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jakeyt · 7 months

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Bloodstream: Chapter 1

By: @jakeyt + (my lovely sis) @joshym

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader, f!OC x m!OC

Bloodstream Summary:

Folklore. Stories passed down through generations. Imaginations run rampant with their tales of sorcery and the supernatural.

But for Tommie, it was different. Somehow it was more. She had become transfixed by a local legend — one that told of an unlawful love affair between a witch and a vampire. To Tommie, it was an alluring tapestry woven with threads of forbidden love and timeless secrets. Yet something about it felt strangely familiar to her—but why?

It was only a story…wasn’t it?

Word Count: 10.8k+

Warnings: witchcraft; vampirism; death; mentions of bodily harm; grief; mentions of lgbtq+ oppression (it's the 70's, people were assholes); Vampire!Jake; lots of eventual smut (minors DNI !! 18+ only !!)

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a/n: this baby has been brewing for a good while now. . . it all came to us after walking around an abandoned cemetery near our hometown.

truly, @joshym and i have worked tirelessly on the chapters, the (massive) plot, and the general outline of the story. so, after sitting on it for a bit, we decided its finally the perfect time to share it - during the spookiest month of the year. . . october!!

this chapter is more of an opening to the story than anything. . . there is so much to come, and this chapter barely even begins to scratch the surface ;)

enjoy, loves!!

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Chapter 1:

Harvard University

Cambridge, MA

PRESENT DAY

Friday, October 27th, 2045

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The wind whistled in dreary tones around her head as she hurriedly trekked down the bustling halls of campus.

It was finally fall break on campus. And she was beyond ready for the much-anticipated break from the grueling work that came with being a college student at an extremely prestigious university.

Even though it was only her first semester at Harvard University, the work had come incomparable to the work she knew was normal for your average college student. Her friends, whom she’d just parted from a few months ago, who were going to typical universities, weren’t feeling the torment she was feeling in this season of life.

There were certainly a few redeeming qualities of going to school at Harvard, though.

The initial reason she’d decided to come here had been to live with her Granny M, who already lived right there in Cambridge, as she attended school. It had already been what dreams were made of. . . being that her Granny M was her favorite person on the entire earth.

The second redeeming quality had been the boy she’d met during orientation, who she had instantly clicked with. The wonderfully down to earth, charismatic, and completely handsome Andrew Burnett. Andrew was a tall man, Irish as they come, with the warmest, most kind eyes she’d ever witnessed in real life. He was everything a woman could want in a man, and she had been smitten right off the bat. And, luckily, it seemed he had been, too. For they’d spent hours getting to know each other during the week of orientation, and had started dating the first week of classes. He was truly impeccable.

The third (and most) attractive part of being in Cambridge was being away from the stifling environment of her home in Plymouth. Her parents were the opposite of her in every way. They had been pros at squashing every curiosity she could possibly have, as well as dampening her individuality.

Her father had come from a strong religious background, bringing it into the home. . .

making her mother follow his lead in making sure the home never had anything suspicious come through.

And, of course, she regularly challenged that.

With her clothing choices (black, black, and more black), makeup (always donning a particularly murky shade on her lips), and music (only ever music with deep themes and broody singers; Amy Lee, having been her biggest icon for years).

Then, the candle’s small light had become a blazing flame, when at thirteen years old, she had become completely and utterly transfixed by all things witchcraft and wizardry. It had occurred seemingly overnight. The heartiest addition to things outside of her parents’ perfectly crafted and regulated norm, one could say.

It had come when she’d first witnessed Harry Potter at a slumber party in middle school. She’d been hooked right off the bat. Though, it wasn’t even Harry Potter that’d transfixed her—or any of the characters in that universe, for that matter.

No, it had gone further—deeper.

The lore of witchcraft and studying the lifestyles of witches had become everything to her. So, from that point on, she’d wanted to constantly research the logistics and legend of it all. . .though, unfortunately, her parents would have none of it.

And while her Granny M had never exactly encouraged it, she didn’t stop her from reading and spending countless hours at the library when she’d visit her in the summers growing up. The one rule her grandmother did have was to avoid delving into any local legend.

Granny M always said it was “too risky.” And when she would ever question her Gran, she’d simply respond with, “That’s all I’ll say, love. Please, just avoid it, my sweet T.”

So, she did avoid it. She would respect that one wish of her grandmother’s if it meant she could freely read to understand every aspect of it all.

But, here on this cloudy, windy day, nearing All Hallows’ Eve, something was about to change.

She’d practically skated to the front desk of Harvard’s library, asking for the latest additions to her favorite section.

And little did she know: the fascination—the strange obsession—would become more than what it had always been. It would almost eat her alive in curiosity, enchantment, and imagination.

She had gone to the same section as always, plucking the most recent addition.

When she’d gotten to the counter again, new book in tow, she’d scrounged around in her messenger bag for her student ID to check out the book. . .but hadn’t had any luck in locating it.

“Looking for your ID?” The student worker had asked with a sympathetic tone.

She huffed, still searching through the mess to no avail. She blew her inky bangs out of her eyes, looking up with an apology plastered on her slim features. “Yeah,” she said, closing her bag and wrapping the strap around her shoulder once more. “I’m sorry; I’m a mess. I can’t seem to find it and I have no clue where in the hell it could be. Can I still check that out without it?”

The student looked apprehensive, letting out a slow breath through his pursed lips. “Name?”

“Thomasina Lowe,” Tommie said, her voice raising an octave in hopes that being positive may help her case.

“Shit,” the student worker gasped. “You’ve got five books out right now, and almost all of them are overdue.” He shook his head, pushing his black-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Nope. There is no way I can let you check this out and still have a good conscience.”

Tommie’s chest pinched with irritation at the condescending way she was being spoken to. “Seriously? I can’t be the only student on this campus with late books.”

“No,” he said, as if talking to a child. “But you also don’t have your ID. Double whammy for you, Thomasina.”

Tommie’s blood pressure rose up to her ears. And just as she was about to interject again, she heard the wind harshly swoop the door closed behind a student. She and the worker both looked towards the doors, shocked at the sudden rush of wind. And to her relief, it was Andrew. He was covering his head with his book bag, sheltering him and his damp shoulders.

Tommie glanced behind him at the doors he’d come through, seeing there were now raindrops falling steadily from the sky that was dry just moments ago. And as if on cue, the accompanying sound of thunder clapped and echoed throughout the old building.

He made eye contact with Tommie almost immediately, his smile reassuring and sweet. Chances were, he had already deduced she was in trouble, as Tommie’s face rarely hid emotion well.

And as soon as he’d arrived next to her, he was taking both thumbs and softly smoothing her eyebrows back down to normal. Tommie felt her own grin perk her lips the slightest bit.

But, of course, keeping with his wonderfully sunshine-y personality was the student worker, who hastily broke up the moment with a chastising tone and the shove of the book towards Tommie and Andrew. “Please find the ID and the other books and come back another day.”

Tommie’s nostrils flared as she looked at the book. But just as soon, she felt Andrew’s hand on her back, rubbing circles.

Towering over her, he spoke to the worker, who had to look up a healthy distance to make eye contact. “I’ll check it out,” he said, his voice, ever-calm and cool, thick with his charming Irish intonation. He slipped his ID from the wallet in his back pocket, sliding it across the counter to the student worker.

The worker seemed hesitant, but Andrew raised a brow, and nodded his head toward the book. There was no way the worker could deny him, so within seconds, Tommie was walking over to the couches in the coffee area that sat at the back of the library, Andrew’s long legs keeping in line with her fast pace.

And, when he was back from the counter with two warm coffee cups, he sat them down on the table. Then, taking the seat in the armchair opposite Tommie, he curiously asked, “What’s this book about?”

