#spiegler

[rom-e-o]

So in the spirit of the soon-to-be Christmas season, I was rereading 'Begin Again' and got to the part where Orin's in jail and all that and like-

What do you think Orin's haunt was like? How do you think the Christmas Ghosts + Marley would speak to a man like him? I know Present would probably a lot less jovial with him-

Oh my gosh, you're re-reading "Begin Again"? For the holiday season? That makes me so, so happy. ;;

(I'm currently working on their wedding in-universe, so that is just lovely extra inspo. And Marley would be making an appearance, haha.) Ah, yes. Orin's haunting.

The spirits would be far less kind to him, as would Marley. Past and Marley would be equally brutal. Marley, for all his faults, was not an Orin. Marley might be condemned, but Orin?

Past, taking Connie's form in wax and using her voice, glares daggers at him as they watch the memories. If Scrooge got ping-ponged through dimensions with some whimsy and regret, Orin gets an exclusive trip to his very own Silent Hill with her.

Trigger warnings for abuse, su*cide attempts, SA, violence, drugs, alcohol.

PAST:

They go over everything:

The day Orin's sister, Juliet, left home and told nobody. ("She didn't leave an address for you to write her at. Interesting.")

The day Orin lied on his paperwork to get out of the slums close to Arthur DoGoode, then sees his daughter for the first time. ("Did you know all along what you planned? I wonder.")

The wedding night, when he first hit her and forced her into acts. Then the honeymoon in Switzerland, where he forced himself and friends/colleagues on her. Some paid good money too. This part goes on for hours, hearing her screams and sees her thrashing and tears from a whole new angle as man after man descends upon her. ("That's when she started drinking, because it helped her black out, and took away the pain. No powders yet. Those came later, after you broke her bones. And her dreams for love.")

The Christmas he locked her on the balcony and left her to freeze. ("You said she was sleepwalking. The idiot police believed you, but did your neighbors? Did Connie's mother?")

The Christmas he locked her in a closet when she objected to him swindling with complex financial contracts. ("She was in there the whole holiday. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Alone in the dark. Thirsty. Trapped.")

The night Connie slit her wrists in the bathtub, and Orin saved her, complaining about all the blood. ("Theresea locked you out of the hospital room. She knew. And Arthur ... did you know he brought a pistol to meet you? He really thought about it, but I bet you never noticed. Too busy feeling invincible. Besides, the idea of dying in prison away from his wife and daughter is what stopped him, not any mercy for you.")

The day of Arthur's funeral. It's a huge event, with hundreds of people gathered. ("More than you'll ever have at yours. You keep checking your watch. You were bored, Spiegler? Or thinking about what you'll ask Connie to make for dinner? ... You know, Arthur never forgive himself for introducing you two.")

The Christmas he shoved her down the stairs of the Astor House, breaking both her legs. He waits fifteen minutes before getting help. She cried for help the whole time. "O-Orin, h-help ..."/"Stop talking! J-Just shut up! I need to think."/"If I don't ... I love you ... Orin."/"Stop talking! Are you deaf? You idiot!" ("You didn't want people to find out. You'd become too bold.")

The trip to the hospital, and the discovery there. ("It was always convenient. You didn't bed her often, but when you did, you weren't careful. Any time she needed a doctor's treatment, you paid them off to ... check. And when it was true, they did their duty before she ever woke up. You thought she didn't know. It's her body. She knew. She would have probably agreed, you know. Any spawn of yours shouldn't exist")

Then, finally, the day she says goodbye. Withdraws money, sneaks out, and throws her wedding ring in the ocean before hiding away in the basement of the boat. ("Does it infuriate you, Spiegler? That she outsmarted you? It shouldn't. She was always smarter than you. With money. With people. Her biggest mistake was actually falling in love with you.")

There is no whimsy in looking at his Past. There are no happy memories. No good times. It's just mistake after mistake. And seeing it all before him ... it makes Orin panic. He never thought he'd have to pay. And Past taking Connie's form, glaring at him as he world literally fractures apart? Reality crashes into him.

PRESENT:

Present? There's no jolly song-and-dance. Orin arrives in his chamber, and finds Present standing amidst towers of food and sweets. But ... all the dishes are wrong.

It's all the foods Orin used to ask Connie to make regularly. Eels in aspic. Tournedos de volaille. Pots of rarebit and bread. Peanut brittle. And it's all rotting.

"You have immaculate timing," Present would tell Orin, his voice booming. "I can not take you anywhere this night - it is New Year's Day, and I am bound to Christmastime in my travels. But the veil is thin. I can show you what happened ... mere days ago."

