around here before?”

My eyes flick up to his, “No sir, don’t believe. Just here temporarily for work.” He seems perplexed by my answer, as if he doesn’t believe me.

He fills the mug with the ale as he continues, “What's ya trade?”

“Carpenter,” I answer quickly, “Boarding house goin’ up a few blocks away.”

“The St. Lemire job?” he asks, and again I nod.

He doesn’t say anything else, instead passing me the mug of ale with a grunt. He seems uneasy about my presence. For why I don’t know, but I don’t question it. I nod in thanks and pay him what he’s due, taking the mug of dark beer over to a table in the corner. The kerosene lamp is burnt out and the table is dark, but that’s almost better. I didn’t come here to make friends, I came here for a drink, and once it’s gone I’ll be on my way.

As I sit in the old wooden chair I begin to look around at the other patrons. They are gathered in groups of three or four, loud and boisterous as they drink away their troubles and a day's work. One man is passed out on the table top, his friends poking and prodding at his face with no reaction. Someone taps away on the old out-of-tune piano in the corner, playing a song that grits my nerves. 

A few women occupy the bar, but not the kind I mess with. These women are here for a reason. They know we have a little money in our pockets and they plan to get their hands on it in exchange for their time. This is not something I am particularly interested in, despite the urges that naturally invade my mind from time to time. Not that I don’t feel attracted to them, because trust me, I am. I just need more substance and a little depth in my women. To be able to have a conversation that doesn’t revolve around sex. Call me old fashioned, I suppose.

It is rare that I even find myself on this side of town, avoiding it and my brother Joshua at all costs for several years now.  However, the ad in the paper promised good pay in exchange for quality work, and if there is one thing about myself that you should know, it’s that everything I do, I do the right way. I knew they would be happy with my work and I was fully prepared to prove myself. 

It’s been two weeks that I’ve been working the job, arriving just after the foundation was set and the frame was ready to be built. I've done this hundreds of times now, maybe not this scale, but all buildings are built the same way more or less. Working with my hands is what I know. It’s what I’m good at. Just like my father before me. I spent most of the day today putting up walls on the second floor. The stairs took me longer than I anticipated, but I got it done. I always do. 

I take a long pull from my mug, letting the alcohol warm my blood and ease the tension in my neck. My shoulders are sore from hauling lumber upstairs all day, but I’ve felt worse so I can’t really complain. 

I’m about halfway through my beer when the door opening harshly grabs my attention. I knew it would only be a matter of time before he caught wind of my arrival into town, and I knew I wouldn’t be met kindly. Josh steps through the door, his eyes scanning through the tables until he finds me. His eyes narrow as he locks in, pushing chairs out of the way until he gets to me, positively seething and full of fiery fury. 

“Why’re you here?” he demands, slamming his fist on the table, rattling the glass of the dark kerosene lamp. 

I sit back in my chair, unaffected by his anger, much to his dismay. He always was all bark and no bite. He’d been that way since we were boys. 

“I’m here for work, I think you know that though, Joshua.”

“How long,” he seethes, a curl of hair falling to his forehead.

“Couple months, maybe, if all goes to plan,” I answer, my casual attitude only infuriating him further. 

“Don’t fuck with me, Jacob,” he grits out, leaning against the wooden table. His eyes are dark and still the mirror image of my own, though somehow his are different. As if he is completely detached from reality and no longer sees me as his own flesh and blood. 

“Won’t bother you if you don’t make no trouble for me,” I offer, hoping he will accept my suggestion. “I’ll finish this job and you won’t see me ‘round here anymore.”

He raises his eyebrows at me and ticks his jaw to the side as if he's considering my proposition. He then pushes off the table and heads towards the bar without a word. I let out a sigh and take a drink from my mug knowing that conversation could have gone a lot worse. Honestly I expected more after three years of silence. 

A few minutes later I see him slide into the seat across from me, slamming his own mug down on the rickety table. “Fuck,” I groan, suddenly realizing that the conversation is in fact not over. 

“Ya know, I thought about it, but what’s a drink between brothers…” he sneers, flashing a bit of a teeth through his snarl. 

My chest grows tight and my heart rate picks up, an uneasy feeling entering my body as his eyes size me up. I lick my lips and lift my mug towards his, tapping the glasses together. I raise my eyebrow, “Yeah, brothers.”

He takes a long pull from his mug, swallowing down the dark beer. “So, had any nice tail lately?” he asks, catching me off guard. He settles back in his chair, rocking back onto two legs as he waits for my reply.

I haven't spoken to him in three years and he wants to know about my sex life?

“The fuck do you care?” I spit, refusing to answer him. I know exactly where this conversation is going and I will not give him what he wants. 

Josh shrugs at my response, acting unaffected by my unwillingness to play his game. “Just thought maybe you could send some my way.”

I turn my attention to the ladies making the rounds and nod my head towards them, “Could take you home one of them,” I say, catching the attention of a woman behind me I didn’t know was there. 

“Fellas?” she grins, leaning against our table. 

Josh flashes her a smile and she smiles back. Of course. 

“Did I hear you two was looking for some company?” she asks, locking her eyes onto mine. 

I quickly pull my eyes away and look down at my beer, not wanting to answer her. 

“Could be,” Josh answers, deepening his voice. 

Her eyes begin to flick between the two of us and realization hits her. “You two brothers? You look mighty similar.”

“Twins, actually,” I correct, hoping to cure her curiosity.

“Twins, huh? Can’t say I’ve ever been with twins,” she says, pursing her plum colored lips. My eyes scan over her body, curvy in all the right places, with skin softer than anything I’ve touched in a long while, but I refuse to give into her temptation. 

Her hand reaches out and brushes over my forearm, sending a tingle through my body for what feels like the first time in a long time. She moves her fingers in circles over my sun tanned skin, not even caring about the sawdust still covering me. I swallow harshly as I try to will away the desire running through me. I don’t want her, but my body sure does. 

“I’ll tell you what,” she pauses, looking between Josh and I, “I’ll cut you a deal. I like the both of you, so I could do two for the price of one.”

“No–”

“A deal…” Josh ponders, interrupting my refusal. 

She moves to lean on me, pressing her chest into my face in an attempt to change my mind. I see a flicker of fury and jealousy returning to Josh’s eyes as she comes onto me, and I can tell he is about to lash out. 

He snaps his fingers, grabbing her attention, “You know sweetheart, come to think of it, there's no need for a deal. You can keep me company tonight. He will just end up fucking killing you, anyway,” he says, cutting his eyes at me.

Anger takes over my rational brain, and I shove my beer mug forcefully across the table, crashing into his chest and splashing the remnants all over him and the woman. 

“What the hell?!” Josh immediately stands, pushing her off of him as he bucks up at me, trying to gain the upperhand. I stand too, meeting his stature as I stare back at him in disgust. 

“You’re never going to let that go are you?” I shout, no doubt drawing attention to the both of us, just like I was trying to avoid. 

“This is why I ignore you, Josh! This is why I steer clear of this place, this whole damn town! There is nothing I can do or say to get through to you that her death wasn’t my fault!” I grit my teeth as I walk back to snatch my hat off the table. “You just needed me as a scapegoat for your bad choices. You’ve always been this way and you’ll never change!” 

I feel Josh’s hands as they push at my shoulders, sending me stumbling backwards into my chair and into the wall behind me. The pictures on the wall rattle above me, and I can hear the bar attendant starting to shout at us now. 

I know I shouldn’t fight him. I know I shouldn’t, but thanks to the alcohol my inhibitions are gone, and my hands are quickly flying up to defend myself against my own flesh and blood. My hands connect with his shoulders, shoving him away from me as the woman runs off to the other side of the bar, no longer interested in being Josh’s woman of the night. 

Josh grunts out a few profanities as he tries to swing at me, but as if anticipating his next move, I duck out of the way and take him down by the waist. Our scuffle makes its way to the sticky barroom floor, and before he can land a punch on me, we are being dragged out the side door and tossed into the alleyway by the barkeep. 

We both stand, dusting off our clothes of the stale beer and alleyway sludge, the smell putrid and unpleasant as it seeps into the canvas of my trousers. Josh is still cursing at me, gearing up for the next round no doubt. I take in my surroundings as quickly as I can, seeing a number of shady characters lining the dark, musty alleyway. Peddlers, more women, even a few rabble rousers. They seemed intrigued by us, all turning their attention our way as Josh connects a blow right to my face. 

I can hear the crack of my nose as his fist connects with it, blood instantly pouring down my face. He’s broken my nose more times than I can count. My eyes start to water, further obstructing my vision in the dark alley as I rear my arm back in order to return his punch. I connect with his jaw, knocking him back a few steps as he turns his head to spit blood. 

“You killed her! You fucking killed her just to get at me!” he shouts, his teeth red and stained with blood. 

“I didn’t!” I shout. “I told her not to follow me inside, and she didn’t fucking listen to me, Josh! She killed herself!”

“She wouldn’t do that!” he screams, a growl coloring his words. He charges at me, pinning me against the brick wall behind me. I could easily overpower him, but part of me understands his anger. This is his release and it’s been long overdue.

“I shouldn’t have trusted you. She would still be here. My Lizzy would still be with me!” he shouts in my face. I can feel the emotions flowing through him as if they were my own. That’s the funny thing about twins, we share everything. 

“I begged you not to go that night, Josh,” I counter, still remaining tightly in his grip. “I told you to go home to her. To stop gambling your savings away. It would have been you, yelling for her in that fire. I fought for my life trying to get to her! Do you get that? I fucking tried, Josh. I almost died in there trying to save her! It should have been you with her that night, not me!” 

It’s as if his own guilt finally comes to light. A tear streams from his eye as his anger boils over. A scream rips from his chest, primal and laced with rage as something heavy smashes against the side of my head, and my vision quickly fades to black. 

—

The air was already chilling, then, the leaves barely skittering across the ground when a breeze would come through. Joshua and I had met up at the crossroads on our walk home from work, me from the construction of a new bank in the square, and he from the metalsmiths shop.

“I don’t care what you do with her… just keep her entertained until my game is done…” he asked of me as he slipped his arms through his coat.

“It could be the wee hours of the morning by then, Josh, sit this one out for once. Go home to her tonight. You’re about to be wed, for Christ’s sake.” 

As of late, Josh had picked up a gambling habit, secretly tossing he and his fiance Elizabeth’s money away little by little.

He quirked a laugh as we trod down the street. “No see, I’ve got this one in the bag, I can feel it. I’m coming home with my pockets full tonight, brother. Fate is gonna be on my side.”

“Your pockets were empty before you started this nonsense, Josh. Don’t you think you should stop while you’re ahead? Before you lose it all…” I tried reasoning with him. If he wasn’t careful, there would be no money to pay for the wedding Lizzy wanted.

“Just keep her busy, eh? Don’t let her ask any questions…” he argued. “Talk your mind up to her with your wise words that you’re so agile with. I’ll be home before the sun comes up.”

“Fine. Fine!” I threw my hands into the air. “I’ll spend my hard-earned pay on a nice dinner with your fiance. A dinner that you should be enjoying with her. No. I don’t mind at all…” I yelled with sarcasm as we began separating and walking opposite ways.

“Thank you, Jacob. Really. I promise I’ll repay you!”

I scoffed. “You just better be glad she’s good company!”

And really, if Josh hadn’t met Lizzy before me, I might have thought of courting her, myself. She was a beautiful, intelligent woman with a knack for teaching children. She was easy-going, and came from a good family of hard-working people. She never gloated, and she was very easy to talk to, to get along with. Since she started dating my brother, we’d formed a tight kinship that was nothing more than good conversation and shared meals while Josh was “working”, and as of late, discussing wedding plans.

—

Lizzy and I were walking back to their house after a light dinner, arm in arm as the sun was dipping low in the sky. “You truly don’t have to escort me, Jacob, I’m perfectly capable of entertaining myself while Joshua is caught up with work…” my heart ached as I realized the lie we were both telling her. That he was off doing his dealings instead of his “work”, ignoring the fact that she was home waiting for him while I sat in their study making sure she felt safe in her own home. 

“Of course you are, Lizzy, but I wouldn’t have ya eatin’ dinner alone and wandering the streets back home all by yourself. And neither would my brother. Not everyone is as kind-hearted as we are, y’know…” I raised my eyebrows and straightened my shoulders with faux-prestigiousness. 

“Stop with ya theatrics, you and Joshua both. A couple of dreamers, full of aplomb, the both of you,” Lizzy pushed her fingertips into my shoulder as she laughed, obviously a bit embarrassed by my gentlemanly actions. “But your kindness is appreciated.”

I reached into my pocket for my watch, noticing sunset was drawing nearer the further along we walked. Josh could either be finished soon, or he would be hours, still yet. Either way, I sucked in a tight breath and rolled my eyes at the thought of him losing last month’s wages in a bad hand, yet again. 

“Something wrong, Jacob?”

“No, I–” I was cut off by the smell of heavy smoke hitting my nose. I glanced West, seeing thick black clouds of smoke rising into the darkening sky just a few blocks away. “Fire.”

I quickly pulled my arm from Lizzy’s and dashed down the street, the sound of her heels hitting the brick pavers as she followed right behind me. I could feel my heart begin pounding with adrenaline as we rounded the corner, coming up on the chaos. It was Berwick’s Grocer, a two-story building with boarding rooms on the second level. Flames were shooting out of the windows and the front door, with twenty or so people already rushing around trying to stop the burn.

“Jacob!” Lizzy finally caught up to me, both of us out of breath and panting with fear. The heat from the building was already so intense that I could feel it heating my cheeks as we stood out in the street.

Just then Mrs. Berwick, the owner of the grocer ran up to the two of us, her hands grabbing at Lizzy’s. “Ms. Elizabeth…! He’s inside, he’s–he’s still in there!” she cried, her face contorted into a panic that told me the depth of her worry. 

“Who, who?!” Lizzy questioned, leaning into her and gripping her hands back in comfort. 

“My baby, my Benjamin! I couldn’t get to him!” she cried, nearly falling to her knees. “My husband is away, the fire happened so quickly, I–”

I watched as the scene became a blur, the helpless cries of people panicked in the streets, watching in horror as the smoke grew darker and darker in the sky. The flames broke through another window, shattering the glass out onto the street as it began to flash inside the building. Lizzy’s eyes met mine in question, both of us trying to decide what to do.

But I knew then, I had no choice. 

I quickly fastened my jacket as my feet carried me to the side of the building, searching for an alternate entrance inside. I didn’t have a plan, I didn’t have a damned clue about anything. All I knew was that I had to find that boy.

“Jacob, no!” I heard Lizzy cry from behind me. 

“Stay back, Liz! Do not follow me!” I spit over my shoulder.

I made entrance into the building from the side, the smoke thick and black but still untouched by heavy flames here. I began calling out for Benjamin, stepping carefully over the boxes of dry goods and storage as I maneuvered through the rooms. It was nearly impossible to see in the smoke, and I pulled my coat over my mouth and nose to shield myself from it. 

‘I built this building, I know its walls,’ I kept telling myself as I called for Ben over and over and over…

I blindly walked through the narrow halls, relying only on my faint memory of building its skeleton just a few years ago to guide me. Finally, after what felt like hours, I heard his voice calling back out. Small and faint, but there. 

I rushed to the sound of his voice, quickly finding him huddled in a corner. I scooped him up and ran right back toward the way I came, my lungs feeling as though they were full of heavy stones. I quickly removed my coat and covered him with it, telling him to keep his face covered as best he could. I kept him close and protected from the nearby flames, instead taking the licks myself as we passed by them. The child cried in my arms as he clutched on to me, terrified and gasping for air. 

“We’re almost there, Ben. Just hold on to me…” I told him. “It’s alright, just keep your face covered…we’re almost out…”

I saw the light of the door, dispensing him back on the floor and pushing him to run toward it. I heard loud crashes behind me, things falling from shelves and pieces of the ceiling breaking and collapsing. My eyes were blurring, and my skin felt as though it was on fire, itself. 

And then I heard Lizzy’s voice. 

Quiet and back from where I’d just come, she called out for me. 

“Liz! I told you not to follow me! Why are you–” I was cut off again by the sound of exploding tin cans, hundreds of pieces of metal falling onto the floor from a high shelf. I coughed hard as I tried to find her in the thick clouds and rubble.

“Jacob!” her voice screamed, curdled and guttural. That sound alone filled me with more terror than when I’d heard Benjamin.

“Lizzy, come toward my voice!” I yelled, the flames daring to lick more closely, now. My entire body was still full of adrenaline, but more so, fear. Why did she follow me in? Why didn’t she stay behind like I’d asked?!

“Jacob, I can’t breathe!” she screamed.

I felt tears flood my eyes as her voice sounded so graveled, the room around us popping and lurching and exploding as the walls heated and melted. An anchor beam had fallen across the floor, putting a giant burning barrier between the two of us. “Here Liz, here! Come to me!” I urged her, willing her to come to me instead of retreating to a corner where she thought she may be able to hide from the flames. 

I was met with silence. 

“Liz! Liz, can you hear me?!” I coughed, my tongue so dry and my eyes so heavy. “Elizabeth!!!”

No. Not like this. 

I felt my mind begin to leave me, my breaths short and shallow as my body fought for fresh air. I had to turn around, I had no other choice… but Liz…

I stood for as long as I could, wandered around in the darkness, still yelling her name as each breath I took filled my lungs with more of the chalky smoke. I knew that if I stayed any longer, I would surely die of smoke inhalation.

I had no control over my body any longer. It had gone into survival mode on its own, and my legs carried me backwards toward the door, away from the flames, away from the smoke, away from the sound of her voice.

Why, Lizzy?!

I fell backwards out the door, my feet stumbling over one another as strangers’ hands gripped my shoulders and arms and pulled me away from the burning building. My limp body was drug away, and cold water was poured onto my face and limbs. I was coughing, strangling for breath as people surrounded me on the ground and tried to keep me alert and alive. 

I went into a state of shock as my body convulsed, ridding itself of the nerves and fearful adrenaline that had kept me alive for the past few minutes. 

“You saved him, Jacob! My Ben!” I heard the faint sound of Mrs. Berwick’s voice from a crowd behind me. “Thank you, thank you!”

The next few seconds were a flurry of more pulling on my limbs, more cold rags to my face, more shedding of my charred boots and clothing. I could smell the scent of my own burnt skin, and the pain of what was sure to be scarred reminders of this day tattooed on my body for the rest of my life. 

Where is Liz…

I could hear the echo of her voice still in the back of my mind, like a screeching siren begging me to come back and find her. And I knew right then that the sound of her voice would haunt my dreams for all of my years to come. How did this happen? Why did she come inside?

And then when I thought my mind couldn’t get any darker, I felt the familiar hands of my twin rest on my shaking shoulders.

“Jake, Jacob, are you alright? Where is she?! Where is Lizzy?” He helped me move to stand, his eyes devoid of anything other than fearful hope. 

“I–I don’t–”

I could hardly move my lips enough to form words. My tongue was sandpaper, my voice like hot embers sitting in my throat. 

All I could do was stare into the fire, the interior of the building now caving in on itself. People rushed us, pushed us aside and trampled us as they carried buckets of water to try and extinguish the flames. 

“Jacob! Where is Elizabeth!” he demanded, moving to stand in my line of sight. But I couldn’t look at him, I could barely even hear him, the world around me sounding as if I were locked in a glass room. Noises reverberating as I struggled to take a deep breath, struggled to think, struggled to even keep my balance on my feet. Why did she follow me?

