#spiegler

[quill-pen]

I have to wonder how Bess would act in regard to actually meeting Orin for the first time, and how that would go.

She’s only heard of his through second hand stories from Connie or TeTe. She also sees articles and news stories about him - this handsome, Dutch-American man with obsidian hair (now graying slightly at the temples), aquiline nose, and uncannily blue eyes. He’s very tall and sleekly dressed with perfect posture with graceful poise. Even his voice is deep and resonate in interviews, and he’s very well-spoken and charismatic. He has every interviewer beaming ear-to-ear after their interview with his wit and humor.

When he arrives in London, man is in full-acting mode with his charms with her.

“Elizabeth Sullivan. My, I’m charmed to finally make your acquaintance. I have heard much about you from my wife. It’s such a joy to find some pleasant company in this abyss of a city, and I believe we can do good by each other.”

AKA, ‘I’ve got a blank check with your name on it for details. Where is she?’

Ooh, the potential was amazing here! So, we did the thing again! I hope it's what you were expecting from all the previews I sent.😉

Spilled Soup

Warnings: mentions of past abuse, mention of addiction, abuse of women, violence, language, blood, looming dread, Orin Spiegler (he's a trigger all on his own), Bess' puns, sickeningly sweet, cute, and sappy couples, one of whom just needs to KISS ALREADY YOU BLOODY DAMN FOOLS

Rated T

~⚔️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️⚔️~

"Well, that's the last of Eddie's potholders sold. Can't believe how they flew out of the stall! Like hotcakes!"

Bess snorted as she reorganized the produce again. "More like hotpads," she remarked, shooting a cheeky smirk her bestie's way.

Connie looked up from their money box with a slightly puzzled expression. For a few moments, her eyebrows were lightly knitted together as she worked through Bess' statement, but then her face lit up with realization. "Oh!" With a beaming grin, she threw back her head in a snorting laugh. "I get it!"

"Sounds like we missed out on something quite amusing," a familiar voice that was smooth and buttery declared.

Both American women looked up from their work to be greeted with the lovely sight of two handsome gentlemen headed towards their market stall. Standing at least a head taller than every other person in the farmer's market, billionaire twins, Ebenezer and Ebenezar Scrooge already made a sight in the little square. Their tailored suits and manicured good looks only added to the entrancing sight.

Bess had heard Connie mention the choice brand for the Twins was "Brioni". That didn't really mean all that much to Bess besides the fact the men wore the suits well and looked breathtakingly sharp. Particularly her dear Wolf, Ebenezar. As it was, with the way the afternoon sun was shining on her favorite twin's silvery locks, making them glint like warm steel slowly melting from his crown towards his shoulders, Bess had to lean against the veggie stand to keep from feeling as though her knees would buckle at the sight.

Great job, Bess, the snarky little voice inside her head cut through her thrall. You just had to pick today to look like a bum. Couldn't even put on a little makeup or pick a shirt that actually fits. At least she'd knotted up her oversized t-shirt around her middle; so it was apparent she had a waist. And the way the overly large neck hole fell down over her shoulder did have a flirty little vibe to it. She hoped. It helped that it had slipped down over her less scarred shoulder. She hoped her Wolf would notice, but it was impossible to tell behind the stylish sunglasses he wore. He was smiling though; that was always a good thing. He was probably smiling at both her and Connie, but Bess liked to think his smile was specifically for her.

Connie beamed towards the men and moved out of the stall's working station. "You did!" she chirped as she sauntered towards Ebenezer. Happily, she slipped a delicate hand into the large, extended one of her beau and let him pull her in for a sweet kiss of greeting. She splayed her free hand over his heart as she leaned into it, slightly popping a heeled foot skyward as she did so.

Bess couldn't help but smile at the couple. The pair had been officially involved for several months now, and it was beyond apparent that they were simply falling ever deeper and deeper into love every day. Bess' heart swelled with joy for Connie. The woman was loving kindness incarnate who deserved a wonderful man who loved her just as much as she loved him. And Ebenezer Samuel Scrooge (or "Adonis" as Bess enjoyed calling him) continued to prove himself as such a man.

Bess flitted her eyes from the lovers back to her handsome Wolf and couldn't help but snort in amusement. Even with his glasses, it was obvious that he was also looking at the pair, as he was grimacing in a cartoonishly disgusted way. As a sibling herself, Bess felt it; she would react the same way if she witnessed any of her siblings snogging (and it would be even more traumatizing for her, as she was the eldest by quite a margin and had helped raise her brothers and sisters from babies).

Her stifled giggle apparently caught the attention of the tall, broad-shouldered billionaire as his head turned just a bit more in her direction and he smiled, perhaps a little sheepishly. Bess' stomach did ecstatic somersaults over that soft little curl of his mouth. She hoped the flush she felt in her face could be played off as working in the summer balminess. And now you look like a damn strawberry--great.

Adonis and Connie parted lips, and the ginger slipped under the lanky man's arm into his side. His arm wrapped easily around her, his hand coming to rest naturally in the curve of her waist, just above her hip. They fit so wonderfully together. "Bess made a rather clever little pun," Connie explained her laughter moments before.

A dramatic groan left Wolf and Bess turned her gaze back upon him, mischief sparkling in her midnight-colored eyes. "And just what are you groaning for, Mister?" she drawled, perching her fists sassily upon her hips. "You didn't even hear it."

Wolf smirked right back at her, matching her playful energy. "I don't need to have heard a pun to know it was rubbish," he remarked. "They're all rubbish by default."

"Hmph. Your attitude is rubbish."

"Well, as a Yank, you would know, wouldn't you?"

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, a certain tea party from long ago comes to mind."

"Oh, puh-lease!"

"And ever since then, you lot have been quite determined to be characterized as snappish and uncouth."

Bess let out a squawk of mock-offense before curling up her fists and moving into a ready position. "Okay, you smarmy Redcoat," she snarled playfully. "Come on--get your dukes up. I'll knock the couth right outta you."

Wolf folded his hands behind his back and stood tall as he took a long step toward the fiesty woman. He chortled teasingly, "And here I thought you were going to say something about rubbishing my face in my words."