And Orin sees Constance and Ebenezer. At first, his anger returns. The bitch, he thinks. Then ... he keeps watching. There is no casualness to their movements. Nothing steamy or sexual (well, not in that moment). They don't act like two people having an affair. In fact, it's ... tender, what he sees. Loving.

The couple is standing before a roaring hearth in the otherwise dark mansion, their bodies bathed in firelight. Mr. Scrooge's mansion, Orin notes, with all the tacky yuletide decor. With a saunter that's almost bashful, Ebenezer crosses the room and overturns his hand to her in welcome. Slowly, she accepts it, drifting closer in foolish hope. Then, he leans down and brings their lips together. It's not a frantic brush of contact, but rather, it smolders like a lit ember. Tilting her head slightly, she welcomes the new angle. One strong arm cradles her shoulders while another is slung low around her waist, steadying both of them. He dips her backward, allowing gravity to help deepen their kiss. When they part for air, he grins at her sheepishly. He looks so young, almost boyish, with his blushing cheeks and sparkling eyes. Orin notes that he looks ... besotted. In love. “Merry Christmas, Constance,” he whispers. “I … hope you made some better memories of the holiday this evening.” So, she'd told him. Constance nods. Just as he was about to drift away, she grabs his shoulders to stop him. Not wanting to leave him emotionally abandoned, her lifts her hands to cup his face. She moves so slowly, offering plenty of time for him to move away. He never does. With her fingertips skimming his sideburns, she leans in and kisses the side of his aquiline nose. “Merry Christmas, Ebenezer,” she says. “And, um, yes. I would say I most certainly did.”

He also catches a glimpse of New York. His coworkers. They don't mention him.

The next thing he sees is fire. Endless, hot flames, before the final ghost appears.

YET-TO-COME:

Yet-To-Come would treat him with the same indifference. After all, no matter your status or wealth, death plays no favorites.

He is shown two futures. The first is right after he brings Connie back to New York from London. She doesn't go easily, but he prevails. She's his wife, after all. There's nothing she can do. She knows that.

She fights him at the docks, and finally, in a blaze of fury, he pushes her one last time. She flies off the bridge and crashed into the Hudson, where she drowns and dies. Dead, by his hands, finally.

When Ebenezer arrives in port the next day to find the memorial to her, his pained scream is enough to shake the heavens.

Then the scene changes. The second future. It flickers to Orin's funeral. Not a soul is in attendance.

MARLEY:

For Marley, it's personal. Think about it - he dies, yet finds a way to come back with Three Spirits to make sure his only friend/partner doesn't share the same horrible fate as him. This work provides him with no benefit. No salvation, no do-overs, nothing. The only benefit is saving his partner from the same eternal damnation as him.

An Marley sees Scrooge change. He sees Scrooge become a giving philanthropist. With his help, the "Festive Fund for the Poor" grows too big for tip boxes to contain. He's present for the birth of Harry and Hela's child (specifically, he keeps his nephew from pacing a hole in the floor while she pushes) - he sees his family legacy continue, and sees him holding their baby. He's turned everything around, and in such a short time. Marley is even okay with Cratchit's name replacing his on the doors. They needed new signage anyway, he thinks fondly. Something newer and more in-fashion.

Then, he sees Scrooge find this sad, frail, and frankly kind of pathetic woman in the streets. ("Look at her dress, poor thing. Old boy better buy her something nice.") Interesting, he thinks. He sees them fall in love, and quickly. He saw how he acted with Isabel, and even then, he wasn't so besotted. Plus, she's a perfect clerk, and rounds out the counting house team splendidly.

When he sees Ebenezer embracing happiness and the promise of romance anew with this woman, it feels like they've finally come full-circle. He's going to be okay, Marley thinks. That fills him with all the happiness he could hope toy have in his afterlife.

Then this corrupt, New York businessman barges in and tries to undo everything. To rip it all away. To undo an entire year of growth.

Absolutely not.

"Orin Spiegler, the Spirits and I have only intervened with individuals like you on Christmas. To right wrongs and to help others, as we can. However, your past and future are so vile .... you are the only exception thus far. Our end goal for these lost mortals is usually redemption. However, in your case ... our only hope is change. To cut to the bone to foster regret. Pray that is the worst of it."

Then ... Orin wakes up. Honestly, he contemplates hanging himself in the cell, but what will that do?

Moved by Past and Marley's actions, he asks for the constable. He confesses to everything, but asks for a pen and paper.

He has two letters to write before he goes.