All I could do was shake my head. Gently, from side to side as my eyes shot back and forth between the burning building and my mirror image, his face sullen and lips already downshot as he let the news consume him. 

“No. No! She couldn’t, she wouldn’t have– why was she…?” he began to pace, stomping his boots into the ground as hoards of people pushed past us. I became dizzy again, everything overwhelming me as I fought to believe it all, as well. Nothing made sense… just minutes ago we were arm-in-arm making our way back home. Minutes. And now…

I watched as my brother fell to his knees, uncaring of the dirt covering up his already filthy slacks. His head fell into his hands, his fingertips gripping into his curls as he screamed, cried, punched his fists into the ground beside him. My mind willed me to console him, but my body didn’t allow me to move. I was stuck in time and space, unable to do anything but stand there and breathe. Blink. Exist.

My back was to the building now as I noticed darkness had completely fallen. One step I took toward him, and then another, before my already weakened knees buckled, falling to his side as my lungs burned with the feeling of a hundred different kinds of rage. I let my weak arm drape over his shoulders as I fought for my own breath, feeling him shudder beneath it. The pain on the skin of my side was nearly unbearable, now. 

“You–” Josh muttered as he finally looked up to meet my eyes. “This is your fault…” he growled, his jaw clenched. “You’re the reason she’s dead, you’re the reason she burnt up in there…” 

“Wha–Josh, I tried to…” I could hardly push the words from my mouth, my body already shutting down on me. 

“Fuck you!” he yelled, pushing me over onto the dirt. I wretched out in pain as the skin on my side felt like white hot burning fire, worse than the flames that danced around my face just moments ago. “She’s gone! And you were supposed to be watching out for her! It’s your fault! She’d stil–” He couldn’t finish as his rage overtook him again, laying himself into me with weak punches to my face and chest. He was crying through it all, but I could tell he was serious. He truly thought it was my fault. 

And in my clouded thoughts… was it?

I couldn’t even fight back. All I could do was raise my arms over my face to defend the blows. Even in my wildest dreams, I could have never imagined this was how my night would have gone. Blow after weak, shoddy blow he delivered to my face, and I let him. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe I should have just gone in further after her.

Maybe I should have died in there, too. 

Finally I felt the weight of him come off of me, seeing that two men had pulled him away and tossed him to the side. Through my burning and bloodshot eyes, I watched as he rolled on the ground, turning to sit and face the scene as his bloodied hands covered his face. He wept, his eyes boring into me with more hatred and sadness than I’d ever witnessed on his face. My mind was racing and blacking out at the same time. 

She’s gone, she’s gone. 

In the blink of an eye, and we aren’t getting her back. 

There my brother and I sat as we watched the chaos surround us, and it was only then I noticed all of the money surrounding us lying all over the ground. Coins and bills scattered in the dirt, ripped in half from our scuffle. He’d won his fucking hand. 

And, for what? A night of revelry lost with the love of his life, gambling on the savings they both had worked so hard to collect. He could have had that, with her, tonight. 

But, had he not gone and had I not escorted Lizzy for the evening, Benjamin may have surely met his bitter end. What’s more, the loss of a life at the brink of a new beginning, or the deliverance of an innocent child back into the arms of his mother?

Why must one fate have the other to exist?

Surely, my own redemption means nothing in this grand scheme. I was just at the right place at the right time. 

One more deep inhale of the smoke was the last thing I remembered before I let the exhaustion overtake me, closing my eyes as my body fell limp to the ground. 

—

1860

The smoke.

It wakes me now, except its scent isn’t the same as it was in my dream. The memory of my own burning skin and charring wood is replaced with the scent of a balmy, earthy smell… a little sweet and a little spicy, as if seasonings and herbs were being boiled to cleanse the air. 

I slowly open my eyes, afraid to get my bearings as I remember why I passed out in the first place. Joshua had hit me hard over the head with something in the alleyway of the bar. The flashback memory had confused me a bit, having to relive one of the worst days of my life in the fire, but then again I dream it all the time. I’m used to the nightmare replaying the night my brother’s fiance died at the fault of my own.

Joshua and I had gotten into another argument. But this time, he’d used more violence than he ever had, by knocking me completely out and bringing me… here, wherever here is. I’m lying on a wooden floor, and the room is lit with candles. My body is sore, but I can move. Everything is unfamiliar, and I’m positive I’ve never been here before. The air is humid and thick, and I think we must be close to water, but I know that is a long way from where we were.

I can hear mumbling from behind me… Joshua’s voice mixed in with another, a female. Her voice is unfamiliar too, so we must be at her dwelling. Where on earth did he bring me? I don’t trust him, I haven’t trusted him since the day of the fire, when he completely blamed the loss of his love on me. For a while, I accepted the blame, feeling a guilt so heavy in my state of depression that I believed it, too. But after some time and some reflecting, I realized there was nothing I could have done that night. She entered the building on her own, she became lost inside after I had warned her against it, and tried as I might, I simply could not save her without in turn losing my own life in the process. 

It was a truly horrific chain of unfortunate events. 

I can’t make out their conversation as they’re being hush, and my head is absolutely throbbing from the mix of the alcohol and whatever the hell Josh hit me over the head with. The blood from my nose is dried on my face, my eyes finally stopped watering, though everything is blurry and distorted as I try and listen harder.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” I hear Josh ask the stranger. 

“Do you doubt me, child?” the female challenges. 

“No, no. Of course I don’t. I just want to make sure this is going to go as smoothly as possible, and I won’t have to bother you again…”

What is going on?

I stir on the floor, moving my limbs as I try to sit up and understand. But Josh pushes me back down, before lifting me to sit in a chair. I can’t fight him, I’m too weak. 

“Tie him down,” I hear the stranger demand of Josh. What?

“No no, please,” I beg as I feel my hands being bound behind me. I begin kicking and fighting as best I can, pulling out every last bit of energy I have. 

“Stay still, Jacob, this will go a lot more smoothly if you just stop moving,” Josh bites with madness in his voice, tying a tight knot around my wrists. With the new feeling of the pain in my arms, my head clears up a bit, and I can see who the stranger in the room is. 

She’s a short woman, dark complected with dark gray hair hanging well below her waist. She’s dressed in what looks to be rags, but they’re colorful… Her head is wrapped in the same material, and dozens of gold and silver chains hang from her neck. Her hands, tattooed and adorned with rings and stones rub over one another as her deep black eyes watch Josh tie me to the chair. 

“Who are you? Where are we?” I ask, my voice now sounding more clear as I come off of the liquor. 

“Shh,” Josh spits in my ear as he ties my feet. 

“You’re in my home, child, no more questions,” she says. I hear wind chimes clinging in the distance as the crow of a bird screeches from a high corner. The candles flicker, almost as if the sound of her voice awakens them. The smell of the burning incense hits my nose again, turning my stomach.

“Why am I here? Let me go!” I fight, trying to free myself, but only learn that his knots are pulled tight. He laughs at my poor attempt. 

“Silence him,” she demands, and another wind blows through the rickety walls of the shack. I hear what sounds like shells clanking and sand falling, and the frogs in the bayou waters outside seem to sing a little louder.

Josh leans down to eye-level with me, and I swear I could spit in his face, if my morals didn’t hold me back. “You heard her, quiet. Not another word, or else we can use more force, if you want us to,” he shows his teeth in a pitiful attempt at a smile, but the light in his eyes left a long, long time ago. 

I scowl at him, cutting my losses as I become more nervous for the reason I am actually here. 

“I’m having a curse placed upon you, Jake,” Josh says as he stands back up. “With the help of my new friend here, Seraphine.” A wild whip of air blows through the home again, making my hair fall in front of my face. Fear settles in my belly at his words, and the darkness in the stranger’s eyes seems to become alight, just for a second as she watches us from her seat in the corner. 

I’ve heard about this magic, a cursed and fearsome magic whose practice dates back generations. It’s dark, and it's harrowing. A divination done correctly can change a man’s life for better or for worse, and from the stories I’ve heard told, it is best to steer clear unless you want your life changed forever. 

“You took the love of my life away from me, so it’s only fair if I subject you to a life of similar fate.” Josh projects as he begins pacing the room, his jaw clenched as he speaks. 

“No–” I contest.

Josh’s hands are suddenly on the arms of the chair I’m tied to, his face within inches of mine as he growls at me once more. “I said silence!”

The two of us stare at one another for what seems like minutes, challenging, gritting, both of us shifting our anger back and forth in the thin air that lies between us. “You took everything from me… all of it, and you’re going to learn exactly what that feels like…”

He stands back up, straightening his coat as he clasps his hands together behind him. I feel the sweat beginning to pool on my forehead as my anxiety settles in. 

“You’ll live out your years with no bounds, no end in sight. While everyone around you, everyone that you love ages naturally and grows old, you’ll stay this age forever. Everyone around you will meet the sweet taste of death, while you sit and watch it happen, over and over and over as you stay trapped here, at this very point in your life,” Josh says. “You’ll forever know what it feels like to crave death, wishing daily for it to take you away from this place just as I do, but you’ll never get to achieve it. You’ll watch everyone around you fall from grace and meet God himself, while you must sit with your sins and be a hostage of the Earth for the rest of eternity.”

I feel all the blood drain from my body as I realize he’s wishing, imposing this fate upon me at the hand of black magic. “Revenge,” I whisper. 

He nods, a sick smile gracing his lips. “Precisely, my brother.”

“How fucking could you?!” I snap a whisper at him, baring my teeth as if I could rip him apart with them.

He howls a long laugh, looking at Seraphine for validation. “How could I? How could you? You’re nothing but a sorry son of a bitch, and now you’re going to get every bit of what you deserve. My sweet Lizzy will have her justice.”

My head spins. “Justice?! Joshua, if I could tell you a hundred more times that her fate wasn’t by my hand, I wou–”

“His blood, Joshua!” Seraphine’s voice trembles across the air, loud and boisterous as the walls shake, the wind it causes nearly blowing every flamed candle out. My ears ring at the sound of it, and for a split second I see evidence of the tiniest bit of fear flash across Josh’s face, but he quickly qualms it. “I haven’t the time for any more arguments!”

Josh rips his knife from his side, opening the blade and slicing the rope that binds my wrists behind me. He grabs a glass vial that’s sitting on the table beside us, already half full of some kind of mix of herbs. Also on the table is a silver platter, a green stone, a bit of hair, and a few other odds and ends that I can’t make out before he raises my hand, slicing the skin of my palm until I feel blood dripping from it. I scream out in surprised pain as he collects the blood in the vial, capping it quickly and setting it back in the center of the silver platter. I get a head rush from the pain, and he ties my wrists behind me again. My eyes grow heavy as I hear words of accolades from Seraphine. 

“Good, Joshua, good…”

I feel like I’m about to pass out again as I feel more wind blow across my face, and a new smell drifts across my nostrils. There’s almost a sound of music in the air, but it doesn’t carry a melody, nor does it have a tune. It’s a blend of a thousand instruments that have no weight to them at all, but more so just noise and racket. I hear whispers in my ears as if ten people are standing next to me and in front of me, all speaking a different language from the one next to it. I’m dizzy, I’m confused, and I feel as if I could vomit, but what I feel the most is the scar on my side from the fire all those years ago. The skin is blazing, shocks running through it as if it were being burned all over again. 

I hear Seraphine’s voice, deep and gritty as she begins to recite an incantation. 

“By this blood the spell is cast, to weave your fate through ages vast. In realms of shadow, dark and deep, where time’s eternal echoes sleep.”

“With ancient might and words of old, your endless journey shall unfold. Through ages long and tales profound, in endless life, you shall be bound.”

“Forevermore, through realms of light, in days of dark and endless night. In time’s embrace your soul shall roam, a drifter in the vast unknown.”

Her hands are suddenly on my head, pressing down into my skull as if her life depended on it. My breathing begins to pick up, and I feel myself lose all control of my muscles. An energy flows through my system and all I can see in my mind are Seraphine’s eyes, hollow and black as she laughs at me, taunting me. 

This is it, I have met my fate, and there is nothing I can do about it. All at the hands of my brother, the one I entered this world with. My flesh and blood. He’s now taken measures so horrific so as to take away my entire future. Or give me more of it, I suppose. I’ll never love the same way again, knowing that I will be burdened with watching the end of it like the last petal falling from a late summer bloom. Nothing will be the same. Nothing will feel the same. I hope his revenge tastes sweet, because cursing me by the hand of black magic may end his life in such a way that he, too, did not see coming.

—

One Month Later

I’m lodged between two pieces of lumber, holding myself upright at the apex of a gable as I drive the last nail into the board. My fellow crewmen and I have been working tirelessly on this boarding house for over a month now, and finally we are seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. 

“Drink, Jacob?” I’m offered a canteen by my friend John, of which I graciously accept. I look out over the land, the early Autumn air barely peeking through the still-harsh sunlight. I’m a man of few words these days, ever since that night my brother kidnapped me and took me to that woman’s shack. I haven’t been the same since. My mind tends to drift, and I find myself finding new things to dwell over… things that I hadn’t thought of before, now that I am apparently unable to age. 

I’d woken up that next morning in a nearby grove of trees a little ways from where Seraphine’s home was. Josh was nowhere to be found, I knew he wouldn’t show his face again. Not after that. He knew I would probably kill him. 

I felt the same, yet different. It’s hard to explain, and it could be all in my head. And I’m yet to know if the curse even worked. I won’t even know until a few years from now, if I start to see wrinkles on my own skin. 

I don’t know how to think anymore. I don’t know how to live my day to day life. Things seem so uniform and monotonous, and I hope that the rest of my life won’t find me dwelling this way.

“Everything well with you, mate? You’ve seemed a bit off here lately,” John asks as we take a second to wipe the sweat from our brows as we perch on the unfinished high roof of the building. 

I shrug. “Guess so, just feelin’ a bit down, y’know.”

“Season is about to change, you following the next job when we finish here?” he asks, taking another swig from the canteen. 

“If life allows it,” I reply, still feeling so unsure about any and everything. Just then, my eye is caught by someone walking the grounds down below, a woman dressed in a white dress and hat, carrying a parasol over her shoulder as she wanders with another woman. I can hardly see her face from up here, but just from the way she carries herself, I can tell that she is beautiful. “Who is that?” I ask him.

His eyes follow mine. “Oh, that’s Ms. Y/N, the daughter of Mr. St. Lemire. Quite the pretty one, I say.” I see the sunlight catch her face as she cranes her neck up to see us, and just as I suspected, her beauty nearly makes me fall straight onto the unfinished floor of this boarding house. “Lives under her father’s thumb though, so I’ve heard.”

I realize then that I haven’t taken a breath since the second I saw her. My chest tightens, and I finally inhale. “Is that so,” is all I manage. 

“Mmhm. Fellow that started the job with us tried to ask her name once, offer her an escort to get shade under a tree, he was fired the next day,” John explains, drawing my attention away from her. 

“Is that true?” I ask, my interest suddenly piqued. 

“Sure as hell is. Off limits. A damned shame, too. She’s shinier than a new penny.”

I feel myself become suddenly intrigued with the thought of me trying to escort her to get shade under a tree. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the soft touch of a woman. But the other man was fired for even speaking to her, and I need this job, I need this pay. Maybe I can find another way. Lord knows at this point, I have little left to lose.

—

Days pass, and Ms. St. Lemire still graces us with her presence at the construction site almost daily. I don’t know why she does, she has little to no use being here, except distracting the lot of us from doing our jobs. I keep to myself though, as the wandering eyes of the others follow her every move each day she visits. Some days she’s with her father, some days she’s with a few other ladies, but she has yet to be by herself. My friend must have been right about her living under her father’s thumb. 

The workday was about to end one Friday afternoon, and Ms. Y/N had been waltzing around the property with another woman while we cleaned up our tools and wasted nails from the site. I hid my wandering eyes underneath the brim of my hat, only peeking from under it every so often so as to catch glimpses of her. I wouldn’t swear to it, but on occasion I think she may have been looking, too. But I’d never acknowledge it. 

“Evenin’, Ms. St. Lemire, care to indulge with me down at the pub after supper?” I heard one of the men from the sawmill speak from across the lawn. He must not have heard about the other man being fired.

“Oh, no, thank you, I don’t imbibe,” I heard her voice for the very first time, soft but a bit more rugged than I had imagined. He hair fell in a long thick braid down her back, a cream colored ribbon fastened at the end.

“Now,” the man pressed, “not even wine?”

She shook her head as I continued to work, stealing a glance every few seconds. “No. Only on holidays,” she replied, looking to her friend as they both share a giggle. 

“Is every day not a holiday that God has given us, ma’am?” he goes on, obviously pressing more after she had sternly declined. 

“Sure, but not every day is worth celebrating with libation. Good day,” she bites, offering him a nod as she begins to walk away. 

“Oh, come on, let a man show you a good time!” he demands as he catches her, his hand on her waist as she turns, leaving what looked to be a fairly dark mark of dirt and sawdust all over the back of her light blue dress. 

I stand. She turns quickly, ripping her dress from his grasp while her other white-gloved hand slaps him right across the face. The crew erupts with gasps and surprised laughter. “Do not ever touch me again, and do not ever insist upon a lady after she has clearly said no,” she barks, her finger in his face.

I think I just fell in love.

My eyes are bulging from my head, just the same as everyone else on the job, all of us unable to speak after witnessing that spectacle. My Lord, am I impressed.

Her friend pulls her by the hand back toward their horse and carriage as our foreman comes charging toward the group that had gathered. 

“What in the hell is going on here?!” he asks, and we all stay silent. “Someone give me a god damned answer or there will be no break for lunch all next week…”

One man clears his throat and averts his eyes toward the man in question, and I watch as the foreman goes toward him, ready to question the entire scene. Before he does, though, he notices the group’s silence. “Back to work, all of you! Still an hour’s worth of the job to finish! Go!” I make myself look busy until I hear his voice again. 

“Jacob! Attend to Ms. St. Lemire at her carriage, her coachman has gone to relieve himself in the woods. Water the horses,” he demands, and given the state of his rage, I know better than to attest to that. 

I take off walking behind Ms. St. Lemire and her friend, barely keeping up as they are walking rather quickly toward the carriage. I can see the fire raging through her as she walks; no longer is she carrying herself with the same grace she usually holds. She’s mad, and she’s embarrassed.

Her friend steps up into the carriage first, and offers Y/N her hand for help just as I reach them. She steps on the edge, and her shoe slips off the ledge, making her stumble and nearly fall backwards. “Whoa, ma’am, careful,” I say as I catch her back on my shoulder and arm. She squeals out of surprise and tries to steady herself, her hand slipping out of her friend’s. I help her to get her footing on the ground as she turns to look at me, her bodyweight going limp for a fraction of a second as she finally stands up on her own again. I raise my eyebrows in question as her eyes meet mine, sparkling in the late evening sun. “Are you alright?” I ask. 

She clears her throat. “Yes, um, fine, fine, thank you–” she stands, taking her friend’s hand again and successfully stepping up into the carriage. I nod, making my way to the front of the carriage to tend to the horses. I take a few steps to the side of the road where the water supply is, fetching a metal bucket and pumping water into it. I try not to pay attention, but I can’t help but notice Ms. Y/N and her friend quietly whispering to one another while avoiding my eyes. I keep myself busy letting the horses drink, petting them and speaking quietly to them. I can still feel the feeling of her rested on my shoulder, and the smell of her light perfume still dances across my nose.

“Sir,” she speaks up, catching my attention. 