She was only staring at the back of the book, having just completely read the summary. Her shock was obviously apparent on her face, because when her boyfriend spoke again, he sounded concerned. “Love? You alright?”

Tommie blinked several times, then placed the book down on the table between them. She pushed it to him swiftly, and with a raised brow, he read the back of it as well.

“Local legend,” he remarked, his interest peaking. “How interest—. Oh.”

“Yeah,” she replied, looking down at her coffee, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic to bring a sense of comfort. The nerves were wracking her. “One of the most famous. This is the third book I’ve come across this semester that’s had to do with it. It’s fucking tempting me, but I have to respect Gran’s rule. Right?” Tommie shook her head, tucking her short brown hair behind her ears. She took a swig of the sweet liquid, tongue burning a bit from the temperature. “But it must be a sign that it keeps coming back to me. . .right?”

He looked contemplative, studying Tommie’s face and exchanging glances at the book and her eyes. Andrew was usually one to be the voice of reason to Tommie’s impulsive ways of thinking, but never one to deny her curiosity as it’s one of the things he’s come to cherish most about her.

He scanned her face, her amber eyes catching the light just right as they revealed her desire to crack open the book and dive headfirst into the forbidden tale.

“What harm will skimming a few pages do?” he reassures, attempting to conceal his own fascination with the fable. He smiled as her face lit up instantly, her hands quickly moving from her warm mug back to the book. She looked at him in silent question as her hands stilled on the leather bind, waiting for one more seal of approval before turning a single page. “Go on, then. Open it up.”

He scooted his chair closer to her as she slowly opened the book. The tattered pages held a woodsy scent; earthly notes with subtle hints of sweet musk infiltrated their nostrils as she lifted the hardcover.

Her fingers skated across the title page, the name written in faded golden ink. “A Dream in Gold: The Legend of The North Atlantic Forbidden Lovers.”

“There’s no author. . .,” she uttered as she turned the first few pages, searching for some indication of who wrote the curious novel.

“That can’t be,” he said. “There must be mention of one somewhere, at the very least a scribe. How old is this thing, anyways?”

Andrew lifted the book, studying the cover, the first page, even the last page in hopes of finding anything that suggested who wrote it or when it was published. Perplexion clouded his features as his mission proved unsuccessful.

He flipped through the worn pages that looked more like manuscripts. Intricate artwork detailed oceanic voyages and battles fought between ships navigating the harsh waters. Storm clouds with golden lightning bolts, and night skies littered with sparkling constellations.

“Wait, I may have found something,” Andrew stumbled on a page almost entirely blank aside from what appeared to be two faint, obscured signatures. “It’s autographed?” He questioned.

“Maybe they’re the mysterious authors,” Tommie noted.

Andrew hummed in confirmation as he turned back to the first page of the novel, reading aloud the contents.

“Two creatures of sworn enemies, plummeting in the trenches of a love so dangerous and rare. A love that would move mountains and uproot the sturdiest trees, that would beckon storms with gales too fierce to be measured by humankind. Forbidden by the laws of nature, punishable by a sentence no less than death of the highest degree.”

Tommie found herself entranced as Andrew read the words that garnished the pages, his voice adding a certain depth to them as she somehow felt she’d heard them all before. Maybe in a dream? Her skin prickled with goosebumps when she felt a strange sense of deja vu, an occurrence she’d felt all too often in her lifetime, but this time felt. . . different.

He continued reading, oblivious to her state of mind when a sudden deafening clap of thunder boomed from the sky, shaking the foundation of the old library and effectively knocking out the power.

They sat in silence for a moment, startled by the intensity of nature's call. The lights flickered back on, illuminating their faces once again as they stared at each other with a hundred questions.

“Keep reading, Andrew,” she urged.

He did as she asked and carried on.

“A woman of sorcery, a man of the undead. Bound together against all odds.”

Tommie closed her eyes, listening intently to the words he spoke. Vivid images of the story came to life in her head.

“A union against Mother Earth's decree over her land. She punishes all her children for such an act, raging her waters in remonstrance.”

She suddenly saw a woman dressed in obsidian toned filigree lace, her feathered hair cascading down the delicate features of her face. By her side was a man. His slim, yet broad frame clothed in black, his chest embellished with ancient atocha coins attached to a chain made of burnished silver. His chestnut hair rested atop his sturdy shoulders.

The sound of something slapping against the floor abruptly broke her from her trance. She opened her eyes to see a thick, ragged card lying beneath the table, its design mimicked the artwork of the book.

“What have we here?” Andrew said as he bent down to retrieve the peculiar card that was tucked away inside the novel.

Tommie leaned over a bit, squinting as she tucked her head in front of him to get a better look at the card.

Holy shit, she instantly thought.

The man pictured on the card was the exact same one Tommie had imagined as they’d been reading, just minutes-prior.

How in the hell?

She’d always been aware of her extremely vivid imagination, but it had never been so apparent as it was at that moment. Something about it felt different this time. . . it felt stronger.

Andrew noticed a sudden shift in her expression, her eyes widened as she took in the image of the card.

“You’re a thousand miles away, Tom. Tell me what that mind of yours is conjuring up,” he implored.

She decided to keep this to herself, afraid she would fail in trying to explain the phenomena to Andrew as she couldn’t make sense of it herself.

“Tarot,” she quickly blurted. “It’s a special sort of tarot card.” She dug through her bag filled with books until she found the one titled Holistic Tarot: An Integrative Approach to Using Tarot for Personal Growth. “I just finished reading this book on them, they’re incredibly fascinating.”

She carefully took the card from Andrew, brushing away some of the dust that had collected on it over the years.

Printed underneath the portrait of the man: The World.

She thumbed through her book until she found the section that detailed the symbolism of each card.

“This one of your overdue books, love?” He quipped, nudging her shoulder playfully.

“Look,” She pointed to the image depicting a similar card as she read the meaning to him. “The World card symbolizes completion, fulfillment and wholeness. It often signifies achieving a long-term goal or fulfilling a dream, and indicates travel to foreign lands, connecting cultures as one.”

Andrew nodded but had a confused look about him, “Why is this card so different from the ones in your book?” He asked.

Tommie couldn’t put it into words. She just had a sense that there was something much more significant about this card, something other tarot cards didn’t possess. This one was rare, one of a kind.

All she could do was shake her head in response to his question.

Andrew held it delicately in his hands, turning it around and investigating the pale card with dark etches of an almost-mystic male face. “It looks different for one,” he remarked, placing it down next to one in the book. “The ones in your book are full of color. . .and the faces—they lack the intricate detail this one possesses.”

He was right, the depiction didn’t even come close to the ones featured in the book.

“I’m not sure,” she retorted, grabbing her coffee in a swift motion, leaning back in her seat to nurse it as Andrew continued to investigate, flipping the pages to find one similar.

She took a break from the whirlwind of her thoughts and watched him move, his concentration endearing and lovely. He was always so willing to dive right into all of this with her, even if it wasn’t his own interest. Perfect man. He complimented her so incredibly well—encouraging her wonders of life when others only wanted to dampen it.

Though she’d only known him for a couple of months, their meeting seemed destined. He brought comfort and peace to her otherwise jumbling, lurching train of a life.

He peeked back, his eyebrow raised. “You’ve gotta see this.”

Tommie leaned forward, sitting her drink on the table. He had the tarot book laid open, next to A Dream in Gold, still spread wide to reveal yellowing pages.

The stark white card was laid between. . .and as soon as Tommie made the correlation Andrew was waiting for, her eyes nearly bulged out of her head.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, in utter disbelief.

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Plymouth, MA

October 30, 1971

It was the most serene and spooky Autumn night, the moon nearly full. An almost-white mist, overtaking the grounds of the old, abandoned cemetery.

The winds flurried around your loose curls, enticing your coming enchantment. They resembled the voices of the dead, beckoning you nearer.