Bess shot straight up with a maniacal grin and pointed sharply at the man. "Ah-ha! A pun! I'll convert you yet, Ebenezar Charles Scrooge!"

The Englishman chuckled as he braced an arm against the support pole Bess stood beside and leaned into it. He bowed over Bess' smaller size a bit as he smirked roguishly down into her pretty, freckled face. "I very much doubt it," he chuckled. He removed his shades to expose the playful twinkle in his slate-blue eyes. "But I'll enjoy watching your attempts." The man had the audacity to wink.

It was all Bess could do to not melt into a puddle. The wink, his proximity, his crooked smile, the way a rebellious lock of hair curled down his brow from his slicked-back, lengthening mane, the adorable little creases that formed at the corner of his eyes and around his mouth and nose; it was all almost too overpowering for her pathetically smitten heart. If only she could reach up and take his gorgeous face between her palms and kiss him stupid. But that was completely out of the question, so the young woman silently hoped he would smile at her like that forever instead.

"Far stranger things have happened," Adonis responded to his brother's prior statement. There was a bit of significance in the tone of his voice.

"Well, are you lovely ladies finished for the day?" Adonis quickly moved on, turning his attention to the woman held in the crook of his arm. He smiled dotingly at her, his icy blue eyes sparkling and warm. "I was thinking it might be nice to sweep you off for lunch," he murmured to her.

Connie beamed back just as besottedly. "Oh, that sounds lovely," she agreed. "But I'm afraid we're not quite finished. The market still has another couple hours."

"But it's pretty much over," Bess added. "Business is usually a snail's pace the last hour or so. We might get a little surge near the end, but mostly anybody who was gonna come to the market has been here already. Why don't you go on to lunch, Con? I'll close down the stall."

"Oh, Bess, that's so sweet of you, but I don't want to leave you to finish up alone. That's not fair. And do you remember the last market day? We had a tidal wave of customers in the last 30 minutes that cleared us out. Even with all of us here, we almost couldn't keep up."

"Don't be ridiculous! That was one bizarre market day out of all the ones we've sold at. If it happens again, I'll handle it."

"What about change?" Bess notoriously struggled with counting back change. And with most numbers in general, honestly.

"... I'll just tell people we're taking tips."

"Which is no more than you lovely ladies deserve," Wolf chimed in earnestly, "providing such exemplary produce and unique, quality merchandise at such affordable prices."

Bess smiled at him. Maybe it was silly but hearing such compliments about her produce come from the handsome businessman filled her with a wonderfully ticklish pride. "Precisely. Thank you."

Connie snorted and rolled her cornflower blue eyes in amusement. "Be that as it may," she agreed half-jokingly (Bess really did deserve some extra gratitude for all the diligent time, work, and love she poured into her garden, as far as the redhead was concerned), "I think it's better two people close the stall. Just in case things do get crazy again."

"I'll stay and help her."

The declaration was something of a surprise, and all eyes that turned to Ebenezar displayed it. However, the man didn't even seem to register anyone else's gaze except that of the curly-haired woman. He smiled down at her as she stared up at him in amazement.

"I... Y-You will?" Bess practically croaked. Her throat suddenly felt dry and her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth like it was glued there. Heat flushed throughout her body at the thought of being left alone with her handsome and charismatic muse of a crush. Excitement and existential dread curled around and danced in her stomach.

What if something finally actually happened between them, while they were closing the stall? Maybe they'd reach for something at the same moment and touch hands and there would be that electric spark that was always mentioned in love stories. Then they would meet eyes and realize feelings that had been there all along and the rest would be history. Maybe they'd be working in the back of the stall and keep bumping into each other and surrender to hidden passions with a kiss. Maybe Wolf would declare that he'd had feelings for her all along, that the look she sometimes thought she caught in his eyes was real, and he would ask if she'd be interested in a relationship.

Or maybe, Wolf would see just exactly how stupid she was on the cashbox and when it came to math, and he would just write her off as a complete moron and Bess would never hear from him again: "It's been a pleasure knowing you, Ms. Sullivan, but I'm afraid being around someone so imbecilic could only hamper my own intelligence. In my line of work I can't afford to risk such a thing. Good luck to you and, please, don't seek me out again."

As all scenarios swarmed her mind, Bess wasn't sure whether she felt more like walking on air or crawling into a hole; her stomach decided for her and settled on mildly ill.

"You don't mind staying?" Connie asked, something that was a hint of a smirk curling her painted lips as her gaze flickered between the two.

"Not at all," Ebenezar assured them. "With Bess working the customers and merchandise and me on the moneybox, we'll have everything in order." Almost without thinking, the Englishman reached out and wrapped an arm around Bess' shoulders, tucking her into his side. "Shipshape and Bristol fashion, yes?" He grinned between the two Yanks, eyes lingering on the woman at his side as she continued to stare up at him in awe, the freckles on her face popping through her adorable blush. The grin at play on his lips softened rather significantly as he gazed at Bess. A slight pinkish hue spread across his own cheeks, the cheerful spark in his eyes mellowing into an affectionate warmth. "I'm sure we'll make... quite the team," he murmured so softly he could only have been speaking her.

Somehow, his touch and those words soothed Bess turbulent emotions and quieted her mind. A gentle smile curled her mouth as her eyes softened. Instinctively, she leaned into the man's side, bringing an arm up around his back to anchor herself to him. "I'm sure we will," she agreed quietly. Once again, she felt the overwhelming urge to surge in and kiss him. And, perhaps it was wishful thinking, but she thought she caught a glint of longing flash through the man's eyes as well, perhaps a slight flicker of his gaze from her eyes to her mouth and back again.

A loud throat-clear broke the daze the pair was caught up in and drew their attentions to the couple, both of whom were smirking and sharing knowing looks. But before Wolf and Bess had a chance to inquire about it, Adonis and Connie were taking their leave.

"We'll leave you two to it, then," Ebenezer stated as he led Connie away, his arm still wrapped comfortably around her waist. "We're off."

Connie followed, practically floating on air within his embrace. "Good luck!" she chirped with a small wave. Then she added with a rather suggestive wink, "And have fun!"