“Yes Ma’am?” I answer, coming out from my hiding spot behind the horses.

“I just wanted to thank you for breaking my fall,” she says, her friend snickering behind her shoulder. “I surely would have landed in the dirt, and ruined my dress, hadn’t you caught me,” she smirks. 

I feel a wave of confidence and anxiousness roll over me at the fact that she’s speaking to me. Thanking me, when all I had done for weeks now was admire her from afar. 

“Not a problem, Ma’am, though I think George over there might have actually left his stained handprint on your dress…” I say. “May have gotten dirty, anyway.”

She turns and pulls the skirt of her dress to the side as they both inspect it. She clicks her tongue as she sees the dark black dusty stain. “Ah, no matter. Nothing a quick wash can’t fix,” she says with a quipped smile. She clasps her hands back in her lap. 

The two of us stare at one another for a beat, unsure of what to say next. 

“I um, I’m sorry he… that he was so insistent with you just then, men can truly be dastardly,” I say, pulling my rag from my back pocket to wipe my hands free of any more sawdust.

She laughs. “That they can,” she smiles, extending her hand out in front of her for me to shake. “Y/N, pleasure to meet you Mr…”

I brush my hand across my shirt for one last attempt at ridding myself of dirt. “Jacob, pleasure is mine, Ma’am.” Her hand isn’t as gentle as I’d imagined. Her handshake is steady and forceful, and her eyes lock on mine as she repeats my name back to me. The sound of that, god, I’ll be replaying in my head for weeks. 

“You’re um, you’re the daughter of the boss man, I hear?” I try to break the silence that had fallen as her hand drops from mine. 

“I am. Unfortunately,” she quips, earning another chuckle from her friend. 

I’m taken aback. “Ma’am?” 

She lets out a loud sigh. “Oh, being the daughter of a very wealthy and very religious man has its perks, I suppose, but there’s nothing like the realization that I won’t ever get to make my own decisions or live my own life, you know?”

At first, I’m astounded by her sudden willingness to share something this personal with a stranger, but her personality seems to reflect that she doesn’t even really care who knows it. 

“I’m sure it could be… trying, at times,” I try and understand, running my hand along the belly of the horse.

“Trying isn’t the word, Jacob. Far from it,” she clicks her tongue again as her gaze diverts back to the work site. “It’s a miracle he lets me take my afternoon outings to come here, let alone that he allows me out of the house at all.”

“Ah,” I say, nodding slowly. 

“You aren’t one of those dastardly men you mentioned, are you?” she asks, cocking her head. 

I bite my lips in, surprised at her forwardness again. “No, no ma’am. I don’t like to think I am, at least.” 

“I don’t believe you are, either,” she replies, and I walk closer to the carriage. 

“And how could you be so sure?” I press, cocking an eyebrow as I let my elbows rest on the side of the carriage. 

“You’ve been nothing but a gentleman yet. Called me nothing but Ma’am even after I told you my name. Apologized on another man’s behalf, and… you care for my horses,” she says, smiling a sweet, coy smile that nearly knocks me to my knees. I’m left speechless, and I can feel my cheeks burning with shyness. 

Instead, I bring my hand back up to the horse. “I was raised with them.”

“Admirable. So you must know them well.”

“A bit, my father kept a barn when I was a boy, taught me how to care for them,” I reply.

“Hm,” she says, averting her eyes to the coachman returning back from his escape to the woods. “We’ve got a pregnant mare back at home, our first experience with one. Maybe you could assist us when her time comes? Should be within the next week…” she proposes, refastening the satin ribbon at the end of her braid. 

“I could, perhaps. If your father and the foreman allowed me a day from work,” I say, knowing that I have plenty of experience in that department. 

“I’ll arrange it,” she says as the coachman takes his place. “Father will be sure to accept the help. Especially from someone who already works for him.” She raises her hand to wave just as the carriage takes off. “Nice to meet you, Jacob.”

I raise my hand as well, watching as the dirt kicks up behind the wheels. “Likewise, Ms. Y/N.”

—

Day and night, I think of her. She’s infiltrated my dreams, the sound of her voice still playing like a song in the back of my mind. We’ve only spoken once, that day she slapped George, but it seems as though that’s all the time I needed to know that she already holds a very special place in my heart. It isn’t often that I let a woman in like that, hell, I’ve only ever had one serious relationship my whole life, and it was when I was fifteen and thought I was in love. That feeling gave me an inkling though, all those years ago, of what love may actually be. And though we grew up and went our separate ways, I’ve still searched high and low for that longing feeling that I had in my chest. 

And I felt it that day when Ms. St. Lemire fell off of her carriage and into my arms. 

I can’t explain it. I’m almost embarrassed to admit the amount of space she takes up in my thoughts. I’ve nearly forgotten the fact that my brother laid a curse upon me. My thoughts are taken up by something else, now. A distraction from the fact that my fate is sealed. Her face is the last thing I think about before I fall asleep. I find myself wondering how her lips would feel pressed to mine, how her skin would feel under my rugged touch. How her voice would sound saying my name over and over…

But no. There’s no way a woman like her would ever find interest in a scoundrel like myself. I’m too lowly for her liking, surely. And the fact that her father would probably never let me near her enough to even say hello. No. Surely her life is already planned for her, her husband probably already chosen to keep the family fortune alive long after Mr. St. Lemire’s death. I have no hope, but still yet, I let my mind pretend it exists. 

—

I’m drying my hands off after I’ve cleaned them thoroughly, watching as Y/N sits in the hay with her back against the barn wall. She’s admiring the brand new foal as we give them space, watching intently as it nurses on its mother.

“That was… quite the experience, Jacob,” she mutters through a tired smile, the toes of her riding boots knocking together. “Not sure she would have made it had you not come to her rescue.”

“Oh, she would have been fine,” I say. “Your hands here had it covered,” referencing the other three men who helped to run the barn. 

“I’m not so sure,” she says. “I’m just glad we went and fetched you when we did.” Her hair is a mess and tangled all over her face, her clothing covered in hay and mud from our very eventful afternoon. A carriage had rolled through the construction site midmorning, the coachman yelling for me. He’d announced that the horse was in labor and having a difficult time, so I hopped in and we were at the barn within half an hour. I’d never tell her, but I was glad they got me when they did, too, or else we may have been burying the poor things. 

“Will you stay for supper, Jacob?” she finally speaks again after I’ve taken the spot on the ground across the stall from her. 

“Oh no, I couldn’t, thank you. I’ve got a long walk home, and sunrise comes early,” I say, fighting a yawn. I pull my knife from my side and begin peeling at the grime that is caked under my fingernails. 

“You live to work, don’t you?” she asks gently. “You truly love it?”

I nod. “I do, I’ve always loved to build. Work with my hands, my father and I built a barn about this size when I was a child. He taught me everything I know about laborin’.” I left out the part that Josh helped, too, not wanting her to delve into that detail of my life.

“Well he taught you well,” she says through that sweet smile. I swear that I could sit here and talk with her about absolutely nothing for days on end. 

“Thank you, Ma’am. So… why do you frequent our job site so often, if you don’t mind me asking?” I have wanted to ask her this question for a while, but was unsure about it. 

She takes a deep breath. “My Father wants it to be mine when it’s completed. Wants me to have a sense of purpose, running the boarding house. My husband and I, that is.”

There it is. 

My chest clenches. “Oh,” I reply. “I was unaware of your status, I apologize.” I shut my knife back up, and begin to stand. 

“Oh, no, it’s–” her eyes drag longingly to mine, and I cock my head in question. I shouldn’t stay here any longer if she is already spoken for. My job here is done. 

“He’s away, he travels with my father a lot for work, for business…” she says, her voice fallen. “I–I’ve only ever met him a handful of times, actually.”

I slowly sit back down. “...You’ve only met him a few times? And you’re to marry him?” 

She nods, her face contorting as she breathes in a chopped breath. I stay quiet, quite unsure what to ask next. 

“It’s been the plan since I was a young girl, marry a man within the church, devote my life to him and our work, have his children, and that’s that,” she says tilting her head to the side as she avoids my eyes. 

“...And that’s that.”

“I’m– I don’t believe that that is how I want my life to go, Jacob,” she admits, biting her lip. I’m surprised again at her forwardness. 

“Isn’t it?” I ask. “Why is that?”

Finally she does look at me. “Because he is fourteen years my senior.” There can’t be much difference in age between the two of us, maybe a year or two either way. I’d ask if she is twenty-five as well, but I figure it rude to ask a lady her age. 

I sigh. “That’s a bit of time,” I reply, trying to sound neutral.

“It is. It’s way too much time. I know it seems a normal gap when it comes to marriages but, not for me. That isn’t what I want. Especially not with…” she stops herself, sitting up straighter against the barn wall. “Anyway. It must be nearing time for me to return home.” She stands suddenly, and I follow suit. She extends her hand out to me again. “Thank you, Jacob, for all of your help today.”

I clear my throat. “Anytime, Ma’am, please just let me know if there is anything else I can do to help,” I offer, giving her hand a little extra squeeze as I grip it in mine. Just like lightning bolts.

I watch as her chest turns red. “I will, we will. And please, call me Y/N. See you next time.”

She pulls her hair back from her face as she gives me one last look as we part ways in front of the barn, and I head toward home.

—

Two days pass with only a few sightings of Y/N, and nothing more than passing glances and head nods come from either of us. I chalk it up to her not wanting someone to see us interacting, then reporting back to her father. I trust it, but it still feels as though she seeks me out. Watches me until I notice her so that she can offer me a smile. If only she knew that my days wouldn’t be the same without them, anymore.

That next morning, though, the coachman had come to collect me from the site again, informing me that the foal had begun to exhibit signs of distress in the late hours last night. Again we travel the half hour to the homestead and I gently approach the stable where we had left them before. The stable was clean and bright. I could tell there were several people attending to it at all times. Every tool and piece of equipment you could ever need was in that barn, and I felt envious that I was not raised with such fineries. A small brown paddle boat leans against the side of the barn, a paddle resting against the wall in the morning sun. I step into the barn and there I see an exhausted Y/N leaned against the stable door, her chin in the crook of her elbows, watching on as the mare tends to her baby. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask, startling her. 

“Oh, Jacob,” she perks up. “The foal, he is acting strange. Will hardly nurse, he’s been rolling around…” 

I quickly walk into the stall, greeting both animals. “Has he defecated?”

“Very little, but yes,” she answers, following me in. I squat and run my hand along the foal’s belly, racking my brain as I think back on all that my father had taught me about colic. 

“How many times an hour does he nurse?” I ask. 

She runs her hand over her face, obviously very worried. “Two, maybe three?”

“He may be a bit dehydrated. He needs to nurse seven, maybe eight times an hour.” I take a wet rag from a bucket and clean the mother’s underside as best I can, then try and assist the foal in trying to suckle again. “Sometimes their feedings need supplemented, and he may, but try and just make sure he is eating often, for a few minutes each time,” I instruct. I know that the animals will require care and monitoring through the day and into the evening, so I tell her that. 

“I’ll send someone to tell the Foreman that you need to stay here, with me, and help…” she says, still a mess as she worries herself to death. “I’m sure they can all handle the worksite without you, today.”

“Lots of trust you put in those men, Ma’am,” I joke as I grab a brush and run it along the mare’s back.

“I told you to call me Y/N, Jacob,” she jests, coming to join me at the mare’s side. She’s dangerously close to me, closer than she has been since she stumbled back onto me that day. My heart rate rises, hearing our names said together.

I hand her the brush. “I know you did, but I still feel it to be improper. I would only call my friends by their first names,” I say lowly as she begins brushing the horse at an odd angle.

Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second. “Friends,” she mumbles. “Wouldn’t you think of us as… that? As friends...”

I swallow my pride as her eyes bore into mine. I gently place my hand overtop of hers, guiding her hand in a more comfortable way to brush. “I’d like to be considered as such,” I reply, my hand gripping overtop of hers more sternly, now. I can’t help myself.

I watch as she swallows, too, my hand guiding hers. “Then it’s considered,” she breathes, moving her face just a little closer to mine. I can hear my heart in my ears, my palm sweating where it touches her hand. “I’ll not answer to ma’am again,” she whispers, her eyes flitting from my eyes to my lips. 

I’m fighting everything within me not to kiss her, not to give in to her proximity and finally feel the closeness I’ve been craving so desperately. But I push through it. The woman is betrothed. 

Our faces are nearly touching, only inches of thick air separate us. I can hardly breathe, let alone think. But I must speak…

“As you wish, Y/N,” I say gently, her name tasting like sweet summer honey on my tongue. I can feel her breath on my lips, all of my nerve endings on fire as she breathes in the way I said her name. The brush falls onto the ground but our hands stay clasped as she turns to me fully, and I grip her hand tighter, pulling her into me. She takes my opposite hand and holds it like the first, our noses now barely brushing. I can hear her ragged breathing as she holds herself back, and I know better than to make any more moves. So I just wait, clenching my teeth together so I don’t let my urges get the best of me. I squeeze her hands in mine as she rises on her tiptoes, our foreheads now balancing on one another’s. God, this woman is everything…

“Say it again, Jacob,” she whispers, her lips almost on mine.

“Y/N, Y/N… Y/N…” I sing over and over like a hymn to the heavens, wanting to say nothing but her name for the rest of eternity. What a joke that is, since eternity is apparently all that I have. But her name on my tongue is unlike anything I’ve ever tasted. She lets out the smallest whimper at the sound of it, and I have to envision ropes tying me down to stop myself from letting my demons win.

Her hand rises to rest on my chest, likely feeling my speeding heart. “You’re anxious, Jacob,” she teases as my worry comes true. 

“Of course I am, look at you,” I mutter, honestly. 

“What, covered in sweat and hay and manure? Sure,” she laughs a little, pulling away as our eyes meet again, and our hands disconnect. 

I push a strand of hair from her eye. “Yes, and it’s beautiful,” I say honestly, again. 

I watch her cheeks rise with pink. “Don’t flatter me.”

I clear my throat. “My apologies, if I was forward.”

Her hand reaches up, her thumb brushing on my lower lip, removing what felt to be a speck of dirt. The action nearly knocks me on my back, the soft pad of her finger so close to where I could just…

“Not forward. No apologies,” she demands, her voice deeper than normal. She steps backward as we both breathe, and collect ourselves. We stand there for a good fifteen seconds, just staring at one another. My chest is rising and falling now, just from watching her watch me. The tension is so thick I could–

“Ms. St. Lemire!” I hear a man’s voice from the front of the stable. “Shall I let the Foreman know we’ll need assistance all afternoon?”

She clears her throat and shakes her head free of her seemingly intrusive thoughts. “Yes, um, yes please, Winston, if you don’t mind!”

“Not in the least, Ma’am,” he says, and I hear his footsteps retreating.

She clears her throat again as we are both relieved that we weren’t caught those fifteen seconds ago. “My father will be home soon, from his travels,” she breathes, laying a steadying hand on the mare still beside us. 

“And your fiance?” I say before I can stop myself.

“I haven’t got a ring on my finger, Jacob,” she barks, swallowing harshly as if she is offended, or maybe just mad at the fact I brought him up. But she’s telling me true, there’s no ring on her hand to indicate her status. 

“...And?” I press, a little confused. “I thought you said they travel togeth–”

“Yes. They will return home together. And I will have to go with him, I haven’t got a choice,” she says, crossing her arms as she shakes her head. 

I leave it at that, there’s not much that I can say. Her life has been decided for her, and though it seems that their plan goes against everything that she actually wants, I’m positive she doesn’t have a dog in her own fight.

—

Later that evening after I’d spent most of the day showing the barn hands more ways to care for the foal, Y/N returns from her afternoon duties at the homestead to find me taking a catnap in the barn stall. 

“Sleeping on the job, Jacob?” I’m awoken by her sweet voice. I lift my hat from covering my eyes, finding her in the same clothing from earlier this morning. She tosses me a green apple, and I barely catch it as my sleep is still barely escaping me. 

I sit up. “This for me, or for the mare?”

“You. This is for the mare. She prefers a red apple,” she says, offering the mare the fruit as she pets her nose. 

I smile and stand, noticing my stomach growling as soon as I take a bite from the Granny Smith. She disappears for a second, but returns back with another horse, a male Appaloosa. “Come on, want to show you something,” she says as she nods her head for me to follow her out of the barn. 

“But the foal–” I say, replacing my hat.

“The hands will tend to them. Come on, evening is setting in,” I hear her voice from outside. When I finally exit the barn, I find her mounted bareback on the horse, one hand on his mane and the other shielding her eyes from the evening sun. “Hop on, come on.”

My eyes widen at her offer, and I freeze, unsure that what I am seeing is truly real. “Jacob, come on! Hurry!” she orders again. 

I decide to cut my losses, so I take a little run, launching myself up onto the horse with the help of her hand. He’s a smaller horse and still young, yet, but I can tell he has a lot of heart. She begins trotting him to the wooded area behind the barn, and as he picks up speed, I’m completely unsure of what to do with my hands. It’s been a while since I’ve ridden this way as a passenger. 

“Hold on!” she instructs, and as the horse begins to run as we rush through the woods, I have no choice but to wrap my arms around her waist. She guides the horse over the grassy trail, expertly avoiding rocks and hillsides as if she’s ridden all her life. And if I had to guess, she probably has. My arms grip tightly around her as I have no choice but to do so, but I still try to keep them at a respectful level. 

After a few minutes, we enter into a clearing, the deep orange setting sun peeking through the leaves and casting a fire-like glow to the air. She slows the horse as I look over her shoulder, seeing a small pond with an old dock built right out into the middle of it. The water looks fresh and clean, and I can tell that though the dock is old, it’s still in good shape. 

“Where have you brought me, Y/N?” I ask, leaning into her ear just a bit as the horse rounds a tree. “And who is this?”

“To my most favorite place in the world,” she says, stepping off the horse and onto the ground. I follow after her as she ties him to a tree. “And this is Silas. Silas the Great, actually,” she introduces me to the horse. “I took him under my wing five years ago, he was injured and we nursed him back to health. I sat all day and all night in the stable with him, just so he knew he wasn’t alone. Now we’re a bit inseparable,” she says, touching her nose to his. My heart swells, never have I met a woman with a passion nearly the same as my own. Maybe more so, even. 

“Nice to meet you, Silas the Great,” I say, running my hand down his side. “You uh, kind of surprised me… I didn’t expect you–”

“To know how to actually ride a horse? Mm, well if that surprised you, then so will the reason I brought you here,” she says as she turns and walks toward the dock, unbuttoning her riding vest. Next, her hands are gripping at the bottom of her white blouse. She rips it right over the top of her head, tossing it behind her as she turns back to look at me. Then comes her corset. She pulls at its ties behind her until it loosens, and she steps free of it.

Again, I stand frozen. …What?

She then undoes her belt, and kicks off her pants and riding boots as she stands on the weathered wood of the dock. “You coming?” she yells as she continues to undress.

“Ma’am, uh, Y/N, I don’t think this is appropriate,” I say, trying to look anywhere but at her undressing herself. 

“What, rinsing off the straw and sweat from the day? Don’t you want to get cleaned up?” she teases though a side smile. 

I open my mouth to speak, and my brain tells my legs to walk, but I can’t. I’m simply stunned, and she’s standing there in her undergarments, begging me to dive into the water with her. She lifts her pointer finger to tell me to come, so I beckon every bit of nervous energy I have and walk down the slight decline to the water’s edge, gently kicking my boots off into the dirt. 