“Not quite yet,” you hushed back, placing your open palm on the nameless cemented block of a grave you’d always felt a certain gravity pulling you towards, placed hidden at the back of the plots. “Soon, my friend.”

The natural fog was alluring to you, drawing you nearer to other old, crumbling stones and markers. Mossy and forgotten, the graves that held loved ones, were treasures. The generations—the centuries— that had passed since most of these lovely souls had moved from one life to the next— it was daunting to most.

But not to you.

No, it was like finding precious gold. The remains of these people, being so near, still, even after their souls had departed to their respective realms, . . .it was taken for granted by many.

Though, not by you.

You danced to their forgotten songs, answered their muffled cries beneath the cold soil. You cherished their abandoned stories, each one so vastly different from the other. You shared in their joy, you grieved in their sorrow.

You wanted to help them, to ensure their restfulness in the forlorn afterlife.

Tomorrow night, on All Hallow’s Eve, you would set forth your per annum spell of peace over the lonesome graves. The most sacred night of the year, the only one of which allowed this spell to be cast.

Most witches strayed from performing this enchantment, the strength it required, being far too great for most to conjure.

But you were different.

The dead gave you strength; your devotion to them, a driving force for your power.

The other witches and warlocks in your coven were threatened by you and the sheer amount of power you possessed. You were never one to conform, never one to obey the stringent rules of your High Priestess.

When you chose to repeatedly use your gift for the betterment of mankind, above the orders given to you by the High Priestess, you were shunned. Expelled from your coven, never to speak to your sisters or brothers again.

“No witch or warlock must ever misuse their powers for the sake of anyone other than the coven from which they reside. Such misuse is considered an act of treason and will result in immediate banishment. As such, all those remaining in the coven are prohibited from communicating with the banished. Those who do are subject to banishment as well. ”

All of your sisters and brothers followed orders, cutting all ties with you, acting as though you’d never existed.

All of them, except Sage and Daniel. Your dearest companions.

Sage had momentarily desired to join you in your exile. She couldn’t bear residing in a coven that you were no longer part of, but you wouldn’t allow for it. You wanted her to stay, to grow in her magic alongside her sisters and brothers. Fellowship, dire for a witch—making banishment all the more harrowing.

She was a free spirit like you, like Danny. . .but she could flourish wherever she may be.

You and Sage made a vow, a sacred covenant to remain in touch with each other in secret.

Daniel, though. . .

After your banishment, he lost all respect for the High Priestess, rejecting her order and suffering his own banishment as ramification.

It had also been murmured in shared spaces that witches and warlocks in your coven, who were attracted to the same sex would be mutilated—dismembered, even— if their true ideal for love were to be exposed.

So, Danny knew, deep in his heart, that he already couldn’t stay around if that were to be the case. He would have lost his life, or been severely harmed if he were to have stayed.

Things needed to change in the world. But, alas, you were stuck in a wretched time where who you loved was frowned upon unless it fit an acceptable societal norm.

Even though Daniel had never explicitly told you, you knew him. . . And his wandering eye, for other men, was not hidden from your protective watch. He’d watched your back, and you’d watched his for nearly two decades.

Danny was your closest confidant. He’d been a dear friend since the day you had both entered the coven, each of you, so young. Only eight years old, due for commencement to your trainings at Luminara Institute as a magic bearer.

The coven had been your home for more than half of your life when they’d dismissed you. It had been a gut punch to be exiled, but your best friend leaving with you had softened the blow.

Though, you’d still been nearly frozen in your banishment, not sure what to do next.

For the past few years, the two of you had wandered the earth together as a pair, a sister and brother in search of anything to fulfill the heavy emptiness in your lives that you just couldn’t place.

When you’d migrated back to Massachusetts, Sage welcomed you back with open arms. It was funny, as much as you’d enjoyed distancing yourself from the coven, and leaving that life behind, you treasured the fact that you still had a connection to other sorcerers—specifically Sage.

Being distanced from the coven was good for you, as you struggled with the feeling of being confined when you only longed to be free—whole. . .a feeling you still hadn’t quite achieved, even after leaving Luminara.

But, being apart from it all left you completely out of the loop with several bits of news. Whether it have been new rules for witches and warlocks (some you still had to abide by, given your gift), or all of the whispers of general supernatural happenings. All that fluttered around the spacious halls of the Academy, unbeknownst to you.

If it weren’t for Sage.

Part of the precious vow you’d made with Sage had been to meet at least once a week to discuss things—keep you up on the latest. It was special that she’d been intent on doing so. If she were to ever be discovered doing so with an exiled sister, she would instantly meet her doom.

So, you had a special place, on the outskirts of Plymouth, flush with the overbearing branches and leaves of towering trees. It was far from the Institute, never risking a prying sorcerer, overhearing any conversation.

A small eatery, only about ten tables total in the entire establishment. . .only ever regulars surrounding you in the multi-colored, creaking wooden seats.

On this night, after a quick visit to the cemetery you religiously visited every October, you were sitting across from your sister. Her caramel skin, the most beautiful shade, complimenting her bright blue eyes.

Her hair fell in thick, black waves: gold accented pieces held tiny braids throughout her hair. Her locks fell down to the middle of her bicep, where she wore a shiny gold cuff. Sage was always decked out in gold, warding off any vampires as she’d had a particularly scarring incident with one as a teen, before she’d joined the coven.

You watched her lips, stained with dark lipstick, take a generous swig of her sweet red wine. Her lips left a perfect mark on the rim.

“Your lips leave the most gorgeous imprint,” you remarked, almost absentmindedly. Sage’s beauty had stricken you since the first time you’d met her.

Her eyes sparkled and she winked at you, shaking her head. “You’re too much,” she smirked. But just as soon as her eyes glinted, they were growing wide. “Oh, shit, y/n. Speaking of imprinting. . . I’ve gotta tell you.”

“Fuck,” you rubbed your right brow, preparing for the latest gossip. “What is it?”

“Interspecies imprinting. . .completely against our written law. . .against Mother Nature’s law. All of that shit, y’know?”

You nodded slowly, a sort of gloomy feeling made your heart sink. This subject made you strangely sad. You’d never been able to pinpoint why. You’d equated it to just seeming wrong. It was wrong to shame the love one had for another, no matter the circumstance. Any law against love just felt. . . unnatural.

“A vampire and a witch,” she took another sip of her wine. She gulped it down, eyes still wide as she divulged more. “One of our sisters, in fact. She’s currently in the dungeon awaiting execution.”

“Sage,” you gasped. “How in the hell are you being so calm about this? Our sister is awaiting her death and you’re shooting the fucking breeze about it.”

She blinked rapidly, seemingly taken aback by your sudden outburst. “You like hearing the latest, y/n. I’m giving you the latest.”

“I don’t like you sounding so nonchalant about death, Sage.”

She looked down, pursing her lips and crossing her arms over her thin frame. “She knew better, y/n. Vampires are terrifying and not to be messed with,” she reminded, moving her hair to flash you her jugular. The thick, white scar, sticking out above her smooth flesh. You inadvertently flinched at the sight. “Those fucking blood suckers are hideous, heinous creatures. And interspecies mating is fucking law. It’s in the bylaws. Mother Nature forbids it. You don’t do it. You know this.”

You grabbed your own glass, taking a sip of the red and licking the tart remnants off your lips as you placed it back on the table. “What is she going to do? Do you think they’ll really go through with her execution?”

Sage shrugged, her dainty fingers going to mess with a Sweet N Low packet. “I don’t know. It’s not so simple,” she noted, stopping her movements to level you with a serious stare. “There’s more.”

“What is it?” You wondered aloud.

“The witch is a relative to our very own High Priestess,” she stated. “But from what I’ve heard, it doesn’t matter. It’s interspecies morherfucking mating— and breeding,” her icy eyes struck yours. “She was imprinted.”