[thedivinelights]

@rom-e-o Sooooo I have RETURNED!!! And with a brand new Orin-Connie song (I have no clue if you've already seen this or not but if you haven't, enjoy the wonders of Madds Buckley!!!)

AU where Connie snaps and ends up killing Orin and pushing him down the stairs instead anyone?

[rom-e-o]

Meretricious might to the best word to describe Orin ever. 😅

Handsome, wealthy, kind … and it’s ALL a show.

Finally pulling out my tote of saved stuff from school to go through it all and throw out stuff, and came across these vocab pages with some very tasty words. Figured some people might appreciate the vocabulary expansion.

@rom-e-o Orin is ✨meretricious✨.

[unpopporno]

Lana Rhoades

Lana Rhoades, pseudonimo di Amara Maple (Chicago 6 sett 1996), è nata in Illinois da una famiglia di origine cecoslovacca Ha lavorato come cameriera nella catena di ristoranti The Tilted Kit.

Gira le prime scene pornografiche nell'aprile del 2016 quando, dopo essersi trasferita da Chicago e Los Angeles, acquista velocemente un'ampia porzione di pubblico. Nell'agosto del 2016, stando a quanto riportato dalla stessa attrice, aveva già preso parte a circa 50 produzioni. Dopo una pausa di tre mesi per far ritorno a Chicago è tornata da novembre a girare scene. Lana Rhoades ha già lavorato con famose case di produzione del mondo del porno tra le quali figurano Evil Angel, Jules Jordan Video, Tushy, Elegant Angel e HardX. Ad agosto 2016 è comparsa nell'edizione americana della rivista Penthouse  come "Pet of the Month". Il suo nome d'arte è stato scelto dal suo agente Mark Spiegler e ha tatuato due cuoricini rossi con la scritta "Jon" sulla natica destra, un drago rosso sulla spalla destra e una scritta in arabo sulla gamba sinistra.

Nel gennaio 2017 è stata premiata agli XBIZ Awards nella categoria "Best New Starlet"e agli The Girlfriend Experiencecon il premio del pubblico "Hottest Newcomer". A marzo è uscito il suo progetto dal titolo "Lana", disponibile sia in formato DVD che in streaming e sowload digitale. La trama è liberamente ispirata alla serie americana The Girlfriend Experience uscita nel 2016. Sempre a marzo si è di nuovo trasferita a Los Angeles. Alla fine di settembre è uscito il DVD del suo secondo progetto "Lana Rhoades Unleashed".

Alla cerimonia di premiazione degli AVN Awards tenutasi a gennaio 2018 durante l'Adult Entertainment Expo a Las Vegas ha vinto il premio nella categoria "Best Anal Sex Scene" per "Anal Savages #3" girato con Markus Dupree.

Ha firmato un contratto da aprile ad agosto 2016 per l'agenzia Spieglergirls, successivamente è stata ingaggiata come rappresentante di LA Direct Models da gennaio a ottobre 2017.

Alla fine dello stesso anno ha annunciato il suo ritiro dal porno, dedicandosi all'attività web nei suoi profili Snapchat e OnlyFans, oltre che a quella di influencer su Instagram; ha successivamente rivelato che tale decisione era nata da un crescente disgusto, e in seguito depressione, causata dal fatto di sentirsi obbligata dal proprio agente a girare certi tipi di scene hard.. Ha, infatti, raccontato di aver chiesto di poter cancellare dal web tutte le scene girate nella sua carriera, ma della maggior parte di essa non dispone dei diritti d'autore

[kwebtv]

I Married Wyatt Earp - NBC - January 10, 1983

Biography / Western

Running Time: 100 minutes

Stars:

Marie Osmond as Josephine "Josie" Marcus

Bruce Boxleitner as Wyatt Earp

John Bennett Perry as Johnny Behan

Jeffrey De Munn as Doc Holliday

Allison Arngrim as Amy

Ross Martin as Jacob Spiegler

Ron Manning as Virgil Earp

Josef Rainer as Morgan Earp

Charles Benton as Ike Clanton

Earl W. Smith as Frank Stillwell

This was the last on-screen appearance by Ross Martin.

[nahavic-blog]

Hannah Spiegler

[bigedred]

Contemporary Behavior Therapy [Hardcover] Spiegler, Michael D. and Guevremont, D

New in original factory box or package.Box or package may not be in the best condition. Have Question Just Ask?