She watches me intently, feeling no embarrassment or shyness in the least from standing before me, a complete stranger, in almost nothing. I walk slowly to the dock, unbuttoning my shirt with shaking hands as I’m terrified someone is going to catch us. I pull my arms from my sleeves and let the shirt fall behind me, and I swallow the lump in my throat as my hands reach my belt buckle. I pull it from the loops, so slowly that I almost stop altogether if it weren’t for her eyes telling me to get on with it. 

I’m finally before her in my undergarments, and try as I may, keeping my excited self hidden behind them is becoming more and more trying, especially since I can see her nipples through her thin white undergarments. She’s absolutely astoundingly gorgeous. 

“Your hat, Jacob,” she laughs, tapping on her own head. “Unless you’d like to wash it, too.”

I swallow, plucking it from my head and tossing it onto my boots beside me. She smiles, offering me a satisfied look as she turns and dives head first into the water. She re-emerges a few seconds later, brushing the wet hair away from her eyes. “Ooooh!” she exclaims. “A little cold but it feels great, come on!” 

Who is this woman, and where has she been all my life?

I close my eyes and send up a quick prayer of thanks and good luck, and I take a deep breath, hurling myself into the water. She’s right. It isn’t warm, but the refreshment clears my mind and wakes me up more than the ride here, and when I surface, her bright smiling face is right in front of me, her hands gripping my face as I catch my breath. 

“Your face is filthy, Jake,” she laughs as her soft hands rub water over my cheeks and forehead, and I can hardly see straight as she calls me by my nickname. No one’s called me that in a very, very long time. 

I’m still shocked and I know she can tell; it’s as though her comfortability with me increases with every passing second. I know better than to argue it. So I let her clean my face, her thumbs and the pads of her fingers gently running over my eyes and jawline… and suddenly I feel a chill come over me, but not from the temperature of the water. 

I can’t pull my eyes from her as we both fight to stay afloat in the water. The way it’s reflecting off her face, making her eyes look like diamonds as they scan over me. Her lips so perfectly shaped as the corners curl up into a smile as she continues cleansing my cheeks from the mess of the day. “There,” she says. “All better.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice deciding to leave me just like all my thoughts have. It’s like the most perfect moment that I never want to end, and I hardly even know this woman. She slowly separates from me and swims to the dock, hoisting herself onto it and sitting with her legs dangling in the water. She wrings her hair out and wipes her eyes, watching as I swim over to join her. 

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” she says quietly. 

“Yes.” I tilt my head back into the water and run my fingers through my long hair, ridding it of any pieces of straw that have lodged themselves there over the past couple of days. 

“I’ve been swimming here since I was a child. I think the water is healing, magical, even. I always leave here feeling like a whole new person. My own little oasis,” she explains, turning her face to the remnant sunbeams as she reclines on her hands. I hoist myself onto the dock to sit beside her, still feeling just the least bit uneasy at our lack of no translucent clothing. 

“Well thank you for sharing it with me,” I say.

She grins. “You’re a man of few words, aren’t you?” 

I laugh a little. “Ah, I don’t know, am I?”

“Yeah,” she smiles. “Tell me about yourself. Tell me somethin’ you do, besides build boarding houses and take care of foals.”

I lick my lips as I look out over the glittering water, admiring the willow trees hanging out over it. I grip the necklace that lives around my neck in my hand, holding the heavy silver charm between my fingers. I’ve never taken it off, since the day Josh gifted it to me. It was one of the very first things he made in his shop once he became a master silversmith. Though the two of us have become enemies, I still can’t bring myself to remove it. 

“Well, not much really,” I explain, holding back the fact that I am apparently going to stay twenty-five for the rest of eternity. “I devote myself to work, leave myself little time for much else.”

“Hm. No friends, family, no other hobbies?” she asks. 

I shake my head slowly as I turn to her. “No more family,” again, I keep Josh from conversation. “I guess I enjoy going on long walks, learning history, telling stories… spending my last spare coins on a beer or two to reward myself for a long work week,” I shrug. “Not much to me.”

“I think there’s more to you than you realize, Jake,” she says, her eyes searching mine. Again, my heart drops at her use of my name, and the way her eyes look at me as if I’m the only person left on earth. “You were the one that saved that boy, Mrs. Berwick’s son, from the fire… weren’t you?”

My breath catches as I nod slowly. 

“And you were burned pretty badly, your side, here…” she says, motioning to the now healed burn marks along my ribs. “You saved that boy’s life, I remember you were the talk of the town, all over the newspapers… it was you.”

“Right place, right time,” I shrug, trying to calm her talk of heroism. 

“But there was also a fatality, that day, wasn’t there? A woman, did you know her?” she presses. I feel a chill run over my body again, and I close my eyes for a second as the memory floods back.

“I did. She was a…friend,” I swallow.

She pauses, and nods in understanding. “I’m sorry you couldn’t save them both.” 

“I’m sorry, too,” I admit, more to myself than to her. There’s a lull in the conversation as we both breathe in the evening air, giving a moment of silence for the life lost that day. Finally after a minute or so, she reclines back onto the dock, her arms splayed out above her head. I try to avert my eyes from her chest, falling so perfectly. But then, I join her. 

“Do you ever think about running away, Jake? Just packing a bag, and getting on a horse and riding until you can’t see what you’ve left behind you?” she asks, her voice high-pitched and longing. 

I watch as a crow lands in the tree above us, rustling a few leaves to fall and float through the air. “Sometimes,” I say. 

“I think about it all the time. Just leaving. Heading north, probably.” 

I swallow, feeling her elbow barely touching the side of my head. “But, your father, your fiance, your business…”

“I don’t care about any of that. None of it truly belongs to me, it’s all been handed. It’s all been planned, you know?” she breathes, looking at the sky. “I don’t want to live out the rest of my days under the thumb of a man who’s decided my every move since I was born, only to marry another one who will continue to do the same exact thing. Who doesn’t even love me…” she blinks.

“I’m sure he cares very deeply for you, Y/N.”

“No. No he doesn’t, Jacob. The man couldn’t care less about me. He’s–he’s the most unkind person I’ve ever met. Brash and difficult, rude in many ways. Uncaring and hateful. Tries to keep me happy by buying me nice things, sending me gifts. I’ve only kissed him once, and it sent an emotion through me that I’ve never felt. Something bad, something ominous,” she says. “He may care for me on the surface, but I can tell that he knows he will be miserable with a woman fourteen years his junior, just as I feel.”

I don’t know how to respond, so I let her keep going.

“I dream of having a love so fierce that I can hardly sleep at night, for fear of losing a single second of time. A life so free that I look forward to each morning. I want to feel my life, Jake. Not wish for the day that I don’t have to live it anymore.”

Her words hit me like a train. Never has anyone opened up to me this way, before. And for some reason, I feel the need to help her. It’s ironic, here she is telling me that she wants to feel her life come alive around her, while I’m moping at the fact that I will have to live each and every day not knowing if I’ll ever see the end, at all.

I nod and fold my hands underneath my head as she sniffs away a rage-filled tear. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have let all that out on you. Wasn’t very ladylike of me.”

“No no,” I interrupt, “I understand. I wouldn’t want my life to have been chosen for me, either. I couldn’t– I couldn’t imagine it, actually. Especially with someone whose love isn’t mutual with mine.”

“Exactly,” she says, pushing herself up on her elbow. “Am I not crazy, Jacob?”

I shake my head. “No, you aren’t crazy. I’d want to run away, too.” And truly, I would.

“Then let’s go,” she whispers, her eyes wide and hopeful. “You and I, and Silas.”

“Me?” I’m surprised yet again. 

“Yes, you! Why not, you know? This town offers me nothing, nothing is holding me here…” she goes on.

“You’d find no benefit in runnin’ away with a person like me, I can offer you nothing, Y/N,” I argue, completely blindsided by the fact that someone like her would want to have me as a running partner. “I have no money, I have no excitement in my life. No inheritance, no family, no fancy home… You should stay here, where you are comfortable and have a prosperous future waitin’ for you at your doorstep.”

She shakes her head as she stays silent for a beat. “That’s the most I’ve heard you speak, yet,” she finally laughs, rolling back to her back. “Do you think I truly care about all of that, Jacob? I mean I hardly know you, but you have to have noticed that I just spent the last few nights sleeping in the hay of a barn floor. The last thing I care about is how large and appealing my home is, or how much money lines my pockets… I want someone willing to lie there in the hay with me. Someone like, well, you.”

She isn’t wrong. She can read herself like a book.

I sit up and lean over her, bringing my face close to hers as I balance on my elbows. “You really want to do that? You really want to run away…” 

She squints her eyes. “More than I’ve wanted anything in my entire life…” She lifts her head, brushing her nose against mine just as she had done in the barn. I struggle to take a breath as she exhales against my lips, her eyes searching my face again. My entire body stiffens as she gently presses her lips to mine for just a second, her neck craned as her eyes close. She pulls away and covers her mouth, almost as if she didn’t mean to do it at all. She giggles but pulls her hand away from her mouth, instead gently brushing her fingers through my still-damp strands. 

I close the gap again, this time cupping her neck and pulling her body into me. My entire mind is full of fireworks, bright white lights as I feel every single one of my nerve-endings ignite with fire. She feels so perfect, so good underneath me as her lips part just a little, letting me inside. 

I gently brush my tongue into her mouth, tasting her for the very first time. Like fresh spring honeysuckles and the burn of a good whiskey, she kisses me back, the sound of her light cries almost making me come undone as our bodies lurch together, begging to be touched. Her kiss has already weakened me completely, and if we weren’t already lying down, I’d gently lie her back anyway, letting myself take a bit of control as her hands tighten their grip in my hair. Both of our breathing is labored, and neither of us have hardly moved from our places on the dock. She’s blinding me, in every sense of the word. I can hear the tree frogs and feel the breeze around us, but all that exists in my mind is her, and the way she feels as she’s connected to me, the way she tastes on my tongue. I find myself wondering what the rest of her tastes like, and if she would shy away from my efforts to taste her further…

My hand tightens on her neck as my tongue delves a little deeper, eliciting another whisper of a cry from her throat as our lips fight against one another. I can feel the heavy silver chain and charm that stays around my neck falling to rest on her chest. 

We continue this way for a minute, maybe two, just letting ourselves enjoy this new company. Her body writhes under mine as I lean over onto her, and I can feel her breasts pressed up against my chest. My head is spinning and I can hardly form a thought. I let my other hand travel, sneaking it slowly down her arm and along her side, making her shudder beneath me. Her reactions let me know that I’m doing everything right. My hand travels again, pulling her undergarment up just a bit so that my hand can roam over her skin. 

It’s perfectly soft and supple, goosebumps covering the places that I let my fingertips glide. Her kiss is intense, pulling me back in and making my yearning for her all the more heavy. I feel myself tightening in my underwear, and I’m sure she can, too, but she continues her movements. This is a horrible idea, but I couldn’t stop myself if I wanted to. She’s already making herself addictive. Just as my hand glides along her stomach, and I’ve decided to test the waters with a light touch of her breast, she hops back in discomfort, making me stop altogether. 

“What’s wrong, are you alright?” I ask, lifting my hand and looking at the place I’d just touched. “I’m sorry.”

“Yes, fine, it just–”

There on her skin, right under her breast is a red rash that looks a bit painful. “What’s this?” I ask. 

“I–it’s probably poison oak, or something… I have been outside a lot lately. Don’t worry about it,” she argues, brushing it off. 

“That looks like it hurts, Y/N, and that isn’t poison oak…” I say, knowing the look of that rash like the back of my hand. “Does it burn?”

“It’s fine, Jacob…” she says as I pull up more of her garment, seeing more and more of the same rash all over her torso. 

“Y/N, what is this?”

Suddenly, though, we’re harshly interrupted. 

“Y/N! Y/N, are you out there?” I pull off of her quickly, realizing that dusk had begun to fall. 

“Shoot,” she says. “It’s my father.” We both stand and quickly begin to grab our clothing and redress. I’m panicking, wondering if he is traipsing through the woods towards us as we speak. I help her lace her corset closure, saddened at the fact that I didn’t even get to help her remove it initially.

I’m grabbing my own shirt as I hear another voice, and it causes me to go stiff on my feet. “Y/N! Sweetheart! Are you there?!” I drop my hands as they hold my shirt and my eyes meet hers with fury. 

“Is that him?” I ask, a fire beginning to burn within me.

“Yes, that’s him, now hush,” she demands. We finish dressing and she makes her way to untie Silas from his place at the tree. 

“Yes, father!” she yells through the trees. “Just brought Silas out for a run! I’m on my way back!” 

I step into my boots and quickly walk back up the incline, feeling flushed and confused and mad all at the same time. I don’t know why I’m mad, the overload of emotions really decided to hit me. Just before she jumps back on to her horse, she quickly paces back over to me, placing her hand harshly on my cheek as she pulls me in for another deep, heated kiss. Fuck, what is she doing to me…

“I meant what I said. If you really want to run away with me…”

“I–I’ve got to finish this job for your father, I’ve got to make this pay…” I say, knowing that if we were really going to do this, I needed to have some jingle in my pocket to at least get us to the next city.

“Alright,” she agrees in a rush, her hand still lingering on my cheek. “But after then, we’ll go…”

“Will you be married by then, Y/N?” I ask, the thought sending daggers through my heart. 

“I’ll do everything in my power to stop that from happening,” she whispers. Just then she takes the cream colored satin ribbon that’s tied in her hair and wraps it around my wrist, fastening it in a loose bow. “Don’t forget about me, Jacob…”

“Impossible, Y/N,” I say through the first genuine smile that’s graced my lips in weeks. I watch as she mounts Silas, offering me a small wave of goodbye as she turns and makes her way back through the heavy trees, leaving me in a pile of whimsical confusion there, in the near darkness. 

—

It’s been two weeks since that day at the pond, without a word or sight of Y/N. I find myself thinking of her often, keeping the ribbon she gave me in the pocket of my trousers. I figure the foal must be getting on well if the coachmen hadn’t come to collect me in this many days. I feel a sense of pride at the fact that it must be flourishing and healthy after a little bit of help. 

Each day I look for her, waiting around to see if her or her father would show up at the job site. The job is nearly complete now, and I know my chances of seeing her are growing slimmer each and every day. I would move on to the next job and she would be but a distant memory, a fleeting thought that will pass through my mind when I least expect it to. It’s unusual that her father had not come to check the progress of the building, though, seeing as how he had been here most days since the start of the project.

An uneasy feeling fills my stomach at his absence, and even more, hers. Unable to stand it any longer I decide that after quittin’ time I would go to their estate. I need to see her. I know my presence will raise suspicion from her father, but I have a plan. 

It isn’t a great distance to walk and luckily the air has cooled some now that summer is drawing to a close. By the time I see the estate in the distance, my sweat soaked shirt has dried and the sun is beginning to set. It really is a beautiful property, riddled with pecan trees and oak trees dotted with spanish moss. The crickets have begun to chirp in the tall grass and I can hear the gentle whinnying of the horses in the stable. Part of me wants to go check on the foal first, but I know I need to announce my presence before someone suspects me of thieving.

As I ascend the long path to the front doors I see several carriages tied up to the horse posts. There are several that I have never seen before and a sick feeling begins to swirl in my chest. The lanterns aren’t burning on the porch, and it seems unsettlingly quiet inside the home. I swallow nervously as I reach for the metal door knocker, hearing it echo through the home. I step back from the door and shove my hand in my pocket, feeling the silky ribbon against my rough fingers. My heart rate has quickened and I can hear it beating in my ears as I wait for someone to answer. 

I stand there for several minutes until suddenly the door rushes open. A woman answers, a look of distress on her face as her eyes search me trying to figure out who I am and what I am doing here. 

“Hello ma’am,” I say, “Could I please speak to Ms. Y/N?”

Her face drops and her lips part as she turns to look behind her. She turns back to me and shakes her head, unable to find the words she is looking for.  “I–I’m sorry sir, I can’t take you to her.”

“I’ve come all this way, is there any way I–”

“Griselda!” I hear a man shout. I believe it’s her father and his voice sounds angry. “Who goes there?”

“My name’s Jacob, I am his carpenter,” I say quickly. 

“His name is Jacob, sir. Says he is your carpenter,” she answers him as he opens the door further. 

“What do you need, boy?” he growls. 

I suddenly feel like I am lost for words. Do I tell him the truth or do I lie?

“I need to speak with your daughter, sir.” 

“My daughter? Y/N?” he scoffs, “There will be no such thing!”

“Sir, if I may–”

“You may not!” he shouts, interrupting my plea. “You have no business with her, and she is unwell. You need to leave my property.”

“She is ill?” I question, my mind immediately remembering her rash and my previous suspicion. “Her rash…”

“How do you know about that, boy?” he seethes. 

I quickly realize I have said too much. “She– she told me about it while I helped tend to the horses. She was in pain.”

His eyes study me, as if trying to decide if I was telling the truth. 

“She has the fever,” he swallows. “Scarlet fever, and she is very unwell.”

I feel my heart shatter into a million pieces as I wrap the ribbon so tightly around my finger that it cuts off my circulation. “If I could please just speak to her for a moment…” I beg. 

“I’m sorry son, but I cannot allow it,” he says finally, shutting the door abruptly. 

I stand there dumbfounded for a few beats, trying to come to terms with the fact I won’t be speaking to her any time soon. I slowly back away from the door, making my way back down the porch steps as I stare up at the home. A window is open on the far right of the house, a sheer white curtain catching the breeze. I decide to try my luck calling out to her, hoping maybe she will be on the other side of the window. 

“Y/N!” I shout, being met with deafening silence. 

“Y/N, it’s me!” I try again, but this time I see someone at the window. It slams shut and the curtains close which tells me my suspicions were correct and she is just beyond the glass. 

I force my feet to carry me down the walking path, stopping to sit on a wooden bench. I drop my head into my hands, suddenly feeling like I failed her. I saw the rash and I knew what it was. I shouldn’t have let it be. I should have made her see the physician. Now I don’t know if or when I will see her again. Guilt fills my soul. I briefly wonder if this is my penance for Lizzy. 

I don’t know how much time has passed as I sit here, but off in the distance I hear the front doors of the home closing and what looks to be a physician walking to his carriage. Before I can convince myself of it I am running towards him, knowing that my only chance of answers will come from him. 

“Sir!” I shout, “Excuse me, sir!”

His head whips around to look at me, his eyes having trouble focusing in the darkness of the evening. 

“Yessir?” he stops, his medical bag in hand. 

I am panting as I stop in front of him, doing my best to catch my breath. “The girl, inside,” I pant. “She has– she has Scarlet fever?” 

“I’m sorry son, it was too late. There was nothing I could do for her.”

“Too late?” I gasp, lightheadedness filling my mind.

“She went without pain, that I can assure you. I am very sorry for your loss, she seemed like a fine lady.”

“She’s– She’s gone?” I breathe. “No– she…”

“I’m sorry son. I must be on my way. Have a good evening,” he says, stepping into his carriage. 

My head whips up to look at the house, the window still closed in the room she was in. There’s a faint glow of a candle burning in the room, and I wonder if her father is with her, if he is with her… holding her hand as they say their silent goodbyes. 

I can hardly wrap my mind around the fact that she’s gone. She can’t be. She was just with me at the pond. In the stables. I still have her ribbon in my pocket… 

“No…” I breathe as my hand flies up to cover my mouth, the sting of tears threatening to fall.