Your blood ran cold under her stare, and with her words. “Oh my god,” you breathed. “She’s with child?!”

“I’d hardly call it that, such an innocent name for something so vile,” she tossed the Sweet N Low packet to the floor, leaning in so her face was mere inches from yours. The sweetness of the wine on her breath filled your every sense. “A vampire and a witch cannot conceive a child, y/n . . what they produce. . . more the likes of a demon. A barbaric creature possessing powers that go against the will of Mother Nature.”

The anger in her eyes turned to fear. “If it’s born, Mother Nature will unleash her wrath in ways we’ve never seen. And that’s not even the worst of it.” She leaned back and took her wine glass, downing the rest of the blood red liquid and wiping the remnants off her mouth, smearing her lipstick. “That thing they’ve created will put an end to all of us.”

You swallowed the massive lump in your throat as you struggled to make sense of it all.

“Has this ever happened before?” You quietly asked, your voice trembling as the thought caused your throat to tighten. You took the last few drinks of your wine to ease your state.

“No,” she answered. “And for good fucking reason. It’s the law, y/n. They are set in place for our own safety.”

The feeling of the blood rising to your ears came before you even realized it was on its way. The chatter of the other patrons in the room sounded muffled, as though you were dunked below water.

How could she be so cold about these laws and these rules when . . .?

You slammed your now empty wine glass on the polished wood of the table, causing Sage to jolt in her seat.

“Those are the same laws that got your best friends banished, Sage. The same laws you were ready to break to join me, but I wouldn’t let you. Tell me, then. Was your safety, or anyone else’s safety at risk with us there—breaking the ‘law’?”

Her face contorted to one of remorse. She took your hand in hers, rubbing the backs of your knuckles with her thumb. “I’m sorry, y/n. . . you know that’s not what I meant. But after what they did to me. . . it’s hard for me to understand why anyone would want to sleep with one of those evil creatures, especially knowing what could come if it.”

You felt your features soften as well. It honestly broke your heart that she’d experienced such terror from another supernatural being—any being, for that matter. All things had the ability to be evil. But the fact that she’s experienced it firsthand from the exact supernatural creature you’d been discussing made you feel empathy with her harshness.

Shit, for all you knew, the news could have caused some severe trauma flashbacks for her. . .

Your blood pressure settled back to normal and you wrapped your hand around hers, squeezing a bit in reassurance. “I understand, babe,” you said, your voice finding its normal calm tone again. “I’m sorry—you’ve possibly relived traumas because of it. . . And I . . . I didn’t think about that before I snapped.”

“I know why you did,” she soothed. “I get it. And I’m sorry, too, for not taking your situation into consideration before I went off.”

Your cheeks lifted a bit with a smile. Deciding to change the subject, pointing to your empty chalice. “I need more wine,” you giggled.

Her own eyes lit up with yours. “Let’s.”

And as she waved a hand over to signal a waiter or waitress, you zoned out in contemplation, your smile fading. . .

Interspecies mating. . .

You’d always thought it a ridiculous law to forbid it, so you hadn’t ever gone so far as to think about a child coming of it.

Could something conceived out of love truly cause so much harm to the earth? Could it really be what Sage said it was? A demon? Truly? You had never once thought that any of you could be capable of creating such a thing, especially out of something so pure.

You had to physically shake yourself out of it, blinking a few times to rid the thought. You knew it would plague you endlessly if you gave it enough headspace.

You would give yourself time to grieve the fate of your estranged sister another time.

Tonight was simply about time with a dear friend, and you wouldn’t let yourself ruin such an occasion.

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Plymouth, MA

October 31, 1971

When you arrived at your treasured cemetery on your most favorite, sacred night of the year, the evening was chilling in the best way. You’d worn your thickest black tights with your favorite long sleeved black dress, which stopped at your mid thigh. Your pointed black boots and black wide brimmed hat completing your outfit.

You giggled in spite of yourself. Because, admittedly, right now, you looked like a stereotypical witch. On Halloween.

Letting your snicker fade, a small grin stayed on your lips as you reacquainted yourself with the lovely souls that occupied this graveyard. You touched the stones you’d familiarized yourself with over the years, the precious souls that lived in each spot whispering haunting welcomes.

Your favorite sound.

A thick blanket of fog hovered just above the headstones, illuminated by the moon that shone brighter than ever before in the cloudless sky. It suddenly all seemed much different than the night before. Something peculiar hung in the air that you couldn’t quite place but felt deep within your bones.

Then, it happened.

You heard a rustle amongst the overgrown ivy leaves, like a rabbit quickly fleeing from its predator. But this was no animal. Especially not anything so innocent as a bunny.

You could feel its energy.

The presence from the being near you was unlike any you had ever felt before. Your spine grew a chill that made the cool air of the night feel warm as the hairs on your arms stood to attention.

He was here. And he was hiding. . . from you.

You could hear him quietly breathing, even from a distance, you interpreted the coldness of the stagnant blood beneath his flesh.

A cold-blooded creature, hiding in the dark. . . A vampire.

Your sworn enemy. You’ve never once encountered one, only heard of the horrendous tales told by your sisters and brothers who had.

Sage. . . dear, sweet Sage.

You adjusted the gold necklaces that never left your neck, feeling a certain comfort and safety in the jewelry. Your thumb smoothed across the dainty moon pendant of the necklace that Danny had gifted you recently, the peaceful enchantment he’d put on it calming your nervous heart.

It was simply known that one must always wear gold as a means to ward off an attack from such a creature. So, you never took off your faithful chains.

Instantly, you became angered; your blood boiled at the thought of him infiltrating your sacred place, of him disturbing your spell of rest over these dear souls. A fire burned behind your eyes as you prepared yourself to defend these grounds.

“You don’t belong here,” you asserted. “These souls are precious and you do not deserve to walk amongst them. Leave, now.”

Suddenly, there was a clap of thunder so great that the ground beneath your feet shook, nearly knocking you down as you braced yourself. Not a single cloud in the sky, yet a storm threatened to brew. His work, no doubt.

You heard him running against the bushes and you tried to follow him with your eyes, but he was too quick. Reaching your hand out, you channeled his location the best you could. Your brows furrowed in concentration as you mustered up every bit of strength you had.

Finally. . . you found him.

Your eyes caught him, crouched beside a grave. . . but not just any grave. The grave of the soul you heard crying out to you the night before, the one from which you’d always felt so much sorrow and pain.

Your mind became clouded with the need to protect this cherished soul as you stormed him, ready to fight him off when suddenly. . .

As you made your way to him, you watched his body unfold, slowly and gradually, broad shoulders and chest expanding to match a stern exterior. His face contorted into one of true valor and love for the grave at which he stood beside.

It was strange.

Vampires were, literally, cold and heartless beings. Not caring for anything or anyone. Their sole purpose on the earth, to cause suffering and death. . . or at least that was what you had been told.

“My brothers. . .they sleep here,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. His eyes swept down, casting the stone a watchful stare. His hands pressed firm to the cold cement, showing his protection over it. He pressed his hand even more firmly to the old stone.

You stood in shock, but did your best to keep a confident front.

This must be a trick, you thought, trying to find a meaning in his behavior. There is no way he—a heartless vampire—would feel such a need to safeguard anything—much less a corpse.

It could only be a ploy to distract you, and then cause the harm he’d originally intended.

A classic trait of a vampire—to plot a distractive ruse against their prey.

He was simply luring you into a vulnerable state— only to strike just as you’ve earned his trust.

You held firm as you would not let him deceive you. If it were truly his brother, wouldn’t that mean he was also a vampire? Was he naturally born? Or turned? If it were his naturally born, vampiric brother, he wouldn’t be buried. You knew that vampires were not buried after death, their bodies disintegrated to nothing once they perish. There would be nothing to bury. He was lying to you.