Listing and template services provided by inkFrog

[mirandamckenni1]

GAL RITCHIE: Spiegler Girl & Hentai Lover | The ADULT TIME Podcast With Bree Mills GAL RITCHIE: Spiegler Girl & Hentai Lover EPISODE #11: In this week’s episode, Bree Mills interviews professional furious jumper Gal Ritchie! Growing up in England, Gal discusses the differences between American and British sex education and social ethos around sexuality & adult entertainment. Having dreamed of being a stripper, Gal’s foray into the adult industry started with camming before she evolved into a certified dominatrix! Tune in to hear Gal and Bree discuss the emotional weight of different kinds of sex work, Gal’s determination to become a Spiegler Girl, and being (pleasantly) surprised by the professionalism & community within the adult industry. Listen to all things dance class cattiness, being horny for Hercules, loving Hentai, and MUCH MORE! ABOUT THE ADULT TIME PODCAST: Join Bree Mills, an award-winning adult filmmaker, as she engages in candid conversations with women from her industry about female sexuality, wellness, and empowerment. This podcast aims to shed light on the intimate aspects of these women’s lives, providing enlightenment, entertainment, and education while emphasizing the importance of sexual communication and confidence. THE ADULT TIME PODCAST LINKS: Gal Ritchie Instagram: https://ift.tt/Yew8G79 Bree Mills Instagram: https://ift.tt/x8isLTV Podcast Website: https://ift.tt/3KEuUJf Apple Podcasts: https://ift.tt/lGoCIMq Spotify: https://ift.tt/yRCjT8A More Episodes: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLrl2wwrIXahpSfP2VOPQ79aH9F7Xa_cPl YouTube Shorts: https://www.youtube.com/@AdultTimeCom/shorts TIMESTAMPS: (0:00) Intro (08:56) Early Conversations and Sex Education (15:08) Masturbation and Sexual Awakening (18:23) Professional Journey into Sex Work (24:15) Learning the ropes of the industry (29:19) Transition to professional studio content (33:15) Sexual health and body awareness (36:29) Importance of consent conversations (38:37) Sex Education and Consent (40:22) Focusing on Female Pleasure in Porn (41:24) Exploring Diverse Female Sexuality (42:29) Personal Exploration of Sexual Preferences (44:32) Empowering Women's Sexual Expression SUBSCRIBE TO OUR CHANNEL ➡️ https://www.youtube.com/@AdultTimeCom?sub_confirmation=1 ABOUT ADULT TIME: Adult Time is a digital subscription platform for a new era of adult entertainment. We are a brand built by people who believe in a future where mature audiences can safely, securely, and proudly have a place in their lineup for premium adult content. In addition to our addictive programming, Adult Time is dedicated to creating a personalized content experience for all our viewers with 400+ channels, 60,000 episodes, and VR and interactive toy integration. #shorts #adulttime #streaming #movies #tv #entertainment #tvshows #film #shortfilm #subscribe #podcastclips #podcast #adultstars #adultstar #GalRitchie via YouTube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vVbNRnWCJgw

[s86226]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: 3/$12 – SPIEGLER Race Decal Sticker.

[gasthausnostalgie]

Old Vienna

Wien 1, Spiegelgasse, 1897

Durchblick durch die Spiegelgasse von der Ecke Plankengasse bis zum Lobkowitzplatz mit Rechtseinstellung (von Nummer 14 aufwärts; Nummer 16 = Front des Alten Dorotheerklosters beziehungsweise Versatzamtes).

Der Name Spiegelgasse geht bis 1367 zurück, dürfte sich aber nicht von einem Patriziergeschlecht dieses Namens ableiten, sondern eher vom Spieglerhaus. Spiegler (Spiegelerzeuger) waren hier jedenfalls sesshaft. Der ältere obere Teil der Gasse hieß 1347 Laderstraße, später "Hinter St. Dorothea".

[rom-e-o]

"Amusing" (Orin/Constance - Sneak Peek)

Why is he like this?

November, 1830

5th Avenue

New York

The sitting room of the multi-story Spiegler townhome on 5th Avenue was drenched in firelight and smelled of cinnamon potpourri, but not an ounce of merriment or cheer could be distilled from its fragrant atmosphere. Instead, the manor’s Green Drawing-Room was engorged with a heavily pregnant silence, broken only by the sound of hissing firewood slowly burning away in the hearth.

The room had earned its affectionate yet telling moniker from its décor and choice of wallpaper – a green paper of an emerald sheen with a vertical pattern of coiling ivy vines. The furniture was also smocked in thick velvet, which was set primly along the sets and backs of all the room’s carved oak chairs. The drapes were a matching shade of lush green, as vibrant as the full leaves of an oleander. Even the hooked rug that was spread across the buttery walnut floor stole inspiration from the color. The pattern highlighted two adult swans afloat on a sea of white, both angelic creatures wreathed in pink roses and intertwined laurels.