I barely hear the sound of his carriage pulling away. I can’t even feel the rocks and dirt as they hit my skin. All I can feel is my heart shattering and the hope I previously held for the future completely gone. 

—

I don’t know how, but my feet managed to carry me back into town. It felt as if the world had gone silent around me, as if it too was mourning the loss of her. There isn't a soul in sight as I make my way further into the center of town in search of something that can help numb this pain in my chest. I knew her for such a short time but everything in me knew that our meeting wasn’t happenstance. She was everything I never knew I wanted to find. And the only thing that managed to fill my mind anymore. I’d grown so fond of her, but I dare not say just how much.

I push open the door to the barroom, silently scolding myself for returning to this place. I haven’t been here since that night with Joshua. I vowed never to return, refusing to sit in the place that was the catalyst of this damned curse. 

I would now live the rest of my days knowing what I lost with Y/N. Thinking of what could have been. Maybe hell isn’t a place, maybe hell is a state of mind. Damned to an eternity of never knowing what could have been and reliving the memories of what I had. A self inflicted mental imprisonment where fear and guilt is the warden, and the sentence is life. Hell isn't a place you go to atone for your sins, hell is a place you create for yourself to live in endless emotional agony of “what if”.

As I step up to the bartop, the attendant eyes me, clearly recognizing me from the scuffle a few weeks ago. 

“You ain’t gonna cause no trouble here, now are you?” he asks, drying a mug with a dish rag. 

“No sir, just here for a drink,” I answer, my voice gravelly from hours of held back tears. 

He nods his head, “We got a Porter and Lager tonight.”

“Do you have anything stronger?” I ask. 

He looks around at the patrons behind me, then back to me. “I got Whisky, but I ain’t got much.”

“I’ll take what you have,” I answer, feeling thankful that soon my mind would be a blur.

“It’s the real stuff kid, ain’t no foolin’,” he warns.

“I need it,” I answer, tossing all the change in my pockets onto the bartop. Her ribbon falls onto the wooden surface and my breath catches before I snatch it back into my grip, working quickly to tie it around my wrist. His eyes look me over again, his lips pursing as if he wants to say something. He pours a small glass full of brown liquid, sliding it my way as he bites his tongue. 

“Thank you,” I say with a nod, and before I walk away he stops me. 

“Hey kid…”

“Yessir,” I turn to him. 

“I hope whatevers’ ailin’ ya, eases up soon.”

I nod to him and walk away with the drink. The lump in my throat grows as I think of her. I decide right then and there that I would give anything for one more day with her. I would pay any price. If I was cursed to live forever there wasn’t a day that I wanted to spend without her by my side. 

I take a long drink of the spicy liquid feeling like I could breathe fire. He wasn’t lying about the Whisky. I let my mind slowly drift off, thinking of every choice I’ve ever made and how I have found myself here today. I think about my future, or lack thereof. I can’t stay here, not anymore. People will begin to notice when I don’t wrinkle and my hair doesn’t thin. I will live my life on the run, now. Thanks to this curse. Thanks to Josh. My own flesh and blood, the–

The curse. 

My blood runs cold as Seraphine’s incantation swirls through my mind once more. Chills run the length of my body as I feel her power drift through me. I quickly swallow down the rest of the Whisky in the glass, slamming it down onto the table so hard it burns out the lantern. 

“I have to find her. She can fix this,” I mumble, my heart suddenly racing with the idea that she could bring her back. If she can curse me to eternal life, surely she can raise the dead. I push up from my chair and rush towards the bar attendant with a new fire in my chest. 

“I’m looking for someone,” I rush out. “She– she’s a witch. A voodoo lady. She does magic and curses,” I whisper loudly, looking around at the patrons beside me.

The attendant blows out a breath and shakes his head. “I don’t know anyone like that, and you’ll be hard pressed to find someone who does and will admit it.”

“There has to be someone!” I shout, slamming my fist on the bar top. “Please…”

“Listen,” he growls. “Old Mr. Friar may know who you speak of, but he doesn’t say much these days. Hardly speaks to me but to ask for his drink.” He nods to the older man sitting in the corner of the room. He’s dark complected and has a blue glassy eye. He stares off into the distance, his light white hair glowing in the lantern light. 

“He will know?” I ask.

“He may, he got into some trouble back in the day. He is your best bet around here.”

“Thank you sir,” I plead, walking over to the man I now know is Mr. Friar.

I pull out a chair in front of him, hoping he is welcoming to my intrusion of his night. 

“Hello sir, my name is Jacob,” I speak softly, doing my best to hide my nerves. 

He says nothing, continuing to stare out into the barroom.

“Sir, I was told you may know where to find someone. She– she’s a witch or somethin’. Does that black magic. I only know her as Seraphine.”

That seems to catch his attention, his head snapping over to look at me. “What business do you have with her?”

“I– It’s a long story sir, but I need her help. I need to find her. Where can I find her?” I beg. 

“Shouldn’t toy with magic son,” he grunts, pulling his mustached lips into his mouth.

“I need her help to reverse something, and I think only she can do it,” I continue, “Please, anything you can tell me sir, I have money, anything.”

“Keep your money, child,” he pauses, leaning over the table onto his elbows. “To find Seraphine you will need a boat. Head North up the Delta a few miles, and you’ll see a red shack on your right, has a blue roof and looks abandoned. You’ll find her there. You’ll know you’ve found the place when the air grows silent. No creature dead or living dares to be in her presence. You don’t tell her how you found her, now, y’hear?”

Relief overtakes me as I commit his directions to memory. “Thank you sir, thank you so much.”

I push up from the table and storm out the door in search of a boat, and thankfully I know just where to find one. 

—

I trudge along in the darkness, my mind still a bit fuzzy from the spirits, but I think my body would know this route even if I was unconscious, at this point. The half-hour ride in the carriage seems like nothing as I traverse on foot to the St. Lemire’s homestead. Finally, I see the dim lighting of the stables just up the dirt road, and I know that I have a long night ahead of me.

I quietly lurk in the shadows around the side of the stables, just in case any of the hands have decided to have a late night, after learning of the passing of Ms. St. Lemire. When I’m sure I’m alone, I allow the moonlight to guide me in the right direction, and I find the old boat leaned up against the outside wall. I unravel the thick rope that I had brought along with me, gently slipping it through the front handle and tying a tight few knots. 

Again I glance around, hearing nothing but the horses rustling in their stalls. My mind tells me to go in and check on the foal, but truly, I don’t have much time to worry about him. Plus, seeing the baby and the mare without the glowing presence of Y/N beside me might send me into a fit of sadness that I can’t deal with right now. 

I grip the rope and wrap it a few times around my hand before I gently yank it free from its position, letting it fall onto its belly and into the grass. I pray there are no snakes living beneath it as I take hold of the paddles that were propped against the wall. I give the rope some slack and begin to pull it toward the woods, ready to make my journey to the swamp water’s edge and find a place to hide my newly commandeered vessel. I do feel badly for stealing it, but I convince myself I am only “borrowing” it, and plan to return it back to its home in a timely manner. Truly, it looks like it has lived leaned against the side of the barns for some time now, anyway.

I drag the heavy boat through the thick woods, trying not to make too much of a ruckus as the rocks and sticks brush its underside. I go slowly, and blink often, letting my eyes adjust to the half-moonlight. I’m glad I have the paddles to double as walking sticks, feeling out the land before me as I walk. I wish that I had some inkling of how far Seraphine’s home is from the water’s edge, but I suppose I will just have to learn that on my own. 

I know that there is no way that I will be able to make this journey in the darkness, as I did not bring a lantern of any kind along with me. I will hide it in the thick weeds and return home for some sleep, and return at daybreak to make the trip to Seraphine’s.

As I walk, I look to the starred-sky, taking in its wonder and beauty and how I hope that Y/N is somewhere, in another universe or heaven itself, looking at the same sky, too. I miss her, damn do I miss her, already. I hardly even knew her. But still her presence alone was enough to ignite a fire within me that had long been burned out, smoldering bricks of ash that were just waiting to be lit again. And she’d done that. So quickly that it almost scared me. Running away with her sounded like the dumbest, most juvenile decision I could make as a grown man, but I didn’t care. My mind had been made up. If we only had a little more time… if only I had tried to warn her of the fever than I was positive that she had. 

It feels like hours that I walk, catching thorns and bristles in my arms as I sneak through the trees, a thief of my own doing as I pull the boat behind. Thankfully it isn’t too heavy, but the exertion is sobering me up, a bit. Finally I hear the croaks of the frogs and the wildlife that inhabit the swamp, and I know that I am close.

I find a clearing in the thick grasses that shows no signs of footprints or bait traps, and I pull the boat into the water, pushing it behind a thick clump of weeds to hide it as it floats freely. I tie the rope off to a nearby tree before I check my work, and make my way back home to sleep off the rest of that damned Whisky. Tomorrow I will find Seraphine. Tomorrow I will beg for her to bring my Y/N back to me. 

—

The sun is just starting to rise as I paddle towards the shack in the woods. For a long while, I followed the man's directions, and sure enough I spotted the old place without issue. Faded red with a blue roof, just as he said. The bushes and foliage are so overgrown I could have missed it had I not been searching for it. I figure that is probably why it's like that. She doesn’t want to be found. I briefly wonder how Joshua found her but cast that aside as I quietly paddle the boat up to the dilapidated dock. I tie the rope to the rotten wood post and carefully step out of the boat, tossing the paddles inside. 

Just as the man had said, I hear the sound of no wind, no crickets, no birds… everything is still as no living thing dares to be in her presence. 

My blood starts to pump a little harder as I make my way to her door, a thousand thoughts running through my mind. I know this won’t be easy and she may refuse me, but I am here and I won’t leave without my girl. If she can curse me, she can bring my Y/N back. 

I pound my fist against her wooden door, covered in algae and moss from her proximity to the water. It leaves a brown smudge on my fist that I quickly wipe onto my trousers. My heart is beating hard as I wait for her answer, telling myself I am not above barging in. This was a courtesy to her. 

Seconds later the door flies open, revealing to me the woman I remember. The woman that did this to me. 

“Why are you here, boy?” she snaps, cutting her dark eyes at me as if I am the one that did her wrong. 

 “You’re gonna bring her back,” I demand, pushing her door open and stepping inside. She seems surprised by my forwardness but I am not here for games.

“I’ll do no such thing,” she growls, turning away from me.

“You will. You’ve done this to me and you will bring her back. I know you can, and I’m not leaving here until you do.”

“Of who do you speak?” she asks, settling herself in a chair. 

“My girl. My Y/N,” I answer, “She was stolen away from me. I didn’t even get to say goodbye before she was pulled away from this world. You must do something. You must bring her back.”

“Why would I do anything for you? You show up here and demand me to help you?” she questions, raising a brow to me. 

“Because you have cursed me, against my will! I will not spend the next thousand years without telling her goodbye! I didn’t deserve any of this!” I shout, my emotions crawling up my throat. 

She shakes her head, “I cannot help you.”

I raise my voice in panic, “No! You have to! I know you can! I know there is something you can do to bring her back!”

She stares at me for a moment before releasing a breath, “Sit boy.”

I cross my arms across my chest, breathing heavily as I try to calm myself. She eyes me up and down, and it’s clear that she is placing her memory of me. 

“Tell me of this girl,” she says, gesturing to an empty chair.

I begrudgingly sit, resting my elbows on her table with a sigh. “Her name was Y/N. I was working for her father, building a boarding house. She came to the job site one afternoon and I was instantly taken with her. I found myself seeing her several times over the next several days and we planned to run away together. She was being forced into a marriage to a man who didn’t love her. A man that would never love her. Not like I could. We were to go away together. Start a new life. I planned to go to her after the job finished and I got my payout. I hadn’t seen her in several days, and as I went to the estate to check on her, I found she had passed of Scarlet Fever.”

“And why should I help you?” she questions again, nodding her head. Her eyes are illuminated by the few candles burning around the home. 

I furrow my brows at her, “You cursed me. Wrongfully. While I was nearly dead, unconscious and not comprehending what you were doing. I– I never deserved the curse you gave me. Though I have accepted my fate now, I believe it fair that you help me in return. You bring back Y/N and you never have to see me again.”

“Your friend,” she pauses, “He offered me a pretty penny for my work.”

I scoff, “Friend,” I mutter under my breath. 

“This girl, you love her?” she asks and I nod. 

“I can feel that your heart is in your wishes boy,” she pauses. “How do I know you will love her and no other? That you will not long for another?”

The words fall from my lips quicker than I can think of them, “I would chase her through time and space just to see her again. I would go to the ends of the Earth to feel her touch. I would do anything. Give anything. You’ve got to believe me.”

She looks at me for a few long minutes, the silence broken by the thumping of my heart. She puffs the smoke from a pipe that I hadn’t seen before, slowly releasing it from her lips as it floats into the air above her.

“I want to help you, Jacob. But it will come at a cost.”

“I will pay any price,” I blurt. 

“Not that kind of cost, my boy.”

My face twists up in confusion as I listen to her speak. “This is what I can offer you. Though I cannot bring her back to this Earthly plain, I may be able to take you to her.”

“I thought I– How could you do that if I cannot die?” I ask. 

“There is a way my boy, though it too has its consequences,” she starts. 

“I don’t understand.”

“We all exist in more than one place. In more than one dimension. There are hundreds of you, living in different places, at different times. Though our bodies are made from the dirt of the Earth, our souls cannot be destroyed, so they live alongside themselves, existing amongst each other in ways that you cannot even fathom. Though she may be gone from this here existence, she is alive and well in every other,” she explains. “What I can offer you, is a way to get to her.”

“How?” I ask, leaning closer to her in anticipation. 

“It would be a new spell. A new curse placed upon you,” she answers nonchalantly. 

“Do it,” I say, unwilling to let her finish. 

“You must know the implications, Jacob. You must know what you’re asking me for.”

I sit back in my chair letting her continue. 

“Though you will undoubtedly find her, it will not be the same girl you know. It will look like her, talk like her, act like her, but it will not be her. She will not know you, or have any memory of this life. You will be a stranger to her. But, humans alone cannot change fate, and if she is the woman you are destined to love, she will love you in every lifetime just as she did in this one. In every dimension you will be together in one way or another.”

“So it will be her, but not the girl I knew…” I confirm. 

“Preciscely, Jacob. You will have to start from the beginning with her, every time.”

“Every time? As in…”

“As in every time you find her,” she answers. 

“I don’t understand,” I groan. 

“You will only have a set amount of time with her. You will know when your time is running out. When it is time to move on.”

“Then I will start over,” I breathe, finally understanding. “How long will I have with her?”

“Every jump will be different, my child. You will know when time is running out. You will feel it, even see it. You will begin to anticipate it. All the signs will be there and eventually you will know before it happens.”

“So I will do this forever?” I ask, realizing what my future will hold. 

“No my boy, not forever. There will come a time when it is all over,” she pauses, puffing her pipe again, “When I will collect.”

I rub my hand over my mouth, taking in the weight of what will be the rest of my days. “All of this because my twin hates me. Because he refuses to hear the truth and accept it for what it is. I did everything I could, you must understand.” I’m near tears.

“What did you say, child?” she snaps.

“What?”

“Did you say your twin?” she asks, quickly standing from her chair. 

“Yes, I– Joshua is my identical twin brother. He brought me here that night and had you place the curse because–”

“Silence!” She screams, throwing a glass dish at the old wooden walls. It shatters into hundreds of tiny pieces as the air grows frigid around me. 

“This changes everything!” She shouts, “It’s worse than I believed!”

“What? Changes what?” I ask, standing from my chair. 

“He didn’t tell me you were twins!” She seethes. 

“Yes, yes, identical twins. He is older than me by a few minutes,” I explain, my hands starting to shake. 

“He only said you were brothers! Do you know what this means, child?!” she yells. 

I shake my head, beginning to breathe heavily as the candle flames blow out, the crow hanging in the cage above us cawing loudly at her outburst. 

“You share the same blood. Your blood is his blood. His blood is your blood,” she pauses. “He didn’t only curse you, child. He cursed himself as well. The curse was sealed with your blood. The blood that you share!”

“So he–”

“Yes. He suffers the same fate as you,” she answers, her fist clenching around her pipe. “Anything I do to you will also be imposed upon him. You two will share the same fate, always.”

A pit settles in my stomach, I know he doesn’t know what he has done and because of that I refuse to give him any of my pity. He shouldn’t have acted so brashly. It is clear he never thought of the consequences. We came into this world together, and we will exist in it together until the end of time, whether he knows it or not.

“It changes nothing,” I demand. “I must find her. I must be with her.”

“He too, will go where you go,” she warns. “Always.”

“Be it as it may.”

Seraphine limps toward me, forcefully blowing her smoke around my face, the smell of it taking me back to the night Joshua cursed me. “You must be sure, child. There is no going back...” Her eyes delve deeply into mine as she studies me, reading the aura that I must be projecting.

“Please, let me go to her,” I beg, my anger feeling like it has subsided into something more subservient, an emotion of willingness that I was devoid of when I crossed her threshold. The smell of her smoke is making me dizzy, my emotions of sadness crawling back into my bones though I try and fight them. 

“You must know you are no better than your brother for imposing this upon him, much in the same way he placed the curse upon you,” she says. 

“Please, don’t think it is my fault that my brother didn’t tell you. Tell me that this new curse will benefit me…” I plead with Seraphine, straightening my shoulders a bit as to show her I am unafraid of her.

“It will benefit you, boy, as long as fate decides to be on your side. I may collect the roots of the earth and I may stir them into elixirs to alter the state of your being, but it’s the magic itself that will decide your fate. It will read your soul more delicately than I could ever even begin to…” she drawls, her accent so heavy it almost escapes me. 

Suddenly she is close in front of my face again as I fall backward into the chair that Josh had tied me to when I was cursed the first time. Seraphine’s long hair and braids fall onto my lap as her face is within inches of mine, and I can smell the scent of charred incense and tobacco burned into her very being. 

“You may only jump a limited amount of times through time and space, the count is unbeknownst to me, and unbeknownst to you, but you will be offered clues as to when you are running out,” she sings, her neck contorting her head into jerked twists as she speaks to me from somewhere that is not her own mouth. “You mustn’t toy with the fabric of Mother Nature, you mustn't make yourself a known person of public interest, and most importantly, you mustn’t ever take the life of another human being,” she explains, the sound of her voice changing with each word. “Do you understand?” she asks. 

I nod against her, her hands now pressing down hard on my wrists as her dark eyes bore into mine. “Yes, yes I understand,” I agree, committing every word to memory. I quickly glance down to my wrist, finding Y/N’s ribbon sitting underneath the old, bony hand of Seraphine.

“Every move you make will be for her, every ounce of effort you desire to perform will be in her favor, and you must never lose sight of that, you must never long to find the love of someone that isn’t her, or else this will have all been for nothing,” she bellows, the wind flashing across our faces. I nod in understanding. 

Finally, Seraphine steps back, glaring at me. Her hand extends, and a small object forms in the palm of it. I can’t tell what it is until she takes it, opening it up. It’s a hand mirror, scratched and cracked on the surface, but still catching the light of reflection. 

“This, and this alone will be your amulet for advancement through dimensions. Mirrors, child, and seeing yourself in them will be your means of travel. Stand and see yourself as you are, while you recite,”

“Echoed glass, reveal the way, through the veil of night or day. Turn the key, unlock the door, let me walk through time once more.”