“You—you need to leave. You are not meant to walk these grounds. I know what you are,” the quiver in your voice revealed that you were not as gallant as you attempted to convey. You motioned to the graves he was now obviously guarding. “They are not what you are. I would sense it if they had been.” You quickly grabbed your golden moon pendant and rubbed it fiercely in search of calming your tattered nerves.

No matter what, you were not going to leave. You made a vow to protect this burial ground and that is what you intended to do. Any fear over this heinous creature would not stand in your way. You were prepared to die for these souls.

He turned, facing the two matching headstones, nameless and nearly crumbling from years of standing in one place, the earth shifting time and again.

Then. . .

He turned to face you, the light of the moon chased after him, illuminating him as a spotlight would. Over his face fell a scant shadow, from the overhanging trees and bright light from the full moon. He stood against the still black canvas of the night sky.

As he looked to you, you saw his eyes, more crestfallen than angry, cutting through your exterior.

You had always been told that these creatures were revolting. Every image depicted in your books at Luminara showed them as ghastly, repulsive looking beasts.

That was why you were utterly shocked as you finally caught a glimpse of his face, glowing against the moonlight. . .

His lips were pillowy and plush. His cheekbones, contoured beautifully as the gleam touched them, sat high in the midst of his stark features, his flawless skin not nearly as pale and lifeless as your textbooks had described it to be.

The most intriguing part of his face, though, were his eyes. Once you looked into them, it felt as though you couldn’t bear to look away. They were cavernous; the color of dark coffee, positively enchanting as they seemed to look straight through to your soul.

When you did finally pull yourself away, your eyes traced back to his mouth, his lips sitting so full underneath a. . .mustache?

The swift line of hair above his upper lip complimented him extremely well. It added to his already sharp and alluring features. Though, it caught you off guard; you’d always been taught to believe that vampires couldn’t grow facial hair—whether they be naturally born or reborn.

Admittedly, you’d been taught a lot of things about vampires that you weren’t sure you could believe as you stared at the one in front of you.

He was clothed in a suit of black, hugging his sturdy body in every way it should. The black button down underneath the opened jacket, unbuttoned just enough to show a smooth, toned chest. Silver medallions sat on the exposed skin that was lifting and falling with deep breaths. Not so often as humans do, but enough to catch your eye. This ‘man’ was an undead creature. How. . .?

Your eyes followed his movements as he tucked the hand not holding tight to the stone in the pocket of his slacks. You watched as his firm pecs flexed beneath the thin material of his shirt.

His long, mousy locks blew in the subtle wind.

He was. . . beautiful.

A far cry from any account you’d ever heard of these creatures.

“I wasn’t always like this. . .,” His voice, low and velvety, just a hint of a woeful tone. The despair beneath the tough exterior came off of him in waves. You felt it from him, making your chest heavy with sadness. “This monster you see before you—this so-called life—I did not choose. It was forced upon me– the desolate existence of an alleged killer.” He called himself a monster, yet there was nothing monstrous about him in the least.

His eyes, no longer hard, but rather filled with unshed, glistening tears. They threatened to fall down his cheeks. But, as soon as they appeared, they were gone.

It didn’t matter how quickly they’d evaporated, though, you had seen them. The raw emotion.

He was telling the truth. And these graves—they were his brothers. You felt especially solid in this belief as you now knew the briefest hint of his story—he hadn’t chosen this life.

You believed him.

His cold heart was broken. Shattered in a million pieces. And you could feel every bit of it.

“How are you—?” You gaped, shaking your head the slightest bit. You squinted at him, trying to dissect the creature in front of you. “I’ve always thought your kind to be cold and unfeeling. How are you able to hold even the slightest bit of grief over your resting brothers? And enough to visit them after their death?”

He straightened further, his brow rose with his next words. “They were all I had,” he sniffed. “They were my livelihood, stolen from me before their time by the clutches of hatred and the waves of the ocean.”

“But still. . .” You edged closer, your proximity to him causing him to tense the slightest bit. Trying the best you could, you activated every bit of calm to expel from you, showing him your true intention. You didn’t mean him any harm. He was different. You could tell. “How are you so attached?”

“For one, the man which was laid beneath here,” he placed his hand on the initial stone that had caught your eye. The same one that has drawn you in for all the years you’d come to this cemetery. “Was my twin. The other half of me. We shared a womb, making our bond worlds different from any other. We were tied tighter together than many people. He held me up, and I held him up. But not the way I should have,” his voice cracked as he spoke of this one. And your chest ached for him. What a terrible loss to face. “We came into this world together, and he left over a century before my time. It was a nasty break in our tie to each other. One I had foolishly never prepared for.”

He skated his hand from one grave to the next. He snickered as he looked affectionately at this stone, a tear glittering against his chocolate orb as he spoke. “And this son of a bitch—was my younger brother. The biggest pain in my side, but on the same hand, the brightest light that I had in my life,” a tear fell to grace his unblemished skin. “His death pains me for many reasons as well—but mostly, I grieve him so deeply because I didn’t appreciate him enough when I had him. Not nearly enough,” he tapped against the stone with his fingers a few times, then removed them to curl into the unoccupied pocket.

He continued, “It also doesn’t do one well to believe everything they read or hear. Oftentimes, you’re not getting the whole truth,” he peered down at you, your skin growing goosebumps under his piercing stare. “Do vampires share some characteristics? Yes, of course,” he took a step nearer to you, his chest mere inches from yours. You had to crane your neck to keep eye contact. “But are we all inherently different based on who we were as humans before? More so than anything else.”

“I understand,” you whispered, feeling utterly transfixed by every word that slipped from his pretty lips. “It makes sense.”

“But you,” he grew even closer to you, twisting a lock of your hair sitting on your stiff shoulder in his fingers. “A woman of magic. A sorceress. A dealer with the devil himself.” He dropped your hair as his sparkling eyes fixed on yours yet again, his mouth upturned in a faint, captivating grin. “a witch.”

You shuddered at hearing the name come from his lips. The way he said it. . . so chilling as it effortlessly rolled off his tongue. Almost hedonistic— he had been waiting to say it.

He knew who you were, just as you did him.

“I’ve heard stories about your kind too, you know.” He turned from you as he looked up at scattered stars, tracing their patterns in the air with his finger. “How you prey on innocent children, feasting on their flesh with your gluttonous, carnivorous desire. . .” You found yourself staring at him with a curious gaze, watching as he strategically pointed to each constellation. It was alluring, charming, even. “. . .that your pallid skin is crumpled and decayed. Your nose hooked and your teeth jagged, your beady eyes like that of your feral feline companions.”

He stopped and looked at you, his eyes following a trail up and down your figure. “You certainly don’t meet the physical clichè.” He smiled, displaying his beautiful, stark white teeth that lacked the pointed fangs you’d always been told about.

Everything he said about witches, it was all a product of a sinister stereotype. . . never once had any of it been true. Your kind has tried to put these horrid accusations to rest for centuries.

And if that were the case, it must also mean— that everything you’ve been made to believe about his kind, is perhaps not true, as well, though you never truly believed any of it.

You somehow always knew that they couldn’t have been as diabolical as you had been taught, that it had all been wild embellishments on the truth to turn your species against one another.

“Well, I can promise you I don’t feast on children. That rumor has plagued us for centuries and to be honest, I haven’t a clue where it came from.”

“There are plenty for my kind that I am oblivious to their beginnings as well,” he smirked.

Your mind was clouded with a billowing spiral of questions, most of which you just couldn’t ask. They would simply linger in the air, maybe to be answered someday— but right now you wanted to focus on him.

Something you couldn’t quite shake, though, was why you hadn’t ever seen him before? In all the years you’d spent wandering through the blessed, abandoned grounds, never once had you encountered anyone. . . let alone him.