One chair, which was completely upholstered and adorned with gold tassels for added comfort, was occupied. Its resident for the evening was Orin Spiegler, the master of the manor, who reclined back in the fabric’s rich confines. In one hand, his held open a folded edition of the evening paper. In the other, he lightly swirled a short glass of honey-brown scotch. With his dressing gown synched tightly about his waist and his white ruffled collar fluffing outward from between the lapels, he looked more like a peacock than the esteemed, Dutch-American investor and businessman the local newspapers now described. The man had made a name for himself with his Wall Street trading strategies, and his smart investments in cheap buildings on the outskirts of the New York city limits, mostly along the waning avenues beyond Albany. As the city grew, the properties quadrupled in value annually, or sometimes even monthly. He was a certified millionaire, and his coffers were expanding daily.

It was a good start, he thought, but not yet enough for comfort. Not for him.

Most recently, Mr. Spiegler had commanded his financial agents to also bring his investment opportunities for the multitude of bigger and better steamboats being developed for traveling the Hudson. Much had changed with designer Robert Fulton had said the inaugural vessel in 1807, and as New York continued its sprawl up and down the river, he intended to make sure he was one of the many investors that would reap a benefit from the new technology. Besides, not just New Yorkers benefited from the technology. Every traveler from Philadelphia, Greenwich or Vermont would be in his metaphorical debt. Hell, even Londoners and Danes were utilizing the vessels for visits to the quickly growing city.

On a settee just opposite the fireplace was another lonely individual. This woman, donned in a striking green dress with lace the color of American buttercream, was the lovely and copper-headed Mrs. Spiegler.

Unlike her husband, her focus was trained reading and rereading her own written words. Quill in hand, she carefully penned invitations on solid white paper, the corners of the expensive parchment adorned with a flourishing ‘OS’ in evergreen ink.

Orin glanced over to observe his wife at work, noting her upright rectitude with a satisfied arch of his brown. “And what, pray tell, has captured your focus so keenly?”

Starting slightly at his interruption, Constance turned to meet his gaze, then quickly recovered and smiled. “Oh. I was penning the invitations for that party we were discussing earlier. The one to showcase our new music room. You still wanted to host a gathering, didn’t you, dear?”

“Ah, yes,” he said, satisfied with her answer. “Who are you planning on inviting? I don’t believe we finalized any guest list.”

“We did not,” she admitted, moistening her lips, “But I believe you’ll be satisfied. I’m sending summons to the Van Rensselaers up river, as well as the Livingstons and the Schuylers, of course.”

“Very good.” The Van Rensselaers, Schuylers, and Livingstons were all prominent families of Dutch ancestry, and longstanding patroons with sprawling tenant farms along the Hudson River. The last Orin has heard, Rensselaerwyck had reached a million acres in size, and was home to at least 200 farmer families. Some farmers were German, others were Irish, and some were ‘Yankees’ of no other known pedigree. While there was slight variance between the farmers, they shared the collective burden of toiling the land of their master, paying monthly rent as a share of crops to the Lord of the Manor.

“I suspect we’ll have no trouble getting them to come to the city, Constance said. “The last time we hosted, they adored our home.”

“They were excited to escape their tenants for a night or two, I presume.”

The tenant farmers were becoming rambunctious, and there were murmurings of a rebellion on the horizon. Slavery has been officially abolished in New York in 1827, and now, eyes were turned to the patroons and their tenant farmers.

What had these patroons expected, he wondered? To carry on forever with locking families into generation of servitude while Yankees and abolitionists just conveniently ignored them? Orin had seen the writing on the wall for years, and as the Anti-Rent movement began to grow, he only felt vindication.

 The old money has-beens would be out the door in a few decades of new marriages. Perhaps some would even move out West, to a land of burgeoning opportunity.

In the meantime, he reasoned, it certainly didn’t hurt to rub elbows with his fellow countrymen. The task was made all the easier by how charming Constance was when it came to hosting and party-planning.

“Shall I … invite the Patersons, Orin?” Constance inquired with a tilt of the head.

He hummed in though, sipping his drink elegantly.

Stephen Van Rensselaer III was the current Lord of the Manor at Renssalaerwyck. He had previously married Margarita "Peggy" Schuyler, who had passed early in 1801. After the customary one year of morning for a gentleman, he married Cornelia Bell Paterson, child of statesman William Paterson. Orin knew little of the man and his legacy, other than he was a jurist and one of the men who had signed the United States Constitution.