I repeat the incantation over and over with her as I memorize it, and somehow, I am able to correctly and precisely say each and every word as if I have memorized them like a prayer. The fabric of the words sewn into my mind like a perfectly cut quilt.

I take the hand mirror from her as she continues speaking, the wind carrying a strong aroma as it blows against the walls. 

“Wherever you land, find a tree with three mother trunks, and a deep hole at its center. There, inside, will be everything you will need to survive in the place and time you find yourself. You’re to blend in with the people there, and never question anything. Remember your sole mission is to find her, and show her time and time again that she is the reason for everything you do.”

“Will I age? After I jump, Seraphine?” I ask.

“No. That part of the curse is irreversible. Even as you travel through the continuum, you shall still stay this age, forever. As will your brother.” 

“Will he know? When he’s thrust into the next world with me, will he know what is happening?” I ask again.

Again, she shakes her head. “No. That’s his punishment for not disclosing every detail of our last arrangement. He will wake up in time with you, though he may be in a different place altogether.” 

So, as I search for my Y/N, I will also spend my time escaping my brother. Just as I am now, I suppose.

“What’s in this for you?” I ask her, suddenly aware of the fact that she gains nothing from this arrangement. “You’re helping me so willingly…”

Seraphine licks her dark lips, her eyes flashing a bright gold before falling into a dark black, again. “After so many jumps, I will lay claim to your soul.”

Claim? “So, I will die?”

“Your mortality is not up to me to decide. I didn’t create this malediction, I am only the vessel of it. Like I said before, the conjury is mine, the magic is not,” she explains. 

“Fine, fine, just do it. I do not care for the rest of my future if she is not with me in it, I’ve got nothing left to lose…” I plead as I feel an energy coursing through my body.

“Give me your hand, Jacob,” she orders, and I place my open palm into hers, the same one that Josh cut with his knife so as to secure his curse upon me the first time. “Do you have any markings, child? Birthmarks, scars…”

“Yes,” I reply, a euphoric feeling entering my bones as I breathe in the heavy herbal fumes surrounding me. “A burn scar, here,” I motion to my side and pull up my shirt. 

“Mm, very well,” she says, laying her hand overtop of it as words that I do not recognize escape her lips. “And something of hers… the one you wish to follow across time…” she asks. 

Immediately I pull the ribbon from around my wrist, reluctantly handing it off to her. She takes it with force, placing it on the table beside us. 

“Finally, something that never leaves you. A constant, something that is unchanging…” she holds her hand out again moving her fingers as if I’m going to hand her something. I wrack my brain, but her hand touches my chest. My silver necklace and charm. “Do you wear this always? Do you ever remove it?” she asks. 

“I never remove it,” I reply. 

“Good. It will be your talisman of continuance. Keep it always, never let it leave your person. It will be what keeps you tied to this curse, it will keep you within the realm of what we are bounding today. Without it, you cannot jump,” she explains, and I take note again. Just as her hand squeezes across my necklace, I feel a sharp blade cross the palm of my hand again as I become increasingly lightheaded. 

The sound of the wind whooshes by my head, the smell of spices and herbs fills my nose, and the feeling of my body being completely torn from my own control overtakes my entire being. I’m dizzy, feeling as though I am spinning out of control. 

“Look at the book, child…” I hear Seraphine’s voice, muffled and distorted as she begins reciting a different version of the same incantation she had taught me earlier. I feel blood oozing from my hand and a burning feeling comes across the scar on my side. Look at the book. Look at the book.

“Winds of time, both swift and slow, through the mists, let moments flow. Past and future, intertwine, guide his path through space and time.”

“Stars that mark the cosmic thread, guide him where the hours spread. Through the veil of ages cast, let him journey to the past.”

“Echoes of the ancient day, and whispers of the dawn’s first ray, open now the temporal gate, to reveal his destined fate.”

“By the moon’s eternal gleam, and the night’s unending dream, shift the currents, bend the line, let the ages now align. In the shadows, through the light, lead him through both day and night.”

“As I speak, so let it be, through the echoes, set him free.”

I blink my eyes as my mouth begins reciting along with her, and suddenly the mirror is in front of my face. My voice grows louder, and the wind grows more intense, but my body has never felt stronger than it does, right now. I’m watching my own reflection in the mirror as I feel as though I am going to disintegrate, waves of pleasure and pain switching back and forth with dizziness. I’m confused, but I’ve never been more sure. 

The last thing I hear is Seraphine’s voice mixed with my own before all I can see is black. I don’t breathe, and I don’t move. I don’t even think my heart beats. I’m suspended in between two moments that don’t even exist, one coinciding with the other as they float and dance along a timeline so vast and elusive that the Creator himself couldn’t even control them if he wanted to. But I, now the holder of a skill so rare, can.

I am face down on the floor, my body feeling as if I have just traveled a thousand miles. I peek my eyes open to see that I am in my own home, on the floor of my bedroom. I sit and shake my head, trying to get my wits as my memory floods with the happenings of the past hour. Did I jump?

The scar on my side is burning with a fire so intense that I have to grab it to make sure I’m not actually on fire, again. And when I glance beside me, I see a book. The book. I pick it up, holding the small brown leather bound pages in my hands as I notice something stuck between the cover and the first paper page. It’s Y/N’s ribbon. 

I pull the book open, seeing her ribbon holding the page, perfectly untouched. And there, written in fresh black ink, is a place of which I have seldom heard, and a time of which does not yet exist. I stand, walking to sit on the side of my bed as I look around the room, feeling no emotional attachment to it at all, nor a want to exist in this place for another second without her. My heart won’t beat unless for her, my breaths won’t give me life if not to live for her. I’m positive of my decision.

I pull the compact mirror from my pocket, taking a deep breath as I open it. I see my reflection, disheveled and exhausted, but a glisten in my eye that feels unfamiliar. My mouth begins saying the words again as I hold the mirror in one hand, and the book in the other.  

“Echoed glass, reveal the way, through the veil of night or day. Turn the key, unlock the door, let me walk through time once more.”

I feel my body begin to lurch and thrash, but nothing could ever make me feel more perfect than I do, right now. A flight through the clouds could never compare to this euphoria, an ecstasy I’ve never encountered weighing so heavily upon me as I feel my body ascending. The last thing I see before I slip back into nothingness, is the ink dancing across the page. 

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[dullgecko]

Scar hcs

Fabian has just so many because his parents were very insistent on the fact that scars were proof of living and proof of power so while he does get healed when he’s injured in training he does refuse to have them fully heal the scar only to the point where it won’t “cause him any trouble” (beyond the amount of ache he’s used to from scars) (he does not bring this up to other people because he is so afraid they won’t understand so he just lets them heal him fully)

Kristen on the other hand is the exact opposite way to the point where any scar left on her body is seen as a failing as a cleric on her part and she’s just gotten so good at it from being a clumsy child to the point where her body is disturbingly scarless

Adaine has a small collection of scars on her arms from clutching them so hard during panic attacks that her parents would never let her go to a healer for so by the time she meets the Bad Kids they’re mostly too old to be healed fully (they do get more faint but it takes a lot of energy from Kristen)

Gorgug has a bunch of tiny scars from helping his parents out in the workshop growing up whenever he’s bored in class he doodles around them (whenever he comes out from math class his forearms are just like a mass of flowers and sparkles and whatever he could come up with that day and it’s very pretty but he has to wash it off immediately because he had barbarian class the next period and Porter would be pissed)

Fig has a small collection of cigarette burns on her shoulders from her phase in freshman year, she thought because putting them out on herself didn’t really hurt her as much it wasn’t a problem plus it made her mom really worried (she stopped like a week after meeting the Bad Kids and she asked Kristen to “heal them to where they don’t actually hurt but they still look badass”)

Goblins have pretty sensitive skin so Riz’s scars tend to give him a lot more trouble than most people, especially in extreme temperatures Riz takes just so much fantasy ibuprofen during the winter that it’s a little bit concerning for his tiny goblin body (Fabian finds out sometime sophomore year and immediately makes him a little nest in his house for him so that it’s not as bad during cold holiday sleepovers but insists that it’s just blankets he’s not using until after spring break when he’s like yes it’s a nest yes he made it for his best friend so what)

🩰

If you wait too long to get healed scars tend to 'set' because the bodies own healing starts to take over. Horrific injuries in battle heal seamlessly because the cleric is getting to them within minutes of the injury happening so, barring a body part being outright destroyed they're able to be fixed up 100%. The deeper they are and the longer you leave them determine how well they can be repaired after the fact.

Fabian never used to bother getting things healed that weren't going to cause issues later. Shallow cuts would just get left alone to heal on their own, they were no big deal. The scar on his face got left long enough before Kristen healed it that, though the skin is smooth thanks to the amount of effort she expended trying to 'fix' it, its still fairly discoloured compared to the rest of his face. It was deep enough that if she left it for a few more hours it would start causing issues with the muscles on his face, luckily kristen is a good enough cleric that though she couldn't disappear it completly he has no underlying issues.

Kristen was subconsiously healing herself before anyone even realised she was a cleric. She's never had an injury linger long enough to cause a scar.

Adaine and Gorgug are in the same boat. The scars are old but can be smoothed out and faded because they're so shallow, but the discolouration is still there.

Fig has cuts and scars from the regular rough and tumble of being a kid. Nothing super gnarley because her mom is able to heal but she for sure had a lot of scraped knees growing up. The skin around the base of her horns is fairly scarred up as well, since she wouldn't let her mom heal her when they first broke through the skin.

Riz had a lot of superficial scars just as a result of getting bullied as a kid, not to mention ones he's accidentally given himself over the years because his claws are sharp and sometimes you'll accidentally cut yourself. His worst ones are on his hands and they're not superficial. Kristen and Fig weren't able to heal him straight away after the fight in the arcade and his hands got ripped to shreds in the palimpsest. Then they were arrested, separated, and he had to sit for hours in the back of the police van away from his friends without healing while they sorted everything out. By the time he got healed later the damage was already done. His hands shake and twitch now if he's tired or cold and his handwriting took forever to become legible again.

[sopaprimordialy]

Warriors HC collection - 2nd Edition

Click here for 1st Edition — The Warriors

THE HOUSE OF HURRICANE

They are drag queens. That's not even a head canon because the lyric book addresses them as "House of Hurricane" rather than just "The Hurricanes" like it does with the other gangs. Additionally, the actors playing them are all queer (Michaela Jaé [Yaya] is a trans woman, Billy Porter [Granger] is gay and Mykal Kilgore [Élan] identifies as queer).

This, combined with the music style, vogue, which originated within the queer black community, indicates which groups they're representing here.

In the movie, the gang in roller skates was called "The Punks", and I incorporated this fact to my HC that they (Yaya, Élan and Granger) used to be a trio called The Punks when they were teenagers and had to stick together to protect themselves on the streets. As they grew up and discovered more about themselves and the world they live in, The Punks eventually became a larger crew known as The House Of Hurricane.

They own a couple of gay bars, discos and pubs in upper Manhattan (here you'll have to forgive me for the lack of knowledge about locations in the US, if you have a more specific suggestion for where their turf could be, let me know!)

Since a drag family, among other things, has to do with drag style, I believe the main component of the Hurricanes' style is skating. They are known for their ice and roller skating performances, being able to move and dance freely wearing them (I'm jealous)

The three of them are drag mothers to a LOT of other queens. After the events of the album, their Hous will be long last and their legacy will be gigantic. Yes, by that I mean some future Hurricanes will participate on RuPaul's Drag Race.

Now, individual head canons ahead! Since they appear in only one song, a lot of this is just me hallucinations

ÉLAN

She's the leader, and she has always been the mother of the group. As I mentioned earlier, I believe these three know each other since they're teens, but Élan is a bit older.

Some time before the events of the album, one of the drags she mothered/recruited was killed by the police. She, and many others, quile literally went missing in the park at night. Because of this she tells the Warriors to "stand up for you and yours"; she regrets not being there for her.

She's a taurus (Idk why this felt important).

She's the kind of person who'll tell you her deepest, darkest traumas with a straight face while you're left there, horrified.

Speaking of trauma, she has a lot of it.

They all have. My poor mistreated children.

She cares deeply for all her girls, but especially Yaya. Sometimes Yaya complains, claiming that she doesn't need to be babied, but Élan's still protective of her.

YAYA

The baby of the group.

She's literally never out of drag, which made Élan and Granger start to realize maybe this wasn't the same artistical feeling they had for her.

She's trans. That's it.

And she's always gorgeous.

Also, she's autistic, because I CAN hc whatever I want. One of her favorite stims is imitating the little noises she hear, hence why she keeps singing "dong dong!" during Quiet Girls.

She's a gemini (bcs I started this signs thing and if I stop now it'd be weird).

Yaya was like, super nervous when she told the others about being trans, because crossdressing is one thing, being a trans woman is another.

Fortunately the other members of the gang are not assholes so she was well accepted, and Yaya became her actual name.

She's the most flexible of the group. As my dance teacher wisely said once: "Queers can vogue dance because they don't have bones".

GRANGER

First of all, I love her voice. Not a head canon but I needed to say that. Billy Porter I didn't know you before but holy shit I'm in love.

I feel like she's the strongest of the group, the one who can actually fight and tend to protect the others.

She was the one actually dragging the Warriors out of that train, and she is the one to confront them with the "how do we address our guests [...]" part.

At the end of Quiet Girls when she says "Stand clear of the closing doors!" I always imagined her high kicking the train door. Wearing skates. She cracks the glass.

And then death drops. That's it thanks for reading my incredible ideas for an animatic I'll never make hope it's good 🤙🏽

She's a scorpio (just to be clear here I don't necessarily know what I'm talking about)

I don't really know why but I associate her with Jennifer Lopez's El Anillo.

She taught the others how to skate, she learned as a kid.

[hauntedwizardmoment]

im so attached to "party animal turned boring adult" jace its so important to me. he literally used to do jaegerbombs and get passed around at orgies like a blunt and stay out until sunrise going from bar to bar to house party to bar to house party. and now on weekends he stays in and eats peanut butter out of the jar and watches fantasy SNL and falls asleep at 10:30pm

sidenote porter is really not normal about jace having a celebrity crush on fantasy colin jost. porter is like "he's not THAT funny. he's not even that hot either. i could beat him in a fight. what do you even see in him. is it his hair. his hair is stupid. i'm taller than him btw" and jace is like "if you dont shut up i'm never giving you head again"

[boyrobott]

even you turned from me in disgust

the thing about living in a haunted house is this: horror always hits a little too close to home.

Read on AO3.

Astro really doesn't get the appeal of horror movies.

The way he sees it, he's already got plenty of bad guys trying to kill him day in and day out without worrying about a psychopathic child trying to suck out his soul in the middle of the night, or whatever's going on with those creepy little twin girls in the haunted hotel, and anyway, what kind of person actually wants to be scared? What kind of person likes gory bloodbaths where everybody dies at the end? What kind of person likes watching serial killers with garden knives for fingers, or possessed children spinning their heads around three hundred sixty degrees and spider-walking down a stairway, or a guy with a butcher knife and a mask murdering everyone he meets in increasingly awful and terrifying ways? What kind of person actually likes that sort of stuff?

…Well, apparently, Cora and Zane do, because they're going to have a whole marathon of horror movies the weekend before Halloween — and, for some reason, they've decided they want him there, too.

This presents a problem, because he really doesn't get the appeal of horror movies, remember, and something tells him several hours of them isn't going to magically change his mind, so he should just say he can't make it, come up with some plausible excuse or other, and forget all about it. But his work around the city has kept him so busy lately that he hasn't had a whole lot of free time to hang out with his friends for a while now, and he really misses them.

So he says yes.

Even though he seriously does not need to worry about some psychopathic child trying to suck out his soul in the middle of the night.

Surprisingly enough, it isn't actually that bad — or, at least, it's not that bad at first, as they settle in on the thick shag carpet in Cora's bedroom, with all the lights turned off (because Cora swears horror movies are way better in the dark), and the curtains pulled shut, and the TV screen glowing bright in the blackness, with a plastic bowl of buttery popcorn and enough fun-sized candy bars and cold sodas to put them all in sugar comas until New Year's.

…Although, to be honest, the first movie is a lot more depressing than he expected from something that's supposed to be scary.

"Why are they all so mean to Carrie?" he asks, more than once, with ever-increasing levels of distress, as the story unfolds. "I mean, she didn't even do anything wrong!"

Cora laughs, which immediately makes the whole bleak experience worth it, and tosses a handful of popcorn into her mouth. "I think maybe it's because she was really ugly in the book, or something? But that doesn't hold up here, 'cause, I mean, the actress is super-hot, obviously, so… yeah, I don't know. That TJ Porter doofus is always picking on you for no reason, isn't he? Some kids are just jerks, I guess."

Actually, Astro is pretty sure that TJ Porter is always picking on him because he's a robot, considering that's the primary focus of all his insults, but he's not about to bring that up. Last time he tried, Zane laughed and said you know he's just doing that 'cause he's jealous, right? and laughed even harder at the absolutely gobsmacked look on Astro's face as he tried to figure out why on earth anybody would ever be jealous of him.

"Oh, they're going to vote Carrie for prom queen?" he sits up a little straighter, before he remembers the teenagers on the screen pelted a sobbing girl with tampons for ten straight minutes, and laughed about it. "Wait, wait, hang on, why are they voting her in for prom queen, though? Are they trying to make up for what they did earlier, like Sue? That'd be a nice ending, I guess."

Zane sighs around a mouthful of Sour Patch Kids, and leans over to give him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "Oh, you sweet summer child."

Once they get through Carrie, they go through three more films — he finds out exactly what's up with those creepy little girls in the haunted hotel, for a start, which is something he could have happily lived the rest of his life not knowing, and there's another creepy little girl right after that ("I feel like maybe we need to keep a closer eye on Widget after all this," Astro says) except she turns out to not be a little girl at all, because she's secretly a grown-up adult woman who's just pretending to be a little girl, which is crazy, and there's a really old black-and-white movie, too, about a guy who dresses up like his late mother to stab people to death in his murder motel.

"That's it," Astro declares, as the credits roll across the screen. "I'm never showering again."

"Airtight solution, SuperBoy," Cora nods sagely, before she turns her attention back to the TV. "Let's do Frankenstein next."

Zane frowns. "That's the one where the crazy scientist brings a guy back from the dead, right?"

"Sort of?" Cora shrugs, hitting a button on the remote to pull up the film in question. "He doesn't really bring a guy back from the dead, though. He just… makes a new guy out of dead people, basically."

Astro can't hold back a grimace. "Great. Thanks so much for that imagery, you guys."

Zane shoves him. "Don't wimp out on us, man. You literally talked down a bomber, like, two weeks ago. This is nothing."

"The bomber wasn't a zombie!"

Everybody quiets down when the movie begins, and for a little while, it's okay — the camera sweeps over a wintry landscape ("I thought this was supposed to be a Halloween flick," Zane mutters when he sees the snow, but Cora shuts him up by tossing a fistful of popcorn at him) and zooms in dramatically on a sad-looking man on a ship, staring wistfully out over an ice-choked ocean — but after a couple minutes, it gets… kind of uncomfortable. It's not really that scary, or anything, not like those other ones they just watched, and it's not a bad movie, either, but it's—it's just—there's just this scene, where the monster comes to life in the scientist's lab, and—

"I had worked hard for nearly two years," the narration says, calm and composed in stark contrast to the man on the screen, who's crying out in horror, shaking his head frantically, backing away from the table as his newborn creature rises up, "for the sole purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body. For this, I had deprived myself of rest and health. I had desired it with an ardor that far exceeded moderation. But now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and a breathless horror and disgust filled my heart. Oh! My hideous progeny! How I rue the moment you drew your first breath! How could anyone look upon you without revulsion? How could I ever have imagined my endeavor would produce anything of worth?"