You couldn’t help but blurt, your thoughts a frenzy. “What’s your name?”

“Jacob.” He didn’t hesitate, nodding towards you a bit to signal your response.

“Y/n,” you said, feeling silly to tell him. It felt as though he should have already known it. “It’s funny,” you started, the smallest grin curling your lip as you shook your head, studying him.

“What is it?”

“It almost feels as though we’ve met. But on the same hand, I’ve never witnessed you walking down this garden of lost souls before,” you pondered aloud. “Why haven’t our paths crossed until now?”

He looked to the headstones of his brothers, longingly and with anguish filling his eyes. “I don’t come here often. It’s dangerous–for me, at least. I seldom come. And when I do, it’s out of desperation to speak with them again.”

“How many times have you come?” You whispered, as though you were sharing a secret.

He cleared his throat. “Well, counting tonight . . .,” he paused. “A total of three times since they've been buried.”

“And when were they buried?” You questioned, admittedly dying of curiosity.

He eyed you for a few quiet moments. The crickets nearby, vyed for attention from the night with their tell-tale creaks. You stayed focused on him, not letting any other thing distract you from his contemplative stare into the black abyss of sky behind you.

With one last glance at his brothers’ graves, he locked eyes with you once more. It was as though he was challenging you. Questioning your intentions. You decided to step towards him. And, against your better judgment, you reached to touch the black of his suit sleeve.

Looking down, he breathed in a deep breath. It was still so strange to you that he breathed so deeply for someone who was, quite literally, undead.

All of the rumors and legend didn’t add up to the man standing in front of you.

“1830,” he finally stated.

Your heart dropped to the pointed toes of your boots.

Damn. You had not expected that.

You gaped for several seconds, but found your voice to vocalize the time it had been since. “One hundred and—.”

“Forty-one years,” he finished.

Holy shit.

So not only were you meeting a vampire, you were meeting one who had been around for nearly 200 years.

Swallowing, you felt the most intimidated you’d been since you first made contact with him. It was unbelievable you were speaking with a human who’d been around for an entire century, plus some. . . You had never been around someone so. . . What was the term? Ancient?

“You’re in shock,” he said, his velvety tone bringing you back to Earth.

Your eyes connected with his, blinking several times.

“Yes,” you said, unashamedly. “I am in shock. You are correct.”

He quietly huffed, a small smile gleaming his features. You saw his perfectly white, straight teeth again. Without wanting to admit it, you were still looking for the legendary fangs that his kind were supposed to have.

“No fangs,” you said absently, still glancing his teeth.

“Yes, fangs,” he said, shaking his head at the idea. You raised your brow. “Not now,” he confirmed. “But when needed, they appear.”

“When needed?”

“So many questions.”

You scoffed, but didn’t stay on it. The night was becoming chillier. You couldn’t help crossing your arms, the smallest gust blowing your hair from around your face.

And then you saw it, his eyes dilated and zoned in on your neck. But as soon as you saw it, he was shutting his eyes, silently mouthing words to himself and tucking his hands deeper into his pockets.

Now, you were intimidated for new reasons.

Starting to edge away, you watched as his desperate, sad eyes followed you. They stopped you from moving any further. It wasn’t right to immediately be fearful just because he had natural instincts. That was unfair and you knew it.

He was lonely. He had to be.

“Do you have friends?” You questioned, channeling empathy into your tone. “It’s been so many years. . .”

“I’ve had a few. Here and there,” he nodded. Then, he shrugged, his thick brows creasing, forlorn. “But they come and go. When I am forced to stay.”

You hummed, not sure how to respond. It was very sad to contemplate. Him, never changing, and everyone around him aging. . .

“I’m sure watching the rest of your family age and leave was hard,” you said, soon realizing the callous way that must’ve sounded. You smacked a hand to your forehead. “I’m sorry. That was — I don’t know. . . I’m sorry.”

“No, trust me when I say I’ve heard worse in my lifetime,” he reassured. “But our other family—they were gone before my brothers and I left to fight in the naval forces. To begin, my father actually left my mother after she’d given birth to Samuel,” he motioned to the younger brother’s grave. He let out an angry breath, seeming to still be disappointed in his father’s decision. Even after all of these years. The genuine emotion in his heart perplexed you. “Then, my mother and sister were killed by ruthless villagers. Terrible, ungodly men who sought the blood of vulnerable women while my brothers and I were away. . .before we. . .switched paths.”

So much information. You weren’t sure how to digest what you were being told. Everything he was sharing, a new discovery that you couldn’t wrap your mortal brain around. Magic couldn’t help you when it came to this vampire. This enigmatic creature.

You decided to get back to the point at hand. “So, only three times? When it’s been more than a century?”

“It’s too hard to visit often. When your brothers are dead in the ground, and you're eternally alive. . . It’s enough to make one unbearably sick with overwhelming grief. It’s best for me to stay away,” he replied. “I came once to bury them. Then another to visit after they’d been laid to rest,” he rubbed under his eye, flicking the tip of his nose with a finger. A tick. “And then tonight.”

“And why tonight?”

He looked thoughtful again. He didn’t want to divulge the information. You could tell. You reached a hand forward, this time touching his chest. Where a heart should be beating. . .but you couldn’t feel the dull thrum beneath your open palm.

It was offputting . . .and strangely comforting.

He looked down at your hand, and his stare at your brave touch made you recoil and move to bring your hand back. You tucked it back where it had been, nestled in the crook of your warm elbow.

“You don’t have to ans—.”

“I came tonight because I’ve heard before that if you come on All Hallows’ Eve to visit past loved ones, a sort of portal opens and you’re able to communicate with those you’ve lost,” he pushed it out quickly, seeming almost ashamed. “I never believed in it. I didn’t want to—didn’t want to get my hopes up. I never accepted it could actually be possible. I still don’t know if it is.”

You nodded, understanding. Your eyes smiled. “I see,” you uttered. You stepped nearer again. “I come for a similar reason. To use my power to send well wishes of peace in death. Talk to those who are forgotten, long gone, in the ways my abilities allow me to.”

“That’s beautiful,” he spoke, his dark eyes boring into yours. “Truly. I didn’t know a witch could be so . . . Full of love.”

“Really?” You scoffed. “You thought so poorly of witches that you assumed they couldn’t love?”

“I didn’t quite say that,” he winked. Leaves crunched under his boot as he, too, took a step. Towards you. You couldn’t help but shiver the slightest bit. And not from the October breeze. “But you are hardly one to talk. Immediately going into defense with me. Assuming the worst. Lies you’d heard.”

“Fair,” you nodded, ducking your head. Looking back up, you matched his gaze, which had unwaveringly stayed on you. You’d felt it burning into you. Tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, you straightened your hat. “I apologize for my assumptions.”

“And I, mine,” he softly responded. “And that’s why you’re here? To speak to them?”

“Yes,” you agreed, straightening and smoothing your dress against your thighs. “And what you heard was correct. Tonight of all nights is the only one with which you may communicate with those you’ve lost,” you paused, pursing your lips with a sad smile. “But only with certain power. And I’m afraid you lack that as a non-warlock.”

You didn’t tell him that not all souls responded when you’d cast the spell to seek the lost in their present realm. That sometimes, you encountered the precious few that did not want to be bothered, longing to stay quiet in their death.

And especially, you didn’t want to mention the nagging thought in your mind. That, sometimes, if you couldn't reach them, it meant the worst. That they’d gone to a place unreachable. A place that was unreachable, even for one like you who garnered enchanted abilities.

You ached for those souls, knowing that if you couldn’t reach them, they were in a place where peace would never be able to find them again. No magic could come to them to console them in the afterlife. It crushed your heart.