He was also an Irishman turned American who mostly fancied New Jersey, so Orin mostly wrote him off.

“Invite Mr. and Mrs. Van Renssalaer, of course,” he said, “That’s all. Our manor isn’t so large that we can invite every admirer we have. Yet.”

“Yes.” She scrawled a note down.

The horrible complexity of the family trees was another reason he was glad to only know these sprawling families by association. He so loathed the idea of being tethered to large, overbearing legacies. Too much family was a curs eon one’s patience and time, he thought. Too many mouths to feed.

“I’m also extending an invitation to Mr. and Mrs. Van Cortlandt.”

Among the Van Cortlandt family tree were also members of the Van Rensselaer family, Schuyler family, and Livingston family. They also had ties to Philipse family, the De Peyster family, and the Irish-born and -bred Gage family.

Also spotted along their impressive family tree were relations to the Jay family. One of its many heirs, John Jay, had gone on to become the first Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, and one of the country’s ‘Founding Fathers.’

When holding a soiree, it was necessary to invite all the influential families, for to insult one was to insult all of them.

“Very good,” Orin said, pleased with his wife’s attention to detail. “You were correct, my dear. I am more than satisfied with your diligence.”

It was no surprise that Constance was so aware of New York’s finest political families. After all, she was a DoGoode. While only one generation deep, the family had set the bar for new money intrigue in New York. Arthur DoGoode, Constance’s father, had started life as a mute bookkeeper but had quickly risen through the ranks as a sensible businessman. His body was frail, but his intelligence was so keen that he didn’t need spoken words to seal deals. Like Orin, he was a property investor, but Orin would never admit that it was Arthur’s business strategies that inspired his own investment patterns. Theresea, Constance’s mother, had moved to New York from Marrakech.

In 1777, Morocco had been one of the first states to recognize the sovereignty of a newly independent United States. That independence from European pressures was something Theresea admired. She had seen France, Spain and Germany all encroach on her country, eyeing the land with salivating mouths and greedy eyes. So, with a heavy heart, she left the city of Marrakech for New York.

She and Arthur had met at a business convention in Albany, where the doorman had barred her from entering. Woman were not allowed in the hall, they’d said, unless accompanied by a proper chaperone. Theresea had debated the man into a state of near emotional breakdown when Arthur had spotted her.

He asked her to be his voice at the meetings – his ‘interpreter’, so to speak. Arthur penned the business strategies, and Theresea gave the pitches to rooms of investors, bankers, financial agents, and more.

The two were married a year later. It had been a union of love, not political gambit, for they were two nobodies in a sea of millions. That, however, changed quickly. New York was growing, and Arthur invested in fringe properties to develop safehouses for women and orphanages for children.

Later that same year, they even adopted a two-year-old child that has been left at the Albany orphanage the two were on the Board of Directors for. A little red-headed girl too taciturn and terrified to speak.

Now, that girl was a woman, and also his wife.

Constance penned a few more notes while they spoke. “Darling, but also had a mind to invite Martin, if you think he could spare the time. It’s been so long.”

“Ah, Martin!” Orin cried, laughing at the mention of the man’s name. “Why, that is a capital idea!” He snapped and pointed a commanding finger at her. “Write him at once. Set the party’s date for December 22 as well. That will give our guests time to travel, but with ample courtesy for any Christmastime plans.”

Martin Van Buren, another New Yorker of fine Dutch stock, was someone Orin knew by association. They’d attended a small myriad of soirees together in the past year as Orin’s infamy had earned him. There were rumblings that Andrew Jackson was planning to support him for the next presidential election.

If elected, the Dutch colonies of New York would surely endorse him and throw any and all support his way to guarantee victory. He imagined the gaiety that such an election result would cause, and wondered how the anti-renters would take such a victory.

Only time could tell, he supposed.

He polished the glass of scotch with a final swig, wiping his mouth and setting the glass aside on a marbled end table.

“I’m going to my study,” he said, gesturing to the hallway beyond the door.

“Oh. More work?” Constance asked, brows furrowing. Here eyes drifted from his face to the empty drinking glass.

“Not precisely.”

Orin’s study was located at the top of a turret that adorned the front of their townhome. The addition made their luxurious home stand out even more amidst the other rowhouses that lined the stylish thoroughfare through the city. It’s large windows also faced the street, providing him a clean visual of the street’s traffic, potential callers, etcetera.

As he rose and walked past her, he laid a large hand on her shoulder. The contact froze her thoughts, her quill stilling mod-word against the parchment.