Bess and Ebenezar watched after them in some bafflement.

"What was that about?" the Englishman muttered.

The American shook her head as she raised a confused eyebrow. "Search me."

~⚔️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️⚔️~

"Well, it certainly seems as though you did well today, Pet," Michael Pippersnipe commented, his Irish brogue chipper and optimistic as always. The wiry little Irishman formally served as the girls' landlord, but he was truly much more of a friend and surrogate grandfather in many ways, a fact which was currently showcased in how he was helping Bess and Ebenezar pack up the market stall.

"It was a good day," Bess agreed as she carefully packed away the few jars of homemade, canned soups and stews left. Her gaze flitted towards Ebenezar. True to his word, the man had spent the last couple hours by her side, bantering and joking with her as he helped with last-minute sales and yet another final frenzy of late customers right before the market closed down for the day. Now, whistling as he worked, the banker picked up the box of upcycled and thrifted treasures he'd just finished packing and carried it away to pack into the bed of the classic, pine-green farm truck of Pippersnipe's. Catching Bess' gaze as he walked off, her smirked and winked at her.

The woman's speckled cheeks heated with a blush, her plump lips arching into a smitten little smile. Her Wolf was even more of a sight now than his had been at his arrival, blazer and waistcoat discarded, tie loosened, shirt partially unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled back, and suspenders hanging loose from his waist. Bess bit her bottom lip. She could still clearly see each moment he'd disrobed (for lack of a better word) fresh and vivid in her mind; how his shoulders moved, the flex of his muscles, the nimbleness of his fingers as he'd expertly rolled those sleeves back. Couple that all with the grin that hadn't left his face all afternoon, the clear, hearty laugh of his that she'd heard so often for the last two hours, and the way he had interacted with the customers in such a kind and genuine manner, somehow, Bess was now even more infatuated with Ebenezar Scrooge than she'd ever been. And that was a feat.

Yes, Bess thought to herself as she turned her focus back to packing boxes. Butterflies tickled through her insides. It's been a very good day.

"You got that, Pip?" Bess asked, her attention suddenly snapping to Pippersnipe with worry as the little man hefted up a box of leftover produce. While he was quite healthy and spritely for his age, Bess and her friends were always careful to make sure their darling of a landlord didn't try to strain himself. After all, he was a good man that had worked hard to be able to attain his current status and privileges in life, and he deserved to take it easy in his late years. However, much to their (often) terror, the man simply seemed to refuse to slow down.

Pippersnipe just beamed a grin as he walked off. "Needn't worry you lovely head about me, Pet," he assured her without a hint of strain in his voice. "I've got it."

Bess nodded, her nerves for her friend tempering some. Then she focused on her work again; she was going to need some more packing material to fill in all the empty space so the jars didn't clatter around. Luckily, they always brought plenty of extra old newspapers and cloth bits to the market days, just in case of such a need. The young woman slipped into the little tent at the back of the stall that served as their storage area (and, occasionally, a safe place for parents to attend to the needs of their little ones).

Bess was gathering up all the material she thought she might need into another crate when a voice reached her:

"Hello? Anyone here?" It was a man's voice, but that was all Bess really registered in her currently distracted mind.

"I'll be right with you!" Bess called back automatically. "Just a minute!"

By the time Bess had her crate full of newspapers and cloth scraps, a shadow had come over the entrance of the tent and there was a sharp tinkle of shattering glass. Ruined lobster bisque splattered over the cobblestone and Bess' blue, floral-patterned rain boots. Bess gasped and jumped with a start.

"Oh!" the voice from earlier exclaimed, coming from right behind Bess in the tent. "I do so apologize for that. I'm afraid it wasn't wiped down properly; it slipped from my hand." Something in his voice sounded insincere, almost mocking in tone. And now that it was much closer and Bess wasn't distracted by something else, it sounded much more familiar.

A chill settled over Bess as a vehement bitterness ensnared her insides, hardening every last nook and crevice of her being to stone. No. It couldn't be! The woman slowly turned to face the figure behind her and, most unfortunately, found that it could be. And, in fact, was.

A towering, broad-shouldered man filled Bess’ view, his eyes fog-bright even against his otherwise ghostly pallor. A crown of offensively jet-black hair, streaked with a few grays, shimmered like an oiled cap in the London sun. In some ways, very slight ways, there was a resemblance of the Scrooge Twins within him. Unfortunately, aesthetics were only as deep as the similarities went.

Bess went rigid as a statue. How?

“Do you have a moment to chat?” the man asked. Then, he laughed softly at his own jest. “Well, silly me--of course you do.”

Bess barely held back a grimace. Compared to the easy grace that someone like Ebenezar spoke with, every syllable of this man’s cadence was just slightly unsettling. It reminded Bess of trying to play an out-of-tune piano. The whisper of normality was there, but each sound was... off. There was a forced levity to his greeting, like an inexperienced adult trying to make small talk with a frightened child. Or someone they saw as a child, more accurately. The man even stooped over slightly to speak with her, his gaze licking up and down her frame.

Bess fought back a disgusted shiver.

After examining the cuff of his Kiton suit sleeve to make sure that it was unsullied from the accident before, the man flashed her an uncannily white smile. “Are you all by yourself here?” he asked, as if he couldn’t already see she was. He glanced around the booth, humming idly while doing so. “What quaint little offerings and… trinkets. Hm.” He nudged a wicker basket with his toe like it was roadkill in the way of his car. With a shake of the head, he refocused on the woman before him, giving her another look of appraisal.

“…You have an American accent,” he stated. “I heard before--when you told me to wait. Haha. It’s so nice to hear a familiar voice here.”

Bess said nothing, simply continued to stare him down, refusing to tear her eyes from him.

He partially circled her, slinking like a panther as he moved. “What’s your name?” For such a simple question, it sounded so sinister.

Perhaps that was what broke Bess' stupor. "I think you probably know exactly who I am," she finally answered, her voice even and controlled. "Orin Spiegler."