Saying this to him was not an option, as you feared for his younger brother. You’d heard plenty from his twin’s resting place. Feeling so much energy from him it was though you’d talked to him as a living being. He wasn’t completely gone, in a place void of peace.

But you’d never sensed anything from the other. The other headstone, where his younger brother laid, was only ever silent. It never showed signs of a present soul when you’d touch it or speak to it.

You decided to offer what you could. Attempt seeking his twin. . .and even his other brother. . . If only for Jacob’s sake.

If you ended up discovering he was in the unspeakable place, and completely gone. . .you would play it off. You could do that. Maybe even enchant Jacob to not know better.

The flitting of your heart told you that you could at least reach his twin. You felt you had to offer this to him. You wanted to bring his heart a sense of comfort and ease.

Help him in whatever way you could.

“I can help you. . .,” you said with a hushed tone. “. . . I can help you hear them again.”

He looked at you with silent bewilderment, questions haunting his eyes as he ran his fingers through his hair.

Without another word, you grabbed his hand and took him to the headstones. To your surprise, he didn’t hesitate in the slightest. With you, he knelt down to their level, and you placed his palm upon the one that belonged to his twin brother and set your own on top of his.

You had expected his skin to be cold and lifeless to the touch, but he felt warm. His skin was soft against your fingers, causing a slight hitch to your breath.

“Close your eyes and clear your mind. Listen–hear.”

He nodded as his eyes squeezed shut, you doing the same.

You instantly felt his twin; you heard his unmistakable voice you’d come to treasure over the years of protecting his resting place.

He was strong; he knew his brother was near.

You filled Jacob’s hand with your energy, the wind whistling heavier around you, whipping your hair around as you felt it transfer through to him entirely, as you allowed it to reverberate through his soul.

His strong hand suddenly tensed under your touch, and you knew the voice of his beloved brother was echoing throughout his body.

“Joshua. . .” The name whispered off of Jacob’s tongue so quietly that you nearly missed it.

The name– the name of his twin. The one he’d spent everyday of his mortal life with, from the very moment they were conceived. From the moment they were born. He’d been the one with which he shared his mother’s womb. A bond broken by a death so tragic and untimely.

One doomed to walk the earth, alone, for the rest of eternity, cursed by the burden of an eternal life filled with isolation. The other, sleeping beneath the cold ground. Their fates, each designed much differently, yet their souls still tethered even in the midst of a tragic end.

Two souls, forever sharing the other half.

You finally had a name to attach to this darling spirit, and you smiled upon hearing it for the first time.

You tightened your hold on his hand, feeling his joy at hearing his brother speak for the first time in 141 years. But with his joy also came his sorrow. The immense sadness he had carried with him for more than a century, crashing down upon you as the two of you connected your souls in this most intimate way. You felt it with him.

You turned your head when you felt his hand flinch a bit under yours. He was still focusing, his eyebrows bent in deep concentration. A few stray tears slipped down his cheeks.

The steady rhythm of your heart lapsed. Seeing him in such a state made your chest pinch. This was the most connected you’d ever felt to another—including Daniel.

It was shocking, to say the least.

Then, suddenly, he hushed, sniffing tears back. “Samuel. . . Please, y/n. Help me to hear Samuel.”

Your heart sank.

The moment you’d been afraid of had come. You knew he would ask about his beloved Samuel, and the last thing you wanted to do was deny him.

You were scared– scared of hearing the inevitable silence that you’ve come so accustomed to from his place of rest. Scared of him hearing nothing from his dear brother.

You were hesitant for a moment, an inner battle being fought within you. Would you break his heart by denying him? Or would it be by attempting to call out to his brother, only to be met with the stillness you’ve heard at his tomb for years?

He looked to you again, your heart aching as his eyes were much heavier than before.

You knew that you had to try, if only for the sake of Jacob. You knew it would take every ounce of your strength to try and call out to his muted brother, but looking into his mournful eyes, you made up your mind that it would be worth it.

Grasping his fingers tightly in your clutch, you moved his hand to Samuel’s stone. And once again, you settled your palm above the top of his hand. He held it firmly to the stone, more tears whisking down his cheeks at what he anticipated.

You felt your own brewing at your ducts for the defeat you knew was bound to occur.

Drawing a deep breath, you prepared, mustering up the sheer power you knew it would take to reach out to Samuel and draw anything from his spirit in return.

Repeating the share of energy you’d emitted to Jacob over Joshua’s stone, you tried your damndest to maximize the amount. And just as before, you felt the energy translate to him from you.

His hand tensed, waiting for what had transpired over his twin’s grave. But you knew this was already different than before. Your experience told you so.

With Joshua and the other souls, you could hear them so clearly. Their spirits would stir as they would come to. . .as they would greet you. . .

But here, there was nothing.

Silence.

You could feel the hope Jacob had conjured, seeping from his pores. Where it wasn’t visible to the normal, human eye, if you opened your eyes, you knew you’d be able to see it. The look of it, floating from him, drifting into the growing fog of the night.

Pressing harder, you squeezed your eyes shut, so tight you saw stars. . . You needed something.

Come on, Samuel, you chanted internally, willing him to respond.

Suddenly, you felt the words to a familiar spell falling from your lips. They came of their own accord, lighting up the fires that were starting to extinguish in your heart.

One last resort.

You made another quick decision and placed double hands on Jacob. Where you had one on his hand, you placed another on his back, trying to get your power to work through him.

Maybe the familial tie would bring this lost soul to you. . .

But, alas, nothing.

You sighed defeatedly, yet still kept your eyes closed and your hands on your counterpart. Beside you, there was a choked sob from Jacob, shaking you from your thoughts of despair.

Feeling the immense sorrow with him, a few tears dripped down your cheeks. More welled in your throat, the longer you sat there, hearing him cry into the night.

All of the crying stopped when you felt the earth shake at your knees. The sound of tree branches cracking around you roused you, alerted you.

And as the ground continued to rumble, you felt, underneath your hands, the stone crack.

⋆⁺₊⋆☾*ੈ☁︎🃁𓉸︎☽⋆⁺₊⋆｡˚☽˚ 𓃠 ˚☾˚｡⋆⁺₊⋆☾*ੈ☁︎🃁𓉸︎☽⋆⁺₊⋆

a/n:

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frithwontdie · 1 year

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Do white Americans owe reperations to blacks? NO!

In America, Reparations have already been paid. To the point that it’s beyond ridiculous. Whites have gone out of their way to artificially boost Nonwhites at every turn. Trillions of tax dollars and donations have been spent over decades trying to boost non-white achievements and social status. Also dept relief, Crt, affirmative action, first step act, donations for past wrong doings, school degrees, food stamps, welfare programs, etc.

Alot of whites and some jews through out American history tried to help blacks become a separate & self-reliant people (the pursuit of Booker T. Washington) through education.

The Freedman's Bureau (1865 to 1872) :

The Freedman’s Bureau (officially known as ‘The Bureau of Refugees, Freedmen, and Abandoned Lands’) was created by Americans to feed and provide other life necessities to the Negro population of the South after the Civil War ended in 1865. However, well before the end of the Civil War, Americans organized all over the North various organizations to feed, clothe, educate and provide other needed necessities for the newly freed Negro people Note: according to W.E.B Du Bios, more than 50 organizations were active in relief capacity for the southern Negro by 1866.

"The First white people in America, certainly the first in the South to exhibit their interest in the reaching of the Negro and saving his soul through the medium of the Sunday-school were Robert E. Lee and 'Stonewall Jackson'. ...Where Robert E. Lee and 'Stonewall' Jackson have led in the redemption of the Negro through the Sunday-school, the rest of us can afford to follow. " - Booker T. Washington 1910

The Tuskegee Institute:

This icon of Black education was founded by the great Booker T Washington and was also the brainchild of an Alabama prominent banker by the name of George W. Campbell (White man). Another White man, an Alabama state senator named W.F. Foster, spearheaded the necessary funding for the Institute through the state legislature. The result was a yearly appropriation of $2000.