Astro's stomach rolls over like he's going to throw up. He doesn't really know why, but there's something about this movie, or maybe just the man on the screen, that horrifies him more than any villain or criminal out on the streets ever could. My hideous progeny, he says. (a terrible mistake. just a machine. a failed experiment. a copy.) How could anyone look upon you without revulsion? he says. (I can't bear to see his face again.) How could I ever have imagined my endeavor would produce anything of worth? he says. (how did I think this could work?)

Astro blinks, shaking his head to try and shake off the sick feeling suddenly churning in his gut, and forces himself to refocus on the TV instead. It's only been a couple of hours since they started, after all, and he doesn't want to ruin his friends' night just because he doesn't like what they're watching. He got through all those other, much scarier, films just fine, so he's sure he can get through this one, too.

Except it just—it just keeps getting worse and worse and worse.

The monster has stitches all over his face from where Frankenstein sewed him together, and bolts coming out of his neck to hold his head on his shoulders. He looks different from everyone else — so different it scares them, so different it terrifies them, so different they scream at the sight of him, and send him away without ever giving him a chance, so different he can't fit in with anyone else no matter how hard he tries.

The monster is the only creature of his kind in the whole world.

The monster is all alone.

There is no one on earth like the monster. There is no one on earth who cares about the monster. Not even the man who made him.

Astro can't remember how to breathe, and his vision does this weird thing where it goes black at the edges like he's going to pass out, and it feels like maybe his heart is pounding faster than it usually does, which is a crazy thing for him to feel, because he doesn't even have a physical heart in the first place, and then he wonders if the monster has a physical heart and then he wonders if the monster has a name, or if that's another part of being human Frankenstein wouldn't let him have, and I can't bear to see his face again and how did I think this could work and I don't want you anymore—

He can't remember how to breathe. His hands are shaking, and his arms and legs are going numb, like all the blood is rushing from his limbs to flood into his chest instead, which is kind of crazy because he doesn't actually have any blood, and he wonders if the monster has blood and he wonders if the monster has bones and he wonders if any of that really matters when the monster has feelings, and that should be enough, and why isn't that enough? why isn't that enough for Frankenstein? why won't he just treat his creation like a person?

Zane says something, then, and Cora says something back, and they both laugh, but it's faint and faraway, like he's on the other side of the ocean, or maybe like he's in the ocean, drowning under the dark water. Cora shifts a little closer to him, her shoulder bumping lightly against his, and he can't remember how to breathe, and his hands are shaking and his arms and legs are going numb and he thinks, suddenly, about how Cora and Zane looked at him when they found out he was a robot — the horror and disgust in their eyes — and he realizes, with an awful jolt in the pit of his stomach, that the people in the cottage looked at the monster in the exact same way.

He thinks about how his dad looked at him, when he said you're not my son and I don't want you anymore, and he realizes, with a bigger and more awful jolt, that Frankenstein looked at his monster in the exact same way, hatred and revulsion and contempt written plainly in every line of his face, my hideous progeny a terrible mistake just a machine a failed experiment a copy not my son a robot how could anyone look upon you without revulsion I can't bear to see his face again how could I ever have imagined my endeavor would produce anything of worth how did I think this could work I don't want you anymore I don't want you anymore I don't want you anymore I don't want you I don't want you I don't want you I don't want you—

There's a ringing in his ears, a constant screeching wail, like tinnitus turned up to an eleven, and a terrible, crushing pressure in his chest that makes him wonder if maybe his heart is going to explode — except then he remembers he doesn't even have a heart, anyway, and maybe that's why it was so easy for Frankenstein to throw the monster away, because he knew the monster didn't have a heart, knew it wasn't human, and he can feel an awful pressure behind his eyes now, too, hot and heavy like a really bad headache. He hasn't felt this small since he lay down on a lab table and let his father kill him.

He wonders why Frankenstein couldn't just love the monster.

He wonders why he had to die just to get his dad to love him.

The pressure behind his eyes is getting worse, making the whole room look blurry and out of focus like a bad photograph, and it's stinging, and it's burning, and Astro—

—Astro starts to cry, so hard it actually kind of hurts, tears spilling down his cheeks and dripping off his chin and soaking into Cora's soft shag carpet. Loud, ugly sobs rip out of his throat before he can catch them, making his shoulders shake and shudder. Cora and Zane pause the movie and turn to stare at him, openmouthed and wide-eyed and wondering, and he thinks about how they looked at him when they found out he was a robot, and how the people in the cottage looked at the monster in the exact same way, and it just makes him cry even harder.

"A-Astro?" Cora says, finally, one hand hovering awkwardly above his shoulder like she can't decide whether she wants to touch him or not. "What's—What's wrong? What are you—?"

Astro tries to say I'm sorry, but there are so many things he's sorry for that it all kind of gets lost somewhere between his mind and his mouth, so he just sits there on Cora's carpet, sobbing and sniffling and scrubbing furiously at his eyes with the backs of his trembling hands to try and stem the endless flood of tears, and wondering if the monster can cry, or if that's another part of being human that Frankenstein wouldn't let him have. His arms and legs are going numb and his chest is aching and it feels like his heart is collapsing inside of him, a dying star buckling and bending under the weight of its own gravity and—

"W-Why didn't he want me?" he chokes out, his voice painfully small, and he wonders how many times the monster must've asked himself that same question, wonders if there was anything that the monster could have possibly done to make Frankenstein love him, and then he wonders how many times the monster must have wondered that, too. "Why didn't he want me? Why did he throw me away? Why did he make me just to throw me away? What's wrong with me?"

He wonders how many times the monster must've asked himself that same question, and he wonders how many times the monster must have lain awake at night in his dark and dirty hovel and waited waited waited for someone to love him, wonders how many times the monster must have called himself all the same horrible things his creator did, demon beast fiend villain hideous progeny a terrible mistake just a machine a failed experiment a copy not my son not my son not my son. He wonders if the monster's face is what his father sees whenever he looks at him — the waxy yellow-green corpse-skin stretched taut over rotted bones, the dull staring eyes, the terrifying towering stature, the shuffling limping gait, the bolts sticking out the sides of the neck, the lines of black X-shaped stitches threaded across the withered cheeks, the hunched slope of the deformed shoulders, the inherent wrongness of the whole shape — and then he wonders if maybe that's why his father said I can't bear to see his face again.

He wonders why his father had to make him like this.

He wonders why his father had to make him so different from everybody else.

He wonders why his father had to make him so difficult to love.

And then he wonders how many times the monster must have asked himself that same question, too.

"Tenma did that?" Cora says, at last, her blue eyes narrowed and her dark brow pulled down low in a scowl. "He did that to you?"

There's a cold fury in her tone, in her clenched teeth, in the tensed line of her jaw, and for a minute, Astro thinks it must be meant for him, that she must be mad at him — for ruining the movie, for crying all over her carpet, for making everything all about him, for whining about something that really isn't such a big deal after all, (and he knows that, he does, he knows he has no good reason to be acting like such a baby over this when his dad had it so much worse, because his dad lost his only son while he just got his feelings hurt, and he knows one of those things is not like the other, he knows that, and)—

—and then his brain finally catches up, and he realizes what she's actually saying, what she's actually mad about, and that's—that's almost worse, actually, because his dad doesn't deserve that. It's not like it's his fault that Astro couldn't be the son he wanted. It's not like it's his fault that Astro couldn't be a better Tobi. It's not like it's his fault Astro just isn't somebody other people can love without earning it first.

"H-He was going through a hard time when he made me," he quickly explains, so Cora and Zane won't get the wrong idea, so they know the truth, so they understand he's just overreacting like he always does. He has to make sure they understand that. He has to make sure they understand that his dad is a good person. He has to make sure they understand that his dad really was doing his best, and it's not his fault Astro couldn't be the son he wanted, not his fault Astro couldn't be a better Tobi, not his fault Astro just isn't somebody other people can love without earning it first, and if there's anyone who should take the blame in this whole messed-up situation, it's him, isn't it? It's his own fault he got thrown away like that, isn't it? Whose else could it be? "I—I mean, it was a really, really hard time for him. He was dealing with so much, and I was—I was just making it worse, I just kept making it worse, and he just—he just needed to get away from me for a while. You guys get that, right?"

The silence that comes after that is so heavy he thinks it's going to crush him. It's so heavy it's all he can hear. It's so heavy it presses in on him from all sides, so heavy he's scared to look at his friends just in case they're looking at him like those people in the cottage looked at the monster, so heavy he wonders if maybe he shouldn't have said that, so heavy he wonders if maybe he just made the kind of mistake he can't come back from, the kind of mistake that means their friendship is over, and they're going to send him away now like the people in the cottage sent the monster away—

"Jesus, Astro," Zane says, finally, breathless like somebody just came along and punched him in the stomach. "Jesus Christ, dude, that's… that's a lot. I-I don't even know where to start, man."

"Great, because I do," Cora jumps in all of a sudden, her voice knife-sharp and stone-hard. "Astro, it doesn't matter what your dad was going through when he made you. That's not an excuse. No, it is not," she adds, sharply, when he instinctively opens his mouth to argue with her. "And whatever made him decide to do that to you, it wasn't about you. It wasn't because you did anything wrong."

"But it was about me," Astro says, immediately — and so quiet, so serious, so honest, it takes him a second to realize he actually said it out loud instead of just thinking it. He's never needed to say it out loud before. Everyone else has always known it's true. "It was about me. If I had been better, he wouldn't have had to do that to me. If I had been better, he would've loved me right from the start."

"Is that," Cora asks, low and dangerous and so, so furious it seems to reverberate around the whole room, "what he told you?"

A tiny spark of—of something, too small for him to call anger but too big, and too close to fire, for him to call it anything else, flickers to sudden, diamond-bright life in his chest, and for the first time in their entire friendship, Astro meets her glare with one of his own, jaw clenching tight. "No, because he didn't have to tell me. It wasn't exactly rocket science! It only took a day for him to get sick of me! That kind of says something about a person, Cora, don't you think?"

There's a second of ringing silence right after he finally shuts his mouth, and he realizes he's standing up on his feet, glaring down at her — and she was scowling right back at him only a minute before, red in the face and madder than he'd ever seen her, but somewhere between one blink and the next, all her anger evaporated, and now she's gaping silently up at him with wide blue eyes, like he's just slapped her, or spit on her.

Astro has never raised his voice at her before. The guilt of it breaks over him like a wave of cold water, washing away the last, lingering spark of temper left in him. He wants to apologize, to say he didn't mean it, to promise he won't do it again, but he hasn't even opened his mouth before Cora pushes herself to her feet, too — though she doesn't look like she's gearing up for a fight, the way she did just a minute ago.

"No," she says, firmly. "It doesn't."

He's sure there must be some kind of context for that statement, but for the life of him, he can't figure out what it is. "W-What?"

"All that stuff your dad did to you," Cora says, her voice so strong and steady and sure he just can't help but listen to her. "You said it says something about a person, but it doesn't. It doesn't say anything about you. The things other people do to you, or say to you… that's on them, Astro. It doesn't matter who they are, or what they're going through, or if you think you could have done different, or been better, or whatever. It's still on them. They still decided to do what they did. You get that, don't you?"

Of course he gets that. Of course he knows people make their own choices, and they're responsible for their own actions, but… but his dad was going through a lot. And he was just making it worse. And his dad did need to get away from him for a little while. And it is hard for other people to be around him. And it hurt, obviously, of course it did, and it still hurts sometimes, when he lets himself think about it too long — like pressing on a bruise, or picking at a scab — but that doesn't make his dad a bad person, or a bad parent, the way Cora and Zane seem to think it does.

Besides, it's not like his dad was the only one who ever did anything like that, is it? Hamegg threw him away, too, once he found out he was a robot, Cora and Zane looked at him in the exact same way the people in the cottage looked at the monster, and sent him away like the people in the cottage sent the monster away, President Stone hunted him down like he was a criminal — and none of that makes them bad people. Hamegg was awful to his poor robots, of course, and there's no excuse for that, for the way he treated ZOG and the rest, but he still had some good in him, too, didn't he? He was always so kind to the other children in the orphanage, even if Astro wasn't one of them, and that… that says something about Astro, doesn't it? That says something about Astro, doesn't it, that he's the only kid Hamegg wasn't nice to? And Cora and Zane are the best friends he's ever had, and some of the best people he's ever met, so they're obviously not bad, either. And while President Stone wasn't exactly what he would call a good man, he commissioned the Peacekeeper specifically to keep the city safe from external threats. He might have been self-serving and power-hungry, and Astro isn't trying to say he wasn't, but he was never outright evil either, and he certainly wasn't the sort of person who'd attack an entire city full of innocent people over one single robot, not until Astro came along, and that says something about Astro, doesn't it? It says something about Astro, doesn't it, that his existence drove President Stone to the lengths it did?

It says something about Astro, doesn't it, that everyone he met in that first week of his life wanted to hurt him sooner or later?

"B-But," he says, trying his best to blink away another blinding tide of tears, but it doesn't work. "But what about Hamegg? And Stone? I—I mean… Stone went crazy just because I existed, a-and Hamegg was—"

Cora lets out a little sigh, soft and sad, and then, before he can say anything else, she reaches out and pulls him into a tight hug. "No, Astro, that wasn't your fault. None of that was your fault. I don't know why anyone would choose to do the kinds of things they did to you, because it was really, really messed up, and you deserve so much better, but I do know it wasn't your fault. You can't make somebody love you or not love you. You can't make somebody treat you one way or another. That's not up to you. They made their own decisions, and there isn't anything you could have done to change their minds."

"Yeah, man," Zane gets up from the floor, too, brushing a few stray popcorn kernels off the front of his sweatshirt, and comes over to join them. "There's no way you could have made that president guy any more whacked than he already was, trust me. And your dad…" he goes quiet for a second, shaking his head. "No offense, dude, but thinking you did something wrong is a pretty crazy to look at it. I mean, you don't think I made my parents ditch me, do you?"

"N-No," Astro says at once, even though he's pretty sure it's a joke. "Of course not. You were just a baby."

"Yeah," Zane says, very softly, putting a hand on Astro's shoulder. "So were you."

Oh.

Astro has never thought about it like that before.

Of course he knows that, technically, he was only a day old when his dad threw him away and President Stone tried to kill him, and seven days old when Hamegg put him in that arena. Of course he knows that, technically, he did fit the definition of baby back then, if only in the loosest sense of the term: still learning everything that other people already knew, brand-new to the world and clueless about all of it, stumbling blindly through his first steps and first breaths, and behaving purely on instinct instead of experience, because instinct was the only thing he knew. Of course he knows that. Of course he knows all of that.

But, for the first time in his life, he feels the faintest touch of sympathy for the small, young, scared-to-death, day-old boy he used to be. For the first time in his life, he tries to imagine hurting somebody as small and young as he was, in the ways his dad and Hamegg and Stone hurt him, and it makes him feel sick enough to throw up — and his dad and Hamegg and Stone were all even older then than he is right now. He can't imagine being a full-grown adult, and hurting somebody smaller than him like that. He can't imagine being a full-grown adult, and saying the kinds of things to a kid that his dad said to him.

"Oh," Astro says, out loud this time, because he's too dazed to come up with anything else — which is probably a good thing, because his throat pulls too tight to talk after that, anyway, and his eyes fill up with a fresh swell of stinging tears, and the tears spill over and pour down his cheeks.

Cora gently tugs him back into her arms again, and Zane keeps one hand on his shoulder while he cries, firm and warm and steady, and he doesn't know how long he stands there, clinging onto them like a lifeline as seven months of sadness floods out of him, but he knows they don't move an inch until he does, pulling away to scrub at his face and dry his still-damp eyes on his sleeve. His hands are still trembling, but not as bad as before, and his arms and legs aren't numb anymore, either. And he feels… lighter, almost. Like he's been carrying something very heavy for a very long time, and he's only just now put it down.

"I'm sorry," he says, finally — and a little shakily, too, but far calmer than he felt even ten minutes ago. "I—I'm really, really sorry about that. I didn't mean to r-ruin the movie. I just—"

"Astro," Cora cuts him off, so dead serious he immediately quiets down to hear her out. "If you seriously try and apologize right now, I'm actually going to hit you."

He's pretty sure that's an empty threat, but he doesn't particularly want to take his chances, either. He's seen what she can do with a wrench, after all.

"Also, you didn't ruin the movie," Zane jumps in, before the silence can settle over them too heavily, as he picks up the remote off the floor and clicks the television off with a pop. "That movie ruined itself. Man, that was like watching paint dry. Total snooze-fest. Let's do something fun instead." He pauses for a second. "You guys want to see how many jack-o-lanterns we can carve before your parents get home? Grace and I are still trying to break the world record, you know."

Astro knows exactly what Zane is trying to do — distract him from his feelings and steer him in an entirely different direction, pull him out of his own head and keep him out of his own head, keep him away from the hundred thousand conflicting thoughts and emotions and doubts still swirling around inside him like the world's worst tornado — but he plays along, anyway, because he doesn't want his friends to worry about him. And besides, a distraction sounds really, really nice right now. "What even is the world record, anyway?"

"Thirty thousand," Cora says, wearily, like she's heard the answer to this question way too many times before.

"And how many have you carved this year?"

Zane has to think about it for a minute. "…Twenty-two."

A small, startled laugh tumbles from Astro's mouth, a surprise even to him, and he pretends not to notice the quick, hopeful glance Cora and Zane exchange when he does. "Okay, yeah," he says. "Let's do it."

"Yes!" Zane punches the air over his head in a victorious fist-pump. "Come on, guys! Only twenty-nine thousand, nine hundred, and seventy-eight left to go!"

Cora groans.

[whoblewboobear]

We gotta put Jace and Porter in a Netflix dating reality show/Love Island/bachelor au. They’d either be the couple that wins at the end just to breakup or arguably the strongest couple by the end that doesn’t win but stays together after the show.

They’re so messy and toxic at the reunion just fighting with all the other contestants and maybe the host too if they try to bring up Porter coupling up with someone else and leaving Jace in danger of going home one week.

If it’s love island it’s 100% bc of Casa Amour. Jace flirted a bit and played the game but ultimately doesn’t choose to couple up with with someone new. The producers showed the everyone back at the house footage of what happened in the other villa and Porter fucking sees red watching Jace flirt with all the new casa amour people. When the new singles arrive to the villa Porter wastes no time to chat a cute guy up and take him back to the hideaway.

When the other half of the house gets back and Jace sees Porter looking VERY cozy with someone else and he’s distraught. Him and Porter have a screaming match by the bar that night. Viewers are eating this shit UP. Sandra-Lynn and Halo have to pull Jace away from Porter before he beats the shit out of him. Porter is just being so cocky and rude and smirking at Jace like “let him hit me~” Jace pulls a reality tv classic and spits in Porter’s face. Porter who is reveling in the fucking mess of it all. That man is a perfect reality tv villain. A true chaos agent the villa.

Both of their talking heads in the confessional are so insane at this point too. Jace is trying to pretend he doesn’t care in between clips of him crying and screaming and being comforted by half the house lmao, meanwhile Porter is doubling down and saying if Jace wasn’t so quick to shove his tongue people’s throats he wouldn’t have coupled up with *checks notes* hetero Jessica? He barely remembers this poor woman’s name it’s awful. He says at the next re-coupling he’s getting back with Jace but he likes to watch him squirm a little bit.