The man paused in his stride, and for a moment Bess thought she caught a glimpse of annoyance cast a pall over his conventionally handsome face. Perhaps it was just in her imagination because barely a blink later, Orin was smiling at her. It was probably supposed to be an amiable smile, but all it did was give Bess the creeps. "You know who I am," he stated.

Bess hoped the tinge of worry she heard in his voice wasn't just wishful thinking. She wanted him nervous of her; afraid he couldn't pull the wool over her eyes and charm his way around her. She wanted him scared. Scared in the same ways he'd made Connie feel for nearly twenty years and then some. "I'm very well aware," she assured him, giving him and up and down with her eyes to be sure he understood the emphasis.

There was a near imperceptible twist of the businessman's mouth. "Ah. I see there's little need for pretense then." His smile straightened out again and he tilted his head just so as he met Bess' gaze directly as if in challenge. "Elizabeth Sullivan."

It sickened the woman to the pit of her stomach to hear her name fall from the lips of this snake of a man. But she stood her ground.

If Orin was waiting for her to have some sort of physical reaction to her name and was disappointed that she hadn't given him any, he hid it well and moved on quickly. "My, I’m charmed to finally make your acquaintance, Elizabeth. I have heard much about you from my wife. It’s such a joy to find some pleasant company in this abyss of a city, and I believe we can do good by each other." He extended a hand, evidently expecting Bess to take it.

"I sincerely doubt that," Bess countered, not even flickering a glance toward the appendage.

"You seem quite certain about that."

"Because I am."

Orin stood silently for a beat, blinking at her as if trying to understand. Or, perhaps, to decipher something. Finally, his thin lips curled into a wiseass smirk and his eyes glinted. "Ah-ha," he chuckled wryly. "Ah, I see. Smart girl, you. Money up front it is." He pulled his hand back, reached into a pocket of his blazer, and whipped out a richly bound checkbook. Pulling out a pen, he clicked it and flipped the checkbook open before scribbling with a bit of a flourish on the muted green paper of the check before ripping it from the binding. "Ah. There we are."

Holding the check between a middle and forefinger, he extended it towards the young woman. "One thousand dollars," he announced. "I'm not sure what the exchange rate of that is here, but it's all yours if you might just help me locate my wife."

Immediate indignation burned through Bess' veins, making her blood hiss a bit in her ears. She was unable to stop her lip twisting into a disgusted sneer and physically recoiled from the offered check. A wry laugh escaped her. "Connie was right: The nerve on you really is something else."

Orin raised a much too perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Pardon me?"

Bess narrowed her eyes at him. "You honestly believe you can pay me off to get to Connie?" she challenged. "After everything I've heard about you and what you did to her? Surely you must know that if you know enough about me to come to my market stall looking for Connie, I know even more about you, considering I've been living with her."

In the back of her mind, Bess knew she was potentially backing herself into a hazardous corner. Orin Spiegler wasn't some typical creep who tried to make time with her at the lounge bar; he was a perilous man with a volatile temperament who didn't hesitate to lock women outside in freezing cold weather in just their night things or throw them down flights of stairs to break their legs. But he was also a pathetic, spineless, slimy son of a bitch--lower than scum. And Bess had been raring to rip into his worthless hide since the moment Connie had recounted how he'd slapped her hard enough to give her a nosebleed on their wedding night.

As far as Bess was concerned, Orin didn't deserve to be feared; he deserved to be beaten into the ground and dragged through the mud. He deserved to have every bit of his rotten existence ripped asunder and utterly ruined. She was more than willing to do the dirtiest work.

That was probably why the way anger flashed in Orin's eyes and his face distorted into a fearsome glower didn't cause her to so much as flinch. However, her hands tightened into fists, and her muscles were already preparing to swing it if she had to. If he wanted to get physical, she would gladly oblige him.

"All right," Orin replied after a moment, taking a deep breath to calm himself though his expression didn't appear any more even-keel. "Fine." He drew the check back and ripped it in about a dozen different ways before dropping the pieces and dusting them from his hands.

Bess' gaze flickered to the soft green pieces, watching them float gently to the cobbles like confetti. That was her mistake.

Quick as lightning, Orin seized a nearby crate by the handle and swung it as hard as he could, catching the distracted young woman in the shoulder and side.

"ACK!" Bess stumbled sideways to trip over several boxes and fall to a heap on the ground. Dazed and trying to get her wind back, she didn't even have enough time to think to react before he was on her, grabbing her by the ponytail and wrenching her up again. All Bess could do was scream in pain and alarm.

"Shut up!" Orin growled viciously. He dragged her around and partially-threw, partially-shoved the young woman out of the tent into the front of the market stall, where she crashed heavily into the table holding the box of soup jars. Both she and it went toppling over, the box spilling its contents to the ground to shatter upon the cobblestones. He stalked after her. "You smart-mouthed little bitch!" he seethed. "You're going to tell me what I want to know, even if I have to beat it out of you!" His hands and fingers flexed as he tried to decide whether to continue the assault open-handed or closed fist. He cast a furtive glance around the courtyard to find that they appeared to be quite alone, so it probably wouldn't matter what he did.

He never got the chance to decide.

Orin's slow, ominous advance and indecision gave Bess enough time to gather herself and get some bearings back. When she did, she was mad--a snorting bull, seeing-red sort of mad. Oh, this jackass was going to learn a thing or two!

Lurching to her feet, the American woman charged headlong into the oncoming man with an enraged yell. She drove all of her considerable weight and size into him, knocking the breath from him, trapping him between strong arms and broad shoulders as she football-tackled him like a linebacker. She caught him at a perfect angle to lift him off his feet and drive him back. Her stepfather would have been fit to burst with pride over how beautifully she carried it out.

"Hhhhaaahhhhh-RAUGH!" Bess drove Orin down into the ground against the hard stones. And then she was on top of him, straddling and pinning him beneath her as she began to draw back her fists and start laying into his face and chest with all her might. Her bare knuckles throbbed from the onslaught and the cobbles painfully dug into and scuffed her knees, but Bess didn't let up for a second. She was much too angry; intent on giving this brute a well-earned taste of his own medicine.