“You’ve pleased me tonight,” he noted in a caramel-sweet tone. “I’ll leave you be for the rest of the evening.”

He then walked to the door, glimpsing at the grandfather clock as he did so. A quarter past ten, the hands read.

“I’ll slumber on my day bed in my study,” he said, voice returning to the cool formality she’d come to expect. “I depart for the Catskills at dawn. There is a new steamboat making its maiden voyage. The SS Juno. As one of the primary investors, it is expected that I be there. I wouldn’t wish to disturb you by stirring so early. Heaven knows you’re clumsy enough in the mornings when we have nowhere to go, and I wouldn’t wish to be late because of you prattling about.”

Still enthused by the fact that they wouldn’t be sharing a bed that night, his insults went unnoticed. Instead, she disguised her relief with a thankful smile. “I’ll see that coffee is ready for you.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Otherwise, you’re dismissed. Spend the rest of your night as you’d like. Just make sure those invitations are written and postmarked tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

“Good woman.”

Just as he was about to pass through the door, he paused again. “A moment. Come here, please. And bring me one of the candles.”

Smoothing her skirts, she rose and drifted across the room to meet him.

She grabbed a chinoiserie candle holder containing one green, swirled tapered candle and lofted it to her eyes. She crossed the room and extended the holder carefully to him, being mindful of the flame. Orin accepted the offering, and before she could move away, reached out with his other hand to grab her wrist. He jerked her into a sudden kiss, smirking as he felt her heart roar to life beneath her heavy bosom.

Just as he felt her lean into him, seeking warmth or perhaps a passionate embrace, he nudged her back and away. As always, she obeyed.

“You’re relieved to not share a bed with me, but you still turn into a simpering little maiden with just one kiss? How amusing.”

He left her with a smirk, his dark eyes flashing with the swish of his head as he turned on his heel. “I’ll return in three days. Have the house ready in anticipation of my return. I’ll want to supper immediately.”

The heavy oak door shut before she had time to formulate a reply. She stood frozen, her lips still warmed from his kiss, her rouge slightly smeared from the sudden brush. Trembling fingers caressed the flesh before she sighed, hands falling heavy at her sides.

Even after years of marriage, she didn’t understand her husband at all. He’d never acted so unpredictable during their courtship. Why in the world did he conduct himself in such a way around her? Had she done something wrong?

Alone in the drawing room, she took it upon herself to close the curtains and set the shutters as best she could. It was work mostly suited for a strong footman, but she tried her best to make any work a little easier. Besides, the light work kept her hands and mind busy, and helped siphon out the anxious little ball of energy that had started buzzing in her chest at Orin’s words.

Had she … really been so apparent with her distaste? No wonder he was cross with her, the woman concluded. She’d offended him – her own husband. What a sorry excuse for a wife she was.

In her frustration, she grabbed the poker and stabbed it into the hearth. The fire-laden log crumbled with a hiss, and cinders as large as red flies flew into the air. She jumped back in surprise, dropping the poker and shrinking away from the flames. Her skirts knocked over a chair as she did so. The large piece of furniture lay on its side and cast a menacing shadow across the expanse of the room. It’s sharp angles and points flickered menacingly against the wallpaper with every dance of the flames.

Embarrassed at her incompetence, Constance rushed to the bellpull and gave it a brisk tug. Minutes later, she was greeted at the door by a young butler and young maid, both employed by the couple. The two were siblings – Mary and Micah. Two intelligent, quick-witted souls fresh off the boat from the Fenlands.

“We heard a crash!” the young maid said, breathless from how quickly she’d come running.

Micah looked the frazzled redhead up and down. His knowing eyes peered from beneath a shag of sandy hair. “Are you well, Mrs. Spiegler?”

His tone was practically conspiratorial.

“Please extinguish the fire,” Constance said, disregarding Mary’s question with a flustered wave of the hand. She then allowed her eyes to fall against her trembling calm as she gathered her wits. “A-And if you could check my work on fastening the windows, Micah, I would be most thankful. You are much stronger, and less clumsy, than I.”

The maid curtseyed and obeyed the lady’s commands, while the butler made a beeline for the windows. “Yes, your ladyship.”

Just as he went to straighten the toppled chair and retrieved the empty drinking glass, Constance left the room and made her way quickly up the stairs and to the main bedroom. She took the stairs quickly, her kid slippers soundless as they fell frantically against the plush rugs of the hall.

Mary hastily finished her work at the fireplace and trailed after her mistress, making sure to grab the abandoned letters on her way out.