Jace HATES that he has to depend on Porter to choose him again, so he puts in the work and starts chatting up Zara and they hit. It. Off. Jace is probably calm for the first time in weeks since he got there. It’s days before the recoupling Zara tells Jace that she likes this but wants to stick with Lucilla. She does mention that Porter is planning on recoupling with him though. That she heard it from Gorthalax. Jace does hate how happy it makes him but he wants to play hard to get and see if Porter atleast comes to talk to him at some point. And he does!

Porter ends up winning some challenge. He can choose to go on 3 dates with anyone of his choosing. When he gets the text he reads it for the group but immediately beelines to catch a producer to ask if it has to be a different person for each date or if he can go on all of them with one person. The producers are seeing the ratings and the dollars skyrocketing from this stunt so they allow it.

When Jace gets summoned for the first date he’s a little put out because you always save the person you actually wanna couple up with for last, right? Porter is gonna tell him he’s not picking him. WRONG.

Porter is genuinely being so romantic and sweet and it’s probably the best day they’ve shared in the villa. But by the time the first date would be wrapping up, Jace places a hand on Porter’s arm and says it’s okay if he doesn’t choose him. Porter raises an eyebrow and asks him why he’d think that. Jace asks who his next two dates are with and when Porter responds with “you.” Jace tears up and kisses him.

They definitely don’t win the show but they do end up very happy together post-show.

[cometomecosette]

Once again, I'm feeling sad about Jean Valjean's flaws as a parent. I forgive him, but Cosette deserves better.

Of course, the way most adaptations present it, even the musical to an extent – "He's a controlling father who isolates Cosette from the world and needs to let her go" – is a vast oversimplification. The novel's Valjean always tries to make Cosette happy, is never harsh or overtly controlling, and tries to give her as full, free, and normal a life as his status as an ex-convict allows. But recent posts in Les Mis Letters by @secretmellowblog and others have reminded me of the subtler, more insidious ways that he arguably becomes her "jailer” (as SparkNotes says), keeps her "chained to his side” (as a recent post says), and prevents her from living her life to the fullest.

Of course, the most glaring problem is his jealousy of Marius and his efforts to separate Cosette from him, which causes Cosette so much pain that she doesn't even feel free to express. If it were a matter of protecting Cosette from a possible predator or cad, it would be more sympathetic, but instead of thinking of the danger this young stalker might pose to her, he makes it all about himself and his fear of losing her. In his private thoughts, he seems to view complete, exclusive possession of Cosette’s love and attention as a reward that he deserves for all his past suffering. He left the convent earlier because he knew it would be wrong to deny freedom to Cosette by keeping her there and making her become a nun, but then when the possibility of her falling in love and leaving him arises, he deeply regrets having left.

Meanwhile, there are other problems too that aren't Marius-related. Valjean's chronic guilt and lack of self-care unintentionally force Cosette to be his caregiver, in a way that's not natural for a child to be to a parent. He keeps so many secrets from her and avoids important conversations, ostensibly to protect her from pain, but probably more to avoid pain himself. And Cosette's docile, conflict-avoidant, sadness-swallowing tendencies mirror Valjean's own, so she's arguably learned unhealthy habits from him. Although it's debatable whether she behaves that way just because she sees her father do it, or because she has a traumatic past too, even though she doesn’t consciously remember the Thénardiers.

Even Valjean’s gesture of giving Cosette the main house at Rue Plumet with all its luxuries while he lives in the porter's cottage, letting her be the active mistress of the house who does all the money management... While on the surface it's a loving, generous, empowering gesture (as well as practical for him, since it lets him keep a lower profile), I suppose it can also be seen as giving her too much responsibility at too young an age. In a way, he doesn't want her to grow up, and does what he can to prevent it; but at the same time, he unintentionally makes her grow up too fast and be a (platonic) wife, mother, and daughter to him all in one.

Cosette deserves so much better than that.

I can’t even take my usual approach to plot points in the novel that I don’t like – preferring the musical – because I don’t think the musical is any better. Yes, it omits Valjean’s jealousy of Marius and his attempt to separate Cosette from him, and yes, it omits details like Valjean refusing to see a doctor for his wound and Cosette having to nurse him alone. But the song “In My Life” emphasizes Cosette’s loneliness and yearning for answers, which Hugo’s Cosette doesn’t feel until she’s separated from Marius, and it has Valjean explicitly refusing to tell her about the past, when in the novel she hardly ever asks, and when she does, he just sadly smiles and says nothing at all. The 2012 film drives home the point even further with its repeated symbolic imagery of Valjean closing windows and doors, and with Cosette and Marius singing "A Heart Full of Love" separated by the garden gate's prison-like bars.

My rational mind knows that all these problems are realistic and necessary for the plot. There's no such thing as a perfect parent. Whether intentionally or not, all parents hurt their children. Besides, it's important for a protagonist to have flaws. All of this is what saves Valjean from being an insipid saint in his old age. If he weren't possessive of Cosette and didn't block her romance with Marius at first, then his later heroic rescue of Marius for Cosette’s sake wouldn't be meaningful; there would be nothing redemptive about it.

My rational mind also knows that it's wrong to put all the blame on Valjean for his mistakes. I even think some of the recent Tumblr posts about this subject have been too hard on him. After all, he has mental health problems that aren't his own fault. Also, his possessiveness isn't just a matter of not wanting to share Cosette; he must know all along that he can't possibly join another family as an in-law, so if Cosette marries, it will mean losing her completely. None of these problems would exist if he weren't an ex-convict, so ultimately, the unjust justice system is to blame.

Besides, Cosette is happy in their secluded life until Marius comes along. We can talk from an outside perspective about how unhealthy and what a gilded cage it is from the beginning, but Cosette doesn't agree: until she's separated from Marius, she's content. Why should Valjean assume she can't be happy again the way she was before?

But emotionally, it's not so easy to accept. While of course protagonists need flaws, some flaws are easier to forgive than others. For me, the harder-to-forgive flaws include any case of a parent emotionally hurting his child, or a male character emotionally hurting a female character who loves him, or any character whose love becomes self-absorbed and stifling to the loved one. Even if it's all done unwittingly and with good intentions, and even if the character redeems themself through selfless deeds later: my heart says they should have done better from the start. My heart says it's disgraceful that a man whose trauma revolves around imprisonment should become a "jailer" in any sense to his daughter. And it’s devastating that the bond Valjean and Cosette formed when she was a little girl, which was so beautiful, pure, and sweet, should become complicated, messy, and oppressive to Cosette in any way, no matter how much they still love each other through it all.

Sometimes, irrationally, I find myself thinking that maybe Valjean should have just left Cosette at the convent with a decent sum of money instead of adopting her; that maybe she would have been better off as a rich orphan. I know that's a ridiculous thought, but occasionally it crosses my mind.

I suppose the ideal Jean Valjean in my heart is neither the novel's Valjean, nor the musical's, nor any other adaptation's that I know. I'm not entirely sure how he would be different from those Valjeans, or how he would be a better father while keeping the plot intact and not becoming a dull saint. But somehow or other, he would still make mistakes where Cosette is concerned, yet less heartbreaking mistakes than in canon. For example, his concerns about Marius might be more focused on protecting Cosette from a potentially dangerous stalker than on his own self-centered feelings of not wanting to lose her. Maybe that would dilute Hugo's message, but this is my personal preferred version of the story, not his. I'm not saying I want to remove all the plot-essential conflict and turn Les Misérables into Les Happy Times, but is it wrong to see that Cosette deserves better and want to rewrite the story just enough to give her what she deserves?

[piffany666]

Ok just one more punk progeny wont hurt ~

Chapter 9: differences

(Ftm Bright eyes - uses he/him pronouns)

(Lovely demi girl - uses they/she pronouns)

Tw: underage drinking

Lovely gave a hesitant knock on Bright's door.

A few seconds later Lovely was met with a very agitated looking Bright eyes.

"What is it?....you brought wine...?"

Bright's tone was initially very defensive, until his gase made its way down to the noticeably large and decadent bottle in Lovely's hands.

"Yeah I found it on one of the shelves in the hallway, its not doing any good being up there so i thought why not use it to celebrate you becoming part of the solair clan? I know you're technically not old enough to drink but hey! I think spending eternity being 19 is way too harsh of a punishment to do sober, so what do ya say?"

Bright eyes looked stunned, but nonetheless, he answered.

"I say mind the empty boxes and get your ass and that bottle in here!"

20 minutes later:

Let it never be said that Bright and Lovely weren't lightweights.

They were both sitting on the bed, pouring wine that was older than both of them combined into mugs Bright had brought up to his new room.

The blush on Bright's face was a shade of crimson against his skin. Lovely's was a deep pink.

They giggled between slurred words as they housed down the wine.

"Ok ok so- im sorry i-i have to ask"

Slurred Lovely.

"Yeah? Hic* whats up?"

Bright eyes answered, finding it increasingly difficult to sit up.

"You and Porter?"

Lovely didnt even finish before they both burst into a cascade of giggles, she didnt have to. Bright knew what she ment.

"Whaaat?"

Asked Bright eyes, as if Lovely was judging him for his taste in men.

"Nothing nothing! It's just hic* I heard from alexis that you where hehe~"

Lovely playfully nudged Bright's side, he giggled and pushed her away in response.

"Dont be gross!"

"Haha! What? I was just asking! I mean you've only known him like less than 20 minutes"

Bright couldn't help but smirk at this

"Uhh actually hehe we had already met, at a bar hic* the other day"

"Oooh! So this was like a reunion? Got it"

"Hehe yeeah, wait hic* how dose alexis know about that?"

Lovely began pouring another mug

"Oh she said she walked in on you two going at it in the hallway"

Bright eyes nudged Lovely with his mug, gesturing that hed like a refill

"Oooohh that explains why he dipped out on me"

Lovely began pouring another mug.

"He's probably waiting for YOU you know? I bumped into alexis on my way here so he's defiantly finished talking with her soooo"

Lovely was done with refilling his cup however he nudged her arm while she was pouring, indicating that he wanted more than what she was allowing him to have.

Lovely stumbled a bit because of this and for a second she worried that the wine would spill onto the bed and stain it.

"Yeeaah but I'll be damned if i wait around for a man for too long so hic* i left after he was gone for like hic* 1 minute...?"

Bright took the mug from her without any consideration that it could spill, and to Lovely's relief it didnt.

"What you gonna do if he shows up here?"

"Hic* I dunno probly turn him away"

"Heck Yeah!"

Lovely high fived the hand that didnt contain a mug full of wine.

"You know how much me and vincent hate Porter? I'm not judging you buuut"

Bright scoffed

"Why tho?"

"Hic* long story, I can already feel a headache forming"

Lovely grabbed at the skin between her forehead. Her vision was begining to blur. So was Bright's

"Damn how'd you manage to get a hangover BEFORE you're done drinking?"

"Oh piss off!"

Lovely playfully pushed him but due to his state he fell backwards instantly, the wine splashed as he fell

"OH SHI-"

Bright exploded with laughter, ignoring the wine he spilled over himself.

Thankfully he didn't get any on the bed sheet.

Once they had both calmed down, Lovely realized something.

"Wait- Wait.... Porter told us that he was talking a 'newborn' to the summit as his plus one"

Bright looked stunned, then his brows furrowed.

"Was he talking about you?!"

The question caused Bright's previous expression to change into one of suprise and confusion.

"I mean....he didn't SAY anything to me about it...?"

Lovely pushed herself up from the bed

"So you're telling me that asswhole said he was bringing you to the summit WITHOUT EVEN ASKING YOU FIRST?!"

Lovely recalled just how stressed Vincent was over inviting an additional vampire to the sumit, them being a newborn made things even more inconvenient, but the fact that the person he was inviting was not only already invited but they were the god damn guest of honour?!

Lovely was pissed, in more ways than one and it showed.

"Hey chill out! He probably didnt even mean ME i-im I was....just a one nighter i mean come on!"

"Dont play dumb! I saw how he looked at you today in that meeting, heee likes youuuu~"

He agressive tone from before had vanished and turned into a juvenile one, the kind youd expect to hear at a 12 year old's sleepover"

"Please stop"

They went back to laughing hysterically.

4 mugs of wine and 1 black out later:

"You know...I was a foster kid"

Bright was just coming to when he heard this.

"Really?....how did you know I was one too?"

"Vincent told me"

By this point they were both close to falling asleep at any moment, however, this was something Lovely had wanted to talk to Bright about since the moment Vincent had told her this piece of information, so she pulled herself together and took another sip, hoping it would keep her awake despite it being the thing causing her fatigue.

"Vincent told me that you told him"

"Oh Yeah, I remember"

Lovely once again was lost on how to continue this conversation.

"D-do you have any siblings?"

"Well-"

Bright hesitated.

"I don't know what it was like for you but in the homes i went to we all considered each other 'siblings' but biological? No. Not that I know of"

"Huh. Do you still keep contact with any of them?"

Lovely couldn't tell if he looked sad or just tired.

"I did. With one of them. But then she just...stopped"

"I'm really sorry"

For a moment they just layed there, quiet and still.

Until Bright got up and poured himself another, seemingly doing the same thing Lovely was attempting to do.

"What about you? Got any sibling?"

Lovely seemed to perk up at this.

"Yeah actually. Biological but they got adopted before me, the parents only wanted them"

Bright scowled.

"Tipical, honestly, they should do two for one deals with these sorts of things?!"

Lovely assumed he was joking due to the serious nature of the topic of discussion, so they laughed.

"Yeah Well, I was lucky enough to keep contact with them the whole time online, last year I got to meet them in person tho since I started going to damn and theyd been going there a little while before me"

Bright gave a warm smile. He seemed genuinely happy to hear that lovely was able to see their sibling again.

"They're doing good for themselves too, they have a nice boyfriend, a good friend group and they're so damn talented with magic!....I'm glad they ended up ok even without me"

Lovely gently touched his arm.

I'm hoping that even with your rough start, you can do the same"

His smile dropped as his lips parted in suprise, he didn't know how to respond. So he didn't.

He just clicked his mug with hers and continued to sip it.

The brim hiding his smile.

Vincent was still in shock in regards to what happend.

He would be lying if he said he hadn't seen Lovely angry before but this was....diffrent.

He also felt bad that Lovely had inadvertently made Sam feel like he needed to leave.

Vincent thought that the best thing to do would be to go and confront her.

But that was before he saw her and Bright laying on Bright's bed wasted.

"What the-?!"

"Ok ok so old wine....is good wine hic*"

Lovely didnt seem to notice Vincent standing gob smacked in the doorway.

"Yeah ok ok but hic* expensive wine....is good wine also-"

"What are you guys doing?"

Vincent finally got Lovely's attention.

"Oh hiiiii~ hey vinc hic* whats up?"

"A-are you drunk? Why are you drunk?!"

"Relax, I just thought we could use a drink is all"

Lovely was desperately trying to sit up, luckily her cup was empty so she didnt need to worry about spillage.

"We just established that Bright isn't old enough to even drink!"

"Oh chill out grandpa, Lovely here already got a headache"

Lovely, still stumbling over herself, pushing Bright eye's leg before falling over herself and eventually being caught by Vincent.

She looked up at him for a moment then smiled sweetly.

"Hi~"

She went to kiss him but she could barely keep herself up so she didnt succeed.

Vincent decided to excuse the absurdity of the situation and prioritise getting Lovely to bed before it got too light outside.

"Ok time to get you to bed, say bye to Bright"

"Byyee!~"

She waved lazily at him, he did the same.

Given Lovely's state, Vincent thought it was wise to ask Bright how he was holding up.

"Hey, you gonna be Ok?"

"Yeeeaah ill be fine"

Vincent trusted Bright not to do anything too stupid between now and night time.

"Alright then"

Vincent proceeded to carry Lovely into their bedroom a floor up.

Bright tried to sleep off the feeling swimming throught his head......But he couldn't.

Epilogue:

A knock on the door caused Bright eyes to jolt up from his bed.

He wasn't asleep, however he was still suprised by the sound, especially since the intoxicated state he was in amplified all sounds.

He groaned as he felt himself moving from his bed on the door.

"What?"

He slurred, voice thick with sleep.

He opened the door to Porter standing in front of him.

"I apologise for the late arrival~"

"Yeah? Why'd you run off before then? Cold feet?"

Bright had previously been told the answer to this question, however he still wanted to tease him, and see if he would tell the truth.

Porter winced at the implication that Bright had thought this entire time that Porter had left him due to "cold feet". Despite this, he coughed then gave a small slightly awkward laugh.

"N-no I do apologise for leaving its just....alexis saw us. I knew she would tell vincent and i really dont fancy having my head removed before I could get a chance to ask you something important, you understand?~"

Bright didnt answere, he did however share a kiss with Porter once he had finished apologising, he wasn't entirely sure who initiated it but he reciprocated nonetheless.

"Hmm~ may i come in?"

Bright could feel Porters breath against his lips.

Bright eyes smiled.

"No".

Then he closed the door to his room.

@darlin-collins thank you for proof reading as usual ♡

@anexistingexistence @you-think-i-care-mate

[vintagelasvegas]

El Rancho Vegas opened the midnight Chuck Wagon in November 1946, introducing Las Vegas to the all-you-can-eat buffet.

“Las Vegas officialdom and ‘cafe society’ turned out en masse last evening to attend the gigantic opening of the new Chuck Wagon service at El Rancho Vegas … the ‘chuck wagon’ will be a regular nightly feature of El Rancho’s entertainment and will be served from 1 o’clock in the morning until 4. Starting at 4 o’clock, a savory breakfast will be service ‘on the house’ until 6 o’clock.” (Review-Journal, 11/21/46.)

This local news did not credit the Chuck Wagon to anyone in particular. Some forty years later Herb McDonald, El Rancho's publicist in 1946, claimed credit for starting the buffet.

“About three nights in a row, I was working a late shift and I was hungry,” McDonald said. “So I went to the bar and brought out some cheeses and other things to a hidden area near the bar. Some customers saw said, Gee, I would like some of that. And I started a midnight buffet.”

Other sources have credited El Rancho owner Beldon Katleman's Buckaroo Buffet at El Rancho Vegas as the originator, however Katleman was not associated with the hotel until the 50s; Buckaroo Buffet was a service started in the mid 50s. In 1946, El Rancho Vegas was owned by Sanford Adler.

Pre-dating El Rancho's midnight Chuck Wagon by four years, Hotel Last Frontier had a midnight "snack bar" service on weekends which looks like the same concept. Swanky Club in Henderson featured buffet service in 1946. The concept was not entirely new but El Rancho's Chuck Wagon kicked off the buffet phenomenon in Las Vegas.

Photos: (1) Photo by Las Vegas News Bureau #0791 circa mid-50s, via UNLV History 117: Nevada History Photograph Collection (PH-00054), UNLV Special Collections & Archives. The mural behind the Chuck Wagon was painted by Dick Porter of Desert Designers. (2) LF Manis collection, UNLV Special Collections, probably also by Las Vegas News Bureau. Photos below: (3) Postcard. (4) Photo by Burton Frasher Sr. Frasher Foto Postcard Collection F5299, Pomona Public Library. Sources: W. Williams. Chuck Wagon: El Rancho Inaugurates New Feature. Review-Journal, 11/21/46; Herb McDonald: LV's Promoter Extraordinaire. The Nevadan, 1/3/82.