"C'mon!" she screeched, her American accent slipping into a posh, English one as it was prone to do when she was impassioned with rage. "Fight back! Hit me! Hit me, Orin! I dare you! C'mon, I know you like to hit girls! I know you like to beat your wife! C'mon, Spiegler! Hit back! Or can't you handle a woman who actually fights back?! You gutless, ball-less wonder!"

That seemed to stir fury into Orin's soul (or whatever he had in place of one). With a savage roar, the man desperately shot a hand upward, blindly reaching, grabbing for anything he could snag hold of. By some miracle he found purchase on Bess' throat; without a second thought, he squeezed tight as he could, long fingers coiling around to the back of her neck. Then he shoved her to the side with all his might, throwing his weight up and over as they went to end up atop his opponent.

"You... crazy slut!" he puffed, chest and shoulders heaving. "Goddamn you're a hellcat! Gah! Stay still!" The man continued to grapple with the woman as she thrashed and fought beneath him. He tightened his grip on her throat, trying to choke her out, but it wasn't the easiest thing to do one-handed, and his other hand was currently having a fight of its own trying to pin both her hands to the ground. He could not risk those getting free again.

Bess only struggled harder. She glared daggers up at him, her airway too constricted to allow speech but not enough to black her out yet. So long as she was conscious, she would make this a war for the loathsome rat.

Her defiance unsettled Orin. Even pinned beneath him, one of his hands strangling her, she refused to back down, refused to surrender, refused to submit. She's not afraid of me, he realized, and the thought made his blood freeze. Dread settled deep in his gut like an anvil. This wasn't how it was supposed to go!

Desperate to put an end to this... unnatural feminine rebellion, Orin squeezed her neck all the tighter and bashed her head and shoulders into the stones beneath them. "You worthless cow--do as I say!"

Bess winced and let out a croaking groan as she was slammed into the ground. But if her resolute defiance wavered, it was only because of pain; that mutinous flame in her dark eyes blazed obstinately bright. "Fuck... you," she managed to crackle out.

That was when Orin was broadsided, sharply slammed into at the side with such force he could have sworn his ribcage dented in. "Ugh-oof!" The blow was more than enough to knock him away from Bess and send him rolling across the cobblestones.

"Get the hell away from her, you bloody bastard!" a snarling, rather feral voice boomed with fury.

Bess' lungs finally expanded to capacity with a full, unfettered breath; she coughed from the sudden, forceful change. "Wolf!" she rasped in great relief, eyes turned upward to the tall, imposing figure standing over her.

Like a gallant knight of yore, forming a protective wall between her and the savage beast that was her attacker, Ebenezar Scrooge had come to her rescue yet again. His slate-blue gaze, bright and blazing with lividness, bore down on the dark-haired man still trying to collect himself. But even as he kept his eyes on Orin, he turned his attention to his friend. "Are you all right, Bess?" he asked obvious concern for her beneath his otherwise caustic tone. He unfurled a fist and reached a hand down and back toward her.

Bess didn't think twice about sitting up and reaching to take and grip onto the offered appendage. She held his hand close with both of her own, pressing her cheek to the back of it. He probably meant for her to pull herself up with it, but all she wanted at the moment was to hold onto him and feel the security of his presence. "I'm okay," she croaked, absently nuzzling against his knuckles. It was mostly true; she wasn't unscathed but definitely sounded far worse than she actually felt. though she knew there would be some gnarly-looking bruising around her neck later. And perhaps a decent-sized knot on the back of her head too.

Her Wolf squeezed one of her hands into the comforting warmth of his own and Bess watched a bit of the tension seep out of his stance. Still, he kept his eyes on her assailant, ever alert. "What happened, Brightness?"

"It's Orin," Bess informed him breathlessly.

At first the name and significance of it didn't quite register for the billionaire: He'd met a few Orins in his time. But those Orins wouldn't mean anything to Bess. And he certainly wouldn't have found any of them pinning her to the ground next to her farmer's market stall and trying to strangle her.

Then it finally clicked. Ebenezar clutched Bess hand even tighter and stepped closer to and even more in front of her. His glower at the dark-haired man deepened. "Spiegler," he snarled. It wasn't a question.

Having gotten some of her breath back, Bess started to clamber to her feet. Her legs still shook and she clung to her handsome knight for support, leaning heavily into the back of his shoulder as she hugged his arm and continued holding his hand. "H-He's looking for Connie," she wheezed.

Her Wolf just growled, his ribcage rumbling under her touch.

The pair watched as Orin writhed around on the cobbles. When the suited man finally started to rise, Ebenezar pushed Bess to further safety behind him. He was not about to let this bastard lay another hand on the woman he loved!

"You have a nerve, Mr. Spiegler," Scrooge remarked. His usually mellifluous voice rumbled savagely with ominous thunder.

If Orin was surprised that billionaire banker and philanthropist Ebenezar Charles Scrooge was also aware of who he was, he didn't display it. Instead, he tried flashing a rather bloody ingratiating smile at the elder businessman. As if that would get him places. "Ah, you must be one of the Mr. Scrooges," he chuckled before coughing and groaning painfully at the effort. He took a moment to spit some blood from his lips. "Ugh... pardon me. D-Do I have the pleasure of meeting Mr. Ebenezar Scrooge or Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge?"

"The former, and also the Scrooge that's about to put your arse under the plane you arrived on."

Bess snorted as she scowled at Orin over Ebenezar's shoulder. "Why not put him under the dirt? Give me a shovel--he sorry carcass might still be worth decent compost."

There was no mistaking the anger that flashed in Orin's eyes at Bess' comment; the man truly did not handle derision from a woman well at all. However, he tried to hide his true emotions by making another wry chuckle. "I-I can see I've upset you, Mr. Scrooge. Or might I call you "Ebenezar"?"

"You call me anything or say another word at all, and you'll never speak again, you smarmy kissarse," Ebenezar replied. It was both a statement and a threat.

At that comment, a brief shadow of anxiousness came over Orin's swelling, bloodied face. Apparently, his usually potent and influential silver-tongue failing him was something he was used to even less than a woman standing her ground. "I'm afraid we've got off on the wrong foot, Mr. Scrooge," the man implored, a hint of pathetic desperation in his voice. "I can't say as I blame you for your anger, considering how you found the lovely lady and I, but let me assure you, Ms. Sullivan and I--we simply had a misunderstanding. Or rather, she misunderstood me--you know how women are. Hahaha-AHHCK!"