I'm sure they'll work everything out.

[rom-e-o]

@thedivinelights the way I PAUSED everything to listen to this because I was so intrigue. You never miss with song recs, and AUGGGH.

Yep. It's Connie and Orin. And I'm gonna have to listen to more songs of theirs, because these vibes are IMMACULATE. Their sound is so good - they give me Thousand Foot Krutch vibes, which is a huge compliment.

THIS PART:

What is lurking like a wedding's really just a murder scene I killed myself the day I met you, made a vow with the disease. HAHA. OUCH.

The only home I’ve known is you abusing me Without the sickness, I don’t know who I would be Your silent slave in thе dark, I am forever yours ’Til death do us part.

This is so poignant, and in another world, it's probably ... and very sadly, true.

It's going on the Connie/Orin playlist. It's SO fitting.

@rom-e-o SORRY FOR ANOTHER MENTION BUT I HAVE FOUND ANOTHER CONSTANCE AND ORIN SONG (Citizen Soldier has RUINED me, I highly suggest listening to them, they're A M A Z I N G)

Holding hands, we're at the altar But this isn't what it seems What is lurking like a wedding's really just a murder scene I killed myself the day I met you, made a vow with the disease Now I don't feel like I'm myself, unless I hurt And I believe that you are all that I deserve I hate how much I love you, and I’ll never leave The only home I’ve known is you abusing me Without the sickness, I don’t know who I would be Your silent slave in thе dark, I am forever yours ’Til death do us part

[quill-pen]

Talking about the DnDverse recently has got my brain churning more about what the heck Connie is like, and the politics of the world. She's definitely a fire mage, and maybe because fire magic is SO essential compared to other forms of magic (how often do you need to conjure a lightning spell compared to a fire spell to cook or start a campfire?) is seen as commonplace. No novelty. Because fire magic is SO important, education on how to do it becomes widespread, and fire mages are seen as 'lesser' compared to other noble magic users, because it's more useful to common folk and education is more accessible. You'd think it would be prized knowledge, but you know how nobles are. Constance is often called a 'lamplighter' and an insult (like 'knife-ear' or 'rabbit' for elves.) "I can't believe a lamplighter like her would risk running from her lord," one whispers as Connie sells trinkets and does parlor tricks on the side of the road (she is clumsy and TERRIBLE at it). "We should report her to the patrol so Lord Spiegler can fetch her and take her back home. This is agonizing to watch." "Maybe she can roast him a nice dinner as a means of forgiveness, haha! It's about all she's good for. That and, well, other things." "Hush! Ears."

No, because I love this idea! It's such a a unique tale as fire magic always seems like such a cool power everyone wants to have in a magical world. I mean, rightfully so: Fire is powerful, destructive, amazing. We literally grew up on a TV show where people who could control fire almost took over the entire world! So to have a world where having that power is not really accompanied with much prestige because, it is such a commonly used bit of magic, is very interesting. Also, let's be honest, though it's harder to do, fire is something you can literally create without the use of magic too, and this would also be a time where you'd need to learn how to make fire with or without magic. So the fact it's something that even no magic wielders can generate probably makes the power seem even more banal as well.

All that put together makes such sense for Connie and her story. But that just makes me wonder: What's Orin got for magic that makes people think so highly of him? Maybe illusions? That could definitely play well into his character. He beats Connie and she has a black eye? No problem; just do a little glamour on her and she looks right as rain. And she's not going to tell anyone, are you, Dear?

Actually looking through some of those pics on Pinterest and some of the closets has given me ideas of where Connie could possibly go in terms of growing in her magic. Lots of stuff with phoenixes. I know dragons are usually associated with fire magic, but a phoenix is so much more appropriate symbolically for this girl all around.

[edtumbled]

Got a tech question for my #BikeLife community. Installing some Spieglers on a 05 zx10r. Do the front brake lines both start at the master cylinder or meet at the factory spec right side caliper. Thanks. #BikeLifeNYC #2005ZX10R #SpieglerSS #DadsBikeMatters https://www.instagram.com/p/CnVb3dBPDM_/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[carstenfischer80-blog]

Neues Gewässer und dann so ein schöner Spiegler. Das nenne ich Lebe deinen Traum 😊😊😊. #carpfishingismypassion #carpfishing #nature #mikaproducts #carp #catchandrelease #mirrorcarp #carpfishingismylife #carpfishingforlife #karpfen #karpfenangeln #spiegler #spiegelkarpfen #natur #boilies #boilie #dasgeilstehobbyderwelt #derwegistdasziel