The following white Americans, all self-made millionaires, gave small fortunes - their own hard earned money - to this Negro self-sufficiency school over their lifetime:

--Andrew Carnegie

--John D. Rockefeller

--Henry Rodgers

--Collis Huntington

And,

--Julius Rosenwald*

--Anna T. Jeanes*

* Julius Rosenwald was an immigrant Jew and self-made millionaire.

* Anna T. Jeanes, a white woman, was not a self-made millionaire, but inherited her money from her husband.

Howard University

Howard University was chartered in 1867. It was championed by an American Civil War General, Oliver Otis Howard (November 8, 1830 – October 26, 1909), and the school hence bears his name. Howard University is also the ONLY higher education school ever to be directly funded by the US taxpayers (it still is).

Lincoln University

Lincoln University (Pennsylvania) was an exclusive college for Negroes and was created in 1854 by a white man named John Miller Dickey, who also became its first president. Lincoln University was originally named Ashmun Institute. The first Black president of the university was not elected until 1945.

Fisk University

Fisk University was an all-Negro college that was established by three whites, Erastus Milo Cravath, John Ogden and Edward Parmelee Smith in Nashville, Tennessee, in 1866.

Wilberforce University

Wilberforce University, located near Xenia, in Ohio, was an all-Negro college created by whites from the Methodist Episcopal Church in 1856. It was named after a white man, William Wilberforce, who was an 18th century abolitionist.

Cheyney University of Pennsylvania

Cheyney University of Pennsylvania was an all-Negro school established in 1837. A white man named Richard Humphreys had bequeathed $10,000 in his will (10% of his estate) in 1832 for the sole purpose of creating a place of education for the Negro race.

Atlanta University

Atlanta University was founded by whites associated with the American Missionary Association, in 1865. Around 1866, its survival then shifted to, and depended upon, the Americans associated with the Freedman’s Bureau.

In 1922, the Carnegie Corporation and the Rockefeller Memorial gave $25,000 each to create the Journal Of Negro History.

In 1924, George Eastman (Kodack Co.) gave Tuskegee Institute $1 million dollars.

John D. Rockefeller

Mr. Rockefeller donated almost $180 million dollars to the General Education Board, which was chartered by Act of Congress in 1903. Much of this money was spent supplying educational aid to the Negro people, specifically in the southern states (Mr. Rockefeller‘s $180 million translates to almost 2 billion dollars in today's dollars!)

George Peabody Education Fund for poor Southerners

George Peabody Education Fund was established by a white man named George Peabody, and was designed to help Negro colleges in the South at the turn of the century.

The Slater Fund

The Slater Fund was established by white, James Fox Slater, in 1882. Its primary purpose was to support southern Negro schools. Around 1915, this fund was worth about $1.75 million.

The Jeanes Fund (Jeanes Foundation)

A white woman named Miss Anna T. Jeanes, a Quaker, created 'The Fund for Rudimentary Schools for Southern Negroes’ in 1907 from the monies left to her by her late husband. The purpose of the fund was to help Negroes create teachers for their people. It was endowed at one million dollars (a staggering sum at the time).

The Southern Education Board: In or around 1900, whites created the The Southern Education Board. It's funding was initially provided by the Slater Fund and the Jeans Funds. Americans, trained in the area of farming, would go to rural farms (Negro and American) and educate them on better farming techniques. The Southern Education Board was also very concerned with the high southern Negro illiteracy, which was, in 1900, almost 50% (for southern Americans, around 11%).

Phelps-Stokes Fund

Established in 1911, a white philanthropist and self-made millionaire Anson Phelps Stokes created this fund for the purpose of improving Negro life through education. Its endowment was approximately $900,000.

Minor Fund

This fund was established by a white female, Miss Myrtilla Minor, in 1851. Its purpose was to provide aid to schools who would teach Negro girls to be teachers for their people.

In 1910, according to the US census, 50% of Negroes (about 4.8 million) lived in urban centers (all created by white males). That means there would be approximately 2.4 million Negro males living in the urban centers of America. About 1/3rd would be too young to work, so that means there were about 1.6 million Negro males of working age living in American-built cities in 1910. Of those 1.8 million Negro males, 350,000 (almost 20%!) worked in a factory job (all factory jobs for the Negro were supplied by White men i.e. not ONE factory job in America was created by a Negro male --so, concomitantly, no white man was employed by a Negro male in a factory job. Note: At this time in American history, you worked or you starved. (source: Chronological History of The Negro pg. 358)

Naturally, with whites, being so generous supplying jobs to black men, naturally, more black men were encouraged to come to the American-built urban areas.

Julius Rosenwald

Without question one of the most generous of the Euro race toward the black people was Julius Rosenwald (Jewish). Most of his charity was gifted through the Rosenwald Fund (depleted in 1948)

Cushing Fund

A white woman, Miss Emeline Cushing, established this fund in 1895 for the purpose of financially assisting colored schools.

Whites Create Special School - In Mississippi. - For Negro Boys To Own Land

Daniel Hand Fund

A white self-made millionaire, Daniel Hand, established the Daniel Hand Fund in 1888. It was endowed at $1 million dollars (two-thirds of Mr. Hand’s entire personal wealth!). Mr. Hand stipulated that all of the Fund would be directed toward Negro education in the former slave states. When Mr. Hand died in 1893, he bequeathed the rest of his remaining wealth to this fund.

Andrew Carnegie

Mr. Carnegie, when he retired, was considered the richest man in the world. He also became the biggest philanthropist in America and gave generously to Negro educational causes, which included giving $600,000 to the Tuskegee Institute in 1903.

Harmon Foundation

The New York City Harmon Foundation was established in 1922 by an white man named William Harmon (1862-1928). Its purpose was to aid and assist Negro art, artists, businesses, education for Negroes, farming needs, music, and other causes for the Negro.

Garland Fund

This White-male-established fund was used to help the NAACP through the Great Depression.

John D. Rockefeller Jr.

Mr. Rockefeller, Jr. built the Dunbar Apartments in New York City, a mammoth complex consisting of six buildings - 511 apartments - specifically to house low-income Negroes in Harlem. He also built and funded a bank in NYC solely for Negroes.

Katharine Drexel

Katherine Drexel was born November 26, 1858 and died March 3, 1955. She was an American female, a nun, philanthropist, educator and later canonized as a Roman Catholic saint.

"She became a nun, and took the name Sister Katharine, dedicating herself and her inheritance to the needs of [non-occupational ranking] Native Americans and African-Americans in the western and southwestern United States, and was a vocal advocate of racial tolerance. She established a religious order, the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament for Indians and Colored People. She also financed more than 60 missions and schools around the United States, and founded Xavier University of Louisiana[1] - the only historically Black, Roman Catholic university in the United States to date."

The United Negro College Fund

In 1944 the United Negro College Fund was created. Almost all of the funding for its initial operation was provided by the General Education Fund and the Rosenwald Fund.

Mr. William Trent, a black man, in the course of his 20-year tenure as its first executive director, raised over $78 million for this fund, almost all of it coming from generous white liberal Americans (Senator John F. Kennedy gave all of the profits from his book ‘Profiles in Courage' to this fund).

Also American Jews also gave money to black people. Before 1950, it was mostly coming from the Rosenwald fund.

Minority scholarships:

Low income:

It’s open to illegal immigrants, too, but white people? Forget it. And when we learn that “800 Compton residents to get guaranteed income in two-year pilot program,” since Compton is only 2 percent white – yes, just 2 percent – white people won’t get that money.

Having to change the requirements of mental retardation, because too many blacks IQ's were that low.

https://mn.gov/mnddc/parallels2/pdf/90s/99/99-MRI-MLW.pdf

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