Orin fell to the ground again, partially crumpling in pain and partially being sent there with a resounding thwack! of a hard, wooden cane upon his skull. The dark-haired man clutched at the side of his head, cursing and sucking air sharply through his teeth.

Pippersnipe, wee little man though he was, was standing as tall and square as he could draw himself up to be. The effect was actually rather noteworthy, especially since he also held his cane like a master swordsman, one hand primly folded behind his back. His usually warm and inviting face was set like granite, with hard, ominous lines etched deep in his visage as he glowered at the younger man rolling upon the ground.

"I'm not sure I do know women, as it happens," the Irishman replied, a very dangerous lilt in his smooth brogue. "At least, not as you do. But what I do know, is we don't take very kindly to the disrespect of our ladies around here." With that statement, Pippersnipe drew his cane back and made an expert twist of the handle which unlocked and smoothly released a glinting rapier blade from the shaft. "If I was you, I'd watch my tongue, boy." He threateningly directed the blade in Orin's direction. "Or risk losing it."

Orin stared at Pippersnipe in silence for a moment. Whether he was still reeling from the whap the little man had delivered him, or he was struck dumb with terror at the sight of a real sword blade in his face, no one could tell. But, finally, after a minute or two, the American man seemed to pull himself together a bit. He managed a sneer and a chortle, though both looked and sounded quite nervous. "S-So," he attempted to chuckle condescendingly, "England still settles disagreements with swordplay, hey? How utterly barbaric."

"You're one to speak of barbarism from what I hear," Pippersnipe countered, voice even and soft but somehow bitingly cold and intimidating at the same moment.

"Then you've heard wrong," Orin hissed.

"Have I seen wrong, too?" Bess challenged, unable to keep the rising fury from her voice. For this man to have the nerve to act like he hadn't done all the things he'd done when almost every day she saw the scars left on Connie's body. When she had to help monitor Connie's medication intake to make sure she didn't slip back into the habits of addiction. When she'd had to hold her best friend through the painful tears and panic attacks brought on by chronic pain, withdrawal episodes, unexpected triggers, night terrors!

Orin turned an icy glare on her. "Whatever you think you've seen, you're mistaken," he bit back. "But you women always are."

"That's it!" Seeing red again, Bess flew around Ebenezar and threw herself on top of the dark-haired man again. She managed to get a couple more solid hits into him before she was pulled off and away by strong but gentle arms and hands.

"Bess, enough!" Ebenezar grunted as he hauled her a safe distance away.

Bess struggled in his grip to get back to Orin. "You bastard! You come anywhere near Connie, I'll rip your throat out! You try to touch her, I'll cave in your skull!"

Orin jeered at her. "You think I'm afraid of you, girl?" he chuckled with a bloody sneer.

Bess simply responded with an enraged vocalization that was half-roar, half-growl and violently lunged against Ebenezar's grip. He managed to hold her, but that didn't stop Bess from experiencing the ecstasy of watching Orin's infuriating smirk quickly be replaced with barely hidden terror as he flinched away. Excellent! Now he knew how Connie felt for all those years!

"Control your bitch, Scrooge!" Orin spat, scuttling backwards on the cobbles from her. He probably tried to sound authoritative and angry, but all he managed to sound like was a dog that was all bark and no bite.

"Call her that again, and I'll tear your throat out myself!" Ebenezar warned him, slate-blue eyes driving daggers at the American man.

"You don't seem to be making a very impressive stand, young man," Pippersnipe remarked, voice still calm and collected despite the brawling chaos around him. His rapier blade was lowered to his side now but still poised to be swiftly brought into play at any moment.

Orin let out an affronted, biting laugh as he struggled to finally rise to his feet. "You Brits!" he huffed. "Letting your females walk all over you! Having leprechauns brandish swords in the square! Threatening bodily harm on a poor man visiting your pathetic dump of an island to just try and find his beloved wife!"

Bess screamed in indignation. "Don't you dare call her "beloved"! Not after everything you put her through! Not after you almost killed her! You don't get to call her that!" She lunged again and managed to break away from Ebenezar's grip for a split second before he snatched her back up again.

Orin flinched away, terror he could no longer conceal leaping onto his face. It seemed he did have enough sense to fear the wrath of a fury.

"I don't know how much longer the poor man can hold her," Pippersnipe remarked in almost a mocking tone. "And I have no intentions of trying to hold her off you myself. I'd leave while I had the chance if I were you, son."

Orin's gaze flew to Pippersnipe, and from Pippersnipe to the enraged pair. His eyes flitted between them, taking in each furious visage as they both heaved with hardly restrained wrath. It was clear to see how much it irked him that his plans had gone so wildly different than he'd probably thought. But it was even more clear just how desperately he just wanted to get out of this unexpected scenario alive now.

The man's dark eyes lingered on Bess alone for a long moment. They held gazes, as if trying to peer into each other's souls to find their other's weakness. There was something processing in Orin's eyes behind the overwhelming terror, but it was impossible to decipher before he finally managed to replace his mask of reticent collectedness.

"Very well," he said, voice once again that overly rehearsed, oily, dignified tone he'd introduced himself with. "I can see that we've reached something of an impasse today. I can tell when I'm not wanted, and I'm not one for sticking around where I'm not. I'll go. But don't think this will be the last you all hear from me, because it won't be."

"If you have any self-preservation at all, it had better be," Ebenezar rumbled.

Orin met his scowl with a rather haughty look. "I'm afraid I'm not a man who will be threatened or dictated to, Mr. Scrooge," he stated. "Try to stick me back on a plane and get me out of the country all you want, it won't work. I'm not going anywhere until I have my wife firmly beside me again."

"Over my dead body!" Bess snapped venomously.

Orin's gaze flew back to her, and Bess swore she saw a bit of vengeful fire roar through it. "You know, she's not worth it," he said.

"Says the jackass who probably hired p.i.s to spy on her life here and flew hundreds of miles to try and track her down at a farmer's market to get her back instead of just cutting his losses," Bess retorted.

"You're just an unwanted little girl. You don't understand these things."

"Go jump, you worthless sad-sack!"

"I would take that as my leave," Pippersnipe cut in. The icy gleam in his eyes was now deadly. He drew up his blade and fingered the point as if testing the sharpness.

"Wouldn't want to overstay your welcome any more than you have," Ebenezar agreed.

Orin looked around at each of them again, gazing at them all with some level of disbelief. Again, his eyes lingered longest on Bess and the young woman could have sworn she saw something like a silent vow lock into place inside his slimy skull. Admittedly it unsettled her, made her gut feel uneasy, but she refused to hold an ounce of fear concerning this scumbag.

"Well," the dark-haired man finally said. "I'll be taking my leave then." He couldn't seem to help the slight smirk that caught up a corner of his mouth as he met Bess' gaze again. "Give Constance my regards."

Bess glowered savagely at him, letting out a snort like an angry fighting bull.

Orin chuckled, daring to shoot an infuriating wink at her. Then he finally turned and limped away.

When he'd finally disappeared from sight behind a line of hedges, the tension in the area eased off; the group let go a collective breath of relief. Relief for the time being anyway. Things had just gotten more than a bit complicated with the arrival of the infamous American businessman.

Without warning, Bess found herself manually spun around and facing a rather concerned-looking Ebenezar.

"Bess, are you all right?" the tall man hastily inquired. "How badly did he hurt you? Is anything painful?" As he interrogated her, his slate-blue eyes were racing over her, examining her, taking note of every bump, bruise, and scratch. When his gaze lowered to her neck, it stayed there locked onto the finger-shaped bruising that was already beginning to form around the soft column of her throat. Anger and agony both shone in his eyes, and he lifted a hand to run his own fingers ever-so tenderly along the discolored marks.

Bess felt both touched and guilty; touched that he was so worried for her wellbeing, guilty that she was, in fact, worrying him. Unable to help herself, she reached up and cupped one of his sculpted cheeks in her palm. "I'm all right," she assured him. She didn't sound like it; her voice sounded rather crackly and soft, probably from both the attempted strangulation and the barking she'd done at Orin.

Obviously, her Wolf wasn't all that convinced. "Don't lie to me, Elizabeth." Oh, her given name--he was worried. "Please. If you need to go to a hospital-"

She silenced him with another hand gently covering his lips. "Wolf. I don't. Trust me, I'm okay. I sound a lot more rough than I feel, honest. I am a little sore, probably gonna have to ice and wrap my knuckles, and I'm gonna have a bump on the back of my head, but I'm okay." Without realizing, she let her hand fall from his lips to rest flat over his heart as if trying to physically soothe his worries with her touch.

One of his massive hands automatically drifted to cover hers upon his chest, pressing it closer. "You're certain? It's just... when I saw you on the ground... the way he was holding you down..." he trailed off with a pained sigh, guilt taking hold of his handsome face and lodging itself in every crease.

"I'm so sorry, Brightness," he murmured, bringing his hand from her throat up to smooth some curly fringe back from her face before holding her jaw. "I should have been beside you. I should have hurried back from the truck sooner. If I had-"

Bess quickly cut him off, taking his face between both of her scuffed and bloody hands, her expression firm but not unkind: "Ebenezar, no. You're not doing that: You're not putting any blame on yourself--I won't allow it. The only person at fault for all this just skulked off with his tail between his legs. Orin and Orin only gets all the blame here, okay?"

Wolf didn't look quite convinced. "I still should have come back sooner," he insisted. "He never would have tried to harm you if I'd been here when he arrived."

The woman gave him a small smile. Her hands slipping from his face, she pulled him into a hug, easily shifting closer until she was flush against him when his arms instinctively embraced her in turn. "Hey," she cooed, voice as soft as though she was trying to soothe a hurt, frightened animal. "I'm okay, Wolfy. All right? I promise. I'll let you take me to a clinic to get checked over if it makes you feel better, but I swear I'm okay. I've had way worse than this, remember."

Ebenezar's eyes drifted from hers to her left shoulder now poking out through her shirt's askew neck hole. Without thinking, he let a hand drift up and gently ghost over the textured, slightly shiny, mottled scar of her long-since healed scald burn. Yes. Bess had been through much worse before. But that was why it bothered him so to see her hurt, however minimally, now; she should never have had to endure abuse from another ever again. Especially not when he was here for her now.

Still, her indomitable spirit about it all and her refusal to be sucked under by it was inspiring.

Sighing heavily, the man affectionately smoothed his hand over the young woman's head, trying to tame the untidy curls that had broken free from her loosened ponytail. "Built like a warrior goddess," he remarked with a tiny, wry smile, "and strong as one too."

Bess blushed, her gaze falling sheepishly from his. "I don't know about that," she muttered, gently biting her lip as she smiled, peeking back up at him from beneath her lashes.

A twinge of tenderness struck her as his hand passed over the goose egg forming on the back of her skull; Bess slightly winced, hissing through her teeth. A whisper of "ow" slipped by her lips before she could stop it.

Concern shadowed Ebenezar's face again and he gently prodded at the tender spot, examining the swelling. "Oh, my dear," he sighed sympathetically. Cupping her nape, he gently drew her head forward a bit, bowing his own into her hair to press a soft kiss close to the injury. "My brave Yankee girl."

Bess pressed her face into his chest, smiling against the softness of his shirt. Sore and aware of the looming threat to her soul-sister as she was, it was impossible to not feel safe and secure in her lovely Wolf's hold.

The sound of tinkling glass caused the pair to look towards the overturned table to see Pippersnipe gently nudging at bits of broken jars in puddles of wasted soups and stews with the end of his reunified cane. There was little emotion in the elderly Irishman's face, but his jaw was clenched, the muscles of it steadily working. It was a tick Bess and her friends had come to learn meant the little fellow was contemplating serious business. Fitting, considering who had just dropped into town.

"Pip?" Bess' voice was quiet, tinged with trepidation.

Her landlord and friend looked her way, held her gaze a moment, then looked to the gentleman embracing her. "I'd take her to be seen to, Mr. Scrooge," he stated, voice even and calm. "I'll finish the clean up here then take things back to the cottage."

Ebenezar nodded. "Of course."

"Oh, you don't have to clean up," Bess protested. "I'm fine. I don't need to see-"

"Elizabeth," the banker cut her off, voice firm but not unkind. He gave the Yank a stern look when she turned to him again. "You said you'd let me take you to be examined, so you're going to be examined. I'll hear no more about it. Understand?" He lifted a single, bushy brow, as if challenging her to say anything against him.

Usually Bess would have been annoyed at being told what to do, but with an order like that coming from her Wolf, all she discovered was that she felt warm inside and all over. Warm, protected, and cared for. She couldn't find it in herself to argue with the only other man in existence apart from her step-father to make her feel in such a way so wholly, so, with the tiniest smile, she nodded. Her heart cartwheeled in her chest when Ebenezar's severe, no-nonsense expression softened. Seriously, how could a man be so damn pretty without trying?

"Good girl," Pippersnipe said. Then he shooed them with his cane. "Off with you now. Don't worry here--I have it handled. I'll see you at the cottage later."

Snagging up his suit jacket from the hook on one of the stall's support posts, Wolf wrapped a protective arm around the young woman and gently led her off. "Come on, Brightness. Let's go have you seen to."

Bess much too easily notched herself into his side, slipping an arm around his waist. "You're the boss, Mr. Scrooge," she teased with wink.

The tall man rumbled a chuckle. "Well, it seems your cheek is still intact."

"Well, that's one less thing they'll have to cheek out."

"Ugh."

"Oh, come on, even you have to admit that was a clever one."

"I don't have to admit anything."

"Maybe while we're at the clinic we should see if there's anything they can do to loosen up that humor of yours a bit too."

"I beg your pardon? My sense of humor is excellent."

"And so are my puns."

"Debatable."

Pippersnipe watched after the playfully bickering pair before turning back to again assess the damage around the market stall. His gaze lingered on a dark puddle of Gal's acclaimed Melas Zomos, the ruined black broth slowly oozing over the stones, releasing its thick, unctuous, bloody scent into the air. The pit that has settled in his stomach upon first catching sight of Orin Spiegler only grew. Things weren't just about to become more complicated in London: They were also about to become much more dangerous.

~⚔️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️⚔️~

🎶Dun-dun-DUUUUHHHHHNNNNNNN!!!🎶

[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?

[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.

[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✨.

[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.

[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]

@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

[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

[mirandamckenni1]

RACHEL STARR COVERED IN BABY OIL W/ HAYLEY DAVIES RACHEL STARR COVERED IN BABY OIL W/ HAYLEY DAVIES Ladies and Gentlemen, get ready for a wild and entertaining episode of Pillow Talk! Hayley Davies, our favourite hardest worker joins forces with special guest Rachel Starr, renowned adult film star, for an unforgettable conversation. With your host Ryan Pownall, they delve into hilarious discussions, sharing laughs and stories that'll keep you hooked. J*RK WITH MATES - PROMO CODE! https://ift.tt/UbOvpFA JOIN OUR OFFICIAL DISCORD SERVER: https://ift.tt/k70gSMT PILLOWTALK UNCENSORED: https://ift.tt/cBnjmPp SOCIALS: Rachel Starr: https://ift.tt/0MA63Xh @rachelstarr Hayley Davies: https://ift.tt/7ycNofG @itshayleydavies Ryan Pownall: https://ift.tt/XaPz8CG @itsryanpownall Episode 142 - Producer Terry 00:00 Pre-Roll 00:21 Welcome to Pillow Talk: The Podcast 00:34 Introducing the Host and Co-host 01:33 Introducing the Guest: Rachel Starr 01:57 Rachel Starr's Journey into the Adult Industry 03:09 Rachel Starr's Experience in the Industry 03:49 The Impact of OnlyFans on Rachel Starr's Career 04:15 Rachel Starr's Approach to Content Creation 06:14 Rachel Starr's Personal Life and Relationships 08:31 Rachel Starr's Thoughts on Different Aspects of the Adult Industry 11:11 Rachel Starr's Preferences and Experiences in the Adult Industry 14:49 Rachel Starr's Thoughts on the Future of the Adult Industry 16:08 Rachel Starr's Personal Experiences and Stories 18:34 Rachel Starr's Thoughts on Different Aspects of Sexuality 21:34 Rachel Starr's Thoughts on the Adult Industry and Personal Life 23:11 Rachel Starr's Thoughts on Different Aspects of the Adult Industry 25:27 Rachel Starr's Personal Experiences and Stories 27:05 Rachel Starr's Thoughts on Different Aspects of the Adult Industry 28:37 Rachel Starr's Personal Experiences and Stories 30:52 Rachel Starr's Thoughts on Different Aspects of the Adult Industry 32:40 Rachel Starr's Personal Experiences and Stories 35:07 Rachel Starr's Thoughts on Different Aspects of the Adult Industry 36:28 Rachel Starr's Personal Experiences and Stories 38:50 Rachel Starr's Thoughts on Different Aspects of the Adult Industry 40:41 Rachel Starr's Personal Experiences and Stories 45:28 Unconventional Adult Toys 46:18 Exploring Personal Preferences: Dominance and Submission 46:59 The Reality of Adult Film Stars' Private Lives 49:07 The Intersection of Finance and Relationships 51:34 The Impact of Adult Entertainment on Society 57:56 The Intricacies of Intimacy: A Deep Dive 01:03:51 The Changing Landscape of Virginity and Relationships 01:05:16 The Role of Passion and Purpose in Attraction 01:06:29 The Influence of Materialism on Modern Dating 01:07:45 The Journey from Nightclub Promoter to Podcast Host 01:10:19 Spiegler Girls & Adult Agencies 01:19:07 The Unexpected Friendship with Joe Exotic 01:27:34 Getting in bed with MGK (Machine Gun Kelly) 01:30:54 The Final Thoughts: Reflecting on the Industry and Personal Growth via YouTube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jG_az-RvuW0